the_gene_genie | OOM: Oakville, Texas, 1888. Dinner.

"I don't frequent bettin' halls when I'm at home, Mr. Hunt."

Which isn't exactly a 'no', but it's a better story for these Texas gentleman to overhear than mentioning how all she knows about gambling outside of cards she learned from her friend Alice Cullen-Whitlock, a vampire from the future.

Another spin of the wheel, and another win for Kate. And Gene, since he was betting intelligently this time around.

"Yeehaw," she laughs. "I guess I will be pickin' up the next round of drinks."

'Go on, then,' he says, having just tipped the contents of his glass down his throat.

It doesn't sound as sour as it would have done if he hadn't followed her lead. Because, well. He just won too.

'Mine's a double.'

Beat.

'But spin again first.'

And yep, he'll be spreading his bets again, but also betting on her number too. He's not stupid.

She takes his empty glass and shoots him a slow-burning look, playfulness tugging at the corner of her mouth.

"Want me to blow on your chip while I'm at it?"

She appraises the layout seriously and lays down a six line bet, giving the croupier a brilliant smile.

"Go on, honey."

As the wheel starts spinning she moves past Gene, and quietly says:

"If you get lonesome, y'know where to find me. I trust you t'watch my winnin's."

While she's appraising the layout, he leans in close on the pretence of putting a chip down, so he can mutter in her ear, 'Wouldn' say no,' in such a way that there really can be little doubt as to what he means.

And then he's straightening, and hopeful too, seeing as she doesn't say anything or give him one of her looks, and then follows up with that.

He does, indeed, know where to find her. And she wins again, the lucky cow. He has another bet in her absence and loses, and then starts looking to where she got to - but it's blatantly just an excuse to go and talk to her where people can't overhear every word. So, one more bet - which he loses, again - and then he's picking up both their chips (totally tips the dealer from her pile) and wanders over to the bar.

'Reckon drinks are on you for the rest of the night. You won again.'

She wasn't entirely expecting him to come over, so there's no need for her to force the mild surprise on her face when he appears at her side. She grins brightly given the news, and makes to trade Gene's double for her stack of chips.

"...Funny, I thought there'd be more chips than this."

She narrows her eyes at him, but the vestiges of her grin aren't easily chased from her lips.

'You accusin' me of stealin' your winnings?'

How very rude.

'Only tipped him a dollar from it.'

"No."

She snickers, and shakes her head.

"Just teasin' you, is all. I'm in no disposition t'be greedy."

She eyes him over the lip of her glass, taking her dear, sweet time before she sets the whiskey down and swallows.

"I think this is the point in the evenin' where we're supposed to ask each other all kinds of questions. Like, 'what's your favorite color?' and 'Describe your ideal night'."

He eyes her right back, his face unchanging while she speaks. And there's a long pause afterwards, while he attempts to come up with a suitable response to that.

'Do you really care what my favourite colour is, or what my ideal night goes like?'

Though when it comes down to it, there's something to be dais for convention, even though he's never asked a bird those two questions in his life.

'...I don' have a favourite colour. I'm not six. Though I s'pose I could say Man City's strip colour - sky blue. An' as for my ideal night, somethin' like this isn' far off. Come up with a football match for me, an' it'd be perfect.'

Good steak, gambling, whiskey, the real Old West - what could be better? Oh yeah; being on a promise. And he reckons he's pretty much there on that score too.

'G'on then. Your turn.'

"Those were the first questions that sprang t'mind. Take it easy; I'm new at this."

And she had been partially sarcastic. She gently nudges his elbow, interested in his answers all the same. She just manages to catch herself from asking what 'Man City' is as a previous conversation floods suddenly to mind, and she's pleased that tonight seems to be going well in his estimation.

"Do you care about my answers?" she shoots right back, teasing him. "I ain't sure. Blue, I suppose. Deep Texas sky blue. An' I'm rather fond of tonight, as it stands. That aside, I appreciate a good midnight ride."

Beat.

"On a horse."

Just in case he was thinking of something different.

"Why don't you think of somethin' this time?"

He's smirking anyway, long before she adds the 'on a horse' caveat. Predictably.

'Midnight ridin's a favourite of mine too.'

Beat.

'Not on a horse.'

Because there was obviously going to be some doubt.

'Alrigh' then...' shit, he's always been useless at this sort of thing. He's more likely to come up with something lewd, or something too searching, that'll spoil the mood, '...favourite thing about Milliways, apart from all the weirdos you hang aroun' with.'

She gives him a flat look. Though, truth be told, there's something to be said for that kind of a ride. Not that she will ever, ever, ever tell him so to his face. She'll be quite happy if he goes on believing she thinks he's a lech.

(She doesn't. Not really.)

"You do know you're a part of that list, don't you?"

She takes another slow sip, giving herself time to think on an answer to that.

"Ah ... havin' a home. A place that ... no one can take from me. Workin' the stables. Havin' Miss Bar."

That about covers it.

"D'you really not remember a thing 'bout the bar when you go home? Nothin' at all?"

'Nope. Nothin'.'

He doesn't want to think too hard about why she doesn't have a home out here right now. Because all his copper's instinct tells him, if he does think about it, that there's a lot more to the story than taking venegance for Sam. Or if there isn't yet, there will be. And he doesn't want to know. Not yet, at least.

'Soon as I step out, I jus' carry on like I'd never been there. Tha's why I have to stay in the place if I've had a scrap or somethin'. Can't take anythin' out that wasn't there when I came in, or I won' have any clue how it got there.'

And he doesn't want to start thinking he's going mental, or sleepwalking or something, in order to account for bruising. It's important to him that his world's left on an even keel, with him steady at the helm.

'What'd you think of Manchester, when you came?

....and I am not a bloody weirdo.'

As normal a bloke as she'll ever meet. Don't come much more everyday than him.

She chuckles softly.

"Given how often you use your fists I'm surprised y'ever find a moment to go back home at all. You must sneak 'em in between fights."

That would be unsettling, though. Walking out with something and not remembering where it came from, or why. Like living every day in a haze of drunkenness.

"I didn't get t'see very much of it. Just DI Tyler's door before y'knocked it down, and a blur of streets and buildin's before we got to the lot for the drivin' lessons."

Her lips twitch.

"I liked it, though. S'different than any other place I've yet to see. I'm lookin' forward to comin' back."

He shrugs.

'I fight.'

That's all there is to it.

And maybe, if she's watching close, she'll see his eyes soften just a little when he follows up with;

'It's the best place in the world. Better even than here.'

He waxed on to Sam, not long after his arrival, about why he loves it so. But he doesn't think he could explain it like that to a girl. She'd probably get it though. She seems to feel much the same way about this place. Or Green Lake, anyway.

'You probably won' get it, 'cos you're not from there. But I'll show you around anyway.'

"So you do."

She doesn't sound accusatory or disparaging. He fights.

That's all there is to it.

His last comment gets a choked laugh out of her. It's sweet to see the affection in his eyes for the place, so she tries not to take things too personally.

"I guess I'll just hafta take your word for it, then. Though my daddy had a thing or two to say about the places where he grew up."

In other words, Gene won't have to do too much convincing to get her to appreciate Manchester.

"An' you've never lived outside the city?"

He shakes his head briefly, drains his glass, and signals for refills for them both.

'Hardly ever left the city, never mind lived anywhere else.'

This is a bit unusual for the 1970's, but not so much that people of the older generation would raise an eyebrow. Apart from a week's holiday every year to Lytham-St-Anne's - about an hour away - he just doesn't see the need to go anywhere else. He would, if he had reason. But they rarely come up, so he stays put.

'What abou' you? Before the...trouble. You move around much?'

He doubts it, but clarification won't hurt.

"Which trouble?"

She accepts the refill, but dubiously. She's beginning to feel a little light, and a little warm.

"Green Lake?"

She's not entirely certain she told him much about her daddy's farm, come to think of it. She shakes her head.

"I was born in Oklahoma, but I lived most of my life on my family's ranch, just outside of Heyser. Went to New Orleans for school. But other than that, it wasn't until I lost the property that I moved to Green Lake."

'You lost it? How'd you manage that?'

Not the sort of thing you can misplace. But yeah, it can't be easy to be in charge after your only male relative dies, in this day and age. He gets that.

She hesitates.

It's not hard to see there's a story there; her eyes are focused intensely on his, trying to remember back to that first argument more than a year past. How much did she say back then? She can't rightly remember. But she does recall one thing with absolute clarity: Gene can be passionately defensive about fellow lawmen.

Things are going so well now that they've moved to a more comfortable venue, and she doesn't want to risk changing that.

"It's ... a rather long story. Perhaps y'should ask me again another time."

Edited 2011-06-22 14:14 (UTC)

Like that, is it? In which case, he definitely won't be pushing this any further. Just like her, he has no desire to ruin the mood of tonight. So he nods minutely, and says no more about it. And then glances around, to make sure there's no one within earshot, and no one paying them particular interest.

'So. We stayin' longer, or headin' back?'

There's a small pause, where he wonders whether that came out sounding more pressurising than he meant it to.

'Just so's I know whether to get another drink in or not.'

She exhales, reclaiming her smile but softly.

"S'up to you. The night is young."

'Yeah, I know.'

His gaze on her is openly appraising. In a good way. But he's still wondering, a little, whether she's trying to put him off.

'An' this is fun. But it'll be fun tomorrow an' all. Tonight, we could be...well. Y'know.'

Never let it be said that he's not keen. But he will, of course, respect her decision.

(It may be clear that he's a bit rubbish at dates, on the whole.)

(Kate isn't much better herself.)

She looks out on the room at large. His eyes traveling over her like that heat her face. She takes a drink to cover up if she's turning red, looking over the hall to see if anyone's looking back. A few are, of course. Kate's the only woman in the whole building dressed like that. She happens to turn heads.

She clears her throat quietly.

"You're terrible at keepin' a convincin' cover," she whispers, turning around to face the bar instead. "People pay attention, y'know. T'looks like that."

The smile trying desperately to loose itself on her lips makes it a rather unconvincing scolding. She happens to like it when he looks at her like that.

'I'm not used to it. Everyone knows who I am, back 'ome.'

Coppers, anyway. And the important criminals. These are just about the only groups of people that matter to him back in Manchester, so he's happy with it.

'An' bein' undercover don' suit me.'

He turns to the bar, putting his back firmly to the room so they can't see his expressions.

'Are you tryin' t'put me off, an' being nice about it?'

Edited 2011-06-22 22:07 (UTC)

She hesitates.

"No."

Maybe.

She hadn't thought about it quite like that. To be honest, she's tried to put the end of the night far from her thoughts. She's been enjoying Gene's company for what it is, and she knows he's eager to move to the next stage but she's not quite as anxious.

"No, I just..."

She glances up at him, a touch of nervous excitement in her eyes.

"I'm jus' tryin' to be careful."

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