ikissdhimbck | AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt

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AU: Western Texas - Gene Hunt - 1888

**NOTE: This is part of a plot arc that was meant to occur in Milliways over the Spring/Summer of 2011 in Bar Time. It has since become an AU, and should be treated as a standalone plot not associated with any game, and not fitting into Kate's continuity.**

A door opens out of thin air, admitting a pair of riders. The gentleman in proper Victorian dress astride a perlino gelding is the first to ride out, followed not long after by the woman on the starred bay. It's late April, and Texas lays open on every side of them. Behind them, to the north, is a low rolling mountain range leading to Kenedy; descending ahead is desert plain, pocked with scruff and scraggly trees. Some ways off to their left are train tracks.

It's midday. The sun is hot, but despite being a little muggy the air is withstandably balmy. It's just the way Kate left it when last she was here. She can even see the dust clouds Beaut kicked up still settling behind them. They're just south of Beeville now, and likely there ain't anybody from Kenedy still chasing after her.

She combs a few renegades from her messy braid back behind her ears, and sets her hat down on her head to ward off the winking sun. Glancing at Gene from the corner of her eye, she just manages to bite back a smirk.

"Home sweet home."

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She makes a show of shrugging noncommittally, returning her focus to their course. But the smile stays firmly in place.

"No rush."

She glances over her shoulder.

"Should be nothin' but dust an' sky for miles. Not countin' the odd jackrabbit."

Or rattlesnake. Or scorpion. Or yellow-spotted lizard.

"Speakin' of which, Gene, stay far an' away from any critter you ain't familiar with, all right?"

'Define 'critter'.'

He looks vaguely alarmed. Gene does not mix all that well with animals.

Pardon the chuckle that rumbles from the back of her throat.

"Anythin' that hisses or snaps at you."

His eyes snap forward.

'Righ'.'

Of course, he knows that the desert houses all kinds of snakes and whatnot. Everyone knows that. It's just that it's a bit different when they're on a screen, or in a book. When one might actually be near you...yeah. Bit different.

And of course, there are many he's 'not familiar with'. Just about all of them.

"Don't look so worried."

She smirks at him sidelong.

"You're a fair shot."

'Fair? Fair!?'

Rude!

He reminds himself to always check his gun's loaded. It's more important here than at home, clearly.

The horses nicker, and Beaut pins her ears back and wags her head.

Kate, on the other hand, is laughing. She's purposely deviling him; it don't usually take so much to get a rise out of Gene. This subdued awe of his is near to unsettling.

"All right then, hotshot. You can snag us dinner tonight," she grins. "C'mon, now. Don't tell me y'spent all that time out back complainin' on how you wanted a real ride just so's you could get out to the long lonely stretches and clam up!"

Kate's just itching to kick up some dust.

'Who's clammin' up? I was just lookin' at it.'

His look at her is disapproving but yeah, OK, now isn't the time to turn into a ponce. Sounds like there'll be plenty of landscape to look at anyway.

'Didn' you bring any food with you?'

He wanted to bring some Curly-Wurly's, but realised they'd just melt. Shame. He may have a few cans of Heinz's finest with him though; he even remembered to take the label off. They may not pass as beans circa. 1888, but he likes knowing they're there all the same.

He might be pleasantly surprised the first town they ride through with a decent general store. Or perhaps he won't; but at least that sweet tooth of his won't go without.

Kate doesn't answer his question with much other than a cat-who-ate-the-canary grin. She reckons he'll figure things out as he goes.

He'll believe it when he sees it. As it is, he answers her grin with a dour look, and puts his heels to Concession.

'C'mon then! Now who's dawdling?'

Not anticipating the command, Concession gives a little kick as he takes off down the path.

"Jus' appreciatin' the view."

Kate grins and clucks her tongue, urging Beaut into gallop with a 'yah!'

They're beyond the hottest part of the day, but the air is still wet. It's akin to being slapped in the face with a used rag as they ride, but with the air moving it ain't so unpleasant.

And this is the way to see Texas: dirt swirling around the horse's hooves and leaving clouds behind them; a limitless blue sky spread out in a dare, a taunt, you'll never reach the horizon no matter how hard you ride; the beat of the earth pounding in your chest like a dual heartbeat.

He's not as ued to Concession as he is Duncan; he wasn't expecting him to kick out and it kind of throws him off balance for a bit. But he regains his balance, takes a firm grip with his knees and then...

...and then, he really knows why he's been staring at this landsape since he was a kid. Because really being here, riding like this, hell, even dressed like this - this is real. It's not a fantasy, or him calling himself the Sheriff, or watching a movie. It's real, and he can't stop the grin on his face, or the swell of excitement boiling up through him that he hasn't felt in more years than he can remember.

She knows he's okay once he starts grinning. Still, as she comes up beside him, she can't help but shout:

"What'd I tell you 'bout keepin' an easy hand with him?"

She looks stern — for all of a second — and then hoots with laughter, pushing Beaut on ahead because she can. The bay mare slices a purposely showy zigzag, and then shoots off to the west. If Gene keeps lightly on the reins, Concession should naturally follow.

'Oh, don' be a nancy!' he yells right back, and then very nearly falls off when the horse veers to follow Beaut.

'Bloody animal,' gets lost to the wind, but he kicks him again anyway to make sure he at least keeps up with her. Overtaking would be better, if stupid seeing as he has no idea where they're going.

But it doesn't matter anyway. He could ride like this forever. Getting lost doesn't worry him.

The insult loses a little ferocity when it's shouted at a woman who, for better or worse, doesn't know to take it as such.

All Kate has ever wanted to do her whole life is ride like this forever. She lives for it. But, of course, horses have limits same as anybody, and she does let Gene catch up to her (and just barely overtake her — he's living the dream, she can give him that much), before a more respectable pace is set for the rest of the ride.

Their changed course sends them right past Mineral City, well before nightfall. They can ride on for a good few hours yet, but it wouldn't hurt to stop and let the horses rest. The town is named for the water, after all. It's said to have mysterious healing properties, which local folk take fairly seriously if the traveling tents set up all along the town borders are any indication.

The tents get a curious look from him, though he doesn't ask until they've passed a good many of them.

'Wha's all this about, then? Somethin' goin' on here I should know about?'

He's surprised to find that he actually feels a bit nervous as they get closer to the town proper. Interacting with these people is a whole other level of reality. He's also acutely aware of the money he's carrying - exchange rates at the Bar were favourable even for 1973 cash. If watching Westerns has taught him anything, it's that some bastard's always going to try and steal your loot.

"Jus' remember what we talked about."

What little talking they did.

Kate adjusts her hat, pulling the brim low over her eyes as she quietly surveys the town. The name is tooled in proud block letters above the door of a schoolhouse. There's a drugstore, a gristmill — even a decent-looking hotel named the Sanford. She peers in every window, looking for wanted posters at the local post office, sitting stiff in the saddle until she's sure there won't be trouble.

"Mineral City. S'a ... lil' spit of a place. If I recall rightly, the water here's supposed t'have healin' properties."

There are troughs out in front of the Sanford Hotel, where Kate slowly directs them.

He rolls his eyes at her nagging, and follows where she aims Beaut. He's glad Concession seems to want a drink and isn't giving him trouble, because it lets him look around again.

His first real Western town. And it looks exactly like he thought it would. Dusty, and wooden. Horse shit here and there, and every bloke's dressed more or less like him. He runs his tongue over dry lips, and reaches for his hip flask.

'We stoppin' here, there?'

He's dying for a fag, but he remembers as he automatically goes for them, that he can't.

'I need fags.'

It's ideal in that the town is already used to people riding in and out from all over. If they play their cards right, no one will even bat an eye.

"S'early. We can let the horses rest a spell an' continue on, or if things look agreeable take a peek inside," she says, nodding over her shoulder to the hotel entrance. "Might be easier on you, snaggin' us dinner, if y'find it in a hotel rather'n out on the range."

She winks, resettling her guns on her hips as she dismounts. She squints through the dust motes to the other side of the street where the apothecary is.

"Sure we can manage t'find you some tobacco, 'fore you go on and waste away on me."

Gene sends a look at her immediately.

'Easier on me. Do I bloody look like I need anyone t'go easy on me?'

That really is offensive. He's Gene Hunt, for God's sake.

Mind you, he is hungry. And his expression turns rather sly as he looks at her.

'Wouldn' do t'waste away, though. Might need t'keep me energy up, eh?'

Edited 2011-05-09 00:31 (UTC)

Her voice drops into an immediately stern hiss.

"You mind your tongue 'round here, Mr. Hunt. An' if we need board there will be two rooms, thank you."

Her cheeks color, nonetheless.

She holds herself back from leading the way across the street, keeping a demure pace at Gene's side. But hell if she'll keep quiet and let him do the talking for her once they're inside the stores.

Ah yes. The old 'I'm in charge' thing. Gene purses his lips and just looks at her evenly, processing. He'd agreed to it even though it didn't sit right - this is her world, after all, and he doesn't want to muck things up for her.

But God, that wasn't even a decent suggestive remark. Is she going to be that uptight the whole time?

'I never said anythin' different, did I?' he murmurs back. They're 'business associates'. He knows it has to be two rooms. He was only joking.

Y'know. Sort of.

He's thoughtful as they cross the street. It had never occurred to him that it might be so awkward, watching every word and being talked to like that by a woman. He took orders from people for years - in the Army, and then his superior officers in the force - he still does, occasionally. But it's different coming from her, especially with the promise of what's coming between them. Unless she's changed her mind again.

He holds the door open for her nonetheless. With a polite smile as well.

It's only a little bit sarcastic.

She hadn't really anticipated he'd listen. As they cross the boardwalk in noticeable silence, she sizes him up from the corner of her eye.

Her answering curtsy when he opens the door, too, isn't in the least salty.

This will be interesting.

"Howdy."

"Good afternoon," says Kate, her voice soft and prim. The shopkeeper is a round-faced man with rosy complexion and a drastically receding hairline. He speaks in a thick Texas drawl. "The gentleman would like to purchase some tobacco."

"Chewin', pipe, papers 'r cigar?" the man grins. "We got Long Nines, Pastes, Twofers, Half Spanish..."

Kate tugs off her gloves and glances up at Gene while the shopkeeper rambles on.

'I'm not smokin' a pipe,' he says eventually, cutting off the man's rambling when it gets to a point where he can no longer understand what he's saying.

'An' I hate that chewin' shite. Papers'll do. An' some cigars too.'

Damnit, he can't remember what they were all called. But he does know one brand from this time, something he read in an old magazine about cigars being two for a cent.

'Twofers. I'll have...twenty.'

Should keep him going. And if they taste like shit, he can just toss them. He's not going to cry over ten cents.

'And tobacco. To go in the papers.'

Years, years since he smoked rollies. He's willing to bet they don't sell Drum here neither.

He is very resolutely not looking at Kate through all of this.

Edited 2011-05-09 01:35 (UTC)

Kate will just be over here, admiring a few finely tooled snuffboxes.

The shopkeeper is momentarily taken aback by Gene's distinct out-of-town dialect. And then again when he places an order for twenty cigars.

"You two jus' ride in from somewhere?"

"East Texas," Kate offers, helpfully. She discretely brushes the side of her nose to hide her amused smile.

"...Right. Ah, how much tobacco will that be, sir?"

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