ikissdhimbck | OOM sorta: Milliways Stables, early (early) morning

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OOM sorta: Milliways Stables, early (early) morning

There's a bite in the air this morning. It's not terribly cold, but it's just cool enough to set a fine, chilly mist about the hard earth outside the stables, warranting blankets to be thrown over the horses left outside last night, and the hands of the sole person on the grounds that morning to bury themselves a little deeper into her coat. It's hardly a winter coat, but it's long and warm (and deep red in color), which makes it just enough to ward off the chilly air.

It's only just barely light out, a gray filter turning the whole landscape to twilight and shadow. Much too early for any stable hand to be about their business just yet. But the woman there now, milling about the stalls, visiting horse after horse, is looking to find one stable hand in particular, and she wasn't sleeping anyway. She'd rather wait out here than inside the bar. At least out here she could breathe.

(A little.)

Once the sun rises a bit more and the ground starts to heat, whoever comes by to begin their morning chores will find her about three stalls in from the main entrance, feeding oats to a (rather content-looking) Bay. Her face is somber, but her hands are light and loving as they stroke the animal.

.

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"I wasn't."

It comes out easy, but it doesn't sound rehearsed.

Doc shakes his head and looks down at his hands as he speaks. "I wasn't thinking, because I was scared," it's not so hard to admit, now. "I should have told you. Any other man worth his salt would have told you. You would have understood, least I think," he glances up at her. "I think you would have understood."

His eyes stay on hers.

"I was stupid," he continues. "I should have told you everything, I just didn't know how to say it without losin' you."

And look how far that got him.

She knows he's searching her out for an answer. Those gray-green eyes of his, the ones that remind her so much of Green Lake, are focused and imploring, and she doesn't know what to tell him. She... doesn't know if she would have understood or not.

"I would have never allowed myself to get so close to you, if I'd known you had a family," she says quietly, because at least that much is true. It's not regret in her voice, however. No matter how much she wishes it could be.

She shakes her head sadly, looking away from his eyes. His last statement wrecks her.

"Doc. How could you ever have me in the first place, if I never knew who you were?"

The question is heartbreaking.

You fix this, Doc.

Maybe not completely, Doc.

"I was going to tell you."

Doc means that. He was. He wasn't sure how but he was going to tell her. Someday. Eventually. Somehow.

"I know what I did was wrong," he continues. "I messed us up good, by not tellin' you the truth. But I'm not going to lie to you any more. Anything you want to know, I'll tell you, honest to God on the bible truth, Katherine. I just don't know where to start."

Start at the beginning.

"I don't deserve another chance, I know that. I'm not expectin' one either."

She presses her hands against her face, gently scrubbing at her eyes with her fingers, and stands abruptly.

She doesn't walk far; she just has to move. And, as much as it breaks her heart to admit it, she just has to look away from him.

Truth.

Not gonna lie anymore.

Anything you want to know.

"Do you love your wife?"

It seems like the most important question right now.

For a brief moment, he's quiet.

Truth.

"I always will."

He might notice her shoulders tense ever-so-slightly before she nods.

"And how far were you willing to take 'us', if you didn't... if things hadn't turned out the way they did?"

"What do you mean by that?"

Doc clarifies the question.

"Do you mean if I had made it back to New York and everything was just how I left it, or do you mean if I had never made it back to New York?"

Katherine turns to him again, the expression on her face a little hopeless.

"Pick one," she sighs.

"How about both?"

Doc sighs and looks down at the ground again.

"If I had made it back to New York and they were still waiting for me, I would have had to tell her that I wasn't dead, and explain why. We would have had to move. Probably to Mexico, or maybe up to Canada. That's no life for a lady and a little boy. To be honest, Katherine? I was never...I was never supposed to make it back to New York. I know it sounds crazy, but I know it's true."

It hurts like hell.

"That doesn't change the fact that I should have told you. My plan...I didn't really have a plan. The only reason I went back to New York was because I wanted to make sure they were alright before I left for good. I never got a chance to say goodbye to them the day I was arrested."

She doesn't know what to say.

She honestly just doesn't know what to say to that.

She's staring at him, unblinking, trying to wrap her brain around the entire concept, but she just can't...

"I don't understand," she breathes, running her fingers up into her hair. She knots her fingers around two fistfuls, and pulls lightly, frustrated tears pricking her eyes.

It sounds more than just crazy. It just doesn't make sense. She can't make sense of a world that would separate a man from his wife and his son.

And, she can't make sense of a man who seems so ready to accept that.

"I just don't understand!" She's shaking her head as she whispers once more.

It has been a long time (for her) since she's been back here.

And maybe it hasn't been such a long time, here in the bar, but he's had plenty of time to think about this. Even though he knows in his heart his mind was made up.

I can't do this.

I gotta get back home.

Doc watches her as she stands there, looking like he's tearing her apart. Again. He has to fix this he has to make it right. He swallows and then stands up himself.

"Kate, you deserve better than me but the truth is that I love you and I want to fix this. Us. However I can." A brief pause. "I know that's asking for a lot. And if you...if you can't right now...I don't blame you."

"You love me?" she repeats, hands still in her hair.

She pulls them free and covers her mouth, whispering into her palms:

"You love me?"

"Doc--" Now her fingers are threading behind her neck, because she can't seem to keep her hands still. "--I know I'm young, and I ain't never--"

--Hands at her forehead, rubbing lightly, and she takes three paces away from him and five paces back.

"How can you fall in love with me when you're married to a woman you claim you love? How?"

There's a lot in her bright blue eyes: guilt, and fear, and wariness, and of course a fair share of tears, brimming and threatening to fall.

"I don't know how to explain it other than to tell you that what I'm feelin' in my heart ain't lust, Kate. I've..."

I've been with other women that ain't love, they're nothin' but lust.

"I know what lust is and I know what love is, and Kate, this ain't...this ain't lust."

Not completely.

"I'm in love with you. I'll always have a spot in my heart for her but I'm in love with you. I just...I am."

He wants so badly to hold her close.

And the first of those tears spills over the edge of her lids as she blinks at him, arms wrapped around herself in a poor imitation of how she wishes he would just wrap her up right now and assure her everything will be okay.

She feels colder than ever, even though the temperature outside is gradually starting to rise. Her own arms provide little for comfort, so she shivers.

She bows her head, partially because she's ashamed of those renegade tears, but mostly because she can't look at him when she opens her mouth to speak.

"I don't know if I can trust you, Doc."

Her arms cinch tighter.

Sadly:

"I know."

Then he closes the gap between them, and tentatively puts one hand on her elbow. If she pulls away from him he won't press the issue (at least not for another moment) but he's praying to God she doesn't.

"I know, Kate."

A firm swallow, as he gets his wits about him.

"I'm gonna do everythin' in my power to prove that you can, though."

She does consider it, part of her still wanting to rage at him for everything that's happened, but Katherine does not pull away.

She might even, oh-so-carefully, lean into the touch.

"That so?" she murmurs softly, under the thick blanket of tears in her voice.

His throat feels tight before he can stop it from closing up, he's not sure why but his eyes sting hot and his vision blurs a moment as he steps closer and pulls her to him.

"Yeah."

It's a whisper, rough and low, and desperate and relief.

And she's surprised when suddenly her face is buried in the soft flannel of his jacket, his arms around her, and the familiar warmth of his skin is again near her own.

She can feel the burn of tears blazing down her cheeks and soaking into the fabric of Doc's jacket, and it's only with a great feat of strength she's able to repress a choked sob.

"That's not playin' fair."

She can only barely whisper, for fear she might break into hysterics trying anything louder.

But if Doc is curious as to whether this means she wants him to let go of her, she quickly answers that by slowly and cautiously bringing her arms around his back, and burying her face a little deeper into his chest.

His hands slowly settle on her body, one on her back and the other gently against one of her shoulder blades, she's so small but just fits against him, and his breath is shaky as he speaks.

"I'm sorry."

Whether he is apologizing for his voice being so broken and desperate or apologizing for everything --

all of it I'm so damn sorry

-- it's not certain but it doesn't matter.

"Never," he whispers, voice still ragged (and his cheeks are hot and there's dampness around his eyes) "Never gonna lie t'you again, Kate, swear to God."

Edited 2008-09-16 07:38 (UTC)

It takes a little while for her to regain some composure. More than once she has to hold her breath, willing her tears at bay. There is a damp spot on Doc's lapel that she feels guilty for, but she was unwilling to lift her head and let him see her like this until she had a little more control over her tears.

She pulls back, just far enough to allow room for her arms to settle between them, and sniffles a little. She could rest her forehead against his chin at this angle, but she doesn't. She carefully lifts an arm instead and begins brushing the tears from his face with a gentle thumb.

"You should be."

Her voice is quiet, but firm, and carries in it the undeniable fact that she's still not pleased with him.

But they'll have to take it one step at a time. There is still so much left they have to talk about before the air will be clear between them.

"And if you ever lie to me again, Josiah, you can be sure you will be," she adds, her voice low and dangerous.

"I'm well aware of that," he promises, as he swallows and then blinks rapidly to clear his vision, swallowing down the thick feeling in his throat before he offers her a bare hint of a smile. "Thank you."

For the chance to prove himself.

For the chance to hold her again.

For the fact that she didn't pull away.

For the fact that she came back.

He clears his throat quietly, then nods. "I reckon we got more t'talk about," he says quietly. "If you want to, of course. I should feed the horses and then maybe we can talk upstairs?"

She peers at him seriously for a good long minute before she nods.

"Good."

She gently brushes at what's left of his tears, lips twitching into a tiny smile to match his.

"We do have more to talk about," she nods seriously, considering his offer. "Why don't I help you here, then we can go wherever you like to finish this?"

He should already know from times past that he can't dissuade her from helping him, so she's already unbuttoning her long jacket before he has a chance to say a word.

That bare smile grows just a bit.

"Besides, it will afford me the opportunity to make sure you're not overfeeding your stock too much."

"I'll call that a fair shake," he admits, and he knows better than to protest so he just nods, before he turns, rubbing a hand over his face to wake himself up and clear his mind.

"Corella's carryin' a foal," he adds, in regards to the palomino mare that's watching him as he walks. "She can have whatever she pleases as far as I'm concerned."

Doc then smiles and moves to the desk, taking the gloves out of his pocket and pulling them on, and taking a quick drink of the coffee before he sets it down and then ducks into the room full of feed to grab a bucket.

She hangs her coat on the back of his desk chair, pulling soft leather gloves from one of the pockets.

A nod; "I noticed. She seems fairly well along," she comments, eyes at her hands as she stretches cool leather over warm fingers. "Disposition's not all that bad, though, considering."

She's alone for a brief moment as he ducks out of the room, and her eyes go toward the strange white... glass?

When he reemerges, she inclines a hand toward the coffee cup.

"What is that?"

"Coffee. It's a...Bar told me what it was. Foam somethin'. It keeps it warm longer. Styrofoam, that's it, what the cup's made out of, plus the lid makes it easier to drink while you're walkin'."

Doc sets the bucket down.

"I've gotta pull some more hay down," he nods his head upwards towards the loft above the stalls. "Come fall and winter I start throwin' some out at the edge of the paddock, got a feedin' station for some of the animals that live out in the woods year round. Would you mind takin' care of the grain while I do that?"

He's already heading for the ladder, knowing she won't.

She nods, an all business expression on her face, as he starts to ascend the ladder.

"Think I can handle that."

Before she sets to it, however, she examines the styrofoam cup.

Foam? Honestly?

It's just barely warm against her gloved fingers, which surprises her. She wonders why it doesn't melt.

There's a telltale bitter scent to the otherwise rich aroma, so she carefully pops off the lid (~~because the tiny spout intimidates her, just a bit~~) and takes a deep breath.

And a small sip.

And her jaw sets, ever-so-unhappily, as she busies herself with the grain, coffee abandoned just as she had found it.

Doc grabs the hooks off the wall and it's not long (or difficult, even if his arm protests a little bit) before he's carefully tossed a few bales of down into the center aisle, and after that he climbs back down the ladder.

He pauses to shed his jacket and down another swallow of the coffee, before he hooks one of the bales and drags it outside.

It's not long before he's returned (minus the bale), and the hooks are used to drag the others up against a wall. He cuts one open and tosses a few flakes of hay into each feeder, following along her path.

"How long've you been back?"

She glances up as she scoops grain into each feeder, (and, despite all her earlier jabs at Doc, she's generous in the portions she doles out).

"I... just got in. Last night."

She hasn't slept much since then.

"And how long has it been since...?"

She doesn't finish the sentence, but her eyes are scanning over his torso, leg, and arm, and the look in her eyes completely gives her away.

"'Bout three weeks since I got back."

About two since you left.

(Not like he's been keeping track, or anything.)

The slight hitch in his step is gone, and he's not doing anything that would give away any appearance of pain in his stomach or arm, so for all she knows he's healed up nicely.

"Been workin' hard, gettin' myself back into shape," he continues. "Not too hard. Bar's been feedin' me pretty good."

She nods somberly, eyes coming to rest on his side, where she can already see a burnt chocolate red stain swelling on the cotton covering his belly.

'Mary, Mother of God...!'

She blinks hard and refocuses on his eyes. "And you're... You're doing okay? Everything is... Everything's... I didn't hurt you...?"

She's gesturing in a way that's indicative of their earlier embrace.

Her features darken just slightly at his final statement. Her eyes quickly skate surreptitiously to the styrofoam mug of coffee with whiskey in, before dropping to the ground again.

"You're still too skinny."

She pours the rest of the grain into the last feed trough, and carries the empty bucket back to where it belongs.

Edited 2008-09-16 23:45 (UTC)

"Just now? No, I'm fine," he assures her. "I don't even have to take the medication anymore, or the painkillers. You didn't hurt me at all."

Doc takes the bucket from her and then returns it and the hooks to where they belong in the tack room, and he checks things over (making a few mental notes as he does so) before he pulls the door closed as he steps back out.

"Trust me, I ain't been starvin' myself," he promises. "Work makes me hungry, and so does gettin' better."

He picks the cup up from the desk and drains it, before he tosses the empty container into the wastebasket beside the chair, and then grabs his coat.

"And I sort of, suppose you could say I quit smokin'," he adds, though not by choice as he shrugs the flannel on over his shoulders.

Perhaps not the prescribed painkillers, she thinks to herself, as she watches him drain the coffee cup and toss it in the trash. The sun is only just now breaking through the early morning clouds.

"You don't keep those?" she asks levelly as she slips her own coat back on.

Seemed like a nifty cup. Shame to waste it.

She eyes him seriously before they leave the stables, the intensity of her stare willing him to stay still and listen to her.

"It's important you do get better, Doc."

It's important you heal yourself from the hell-storm I couldn't save you from, and the family--though fractured now--I couldn't be.

Call it for luck.

For luck.

"I am getting better," he promises. "Stronger every day."

As for the cup:

"And they're...modern. Meant to be disposable. Not expensive at all, I guess," he shrugs a little as they walk back up to the bar and inside. He stops to check for notes, but finds none.

Instead, Bar provides a small box of donuts and two styrofoam cups, one with black tea, and the other with coffee (this time, it's not doctored) and a stack of napkins.

One says:

Careful, contents may be hot.

Doc smiles. "Thanks, sweetheart," he tells the counter, before he grabs everything and then they head upstairs to talk.

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OOM sorta: Milliways Stables, early (early) morning

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