ikissdhimbck | OOM: Room 25, Doc Scurlock's (Adult Content Warning)

Doc could honestly give a damn less about what anyone...well, no. If anyone dares to think anything unsavory about what he and Miss Katherine are doing spending nights together in the privacy of his bedroom, then they're going to hear about it.

(Nobody is allowed to think anything improper about her and her reputation, thank you very much.)

But, given that he's considering asking anyway...it may not be a far-off assumption.

"Y'can have at the bathroom first, if y'want," he offers, not sure if she wants a shower or a bath or anything before bed.

"It's your room," she reminds him, her voice low and tired.

"Which is why I offered," he says, unzipping the sweatshirt and peeling out of it, leaving him in the tanktop, jeans, and his boots as he crosses to the dresser and pulls a drawer open.

While he stands there, he toes the boots off, and leaves them kicked to the side as he rummages for pants to sleep in.

She lets her eyes follow him up until he starts toeing his boots off, and then turns away, feeling her face heat a little.

"No... I'm fine," she murmurs, moving to turn down the bed.

"All right," he says. "Then I'll just be a minute."

He settles on some flannel pants and then disappears into the bathroom to change, closing the door behind him.

When she's finished, and he's left the room for the time being, she makes her way over to one of her bags (she brought them inside yesterday morning, leaving all but this one in the room Bar had assigned her, though she has yet to spend a night there). She pulls out a simple chemise -- white, with capped sleeves, long enough to cover her knees -- and straightens.

"I'm changin'!" she calls, so Doc will be able to hear her, and begins shedding the sweats in favor of the nightgown. She just can't get used to the modern 'pjs' Bar provides. They make her feel stifled.

When she's dressed, she calls to him again to let him know the coast is clear, going to sit on the edge of his bed while she pulls the hair pins from her long blonde mane.

Edited 2009-02-16 09:46 (UTC)

He waits for her to holler at him that the coast is clear - he's finishing brushing his teeth, anyways - and then exits the bathroom when he's done, flicking the light off before he tosses the jeans at the hamper, not quite caring when they only half-hook over the basket and lie on the edge.

One hand rubs at the back of his neck as he wanders towards the bed, slowly.

"Y'know I ain't ever asked...d'you prefer a certain side'a the bed?"

It's an idle question, and he's tired, so it doesn't seem all that strange to him - or occur to him that she likely hasn't ever shared a bed with someone, so she probably doesn't care.

Frankly, ever since Friday afternoon and when the nightmares had started filtering in, she'd discovered a sort of fondness for corners and walls, things she could press against for solidity and safety.

But that's Doc's side.

"No," she says, keeping her eyes on her knees as she fishes out that last hairpin, letting her hair fall against her shoulders.

"Y'sure? Cause I don't mind sleepin' on the outside if you'd rather have the back."

He knows, because he's been there.

Doc sits down on the bed beside her and reaches over to run his fingers through her hair, smiling slightly at the feel of the silky strands against his rough skin.

"That's all right," she murmurs, shaking her head.

She sits still when he comes up next to her, concentrating on her knees when she feels his fingers card through her hair. After a minute, she chances a look up at him, before letting her eyes drop again.

"Y'could... could you... hand me my brush?"

"Sure."

He shifts a little, leaning and reaching for the brush before he hands it over. Once she's got it, he moves to the far side of the bed, sliding in underneath the blankets and the sheet, settling on his back. His head is tipped to the side, and he's watching her brush her hair out in the low lamp light.

Jesus she's beautiful.

She can feel his eyes on her, making her hands tremble and her stomach twist in knots.

It doesn't take long to finish brushing out her hair, and when she's finished, she sets the brush down on his desk and crawls into bed herself.

He doesn't move closer, but the offer is there. If she wants to curl into him, he'll open his arm to her and she can curl into his body. If she just wants to rest, then he'll keep his distance.

Doc closes his eyes and buries his head into his pillow a bit, tucking one arm under his head as he shifts and gets comfortable.

He's not particularly tired, yet.

"Y'need anything, and I ain't up, y'go ahead and wake me, alright?"

"I'll be fine."

Her voice wavers on the last syllable, though. As if she's trying to convince herself by saying the words out loud.

She curls up a little.

"I know you will."

Still.

He'll be right here, if she needs him.

Doc focuses on something in his mind in order to will himself to sleep within a reasonable amount of time, and resists the urge to pull her closer and wrap his arms around her. It's difficult, but he manages just fine.

She watches him for a long time, blinking slowly, keeping herself awake until she is certain he has fallen asleep, and is resting comfortably.

She concentrates on the steady pull of his breathing, first to simply assure herself that he's okay, he's comfortable, he's safe. And then, as a means to lull her own mind into restfulness.

She eventually does drift off, but as has been the case for the past two nights, it's not into restfulness she goes.

He's dreaming, himself - but nothing memorable or particularly interesting.

When he feels her shifting next to him on the bed, he stirs a little.

Eventually, he'll wake up to a point where he's aware of what is going on, but it'll take a few minutes of her being restless or making any noises before that happens.

It's not much longer before the shifting stops, and her weight leaves the bed.

Her feet hit the hardwood with a soft sound, and she makes for the bathroom quickly.

Her knees slide against the tile in the darkness of the unlit room. She grabs the edge of the toilet with both hands, and lets herself be sick, blindly and distantly praying she doesn't get anything in her hair.

Spend enough time living on the trail and drinking in dirty saloons, and you get an immunity to everything. Listening to someone getting sick is one of those things, and if it were any one of the boys, Doc would probably holler at them to close the door.

Katherine is not one of the boys.

This explains why he's in the bathroom not long after she hits her knees, carefully pulling back her hair with his hands to keep it out of the way while she gets sick.

And dealing with it isn't a bother or a hardship, either, which is why he settles on one knee at her side without hesitation or complaint.

He'll get her a glass of water in a moment.

Edited 2009-02-16 11:15 (UTC)

She rests her forehead against the cool porcelain and gasps for air, still dry heaving long after the contents of her belly have been completely expunged.

For a long time, that's all she can do. Blink away the stickiness in her eyes, and breathe. Her body trembling.

Doc doesn't move, and doesn't speak, save for quietly soothing her in a whisper. He does reach up to flush the toilet to do away with the dirty water, but other than that he stays still at her side, hands gently keeping her hair back.

Eventually one hand moves to her shoulder, resting there as a sort of silent support.

And she only really registers that support when his hand does come to rest on her shoulder. If her body wasn't so tense already, she might have gone tight at the touch.

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

He moves from his kneeling position to rise up off the floor, wetting a washcloth and filling a glass with a little bit of water.

Then he crouches down beside her again, glass going on the floor, cloth in his hand.

"Here, use this, wipe your face. It'll help."

She nods, small and light, pushing herself away from the toilet just enough so that she can reach out for the washcloth and bring it to her face.

She's still trembling from head to toe, and her throat is burning from the acid.

"Got you a glass of water t'rinse with," he adds, picking it up and resting it on his knee. He'll wait for her to finish with the cloth before he offers it over.

Obviously someone has had practice at this. Or someone knows what you need someone else to do for you after getting sick.

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