"Doc Holliday was a dentist whom necessity had made a gambler; a gentleman whom disease had made a frontier vagabond; a philosopher whom life had made a caustic wit; a long, lean fellow nearly dead with consumption and at the same time the most skillful gambler and the nerviest, speadiest, deadliest man with a six-gun I ever knew." -Wyatt Earp

"Doc?" she asked with a sulfurous voice.

The man was lying in his bed asleep, exhausted, dying. She sat on the edge and carressed his pale cheek. She kissed his white lips and he slowly opened his bloodshot eyes, proof of his dreadful condition.

"Hello, Doc," she whispered with a smile. He didn't answer. All he could think of was the awful pain in his chest and throat and the taste of blood in his mouth. He needed a drink. Several drinks to ease the pain. He grabbed the bottle of Whiskey beside the bed and quickly drowned the remaining liquor. Then he rested his head on the pillows and sighed. He knew how bad his consumption was.

"How are you feelin' this mornin'?" asked Kate. Rhetorical question, did she actually think he was doin' fine?

"I'm a real daisy, darlin'," he simply said.

"That's good, dear." Did she actually believe him? Or was she pretending that everything was rolling...? Doc didn't really care. He got up -not without difficulty- and got dressed.

"Where are you goin'?" Kate asked, looking at him.

He coughed several times before answering, "To see Wyatt. What about you? Are you gonna solicit for clients all day?"

"Bastard, Doc! Ya know that's what I do! Who are you to judge? Why, you really think you're much better than I am, don't you?" she yelled, outraged.

"Will ya calm down, Kate? Of course I know that's what you do. By the time... I'm leavin'. I'll see you." He left the room, slamming the door. Outside, the sun was high and warm. The season would be hot. Do coughed again and wiped off blood from his lips in his white cloth. Damn...! He thought, and put the cloth away. He walked down Allen Street to meet his dear friend Wyatt Earp who was the town Marshall.

Doc entered the Sheriff's office where he found Morgan, Virgil and Wyatt, working. The latter welcomed Doc with a warm smile. However, the look he gave to Doc was full of concern. Doc was looking terribly sick and Wyatt saw it. Doc spotted the worry in his friend's gaze and understood its meaning. Still, he didn't want to be the target of Wyatt's pity. "Hello, Wyatt. I see you gentlemen are quite busy already."

Wyatt simply nodded and sat down at his office. "How are you, Doc?"

Hell, that question was beginning to get too trendy around here, Doc thought. Instead of answering, he coughed. "I was on my way to the Oriental for some poker. Anyone interested?" he asked once the coughing fit was over.

"No thanks, Doc. Got some duty to tend to aroud here," Morgan answered. That boy looked so young and harmless... Doc thought. And yet, he was a few months older than Doc.

"Doc, since yer here. I've been meanin' to ask you. Are ya gonna hand us yer guns?" Virgil asked in his deep and harsh voice.

"Why, you wouldn't wanna deprive me of them, would ya?" Doc asked in his slurred Southern accent. "Wyatt, let's play poker."

"No can't do, Doc. Maybe later... You'll win anyways and I'll end up with and empty wallet."

Doc coughed again, this time harder and longer. Wyatt was observing him, the same concern in his gaze. "Doc... Maybe you oughta go see the doctor..." he tried, fearing his friend's reaction.

Doc looked terrible. He was exhausted, weak, and tired of coughing his guts out every two minutes. Without a word, he slightly tipped his hat and exited the office, heading towards the Oriental.

Wyatt understood quite easily that he was responsible for Doc's hastened departure. He knew damn well Doc hated to be worried about. Still, it was his duty to tend to his friend's health. He got up to join Doc but Virgil reached his arm. "Let him go, Wyatt."

Virgil, Wyatt and Morgan looked at Doc walking away and after awhile, Virgil went on. "You know, in a way, I understand him refusin' to see a doctor. I mean, if I were dyin', I wouldn't wanna know how soon it'd happen. And especially not from one of them quacks..."

"Poor Doc," Morgan continued. "He looked pretty bad this morning."

"I know," answered Wyatt in a soft voice.