the_gene_genie | OOM: Texas, 1888. Just outside Oakville

She has no choice but to fall into his embrace, her arms caught between them. Her fingers curl into his shirt and she holds her breath, head tucked under his chin.

She exhales, rough and trembling.

"Didja find 'em? Did-didja see who — who it — ?"

'No. Buggered off into the crowd. If they even wen' that way. I didn' get a good look.'

He wasn't paying attention. That's something that won't happen again, at least until he finds the bastard.

She sags against him, but only for a moment. Pulling back sharply, she swats his shoulder with as much oomph as she can muster.

"Don't do that again! What if it were one'a the men you roughed up? Goin' out there, in the dark, alone. The both of us alone!"

But she's honestly not as worried about herself right now. She always somehow manages to come out on top. The men who come with her, on the other hand...

Now that she's hit him, she grabs his face and kisses him fiercely. The thought has occurred to her that they may not be as alone as it looks, but at the moment the only thing she can think about is reassuring herself everything is okay.

''Course it were...' he gets no further, because she's kissing him, something he's never going to object to.

He could point out that he's always going off places alone, but he knows it won't do any good. She's convinced something's going to happen to him, and now he's pretty sure something's going to happen to her, unless they keep their eyes open.

'Look, Kate...you're gonna have t'be careful, yeah? I'll go an' find 'em again tomorrow,' he's got a promise to keep, after all, 'but you've got t'make sure you don' put yourself anywhere they can get you.'

She shakes her head.

"No."

She's never been more firm about anything before in her life.

"No. Don't go huntin' for trouble. This is why I didn't want you gettin' yourself in the middle of things with this rustlin' business!"

She thinks she hears something, and breaks from him. The street is only dimly lit outside. The stables are dark. She drops her voice to a hard whisper.

"You're gonna go do what that lawman tells you t'do tomorrow, an' you're gonna leave those bastards in the bar alone. Please."

He stands straight, looking down at her calmly.

'No, Kate. I'm goin' t'do my job tomorrow.'

Which means looking for twats who attack women in the street.

"Your job is in Manchester."

She stands just as straight, albeit not as still. Her shoulders are moving with every breath she takes.

"Out here, you're in the wild."

He huffs a small, humourless laugh through his nose.

'I'm a copper everywhere, luv.'

Which is all that matters, really. It's not something you can switch off, or walk away from. If there was proper law here, maybe he'd trust that they could do their job. But there isn't, and he doesn't. What's he supposed to do, leave the bad guys to it?

She stands there looking at him for a long time. Not saying anything, not moving. Her expression barely changes at all. She's upset, and scared, and struggling to stay in control. And he's defying all of it.

She eventually turns back to Beaut, lips pressed to her teeth to keep from blustering or whimpering. She quickly works to untack her and get her settled away for the night. Terrified for her safety, but not having any other choice.

She works in silence, looking the whole time so tense that just one touch could make her snap. Once she's done, she'll march back to the hotel.

And Gene can do what he wants.

He watches her a minute, then puts his hand on her shoulder.

'You're payin' someone t'do that. Come an' have a drink, an' calm down.'

"There ain't no one else here."

She shrugs his hand off, and sucks in a quavering breath. It's a moment before she trusts herself to speak.

"I don't want a drink, I jus' — "

She stills, keeping her back to him. She wipes at her eyes.

"I jus' wanna get outta here."

He looks around.

'The stable, or this town?'

She's right though, there is no one else here. He should probably see to Concession. So he gets on that, bringing him over to where she is, so that she's not left alone as he works on him.

"Jus' ... here."

She doesn't feel safe.

She wants to feel safe.

Beaut paws at the dirt, nosing around Kate's pockets until she finds something. The quiet munching draws Kate's attention. Even after how spooked the horse was, all seems forgotten already.

"I wish I were a horse."

That gets a snort of surprised laughter.

'Well, I'm bloody glad you're not.'

Even by her standards, that's a bizarre thing to say.

"Yeah? Why, 'cuz I'm easier t'look at in this body? 'Cuz I make for better conversation?"

She turns to him, words spilling like water from a faucet she's just suddenly turned on.

"Or 'cuz it's easier gettin' me t'go hide someplace where the bad men can't get me? 'Cuz bein' just a woman means I need someone t'tell me what I need t'do, an' where I need t'go, so's you can ride out an' take care of everythin' for me in a blaze of gunfire an' glory. Right?"

For a moment, he just stares at her with his mouth half open. Where the hell did that come from?

Then he shuts it, and tilts his head at her. And then goes back to grooming Concession down, just finishing him off while he digests that. Because, contrary to the image he likes to portray, he is, sometimes, capable of thinking rationally about things. Especially when at least one explanation is go glaringly obvious. She's had a fright. Hell, he's had a fright. Things get said when the adrenaline is high.

Some things get said when it calms down, too. He gives one last brush across the horse's back, and tosses the brush down in the bucket. And then looks her square in the eye.

'I'm never goin' t'apologise for lookin' after someone I give a shit about.'

If that makes him a sexist pig, so be it.

For a good while he doesn't speak, and Kate begins to think that maybe he won't say anything at all. Her insides roil with all that anger and fear, and now that Beaut's settled for the night she's got one foot forward to just storm right out of the stables and leave him to his goddamned silence.

And then he moves, and she plants herself back where she was.

"I'm not askin' you to," she grits, every word a punctuation mark. "I'm jus' askin' you not t'be stupid about it."

'So...you get t'decide what's stupid, do you? Never mind that I'm a grown man. Never mind that I've been a copper longer than you've been alive.'

He lights a fag, his Zippo snapping sharp in his hand.

'You can ask me not to be stupid. An' I can ask you not to treat me like I am.'

"You insolent man," she grunts. "What d'you do back home? Wander the streets all by your lonesome? Single-handedly take care'a the whole town? I may not be a 'copper' or know much 'bout your world, but I know you got a team. I know you got Detective Inspector Tyler, an' your friend who was in the brawl last winter. I know enough t'know that y'bring people with you when y'go out huntin' criminals, the way that deputy here's got himself a whole team put together."

She'd never ask him not to treat her like she's stupid. She just wants him to recognize that she's not helpless, and figure it out for his own damn self. She knows he's smart.

"Didja mean what y'said before? 'Bout me becomin' a copper?"

He eyes her again.

'Dunno.'

He's pretty sure he was speaking hypothetically, basing the comment on her desire to not let bad blokes get away with their shit, rather than the physical attributes one needs. But it's not the most pertinent think in his head right now.

'An' no, I don' often wander the streets on me own. But I do use me judgement. One bottle tonight, chucked from an alleyway. I went after him, because I decided that you were plenty hard enough t'look after yourself, in the middle of a street lit well enough. You've proved enough times that you can shoot.'

He was recognising she isn't helpless. If he thought she was helpless, he never would have left.

'For Chris'sakes, Kate. If I'd stayed with you, you'd be yellin' at me abou' that too.'

He seriously feels like he can't win.

She hasn't allowed her voice to rise above a normal speaking tone, albeit low and frustrated it is. For one, this isn't a conversation the whole town needs to be privy to. But, more importantly, her anger is playing second fiddle to her fright.

"Then I suggest you figure it out!"

She punctuates that comment with a shove, knowing she won't move him an inch but letting the aggravation give it a go anyhow.

"'Cuz I do want you t'get the bastards. No matter what you think, no matter what you've said 'bout me yellin' at you an' disagreein' with you, it makes me sick seein' people who take advantage on the loose. Stealin' cows from honest men, work from Mr. Cooper, attackin' women, burnin' down schoolhouses an' whippin' their hired hands, leavin' for dead an' killin' those who'd get in the way — "

She chokes. Those last two points aren't valid to this conversation, but they have her throat swelling up and her eyes stinging regardless. She takes a step back.

"I may not be a deputy, a lawman, an' I may not have the years you do. But I want just as much t'see restoration, an' justice. An' one bottle does not equal one man, or fair odds. I have seen enough t'know how easy it is for one body t'scrounge together a whole mob, an' ridin' off down a dark side alley could jus' as easily get you killed by fifty men or jus' one. I jus' want you t'let me help you."

And that's really what this all comes down to. Sure, she's hard enough to look after herself, and yes he has the experience to do the same for himself. But she'd rather they work together, rather than always be divided against each other.

She stands there just staring at him, sharp eyes overhung by a brow creased with worry, mouth pulled tight with fear.

"An' don't you presume t'know what I would an' would not yell about!"

'...then help me, by not moanin' every time I try an' catch people who bloody attack you!'

Seriously.

'Kate, the horse was goin' ballistic. I could've waited for you to calm her, but by then we would've definitely lost the bugger. Split-second decision. I went, 'cos I reckoned you could look after yourself an' it gave us a chance of catchin' him. If tha's not bloody trustin' you not t'be useless, I don' know what is!'

Seems to him that she'll yell about anything and everything, given the chance.

"Then lose the bugger!"

Doesn't he get it?

"I don't care about him, Gene. I care about you."

He throws his hands up, and half spins away, eyes rolled to the heavens. And then takes a deep breath, and tries to bite back the most infuriated remarks on his tongue.

'I know that. But you can care, an' not try an' stop me doing what I do. You can't react like this every single bloody time I try an' catch a scumbag.'

Doesn't she get it? He won't be wrapped in cotton wool, ever.

She growls in frustration and brings her hands to her face. The earlier sting behind her eyes has turned to an uncomfortable stickiness in her lashes.

"It's like you're not even listenin'."

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