Archive of Our Own ^beta

Before

“Absolutely not.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I said no.”

Kate throws up her hands, turns toward the dancers lounging on the stage between rehearsals in a wordless request for support.

The girls stare back at her, unimpressed. Good luck with that, their skeptical faces are saying, and Better you than us.

“Traitors,” Kate mutters under her breath, then directs her attention back at her new boss.

“Come on,” she needles. “You run a saloon. Music and dance are what you sell. It’s your business. How can you be so opposed to trying your own fare?”

“I am not,” Nathaniel smirks. He leans back in his chair, raises his glass in a defiant salute. “I do personally test all the liquor that passes through this house.” As if to demonstrate, he tips back his head, downs his drink, eyes the open bottle on the table.

Kate snatches the bourbon away before he can extend his arm toward it, ignores his indignant sounds of protest, and places the bottle on the next table over, safely out of Nathaniel’s reach.

“Wallowing and getting drunk doesn’t count.”

She bends down to grab his wrist, and he actually startles at her clearly unexpected touch.

A little belatedly, it occurs to her that she might have overstepped, but it’s too late now for regrets, and anyway, he allows her to pull him to his feet with only minimal resistance, so perhaps she made the right call after all.

Just to be safe, she keeps her fingers wrapped around his arm, to stop him from getting away if he should try. Standing this close, she can smell the bourbon on his breath, the tobacco scent of his cigars, the Ivory soap Kai uses on their laundry – a mix of scents she doesn’t love, and it should feel overwhelming; but instead it just smells like Hagan’s, it smells familiar, and she isn’t sure if that’s something she wants to think about too much.

“Kurt,” she yells over Nathaniel’s head in the direction of the bar, “we need a polka.”

The barkeep grumbles, but he does take his place at the piano as requested, and when the first tentative notes reach their ears, Nathaniel sighs in resignation.

“Polka, huh?” he says, wearily.

She grins down at her reluctant dance partner. “Gotta try everything at least once,” she says cheerfully, and then, on an impulse, she plucks the black bowler hat off of Nathaniel’s head and places it on her own curls.

“I really don’t know why I hired you,” Nathaniel complains, disgruntled, but he doesn’t demand his hat back, just sets his hand on her shoulder and lets her lead.

After

A hat shop in Abeline, he’d said, which isn’t much to go on. She has no way of telling if he’d been serious about it at all. For all she knows, it had just been a throwaway line; a joke because they both knew how he felt about hats; or perhaps a ploy to deter her from trying to follow him out of town.

But it is all she has, and after the dust had settled in the wake of the tumbleweed wagon taking Tom Davidson away, after they had pinned a new metal star on Augustus’ chest, after all the whiskey had been drunk and all the songs had been sung, she’d been left with a saloon in her name and the realization that there was one last thing left for her to do.

The Windsor Hotel in Abeline is a stately building with an ornate iron balcony on the second floor and merlons crowning the roof, making Hagan’s back in Independence look small and insignificant in comparison. By the time she stumbles out of the carriage after an excruciating two-day ride on the stagecoach, she is dusty and sweaty and thirsty, and all Kate wants is a hot bath and a long nap. Instead, she merely freshens up quickly in her room and then ventures downstairs in search of a drink and information.

“Bourbon,” she requests, props her elbows up on the bar. “Double.”

That does get her a raised eyebrow from the barkeep – apparently the ladies in this fine town are not known for drinking in bars alone this early in the afternoon – but when she slides a handful of bills across the countertop, he pours her drink without comment.

She nods in thanks, tastes the whiskey.  

“Good stuff,” she says, approvingly, and he actually smiles a little at that.

“What brings you to Abeline?” he asks, maybe sensing an opportunity for new gossip, or perhaps just making small talk to be polite.

“Headwear,” Kate replies, licking her lips to chase the flavor of the liquor.

“Pardon?” he makes, pausing in the middle of wiping down the counter, confused.

“Say,” she says, and nudges more money at him, together with her empty glass for a refill. “You wouldn’t know any good hat shops around town?”

Before

“I think the storm is pushing over the carriage,” Kate murmurs, trying to hold onto something sturdy but feeling only blankets and pillows under her hands. “Everything is spinning.”

“The storm stopped at least an hour ago,” Nathaniel says dryly, lowering himself gingerly into the folding chair next to the cot. “The cart is fine, you just have a concussion.”

He produces a small brown bottle from the pocket of his waistcoat, pours a generous serving into a glass, then slides one hand underneath the back of her neck and gently lifts her head, bringing the glass to her lips with the other.

“Drink this.”

Obediently, she takes a sip, frowns when the syrupy liquid burns on her tongue.

“What the hell is this?” she sputters.

“Purely medicinal,” Nathaniel says lightly, and lowers her head back to the pillow with care.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t kill me,” she grumbles, swallowing thickly in a futile attempt to get rid of the bitter aftertaste.

“And you’d deserve it, after your latest stunt,” he says gruffly. “What were you thinking, trying to swing on the trapeze like this? You do remember that you are not an actual chimpanzee, don’t you?”

She begins to shrug, then stops and winces when the movement sends a jolt of sharp pain down her spine. “The acrobats made it look so easy,” she says, pitifully, trying to somehow get more comfortable without actually moving too much.

“The acrobats actually know what they are doing,” Nathaniel quips. He gets up again from his seat, and suddenly she panics at the thought of him leaving, stupidly, can’t bear the feeling of being alone with her aching limbs and her misery.

“No, wait, don’t go,” she calls weakly, when he turns his back to her. “I promise I’ll behave.”

“Shush,” he admonishes, returning to her bedside, and brushes her hair out of her face before placing a damp cloth on her forehead. The cool fabric feels pleasant on her dry-hot skin. She sighs quietly.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, and he doesn’t sound entirely happy about it, but he does hang his hat over the back of the chair and folds himself back into the narrow seat.

“Aww,” she murmurs, feeling her eyelids grow heavy. “You do care.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” he grunts. He picks up a book and his flask from somewhere nearby, settles in. “It’s getting dark outside, and everything is covered in sand and dust. We can’t leave before tomorrow morning. It’s either playing nurse for you here, or watching an entire circus crew drink themselves into a stupor in the big tent.”

“That does sound like your kind of fun, admit it,” she mumbles. She is so very tired.

“Yeah, well, for now you are stuck with me,” he says, and it’s the last thing she hears before sleep drags her under, slowly.

After

The whiskey provides the needed liquid courage, the bartender a scrap of paper with the name and street of a local shop scribbled on it.

“The best place in town,” the man assured her when he handed her the note, but standing in front of the shop, now, she feels a pang of disappointment. The storefront looks wealthy but non-descript, the name doesn’t sound like anything Nathaniel would choose – but then, perhaps he is trying to keep a low profile. Perhaps he doesn’t want to see her. Perhaps the truth is that she never really knew him at all. Perhaps –

Perhaps he was never here. Her heart sinks the moment she pushes the door open and sets foot into the store, because she only has to take one look around to realize that she is in the wrong place.

It’s the type of place she remembers well from Baltimore, the type she would usually give a wide berth; an elegant store catering to wealthy ladies, a store for respectable women, and Kate is certainly not respectable, and not even always sure that she’s a woman either.

“May I help you?” the store owner asks, her disapproval at Kate’s unceremonious entrance barely masked by superficial politeness.

“Sorry, wrong address,” Kat quips with faux cheerfulness, and backs out of the store again as quickly as she came.

Outside, she deflates. She desperately wants to sink down on the stairs in front of the shop, but that would likely just earn her more disapproving stares, so she does the next best thing and sags dejectedly against the narrow post holding up the porch.

“The hats not to your liking, miss?” a voice drawls, and she lifts her head, coming face to face with a young man, perhaps still a boy, staring at her openly from a few feet’s distance while taking slow bites out of a red-cheeked apple.

“Beg your pardon?” she asks, too tired to cover for her confusion.

“The hats, miss,” the kid repeats. “You just walked out of Schmitz & Sons looking awfully disappointed.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know how she feels about being so easy to read. “Let’s just say I didn’t find what I was looking for.”

“Sorry to hear that, miss.” The boy takes a last bite out of his fruit and then flings the core into the street, right at the feet of a carriage horse that snaps it up happily.

“Would you like one yourself?” he asks and produces another apple from his pocket. He inspects it critically, polishes it with his sleeve, then holds it out to her.

“Thank you, kid,” she says and takes the offered gift after a moment of hesitation. “That’s very kind.”

“My pleasure, miss,” he grins and tips his hat at her. “But if you are still looking for a hat, you might give Nate’s & Kate’s a try.”

By the time her mind catches up with what he said, he’s already turned around and walked five feet down the street.

“Wait,” she calls, anxiously, heart in her throat. “What did you say was the name again?”

Before

“I think there is a body back here,” Nathaniel says.

Kate looks up in alarm and finds her travel companion staring intently at the ground toward the back of the shaft. He raises his little oil lantern and prods the sand with the tip of his foot.

“Or what’s left of it anyway.”

She frowns. The last thing they need right now is find out that the seemingly abandoned mine they’ve sought shelter in is actually inhabited by a mountain lion, one that might soon return home to wait out the storm here as well.

“Human or animal?” she asks, apprehensively, because, well, a mountain lion would certainly be inconvenient, but between the two of them and their guns, they could probably handle that kind of problem. If there are human remains in this cave, however, they might face entirely different issues.

But: “Neither, I think,” Nathaniel says, a little doubtfully, and she throws him a sharp look.

“Do not tell me that you think you found Bigfoot's corpse,” she says, tetchily. “There’s a dust storm coming and I have sand already in a hundred places where sand never should be. I’m not in the mood for children’s fairy tales.”

“No, not Bigfoot,” Nathaniel answers, too focused on whatever he’s looking at to even react to the annoyance in her tone. “Unless Bigfoot has a ten-foot long neck, that is.”

“A what?” she asks, pausing in her efforts to get a little fire started at the entrance to the mine. She wonders, briefly, if Nathaniel secretly got into the liquor while steering the carriage across the windy plains, but his voice sounds steady and clear, if contemplative.

With a sigh, she abandons her task and makes her way further down the tunnel.

“What the –“ she starts when she comes to stand next to Nathaniel and sees what he does at last.

“Is that a piece of an … elephant?” She shakes her head. “No, wait. A giraffe.”

Nathaniel shoots her a skeptical look. “A giraffe? In Texas?”

“Maybe –“ Her shoulders fall. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

“It’s a dinosaur,” he says, and she blinks, then looks again, more closely this time.

“Huh,” she says. She tilts her head. “You really think –“

“I’ve seen skeletons before in museums and traveling shows,” Nathaniel says. “In London and New York. People come from all over the world to marvel at their bones.” He lowers himself to a squat, runs a hand over the massive shoulder blade emerging from the sand.

“But this one has just been lying here, all alone, for millions and millions of years, and no one knows he’s here.”

He sounds a little sad, like he’s genuinely moved by the fate of this ancient, alien creature, and Kate has a scathing remark already on her tongue when she catches a glimpse of his face that makes her reconsider.

“Getting sentimental in your old age?” she teases, softly, and Nathaniel shrugs, still staring down at the bones in the sand.

“No one wants to die alone,” he says, and Kate thinks that there must be some dust in her eyes as well because quite suddenly she feels herself tearing up.

“Do you think I’d ever stop nagging you long enough to let you hide away to die alone?” she asks gruffly. “Not a chance.” She bends down, extends her arm to him, waits for him to take a hold of it and pulls him to his feet.

“Come on, old man. Now take off your hat and help me get a fire going, so we don’t die together in this storm and they'll find our bodies next to the dinosaur in this cave.“

After

“Oh Nathaniel,” she sighs, when she sees both of their names actually spelled out in elegant font on a dark red sign over the door to the shop.

She came all this way to find him, but now that she’s on his doorstep, she suddenly feels oddly nervous, doubts herself. What if she isn't welcome? What if he doesn’t want to see her at all? 

But there is no way she can turn back now that she’s seen the store, and the name he's given it, so instead of turning around on her heel, she steels herself and pushes open the heavy wooden door to the shop.

The familiarity of it takes her breath away. It’s a dimly-lit crowded hat shop she’s never seen before, in a town she’s never been to in her life, and yet there is something about the décor, the lighting, the smell, that reminds her of something, calls to her, that tells her that she belongs.

“I’m afraid we are closed for the day,” a voice behind her says, and that, too, is familiar, in its whiskey-rough gravel and old-world tongue.

“That’s a shame,” she says, “I was looking to buy a hat.”

She turns around, and there he is, in the flesh, looking quite like he did when she last saw him, a little older perhaps, a little healthier too.

“Kate,” he says, his eyes widening. “I wasn’t expecting you.” He doesn’t sound unhappy about it, though, so it can’t be that unpleasant a surprise.

She swallows around the sudden lump in her throat. “The name of the shop,” she says. “Rather sentimental, don’t you think?”

Nathaniel shrugs, smirks, but doesn’t deny it. “Sure,” he says easily. “But you like it, don’t you.”

“It’s certainly flattering to know that I’m not forgotten,” she concedes. “Considering that you refused to let me come with you when you left.”

Nathaniel sighs, and she immediately feels guilty for her words. “You know it’s not that I didn’t want you to come,” he says. “But –“

“Yes,” she interrupts him quickly, trying to make up for the sting of her previous reproach. “You wanted me to face my shadows. I know. And you were right.”

He actually smiles at that, a benevolent I told you so.

He steps around her to the front of the storeroom, locks the door from the inside, lowers the blinds in the window, then finally turns around to face her again.

“Kate,” he says. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, well,” she says lightly. “If you must know, there was this young man who gave me an apple and told me that if I needed a hat, this was the place to go in town.”

Nathaniel huffs, as if he's secretly amused. “So you met Trey,” he says, knowingly.

“Trey?” she asks curiously. “He didn't tell me his name. Does he work for you?”

“Not exactly,” Nathaniel says, a little reluctantly. Almost like he's embarrassed. He scratches his neck. “He’s just a kid. Doesn't have any kin in Abilene. I’ve taken him under my wings a bit, so to speak.”

She takes in his awkward explanation, puzzling at his hedging tone, until finally it dawns on her: He’s worried she might be jealous, and that concern is both so endearing and misguided that she almost laughs out loud.

“I’m not mad,” she says, answering a question he hasn’t asked. “I’m glad you found someone else to look after,” she adds, and means it. I’m glad you have someone to look after you, she continues in her mind, but she isn’t suicidal enough to say that one out loud.

“You’d like him, I think,” Nathaniel says. “He's quite opinionated, but loyal." He shakes his head. "But you still haven’t told me why you are really here.”

She shrugs innocently. “Maybe I wanted to find out if you were serious about the hat shop, or if it was just a joke.”

“It almost was at first,” he admits plainly. “But I did have to settle down somewhere, and I figured perhaps it would indeed be good for me to get into a business where I don't enjoy my own product quite as much.”

He raises his hand before she can open her mouth.

“That doesn’t mean I stopped drinking whiskey,” he adds. “And stop distracting. Why are you here?”

She swallows. “Is it so hard to believe that maybe I’m just here because I missed you?”

He weighs his head skeptically, but not unkindly. “With anyone else? No. But you? You wouldn’t feel like you could come here unless you had a legitimate excuse.”

Damn him for knowing her so well. But he's right, of course. She did come here to tell him the news after all. 

“We got Hagan’s back, Nathaniel,” she says quietly. “Hagan's is ours again.”

He frowns. “What about Tom Davidson?”

“Oh, he –“ She pauses, exhales a shaky little laugh. “That’s a really long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time,” he says, and gestures toward the backroom of the shop.

“Do you want to tell me about it over a glass of extremely expensive bourbon?”

She smiles, hooks her arm into his, smells whiskey and soap and cigars. 

“I thought you’d never ask, old hat,” she says, and feels like she has finally come home.