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

[following this:]


It's been a while since Kate has spent any considerable amount of time in her own room, so it has remained rather tidy. The only real exceptions are a stack of clean laundry on her desk chair she hasn't gotten to yet, and the bedspread, which is a little disheveled from stolen naps here and there between checking on and being with Doc. On her desk is the book of poetry she had taken from his room, along with the little orange paper crane that marks her place. The poetry and favors from the wake are spread out, including several little steel green cranes, which sit awkward and deformed in some small way ('first attempts' at origami that weren't so bad as to throw away). There's also a rather extraordinary little music box, and a half-eaten box of chocolate. On the table in the corner, there are a few newspapers and posters, handmade notes about Cuero, and the like.

The real focus of attention, however, is the bathroom; complete with all its fancy little soaps, and relaxing scents, and nice, hot water. That's Kate's focus, at least, once she unlocks her door and steps inside.

.

[following this:]


The woman and the Gorgon walk side-by-side. Once they leave the soft sand of the inlet and reach the path to the stables, it becomes slightly easier for Kate to walk; the limp is pronounced, but not exaggerated.

She isn't quite sure how to make small talk with the Medusa, but the silence that hangs between them is hardly comfortable. There's a shared level of mistrust behind the politeness; but, oddly enough, it also affords for a shared level of comity.

"Do you do this often?" Kate murmurs, glancing at Medusa from the corner of her eye. The focus of her gaze lingers somewhere closer to the Gorgon's neck, rather than her eyes. "Heal?"

.

[following this:]


It was a breathtaking sunrise. Kate slept through part of it, waking when the sky was already on fire, pink clouds melting into a violet haze at the horizon. She rose up and gave Ben his coat back, shaking off the chill in her bones and the fog across her mind from not enough solid rest.

The morning routine set them in opposite directions at first, as they quietly attempt to wake themselves up for the ride into town. "Baths" need to be taken (in other words, they need to walk down to the river and splash freezing water on themselves), fires rebuilt, food prepared, and trail coffee is a definite must.

Kate leaves Ben to his own devices, wandering off to see what sort of game she can rustle up.


Moments later, gunfire breaks the serenity of the desert morning.

.

It's chilly outside, and Kate has traded in Doc's winter coat for one of her own. After X-23 had explained that she retrieved both bags and kittens from the stables that morning, leaving the former with Miss Bar and taking the latter back to her apartment for safekeeping, Kate had decided to pick the bags up. The kittens, she told X, could stay with her for a little while longer. At least until she got back from a trip she was planning on making back home, to clear her head and give Ramon some space. She knew the man wouldn't be celled forever, and despite their newly-established truce, she felt more comfortable with making herself scarce before Security released him.

X had agreed that this was a logical plan.

One bag had gone to her room, for repacking. It's where she found her own winter wear (things she could have used over that cold Colorado season), and a few more things she would be needing for this trip. The other -- Doc's bag -- was brought up to Doc's room. Bar generously gave her a key, no questions asked.

She thought about packing up some of his things, to make the room available for another patron, but it became quickly apparent that she still didn't have the heart for that. Even in Doc's Colorado home, she left much of his things there; an unexpected inheritance for the new buyer.

So his bag was left by his dresser, his key pocketed, and his belongings untouched.

(Except for the little orange paper crane, which found its way between the pages of a volume of poetry, and placed with her things.)


She now stands in the stables, brushing down Beaut with numb fingers; words of affection for the horse are steamy little puffs of air in the chilly morning weather, which linger between horse and master before melting away. Her bags are against the wall, waiting with Beaut's tack.

If Ben's note was accurate, however, they won't be waiting much longer.

.

Kate leaves the following notes and parcels with the Bar:


( Bela Talbot )


( Ben Wade )


( Billy the Kid )


( Esfir Shostakovna Yazycova )


( Weyland )

.

[following this:]


It's a long and restless night, both for the outlaw, and for the Russian astronaut.

Once or twice, Kate jarred Esfir from slumber by waking with a start and lunging for that trash can. Who knew a body that tiny could survive being sick so many times in one night?

Esfir finally decided to forsake her spot in the armchair after the last time Kate was sick, settling next to her in bed.

"Momma?" Kate had murmured, half asleep and disoriented.







"Go back to sleep, Katyushka."

It wasn't long after that when dawn broke.

.

[following this:]

He doesn't say a word as he escorts her out of the stables and up the path to the bar. She doesn't blame him, and so she remains respectfully quiet, letting him decide when he's ready to ask the questions she knows are coming. It gives her time to process everything, anyway. Time to catch her breath.

However, when they enter the bar and he leads her towards the stairs rather than to the staff offices, she looks at him quizzically.

"Where we goin'?"

.

[following this:]



She leans against the sink for a moment, not immediately reaching for that empty drinking glass. Blood is caked and drying on the inside of her thighs, and she still feels just a little weak. When she looks up at her reflection in the mirror, she's not sure she likes what she sees.

'You're growin' up to be such a fine woman, sweetheart. She woulda been proud.'

She remembers the way her father's hands had trembled, passing her mother's wedding dress on to his young daughter. He had smiled, so proud.

'Now, don't you just look like an angel.'

'One-a these days, I'm gonna give you away to a good man, sweetheart. And you're going to be beautiful, and happy, and you're gonna love him the way I loved your momma.'

She catches something out of the corner of her vision, through the blur of tears in her eyes, and turns her head. The bathtub is full, steam drifting off light blue, bubble-coated water. She blinks a few times, brow furrowed.

I didn't think Miss Bar could ... ?

There's a small piece of notepaper on the edge of the tub when she moves closer to inspect things.

'Special occasion.
Relax, and try not to panic.
Everything is normal.'

The bathwater smells like Epsom salt, and eucalyptus, and chamomile, and there's a small bottle of something on the edge she can't quite identify. It makes her smile, a little, carefully bringing her leg over the side of the tub.

She settles into the warm bathwater, laying her head back and stretching those tired muscles. It feels so incredible she can hardly bring herself to move for several long moments.



Her thoughts wander.

(He'll never see me walk down the isle in that white dress. Never.)

Her knees curl in to her chest before she even realizes she's crying, shoulders shaking with quiet, repressed sobs.

.