"Not having hot running water never stopped us from doing nothing," Doc points out. But, fine, he won't be the one to insist they defile their makeshift moonshine container with the rub of her skin and the taste of her lips. He is not prioritising getting her crawling into his lap for the moment, in or out of the tub. There are far more pressing matters at hand.
"You can't be distilling anything in your own makeshift home. Fumes and fire hazards do not a safe, humble abode make. But an abandoned cabin nearby will suit our needs just fine. I'll see to it - after everything is tended to here." He might not know anybody else here, might not appear much like he gives a shit most of the time, but she knows him to be a better man than that. Certainly he is a liar, a killer, a thief. The kind of man who knows that being able to do the right thing is a privilege only few can afford to squander. The kind of man who would likely survive this, against the odds, and teeter dangerously between selfish and uncaring. None of this is in dispute.
Nevertheless he is also a doctor, a lover, a protector. He won't apologise for his transgressions. Life gave him a metric ton of lemons. He can't be faulted for having been a bitter cynic, putting in a half-assed effort to man his splintering, bullet hole-ridden, weathered signaged lemonade stand. But all men bury their sins as well as they can under the tilt and tip and brim of their hat, and all sinners make for good and bad men alike. These days, he can afford to look out for others, whether or not that buys him any goodwill at all. She had said the people here need help, and it costs him nothing to be kind. It wouldn't do after all to be the only two people left standing in this god forsaken patch of snow, with no way of returning on their own.
"That offer to your cabin still stand? If it's safe enough to leave, of course." He's about done with his coffee, and she's keeping up his pace. They haven't received any last minute stragglers, although he might make a quick round just in case. Casually scope out everyone else here.
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"You can't be distilling anything in your own makeshift home. Fumes and fire hazards do not a safe, humble abode make. But an abandoned cabin nearby will suit our needs just fine. I'll see to it - after everything is tended to here." He might not know anybody else here, might not appear much like he gives a shit most of the time, but she knows him to be a better man than that. Certainly he is a liar, a killer, a thief. The kind of man who knows that being able to do the right thing is a privilege only few can afford to squander. The kind of man who would likely survive this, against the odds, and teeter dangerously between selfish and uncaring. None of this is in dispute.
Nevertheless he is also a doctor, a lover, a protector. He won't apologise for his transgressions. Life gave him a metric ton of lemons. He can't be faulted for having been a bitter cynic, putting in a half-assed effort to man his splintering, bullet hole-ridden, weathered signaged lemonade stand. But all men bury their sins as well as they can under the tilt and tip and brim of their hat, and all sinners make for good and bad men alike. These days, he can afford to look out for others, whether or not that buys him any goodwill at all. She had said the people here need help, and it costs him nothing to be kind. It wouldn't do after all to be the only two people left standing in this god forsaken patch of snow, with no way of returning on their own.
"That offer to your cabin still stand? If it's safe enough to leave, of course." He's about done with his coffee, and she's keeping up his pace. They haven't received any last minute stragglers, although he might make a quick round just in case. Casually scope out everyone else here.