A Passionate Understanding: Vignettes Through the Years

A bushel basketful of thanks to my medical technical advisor, LadyBrit. I myself am not a doctor, nor do I play one on tv, so any inaccuracies, exaggerations or lapses within are entirely for the sake of drama, angst and thrills galore. (That means I just make stuff up because it sounds good –the prerogative of a fiction writer.) The following contains flashback spice, so beware if you don't wanna get your eyebrows a mite singed. Hope you enjoy it, even if it toasts yer buns.

And thank you kindly for all the thoughtful notes of encouragement, until I can respond individually. Dear readers, you are the cherry on the cake of my day. And the scoop of homemade ice cream on the side. With sprinkles.

Chapter 10 "Last Nights and Lingering Fears"

Part B: Converging

by Lilyjack

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Kitty fumbled with the heavy, ornate key Festus had secreted into her palm downstairs, cursing quietly until she heard the lock to her door finally snick open. She held her breath while pushing it ajar with a little creak, heart in her throat wondering what state she would find Matt Dillon in this time. The room was very dim, one small lamp lit by the bedside, a silhouetted figure she assumed was Quint muttering as he attempted to light another match, swearing softly when it snapped in two in his fingers. Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the gloom, and then she strode to the bedside where Matt lay very still. Beads of perspiration covered his ashen face and neck and his eyes were closed. Her heart sank. "Matt?" she breathed, her eyes stinging with unshed tears.

He didn't stir.

She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder as fear gripped her chest. "Matt, can you hear me?" She was vaguely aware of the second lamp finally being lit and Quint sliding slowly down into a chair across the room with a grunt. Her fingers came in contact with something warm and sticky, seeping through a makeshift bandage beneath Matt's shirt, and the iron tang of it in her nostrils and the back of her throat made her stomach knot. "Matt?" she repeated, desperate to hear his voice.

Festus answered, "Miss Kitty, he ain't uttered nary a word since he asked us to bring him up hyere to you." He removed his hat, shifted his weight on his feet. "I don't think he kin hear ya' now."

"What happened?" she asked in a shaky whisper. "Is this his only bullet wound?" She contemplated grimly, they should be so lucky.

Quint spoke at last, his voice noticeably faint, "Yeah…just shot once. But once…was plenty." Quint told her what had transpired out there on the prairie while she methodically unbuttoned Matt's shirt and unwrapped the bandanna wound round his bleeding shoulder. He quietly explained that Newt Monger's gang hadn't made it in time to save their leader from the noose, but the outlaws had exacted their revenge after all, ambushing Matt Dillon and Quint on their return trip to Dodge, shooting the duo's horses out from under them. They'd left the two men unconscious, bleeding, and presumed by Newt's cronies to be dead or dying. Luckily Matt Dillon's constitution was substantially stronger than the villains ever could have imagined.

Kitty attempted to lift Matt's shoulder to check if there was an exit wound on his back.

The exhausted voice from the chair spoke again, "No need to check. The bullet's still in there."

Kitty paled at Quint's flat statement, firmly pressing a clean rag against Matt's shoulder to slow the bleeding. She spoke in a voice more confident that she felt, "Then that bullet's gotta come out."

Festus, standing silently nearby until that moment, spoke up, "But Doc ain't hyere and we don't know when he's a' comin' back. What'll we do?"

A hoarse, breathless voice haltingly spoke up from the bed, "Kitty can do it."

Kitty's head whipped back around to stare at the speaker who was sweating profusely and gazing at her through squinted eyes glazed with pain. His fingers inched towards hers on the bedcovers, slipped warmly over her hand.

"Oh, Matt, I can't…"

"Yeah…you can. How often…have you watched Doc…" He stopped and took a shallow, painful breath. "…takin' bullets outta me…before?"

"But, Matt, watchin' and doin' are two different things entirely."

Quint spoke softly from the chair again, "He's right, Kitty. You help Doc sometimes in surgery. That bullet's already been in there…too long. 's'gotta come out now. You get my vote."

Kitty peered across the room closely at Quint's shadowy form for the first time. "Quint, your head is bleeding badly! Let me help you…"

Quint held up a palm smeared with blood, both dried and fresh. "No, I'm fine. Matt needs you more."

Festus blustered, "Oh, Comanche's gotta hard head. He'll be right as rain in no time a'tall. We gotta stop the bleedin' in Matthew's shoulder though."

"Well, I…" Kitty looked flustered. "…I'm gonna need some supplies."

"You reckon the old scudder took all his doctorin' thangs with 'im?"

Kitty answered, "Surely not. He can't carry everything in that black bag of his." She then began to describe to Festus the items in Doc's office that he used to extract bullets and stitch up wounds. "Look on the wooden shelf next to the door. See if there's an enameled metal container with a lid where he keeps forceps."

"For-what?"

"Forceps, Festus. One of those metal instruments Doc uses to pull a bullet out with."

"Oh, yeah, I seen them afore plenty a' times."

"There should be a pair of scissors in with them along with his needle. And bring me some cotton wool, bandages and thread. Those are in glass jars. Should be in the same place." She bit her lower lip when she noticed the crimson stain already soaking through the rag she held against Matt's wound and added, "And if you can find some alcohol, bring that, too."

"Alcohol? Why, Miss Kitty, you got plenty a' that right downstairs."

"Alcohol, in a…in a brown glass jar, I think, to clean the wound. We need to use it on Quint, too. Can you remember all that?"

"Yes, ma'am, I kin do that fer ya."

"Oh, and Festus, see if Doc left his extra pair of specs in the top drawer of his desk. I can't hold my lorgnette and work at the same time. Hurry now! We've no time to waste."

"I'll be back faster than you can say 'the rat run over the roof of the house with a piece a' raw liver in 'is mouth!'"

"Oh, and here…hand this clean rag to poor Quint. I've gotta keep pressure on Matt's shoulder."

"Yes'm. Here ya go, Comanche. Hold this hyere to your hard head and I'll be back terrectly."

"Thanks, Festus."

Kitty sat on the bed at Matt's side, wringing cool water from a cloth and placing it on his hot forehead, wishing she could will him better though sheer determination. Her skin prickled in fear when she realized he was unconscious again. But it was fitting she take care of him here in this bed. Her bed was haunted by waking dreams of lying with this man skin to skin, bedclothes muffling their secret cries of ecstasy, naked limbs tangled up in rumpled white sheets damp with their passion. This bed was a place where they marked their love for each other, and she would now care for him here with the same quiet, intense passion she felt for him every day of her life.

Kitty hurried to add a fresh towel to Matt's shoulder atop the first one that was now soaked through with blood. Glancing back to check on Quint who still rested quietly, pressing the cloth to his head wound, her eyes were drawn to the corner of the room nearest her chifforobe full of dresses. Her cheeks flushed with the memory that suddenly rushed over her-a turbulent tryst on a spring day after Matt had engaged in a brutal, bare-fisted fight with that bully Stobo. His opponent was a mean and hateful man who'd very nearly killed Chester Goode, a gentle, loyal soul whom Matt treated like a younger brother. Matt had blamed himself for Chester's injuries, and the incident had nearly eaten him alive with guilt. But after the beating Matt gave that bastard Stobo and following an earnest heart-to-heart with the recuperating Chester, Matt had made his way straight to Kitty.

He had strode into her room that day with a fierce look on his face, riled and moody, still wearing his sweat-soaked and torn clothing, his cheek and eye beginning to swell and bruise. She'd actually unconsciously retreated a few steps away from him, even though she knew in her heart that Matt Dillon would never intentionally hurt her. But he advanced, a smoldering look of naked longing in his eye and her name falling from his lips in an urgent rush. He proceeded to back her into a corner and strip her of clothing from the waist down. She stood paralyzed, gasping in astonishment and sudden arousal. Her heart pounded and the blood began to pulse in her veins, rushing to the pit of her aching belly which lay naked to his fiery gaze. With wide eyes, she'd watched him drop to his knees before her, lifting one of her legs to slide her creamy-skinned knee over his well-muscled shoulder. She'd shivered violently at the combined sensation of air rushing over her exposed sex while Matt's eyes hungrily drank her in, his breathing ragged. He'd touched her with his tongue hesitantly, and when she responded with a shudder and a strangled cry of sheer need, he'd proceeded to eagerly taste her, kiss her, love her with abandon, uttering a primal groan against her enflamed flesh as she responded to his caresses.

Matt had gazed up at her with those clear blue eyes brimming with…want? Need? Did it make a difference? It was absolute passion, regardless. The same intimate look he'd graced her with countless times before downstairs in the Long Branch, only intensified and heated to a boil.

He'd kept on pleasuring her until she fisted her hands in his thick, damp curls and finally had to grab onto the nearby chifforobe to remain upright, she was so lightheaded and weak-kneed. She came so hard she gushed womanly liquid essence with a shocked, delirious cry, and Matt had steadied her with huge, strong hands round her small waist as she wilted over him, cradling his head in her arms. Then he'd risen to his feet and held her flushed face between his palms, touching foreheads for several gasps before he reached down to unbutton his pants and slide his hard, hot length inside her slick body. He pounded her against the wall, their eyes locked with one another, breaths exploding from their mouths with the force of their efforts. He came with a groan, and fell heavily against her in that empty corner of Kitty's room.

And that had been the first time they'd ever made love.

When he'd sufficiently recovered, forehead pressed against the wall over her shoulder, he'd whispered raggedly in her ear, "I'm sorry, Kitty."

And she'd turned her head toward his face, placing a hand on his jaw that was covered in a sheen of sweat. Forcing him to look into her eyes, she'd fervently murmured, "Don't be."

Releasing a shuddering sigh, he'd then gathered her in his arms and carried her to the bed, lying her back on the pillows without a word. He had proceeded to finish undressing her with trembling fingers and a fevered expression. Then he lay down by her side, enfolding Kitty in his embrace and kissing her lips with the gentlest kiss she'd ever been gifted. They'd spent the rest of the afternoon in her bed, touching one other's bodies the way they'd already touched each other's hearts. They'd talked even more frankly than they'd ever done as simple friends, and Matt poured out his frustrations and guilty feelings to her-overpowering emotions which eventually, inevitably, had led him to her bedroom at long last. She was the answer to his question.

So long ago… She sighed as she smoothed the cool cloth over Matt's hot forehead. But the memory of the tastes, the smells, the sight and sound of her man heated to the breaking point, the first intimate caresses in forbidden places seemed like only yesterday. She shivered a little as the passion of that afternoon stirred her again and she looked down at the face of the man who'd done that to her. Who could still do that to her, to this day.

Kitty started when the door at the top of the back stairs burst open. Quint raised up in alarm with a pained groan, but the sudden intruder turned out to be Festus carrying a wooden crate full of softly tinkling jars and bottles from Doc's office.

Quint fell back against the chair tiredly, wondering aloud, "Did Doc leave his door unlocked?"

"Course not, Comanche. Matthew's gotta extry key to Doc's office in 'is desk drawer. Help me out, would ya? Let's drag this hyere little table over close to the bed for Miss Kitty t' use. We'll put her operatin' thangs on top so she's got plenty a' elbow room."

Kitty swallowed hard, glancing once more at the blood staining the white cloth on Matt's skin. Tamping down a shudder of dread, she directed, "I'll need some boiling hot water, boys, to clean with. Build a fire in the stove. We need to do this fast before Matt loses anymore blood."

"Yes ma'am," they murmured, hurrying to pour water from a pitcher into the tea kettle and open the creaking cast iron door to poke wood inside the stove.

While they worked, she used a pair of scissors to carefully cut off Matt's vest and shirt, both crusted with blood. "Now," she murmured aloud as she peeled the fabric away from his chest and shoulder. "I can see what I'm up against." Wincing as she peeked beneath the sticky makeshift bandage, she muttered softly, "Matt, I gotta be honest-I don't know if I can do this."

He surprised her by answering again in a faltering voice, "I know…you can do it…Kitty."

"Oh, Matt…" She placed a hand on his damp cheek, her thumb stroking his skin while hot tears burned her eyes.

His expression, though glazed with pain, did not waver as he comforted her. "It'll be…alright, honey…"

She opened her mouth to reply, but his eyes fluttered closed again.

"Matt?" She repeated urgently, "Matt?"

Stifling a whimper of frustration and fear, she turned her head to the others and directed, "Quint, come and hold this on Matt's shoulder while I wash up. Festus, you scrub your hands, too, real good like you've seen Doc do it. And then we'll clean up this wound with some alcohol. I'll tend to you, too, Quint, so you can help. Let's get this over with."

They all busied themselves, preparing for the tough task which lay ahead, while Kitty wondered all the while if she were up to it. She was no doctor. And her man's life lay hanging in the balance.

tbc

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