Work Text:
When Gavin first noticed his comb’s disappearance, he hadn’t cared too much. Sure, it’d been passed down from his mother’s side of the family he’d long distanced himself from. Old enough that even his mother hadn’t remembered which of his many great-grandparents first had it. Robust enough to endure being jostled around in saddlebags through the cattle drives he’d once undertook. A lone memento from the relatives that’d driven him away with harsh words and thrown crockery in their Michigan homestead the day they delved into his personal life.
It was only a matter of finding it again. Kent had last used it, ensuring his hair was combed back before he put on his hat and left for central Colorado.
On that first day, he figured Kent had tossed it somewhere on accident, and it’d turn up again whenever Gavin decided to look for it.
When he searched for it on the second day, it didn’t reappear. Gavin grew frustrated at the opened dresser drawers with no comb in sight. His feelings intensified when he ran a hand through his hair, the motion slowed by forming tangles. Riding to the Sheriff’s office that morning, he wondered if Kent had taken it with him on accident.
That evening, he sifted through the contents of his dresser before he went to bed. Like before, it was nowhere to be found, and Gavin went to sleep alone and irritated. That comb had been with him through so much of his life, and now he was going to lose it from a misplacement? That didn’t settle well with him.
He dreamt of Kent’s death that night and woke up in a cold sweat, shouting for a man a hundred miles away. Gavin stayed awake and paced the house, trying to remove the images from his mind.
The absence of the comb agitated him by the third day. An additional factor of stress as he traversed in and out of Fort Collins, chasing useless leads on a thief’s whereabouts. Upon Fowler’s command, he then dealt with the earliest rush of saloon goers. Thanks to a particularly ornery patron, Gavin had a brawl on his hands until backup arrived and brought the disorder to a halt.
That evening, Gavin iced his jaw with heavy arms and a heart stretched to its limit. He’d been punched in the face twice, shoved into a counter, gone through a wrestling match, and spent too long on horseback. Gavin was ready for the day’s end. Even if he wanted to leave the couch he’d collapsed onto, Gavin doubted he had the will to move, sore from the encounter with some of his least favorite citizens.
His home felt too silent without Kent, and Gavin wanted him home. Gavin could crawl into bed and fall asleep against him, the stresses of his day dispersing with his lover by his side once more. Maybe if he weren’t passed out when Kent returned, Gavin could complain to him about the past couple days and the denseness of citizens. Kent would listen to him without interrupting, nodding his occasional agreement as he empathized with Gavin without the need for words.
Gavin ran a hand through his hair, the motion sluggish. His fingers caught in the greasy mats, and the comb came back to his mind. With it, his frustrations returned.
How the Hell had Kent lost it? He’d been so careful with Gavin’s belongings until now, sure to return them to their rightful place once he was done. Maybe he still had it with him, having brought it down to Colorado Springs.
He’d better have, Gavin thought. He had no other speculations left.
He was dozing off with the ice pack nestled to his face when he heard a cantering horse’s hoofbeats.
Gavin snapped awake; his exhaustion gone. He rushed to the window and found Kent leading Mara into the barn. Relief washed over him as he waited for Kent to step through the front door.
Yet with how disheveled his hair felt, the pressing issue of the comb lingered in his thoughts. That damned thing’s vanishment added to his discomfort, and he didn’t appreciate that one bit.
Kent stepped through the door; his saddlebags slung over his shoulder. A sight that’d greeted Gavin so many times before, one that made him stride up and kiss Kent in welcome and reassurance alike.
That time, Gavin stayed put. He could see the skepticism form on Kent’s face as he closed the door, already worn from his travels.
“Hey.” Gavin tried to say it gently, but it wound up rough anyway.
Kent stayed in front of the door, his comfortable stance turning tense. “Hey.”
“Where’s my comb?”
Kent raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”
“You used a comb before you left. It’s gone. Do you have it?”
“Oh. I don’t think I do.” Kent’s tone was dismissive of the subject.
Gavin’s previous hopes disappeared. “Goddamnit,” he hissed.
Kent’s expression grew colder, but his voice remained steady. “Relax, Gav. I’m sure it’s somewhere-“
He didn’t care about reassurances. Not when his comb was missing from Kent’s wrongdoing. “Give me your saddlebags,” Gavin demanded, stepping up to Kent.
“I would’ve seen it if it was in there-“
“You probably missed it.”
Kent scowled, but he pulled the saddlebags off his shoulder and thrust them against Gavin’s chest. “It’s not in there. See for yourself.”
Gavin snatched them out of his hands and carried them over to his dinner table, dumping out their contents. Jerky and bread swaddled in cloths fell out, along with gun oil and Kent’s organized shaving kit. He shoved them aside, eyes scouring for the black comb.
“Hey, be careful with that!” Kent scolded as he tossed aside a bottle of gun oil, his hands settling at last on a comb. But it wasn’t his. Gavin threw aside the ivory-colored comb with missing tines and it clattered across the table.
“Gavin.” Kent spoke his name as a threat.
He shot a glare over at Kent, where he stood in the entrance to the kitchen with crossed arms. His lover watched him back; eyebrows scrunched together in a marked scowl. Gavin pored over the contents of both saddlebags, only finding more provisions and Kent’s gun supplies.
“Fuck,” Gavin cursed.
“Christ, Gavin,” Kent grumbled behind him. He sighed in exasperation. “If it matters that much to you, then let’s look for it.”
“Fine. We’d better find it.”
Gavin snatched at the clothing in his dresser drawers, tossing aside his and Kent’s clothes alike in his search.
After emptying the contents of his dresser, his wardrobe, and the vanity where Kent had last used the comb, it was still nowhere to be found. By the time he’d checked beneath everything he could check, Gavin was livid.
He’d dug through his bedside tables and was in the middle of shaking out his bedsheets when Kent walked back into the room, done with checking downstairs.
Gavin froze at the footsteps ceasing, and he looked over at Kent.
“I couldn’t find it,” Kent admitted. His eyes widened as he looked around the ransacked bedroom. Kent opened his mouth to speak again and Gavin interrupted him, throwing the quilt on the ground.
“Dammit. How hard is it to keep track of a simple comb?” His voice reverberated through the room, and Gavin didn’t care about how loud he was.
“I don’t know where it went. Did you check under the-“
“Of course I did,” Gavin snapped. He jabbed a finger aimed for Kent’s chest. “ You took it.”
“I didn’t,” Kent exclaimed, exasperated.
“You did.” He voiced his lone still-possible theory. “You left it in Colorado Springs, didn’t you? You fucking-“
Kent finally cut off Gavin’s start of a rant. His voice turned to ice, each word low and dangerous. “Gavin. Get over yourself. It’s a comb . I’m sorry I misplaced it, but I don’t know where it is.”
“It’s not just some comb, Kenny.” Gavin spat the nickname, recalling Kent’s disdain at it. “It’s a family heirloom.”
“Why the fuck should it matter, then?” Kent yelled; his patience gone. The question pierced through the room. “You hate your family.”
It was true. Still, Kent’s words stabbed through his heart, and Gavin’s blood boiled. “You shut the fuck up about them,” he roared.
Kent’s expression faltered, softening for a moment. He took a step towards Gavin, and when he spoke his voice was more tired than angry. “Gavin…”
Gavin backed away from him, as Kent’s harsh words repeated in his mind. “Go away.”
Kent moved in towards him, his hands splayed out before him, as if in surrender. “Gav. Listen. I’m-“
His whole body trembled from some horrific combination of stress, grief at people he shouldn’t have missed, and uncontrollable anger. “Get out,” he shouted, repulsed by the sight of Kent, his face burning.
Kent stopped, and Gavin saw the anger disappear from his eyes, replaced by an unmistakable hollowness.
Standing in the room, his belongings and Kent’s scattered about, he listened to Kent’s boots pound against the stairs. Until the front door slammed shut, and silence fell over the home.
When he heard the thunder of Mara’s hooves fade away, Gavin’s anger disappeared. The sound brought back memories of past fights, and with it the threat of tears.
The stairs were the sole place in his home that didn’t immediately remind him of Kent. Gavin sat on the top step and buried his face in his arms, trying to block Kent out of his mind.
It didn’t work. His home held a deafening silence, and Gavin wondered if he’d just lost the love of his life over a fucking comb. Now that Kent was gone, he knew he’d been right. It was just a comb, associated with people he shouldn’t defend in a bout of unnecessary fury.
A comb that’d resulted in a volatile argument. He and Kent had had their disagreements now and again. Over who should get provisions after a long day of work, or Gavin’s attempts at whistling folk songs, or Kent’s annoying habit of grinding his teeth when he was deep in thought or impatient. But those hadn’t ever resulted in a shouting contest.
When Mephisto and Hellfire’s insistent whinnies rang through his bedroom window one too many times, Gavin willed himself to get up and move.
Without Mara to scare his geldings away from her own pile of hay, there was an emptiness to the barn. Gavin didn’t linger after his horses and chickens were fed.
Walking back into his house, Gavin wondered if his old way of life had come back. If he was back to being alone, having driven away another lover with his temper and neediness alike.
Gavin told himself he could get on with his life without Kent. He’d been alone for years; he didn’t need anyone. That thought process had worked on past lovers, their emotional distances untraversable. With Kent, Gavin felt inescapable grief at his absence.
Dusk settled over the little ridge valley, and Gavin forced himself to eat a small dinner. Kent’s belongings lay scattered on the kitchen table, and Gavin was forced to confront his actions again. He wondered, his heart sinking, if Kent would ever retrieve them.
He knew he had to try and sleep, to be ready for another day spent patrolling Fort Collins. Gavin tried to fall asleep on the couch, but it was too stiff for his already aching body. Against his desires he went back upstairs and into his bedroom, where the reminders of their fight cluttered his room.
Gavin made his bed again and turned his focus to the clothes that lay crumpled against the hardwood.
Folding his own clothes was easy enough, and in a short amount of time they were returned to their designated drawers.
With Kent’s clothes, Gavin forced himself to keep moving his hands. To merely fold them up and stow them before he sought out the scents of Kent’s shaving cream and aftershave amongst the strong smell of soap.
When he picked up one of Kent’s white shirts, faintly stained with blood on its front, he gave in. Gavin clung to its fabric, breathing in the herbal scent of Kent’s aftershave.
His grip on the shirt tightened, and he held it against his chest, embracing it as if it were Kent. While it comforted him, it also reminded Gavin he was alone, and he squeezed his eyes shut. A few tears rolled down his face and he mopped at them with the shirt, embarrassed.
Kneeling on the floor, his knees aching against the hardwood as he wallowed in his own sorrow, Gavin realized he hadn’t checked behind anything. He placed the shirt on his bed and turned his focus back to searching for the comb.
Nothing was behind the dresser, but when he pulled the small vanity forward something clattered against the floor. Gavin’s heart paused, and upon inspecting the source of the noise he found his comb, its black material prominent against the floor. He picked it up and moved the vanity back, his fingers feeling out the engraved floral pattern.
Finding it wasn’t the victory he’d hoped for earlier in the day. Gavin sat on the edge of the bed and stroked at its tines with his thumb, paying little mind to the prickling noise. He no longer felt stressed or ready to fall asleep. All that remained was a gaping emptiness.
The moon had advanced across a decent portion of the night sky, and Gavin knew he should sleep. But he didn’t feel like moving, too lost in his thoughts. Of how he’d fucked up this time, how Kent was going to abandon him over some stupid argument just like everyone else, of why he should be alone and never be loved-
Footsteps creaked up the stairs, and Gavin froze. He fixated on the sound, his head turning towards his closed door.
It opened gently and Kent shouldered his way through, his eyes locking with Gavin’s. He closed the door behind him and kept one hand behind his back.
They stayed silent for a few moments. Kent glanced over him with clear unease.
Gavin cleared his throat and spoke up. “I found it,” he raised the comb, presenting it to Kent.
His lover shuffled a bit, backing against the door. “Oh, good.” Kent was quiet, and Gavin swore a blush tinted his face.
The hand behind Kent’s back drew his attention. “What’s that in your hand?”
“It’s, uh…” Kent hesitated, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “It doesn’t matter now.”
Gavin set the comb down on his nightstand. “Looks like it does.”
Kent sighed and presented his hand. In his gentle grip was a mahogany comb.
Any remaining feelings of frustration and worry disappeared, and Gavin wondered just what the Hell he’d done to deserve a man like Kent.
“It’s not a family heirloom,” Kent commented with a hint of embarrassment.
“No, it’s not,” Gavin murmured. “Can I see it?”
He stepped closer, still tense. Gavin wanted nothing more than to change that, regretting how he’d kicked Kent out of his home with so much aggression. Kent kept a distance between Gavin and himself, and Gavin coaxed the comb out of his grip, admiring its deep red color. “One of my favorite colors, too,” he commented with affection.
Kent wasn’t quite convinced, and he began “I could return it if you-“
Gavin shook his head, and Kent’s sentence cut off. He glanced up at Kent and gave him a brief, asymmetrical smile. “Thank you.”
“I’m sorry.” Kent’s apology was rough and unsteady, just as out of his element as Gavin was with reconciling. “For misplacing it, and what I said earlier. Especially about your family.”
“You were right about them.” It’d been years and states away, but the insults they’d thrown at him the night they learned of his sexuality echoed in his mind. That night still left an ache in the part of him that took their words to heart.
“It’s complicated, huh?” Kent murmured.
“Yeah.” Gavin gazed down at his lap, at the comb cradled in his hands. He felt small, defeated as he confessed, “I’m sorry too. I’ve been an asshole to you over a comb of all things.”
Kent stepped up closer, and his hand went to Gavin’s shoulder, giving a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, Gav.” His thumb pet along Gavin’s collarbone, and he focused on the slow and repetitive feeling.
The past caught up to Gavin, and he ducked his head down, worried by the constricting lump in his throat. “You stayin’?” His emotional walls were down, and the question showed his underlying fears.
“Of course. If you’ll have me,” the hopeful phrase lifted at the end, almost a question.
“’Course. I’m not losin’ you that easy.”
“Good,” Kent murmured, full of affection. His other hand moved under Gavin’s chin, fingers settling over the scruff along his jaw.
Gavin flinched away as pain flared up, an unwelcome reminder of how his day had gone.
Kent’s hand flew off him, and he cursed, “oh God, I’m-“
When Gavin looked up, he found Kent almost as tense as before. “Easy there, old man. I got punched earlier. Don’t touch that side and you’ll be fine, promise.”
Kent’s hand went to the other side of his face, caressing his cheek. “They hurt you anywhere else?” The malice directed at the cause of Gavin’s pain wasn’t lost on him, and he felt a twinge of affection at that.
“Just a brawl. Sore, but I’ll be fine,” Gavin murmured, letting himself lean into Kent’s careful touch.
“At the saloon?”
“You know it.”
“Those bastards” Kent grumbled. Kent’s hand roamed up the side of his face, and he tried to comb at Gavin’s hair out of habit. His fingers got caught in the mats, and Kent cursed a milder “shit, sorry” before pulling away.
“’S fine.”
Kent’s hand went for the comb, and he stopped short of grabbing it. “May I?”
Gavin nodded and Kent stepped in closer, his free hand settling against the side of Gavin’s neck.
The comb scraped gently along his scalp as Kent worked at the small tangles, and Gavin let his eyes close.
“Where’d you get it?” Gavin mumbled.
“Hayward’s.”
“Hm” was all he could muster for a response. Until he thought about the general store more and remembered how many times he’d tried to shop only to find the doors already closed and locked. “They close awful early, though.” He looked back up at Kent.
For a moment, Kent didn’t respond. “It took some persuasion,” he admitted, hesitating on the last word.
“All of that for a comb, huh?” Gavin replied, amused.
Kent pulled away the comb and held it in the small space between them, letting the light from the kerosene lamps glow on it. “It’s not robust enough to be an heirloom, but it was the best one they had.”
“It’s better than any heirloom to me.” Gavin nestled his face to Kent’s chest, and Kent wrapped his arm around his shoulders in a partial embrace.
Kent continued to comb the remaining tangles in Gavin’s hair. “It didn’t cost much, Gav. Hell, I spent more just getting Hayward to listen to the reason I wanted to shop so late.”
“He listened to you?” Gavin asked, recalling all the times he’d tried to complain to the stiff shopkeeper about his unfair hours. “Mr. Hayward must be gettin’ soft in his old age. Doesn’t matter how many thieves or unruly customers I’ve dealt with for him, he still won’t lend an ear when I wanna shop around closing time.”
“He could’ve been laughing at me in his head for all I know. I’m sure he doesn’t experience customers desperate for a comb on the regular.”
“He’s been runnin’ that shop almost as long as I’ve been alive, according to Fowler. I’m sure he’s seen that before,” Gavin remarked with a wry smile.
Kent huffed at that. “Probably.” He let go of Gavin, done with combing out his hair. Kent walked over and placed the comb on the vanity, beginning to look himself over in the mirror. A frown began as he ran a hand over his stubble-shaded chin.
Gavin recognized his contempt and stepped over. When Kent paused and looked at him in curiosity, Gavin pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, right at the end of his scar.
He pulled away, and Kent acknowledged him with a gentle fondness he’d missed so dearly the past couple days. Gavin’s heart lightened, and he felt himself start to relax at last.
Gavin brought his hand to Kent’s arm, guiding him away from the mirror, and Kent followed. “C’mon, city slicker. Let’s go to bed.”