divinity says "destiny can't be earned"

[castitas]

Who: Kate Marsh + You!
What: Kate returns to Milton from her seaside getaway to Silverpoint. Beargate happens.
When: Early June.
Where: Milton Outskirts/Wilds; Milton, various.

Content Warnings: animal death; bear attacks; supernatural ailments; mental manipulation; altered physiological states.

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[extramuralise]

[ Irving is neither doctor nor surgeon, but he does know a few useful first-aid basics that he won't hesitate to put to use now, for however much good they might still do her— it's difficult to tell exactly what condition she's in, or how old those bruises and sores may be, but though he may be horribly unequipped for the task, he's the only one here to do it.

Disappearing briefly from the room, he returns shortly, still wide-eyed, with a warm washcloth and a shallow basin of hot, lightly salted water— not piping hot, but as warm as he could make it on their old stove without keeping Kate in the other room waiting for too long. ]

H-here, like this— [ He's careful, setting the basin aside and wrapping the washcloth around her injured hands. ] The salt might sting for a moment, but this should help, for a start.

[ Frowning mildly, either at Kate's words or from seeing the harried state of her more close-up, he withdraws a handkerchief from his shirt pocket. ]

Close your eyes. [ So he can gently dab at her face, her eyes, then dip it into the basin and carefully mop over any dirt, sweat, or discoloration he can see. Irving isn't altogether comfortable being the one to do this, but as he's just swaddled Kate's hands within the warm washcloth, he can't exactly hand over the handkerchief for her to do it herself. ] And where else?

[ Hopefully nowhere else, because if she were injured elsewhere it would likely require not only some clothing removal just to inspect the wounds, but also undoubtedly a good deal more medical knowledge than Irving himself possesses. At a glance, though, Kate's clothes don't seem to be torn or bloodstained as far as he can see, so that's at least a promising sign. ]

And of course you'll be wanting some tea now, I'm sure, [ he adds, almost distractedly. ] but first tell me about this... this bear.

[ The word makes him swallow, hard, and he looks vaguely like he might be sick. All things considered, the Tim of it all has barely even registered for him yet, although it will sink in eventually. ]

You say you... killed it? But how on Earth did you manage such a thing?

[castitas]

[ It doesn't sting all that much. Maybe a little from the cold, the difference between warm and cold — skin that's a little too tender right now. But doesn't really know how broken the skin is from it all. It's.. it's not too bad, she thinks. And she's trying to be good about it, only wincing a little.

She doesn't realise that the glossiness of her eyes has formed tears, there's a faint grey melancholy sinking in to the colour aura that surrounds her now amongst the dazed colours. But she closes her eyes, let's him gently wipe at her tears, sniffling a little. ]

Nowhere. I'm okay. [ Not really. But she's okay in the way he means. Other than her hands, she's not hurt anywhere else. She's just tired and strange. She shakes her head. She doesn't answer one way or the other on tea, but that says enough to mean that... yeah, tea would probably be a good idea right about now.

But uh. Yeah. The bear. ]

My flare gun? In... in the eye? [ It doesn't sound right, saying it out loud. Like she doesn't even know how she's managed to do that. ]

I.. I was given it a long while ago now, only for emergencies. If— if I needed help then I could use it and someone would come help. I just... I just— shot it.

[ ... Total crack shot. ]

I didn't run away, I just— I was just... really angry. I don't know what happened.

[ In all honesty, the bear didn't deserve it. ]

[extramuralise]

[ He lets out a slow breath of relief upon hearing that her hands are, more or less, the full extent of her injuries, but that doesn't much help to make the situation less concerning. She killed a bear? What exactly has she been doing out there that could possibly—

Although bear in mind (no pun intended) that Irving is also, granted, currently unable to picture anything other than a polar bear, which are famously difficult to kill— almost impossible, in his experience, even for grown men who have been properly armed as well as trained in both combat and hunting.

Flare gun in the eye. That... probably would do it, admittedly, but even so, it's remarkably difficult to wrap his mind around the idea of Kate Marsh even using a flare gun for anything apart from its intended purpose, let alone to shoot at something living— and then actually succeed at wounding it fatally, no less a creature known neither for its docile temperament any more than for the largeness of its eyes.

A bear, no less. Irving feels both proud and unsettled in somehow nearly equal measures. ]

W-well... [ He blinks, stunned into temporary speechlessness. ] Good job you had it with you, then— indeed it is a blessing that you should have survived unharmed after such an encounter.

[ Though, granted, maybe not entirely unharmed.

He glances back down to her hands. When a young lady says she hit someone, one normally assumes a slap, but a slap certainly wouldn't have bruised up her knuckles that way. Irving's gaze lifts again sharply to meet her own, but he continues speaking in a voice as calm and patient as he's able to manage. ]

Do I know this Timothy? ... Why ever did you strike him?

[castitas]

[In all honesty, it still doesn't feel real. Even if there's an actual bear carcass now back in Milton, getting dressed for its meat and fur. She doesn't know how she did it, either. Maybe it was the anger that did it, maybe it was sheer luck. But she doesn't think for one second she could do it again, and she absolutely doesn't wanna try it.

She's sure the Lieutenant might know Tim if she describes him. Tim's hard to miss, although not because of his appearance but his... Everything Else. And well, there's also the unsaid part: you know, the boy she's been sneaking in her room for months — letting him crash on her bedroom floor. ]

Tim Drake? He's around my age, same height— black hair and— [ His eyes are blue, so blue against the shock-red of blood on his lip, spitting into the snow. Kate goes quiet for a long moment, itches to wring her hands but she can't so she just... sits there, useless. ]

... He was there on the day Lieutenant Little didn't come home. Tim... he— he could have done something unforgivable, and— I was so angry with him. I felt so betrayed by him, and—

[ In amongst the ache of greys and blues and dazed purple, there's the warming rose-gold: good God, she loves him. Her voice is hushed, ashamed: ]

So— so I hit him. I hurt him.

[ You're not supposed to hurt the people you love. ]

[extramuralise]

[ The boy Kate describes does sound vaguely familiar, although until now he's just been one of a small handful of Interlopers only recognizable to Irving by face alone, not by name— except even the name, too, seems familiar as well, surely one he's heard Kate mention before but then similarly had no face to connect it with.

And as for the unsaid part, which Irving, of course, remains entirely oblivious to... well, that's probably for good reason. What Kate's telling him is so far already borderline grounds for, at minimum, a cautionary raised eyebrow, even if Irving does know better than to interrogate her about the nature of her relationship with this boy right here and now.

Or possibly ever. But still, he's making a note of it. ]

Did he... [ Suddenly his concern seems to amplify. ] If he was behaving at all inappropriately, Miss Marsh, then you acted well within your rights to stop him.

[castitas]

What? No. No, no— he didn't— Tim would never. [ Nothing like that. The boy's even been in her bed beside her and barely touched her, but it's not really the best time to be thinking about that. ] He's—

[ Her mouth opens and closes and she's flustered because this is not how she every expected this revelation to come up. Not to mention she's really wanted to keep things quiet about Tim since she's worried about any repercussions — that anyone would give Tim a hard time over it all.

But Lieutenant Irving is someone she does trust. A responsible adult, yes. But she's pretty sure he's not going to go and harass Tim if he knows. He's a safe choice in people to tell. ]

I... [ God, help her. ] like Tim. Really like him. And... he likes me too.

[ Her fluster hasn't gone, and she's pointedly not looking at the Lieutenant as she speaks — pink burning at her cheeks. ]

I feel— awful for hitting him. And still angry. And I— still like him.

[extramuralise]

Well, that at least is a relief to hear.

[ And truly, is it ever— not that Irving could have possibly imagined any differently of Kate herself, of course, but he does after all have the grave misfortune of being passing familiar with the ways many a young man's wicked mind can work, to which most any girl might prove vulnerable no matter how pious or innocent.

But that relief, however genuine, does not last long upon his features before his expression becomes tense and faintly ashen as he proceeds to then absorb the implications of what Kate confesses to him next. His eyes grow wide and vaguely panicked, arm jerking upward almost marionette-like to clap his hand against his heart. ]

You— [ His mouth hangs open speechlessly for a handful of beats before it can occur to him again to close it, looking very much the fish out of water or deer caught in a spotlight. ] ... I see.

[ Irving falls quiet, pensive, looking somewhat at a loss as to how to proceed from here before he has to protest his own acknowledgement of merely moments ago. ]

No— no, in fact, I-I don't quite believe that I do see, [ he amends quickly, clearing his throat. ] Miss Marsh, have you and this boy been...

[ A beat, before he lowers his voice almost conspiratorially, as if preparing to stage whisper a dirty word: ]

Courting?

[ And suddenly he all but becomes like the stern and fussy — if ultimately well-intentioned — matron afeared to think of what the children have been getting up to under his very roof, holding up one hand as he places the other against his hip. ]

And please, do not think to lie to me. For how long has this... no, [ He blanks then momentarily, like a record skipping. ] What can't you forgive him doing?

[castitas]

[ She's bracing herself for— well, whatever it that's coming in terms of a reaction. She's not entirely sure how well exactly it's going to go down telling a Victorian that she likes a boy. Given the whole... culture difference between the past and future. She at least figures it'd be a whole lot easier than telling someone like Rorschach, or Lieutenant Little.

(At least Wynonna was cool.)

The initial reaction that she's well and truly bracing herself for is enough to catch her off-guard with how subdued it is. Kate chances looking up, still pink-cheeked and a little bit mortified. Like oh, this isn't so bad. This is fine.

Until it's not, and Kate's mouth is pressed into a tight thin line— Oh, she is— so screwed— courting. It's not like she's been lying about anything, just— choosing to omit the information. ]

Not— officially dating, or anything. [ She's sheepish, but it's the truth. ] We're, like— well, I... don't really know.

[ Is it dating if you kiss a boy a couple of times, let him sleep in the dog bed on the floor of your bedroom and then punch him in the face? She looks momentarily relief when he stops him and then flinches, eyes wide at the question.

Kate's head dips, and she feels vaguely nauseous. She's slow to answer, and the silence feels longer than it should. Finally, she inhales softly: ]

... He would've killed Lieutenant Little. Because he hurt me.

[ Her mouth's gone dry, and she tries to swallow down that nausea. ]

Tim stopped him. But then he took things into his own hands, until Wynonna arrived and put a stop to it.

[extramuralise]

[ The cognitive dissonance is hitting hard almost like a physical blow to the head, Irving's mind suddenly dividing itself into chaotically separate fractions all in disagreement with each other about what exactly to focus on and respond to first: one part argues not to lose sight now of the whole secret boyfriend of it all, while another insists upon interrogating her further about Edward Little's involvement, for all that may entail, and yet a third is scared witless to only now be learning about the existence of this boy, wondering if Kate could be at any potential risk with him or has perhaps already had her virtue compromised— in which case, what then? Does he take her to a doctor (and are there any remaining doctors)? ... To Wynonna?

This is why Irving is glad not to actually be a husband or father, the responsibility already crushing down on him as it is to simply know what to do about any of it. ]

Well, how can you possibly not know? [ This declaration does little — no, nothing — to ease his mind, heart thudding in his chest like a beating drum. ] A-and why—

[ His voice breaks off, catching in his throat. Then, at length, he adds: ]

... I knew almost nothing of this, [ he says quietly, tone of voice subdued. ] That Edw— Lieutenant Little had hurt you, yes, but not the rest.

[ And even the details of what exactly had transpired between Little and Kate have only more recently been made clear to him, once he had finally been able to hear of it straight from his 1st Lieutenant's mouth.

Then, with Little gone for so long afterward, and now the fact of Kate's secret male companion who had — along with Wynonna — intervened directly as it was all happening, Irving can't help but dismally consider that he's managed to fail them both terribly. ]

Have you intentions of seeing this boy again?

[ After what Tim did, almost did, even if it was in her defense; that much, Irving of course is grateful for, but does it mean he feels comfortable knowing that a boy like that is — or perhaps merely had been, now — within such close proximity to Kate, that if not for Wynonna alone then he could have easily had Little's blood on his hands? ]

[castitas]

I don't know what we are, exactly. [ It's an honest answer, as honest as she can give. ] We never talked about it, it— it's just kind of— a thing.

[ Secret, yes. Boyfriend? Kate wouldn't exactly call it that. It's not as if Tim's asked her out or anything. They've never exactly put words to whatever it is they are. And maybe it's also kind of down to Kate wanting to keep it on the down-low for specific reasons. ]

I'm not good at this stuff, it's all new to me. And I mean, nothing irresponsible's happened. [ Granted what she thinks is irresponsible and what Super Victorian John Irving might think is irresponsible are two different things. But at least she's deadly serious when she says: ] I don't believe in that.

[ And Tim? Tim wouldn't dare try. He's not like that. He wouldn't dare touch her in that, or even try to— not unless she asked. And she hasn't asked. Kate's frazzled, swallowing and pausing for a long moment. ]

He saved me. Lieutenant Little didn't mean for it, I know that. Of course I do, but Tim just— all of a sudden it wasn't about saving me anymore but getting payback for what Lieutenant Little had done.

[ Vengeance. Retribution. Maybe Tim figured if he stopped Lieutenant Little for good then he wouldn't be around to even try what he'd done again. She doesn't know. But Tim had made it about him when she was the one who got hurt, who was wronged.

She doesn't answer the question right away, mostly because she doesn't have an easy answer for it. Conflicted sure is the word of the day. She looks at her bruised and battered hands for a long moment. She's getting the feeling back into her fingers now, at least. ]

I wanted to get away from him. Getting away to Silverpoint helped. [ A change of scenery, away from Milton. Something to focus on. Kate inhales slowly. ] And then seeing him again, something just came over me and I was just so angry with him.

[ She's never been that kind of angry before. The kind that, looking back on it now, honestly kind of freaked her out. She's disturbed by it, her lips pressing together tightly. But her expression softens, grows a little wistful. ]

But I feel awful for hitting him, and I... still care about him. He's a good person, despite everything. He treats me more kindly, gives me more grace than I ever give myself sometimes.

[extramuralise]

[ I don't know what we are, exactly, she says, as if that doesn't somehow both make completely perfect sense to Irving while still shedding no further light on anything at all—

(Apart from only further nagging at his increasingly growing concern that Kate perhaps actually could wake up one morning to suddenly find herself already several weeks, or (God forbid!) maybe even a couple of months deep in... trouble, as it were, because regardless of her presently now insisting to, in fact, the very contrary, it isn't merely about whether or not Irving simply trusts Kate to make respectable and God-honoring choices for both herself and whatever company she's been keeping, but rather how young girls can often and all too easily fall into such a condition long before they're actually ready to become wives and mothers, and how he is truly just concerned the way he would also be for a sister or a niece, or of course hypothetically maybe even a daughter—

And thankfully, just like that, Irving's mind completely shuts down this entire spiraling thread of thoughts that keep unspooling faster than his rational mind can keep up with, slamming door after door shut upon them until his head is finally quiet. ]

Right, well. If you say so, Miss Marsh, [ he says briskly, clearly no more eager to discuss the subject of Men and Women™ than she would be. ] I certainly wouldn't have considered you to be the ... irresponsible sort, after all.

[ Irving clears his throat awkwardly, because the subject actually at hand isn't, in truth, all that much more comfortable to be discussing, although clearly he must still push through regardless.

Though what the appreciable difference between "saving Kate" and "getting payback against Lieutenant Little" is, exactly, Irving is also not entirely sure, but he can accept that there must surely be one, even if the nuance seems somewhat negligible.

Similar, perhaps, to how Kate is still able to say that this Tim is a "good person, despite everything," when that everything includes nearly putting Edward down like a mad dog instead of a man. Irving has seen men dispatched that way, and it never becomes less sickening to see them denied even the dignity of dying with their humanity still intact.

Irving breathes out slowly, searching for the right words to say, or simply... even any words might do, really. ]

I suppose it's— [ He sighs, shaking his head slowly. ] Th-that is, it must be difficult to... to reconcile fully, being in your position. Separating the man from quite all that he's done, however... willfully or not.