Doc certainly was no spring chicken, even if he was immortalized in his young body. The winter months rolling in always activated that itch in his throat. It was hard to keep down a cough breaking through which always worried him. He kept a handkerchief handy, stuffed in his coat pocket. He pulled it out more during the cold.
Kate much like the cold had rattled him. She'd taken his things and his house in one bad poker match. Living with Nitrous hadn't been his plan, but he would take it one step at a time. Kate was his wild card. He hadn't asked her but for one thing, his guns and she had kicked him out on his ass a second time. It was humiliating really, but he wouldn't hang on to grudges. This was a matter of principle.
Wrapping a scarf around his neck (it was now below forty degrees) and a cigarette perched between his lips. The ash had started to pile on the end, ready to fall the moment he went to speak. He wasn't a dream boat, but he had cleaned up with his hair slicked back, clean shave and fancy coat. Doc was never a stranger to looking nice.
He wasn't on time, he felt like making her wait just out of spite. She deserved that much. Pinching the cigarette between his fingers he pounded on the door. "Yer buyin' the drinks tonight darlin', think you owe me that."