oom: room 25, millitimed to halloween night
Doc leads the way up the stairs to his room, Katherine trailing behind him (because this way, he's not tempted to check her out) and while he's expecting both of their costumes to disappear...they don't. So he opens the door to his room, which has been cleaned up nicely since the last time she was in it
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Doc pauses.
"It ain't nothin', either. It ain't right, and it..."
He trails off, feeling the anger leave him in a rush that leaves him tired, and then he scrubs a hand over his face and leans back, feeling the onset of a headache at the base of his skull.
"I...I'm sorry, Kate. That y'didn't...you couldn't tell me. I'm sorry for bein' angry right now, I just...it ain't right," and his voice sounds small, his eyes behind his hands. "You matter t'me and I care so damn much 'bout you, worryin' if you're doin' alright."
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She relaxes at some length, when his voice goes small and he covers his face with his hands, feeling guilty and sorry and worried in equal measure.
"You don't have to apologize," she murmurs, head down. One meek little hand reaches out to him, but since his hands are occupied, it settles on his sleeve. "I'm sorry you found out like this. This is what I was tryin' to avoid. You don't have to worry 'bout me, like that. You don't."
She knows he will anyway.
She wants to settle into his arms, bury her face in his chest and hug him close and tell him how sorry she is and just stay there, forever. She wants--craves--the comfort his touch gives her.
But the only change she makes is to tighten her hold on his sleeve and close her eyes.
"Y'don't have to worry. I'm all right."
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Doc lifts his head slightly and looks over at her, then shifts on the couch and leans a little, closer, to let his forehead rest against hers.
There's really nothing else to say.
There's something he can ask, though.
"Just...will you stay? I'd feel better if you were somewhere I could keep an eye on you tonight."
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She doesn't flinch away or move at all when his forehead falls lightly against hers. But she does lift an arm, almost on instinct, to softly brush her fingertips over his cheek.
Her hand comes to rest at his neck.
"No one's gonna hurt me while I'm here," she whispers. It comes out almost like a protest, but after it settles it feels more like reassurance. She sighs gently.
"But... I'll stay. I... I don't want to be by myself tonight, anyway. Just afraid the dreams will come back."
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Doc closes his eyes.
"But if they do, I'll be here t'keep you company."
And that has to help somewhat. Just knowing you're not alone.
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It does help, knowing she's not alone. Knowing he's here and he's safe and they're okay and it's just a dream.
She moves her head gently, to lightly nuzzle his face.
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Even with the hell going on...
"I love you."
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She opens her eyes and looks up, at his face, at the hair falling gently across his brow.
She doesn't say it. She can't say it.
But she does lean in and kiss him softly, lightly, a chaste little peck on the lips that ends soon.
Too soon.
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Doc smiles when she pulls back, and reaches up to gentle brush his fingers across her cheek. He doesn't say it again. His return kiss (gentle, soft, and it doesn't linger) says it all.
They've fixed something. Maybe just a little thing. But it's a start.
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She's throwing every lesson about propriety she was ever taught right out the window tonight.
"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."
About the dream. About Trout. About her troubles eating and sleeping. About every little thing she's kept locked inside.
"I'll try harder to be more honest."
It is, apparently, an issue they both have in common. But he deserves the truth.
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It's an issue they both have in common, but identifying those issues helps.
Doc smiles a little wider, and his fingers trace over her skin again.
"We're gonna be okay."
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"No one ever accused you of being a pessimist, my Poet Laureate."
The words are tender and teasing.
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Doc leans in and kisses her forehead gently, before he settles back on the couch.
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She eyes her half-eaten food for a moment, and then reaches for it, slowly finishing the room-temperature slice of pizza and the bottle of water.
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One step at a damn time, but they'll be okay.
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She touches her hair absently, to move an errant strand behind one ear, and remembers the ridiculous style it had been given to match her costume earlier. Her fingers set to righting it as she turns to face Doc again.
"Thank you," she murmurs.
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