almosthonorable | [[ pre-dawn, milliways, upstairs ]]

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[[ pre-dawn, milliways, upstairs ]]

whitetextiswhite

[ the lonely light of morning ]

He's blinking in the darkness, already upright and swinging his legs over the side of the bed before he knows why.

Then the rapping -- light but insistent -- registers.

"Hold on just a minute, gotta -- "

He yanks on his pants and pulls his undershirt over his head, then pads to the door barefoot.

"The hell's the -- "

He's squinting, running his free hand through his impressive case of bed-head.

" -- Kate?"

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Another shake of her head.

"I gotta do it."

He almost argues.

He sets his jaw instead, and reaches for his boots.

She watches him quietly, her heart pounding.

"Thank you."

His eyes are on the laces as he shakes his head.

"Thank me when it's done."

A beat.

"And when you walk back in here in one piece."

She nods slightly, though she knows he won't be able to see her.

It's another quiet moment before she moves again, this time to reach her small hand forward. She lightly places it on top of his bed-stricken hair.

And lets twin teardrops fall to her knees.

His hands leave the ties and he looks up.

Christ, he feels old right now.

"Kate, you've been through somethin' awful -- you want some time before we do this?"

She shakes her head quickly, glassy eyes meeting his unflinchingly.

"No. I'm ready."

Despite the red in her eyes, and her swollen skin, there's a resoluteness to her expression.

A coldness that perhaps hadn't been there before.

He stands, quiet and somber as he holds her gaze.

"You want this to work, you gotta be."

She blinks, but doesn't flinch back.

"Ben?"

Her voice is smooth like properly aged whiskey, calm and controlled.

"In the last three days... I've fallen out with the man here I wanted to love. I've lost his confidence... if I ever had it to begin with. I watched my schoolhouse burn... Watched a good man, and daresay I loved him too, get shot down, and left for the birds to pick at... Been condemned to hellfire itself... And, for the second time in my life now, I've lost everything that has ever meant anything to me."

I ain't got nothing left.

And I'm tired of runnin'.

She blinks away the sheen from her eyes.

"I'm about as ready as they come."

With a nod, he finds his holster and shrugs into his coat, then lifts his hat from the dresser.

"C'mon, then."

He offers her one calloused hand.

She takes it, shedding the quilt he had wrapped around her shoulders earlier.

She returns the nod, short and firm, and moves for the door.

Once they're downstairs, he makes for the counter and requests a coat for Kate.

After the jacket appears, there's an involved exchange with several napkins.

"No, Miss Bar, it's -- "

He scrubs a hand over his face.

"How 'bout bullets? Just need 'em for the range."

A beat.

"Please?"

She hugs her arms around her middle instinctively, once the jacket is securely fastened, watching the exchange quietly.

"Don't think she trusts you," she murmurs softly, with a small quirk of her lips.

No sex.
No violence.
No 'business.'

These rules become all the more pertinent when Ben Wade is involved.

"These ain't for me, I swear. I'm just teachin' Miss Katherine how to handle a -- "

A box of ammunition appears.

Ben gives the counter a smile and an affectionate pat.

"You're a doll."

Then, to Katherine, "Just need to run back upstairs and get your piece."

He won't be handing over the Hand of God.

(gun's got a curse on it)

"Won't be a minute."

She nods, muttering a "That's fine," as he turns to go.

Her eyes fall to the bartop, and it triggers something in her memory.

"Wait!" she calls to him. "...I already have a gun."

She steps forward and places her palms flat on Bar's surface, murmuring softly (flashes of napkins as they appear and disappear can be seen), and then there is a gun sitting on Bar's gleaming surface.

It's a Colt Single Action Army 1st. Generation, with a 5 1/2 inch barrel, rounded grip (dark wood with nickel between), and it is unloaded.

He turns back, eyes flicking to the Colt before he nods.

Without prompt, a small cardboard box filled with empty tin cans appears on the bartop.

Hefting the box and the ammo, Ben inclines his head toward the back door and leads the way.

"Ladies first," he says as he pulls it open for Katherine, holding the door with one foot.

She hasn't touched the gun since that night.

As she carefully closes her fingers around it, eyes trained on it warily, as if she expects it to reach up and bite her, she can't help but notice how very heavy it feels in her hands.

(There's still remnants of dried blood -- Doc's blood -- on the iron, and the realization of that makes her shudder.)

She awkwardly hauls it along, the respectful nod in return for Ben's words robotic as she moves past.

The cold and the snow are a shock to her system.

Despite his hat, his ears are almost aching by the time they reach the range.

He's praying the rising sun will bring a little heat while he sets up a row of cans along one wooden rail.

Stepping back, he checks their spacing one more time before rejoining Katherine.

He takes a seat on a nearby bale of hay and opens the box of shells next to him.

"You loaded a six before?"

She shakes her head.

"No, I-- I only had cause to use a rifle, when predators were about the property, back where I grew up. Seen it done, though. Lots of the boys around the farm had sixes."

Daddy just didn't want me near one.

"It ain't hard -- you know how to handle somethin' with a trigger, so you know not to be careless."

He nudges the box of shells closer to the edge of the bale for her and unholsters his own Colt.

"Just watch."

It's a simple demonstration; he empties the chamber and reloads, repeats the steps again for good measure, then looks at Katherine.

"Your turn," he says with a nod toward her gun.

She adjusts the gun in her hand so she isn't holding it quite so awkwardly, and sits on the edge of that hay bale.

She watched carefully the first time, checking her memory the second, and now nods and turns to the pistol in her hands.

There's only a moment's hesitation before she opens the chamber, her fingers sure and strong, mimicking his actions. Loaded, she flips it shut again, and turns her eyes back to his face for approval.

"Just about perfect."

He'd smile, but he can't quite find one.

"All right -- I'm gonna knock down this first can, but the rest of 'em are all yours."

He stands, fingers tightening around his Colt.

"Somethin' you need to remember: shoot with both eyes open. Lots of folks squint, and I'll never know why. Both eyes gives you better depth for what you're aimin' at."

Stepping to the line, he glances at her.

"Accuracy's gonna be a little different from a rifle, 'cause the barrel ain't as long." A one-shouldered shrug. "Other'n that, I think you're gonna be just fine."

He raises the Hand of God, cocks the hammer, aims and fires, the report breaking the stillness of the morning; after the first can falls and he re-holsters, then steps back.

"Go right ahead."

The absence of his usually incorrigible grinning is barely noticed tonight. Today. Her brain is still in a fog, and she is concentrating hard on everything he's saying.

"All right," she says, watching the can cartwheel across the earth. She stands, and steps up to the line.

She takes her time getting her footing right, trying to still the raging pulse of blood through her veins. She grips the gun like Ben had his, lifting her arm.

Keep it straight.

It's heavy in her hand. The hammer feels stiff as she uses her thumb to cock it back. Her fingertips are trembling against polished wood and steel.

Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Click.
Click.

She empties her chamber, but there are still two cans standing.

The expression on her face is nothing short of frustrated.

Her arm shakes as she lowers the gun.

Her stance and posture are good, and her sight's even better, but he knows she needs something smaller to take back to Green Lake.

Stepping closer, he's already shaking his head at the look on her face.

"No need to be mad at yourself -- that's a damn fine job, especially for your first time shootin' one of these. You got a good eye, Kate."

She lowers her head, staring at her muddy shoes as she catches her breath.

"Easier with a rifle," she murmurs, shaking her head. "I ain't quite used to the kickback with this thing. Don't have nothin' to keep my hand steady, either. I would have only needed the five shots to knock them cans down, if I had my Winchester."

The words are quiet, but firm and hot-tempered. She needs to do better than that. She can do better than that.

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