new years eve (backdated) for ikissdhimbck
He's not a fan of New Year's Eve -- especially in Milliways.
Out in his world there is always the chance to find a place to camp; away from any town that might be celebrating the holiday, he can find peace, quiet, and solitude. In Milliways, it's almost impossible to escape the celebration (or Bar's decorations, noisemakers, party hats, and fireworks) and Doc has no intentions of celebrating anything related to New Year's Eve or New Year's Day anytime soon.
Except for the fact that you're alive, and so is Kate.
Kate has been quieter, the last few days. He's noticed, and it's no secret why: this time of year is just as hard for her as it is for him, if not more. She lost her father. He only lost his father figure, but the wound still stings deep for them both.
Once the afternoon chores in the stables are taken care of, Doc retreats inside with the intention of heading upstairs for a shower, then meeting up with Kate to see what to do for dinner.
(The brightly colored assault of festive decorations that greet him at the back door do nothing for his mood, and instead serve only as a reminder that they will not be dining downstairs, this evening.)
His fingers trail over the rich mahogany surface of the counter as he passes Bar, heading for the stairs.
You know what I need, Lady.
There's a bottle of whiskey (no label on the glass) and a pair of squat glasses on the desk, along with a few bars of rich, dark chocolate. His duster, hat, gloves, and boots are shed near the chair; the rest of the clothes trail towards the bathroom door. They remain outside the threshold; unlike one of those glasses of liquor and half of a chocolate bar, which are granted access into the other room.
Out in his world there is always the chance to find a place to camp; away from any town that might be celebrating the holiday, he can find peace, quiet, and solitude. In Milliways, it's almost impossible to escape the celebration (or Bar's decorations, noisemakers, party hats, and fireworks) and Doc has no intentions of celebrating anything related to New Year's Eve or New Year's Day anytime soon.
Except for the fact that you're alive, and so is Kate.
Kate has been quieter, the last few days. He's noticed, and it's no secret why: this time of year is just as hard for her as it is for him, if not more. She lost her father. He only lost his father figure, but the wound still stings deep for them both.
Once the afternoon chores in the stables are taken care of, Doc retreats inside with the intention of heading upstairs for a shower, then meeting up with Kate to see what to do for dinner.
(The brightly colored assault of festive decorations that greet him at the back door do nothing for his mood, and instead serve only as a reminder that they will not be dining downstairs, this evening.)
His fingers trail over the rich mahogany surface of the counter as he passes Bar, heading for the stairs.
You know what I need, Lady.
There's a bottle of whiskey (no label on the glass) and a pair of squat glasses on the desk, along with a few bars of rich, dark chocolate. His duster, hat, gloves, and boots are shed near the chair; the rest of the clothes trail towards the bathroom door. They remain outside the threshold; unlike one of those glasses of liquor and half of a chocolate bar, which are granted access into the other room.