Matt sat quietly in the chair by the exam table, staring at his oldest friend. The hurt in Dillon's heart at seeing Adams struck down in this manner was tangible. He observed the old man lying on the hard table, neither moving nor making a sound, and it felt as if the man he knew no longer existed; but Matt couldn't allow himself to think on that, for such a possibility was more than he could bear. He studied the old doctor for awhile, and it occurred to him that maybe Adams would be more comfortable in his soft bed in the adjacent room. Matt stood, opened the door to the back bedroom, then bent down and gently scooped up the small doctor in his arms. Dillon walked into the other room with him and carefully lay him down on the bed, pulling the covers down underneath the doctor's body. Gently he removed most of Doc's clothes, and given the continuing heat in Dodge, covered the man with only a sheet. Matt pulled a chair next to the bed, lit the lamp on the nightstand and watched the steady rise and fall of Doc's chest for a minute or two.

The lawman's voice was uncharacteristically soft when he spoke, "Doc, I don't know if you can hear me, but there're a couple of things I want to say to you." Dillon nervously cleared his throat. "I don't know how or why you've fallen into this state that you're in, all I know is that we're all pretty scared, Doc. You should see poor Chester... he just paces around the office, wearing a hole in the floor, driving me crazy. He's frustrated because he just doesn't know how to help you, Doc, and...and he's afraid for you."

Matt's lips pursed together then, an outward manifestation of the turmoil inside his heart. "And there's Kitty..." Dillon had to take in a large breath of air attempting to steady himself. "Aw Doc...Kitty's so upset. You two joke around a lot about rockin' chairs and marriage proposals, but I know the love between you. She adores you, Doc, the way a proud daughter does a father; and I know how unconditionally you love her." Matt's finger nervously traced the dust on his boot which was crossed over his knee, finding the stark telling of his mind difficult. "You're the only man I would ever allow such familiarity. That's terribly jealous, isn't it? Your love for her is as pure as it gets, yet I don't think I could tolerate it from any other man. But I know that she can trust you implicitly and if anything ever happened to me, you'd make sure she was all right. And that allows me to sleep at night, Doc, knowing you're there."

If Adams heard him at all, there was no sign of it, as the man's chest continued to rise and fall in a steady rhythm. Matt licked his lips before continuing. "She needs you, Doc, and that's why you've gotta shake yourself loose from this, ol' boy. I know seeing Haskett again churned up a part of your past that you didn't want to face because maybe it's painful; but you can't avoid the pain by checking out of your life. You can't do that to Kitty, or Chester..." Dillon's voice broke with emotion then, "My God, Doc, you can't do it to me..."

Matt's eyes misted over and he had to swallow down the emotions that tightened his throat. "I need you, ya ol' buzzard. I wouldn't have made it in Dodge without you, Doc..." Dillon swallowed down the lump in his throat. "And I can't bear to lose you."

Dillon reached his hand out and placed it gently over Adams'. "Please come back to us, Doc." Matt folded his fingers around Adams' limp hand, squeezing it gently. "Please," he whispered.


January 1, 1863

Wilkins pulled the stethoscope from his ears and smiled. "That's more like it for a young scrapper your age." He pat the surgeon's arm. "How're you feeling?"

"A lot better."

"Thatta boy."

Wilkins stood, folding his stethoscope into his jacket pocket. And as he headed for the door he said, "Tomorrow I'm putting you back to work, and I'm afraid that'll mean back to your old wooden floor - I'm sorry about that part of it, little scrap."

Adams shrugged. "It's been almost a week, the boys'll all have forgotten me by now..."

"Hardly. When I gave them some of the food Miss Van Lew donated to the prisoners, every last one of them asked about you."

Adams leaned back into the pillows, crossing his arms, a slightly impish grin twisting his lips. "You've been seeing quite a lot of Miss Van Lew lately..."

"Why you little--"

Adams held up his hand in defense. "--Kramer told me when he brought me lunch earlier." His grin widened. "Word among the men is that you're quite fond of her--"

"--Now you mind your tongue, you young whelp. Miss Van Lew is a very proper southern belle, of one of the oldest and richest families in Richmond; and she's just a friend. Besides, she doesn't believe in the mistreatment of prisoners so she uses her wealth to help me get the supplies I need for this hospital."

The twinkle in the bright blue eyes wasn't lost on Wilkins as the young man said, "Uh-huh."

"I have no time for this childish nonsense, Adams, I have rounds."

"Dr. Wilkins?"

Annoyed, the chief surgeon glared at the young man. "What?"

"Is she pretty?"

"You scrappy young whelp..."

Adams' laugh resounded in the old doctor's chest as he closed the door with a flourish; but once outside in the hallway, he couldn't resist a slight smile of his own. There was no doubt that Miss Van Lew was far more important to him than Adams could possibly imagine, despite the young man's obvious amusement with the idea that Wilkins had a woman. He shook his head, his smile turning wistful; he would miss having the young man around all the time - it was a great salve on a heart that was so damaged by the death of his own son. But he knew that Adams' bunkmates had missed him, especially Jimmy, and it would be good for hospital morale to have the talented young surgeon back on duty.

Several of the union medical personnel greeted him, shook his hand or pat his arm, welcoming him back to his surgical duty at the hospital.

Adams smiled at them all. "You fellas been gettin' enough to eat?" Several nodded their heads. "I heard that a very proper southern belle has been feedin' you boys for the past week or so - anybody get a look at the little piece of fluff?"

The men laughed and Kramer said, "I heard them guards say she was a looker, lieutenant!"

Adams smiled deeply at Kramer. "Now Roy, who're you callin' lieutenant? Most fellas around here call me Doc..."

Kramer pat Adams' shoulder and shook his hand. "We sure missed you, Doc."

Adams winked at him. "That's more like it." He looked at the men then and feeling emotion beginning to crawl up his belly, he said, "Well boys, we'd better get to work. The wounded around here don't wait for nobody..."

The small band of men dispersed and only Jimmy Langdon remained. "I'm sure glad ta have you back, lieutenant."

Adams put an arm around the young boy. "Things were okay for you while I was laid up, weren't they?"

"Sure, lieutenant, Sergeant Kramer took real good care of me; he kept them rebs off of me."

"I'm glad to hear that, Jimmy. I was worried aboutcha."

"You was?"

"Sure I was."

"You been gettin' enough to eat?"

"Yeah, the fellas been real good to me while you were gone."

"Okay." Adams ruffled the boy's hair. "Come on, I'm sure we've got plenty to do today..."


She walked softly into the back room to find Matt asleep in the chair next to the bed, his hand sweetly holding Doc's. Kitty smiled slightly at the sight of her two favorite men, typically male in their reticence to be demonstrative with each other, caught in such a tender gesture; but the reason for it saddened her heart. She raked her fingers through Matt's tangled hair, and kissed him on the forehead. When he didn't stir, she rubbed her hand over his neck and down under his shirt over his back, eliciting a moan from him. A slight smile curved his lips as he felt the familiar touch of her hand on his skin.

"Mmmm..."

She leaned into his ear, "Mornin' cowboy..."

He turned his head toward her, not yet completely awake, and grasped her lips with his. "Mornin'..."

Dillon roused then and realized he was sitting in a chair by Doc's bed, the old man's hand clasped tightly in his own. Embarrassment colored his cheeks slightly as he pulled his hand away from Adams'.

Kitty smiled at him. "He was quiet all night, I take it?"

"Yeah. I moved him in here because I thought he'd be a little more comfortable in his own bed."

Kitty looked down into Doc's peaceful face. "He looks so calm."

"Yeah. I just wish he'd wake up."

Kitty nodded. "Tell you what, cowboy, if you volunteer to walk down to Delmonico's and get some breakfast, I'll stay here with Doc and make a pot of coffee."

He stood then, stretching slightly. "You've got a deal." He leaned over and kissed her lips again, then the two of them stepped out into Adams' office, leaving the door to the bedroom open, in case the doctor should awaken. Dillon put his hat on his head and walked to the front door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

"Thanks Matt."

He looked at her over his shoulder as he stepped outside. "You just make sure your coffee's better than Chester's!"

Before she could sound-off a retort, he had closed the door behind himself. Shaking her head, Kitty set to the task of making a pot of coffee.


January 1, 1863

The day had been longer than he had anticipated, and busier than any of them would have wanted. A unit from the 9th cavalry had been captured, after most of the regiment had been wounded. Adams, Wilkins and every available hand had worked late into the night until the last man had been treated and bedded down. Adams squeezed the back of his own neck with his hand, trying to loosen the muscles.

"Long day for your first day back, wasn't it?"

Adams turned to see Kramer standing behind him. "Yeah, sure was." The assistant surgeon surveyed the room observing most of his bunkmates organizing supplies, cleaning up the blood from the floor, and checking on the new patients. And a frown crossed his face.

"Somethin' wrong, Doc?"

The pale eyes bore into Kramer. "I haven't seen Jimmy in quite awhile. You seen him?"

Kramer shook his head . "Can't say as I have, Doc. He's been in and out most of the day though, either bringing litters of wounded or gathering supplies. He's probably cleaning up somewhere around here."

But the awful feeling in the pit of Adams' stomach intensified. "I'm...I'm gonna look fer him."

Kramer shrugged. "Sure...I'm gonna try and get this mess cleaned up so we can all get to sleep sometime tonight."

But Adams was no longer listening to him as he walked every inch of the room looking for the young boy. He inquired among the men, but no one had seen the young litter-bearer for quite some time.

"I saw him, lieutenant," Corporal Kowalski offered.

"How long ago, Kowalski?"

"Don't know, guess it was about an hour or so ago."

"And?"

The man shrugged. "Well, he said one of the rebs came in here ta find him and told him that you was taken sick and needed help."

"What?"

"Said you was down in the union bunkhouse and he was gonna make sure you was all right."

Panic beagn to rise in his throat. "Oh my God..."

Adams took off at a dead run, heading for the room the union medical personnel bunked in every night. From the corner of his eye, Wilkins saw his assistant surgeon running from the room, and concern washed over him.

The chief surgeon turned to Kramer. "Sergeant, where is Lieutenant Adams going?"

"Don't know exactly, sir. He said something about looking for Jimmy Langdon though, said he hadn't seen him in quite some time."

"You handle things here, Kramer."

"Yes sir."

Wilkins walked quickly from the room, heading in the same direction Adams had gone. Kramer watched the man go, a nonplussed look covering his face. Adams had been warned what would happen if he went to Wilkins, and obviously a warning had not been enough to convince him that Confederate officers were true to their word. Maybe upon discovering what awaited him, Adams would become more controllable.

Adams ran through the hallway, oblivious to the warnings of the gray-coats to stop. He rounded the corner by the room in which the union medical personnel bunked, and stopped cold, his heart racing as he looked through the open door. The gruesome sight of the young boy hanging by a rope from a crossbeam, his stomach gutted, innards hanging out slammed into Adams like a six-horse team. Blood slowly dripped down from the exsanguinated carcass of the youth, a huge puddle on the floor under him, most of the blankets nearby, soaked. The boy's tongue, swollen and black from asphyxiation, was sticking out of his mouth, his eyes bulging slightly from the violence of his death. The smell of blood and guts that had oxidized in the air reached his nostrils, and Adams fell to his knees, retching the entire contents of his stomach.

Wilkins rounded the corner then, and saw the corpse hanging from the rafters. "Oh sweet Jesus..." He looked down at his assistant vomiting violently on the floor, and pulled the young man from the room, closing the door behind them. Trying to force his own spiraling emotions to stabilize, Wilkins knelt down, gently holding Adams. "Easy boy...easy..." But Doc couldn't stop the violent disgorging of his stomach, and all the chief surgeon could do was steady him. "Try and relax, son."

After a few minutes, the siege came to a halt, and Adams leaned back against his mentor, gasping for air. Wilkins pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it across the young man's mouth.

"It's okay, you're okay."

Adams shook his head, tears filling his eyes. "They killed him. They killed him and it's my fault."

"No," Wilkins said sternly, pulling the young surgeon's face toward his. "It was not your fault. And the guilty party will pay for it, I promise you that..."

Adams voice was sad and soft. "You promised me nothing would happen to Jimmy. Promises don't mean shit in a place like this, Dr. Wilkins..."

Several Confederates were standing nearby, including Carp. "Looks like everyone's lost a pet today, eh boys?"

The gray-coats laughed, and Wilkins had to hold tightly onto Adams who tried to break free.

"Was it you, Carp?" Adams demanded.

"What if it was ya stinkin' yankee, what're gonna do about it?"

Adams fought against Wilkins, but couldn't break from the larger man's strength. "Mark my words, Carp, if I find out it was you, I'll kill you with my bare hands."

Kramer appeared then and looked at Wilkins. "Captain?"

Wilkins shook his head and nodded toward the door. "In there. Jimmy's dead." He indicated Adams then, "Can you take him for me?"

"Sure."

Wilkins pulled Adams up, and Kramer took a hold of the young surgeon's arm. Wilkins stepped up to Carp. "You'd better pray that I don't find out it was you, Carp."

A momentary image of Johnson's bloody crotch filled Carp's mind and he felt the color drain from his face. "It weren't me, Dr. Wilkins. I swear I had nothin' to do with it."

"But you know who did," Adams spat, "You know, and you're gonna tell me..."

He struggled against Kramer, and Wilkins turned to the two men. "Kramer, take Adams to the infirmary wing and see that he calms down; and don't let him out of your sight."

"Yes sir." Wilkins stalked from the area, and Kramer turned to Adams. "Come on, Doc." Adams walked with Kramer, and Roy could feel the anger surging inside of the young doctor; he was in exactly the frame of mind Kramer had wanted him in. "Wilkins'll get to the bottom of it."

"It should never have happened."

Kramer stopped Adams with a hand on his arm and turned to face him. "All due respect, lieutenant, but when are you gonna wise up on this place? The only way to survive here is to go along, not cause any hoorah, mind your own business..."

"Is that what you do, sergeant? Is that how you fall asleep at night?"

"Look, Doc, you keep ragin' against the rebs and they're gonna kill ya, sure and plain."

"If I can take a few of them with me, Kramer, it might just be worth it."

"Ones like Carp ain't worth nuthin'... Oh, he mighta killed Jimmy maybe, but he ain't worth nuthin'..."

Adams grabbed Kramer's lapel. "What do you know about Jimmy, Kramer?"

"Easy Doc, I don't know nuthin' 'bout it, I swear on my mama's grave."

Adams glared at him for a long moment, and then wordlessly, he turned around and headed back down the hallway. But instead of going after him, Roy Kramer just smiled; this was all turning out even better than he had envisioned. Adams would march down that hallway, make a move against Carp and get himself killed. And all Kramer had to tell Wilkins was that Adams had lost it and broke away from him. Getting rid of Adams was much better than wrestling control of him in the long run; Wilkins would return to the docile and hollow shell of a man he was before the assistant surgeon came to Libby, and the men would be once again without a strong leader except for Kramer himself. The only downside was the fact that he hadn't discussed it with Voss first, but in the end, he doubted the major would have a problem with the elimination of one yankee surgeon.

Wilkins was supervising the clean up of the room when he heard a commotion behind him, and to his horror, he saw Adams violently grab Carp's musket, shoving the man into the wall, and using the handle of the rifle to punch him first in the stomach and then an upper cut to the chin, he knocked the man to the floor. As another soldier approached him to stop him, Adams hit him hard across the face with the musket butt, followed by a solid punch in the nose with his right hand. The young surgeon reached for the guard's pistol, and the next guard that approached him was put into a stranglehold, the gun placed tightly against the man's carotid artery.

"Adams! No! Son, I promise you, as God is my witness, that I will find out who did this and he will be punished; but this isn't the way, boy. You're just gonna get yourself killed."

But it was too late. "I'm sorry Dr. Wilkins," Adams said, "but for as decent as you've been to me, we're on opposite sides of this war, and I've got to handle this my way. I promised that boy he'd be safe and I broke my word, and now I owe it to Jimmy to see that the men who mutilated him pay for it." He tightened his grip on the young private in his arms, the knuckles on his right hand turning white from gripping the gun so tightly. "You're gonna tell me, private, who killed that boy. And you're gonna tell me right now, or I'm gonna blow a ball of percussion right through your throat."

"Please...Adams...I don't know...Dr. Wilkins, please help me," the young private cried.

Adams had to close his eyes briefly against the frightened tone of the young man he was holding, the action of violence going against every fiber in Adams' being. But he owed it to Jimmy.

"I'm running out of patience. You know who did this; all you rebs've gotta know."

At least ten guards were now in the hallway, guns trained on Adams, and Wilkins felt his heart drop into his shoes. "Adams, come on boy, you need to listen to me now--"

"--No, I don't need to listen to you. I listened to you before, and..." He couldn't verbalize what had been done to the young boy, and the sentence choked off in his throat.

Adams tightened his grip and leaned into the young private's ear. "You're as good as dead, if you don't start talking..."


Kitty had just finished adding the egg shells to the pot and putting it on the heat when she felt the cold steel against her neck and the sound of a pistol cocking in her ear. She froze, not understanding how anyone could have come up behind her. She recognized the deep voice immediately, although the cold quality permeating it sent a chill through her bones.

"You're as good as dead, if you don't start talking..." She tried to turn to look at him, but he shoved her head away roughly.

"Doc, what are you doing? You're hurting me..."

"I'm gonna do a lot worse than that if you don't tell me the truth."

Her breath became uneven as her heart began to pound in her chest. "D-doc...Doc, please, put the gun down."

"I have no intention of puttin' this gun down until you tell me what I want to know." She didn't move a muscle, nor did she dare to breathe, terrified of a man she loved deeply. He grabbed her hard then, from behind, wrapping his left arm around her neck, in a choke hold, moving the cold barrel of the gun to her neck. Kitty slammed her eyes shut in terror. "I'm losing patience with you. You'd better tell me who did it."

"W-who d-did what?"

He pulled his arm up sharply, causing her throat to constrict. "Don't play games with me. Jimmy's dead, and that's exactly what you're gonna be if you don't come clean."

"J-jimmy? Doc...who's Jimmy?"

She felt the gun pressing into her throat and she wanted to scream, but his arm was choking her throat off making any kind of loud sound impossible.

"He was just a boy, barely fifteen years old. I promised him he'd be all right; I promised." His voice was filled with an emotion that Kitty couldn't place but caused her heart to ache for him, "He was just a boy..."

The door to the office opened then and Dillon walked in.

"Matt!" Kitty yelled.

At the sound of the alarm in her voice, Dillon dropped the food in his hand and pulled his gun, but he wasn't prepared for the sight which awaited him: Doc was holding his .36 caliber Navy at Kitty's throat, and he looked less than rational. The marshal of Dodge froze, and the two men stared at each other for what seemed to Kitty like an eternity.

Finally Dillon spoke, "Doc," he said cautiously, "Doc, it's Matt. Put the gun down."

"You're just like all the others..."

Matt looked hard into the pale blue eyes, but there was nothing recognizable of the man he knew in them. "Doc, please put the gun down. Please don't make me shoot you."

"No sir. I will not put the gun down until somebody tells me who killed Jimmy."

Dillon glanced in confusion over at Russell. "Kitty?"

"I d-don't know, Matt. He came up from behind me, I never even heard him. And I have no idea what he's talkin' about."

"Shut up!" Adams yelled as he yanked hard on her throat with his left arm. "Just shut-up or I'm gonna blow a hole the size of my fist in your neck."

Kitty began to cry. "Doc...Doc, please..."

Her fearful sobs tore at the innermost depths of Doc's soul, and a frown creased his brow. Matt caught the slight change and tried to capitalize on the tiny sliver of recognition.

"Doc...that's Kitty you've got in your arms. It's Kitty you're holdin' a gun to; it's Kitty who's cryin', Doc. You're scaring her to death, you need to set the gun down and let her go."

Doc's eyes filled with torment, and Matt could see the confusion that gripped the old doctor. Adams pulled her closer to him, tightening his arm around her neck even more, making breathing extremely difficult for her.

"Doc," Matt's voice was tense, "let her go. Please don't make me do anything that we're both gonna regret. Please Doc..."

And the door to the office opened then as Chester barged in. "Mr. Dillon, I been lookin' all over Dodge for--"

Dillon took advantage of the distraction, and grabbed Doc's gun hand, pulling it toward him, sending Kitty in the other direction as Adams had no choice but to let go. Matt slugged the old doctor hard in the jaw as he twisted the gun in his hand free, sending it clattering to the floor. Doc started to fall backward, but Dillon caught him, pulling the old man into himself, pinning his arms down at his sides.

"Kitty? You all right?" She nodded and Dillon looked at Goode. "Chester, see to Kitty for me for a few minutes, I'm taking Doc into the other room."

Kitty's voice sounded alarmed, "Matt...don't hurt him. He doesn't know what he's doin'..."

Matt's lips pursed tightly together and his teeth were clenched. "Yeah, I know. I'm not gonna hurt him, but I am gonna try and snap him out of this."

Chester limped over toward Kitty as Matt hustled the struggling doctor into the back room, closing the door behind him.

"M-miss Kitty, would ya like a glass of water?"

"Yes, thanks, Chester."

He poured some water from a pitcher into a glass and handed it to her. "Are ya all right?"

She sipped the water and said, "Yes, I think so."

Goode glanced behind them at the closed door, then back at her. "Wull what in tarnation's gotten inta Doc man-handlin' you like that..."

Kitty's eyes were colored with sadness. "Chester, Doc didn't know what he was doin'..."

"But surely he'd know you, Miss Kitty, and Mr. Dillon..."

She shook her head. "Chester, he didn't recognize us at all. I don't know who he thought we were, but...the man who was in here wasn't anything like Doc."

"W-what do you suppose Mr. Dillon's gonna do?"

"I don't know."

"He's awful upset, Miss Kitty; I ain't never seen Mr. Dillon this mad before..."

"I haven't either, Chester."

"This is just awful, Miss Kitty," Chester's big brown eyes were filled with sorrow. "It's just plumb awful."

Kitty nodded but didn't say anything. She looked over toward the door to the back bedroom and prayed that Matt wouldn't lose his temper, and that Doc would come to his senses. But somehow she knew it wasn't going to be that easy...