Thank you to my faithful reviewers. I'm glad you like the story. Things are not going well for poor Catherine...

June 23rd 1876

Catherine wasn't sure how she had managed to get out of the privy and up to bed. She recalled sitting for what seemed like hours while foul smelling liquid flooded out of her, her body drenched in sweat, the only slight relief coming from pressing her skin against the cool wood of her prison. She had heard Dan banging on the door, demanding entry, but she hadn't been able to utter a reply. Even if she had, what would she have said? The thought of anyone knowing what had happened was almost too much to bear.

Somehow, she had found the strength to make her way back indoors and upstairs without a repeat of what had taken place and without Al making comment on her appearance of lack of hospitality. The Gem had been busy, the piano and singing loud and raucous, the air heavy with cigar smoke. She had moved, almost unseen, amongst the crowds to disappear into her own private oblivion in her bedroom. She had swayed between heat and chills, blankets thrown off of her body only for her to pull them close to her moments later. And her stomach…the grinding pain only succeeded in getting worse. She felt thirsty, so very thirsty, and yet was scared to eat or drink anything lest she require to return to the privy and the horrors of earlier.

When Al came to bed many hours later, she pretended to be asleep, regulating her breathing as best she could as she sensed him stand over her, watching for any inflection on her face. Seemingly satisfied, he had retired beside her, thankfully choosing to remain on his own side of the bed, rather than attempt to touch or hold her as she had feared. She could only begin to imagine his reaction were she to find herself in the same predicament again.

Sleep evaded her. She tossed and turned, sometimes staring at the near wall, sometimes staring at Al's back, sometimes staring at the ceiling hoping that if she lay still she would feel better. She left the bed on numerous occasions to venture out onto the balcony into the stillness of a Deadwood night, and yet nothing soothed her. Nothing made her feel like she knew she should feel.

This could be no normal symptom of pregnancy, for she had known many women to bear children and never suffer this indignation. Every so often, she would let her hand drift to her stomach, imagining the life inside and praying that it was unharmed.

As dawn started to break, she could bear it no longer. A return to the privy was essential, for the pain was a clear indication that something needed to escape. Pulling her shawl around her shoulders, she stole out of the office, along the balcony and down the stairs into the bar where Davie was sleeping. She crossed the floor quietly, hoping no-one would hear her, hoping that the sorry business could be carried out in solitude.

And then it happened.

There was little warning. Only a sharp pain in her stomach and nothing she could do to stop it once it started. A normal, clenching action proved useless as she felt the warm flow cascade down her legs and her body instantly chill.

"Oh God…" she whispered to no-one in particular, knowing that it would be covering the floor where she stood. For a moment she stood, transfixed in horror then she ran, as fast as she could through the kitchen and out into the yard. Throwing open the privy door, she slammed it behind her, hitched up her sodden nightgown and sat atop the hole. It continued to flow relentlessly. Her feet were covered in it and, as she steadied herself against the wall, she could only imagine the trail that would lead to where she hid.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered again, screwing her eyes shut against the pain. "What the fuck is happening?"

XXXX

Jewel always woke early, a by-product of her time in the orphanage where being woken forcefully was not a pleasant experience. She didn't mind if it was still dark or cold, as long as she was awake before anyone thought of coming to her, she knew she was safe.

This particular morning, a noise woke her especially early. It sounded like running footsteps and a door being slammed but with her room next to the kitchen, she knew it could have been anything. She heard the clock in the bar chime six and knew that the boys would soon be demanding their breakfast. Dressing herself was always a chore, but it had been made so much easier since Doc had made her the boot and stopped Al shouting at her about her leg.

Opening the door, she made her way out into the kitchen and was almost immediately confronted by a nasty smell. In the first light of day, she could see what looked like some sort of liquid reflected in a puddle on the floor by the door. Walking over, the aroma grew stronger and she saw to her horror that it was shit. But not normal shit. This shit was pure liquid in consistency and, as she looked closer, continued in a trail towards the back door and out into the yard.

Jewel followed where it led, stopping at the door of the privy. She knew it was probably Dan or Johnny had too much to drink, eaten some of those peaches that she had grown suspicious of and not made it in time.

"Fucking men," she said, making her way over to the door, avoiding stepping in the foul mess. "Dan?" She banged on the door. "Is that you in there?" There was no response yet, straining, she could hear the sound of laboured breathing. "Dan? Open the fucking door!" she banged again. "You've made a fucking mess!" Again, there was no response and she pressed against the door which, to her surprise, was unlocked. "If I come in and see your fucking prick…" The door swung open and the smell hit her like nothing she'd ever smelt before. The dawn light lit on a figure half sat, half collapsed on the floor surrounded by shit.

Catherine looked up, her face deathly pale. "Jewel…"

XXXX

Al had just finished dressing when he heard Jewel's cry for help. Wakening to find Catherine gone from his bed, his first thought had been that her condition had improved and that she had risen early. A quick glance out onto the balcony had left him wanting and assuming that she was downstairs hopefully eating breakfast, made him quicken the pace at which he dressed.

"Dan! Al! Help me!"

The cry was genuine and though he knew not what the cause was, instinct made him respond to it. Throwing open the office door, he saw Jewel jigging around at the bottom of the stairs, wringing her hands.

"What the fuck is it?" he demanded, as a bleary-eyed Dan emerged from his room along the balcony.

"It's Cathy!" Jewel cried.

Without waiting for further information, he ran along the balcony and down the stairs, stopping dead when he saw the mess on the kitchen floor. "What the fuck…?"

"Out there!" she pointed. "Quick!"

He followed her trembling finger out into the yard where the privy door stood open and Catherine sat against it, her head lolling to one side. He moved forward, only to stop suddenly when he saw that she, and the ground she sat on, were covered in shit. "Jesus Christ…" he turned sharply only to slam into Dan who had followed close behind and whose face suddenly turned white at the scene in front of him. "Get a blanket!" he ordered, pushing the other man back into the kitchen when he seemed initially reluctant to move. "And fill that fucking bath!" Turning back, he moved closer to where his wife lay and, ignoring the foul smell now emanating from around her, reached out and touched her chin with his fingers, bringing it up towards him.

Catherine looked up at him, her eyes seemingly huge in her pale face. "Al…I can't…can't stop it…"

"Ssssh," he hushed her gently, knowing it was the only comfort he could offer her in circumstances that he had no fucking idea how to control. "Save your fucking strength." Reaching into his sock, he pulled out his knife and began cutting away at her sodden nightdress.

"What are you…what are you doing?" she murmured.

He didn't reply. Exposing her body brought him no pleasure and as he finished tearing the fabric into two flaps and cutting her arms free from the sleeves, he felt an overwhelming urge to cover her, protect her from a thousand unseen eyes. His gaze flitted to her belly, still showing no obvious sign of the child within her.

"Here boss!" Dan shouted and Al turned in time to see him throw the blanket from a safe distance away, managing to catch it before it hit the ground. Pulling the offensive piece of cloth from under her and throwing it to one side, he wrapped the blanket as best he could around her body and awkwardly lifted her into his arms. As he turned, he saw Jewel was still hovering in the doorway and a couple of the girls had clearly heard the commotion and were standing, staring wide-eyed at the scene before them.

"Is she all right?" Jewel asked, as Al made his way back inside.

"How the fuck would I know?" he replied. "Send someone to get the fucking Doc! And get this shit cleaned up!" Slowly, so as not to stand in any mess, he traversed his way through the kitchen, the bar and upstairs to the office.

"It ain't filled right yet!" Johnny declared upon seeing him in the doorway. "This is just the first lot of water!" He pointed into the bath where a tiny volume of liquid covered the base, "Dolly's getting another bucket load…"

"Fill it up around her," Al said, moving over to the bath and gently depositing Catherine in it, pulling the blanket away in the process and leaving her naked. Almost immediately, she started shivering and he seized a second blanket from atop the bed and draped it around her. "Burn this," he said, tossing the first blanket at Johnny, who hurriedly stepped back to avoid being hit with its foulness. "Cathy? Cathy look at me!" Crouching at the side of the tub, he pulled her face to his. "Open your fucking eyes, Mrs Swearengen."

She did as she was bidden and met his gaze, "I don't know…what's wrong," she said. "I couldn't…couldn't stop it…I'm sorry…"

"Stop fucking apologising," he said, smoothing her hair away from her eyes as Dolly appeared with a fresh bucket and poured its contents into the tub. Catherine started as it hit her and he pulled the blanket tighter around her.

"Boss, maybe you ought to…" Johnny stopped as Al turned to look at him. "I mean you're…well you're…" he gestured towards him and Al knew he would be referring to the fact that Catherine's mess was on his suit. "Maybe I'll just go and see what's keeping Dolly with the rest of that fucking water."

"Maybe you fucking should," Al encouraged as the other man scurried away. Left alone with his wife, he rubbed his thumb gently along her chin as she buried her face into his shoulder. "I knew something was wrong," he said to no-one in particular. "I fucking knew and not even the Doc…" he broke off as Catherine shivered again and vowed that, this time, he would have his answers.

XXXX

Doc was in the bedroom for what seemed like hours and yet, in reality, was mere minutes. Al paced around the office, walking from the door to the balcony and back again, his even stride creating a rhythm in his head that momentarily distracted him from what was transpiring on the other side of the bedroom door. He was no fool. Something was wrong, very wrong and he would wager that the cause of her illness owed less to her pregnancy and more to outside factors. Finally, Doc came out, sliding the door shut behind him. Al stepped towards him and saw that his friend's face was whiter than he had ever seen before and his hands were trembling.

"What is it?" Al asked. "What's wrong with her?"

Doc licked his lips, "I wish to God I was wrong but…"

"Spare me your wishes and give me your diagnosis!"

"It's cholera."

Al paused for a long moment while he processed Doc's words. Cholera? It couldn't be. Not here, not in Deadwood, not Cathy…"Label me a lunatic Doc," he said finally, "but I could have sworn you just said Catherine has cholera."

Doc nodded. "Like I said, I wish…"

"How?" he interrupted him. "There's no cholera in the camp! How the fuck did she get it and, moreover, how did you not recognise it before?"

"It's transmitted from person to person by secretion of faeces. So if one person is infected and their waste gets into food or water which is consumed by a healthy person then infection occurs. As for my recognising it or not…"

"Jewel cooks all the food in this joint and she certainly ain't infected," Al said, "and Cathy doesn't eat anywhere else save for here or the hotel and if it were Richardson carrying the infection E.B would at least have been laid low by now. As for water…" he broke off.

Doc stared at him, "What?"

It suddenly hit him. What was it Adams had said the previous day? "She turned a funny colour and had to sit down. The Chink gave her some water and then she made her way back here."

"The Chink…"

Doc frowned, "What Chink?"

"That fucking Chink! That fucking CHINK WHORE!" Al strode to the office door, threw it open and stormed out onto the balcony where Dan was waiting. "Get Adams and get over to Chinks Alley and get that fucking Chink washerwoman Catherine's been talking to!"

"Why boss? Is there something seriously wrong with Catherine?"

"Just fucking do it!" Al turned back to Doc. "Meantimes, what do we do?"

"We force her to drink water, as much as she can take. The disease causes the victim to dehydrate and then they're too weak to drink themselves. And…and we let her mess herself cause there's no way to stop that, but…"

"What about the child?" Al asked softly.

"I can still hear a strong heartbeat…"

"So it's going to live."

"Al…" Doc shook his head, "I wish I could…"

"This ain't like the plague you mean," Al interrupted. "It ain't like I can send out riders to Cheyenne and Bismarck for a vaccine to cure her."

"No. There's no cure for cholera and it is highly infectious if the right precautions are not taken." Doc stepped closer to him. "Might I suggest closing for business in the short term and moving your girls somewhere else?"

Al stared at him. "You're serious."

Doc nodded. "It would be wise to keep the number of people in the Gem to a minimum. Jewel, Dan, Dolly or another girl of your choosing to help with Catherine's care, and yourself of course."

"Of course." Al pulled distractedly on his lower lip.

"I won't lie to you, Al," Doc said. "I would be no physician, no friend, if I did not tell you that I am fearful of the outcome in Catherine's case."

Al patted his arm, more for his own reassurance than anyone else's. "I know Doc. Christ knows, so am I."

XXXX

"I appreciate this," Al said, though it hurt him to owe Tolliver for anything.

"It's not a problem, Al. The building's standing empty at the moment and if I can be of help to you at this difficult time…" Tolliver trailed off, leaving Al in no doubt that this was a favour that the other man would collect on in time. "It ain't as big as you're used to. Will you be able to operate out of it effectively?"

"Oh my girls can work anywhere," Al replied with false joviality. "Ain't so long ago some of them were working out of a tent."

"A situation I'm sure you're not eager to return to." Tolliver cast a pitying eye on him. "How is Mrs Swearengen? It must be serious to require her isolation."

"Just a precaution Cy, that's all," Al said. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to know the reason for Catherine's incapacitation. If word were to spread that she had cholera, there was no telling what the hoopleheads might do. There was no telling what the other so-called pillars of the camp might do either. Were the situation reversed and some other poor so afflicted, he might not have been above having her driven out of town, or worse. There was no way he was going to allow such a fate to befall Catherine.

"Well, do let me know if I can be of any further assistance." Cy pulled his cigar between his lips and turned back towards the Bella Union.

Al watched him go and then turned back inside the Gem where the girls stood in a nervous huddle at the far end of the room. "Get your things!" He shouted at them. "You're moving to new premises!" They stared at him, wide-eyed, until he glared at them hard enough to make them move.

"You want me to take them, boss?" Johnny asked. "Over to Tolliver's new place, I mean? I can keep an eye on them, make sure they're kept busy."

"No, Johnny," Al sighed, knowing that would be the certain death of his business. "I want you and Dan here. Adams can take them." As if on cue, the other man emerged from the whores' room and hurried towards him. "I take it you and Dan carried out my orders?"

"She's in there," Silas gestured back with his head. "But I don't understand…"

"You don't fucking need to understand," Al replied sharply. "I want you to take the whores to Tolliver's empty building near Chinks Alley. They'll need to operate out of there for a while until Catherine recovers and I'll need you to oversee it."

"What about Dan?"

"I need him here."

Silas caught his arm as he made to climb the stairs. "Is Catherine going to be all right? Is it the child?"

"Loosen your grip on me," Al said. "Them that know the less remain all the more fortunate."

"God damn it, she's my friend!"

"And God damn it, she's my wife!" Al roared. "And I'll remind you to do as you're fucking asked!" Silas glared at him for a long moment then, seeming to think better of it, lowered his gaze and nodded. "Good."

"And the Chink?" Silas asked.

Al glanced towards the whores' room. "She can stay in there for now." Without engaging Silas further, he climbed the stairs back to his office. Inside the bedroom, Doc was packing his case up, his expression still grim.

"I've left laudanum," he said, gesturing to the bottle on the dressing table, "to be administered as and when she requires it. There's a bucket of fresh water by the bed which she must be forced to drink. I'll be back in a couple of hours to check on her."

Al said nothing. He walked over to the bed and looked down at where Catherine lay, her hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, her face stark white against the bedclothes. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he reached out and took her hand in his.

The action caused her to stir. "Al…" she looked up at him, eyes half-closed, "Al…"

"I'm here."

"What's…what's happening to me?"

"You're going to be fine, Cathy. Nothing to worry about." There seemed little point in telling her the diagnosis, for all the good it would do her. As he watched, her eyes closed again and sleep overtook her. He stayed, holding her hand uselessly in his. Ministering to the sick was not his forte. Putting the sick out of their misery was and, for a brief second, Reverend Smith's face flashed before his eyes. She could be deadly infectious. Perhaps she had already passed the disease on. Perhaps others in the camp had already contracted it from the same Chink. The kindest thing would be to slip one of the pillows from under her head, place it over her mouth and nose and spare her the agony of a slow, lingering death.

He dropped her hand suddenly and got to his feet, feeling his heart racing in his chest. He staggered back against the wall, gripping onto the dressing table to stop himself from falling to the ground. No knife wound could have been as deadly. If he had thought it to be his comeuppance, he had been wrong. This was to be his pain, his agony. The cruel revenge for what he had done, what he had specifically ordered to be done, was to watch the one person he had then wanted to hurt the most be ripped from him. The realisation was like a crushing weight on his chest, pressing down, taking away his breath…

"No," he said, fighting against it. "No this is not the time." He looked at her. "This is not your time, Catherine. You fight this. You fucking fight this with everything you have and I swear to whatever God there may be…I will fight with you."