ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room #25 (WARNING: Contains triggery content)

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OOM: Room #25 (WARNING: Contains triggery content)

[following this:]

After Guppy takes Alex home, Kate eventually does make it to the fire to warm up. Of course, by this point her body is already warm; it's her heart that feels chilled. She dispenses with the tea, and just takes the whiskey for a second and third drink.

It's late by the time she's able to muddle through her thoughts well enough to drag herself upstairs. All she wants to do is collapse into her bed and sleep, but once she reaches the landing--

Doc.

He'll be expecting her.

She stands there for a moment, gathering her wits about her.

I don't want him to see me like this.

She swallows hard, steeling herself for what she knows she has to do next. She can't just bypass his room without a word; not when they've been spending so many nights together. Not when he'll be expecting her. Not when they've just had the intimacy 'conversation.' She'll pull herself together long enough to tell him she needs a quiet night to sleep. Everything's fine, she just misses her own bed. She'll be right as rain come tomorrow.

When she stops outside his door, she doesn't take out her key and walk in. For some reason, tonight she knocks.

.

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"It was August."

She sniffles quietly, shaking her head in a brief, miserable motion that never leaves his breast.

"How could you have known? It was my fault. If we hadn't been runnin', if Ramon hadn't've shot you, if I'd just ... if we could've just..."

If...

If what? Nothing can change what happened now.

It's your fault.

"August ain't too early t'at least have some stores ready, in case y'get an early winter. I should have been better prepared."

He rubs his hand down over her spine, head bowed.

We would have made it, if not for the fact that I ended up dead.

"You did."

She draws her hands down from his shoulders, uncurling them with effort (her joints are stiff, like they've been set in glue, her palms sore from where her nails dug in), and rubs at her face.

"I survived a long time off'a what you had. It just ... wasn't enough."

She doesn't say "for two" but she thinks it.

"I just can't help but think, maybe if I'd had more, we might not have lost..."

His voice betrays him and he closes his mouth to keep from choking out the words. Everything below his waist feels numb -- and he knows it's not from the way he's sitting on the floor.

"I'm so sorry."

This is my fault, too. I should have been here. I never should have left that day.

She grimaces sharply, shoulders shaking as she holds in one lingering sob. She presses her fingertips into her forehead so hard that they turn bone white, moisture continuing to slip into her palms.

Maybe he's right. Maybe if she'd had more; if she'd just taken better care of herself...

"It wouldn't've mattered. He still would'a punished me."

"He wouldn't..."

Doc's not sure, just what he believes. At one time in his life, he would have been so confident (so accepting) of the punishment, knowing that it was God's will and that it happened for a reason.

But things have changed. His thoughts on the subject of faith are different than they used to be.

See a man strung up for nothin' more than the color of his skin, shot down for just tryin' t'git food t'feed his family, watch babies go hungry just because of some fargin' war, innocent merchant men murdered in the name of corruption, ladies cryin' because their men git black lung from workin' so far deep in the earth...there ain't a higher purpose that makes any of that right.

"If it was punishment, then I ain't got no use for him."

"Maybe it's me He ain't got no use for no more."

She sniffles quietly, neck beginning to ache from having her head bowed for so long. She's tired -- so tired -- and weak and cold and ... lost.

She's lost her faith.

(She's lost herself.)

"Then He's foolish, not knowin' what He's loosin'."

Doc carefully pulls back and tries to lift her chin with his hand, to encourage her to look at him.

"I love you. And m'always gonna be here. I know I ain't on comparison t'God himself, don't claim t'be, but I hope it counts for somethin'."

She doesn't fight him as her stiff neck slowly straightens, his rough fingers like sandpaper against her inflamed skin. But she just can't look at him; she just can't face him.

She squeezes her eyes shut, eyelashes wet and clumping together, and turns her head away from him.

"Y'should lie down," he says. "Or you ain't gonna be able t'move in the mornin'."

It's not like he intends to let her get up early, either. Sleeping in, and some real food for breakfast. She looks so damn weak it scares him.

She shakes her head numbly. She doesn't want to move. She doesn't think she could, even if she wanted to.

But still, she manages to speak despite the rawness in her throat.

"Thank you. For comin' back."

He won't hesitate to carry her to bed if she continues to protest.

"I always will."

Somehow, come hell or high water -- or both -- he will always make it back to her.

She swallows hard, letting out a long, shuddering breath. She slowly leans forward until her hands are pressed flat against the hardwood, supporting the majority of her weight. Her arms are shaking.

Roz stands up and stretches, taking this as invitation enough. He starts winding his way in and out between her arms, his tail tickling her face as he struts by.

Kate's far from relaxed or calm, but despite the fog in her brain and the ache in her heart, she manages a small, weak smile.

The smile helps to ease his nerves a bit, as he shifts on the floor to sit beside her, his hand rubbing over the muscles on her back.

"Probably thinks y'want t'nuzzle him."

Whether or not she does, Roz doesn't intend on being deterred. After about his fourth or fifth rotation, he looks up at her with wide expectant eyes and gets on his hind legs, to butt her chin with his little fuzzy head.

She sniffles, and laughs softly, but the sound is so broken it's barely distinguishable as her laugh.

"I don't know if I can right now."

"M'sure he would settle for just curlin' up beside y'in bed, helping keep y'warm."

Goldie -- who has been curled up on the bed, all this time -- yawns lazily before tucking his nose under his tail and returning to sleep. Let Roz cause all the trouble -- he has a warm quilt to keep company.

She shakes her head slowly.

"I can't. Can't stay. Not after everythin'..."

"I can be quiet. Y'wont even know I'm here."

Unless you want to.

He's not going to take no for an answer. If she doesn't want to stay in his room, then they'll go to hers. If she doesn't want to share a bed, then they wont.

Both rooms have couches.

And ample floor space.

She shakes her head again -- helplessly, because that's not what she meant, but she can't force the words she wants to say.

I don't know how to be with you without thinking about it, right now. I don't know how to forgive myself. I don't know how I can stop it from happening again. Oh, god, what if it happens again?

Her fingers press hard into the floor, knuckles and nails white (even against the already wan pallor of her flesh).

"Darlin'..."

He bites the inside of his cheek as he debates exactly how to word what he's trying to say. In the end, he settles for simple.

"I'm worried 'bout you, and I don't want you t'be alone. You look so tired n'weak, I don't think y'can barely stand, let alone walk upstairs."

She continues to sniffle quietly.

She's filthy -- at least she feels it, whiskey leaking out of her pores in cold sweats, dirt and grime leftover from her chores in the stables clinging to her clothes -- and all she really wants to do is wash up and go to bed.

Will I dream again? Will I see his face?

"I didn't mean for it t'happen like this."

She feels rooted to the floor, almost terrified to leave because if she does, she'll have nothing to keep her from withering up and dying.

"What matters now is makin' sure you git some rest."

Doc reaches for her arms.

"Let me help you?"

"I can't..."

Another slow shake of her head.

"Can't what?"

First step: Identify the problem.

Can't move.

Can't stay.

Can't do anything right.

Can't change the things she's done.

Can't say no to you.

Her head is still shaking, side to side.

"...Can't..."

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