singillatim | to cold climes comes springtime

( It's a muffled swear that answers her call; that somebody sure wasn't expecting anyone out here in the muffled quiet.

He hates it here. Not because someone's startled him, no, but the entire goddamn situation, stuck without a way home, with other folks equally stuck and miserable, and all the perilous complications of surviving in freezing weather. But... while he could certainly swear up a storm and ride it home, there was nothing constructive about it, so after he'd taken a day of rest, McCoy had gone to start collecting anything that might be of use. He'd found a quilted winter jacket that more or less fit his frame, layers to add to his present attire, and warm wool socks, and off he'd went.

A large construction bucket speckled with dried paint sits like a sentinel outside the shed door, and it's the first thing he glances down to briefly when he emerges, before he flicks his gaze to her. )

Yeah, I noticed. ( His sigh blows hot through the scarf hiding his nose and mouth, a cloud of white in the frosty air.

Then... he really looks at her, at the way she's standing, favoring a leg and looking, well, 'ruffled' is a tactful way to put it. He tugs away the scarf, exposing the frown of concern on his lips. )

You all right there?

[ Newbie. That accent he's got is familiar, but not from here, and she doesn't recognize his face, the cadence of his voice. There's a whole new crop of interlopers, and she's only met a couple of them.

Still, those meetings were pretty memorable. She shifts to take her weight off her bad leg, again, uncomfortable standing here and just as uncomfortable walking. All she wants is to sink into a hot bath and let it soak away the aches and pain, the dull throbbing that beats slowly through her.

Also, she is so obviously, visibly injured, even without bruises on her face, that she can't even try to wave it off. A muscle jumps in her jaw. ] I've had better days.

[ She's still got a few of those ibuprofen tablets back at her cabin, and she's pretty sure she's gonna need at least one to be able to sleep tonight. ] Pro tip: don't get into a fight with two dudes twice your size.

( His brows narrow under the brim of his knitted toque, her irreverence so much like Jim that a jolt of warm familiarity follows it, immediate like and exasperation all in one.

Good Lord, well, that's as good a reason as any to look like Hell. McCoy sucks in a breath between his teeth. )

Always good advice, ( he concedes, and starts retracing his steps back to the road toward her, ) I'm Doctor McCoy, Miss. You mind helpin' me fulfill my medical oaths and seeing you home safe? I don't gotta be psychic to tell you shouldn't be walkin anymore on that leg.

[ Her own eyebrows push up at that, but she doesn't move away. ]

You packing a working truck or a bike somewhere I can't see? Dogsled? Sled-sled? 'Cause otherwise, I don't see many other options aside from walking.

[ Wynonna gives the guy a long, speculative glance, from the tip of that toque to his boots and back again, then shrugs. Hey, she'll be able to tell March she saw a doctor after all: that makes this more of a win than an annoyance.

Besides, it's probably smart to get in good with the limited medical personnel around here. ]

But you can come if you want. And it's Earp, Wynonna Earp.

( Those few questions make him chuckle, warm in the frosty air. )

Wynonna. Easy to remember.

( He's reached the path alongside her, and gives her a similarly speculative look, toes to the top of her head, like he's judging the dimensions of a potential parcel. )

Any broken ribs or other injuries to your torso I ought to know about? Weapons in your back pocket?

( Is he gonna carry her? Yes, if she'll let him. )

A two hundred pound asshole with an attitude problem fell on me and probably cracked a couple ribs. Definitely bruised the hell out of my abs, which is annoying. I work hard on those, and it's almost bikini season.

[ Unlikely to be a problem here.

She eyes him back, wary of that considering look he's giving her. ]

And the only weapon I've got on me is this old Buntline Special, unless you count a habit of insulting people even if they're trying to help me. Turns out it's not just sticks and stones; words can hurt you. Aside from that?

[ She gives him a sweetly fake smile. ]

I'm harmless as a bunny.

( He 'mhmm's where appropriate, the intent look he wears gathering a more purposeful mien, the crystallization of a plan of action. )

Yeah, ( and it sounds like he might agree with her, 'aw shucks', but he just smiles, equally saccharine-sweet, ) I don't believe that for a second. You mind not kickin' me in the face?

( A left field question, except where he steps right in to scoop her up as easy and gently as if she's a newborn colt. )

Wha— hey!

[ Because before she can really protest, gravity suddenly changes direction and her feet leave the ground at the same instant as the rest of her gets swept up into this guy's arms. All of her leverage is gone, and she can't even wriggle the way she would to get out of it, because her stupid body is too stupidly sore and fragile. All she can do is glare at him from a distance of a few inches away, scowling. ]

What the hell, dude?

Sorry I'm not a dogsled.

( He actually sounds cheerful as he says it, setting off down the road in the direction she was traveling. The town isn't even five clicks across, besides; McCoy has hauled heavier men farther distances. Maybe not like a new bride, but still. )

Where to? I can make you a poultice for those bruises when we get there.

Yeah, well, what about me is screaming 'damsel'?

[ He sounds way too cheery about this whole situation, while Wynonna does her best to settle herself comfortably. It's tough, because she really does hurt everywhere, even with the weight taken off her leg, but the worst bruises here are the ones to her pride.

Two times in one day she's gotten snatched off her feet and carted around by a guy. She's losing her touch. ]

My cabin's up this path. And then once we get there, you can go ahead and put me down so you can keep going and take a left straight up your ass.

[ It lacks heat, though. She's tired and in pain; it's not her best work. ]

( Still, as a serial grump himself, McCoy finds he appreciates her efforts. 'Feisty and alert' will always win over 'slack and unresponsive', in trauma medicine. )

If you're a damsel, ( he drawls, intending on looping back around to her question, ) then I'm a ballerina. What I ain't, however, is an idiot.

Damsels don't throw themselves into fights outside their weight class and then just walk away. ( There's a knowing glint in his eye. So it was more like a stiff limp, whatever, the point is: ) Seems obvious to me you're made of sterner stuff.

Aw. And here I was gonna ask you to do a little twirl for me later.

[ She narrows her eyes at him, but it's not like he's wrong. Logan and Mall were both easily twice her size; Logan weighed even more than he looked like he should. Her tone is begrudging, but it's beginning to thaw. ]

If this is the beginning of a come on, I should tell you I'm tired and I haven't shaved my legs.

( His chuckle is low in the air and deep in his chest, over the steady crunch of snow under his boots. The fog isn't offering much in the way of visibility, but he can at least tell there aren't any obstacles liable to trip him up– twirls or no.

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. )

Really? Me too.

( But y'know, on a Professional Note™ ... )

I'll save the come ons for another time. Consider me on the clock right now.

Great. Can't wait for your bill to show up in five to ten business days.

[ She's favoring her right arm, tucking it against her chest, so when they come to the fork in the path she points with her left hand. ]

My cabin's that way. Sadly poultice-free, unless you're planning to MacGyver something together. Exactly what kind of a doctor are you, anyway?

( The quip... well, it goes right over his head at first, and then his smirk looks briefly like a grimace. Right. Folks still expect to pay for medical help in this time. Yikes.

Left they go! )

Trauma surgeon. ( Who's also noticed how gingerly she's treating her arm, adding it to his mental list. Although... ) Who's MacGuyver?

[ She huffs a laugh, clicks her tongue thoughtfully. ]

You're gonna be busy.

[ Just based on the last few months, alone... she and Ruby aren't the only ones who have gotten seriously injured, and there's absolutely no doubt more's coming along the pipe. Goodsir is excellent at what he does, but even she's got to admit a trauma surgeon is maybe their most useful get yet. Sucks to be him, though? ]

What, didn't watch any TV growing up? Or just didn't have any?

( He just smiles at her, wry. Yeah, he's picked that up pretty quick.

Her next line of questions make him wish he'd paid more attention to Jim when he was waxing poetic about 21st century culture. TVs were pre-holo technology, and similarly purposed, so he isn't lying, precisely... )

I grew up out in the country. TV was less of a priority than feedin' the horses and pulling weeds. This your place here?

Ah, thought I detected a fellow bumpkin. This is it.

[ A small cabin tucked back into the woods, firewood piled on the porch and out of the snow. She reaches for the door handle to let them in to the living space; it's ramshackle but homey and neat. ]

Thanks for the lift, Doc. Any chance you'll leave me here to drink and ice away the pain, the way God intended?

to cold climes comes springtime — open & closed

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