We saw you headin' back with a shovel, Miss Katherine

Tonight isn't any different than most other nights. Tommy stops in late, long after Kate returns from her nightly chores, washes up, and changes into something clean and comfortable. He brings along dinner, and the two sup together in comfortable silence.

It's been a tiring period for them both. Sometimes a quiet dinner is just what they need.


They're only just finishing up. Soon, she'll tenderly peel him out of his clothes and put him to bed with her, watching over him until he's relaxed enough to fall asleep.

[a little after this...]


She looks for reasons to stay in the stables as late as possible, but eventually she can dally no longer. They're practically sparkling, and all the animals are in for the night. Beaut's cooled down after her ride around the lake, and is cocking her ear at Kate like she knows something the woman doesn't.

All right, you nag.

True to his word, Tommy's waiting for her when she gets back to her room. They share a meal, quietly conversing about New York, and 'anniversary' plans; she reminds him it's getting close to her anniversary here, and how she's been thinking about leaving awhile. They seem a little shy to set the other off, and so discussions stay light and open. It's late by the time they're through.

He invites her to come to bed, and she sends him ahead, saying she'd like to stay up and read for a spell. He doesn't fight her on it, perhaps because he knows she's uncomfortable about something. She typically sleeps well enough when Tommy's here, but he's usually worn her out before they drop off; it doesn't seem worth the gamble tonight.

She's only ten pages through her book when he starts to sigh, all the while tossing and turning. He coaxes her to join him, and with a good deal of long-suffering patience, she closes her book and does just that.

He's got her wrapped up in his arms when she finally drops off.

It feels nice.



For the first time in months, she dreams about her daddy dying: his body carried up the hill to her childhood home, breast stained red, dust curling in the air as they drop him at her feet. Trout's there, telling her she brought it on herself. Sam reaches out to her with that questioning tone, the last words he ever spoke ringing in her ears.

'...Kate?'

She's on a boat. Sam's face explodes beside her, iron rain pattering on her skin. She's screaming, but she isn't making a sound. Trout overturns Sam's boat into a sea of scorpions, writhing and snapping, some big enough you could ride. She's caught in a maelstrom of them, and the more she fights the more it feels like quicksand, the more her limbs feel heavy and dumb. She fights harder, and harder, but she's sinking.

The sky is red, and in the middle of it all a hole opens up, sucking everything up like so much refuse.

[Sometime after this:]


Kate isn't sure she trusts the cavalier attitude toward illness in Milliways. Sure, they've made some remarkable leaps in medicine throughout the universe, but remarks like 'it's just the flu' and 'common cold' still make her gawp. This doesn't feel like just anything, and she's seen folk die from less.

She takes her medicine like a good patient, and agrees to bed rest to avoid staying in the infirmary. She mostly stays in bed — when nobody else is watching, even. However, that's to do mainly with how awful she's feeling, rather than any sudden change in disposition.

She's bored.

She's dying.

Doesn't anybody care?


She sets aside the last of the six books she borrowed from the library to keep herself occupied, and sighs. It quickly turns into a coughing jag. What's she going to do now?





--kismetBehest has logged on--

[following this:]


As Tommy is headed downstairs, Remy is headed up.

Not much has changed in Room #100.

[following this:]


The room is dim.

Clothes are scattered here and there; on chairs, tabletops, hooked on books and baubles, scrunched under the bed. A pair of candles burn on the table in the corner.

The cats have had their fill of cream, and are curled quite happily in Dug's basket in the corner of the room.

The room's other occupants, sweat-slicked and tangled in sheets, are sprawled across the bed in wild positions, limbs dangling where they may, hands sneaking under damp cotton to touch each other. Pleasantly exhausted, they sip lazy kisses from each other's mouths.

And they've only just begun.

[following this:]


It's late.

Dug hasn't shown up tonight, and the cats are curled up on Kate's bed sleeping soundly. She might have joined them already if Tommy hadn't said he'd be coming by.

'I just wanna see you tonight. That's all.'

She's curled up in one of her armchairs reading The Jungle Book, dressed comfortably but still very much clothed. Tommy won't be seeing her in her chemise, thank you. Her guns are laid out on the chest at the foot of her bed.

[following this:]


It takes a little longer to get to Kate's room than usual.

Stairs? Stairs are hard.

Hell, level ground is hard. But the convenient thing about leading someone up an incline is you have something relatively soft to fall back against when you take a bad step.

"Whoopsie-daisy."

(Kate's taken three bad steps so far.)