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

[Fifth OOM]


She pulls on her shift, her trousers, buttons her top, and hunts for her vest. Her boots are by the bed, laid out with her belt, her kerchief, and her guns. The cats are curled up together on her pillow, blinking lazily as Kate's nimble fingers slowly work on each button.

Alice stands in the doorway, cradling a cup of hot coffee in her hands.

"Have you told Jasper you're leaving, yet?"

Kate pauses.

She then finishes straightening up her vest, and reaches for her belt. She tosses a small smile over her shoulder, which Alice returns before stepping into the room. She walks over and offers Kate the cup of coffee.

"Not yet."

"But soon?"

Kate stands, once again, as a cowgirl in the old chateau. But this time she's not so out of place.

"Just as soon as I get everythin' together."

There's a note of hesitation.

"Alice, I... can't thank you enough, for..."

"Don't worry about it," she smiles, shaking her head. "I'm glad you're ready to go back."

That is still up for debate.

"All the same, I dunno where I would'a been without you and Jasper."

She takes a cautious step forward, and then pulls Alice into a hug.

"Thank you."

It felt so strange being here at first. It was almost like a dream; like she was someone else, disconnected, watching from the outside. Now, it feels strange to be leaving.

"It's what friends are for. Once you're ready, Jasper and I will help you with your things and then I'll open the door."

Kate nods.

"I'll be ready soon."


There's not much left to gather up but her courage.

.

[Third OOM]


Kate wakes to sunlight poring into her room, the shadows of Chêne-liège leaves dancing across her eyes. She breathes in deeply, stretching her legs against the cotton sheets, and rolls over. Her hand smooths over the mattress, searching.

And then she remembers.

Eyes open to an empty bed, her tanned hand resting against stark white sheets. For a while, she doesn't move. She dares to wonder when she'll wake up to something other than the vice-grip ache in her heart.


A knock comes at her door, light but insistent, like the determined birdsong outside the french doors.