The next morning, Bart woke feeling better: physically, anyway. His headache wasn't so bad and the lightheadedness was gone—at least while he was lying down.

Today was day number eight since he'd been attacked and hit on the head, completely losing his memory. He sighed noiselessly, not letting Doc know that he was awake. How many more days was he supposed to live like this? Hardly knowing anything, needing a constant bodyguard…he wasn't even able to make a living. Doc had spent a long time teaching Bart how to play poker again last night, and Bart could only hope that his scrambled brain would be able to retain at least some of it. They'd know for sure tonight, when they played again.

"Are you awake?" he suddenly heard.

Bart turned from his side onto his back, seeing Doc sitting in the chair beside the bed. He was dressed and appeared to have been up for a while. "What time is it?" Bart asked, rubbing his eyes.

"After ten," Doc answered.

"Oh," said Bart. He didn't remember what time he'd fallen asleep last night, and didn't recall waking up at all. He'd slept very well.

"How do you feel?" Doc asked.

"Better," Bart said, slowly sitting up. "My head doesn't hurt so bad."

"Lightheaded?"

"No," Bart told him

Doc smiled, genuinely glad. "Good. Hungry?"

Bart shot him a look.

Doc shrugged. "Oh well, it was worth a try. You're eating anyway."

Bart sighed, before suddenly reaching up and untying the bandage around his head; deciding that he didn't need it anymore. "What's the point so close to lunchtime?"

Doc pursed his lips. It would take a while to get Bart up and dressed and ready to go downstairs, especially since they apparently needed to deal with his hair, now. Opening his pocket watch, he found that it was nearly ten thirty. "Fine," he said. "But you'd better not order a measly bowl of soup."

Bart chuckled. "Yes, pappy."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

At noon, the two of them slowly descended the hotel steps. Doc still wouldn't let Bart go down them by himself—especially after the lightheaded episode of yesterday—and gripped his arm tightly.

Bart submitted. After all, he'd only been getting out of bed for the past three days, and the last thing he needed was to fall if he got dizzy.

Once they got to the bottom, Doc made Bart stop walking. Looking around, he said, "Anyone look familiar?"

Bart looked around too, knowing that he was looking for the two men who had attacked him the day before. "No," he said.

Doc sighed and started walking again. He chose a table where he could see inside the dining room and the hotel door, making Bart sit across from him with his back to the wall. "Well," he said. "At least we know that they won't try to kill you in front of everyone here."

Bart nodded. There had been no witnesses to the first attack on him, and the second time, they'd pulled him into an alley. With their obvious quest to not be seen, they certainly wouldn't be stupid enough to do something in the middle of a dining room full of people.

Doc opened his menu. "You need to eat real food," he said. "Soup isn't going to make you stronger; you need to eat a sandwich."

Bart made an unsure face. "I'm not much for beef between bread."

"Then get chicken," said Doc. "Since you love it so much."

"Chicken," Bart repeated. He shrugged and put his menu down. "Why not." He looked at Doc with a familiar twinkle in his eye. "I can always order the soup later."

"Oh, har har har," said Doc. "You're so funny, Bart…almost as funny as me!"

Bart smiled.

Soon, their food was ordered and delivered, and Bart had to admit that the sandwich wasn't bad.

"Now that is lunch for a man!" said Doc, taking a huge bite of his own.

Bart smiled as he chewed. He suddenly thought of something. "How long have we known each other?"

Doc sighed theatrically. "It seems like a lifetime."

"No, really, how long?" Bart asked.

Doc took another bite and thought. "Five or six years," he said.

Bart was surprised. "That's all?"

Doc shrugged. "Something like that. Before you ask, we met during a poker game. You beat me; I was insulted and demanded satisfaction. We had a duel, and both of us shot each other."

Bart choked.

Doc leapt to his feet and came around the table, pounding his friend on the back. "I was joking! Don't you know a joke when you hear one? Why do you have to take things so seriously?"

"Because I—don't know—what's—true!" Bart said, in between chokes.

Doc reached for a glass on the table to give his friend a drink, and accidentally grabbed his own whiskey glass, pouring it down Bart's throat without realizing.

Bart made an odd sound that could only be described as a squeak. He gasped, and choked again.

When Doc realized what he'd done, he could've dropped dead from shock. "That was an accident, Bart! An accident, I swear!" he said, grabbing Bart's water glass instead and pouring that down his throat.

The entire dining room was watching, and the hotel clerk had run over by now. "Is he all right?!"

Doc nodded, still slapping Bart's back. "I think so."

Bart's choking had died down somewhat. "I'm…fine," he managed to hoarsely say.

The clerk saw Bart's sandwich. "It wasn't a chicken bone, was it?" With that, he ran off to the kitchen…apparently to tell the cooks to watch out for bones!

Doc stopped slapping Bart's back and moved his hand to his friend's shoulder as he bent to look into his face. "You sure you're all right?"

Bart nodded, resisting the urge to groan at what the coughing—and back slapping—had done for his headache. He blinked slowly and abruptly swayed a little, suddenly feeling tipsy.

Doc noticed and picked up his whiskey glass. It had been full—and now it was empty. "Oh no," he moaned. It was a big glass, not a shot glass, either. With a sigh, he looked around as if hoping that no one would notice, tiptoed back to his seat, and sat down again.

Bart was looking at his sandwich, still blinking.

Doc took a bite of his own, still looking around to make sure no one was watching them anymore. "Bart?" he said. His mouth was full, so it sounded more like, 'Marf'?

"Huh?" Bart answered.

"You're supposed to eat that, not stare at it."

Bart blinked again, before giving a short cough, apparently not fully recovered from his choking episode. "I know."

"Uh, okay…just checking," said Doc.

Ten seconds passed in silence, while Bart continued to blink. "That was whiskey."

"Uh…well…yes," Doc answered.

"I think I'm drunk," Bart continued.

Doc looked at his empty glass. Considering that Bart never—ever—drank hard liquor, he was sure that was indeed the case, even if only slightly. "Yeah, I think you are."

Bart suddenly chuckled.

That was the last thing that Doc expected. "What's so funny?"

"Is this why you like that stuff so much?" Bart asked, finally tearing his gaze away from his sandwich and looking at Doc. "Because of how strange it makes you feel?"

Doc made a face as if he was thinking. "Well…that used to be the reason, but now I drink so much of it that I never really get that strange feeling anymore."

"Oh," said Bart. He went back to staring at his sandwich. "Now what?"

"Now you need to eat," Doc said. "It'll help absorb the alcohol."

That seemed to get through to Bart, and he obeyed, lifting his sandwich and taking a bite.

To Doc's relief, nothing else crazy happened through lunchtime, and when they were done, Bart wanted to sit outside.

"I didn't get to see much yesterday," Bart told him. "Maybe something will jog my memory."

Doc bit back a retort that Bart hadn't been able to see much because being outside had resulted in him being attacked by two unknown men. He sighed. Bart had a point, but he didn't like the idea of his friend being out in the open like that. Though, if he was with him, what could anyone do, especially if they stayed on the porch? "Okay."

Bart stood and immediately tipped to one side because of the whiskey.

Doc expected it and grabbed his friend's arm, guiding him towards the door. Once they went through it, Doc sat Bart on the bench and plopped down beside him.

Bart suddenly went, *hic!*

Doc snorted and had to cover his mouth to prevent himself from laughing.

Bart said nothing, looking around from where he sat.

Doc said nothing either; looking around himself, to make sure there weren't any suspicious characters watching Bart. "See anything that looks familiar?" he eventually asked.

"No," Bart replied.

Doc wasn't surprised to get that answer, and they sat quietly for a while. Just when Doc opened his mouth to ask Bart a question, he felt something bump his arm, and he turned his head to find Bart fast asleep…on his shoulder.

Shocked, Doc's jaw dropped. "Bart," he said.

Bart gave no answer.

Doc bounced his shoulder up and down, but it didn't wake his friend. Apparently, the whiskey he'd accidentally drank had been too much for him, especially with his still-healing head injury. "Great," Doc mumbled. "Now what am I supposed to do?"

TBC