Doc allows his hand to linger on his throat. It's an odd place for him to leave it - there's so much power that can be had by holding someone by the throat, and he can think of the times he's held men by the grasp, usually pinned to the wall or to the earth, sometimes with iron and bullets ready and waiting in his other hand - but he does. She trusts him.
He could hurt her, but he would never dare.
His fingers brush gently over that scarf, as his eyes focus back into the present and the situation at the moment. She trusts him.
After a moment, he adds the words, quiet, as his gloved thumb brushes against her jaw. "Thank you."
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Doc allows his hand to linger on his throat. It's an odd place for him to leave it - there's so much power that can be had by holding someone by the throat, and he can think of the times he's held men by the grasp, usually pinned to the wall or to the earth, sometimes with iron and bullets ready and waiting in his other hand - but he does. She trusts him.
He could hurt her, but he would never dare.
His fingers brush gently over that scarf, as his eyes focus back into the present and the situation at the moment. She trusts him.
After a moment, he adds the words, quiet, as his gloved thumb brushes against her jaw. "Thank you."