ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #100

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OOM: Room #100 - for Doc Scurlock

[following this:]

It's been a while since Kate has spent any considerable amount of time in her own room, so it has remained rather tidy. The only real exceptions are a stack of clean laundry on her desk chair she hasn't gotten to yet, and the bedspread, which is a little disheveled from stolen naps here and there between checking on and being with Doc. On her desk is the book of poetry she had taken from his room, along with the little orange paper crane that marks her place. The poetry and favors from the wake are spread out, including several little steel green cranes, which sit awkward and deformed in some small way ('first attempts' at origami that weren't so bad as to throw away). There's also a rather extraordinary little music box, and a half-eaten box of chocolate. On the table in the corner, there are a few newspapers and posters, handmade notes about Cuero, and the like.

The real focus of attention, however, is the bathroom; complete with all its fancy little soaps, and relaxing scents, and nice, hot water. That's Kate's focus, at least, once she unlocks her door and steps inside.

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She grins at him.

"Maaaaybe."

Laughing, she stands on her tiptoes and pulls the cap from his head, tousling his damp hair playfully.

"I don't mind sharin', though."

Beat.

"I mean, the facilities... the, the room. Not sharin'--"

She gestures, but then realizes they can easily be misconstrued as well, so gives up on talking and moving altogether, cheeks burning red.

"I know what y'meant," he promises, only blushing slightly as he bows his head. "I wouldn't..."

He motions at the tub.

"Y'can get washed up, and then I'll help y'comb out your hair when you're through?"

"Dunno what it is about you."

She shyly moves to the vanity table inside the bathroom, where there sits a stack of warm towels with a note from Bar on top. She shakes one out, and then walks back to Doc's side -- once again going on her tiptoes -- to gingerly attempt drying his hair.

"You put my tongue all in knots."

He ducks his head down so that she can reach his hair, grateful for the warmth of the towel against his chilled skin.

"Most'a the time, I can't even find the words I want t'say when m'with you, 'cause nothin' sounds right to my mind when we're near each other. You're more'n words can express."

Her eyes slowly drift from his hair down to his eyes, and she smiles at him gently.

"I dunno, that was pretty good. Though, guess that would explain a lot."

She nudges his shoulder, bringing the towel down around his neck.

"I want you t'git outta that soppin' shirt, before y'get chilled. I'm jus' gonna take a real quick shower, so if y'need t'git in to the warm towels or the hot water, you come on in, all right?"

He'll be able to see that the shower is made out of a mottled glass, which won't afford for too much of a 'view' should he need in the room.

"When I come out, you better not still be drippin'."

"Yes, ma'am."

Doc smiles and then snags another towel from the stack, and then he nods before making his way out of the room. He wants to shed his socks, too, and that wet shirt of his.

(She gave him an order, and he'll stick to it.)

She snags him just before he can make it out of the bathroom to give him a kiss. Smiling, and instructing him to 'behave', she then closes the door, leaving it cracked just a little.

(A door that's already ajar is less intimidating, she figures, should he need in.)

She sets her clean clothes and one of the towels on the vanity chair and scoots it near the shower, before turning on the water and undressing. Within minutes, the click of the shower door opening and closing again can be heard.

He moves back to the 'mudroom' and sits on the bench to peel out of his socks, toweling off his feet before he works on getting off his shirt.

The wet fabric clings to him, and once his chest is bare, he carefully inspects his arm -- the sutures were removed last week, and the scar is healing up nicely without any 'hatch marks'.

He glances at the knees of his pants -- and upon further inspection, his entire lower half -- and realizes that his pants are soaked through with water.

Doc sighs and runs a hand through his damp hair, tugging the towel around his shoulders. He could go back to his room and get dry pants, and then borrow her shower to warm up.

(He doesn't want to leave her alone.)

A similar succession of thoughts filter through her mind as she quickly scrubs up, rocking on the balls of her feet as the hot water turns her toes lobster red and tingly. Maybe she should have insisted he go on ahead to his room, so he could have gotten himself taken care of.

(But she didn't want to leave him, either.)

"Doc?" she calls.

"Be right there," he replies, loud enough that she'll be able to hear him over the rush of the water.

He pads across the floor in his bare feet, towel still draped over his shoulders, and slowly pushes the door open. He peeks his head in the bathroom and glances slightly in the direction of the shower.

"What do you need, darlin'?"

The room is full of steam, and smells heavy and sweet, perfumed by her shampoo and soap. You can just make out the silhouette of her body behind the glass doors.

"Um..."

She winces a little, grateful he can't see her face.

"There are some clothes in the bottom drawer of my chest of drawers," she mumbles. "Somma your clothes. If y'wanted t'git changed."

"Thank you," he says.

He almost wants to ask why, but he doesn't -- not right then, anyway.

His eyes dart to the shower door as he inhales a lungful of the humid air, the scents of peaches and white pepper filling his nose. If he hadn't been mindful of the fact that he wasn't going to stare at that silhouette, he would have been content to stay there for quite some time.

Instead, he ducks out of the room and moves to the dresser, searching for his clothes.

"You're welcome."

She's not sure whether he heard her or not, but it doesn't matter.

Her face flushes as he lingers just a bit at the door, arms crossed over her front even though, rationally, she knows he can't see anything. Still, it's painfully obvious where his gaze is focused.

(And it makes her smile, and bite her lip.)

Not much longer after that, the shower cuts off and she cracks the door open to feel for where she left that towel. She snaps it inside the room with her to dry off, and then emerges out into the bathroom -- covered -- a minute later.

He's still shirtless, but there's now a dry pair of pajama pants on his body instead of the damp trousers from before, the ties pulled tight -- but they still settle a bit low against his hips, almost a bit too large of a size.

(He blames the lack of eating while he was out there, but he's not as skinny as he was two weeks ago.)

Doc glances towards the door as it opens, giving her a brief smile.

"Hey, beautiful."

She returns the smile, dipping her head a little (and then combing back the wet tresses of hair that fall in her face).

She keeps her arms snug around her middle.

"Hey. You want in, next?"

She's pleased to see that he did, in fact, take her advice and get out of those wet clothes, but one can never be too cautious.

~~Unless you're one Kate Barlow, who hasn't been able to stop mother henning him since he got back.~~

"Could use t'warm up a bit, yeah," he agrees, moving towards her (and the bathroom), catching that sweet and spicy scent again.

He inhales.

"I know the peaches, but...what's the other scent m'gettin' offa your skin?"

She watches his approach, mind drifting. It started with a bottle of perfume she purchased from this beautiful blue woman -- Zhaan.

(She bought the scent for Doc; after he left, she'd wanted something to make her feel more appealing.)

"It's, um. White Pepper. S'not as strong as the sweet water I used t'git on occasion."

She watches the ground when he comes close to her.

"Y'like it?"

He steps in close enough to press a gentle kiss to her shoulder, in the process he inhales more of that sweet scent, closing his eyes.

"More'n like it," he responds. "Love it."

She shivers as his breath ghosts across her neck, feeling the delicate hairs on her neck stand on end.

She tries to restrain a smile, and fails.

(It seems there can be some good things about having to start over again fresh -- experiencing tender moments like these for a second time is one.)

"I'm glad."

She tips her head towards his, gently nuzzling his ear.

"S'like...perfect combination...it ain't too sweet, but it ain't too spicy...kinda like you. Perfect."

He opens his eyes and moves to step back, but pauses as he notices the scar tissue on her shoulder, tilting his head curiously.

(That wasn't there before.)

Doc gently presses his fingertips against one edge of the old wound. He doesn't look at her, because he's focused on the tough skin, mind wondering what treatment may have helped it heal better.

"Was this from...?"

She snickers huskily as he compares the scent with her personality. When he steps back, she opens her eyes and then her mouth, ready to make a teasing remark in return.

His hesitation and the slant of his eyes still her tongue, however, and when she realizes what's caught his attention her heart skips a beat.

Her hand goes to cover the scar, but she covers his hand instead.

"I should throw somethin' on. My robe..."

She swallows, shaking her head as if to clear away the cobwebs, and takes a step back to reach for the door.

"'Scuse me a minute?"

He curls his fingers around hers.

"Y'dont--"

Doc looks up at her, then, trying to convey what he's trying to say with his eyes. It doesn't work, all that well, so he finally decides to speak at last.

"Y'don't gotta hide 'em from me, Kate."

She bows her head.

'Y'don't gotta hide 'em from me, Kate.'

(Just the words she needed to hear.)

"I..."

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, and nods.

"I know they ain't... pretty."

"Mine ain't pretty either, but y'still love me."

It's no different.

"They don't make you ugly. Nothin' could, in my eyes."

"That's... different."

She shakes her head, almost as if she already knows she's wrong.

She nervously wets her lips.

"I never got it looked at. It healed up strangely. But it... it's nothin', just a scratch. Nothin' like--"

what happened to you.

Wisely, she stops that thought before voicing it.

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