ikissdhimbck | AU: Oakville, Texas; for Gene Hunt.

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AU: Oakville, Texas; for Gene Hunt.

**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.**

It's still dark outside when Kate wakes. The room is bathed in warm lamplight from the oil that was left burning overnight, but through the window she can see the first hint of dawn.

It's not the first thing she sees. She finds herself pressed to a warm body, naked and masculine, and feels totally disoriented. For the briefest, cruelest second she believes she's with Doc, his scarred arms wrapped around her middle; and then the heat of the room registers, thick and heavy, and she's brought back to Texas.

Back to Gene.

She blinks slowly, butterfly kisses against his breast, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Her mind is trapped in a haze of sticky dreams and clutching memories, unable to shake them even as the wheels start going. She tips her head back, and watches him sleep.

It seems like hours later, but really it's only a matter of minutes when she shifts away from him. She's taking care not to wake him at first, but the moment she moves her legs — good god, is she sore.

How she manages to get out of bed without waking him is a mystery. How she manages to quietly get dressed when every inch of her feels like it's been crushed by a boulder is another honest mystery. At least he's a heavy sleeper, and by the time she's snuffed out the lamp and rid the room of every last trace of her, light is starting to turn yellow while he slumbers on.

She gets to her room without anybody noticing, but doesn't stay long. She's in desperate need of a long, hot bath. She changes clothes, uses the basin and a small chunk of soap to try and mask the smell of sex, tidies her hair and goes downstairs to see the innkeeper.

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He turns to her before going over. He knows she's going to disapprove but hell, she was the one who insisted they come out here.

'Back in a minute,' he says, like this is all perfectly routine, and wanders over to the judge.

The kid gets a nod, and he offers his hand to Parker.

'Don' worry. I was a copper, back in England. I know what I'm doin'.'

"Were you now?" asks the judge, shaking Gene's hand. "And what is it you're doin' here, in Texas?"

Crap. What is it he's supposed to be doing here?

'...we're goin' t'pick up some cattle.'

He shrugs, self-deprecatingly, like it'll stave off too many awkward questions.

'Not much opportunity for profit back home, so I came out here. Don' mean I won't catch any bastards that cross my path on the way, though.'

"A cattleman?"

"Sold his soul for the almighty dollar," whoops one of the other volunteers.

"That's fine by me, boys," Judge Parker says. "We can use all the cattlemen we can get. You're a rustler, I take it?"

He nods in Kate's direction, a small smile curling his lips.

"No offense, but I'd say she's more the brains than the brawn just by first look."

"Could be both!"

A laugh works its way through the men.

"No, Miss Katherine's soft," says the young Mr. Cooper, who immediately grows antsy and nervously eyes Gene. "Th-that is her name, ain't it?"

He raises his eyebrows at the judge, but says nothing. If that's what he wants to think, then fine by him. He quite enjoys it when people underestimate him, and he didn't volunteer for this gang to impress anyone.

As for the others, they just get a tight sort of smile. The sort that says, I can take a joke, but don't push your luck.

'A rustler. Aye.'

And then his eyes fall on young Cooper.

'Yeah, that's her name. But if you think she's soft, you're dumber'n you look. She broke the nose of some bastard that was hasslin' her yesterday, even though he had two of his mates in on it as well.'

"Who's been hasslin' Miss Katherine?"

Judge Parker spreads his arm out in front of the indignant Mr. Cooper.

"Let's try an' keep our focus on the matter at hand, shall we? Mr. McCormick, if you would?"

The wounded man nods, shifts his good leg under him, and addresses the group.

"There's at least three'a them. Three that I could see, but I'd reckon, more like, there's five'r six. Couldn't see their faces, but they had irons, an' they made off with 'bout forty of my best steers."

"They rode west outta town," Mr. Cooper supplies. "Southwest. I would'a chased after 'em, but Mr. McCormick..."

"Has told'ja on multiple occasions not t'be impulsive, boy."

He lifts a hand, blackened with dirt and dried blood, and ruffles the boy's dusty hair.

"Five'r six'll mean there's as many of them as there are of us," mutters one of the crowd.

Gene shoots the young fella a black look. He's clearly going to have to have words with him. But for now, yeah. Focus.

'What are you, a girl?' he says to the mutterer, then looks at the Judge.

'So you're assumin' they'll come back an' steal more here? If so, this shouldn' be difficult. This place ain' big enough for strangers to go unnoticed, not if they're flittin' in an' out when the robberies happen. If you reckon it's blokes from here, then someone knows somethin', an' we just have to pick the right people t'ask.'

Then he looks at McCormick.

'Was one of 'em wearin' black?'

It's not as if he doesn't police on his hunches, eighty per cent of the time. Though he knows there have to be a lot of bastards around this place, he might as well start with the one he knows is capable of the sort of violence in front of him.

Gene's not making many friends with his way of talk. The man whose gender he just questioned sours, shooting him a glare so dark it could blot out the sun. He spits at his feet. The rest of the group is quiet a moment, including Mr. Cooper, who looks stricken by the expression on Gene's face.

Mr. McCormick wheezes, and the chuckle works its way through the whole gathering.

"Black? Mister, they were all wearin' black."

Gene's used to not making friends with his way of talking. He doesn't care back home, and he doesn't care here. He just rolls his eyes when they laugh, and sticks his thumbs in his belt-loops.

'G'on then, laugh. An' then let's hear a brilliant plan from one of you as t'how we catch 'em.'

If they were all wearing black, stands to reason that Suspect No. 1 - in his head - could easily have been one of them. But he'll keep it to himself. Or...almost to himself. He eyes young Cooper. The kid reminds him of Chris. Probably useless, but maybe not a bad foot-soldier.

"I don't mean no disrespect — "

"And it was awful dark," Mr. Cooper adds, though he takes note of Gene's pointed look. "They was wearin' masks."

"Are we ridin' out after 'em, Judge? Or hopin' they come back 'round an' don't kill a body this time?"

At this point, the deputy Judge Parker pointed out earlier steps in. His posture mirrors that of Gene's, though he's a shade or two younger and dark-skinned from the hot sun.

"A little'a both, Emmett. I mean to split you boys up so you can be my eyes. We rustle these boys without figurin' out where they're hidin' the stock they stole, assumin' they ain't killed or sold it off already, well, that's a whole lot of lost profit. But it seems to me we need some extra men on the yards to do what the soldiers ain't."

He eyes Gene calmly, tipping the brim of his hat just enough so he can get a good look at the whole man.

"You know cattle, an' you know outlaws. Congratulations, you've been promoted — or will be, once Judge Eugene deputizes you. I'll have you in charge of things here while I take the boy out to scout."

His face sets firm, into something like a scowl. He nods, curtly, as though this is nothing more than should happen, and he approves of the man's decision.

Of course, he's really just fighting a grin. Right up until the bloke says you know cattle..., and then his inner glee shuts up abruptly. Ahaha. Right.

He only knows one end of a cow from the other because one has eyes. More than that, he's useless.

'Soun's alright,' is what he says, and turns to run his gaze over the assorted volunteers. A sorry bunch, but he is nothing if not experienced at sticking a rocket up people's arses, and making them perform. 'And don' worry about findin' the animals. We catch whose behind it, they'll tell me where they're stashed.'

He's got no worries on that score. Mainly, his thoughts are now turning to whether or not he gets a badge. He wants a badge.

His declaration seems to amuse the deputy, whose sea green eyes grin beneath a pair of shaggy eyebrows. He extends a rough hand.

"Carl Hodgins."

No introductions are necessary with the other boys, as they're all townsfolk and familiar with the deputy. He lifts his hat and runs a hand through sandy, sweaty hair, using the brim as a fan while he settles the details among the boys. Once everyone knows where they're going and what they're doing, he begs his leave.

"You can find me in the sheriff's office."

"Well now," says the judge. "You boys follow me, and we'll see about swearin' you in."

He shakes the hand firmly.

'Gene Hunt.'

And while instructions are being given, he looks around to see if Kate's around. It crosses his mind that she's going to be pissed, but hell, she'll have to understand. And anyway, he's got a responsibility now. He can't run out on it.

When then judge moves off, he waits while the others pass. He's just fixing their faces in his head. He also doesn't like following anyone around like a sheep, and this is as good a time as any to make sure they see him, and know who's boss. He only moves once he can bring up the rear; his head turns, and if she's still standing there, she'll no doubt see his smile.

She's right where he left her, head down and arms crossed, leaning against a post. She's trying to attract as little attention as possible as she listens in, her expression bereft of all emotion.

(She sees that ridiculous grin on his face, too, and it almost gets a laugh out of her. Almost.)

She moves to the yard after Gene disappears inside the courthouse and waits against a tree. Not the one they were hanging men from when they first rode in; but she's got a good view of the towering old oak, overgrown in twisted hemp cords. Her eyes flick to the wooden gallery on one side of the courthouse, and not even the heavy April air can ward off the chill that races down her spine.

Gene better not be long.

He's not. All he had to do was put his hand on a Bible, take an oath and then he was handed a badge. A shiny, silver Deputy badge that is clutched tight in his hand as he walks out into the sun, and over to her.

As predicted, she doesn't look happy. He stops in front of her, hooks a thumb in his watch-pocket, then sniffs and looks away.

'If you're gonna start shoutin', wait 'til we're back inside, yeah?'

He leaves footprints in the dirt where the grass ain't growing. She keeps her eyes on them for a time, hugging her arms lightly and looking to the outside observer as relaxed as you please.

When she tips her head back enough to make eye contact with Gene, her cold blue eyes betray how very tense she actually is.

She stares at him silently.

(It's expressions like these that make her reputation as a killer seem less far-fetched.)

"Idgit."

She straightens, and starts walking off without any further commentary.

He doesn't move. Just pouts heavily for a moment, staring at the spot where she stood, more contemplative than annoyed. Then he clicks his tongue, and turns his head to watch her walk.

Well. She'll just have to understand. It can't be undone now. So he walks on after her; when his long stride brings him up level with her, he says nothing, and just escorts her back to the hotel in silence.

"Fool."

It's hard to say if she's talking to him, or only muttering to herself as he comes up level with her again. She allows the silent company however, not saying another word until they're back inside and up the stairs.

"Hard-headed..."

She's putting key to her lock, not caring so much if anyone sees him follow her in. Anyone paying half an eye can plainly see how hot she is, and if that's not enough to ward off suspicion then she can't rightly be bothered. She marches inside and pulls off her hat, turning on her heel to face him as he enters.

"...Maniac."

Edited 2011-07-31 19:01 (UTC)

OK, this is pretty much what he was expecting. But he doesn't get exactly why. So he closes the door and leans his back on it, tipping his hat so it's not over his eyes. The badge is still in his hand.

'Wha's the problem, exactly?'

"Is this how y'help keep a low profile?"

She can't even be genuinely angry about that. Going anywhere with Gene is like walking into a china shop with a horny raging bull. She should have seen this coming.

It doesn't mean she's going to let him off the hook for making things difficult, however.

He shrugs a shoulder, eyeing her down his nose. So yeah, it's not exactly keeping his head down, but he couldn't help it.

'Can't see the harm.'

Not that he thought of any potential harm.

'This ain' a big place. No one'll notice.'

She just stares at him.

"Can't see the harm?"

He really can't be serious, can he? He just ... he can't.

"Y'don't think anyone'll notice when they get you out there an' realize you don't know the first thing 'bout cattle?"

Oh. That.

'I know what they look like. Don' see what else I'll have t'do with 'em. Find out where they're bein' kept, send some of the lads out t'find 'em. No bother.'

She touches her temples.

"Stupid, stupid — "

She cuts herself off and forces down a calming breath. Getting angry isn't going to help matters a lick right now.

"They want you on the stockyards. You're gonna hafta know how t'herd 'em. Rope an' wrangle 'em. Didja even look at the other volunteers? I doubt half of 'em even know how t'ride."

Not the way Kate rides, anyhow.

'Why?'

He casually pulls his fags out, and lights one up.

'He put me in charge of 'em here in town. I can jus' tell 'em what t'do.'

Can't he?

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