wheelsy_sheriff | (no subject)

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Bill opens the door from Milliways that leads into his bedroom, steps in, then holds it open for Kate.

It's strange to come back after being gone so long and find everything just as it was the morning they left.

He can smell the coffee from the pot in the kitchen that's still on, and the bed is still unmade from when he got up that day.

Giving Kate a small smile, he turns around to open the closet again, this time the door reveals his hanging clothes, and he puts away his dress uniform that he had taken for Doc's wake.

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Kate comes in from the back porch, gently discouraging Fatso and Wally as they try to wiggle their way inside.

"No, guys, no, you just had treats," she says, laughing a little before she manages to close the door.

She turns; hearing Mom, she returns to the laundry room to transfer the load to the dryer and give Bill some privacy.

Frowning, he idly picks at the edge of the counter where it's been chipped.

"Y'sure?"

June lets out a short sigh on the end of the line and Bill can tell that she's not okay, and doesn't want to talk about it.

"Bill, I'm just tired. Y'know I don't stay out all that late and that party of yours ran over my bedtime, that's all."

Watching a piece of the counter edge fall to the floor, Bill nods.

"Alright then. I uh, I guess I'll let y'go then. If you need me for help 'round the house or anything just-- "

"I will. Take care of yourself, son."

When she cuts him off his shoulders slump and he moves away from the counter.

"I will. Bye."

After hanging up the phone he stares at it a moment before turning away and heading to the fridge.

She steps across the threshold as the conversation winds down, and she doesn't miss the way his shoulders fall.

"How's June?"

He glances back at Kate before pulling out a carton of orange juice.

"She's fine."

She pushes off from the doorframe with one shoulder and takes two steps to pull a glass from the cabinet for him, and silently leans against the counter.

Standing there with the carton, his eyes are on the glass in her hand as he shakes his head.

"I know somethin' ain't right, but I dunno if she's mad at me, or just upset or what."

He looks at Kate and shrugs helplessly.

"She was fine at the party."

She offers the glass, her expression hovering somewhere between empathy and trepidation.

"She's your mom, Bill," she says gently. "She has to be tied up in knots about you going back."

Kate knows firsthand how upset June is, but telling Bill about that gut-twisting conversation will only hurt all three of them.

He takes the glass and sighs, frustrated and miserable.

"She doesn't need t'be like that. I already told her-- "

Pouring out the juice he sets the carton down, leaning against his palms slat on the counter.

"There's nothin' I can do to fix this. She'll just have to watch, an' see that I can do this, an' I'll be fine."

She places a light hand over his.

"She worries because she loves you so much."

Her fingertips brush his knuckles.

"You're her only son, and you're in law enforcement. There's no magic switch here, sweetheart; she may need some time."

He nods, knowing she's right. It just hurts, feeling like he doesn't have his mother's approval in something that means so much to him.

"I'll just-- I'm gonna leave her alone. It never works well for either of us when we start pushin'."

Turning his hand under hers over, he gives her fingers a light squeeze before pulling away.

"I'm gonna go watch TV or somethin'; S'my last day for Madden."

Giving her a faint smile, he turns and goes to the living room.

Part of her wants to stop him, wants to talk this out some more, but it's tempered by not wanting to force the issue.

So instead, she returns to the laundry room, losing herself in the mindless comfort of folding warm towels and tossing in a second batch of clothes to wash.

Sarah calls late in the afternoon, while Kate's curled up with the copy of Persuasion she brought from Milliways, and when Kate hangs up a half-hour later, she pads into the kitchen.

She walks to the fridge and removes the thick-cut, dry-aged New York strip steak she'd requested from the local butcher shop specifically for tonight's dinner -- (god, does that conversation feel like it took place light years ago) -- and begins putting together a salad.

Edited 2010-01-08 03:26 (UTC)

He plays football for most of the afternoon; muttering at the TV from time to time, working through the season he set up months ago (only days here), and trying to keep his thoughts off of work, his mom, and Kate.

He doesn't pay attention to Kate's conversation with Sarah, but when she heads to the kitchen he runs a few more plays, then powers down the system.

Standing in the doorway to the kitchen he asks, "Need help with anything?"

She's patting the steak dry; glancing up, she gives him a small smile.

"If you want to grab the cast-iron skillet, I won't complain."

Her smile gets one from him and he nods. Grabbing the skillet from the cupboard, he takes it to the stove.

"Nice lookin' pair of steaks y'got there. They both mine?"

Giving her a grin, he steals a piece of cucumber from the salad.

She laughs at that.

"If you can even finish one," she says, reaching for the canola oil to drop a tablespoonful into the pan, "I'll be impressed."

Smirking, she flips the burner to high; while the pan heats, she generously seasons the meat with sea salt and cracked black pepper.

"Impressed, huh? Guess I better do a good job eatin' then."

Snagging a tomato, he glances around the kitchen.

"Anything else I can do?"

"Leave some salad for dinner," she tells him mock-seriously.

"And set the table."

Once the skillet is hot, it doesn't take long to sear the steaks on both sides; Kate's wrists and forearms protest when she takes the heavy skillet from the stovetop and sets it aside to add some butter and extra-virgin olive oil to the meat.

Thick potholder wrapped tight around the handle, she slides the skillet into the oven with a soft oof, then pulls a cutting board from the cupboard.

He nods, smugly snags another tomato, then gets to work on setting the table.

He's pulling down a pair of plates when she starts moving the heavy pan.

"Didja need -- "

Caught between moving forward and staying where he's at, he watches her load the oven.

"I coulda gotten that."

"I know."

She shoots him a grin and digs a meat thermometer from a nearby drawer.

"But I want you to take it out."

Once he does so five minutes later, Kate places the steaks on the cutting board to rest an extra five minutes.

(The incredible smell is torture, causing her stomach to growl.)

While she waits for the internal temperature to rise a bit more before cutting the meat into strips, she turns to place a kiss to Bill's shoulder.

"We're celebrating, you know."

After returning the hot pan to the stove, he brushes his palms on his jeans, focus on the steaks until she draws his attention back.

"Celebratin'?"

She nods.

"In honor of tomorrow."

Refusing to let her smile slip, she takes two wineglasses from the cabinet and slides over a bottle of red wine for him to open.

While he contends with the corkscrew, she'll slice the steaks and transfer the strips to their plates.

There's a brief hesitation from him while he studies her, but her smile never wavers and something loosens a little in his chest as his smile widens.

Pulling out the cork, he's happy and grateful, because he knows he has her support.

Pouring out the wine, he sets the glasses at their place settings and sits after she does.

She scoops out some salad for herself, then offers the bowl to him.

Once he's doled out a serving for himself, she lifts her glass and swallows past the golf ball in her throat.

"Congratulations."

He lifts his own glass and meets her eyes, wishing he could say how much he appreciates her.

Rather than stumbling through words in an attempt to express his feelings, he gives her a smile and sincere, "Thank you, Kate."

"No thanking, sheriff."

She blinks once, hard, and concentrates on the soft clink of their glasses, then the taste of the wine on her tongue.

Tomorrow, after Bill leaves for work, she'll face the sharp, irrational fear behind her ribs (what if he gets hurt, what if he gets killed). Tonight, she'll be happy for him, because he's wanted this for so long, damning his decision would be as cruel as a knife to his kidney.

A slow swallow of wine, and she sets down her glass in favor of her fork.