Title:Three Loves

Pairings in this chapter: Doc/Wyatt, Doc/Mealinie, Doc/Kate, and in a loving but not-at-all sexual way Doc/his mother

Warnings: Doc's POV, hints of sexy things with all genders, stream of consciousness again, and a bit sad.

A/N: So, it appears I'm posting this without a beta reader. So, forgive any mistakes, but do feel free to point them out.

This may be the most painful thing I have ever done. I watch him walk out of what is left of my life and see as his steps visibly slow. For an instant, I fear my plea has fallen to deaf ears, and he will soon slow to a stop and return to me. He steps as if his legs were made of iron, but he trudges on thankfully. He walks slowly, yes, but with intent. This is for the best. No matter how painful, I am obliged to make certain he finds the woman he loves, his "Josie". That is why I continue to tell him that I neither anticipate nor want his return even if his appearances have been the only things for me to cling to like a child, the only things left to live for. However, he must leave me.

I know how it feels to lose someone at the fault of this disease, because I watched my mother slip away as I tried in any way to aid her. I also know how poorly he responds to the loss of someone close for I saw him hollow and without life the days after Morgan's murder. I will not allow such pain to come to him due to me. He cannot lose me. So, I will "lose" him even if the pain of knowing I will die here alone and without compassion tears at my chest in ways that make the consumption killing me feel like a passing cough. I must let him go to the woman who can love him for the rest of his life as I am quite obviously unable.

I have cared for few, and of those few I have only loved three. The first love has accompanied me as long as I can recall and most likely from birth. My mother was everything to me throughout childhood, and I did anything to be her everything. Her death almost took me with her, and when my father choose to remarry a mere three months after, I almost sent him to explain to her. I would have abandoned my family then had it not been for partly my schooling and primarily my second love. Mealinie Holliday was happiness. Words for us would only make our love appear to be a trifle. Then I was told of my plague, the same one that stole my mother. The doctors said the west would be best for my health, and Mattie's future relied on my decision. After my inevitable demise, she would still have life. I would not alter that life from pleasure to mourning. So, I went to Texas and then a string of other places with names I do not care to recount. That string led me to a love of an altogether different kind.

I had always known what I wanted especially when it came to love. From my mother, I wanted affection and caring. From Mattie, I wanted marriage and children. From Wyatt, I still cannot say what. At each instance that I attempted to put it to words I found myself uncharacteristically speechless. I cannot even say when it was I wanted a thing at all. All I know for certain is that along my long line of places and events Wyatt went from stranger to annoying lawman to familiar acquaintance to someone to pass the time with to friend where by accounts the relationship should have stopped progressing. Alas, it was to go further still and complicate me more. Soon I found myself thinking of him in unholy ways. At first only when Kate had fled and I had consumed far too much bourbon. Then only when Kate had departed or I had a drank a bit too much. Finally in my very dreams when neither Kate had parted from me or I had been drinking excessively. Far too many times I awoke with a start to see Kate's face instead of Wyatt's before I recalled that my dreams were not reality. Soon after that the thought was always with me, and I found myself tracing with jawline with my eyes or admiring his strong back and shoulders. I did my best to dismiss these notions until I could no longer deny it. This dismissal had caused the exact moment I first loved Wyatt to be lost.

I do, however, recall the exact moment I first thought of telling him. It was just after one of my far too long card games in Tombstone's oriental. Wyatt arrived after, what was it? Eighteen, twenty-four, or thirty-six hours? Regardless he arrived and tried to convince me to depart, but he did not force anything upon me as my impossible woman forced alcohol down my throat. Seeing as I was very drunk and exhausted, I am hazy on details, but I do know that I insulted Ike Clanton somehow. He in turn threatened me then Virgil, and Wyatt was forced to break up what would have been a fight had it been anyone braver than Ike, which is not much of a distinction at all. However, I do remember with disturbing clarity falling to the floor with blood running from by mouth after having just informed Kate that I was in perfect condition. I remember lying there as she shrieked what I can only guess was my name. I was too weak to decipher words, open my eyes, or inform anyone that I was in far too much pain to be truly unconscious. Then I was being lifted. I haven't an idea who held my legs (Morgan perhaps?), but I do without doubt know that my head rested against Wyatt's chest. It made complete sence to tell him as he carried me to my room where he would no doubt be the one to care for me as Kate screamed at him or me or the situation in general. I wanted to tell him then and there no matter who it was that would clearly be able to hear me. If I didn't drink (thankfully I do), I might have found the strength.

This instance was also when the looks of pity started. It had been the first time anything quite that bad had been witnessed by him, and thus unlike my Hungarian she-devil who knew to pretend nothing was wrong and defy the doctor's orders just to prove this, he hadn't the foggiest how to act about me afterwards. At first he could hide his looks of sorrow for me well enough, but as time wore on his concealment wore out. Now when he visits, pity is almost a default expression. Though I suppose it's selfish of me to expect to be seen as an equal in the eyes of someone who can walk away, who has a willing lover, who still has a life to live.

Being selfish has always been a forte of mine. When my father remarried, I selfishly opted not to play a role in their affairs. When my dear cousin begged me to not listen to the doctors and stay with her, I fled for the west hoping she would forgive me and carry on with her life. Now I selfishly refuse to let him watch me die as I know he wishes. I refuse to drag him to hell emotionally as I sink there physically or spiritually I suppose. Once again I behave selfishly with hope of forgiveness at a later date. I do wish that he can find a way to forgive my selfish refusal of his selflessness. He must be happy for me to be, and this is the only way. Irony always has the last laugh it seems; for me to be happy, I must send away the things that make me so.

A/N: So that's that. No reviews so far, but that'll change, right?

Historical Notes:

There is a debate as to whether or not Urilla Earp died in childbirth or of typhoid. Obviously I like to think it was typhoid.

There is also a debate as to whether or not Doc died in the sanitarium or a glenwood hotel. Although, we're pretty sure it was the hotel. Never the less, for this story he dies in the sanitarium.

Wyatt Earp was not there when Doc reached his end. In fact, he didn't even know Doc was dead until at least a month later. It is to be said though that it couldn't have been a surprise since Josie's remarks of the two's last encounter states that Doc looked very bad.

"Mealinie" was just doc's cousin's nun-name. I forget what her real name was...