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

"I git round to it eventually. Or the boys would look out for me."

Except there ain't any of your boys left.

Doc glances over at her.

"I'm doin' better."

"Better than what?" she prompts gently, the wheels in her own head turning after he mentions the boys twice, pausing each time.

Her eyes are cautiously searching him out, but she isn't sure whether she should say anything or not.

"I'm sure he's okay," she finds herself murmuring, much to her own surprise. She elaborates:

"Billy, I mean. Chavez, too. And... Dave, and Henry."

It might only sound like empty reassurance, but she has to at least try, as someone who wants to look out for him, too.

"I just wish I knew where they were headed. I know where Billy is, but not knowin' about the rest of them worries me to hell and back."

The admission startles even Doc, but he blames the early hour and the lack of coffee. He looks at her. "I'm sure they're fine."

And then has another drink of coffee.

"They've come through worse," she points out, hoping the words are true.

She shifts her grits around her plate with her fork, not quite knowing what else to say.

(While her other hand quietly seeks under the Bar for his.)

Doc accepts the hand when she reaches for his, and drinks more of his coffee as he nods. "We're stubborn," he teases gently.

Hard to kill.

He is going to make certain she eats, though.

She laces her fingers together with his, and allows the interlocked hands to rest at his thigh while she picks at her breakfast.

His words make the corner of her mouth twitch in a lopsided grin.

"To, perhaps, put things lightly," she teases back. She inclines her chin to his plate.

"Eat your eggs, 'fore they get cold," she instructs, taking a solid bite of her grits so he can't say anything in return.

There's a smug little smirk on her lips as she chews.

Doc stabs the eggs with a corner of the toast, using the bread to soak up the insides and she's lucky that he knows how to eat left handed. Then again, he can shoot left handed, too.

Eventually he's cleared his plate and finished his coffee.

"What's the weather lookin' like today, Bar?"

She gives him a general report. No rain, but cool with a bit of breeze.

He could have always let go of her hand to eat, had he needed to.

Her plate isn't clean by the time she has finished eating, but she has made a small dent in her food.

She eyes Doc curiously after the report has been given.

"She can predict the weather, as well?"

"Well, just right now. Who knows what it will be in five minutes."

But letting go of her hand would mean...letting go of her hand.

And he has no urge to do that.

Doc gets himself another cup of coffee, and tips the corresponding shot of milk in before he stirs it with the little straw. He's planning on letting her eat a bit more first.

"Still rather impressive, for a Bar confined to the indoors," she compliments, her free hand running slowly and tenderly along Bar's smooth top.

':D!'

There is a cookie accompanying the napkin.

Katherine smirks, accepting that as a sign of appreciation.

Her tea is almost gone when he orders his fresh cup of coffee, and she debates it for a moment, wondering if she should get another for herself.

"When you thinkin' on heading out?" she asks, thumb running over his knuckles.

"Whenever you're done. Bar can put this in a Styrofoam cup. Same with your tea, if you get it filled up."

Doc smiles a little when her thumb grazes his knuckles. It's affection.

He likes that feeling. Especially coming from her.

It comes so naturally it almost scares her.

"I'm ready now," she nods, eager to get to work.

"Alright then."

The mug of coffee disappears and is replaced by a Styrofoam cup with lid. Doc releases her hand (reluctantly) to pull on his gloves and then pick up his coffee and the bundles of carrots.

"Can you git the sugarcubes?"

She's already two steps ahead of him.

Her own gloves are back on her hands, the Tupperware full of sugar pulled close to her body as she leans over Bar.

"Miss Bar? Might I bother you for a packed lunch? Perhaps--"

Before she can finish her sentence, a good-sized basket pops up with cold beef sandwiches and potato salad, pickled okra and fried squash flowers. Katherine smiles.

"Thank you."

She gathers the sugar into the basket and slings it all over one arm. "Ready."

She has seen him come in late from working before, not having stopped for a meal for quite some hours. She doesn't plan on letting that happen today.

Doc arches a curious eyebrow at the basket and the lunch. She's noticed the fact that he'll stay outside all morning and into late afternoon without eating.

"And a couple'a pieces of jerky," he adds, and then he tucks the brown paper wrapping into his coat pocket as he inclines his head towards the back door.

He has another sip of his coffee and adjusts his scarf as they head out. It's not all that cold, but still early. The sun hasn't come up yet, but the light to the 'east' is already starting to tint the sky.

She merely grins at him, following his lead out the back door.

The grass on either side of the trail leading to the stables is dusted with frost, looking like freezer-burned vegetables in the still wan light. The basket is balanced on her hip, so she can keep her arms tucked close to her body to conserve warmth. It certainly isn't frigid, but it's pretty chilly for someone not used to the colder weather.

She hunches her delicate shoulders just slightly, so the edge of his scarf comes up around her ears, and watches the steam from her exhalation curl into the air.

Doc's glad that she kept the scarf - and is wearing it - and that he has several more of his own. His is wrapped up around his neck, but his ears are covered by his hair, and his beard helps keep his face warm too.

"Bout what it feels like in Liberty, right now," he comments, idly, as they walk along the path. The carrots are tucked under one arm and his coffee is in his other hand, otherwise they'd be stuffed into his pockets. "Cept it's snowin' already out there."

"That so?" she asks, turning to him with genuine interest. She shakes her head as she looks around the misty morning.

"It don't get near so cold in Green Lake, this time of year. Maybe come the middle of January, when the weather's at it's coldest, we'll get a real hard frost. But I'm not used to this."

There's something serene about it, though. The utter stillness of the landscape around them, that thin fog laying like a blanket over the sleepy earth. The air is cold and fresh, and leaves a slight burn in her lungs as she inhales. And it's so, so quiet, there aren't any sounds, save for the crunch of their boots as they mosey along, and the occasional caw of a bird or hum of an insect.

"Sure pretty, though," she murmurs.

"It's mid February," he says. "It's cold as hell, right now."

Not that hell is all that cold.

"Wait until it snows. It's...better than any Christmas paintin' you've ever seen before. It falls pretty thick, blankets everything. Lake'll freeze over pretty solid, too."

As they near the stables, there are a few horses that are milling about the paddock, but most everyone is inside, warm and content.

"So I've heard," she says, before turning to smirk at him. "You still owe me skating lessons."

Katherine, naturally, greets the few horses left outside, with cheer and affection, chuckling softly when they crane their necks toward her and twitch their ears.

It's a good deal warmer inside the stables, despite the open concept of the structure, and she relaxes into the comfort of it gratefully. The basket gets placed by the desk, somewhere out of the way, and she picks up the container of sugar and asks Doc where he wants it.

"Just on the desk for now."

The bundle of carrots goes on the desk as well, and then Doc makes his way straight to a certain stall, where Nova peeks his head out the door and exhales quietly in his direction.

"Mornin' to you too," Doc drawls. "Oat breath."

He's merely teasing, of course, giving the horse an affectionate pat and stroking his hands over the sides of his jaw, the coffee having been set down on the desk as well.

"Y'hungry, buddy?"

She doesn't say anything to interrupt the morning's hellos. She remembers how it used to be, back on the ranch, when she'd get up with the dawn and head straight for Beaut's stall. She would spend upwards of twenty minutes sometimes, just greeting her horse, taking the time to commune in that simple way only those who have experienced it can understand. Whole conversations without a single word. Eyes and fingertips and the gentle inhale and exhale their only means of speaking.

She ends up leaning against his desk, hands in her pockets and feet crossed at the ankles, watching him with a serene sort of smile on her face. It's a heartening display, and she begins to picture him like this every morning, patiently and tenderly reacquainting himself with his animal.

It's a simple kind of perfection.

Doc doesn't linger too long with his horse, but there are several long moments and brief, quiet snippets of conversation (people might think it's one sided, but Doc begs to disagree) and his hands on soft hair.

Until Nova starts trying to chew on his hair, of course.

"Alright, alright," he protests. "I'll feed you."

He glances over at her. "I want to feed everyone, first, then we'll figure out who's getting turned out where this morning."

Her smile broadens, though she manages not to laugh at Nova's insistence. It's getting to be about time for Doc to have another haircut...

"Of course," she nods, working the buttons of her long coat open and hanging it on a coat hook, along with her (his) scarf. The gloves stay on.

She's wearing her usual long-sleeved button-down blouse, but instead of a traditional long skirt, she's outfitted in a pair of dark blue Turkish trousers. They fit somewhat like overalls, with a high, flattering waist, and loose legs that gather at the ankles.

She remembers where the stock room is, and, without prompting, heads in that direction to get things prepared.

While she disappears into the stockroom, Doc takes the time to walk the length of the barn, both sides, checking in each stall (though most of the inhabitants are already up and waiting for breakfast) and taking extra care to glance at the mare near the far end. There's an empty stall between her and the nearest horse, as a precaution.

With things in a good sense of order, he turns on a neat bootheel to join her in the feed room, where she's dosing out said breakfast into buckets.

(His coat stays on, for now, at least. It may be warmer in here but he's still not warm.)

"How's the bin looking," he asks, as he lifts two of the buckets in his hands, with a nod at the bin full of the feed store. "If it's getting to be low, I can haul some down from the bar this afternoon."

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