It hasn't been a good weekend. Friday was a veritable disaster, and it has left her with a lot of heavy thoughts. She wasn't going to stay, but Doc begged her to. So she did
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And eventually, after some more chores, a shower to clean up and get rid of the smell of sweat and horses sticking to his skin, Doc makes his way over to the couch to do relatively the same thing she is doing.
Differences being: jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt instead of sweats, and a cup of hot chocolate rather than tea.
He moves around the couch and slowly sits down beside her, leaving a bit of space between the two of them in a nod to proper manners, and then speaks.
At length, she looks over at him, having trouble focusing on his face after staring at the fireplace for so long. Eventually, he comes sharp enough into view that she blinks, and shrugs a little.
"Hey," she says, sipping at her tea. "I'm all right."
She glances away from the fireplace and over to the voice, blinking a few times to clear the flames from her vision. She doesn't recognize the young man, even after his face sharpens into clear view.
"Mmm," she considers, turning her attention back to the fish. "Couldn't say. Never tried feedin' them before."
She's pretty, if a bit worn looking, he decides after looking her over.
"Huh. I'll bet the rats feed 'em if they do eat. Those little critters take care of a lot around here."
He's looking at the fish again too, stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Nodding in satisfaction about his ideas on the fish he hooks his thumbs into his gun belt where two six-shooters sit, handles pointing out for a cross draw.
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Differences being: jeans and a zip-up sweatshirt instead of sweats, and a cup of hot chocolate rather than tea.
He moves around the couch and slowly sits down beside her, leaving a bit of space between the two of them in a nod to proper manners, and then speaks.
"Hey," he says quietly. "How're you feelin'?"
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"Hey," she says, sipping at her tea. "I'm all right."
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Simple questions, not trying to overload her. He's learning quickly, it appears.
He sips at his cocoa and then wipes at his upper lip when a bit of leftover cream lingers on his mustache.
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"Some. Mostly just been reading, checking on Beaut."
Another slow sip.
"Miss Bar's been feeding me every few hours, like clockwork."
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"Welcome back," she softly remarked.
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"Hi. Thank you," she murmurs.
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She doesn't need to ask what it was she heard.
She purses her lips together, nodding slowly.
"I'm fine, thank you for offering. Just trying to keep warm. It's not quite so cold in Texas."
She sips at her tea.
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"You reckon' those little fishes eat?"
He watches them go and glances at her, flashing a smile.
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"Mmm," she considers, turning her attention back to the fish. "Couldn't say. Never tried feedin' them before."
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"Huh. I'll bet the rats feed 'em if they do eat. Those little critters take care of a lot around here."
He's looking at the fish again too, stealing glances at her out of the corner of his eyes. Nodding in satisfaction about his ideas on the fish he hooks his thumbs into his gun belt where two six-shooters sit, handles pointing out for a cross draw.
"Them an' Ms. Bar."
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There's an odd sort of rushing sound, fabric moving against fabric, and she glances up again. Spying those six-shooters.
She peers at them a moment before glancing up at his face. There's something vaguely familiar about it.
"Katherine," she offers, dispensing with the formalities in favor of simply extending a dainty hand. She is too tired to go through the whole process.
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