ikissdhimbck | OOM sorta: Rooms, back door, stables, in the morning.

"Too bad I ain't got my gun, could teach you how to shoot," he says, teasing. Of course, he knows she can handle that rifle of her daddy's but there's a difference between a rifle and a six. "And it ain't proper t'be teachin' a lady to swear...or spit, for that matter."

Doc tears another bit of jerky off with his teeth and chews, as he considers.

"Well, reckon I aught t'ask the lady what she'd like to know 'bout us dangerous men."

"Now, wait a second," she cries, pulling back on the reins until she has eased Nova to a stop. "If you're gonna teach me all the ways of outlawin', then my being a lady's not withstandin'. Ain't the point to make bandit outta me?"

She smirks at him, a wicked glint in her eye.

"Now," she leans away from him, spitting (rather daintily, if you can picture it) over the other side of Nova, before turning back to give him a very serious look. "Perhaps you best be startin' over, damn it."

She bites the inside of her lip as her cheeks heat ever-so-slightly.

Doc laughs, the sound echoing off the trees around them.

"Well hell, then, Kate. If I didn't know no better, I'd say you'd be willin' to scare the piss outta some rotten sons of bitches just to show them who's boss. Ain't nothin' like walkin' into town and knowing you make half the residents shit their britches just hearin' your spurs 'long the boardwalk."

He's a bit smug (and playing it up, a little) as he speaks.

"Outlaw's got two types of friends, y'hear me? You got those friends that you can trust t'help you when you're down, and you got those friends that you can't trust worth a lick, but you know they're good at what they do. S'good to have a mix'a both types, y'see."

She laughs her own self, knowing her cheeks are growing redder despite her efforts not to let them. She isn't used to hearing such language, but she did ask.

Of course, that don't mean she won't come after him with a basin and a bar of soap, once they're back inside the bar. She's fickle like that.

"All right," she nods, soaking up the information, and prompting him for more.

"Few months ago, we went to see an old friend'a Mr. Tunstall's, John Chishum. Sure you've heard the name before," after all, the man is the richest cattle baron in New Mexico and the territories. "Anyways. Sometimes when you're dealin' with folk that ain't on the right side of the law, y'gotta do things you ain't proud of to make things right."

Doc shifts his jaw and looks ahead on the path.

"No matter what y'do as an outlaw, you gotta remember that you're doin' the right thing. If you ain't, then you're in it for the wrong reasons. Once you start...hell, you just can't stop. You get so wrapped up in ridin' from town to town, gettin' whatever you want, sleepin' with the best whores this side of the border, you just...you'd give anythin' to keep doin' that. Until you can't do it no more."

She has heard the name, all right. It wins him two high eyebrows and slightly parted lips, before he goes on and her brow furrows with the rest of his words.

It's the dirtier side of them dime novels she loves so much. She knows well enough it's there--she isn't naive to that--but it isn't something you let yourself dwell on.

Especially not when the subject happens to be a man you're falling in love with.

She looks away, stroking Nova's mane slowly, thinking the words over.

"An' how many things have you done," she asks at last, voice even. "That you ain't proud of?"

"Handful. I don't make it habit to think on them all too often," he admits. "Otherwise I'd sleep worse than I already do."

It's an honest admission, and one he doesn't tell many people, and he doesn't look at her when he says it, just focuses on the way ahead.

"Every man I ever shot, it was either gonna be him, or it was gonna be me. But that don't make me proud of the fact that I got blood on my hands and lives to my name. We did the right thing, gettin' justice for John. It wasn't pretty. Killin' never is, but sometimes...you just can't help it."

He may not be looking at her, but she's looking at him, blue eyes soft and concerned and focused on his profile.

She doesn't say a word, because there's really nothing she can say. She's worried for him, and were they not on horseback, she would probably close the distance between them and squeeze his hand. It's the only reassurance she can offer.

As it is now, she is helpless to do anything but just sit as she is and listen to his words, his ever changing picture in her head morphing yet again.

And it's like she's seeing things through a dirty window.

"But more than the men I've killed? I'm not proud of runnin' and leavin' my friends behind."

There's something about being on horseback, for Doc. It's comfortable. Natural, even. The boys would go riding, for long hours at a time. Sometimes they'd joke with each other, talk about bullshit that nobody cared about. Talk about women. Talk about anything. Sometimes they'd never say a word, too tired, too hungry, too sore. But the saddle was home.

Outlaws don't get to put down roots and raise families because it ain't safe, so the saddle and a strong, sturdy horse, a gentle rhythm of hooves on the earth, that's home.

"I ain't proud of not havin' been to a single goddamn funeral in three years," he adds, voice quiet, a little rough around the edges of his words. "More than all those men I killed, I ain't proud of leavin' my brothers behind."

"Doc."

It's concern and protestation and empathy all rolled into one, but she knows there's nothing she can say. Nothing she could say could ever erase that kind of guilt.

She bites her lip and looks down, brow furrowed in three deep ridges.

"I s'pose... if you had stuck around, you would have ended up dead, too," she murmurs, thinking the words over in her head. "Now, I don't know what kinda buddies ya'll were, but... I imagine if I were one of your pals, greetin' you at those pearly gates, I might be powerful angry with you for not gettin' out when the gettin' was good."

She shakes her head, pushing her blonde waves back behind her ears.

"Wouldn't want you to share my fate, just 'cuz I was unlucky. You didn't pull the trigger, 'n you didn't lead them false. You were their friend. You rode with them. Fought with them. Daresay they trusted you; I know you trusted them. That should be enough, shouldn't it?"

She doesn't know.

"Should be enough. You carry their memory on, 'n if they're watchin', if they're listenin', then they know that. They hear that. And, hell, I'd be damn proud if I was them. I'd be touched.

"Don't know if that means a lick, but it's... something to think on, I s'pose."

He's quiet as she speaks, taking the time to get his emotions back under his own control. Not that they're far out of his reach - they never are, because he can't let them get away from him - but it takes him a minute.

Doc nods, slow and easy.

"Means more than I can really say, if we're bein' honest," he admits, finally. "Thank you. I just...hell, gets to me sometimes," he says, as he then and only then looks over at her and offers her a small, half smile. "Thank you."

She'll be able to tell from his eyes that it means a great deal to him to hear that.

"'Course it does. If it didn't, then I'd start to worry. But you miss 'em, and you want to believe you've done right by them. So it's gonna get to you sometimes," she murmurs, shaking her head before meeting his eyes.

She knows what it's like. Maybe not on his level, maybe not under such extreme and harsh circumstances, but death is death. And it gets to you sometimes.

She sees the gratitude in his eyes, and she matches the tiny grin on his lips, nodding her head once.

"Don't have to thank me for a thing," she mutters, looking back out on the trail ahead.

She wishes she could do more.

"Don't have to do a damn thing I don't want to," he points out, gently. "But I want to thank you cause I don't got many friends who give a damn anymore."

It's a half-truth, but sometimes he feels that way.

They ride on a good, long while, until he hears the sound of water, and surf, and knows they're near the inlet.

"Do me a favor?"

"That ain't true," she protests, tipping her head in a gesture that screams 'Oh, Doc.'

She doesn't say anything else for a good long while. But when he asks a favor from her, she gives him a look of wary suspicion.

"What's that?" she asks.

"Ride up front? I ain't taken him 'cross runnin' water this wide before, where the ocean and the lake meet, and I think it might be easier if he has someone to follow. Nova don't give a damn about water."

A pause.

"And I know, it ain't."

She smiles at him.

"You got it," she nods, gripping the reins a bit tighter and urging Nova forward without further prodding. The horse leaps into a canter, making an awful ruckus when his hooves hit water.

She doesn't pull back to slow him, though. She just lets him blow on through the inlet, throwing spray every which way, and laughs softly. The water is cold - oh so cold - given the wind and the temperature, but it feels good.

She won't let Nova get too far ahead, though.

Doc gives them a few steps ahead before he lightly spurs the gelding on, and the first steps into the running water are met with hesitation and no small amount of protest.

"C'mon, you're alright, you see him up there? He's leavin' you in the dust..you big baby...there you go...c'mon, there's a good boy, that's it," he urges, hand firm on the reins and voice steady. "There you go...see, ain't so bad..."

She doesn't get too far ahead, and Doc talks the horse across the wide stretch of shallow water, eventually getting him up to a canter once they hit dry land on the other side.

She's far enough ahead that she can pull on the reins and turn Nova back once they've crossed the inlet, letting him step a circle as she peers over her shoulder at Doc and the gelding.

"He all right?" she calls, though she can see that he is.

Nova takes a few antsy steps, wanting to go again.

The gelding looks a bit pissy, but Doc nods his head. "Yeah, he's alright, just bit skittish. Probably don't like the sound of it," he calls back.

One corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk.

"Kind of makes me laugh, considerin' what I was thinkin' of callin' him."

"Oh?" she prompts, returning the smile as he catches up and she lets Nova loose again.

"And what was that?"

They ride awhile, the only sound that of hooves in a rhythmic tattoo beating against the ground, an easy pace.

"Well I was thinkin', since he's from Will's time and all, should honor that. And he's a hell of a horse...was thinkin' 'bout 'Lionheart'. Kinda funny, considerin' cats don't like water."

"Suits him," she chuckles, shaking her head. "King of all beasts, don't like sharing his turf with other critters... yeah, I'd say it's a right smart match."

"What do you say, buddy?"

The gelding is more interested in running, and the prospect of more sweet hay and a good brushing, than whatever the human would like to call him. Doc doesn't mind, in fact, it makes him laugh.

"Lionheart it is, then."

Katherine laughs, too, feeling the homestretch itch her own self.

"You know, you never did finish schooling me on my outlaw lessons," she calls to Doc, over the sound of beating hooves. "An' there's somethin' I've been wonderin'."

"Well it's only the first day," he protests, shooting her a glance as he nods his head, but the motion is lost in the easy gait of the run. "What did you want to know?"

OOM sorta: Rooms, back door, stables, in the morning.

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