OOM sorta: Milliways Stables, early (early) morning

[ikissdhimbck]

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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[ikissdhimbck]

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.

[scurlock]

"'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."

[ikissdhimbck]

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.

[scurlock]

"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.

[ikissdhimbck]

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.

[scurlock]

"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.