Author's Notes

Hi guys!

First, thank you all for the delightful reviews on the last chapter! I cannot tell you how much I appreciate you taking the time to write something for me about what you thought of the read :)

I enjoyed hearing your thoughts on Paul! And those of you wondering about his behavior, I hope things will make sense once you read the next part.

It is a challenge, but I try to keep these characters as realistic as possible. They are lovable yet flawed people, which only makes them more interesting, and I strive to write their emotions honestly and with the heart and depth I feel they deserve. I've tried to convey some of that in these next two chapters. They took an enormous amount of re-writing, so I'm a little nervous now to hear what you think, but I hope you enjoy it.

This is sort of a Christmas special so yes, I'm posting TWO LONG chapters :) The next one will be up in a couple of hours. I've tried to fit in a bit of everything, some humor to go with the drama, brotherly banter and a bit of tender romance.

Thanks to all of you for the wonderful support and patience you're showing me at the moment. Happy holidays and I wish you all the best! :)

Chapter 36

It was his third day at the Ponderosa and Paul Martin was a frustrated man. So frustrated, as a matter of fact, that he'd felt it necessary to retreat to the quiet of the sitting room where he was currently suffering a headache of monstrous proportions. While the doctor had gotten used to dealing with a sick or injured Cartwright over the years, it was quite something else dealing with three of them at the same time.

When he'd checked Joe's ribs the previous evening, he'd been appalled to discover that the bruising was much worse than the young man had let on. His firm order of bed-rest had, as expected, fallen on deaf ears. At this very moment, Joe was out in the barn, tending to his horse because he insisted that Cochise missed him. Hoss was a little better off but still downplayed his own aches and sores to avoid adding to their father's worries. He'd gone with Joe outside to get some fresh air which Paul had gone along with after emphasizing that barn chores were off limits. And then lastly, of course, there was Adam. Being his usual exasperating self. Pretending he was fine and giving little to nothing away about how much pain he was in. But the doctor had caught onto the subtle winces he sometimes made when he drew in deep breaths or moved too suddenly, which suggested that his bad arm was not the only thing ailing him. Now, that was one conversation Paul did not look forward to having. Especially since the two of them hadn't actually spoken civilly with each other today.

He understood perfectly well why Ben's hair had already turned white as snow despite the old friends being almost the same age. He was convinced that by the time his stay at the Ponderosa was over—there would be a few more grey hairs on his own head.

Between fretting over those three boys, tending to Madeline, and then chaperoning to keep a certain dark Cartwright in check, he'd barely had a minute to himself. It was only early that morning, that he'd finally taken the time to inspect his own injury. He had changed the bandage around his head for the first time in two days and found that the gash across the top of his brow was healing nicely. Although that was a relief, the sharp pounding threatening to split his skull open only seemed to be getting worse.

His greatest comfort right now, was that Madeline appeared to be doing much better. It had been good for her, joining in at the table for supper yesterday and she hadn't seemed dizzy or too tired. This morning, she'd been down for breakfast with everyone and the same with lunch. Paul doubted that she'd agree to take her supper in her room. Since she was feeling better, they would probably be able to go home in a few days. As far as he was concerned, it wouldn't be a moment too soon. For one thing, this situation with Adam was getting out of control and he had no idea what to do about it. Every time he entered Madeline's room, Adam made him feel as welcome as Texas fever on a cattle drive and Paul responded by firing off verbal barbs that somehow got more and more spiteful. The usually good-natured banter they'd always had going was now bordering on acrimony and even when he regretted saying something particularly harsh, he just couldn't stop himself from delivering his next jibe to whatever Adam retorted with. It was a never-ending circle of glares, awkward silences and remarks that were getting to be too severe to pass for playful. And it was clearly starting to upset Madeline, though she hadn't said anything directly about it.

Another reason for wanting to return home soon was the fact that he knew he was needed in Virginia City. Guilt was stirring up a storm within him as he kept thinking about all the house-calls he should have been making these last three days. It unfortunately affected a lot of people when he was unavailable because there was such a shortage of doctors around these parts as it was. Accidents happened, people constantly became ill and Paul knew better than anyone how important it was that he got to his patients at the right time. It didn't sit well with him at all, that he'd left town so suddenly and without warning. And after he'd only just gotten back from his trip to San Francisco. But he'd prioritized Madeline and her health—a decision he would never regret making. She came before everything else—even his work—that was just the way things were now.

Yet it still bothered him that as long as he was staying at the Ponderosa, he couldn't do anything for the people who needed him in town. But there was nothing to be done about it now.

To feel a little bit productive at least—and to get another break from Adam—he'd decided to look at some paperwork in the peace and quiet of the sitting room.

He'd taken up position in the blue chair where he sat hunched over his journal, writing away. There were few things more relaxing to the doctor than hearing the sound of led scratching across paper as he captured his thoughts and watched them materialize on blank pages. So far, he'd mostly been doing preparation work to make things go as smoothly as possible when he eventually returned to Virginia City. He'd read up on a few patients and made a list of the people he needed to see first once he got back home. At least then he would have a plan and hopefully it would save him some time when he went around doing his house-calls. Every little thing he could do now made him feel better and he also wrote a list of the medicines and powders he remembered would need restocking in his practice soon. Having even the smallest details written down seemed to restore some order in his mind.

He was making good progress right up until the muffled sound of a high-pitched cackle could be heard from the porch outside. All of a sudden, the front door swung open and Joe's laughter doubled as Hoss limped into the house, straws of hay dropping off behind him with each step he took.

"Dadgummit little Joe, it weren't that funny . . ." he grunted, wincing as he brushed dirt off his shirtfront.

"Oh, oh-o, yes it was!"

Red-faced, Joe threw the door shut behind them, holding his stomach as he continued to laugh.

His work forgotten for the moment, Paul studied the two Cartwrights warily. "Do I even want to know?"

The brothers froze and when Joe spotted the doctor in the chair, he quickly stepped around Hoss, sporting a wide grin.

"Doc, you should've seen it!"

"Joe, I very much doubt I would have wanted to witness whatever—"

"Hoss just got bushwhacked by a cat out in the barn!"

Paul's gaze shifted from one brother to the other as he laid his pencil on a page and closed the journal around it. Unhurriedly, he crossed his legs, folded his hands over his vest and leaned back.

"I beg your pardon?"

Joe nodded vigorously. "I'm telling you, a cat just jumped down from the hayloft and landed smack on big brother's hard head and he . . . he—" The words dissolved into a laughing fit and Joe almost doubled over as he squeezed his eyes shut.

"Dadburnit, I was just tryin' to get up there, so I could help the little fella down," Hoss mumbled, jamming his fists into his pockets.

It was then Paul noticed the newest addition to the numerous cuts and bruises on his face—three bright-red scratches on his left cheek.

"The tiny thing knocked him clean over!" Joe swept a hand through the air for added illustration and he gasped as though he was choking. "I swear, the whole barn shook when he landed, I thought it was about to come down on top of us!"

The young man grabbed at the settee to steady himself and Paul looked back at Hoss who was toeing some imaginary line along the floor with the tip of his boot.

"Poor little critter just got startled is all."

"You just count yourself lucky that poor little critter didn't finish you off," Paul scolded. "It's quite one thing going out for a breath of fresh air, but to start climbing up into haylofts in your current state is just absolutely—"

"Aow! Ow," Joe exclaimed through a giggle, grimacing as he clutched his injured ribs. "Oh, oh God . . ."

The doctor closed his eyes in a bid to summon control. It was difficult indeed, when so many things seemed to be conspiring to agitate him at once. He eventually opened his journal again and continued where he'd left off. Perhaps, if he simply pretended the brothers weren't present, they would be less irritating to him.

Joe's amusement was effectively quashed by his pain and he settled down on the settee, still holding his side while Hoss stood around, gingerly poking at his swelling cheek. Paul had managed to add a whole three sentences to the page when Joe spoke up, breaking his imaginary solitude.

"Hey, where's Pa?"

"He's out in the bunkhouse talking to some hands," the doctor muttered as he struggled to latch onto whatever he'd intended to write next. "I'm rather surprised he wasn't alerted to your escapades. It sounds as though you two made quite a ruckus."

To his great relief, that reply seemed to satisfy and silence Joe. He collected his thoughts and continued writing. Not even ten seconds had gone by when he sensed Hoss approach.

"Hey, what's that yur writin' there, Doc?"

"It's the journal I use to keep track of my patients," Paul said, not looking up. "Their medical history, medicines and treatment I've given. All those things."

"Huh." Joe commented. He inched further to the edge of the settee, his one good eye fixed on the journal. "You uh, you got something in there about me?"

The pencil finally went limp in Paul's hand and he spoke slowly, inserting a dramatic tone to his voice. "It grieves me to say that I have a whole chapter on you, Joe."

Several expressions battled for control of Joe's face and he didn't seem to know whether he was proud or offended.

With a big grin, Hoss perched on the armrest of the settee. "What about ol' Adam? You got him too?"

"Hmpf. I have many pages about your older brother in here, yes."

"Yea, I reckon you must have at that." Glancing about the room, Hoss asked, "Where's he at anyway?"

"He's upstairs with Madeline, of course. Where else would he be," Paul mumbled the last bit to himself as he closed the journal for good and stretched out of his chair to place it on the table. "I make an appearance every now and again to ensure he doesn't go and get any ideas."

Joe shot a sly wink at Hoss. He held a hand by the side of his mouth as if that would prevent his words from reaching the doctor sitting right in front of him. "I'll bet older brother already has plenty of idea—"

Paul's head jerked towards him. "What was that?"

Joe swiftly dropped his hand. "I just meant that . . . you know, it's—" He stumbled over his own tongue and glanced at his sibling who, mercifully, came to his aid.

"Come on Doc," Hoss said in his most appeasing manner, "he's just sayin' what all of us kin pretty much see anyway with them two and the way things are heading to—"

"Yes, well I suggest we all calm ourselves," Paul cut in as he patted the air around him with both hands. "Calm right down. This is no time for your speculations or for . . . well, hastiness or rash decisions. And as for him"—the doctor poked a finger at the top of the staircase to indicate Adam's direction—"he could do with a few minutes outside of that room, so the next time you two get bored, I think you should invite him along and all of you can take a leisurely stroll around the yard—no haylofts! Some fresh air might help cool him off a bit and he could certainly use it." In the throes of irritation, Paul shook his head which only reinforced his fierce headache. "It's beyond me why he has to be so . . . I mean, she's barely recovered and he's smothering her with attention! He literally doesn't leave her side!"

The lengthy rant rendered both brothers momentarily mute. Again, Hoss tried the placating approach. "I understand what yur sayin' about him spendin' a lotta time with her and all but as far as I can tell, Miss Madeline don't seem to mind it."

"She sure doesn't," Joe added.

"Well no, obviously she doesn't because—" Paul made a dismissive noise. "Anyway, that's not the point, it—"

He was interrupted when the house seemed to explode with activity all at once. The front door opened, allowing Ben entrance just as Adam and Madeline emerged at the top of the stairs. Ben's face brightened at the sight of everyone and he made some comment about the weather getting chillier, but Paul wasn't listening. His primary concern was his niece. He stood up and watched her come down the stairs as Adam kept one arm circled protectively around her waist.

She was wearing her favorite checkered-blue skirt and a white blouse—her hair falling in perfect waves about her while a faint smile shaped her lips. Paul searched for any signs of pain or dizziness as she moved, but there were none that he could see. When the two reached the landing, Adam stopped and leaned in close to her, making her pause. Her smile grew tenfold while he spoke in her ear and when she turned to look at him, Paul saw that her eyes were alight with that special something she reserved only for Adam.

Massaging his left temple, the doctor went back to the blue chair and lowered himself into it again. He sat quietly, wishing his headache would go down when in reality, he knew there was little chance of it. A short moment later, Adam and Madeline came over to the sitting area and Ben stepped forward to take her hand as he studied her with concern.

"How are you, dear? Should you be up again so soon?"

"I feel fine, thank you," she said lightly and Paul, watching from his chair, noted that Adam still had his arm around her even though she seemed quite capable of standing by herself.

"Here, Madeline," Joe said, patting the settee as he scooted over to make room, "you can sit here."

A warm smile spread across her face. "Thank you, Joe."

She took a seat and Adam made to sit down next to her when a glance at Hoss halted him. He straightened and squinted at his brother's reddened cheek. Hoss shifted from one foot to the other as he peered at some particular point over Adam's shoulder.

"Well, what happened to you?"

"Dang it, nothin' happened," Hoss said, aiming a warning look at Joe who already had a hand clamped over his mouth.

Paul almost groaned audibly when Ben adopted that disapproving, worried-father-expression as he took stock of his youngest sons. Then, when Adam casually reached out to pluck a straw of hay from Hoss' shirt collar—the last straw as it turned out—Joe burst out laughing and immediately grabbed his ribs.

Everyone looked confused except for Hoss and Paul, and the doctor decided it was up to him to change the subject. Partly to spare Joe from more pain but mostly because he simply didn't want to hear that dreadful story once again.

"My Belle," he suddenly said, capturing everybody's attention, "I thought we agreed that you were going to rest in bed until supper?"

It took Madeline a second to catch up with the abrupt shift in conversation, but perceptive as she was, she quickly realized her uncle's intent.

"Yes, I know Uncle, but since I was feeling so well, I thought it was a shame to waste the afternoon away in bed."

"Restless," Adam remarked, eyeing her meaningfully as he sat down next to her. "You were too restless to stay in bed."

Her serene expression didn't waver as she met his eyes and the glint of challenge there. "Perhaps I might have seemed slightly restless as you say, Adam. But I do feel much more at peace down here with everyone."

She turned to look at the other three Cartwrights, flashing them her most dazzling smile.

Hoss responded with a grin that showed off the charismatic gap between his front teeth. "We're real glad to have you with us too, Ma'am. You sure are . . ." He ducked his head bashfully. "What I mean is, your company, it sort of—"

"Sort of lightens things up around here," Joe finished charmingly, and Madeline regarded them both with fondness.

"While that's certainly true, we wouldn't want you to overtax yourself," Ben said while walking over to sit in his red wing-chair. "Doing too much too soon is always the surest way of getting ill again." His firm gaze drifted over each of his sons without stopping. "Believe me, I've seen it happen many times."

"Unfortunately, as have I," Paul intoned somberly from his seat. He nodded his niece's direction. "You really do need to be careful not to overdo things, Madeline . . ."

"I promise I will take it easy," she assured them. "It's just nice to be down here with you all." She lifted her hand to her mouth and very delicately cleared her throat. "I also thought that since I'm dressed and feeling fine, I might . . ." Her voice grew quieter by the word. "Well, I might lend Hop Sing a hand in the kitchen at some point."

There was a silence as she cast a sidelong glance at Adam. A pleasant smile appeared on his face, but his tone carried an undercurrent of exasperation.

"That wasn't part of the deal."

"Oh, Adam." Her lips quirked sweetly and she took his good hand. "I am perfectly all right. You really need to stop worrying so much. I just want to help out a bit, there's no harm in it."

He sighed. "Listen Madeline—"

"You are getting to be just as bad as Uncle Paul, you know."

Adam looked appalled and Paul held up a finger. "Ah, excuse me—"

"All right," Ben broke in, clearly amused by the scene. "Now, I have to say that I doubt Hop Sing will let you do anything in the kitchen." Madeline's face fell, so he swiftly went on, "For now, at least. But there is something you could help me with." Her curiosity piqued, she sat up straighter and he asked. "Do you know the card game Whist?"

She frowned. "I've heard of it, but I haven't ever played it before."

"That doesn't matter, it's quite easy to learn. Earlier, Hoss, Joe and I tried to have a game, but it really does require four players in two pairs. And for some reason, those two"—he gestured to his two boys—"would rather team up with each other than with me. So, you see, I'm in need of a partner and I can't think of a lovelier one than you."

"That's a great idea!" Joe said, beaming at her. "What do you say, Madeline?"

Gradually, Madeline's smile returned as she swept her eyes first over Ben, then Hoss, then Joe.

"Oh, all right!"

Ben grinned. "Wonderful!"

Visibly excited, Hoss and Joe were off to the kitchen to get a fresh batch of coffee for them and a pot of tea for Madeline. Ben went to get the cards and on his way around the settee, he passed a knowing look to Paul who easily caught it. After witnessing that whole exchange, the doctor had been expecting it. He knew his old friend too well.

As much as he really didn't want to do this, he had to agree with Ben—it was high time. He chanced a subtle glimpse at Adam to gauge the younger man's current mood, but his attempt at discretion turned out to be superfluous. Adam was already watching him and the look in his eyes spoke volumes. Undaunted, Paul lifted himself out of his chair in a smooth movement.

"Well then," he said, folding his hands behind his back. "Since everyone else is busy playing that little game, I think this is quite the perfect opportunity for me to take a look at your arm, wouldn't you say?"

Hardly surprising, Adam didn't appear to share that opinion. His objection came in the form of one lengthy, unblinking stare which Paul met with a calm mien.

Noticing the silent standoff, Madeline glanced back and forth between the two, her brow rippled with worry. She gently placed her hand over Adam's. When he didn't react to it, she spoke his name softly.

"Adam . . ."

That made him turn to face her. Whatever magic Madeline possessed in that single look, Paul was fascinated in spite of himself to see her cast it over his ornery friend. The effect she had on him truly was remarkable. She stroked his hand once when his eyes dropped from hers in surrender, then she let go. With a significant amount of reluctance, Adam pushed himself up from the settee and Paul extended an arm towards the staircase as he exaggerated a bow.

"After you, lad."

Unamused, Adam walked past him, demonstrating as much enthusiasm as a man heading for the gallows. The doctor stayed back for a moment, saw his chance and leaped at it. He perched on the table in front of Madeline as she watched Adam climb the stairs.

"Should I go with you?" she asked, uncertain. "Perhaps I can help?"

"Hmm? Oh, no no, there's no need for that. I'm just checking the stitches and changing the bandage. He'll be fine. I errm, I just thought that maybe you'd like to have a game of chess with your old uncle later on." He hesitated and tugged at his earlobe. "Just ah, the two of us. Like we used to . . ."

She finally focused on him, affection pouring out of her green pools. "I would like that very much, Uncle Paul. It's been ages since we played. How about after supper?"

"That would—yes I . . ." Paul could hardly speak through the huge smile splitting his face in half. "Yes, that sounds wonderful." Nodding, he stood up. "Very good. Well, I better go see to him then."

He'd barely taken two steps away when she called him.

"Uncle Paul?"

He spun back around. "Yes?"

"Don't be too hard on him. Please . . ."

His mouth opened, ready to deliver one of his customary flippant responses, but something in her soft gaze stopped him. Instead, he just dipped his chin once. Then, he spun on his heel and headed for the staircase.

xXXx

The thumping ache in his head seemed to echo off the walls as Paul made his way down the hall, carrying his bag. He arrived at the doorway to Adam's bedroom where he stopped on the threshold and looked around himself. The last time he'd been in this room, the place had been a shamble. Clothes had littered most of the floor and every piece of furniture had seemed packed with clutter. Bottles and letters. The reek of liquor had been so powerful, he could almost sense it lingering still. Now, everything was picked up and back in order. Neat and tidy. He glanced at the desk, remembering how he'd found Adam there the last time he'd walked in here. Slumped in the chair, staring up at the ceiling, unrecognizable. At his absolute lowest point. It was an image that would forever be imprinted in the doctor's mind.

This time, Adam wasn't sitting at the desk, but standing by the window. Leaning against the wall and holding his left arm close to his body, he gazed out through the glass, his profile silhouetted by the grey light pouring in from outside. He didn't look well. His skin was still a sickly pale and at that particular angle, the shadows under his eyes were more prominent. Standing sideways like that, Paul also noted that he could do with about a week's worth of substantial meals.

When was the last time Adam had looked fit and healthy? The doctor honestly couldn't remember. What he did remember all of a sudden, was the fourteen-year-old boy with dark curls and sharp, intelligent eyes whom Ben Cartwright had brought into his office one day many years ago. Stoic even then, and despite three broken fingers, he'd barely flinched as Paul tended to the injury. Afterwards, the lad had even smiled—that trademark half-smile— and thanked him. And just like that, they'd taken to each other. It might have seemed an unlikely friendship, but Paul had found true enjoyment in his talks with the youngster who acted so much older than his years and who had such a passion for books and learning. Perhaps he was intrigued because those were rare qualities to find in young people living out in the rough, new country of the frontier. Or perhaps, because Adam had reminded Paul of himself when he was that age.

Being a close friend of Ben, Paul had had the pleasure, and at times frustration, of watching all three Cartwright sons grow up—much like Sheriff Roy Coffee had. At one point, it had been almost common for little Joe to be playing by his feet under his desk as he worked until either Ben or Adam collected the boy after doing errands in town. There had been a time where he often brought some sticky confectionery with him for Hoss and Joe, and a book for Adam when he visited the Ponderosa ranch. Although all of that was long ago, it seemed like only yesterday to him. Time had strange ways of playing tricks on an old mind.

He'd watched the curious youngster he'd become so fond of grow into this exasperating, self-possessed—too stubborn for his own good—young man standing before him now. A fine man. One whose character had darkened with the misfortune that had followed him as a steady companion throughout his life. A man whose inner torment apparently went much, much deeper than any outward pain he might display in the rare moments his composure faltered. Up until a week ago, Paul had known nothing of the extent of his friend's private troubles. But that had all changed. He had seen Adam not in a new light, but in a new, startling darkness. It disturbed him, deeply, and even more so because he was well aware of how his niece fitted into it all. How important she was to both of them.

While he didn't want to be, Paul was frustrated with Adam. And while he didn't want to have to worry about a person he was frustrated with, he did. That worry was the reason he was standing here with his black bag, ready to give the care he at least knew how to give. But the fact was that even when they got along with each other, Adam barely accepted his help. Given how strained things had been between them the last few days, Paul couldn't see this going well at all. But for Madeline's sake, he would make the effort.

He breathed in, his lungs filling with air and his heart with resolve. Then he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. He coughed politely to announce his arrival. Adam remained completely unmoving. In all fairness, Paul couldn't know for sure whether the young man was really lost in thought or purposely disregarding him. But frankly, he would put his money on the latter.

Don't be too hard on him. That's what Madeline had said.

Well, this would be interesting.

Paul walked across the floor, conscious of how the tap of his shoes resonated in every inch of the room. He stopped by the bed and waited patiently.

Nothing.

Now assured that he was indeed being ignored, he ruled that a more direct approach was in order.

"Well, I'm ready whenever you're finished admiring the yard."

At first, there was no reaction. Then slowly, Adam turned his head and pinned the doctor with a glare that should have scorched his grey eyebrows and a good inch of his receding hairline. It had no effect. Displaying impeccable calm, Paul went to the night table and set down his bag, hearing trudging steps behind him. As he twisted around, he saw Adam undoing the buttons by his cuff to roll up his sleeve.

"Remove your shirt." He made himself add, "Please."

Adam stopped with the sleeve, his brows lowering with suspicion. "What for? You said you wanted to look at my arm."

"I do want to look at your arm. I also want to see whatever it is you're hiding under that shirt because I suspect it's what you keep wincing about when you think no one notices."

Taking the defensive, Adam made to cross his arms but seemed to realize he couldn't do that without inflicting more pain on himself, so he just let them fall to his sides.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"I highly doubt that." Paul inclined his head at the shirt. "Come on, off with it."

That drew a groan from the younger man who looked like a person might if they were being forced to converse with an old goat.

"Paul, it's just a couple of bruises from the fighting."

"How splendid. You won't mind if I take a look then."

As it so often happened when they communicated these days, they spent a tense silence each trying to out-stare the other. Paul was not about to back down on this one, but he did decide to change tactics. He was, after all, a practical man.

"Listen here, the sooner you do as I tell you, the sooner you can go back downstairs."

Ah, the promise and reward strategy. A personal favorite of his and one he typically turned to whenever he found himself faced with reluctant patients. In all his years of doctoring it had never failed and it worked well with children especially. It seemed that the prospect of fishing a wrapped sweet out of the candy-crammed glass jar on his desk was sufficient incentive to sit still and behave. Except he wasn't dealing with a child now, but a very grown, very pigheaded man. And the reward, in this case, was not a sugary treat, but his very own niece. He tried not to think too much about that part.

Adam was still weighing his answer, his jaw working furiously. Paul tilted his head.

"Okay, fine!"

Grumbling under his breath—something unfavorable no doubt—Adam sat down on the bed and began undoing the buttons of his shirt. It was obviously a struggle for him with his left hand, but the doctor had the sense that any offer of help would be unwelcome. With jerky movements, he worked the buttons one by one and in his evident agitation, he fumbled even more with them than he probably would have otherwise done. When he was ready to shrug out of the shirt, Paul did move in to free his injured arm as carefully as possible and while the assistance probably wasn't appreciated, it wasn't rejected either.

Almost instantly, Paul realized that he might have made a mistake. With the shirt gone, it struck him that he hadn't actually seen Adam without one for a long time. More than four years. Even as he was comprehending that fact, he recognized that his friend might have been reluctant to shed the item for other reasons than he'd initially thought. What drew his attention first was the even, four-inch scar running along the curve of Adam's left bicep, which he immediately knew had been caused by either a sword or knife. He only needed to look at it for another two seconds to be sure of the sword. Swiftly, he redirected his gaze and found an array of dark contusions across Adam's chest and stomach, just as expected. Only, his eyes passed right over the bruises and settled on a circular, pale pink scar. The mark of a bullet wound. As a doctor, Paul had seen plenty of scars in his time and ones much grimmer than these. But seeing such marks on Adam hit him with peculiar force and he felt his throat go dry.

To make matters worse, it became clear to him that Adam was uncomfortable. Very uncomfortable. He sat ramrod-straight on the bed, the muscles in his shoulders bunched with tension that rolled off him in waves. His face was rigid with a simmering anger that seemed less and less likely to remain in its suppressed state as he stared a hole into the wall opposite him. Gone was that calm exterior and instead, he'd taken on the look of a predator caught in a trap, held against its will.

Remaining outwardly unfazed, Paul finally reached out to begin his examination. But he knew the damage had already been done because he'd hesitated too long. Standing in front of his patient, he trailed his hands lightly along the left side of Adam's rib-cage. Every few seconds, his scrutiny returned to the little, round scar because he just couldn't help it. Eventually, he decided that anything would be better than this current constrained silence.

"A couple of new ones here, Adam," he said softly.

"Well, I went to war, Paul," came the biting response.

For once, the doctor was lost for words.

Effortlessly, it seemed, Adam schooled his expression into impassiveness as he looked ahead of himself with half-lidded eyes. At length, he spoke in a voice so flat, he might have been commenting on the weather.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

It was quite possibly the least heartfelt apology Paul had ever received in his life, so he had no trouble shrugging it off.

"Pffff, no need. I'm used to your abuse." He nudged his shoulder. "Lean forward a bit."

Feeling along his lower ribs, Paul searched for any signs of broken bones. He soon spotted the scar on Adam's back, bigger and slightly jagged in comparison to the one on his front, which told the doctor that this was the exit wound of the bullet.

"It went straight through then," he remarked.

"Mmh. Probably would've killed me if it hadn't." Adam's voice dropped as he added, "Almost did anyway."

Paul paused his examination. Those last three words had fallen on an odd note; one that broke through the reserved demeanor Adam normally displayed when a conversation took a personal turn.

"Infection?"

"Yea."

He glanced down at the scar again.

"It must have been bad . . ."

"As bad as it gets I reckon."

Resuming his probing, Paul kept his manner casual. "Some high power must've been very determined to keep you alive then."

"Mm-hmm, that would be Pip."

His hands went still again. "Pip? As in Phillip?"

"Yes, our medic." Adam angled his head to see the doctor. "You know, I think you'd like him. He's sort of what I imagine you must've been like." A little smirk materialized to go with the twinkle suddenly playing in his eye. "Before you got old and cantankerous, that is."

Paul feigned outrage. "Well, if the poor man put up with you for four years, he most certainly has my deepest admiration and respect. And sympathy, I might add."

They both smiled slightly. The first genuine smiles they'd exchanged in days. At that instant, Paul found it surprisingly easy to slip back into the friendly banter they'd shared for so many years. Continuing his work, he moved over to the top of Adam's right side. He gently touched one particularly bruised spot which elicited a wince, but he felt nothing broken. It might just be that Adam had been truthful for once and that bruises were all he would find. Involuntarily, his gaze went back to the jagged scar and stuck there. A gunshot in that location, and then infection. Thinking about it sent a chill down his spine. He knew exactly what such a wound meant and how slim the odds of surviving it were.

While the war had raged, he'd heard and read the most gruesome things about what had transpired in the improvised infirmaries that had been set up on the fields of battle. He'd read of the lack of medicines, the extensive spread of diseases and the horrifying conditions under which doctors and nurses had been forced to work. The inconceivable, tragic death tolls. It was startling to think that Adam had seen all that—lived through all of that. Since his return home, he'd been closed off about most things relating to the war, especially this particular aspect of it and Paul now understood why. He'd not only lived through it but barely survived it.

Paul's dark pondering came to a grinding halt when he realized that his friend had gone completely still under his hands.

"Pip stuck with me through it," Adam suddenly mumbled. His eyes were distant now, glazed over, fixed on the wall ahead of him like they were seeing far beyond it and straight into another world. "I was too out of it to know what was going on, but I found out later that in all the chaos, I had been taken out to the section with the Hopeless. If you ended up there . . . that was it. But my friend Jim stepped in. He and the boys, Pip, Henry, Smiles . . . that's all I remember from that time. Them talking to me, keeping me alive."

There were memories in his voice, lost friends in that voice. Paul could almost envision them in his own mind. With feeling, he said, "They sound like a very fine group of men."

Adam gave a slow nod, and his head stayed down. After a second, he blinked and abruptly straightened his posture.

"Are you about done with your prodding and poking? I'd like to get this over with."

Without looking up, he rolled his shoulders as if attempting to shrug off some invisible, unpleasant weight. Paul suspected that his sudden discomfort had more to do with the conversation than the examination.

Deciding to give him some space, Paul stepped away. "All right, you can put your shirt back on." He went over to the night table where his bag stood. "I feel nothing broken, so it would seem it's only the bruises."

"Just like I told you," Adam said briskly, one arm already in a sleeve.

Paul spoke without turning around. "I sincerely apologize for showing concern for your health."

The remorse was palpable as Adam fell quiet. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't bother," the doctor cut across him, rummaging through his bag. "How much sleep are you getting?"

There was a long pause. "It's fine . . ."

"It was really a very simple question so let's try that again, shall we?" He half-turned, sounding harsher than he intended to. "How much sleep are you getting?"

To his credit, Adam calmed his own tone as he carefully maneuvered his bad arm into the other sleeve. "I did sleep a bit more last night, but it only seemed to make me more tired."

"That makes sense." Pulling a new, rolled-up strip of gauze from his bag, Paul walked to the chair over by the desk. "You've been living on barely any food and rest for quite a while so you'll feel tired until your body catches up. It'll take time. Especially if you don't follow my advice, which as usual, you probably won't."

He dragged the chair back to the bed and sat. As he placed the fresh gauze on the mattress next to Adam, he noticed that he had left his shirt to hang open.

"Would you like some help with the buttons?"

"No. I just want you to get on with this."

"Fine then. Let's have a look."

Paul reached for his arm and went about unwrapping the bandage, starting by his elbow. Despite doing it with as much care as he could, Adam's appearance paled further, and his jaw clenched so tightly, Paul worried something might snap out of place.

"Blast it, you've been lucky with this," he mumbled as he peeled the cloth away and got a look at the wound. He dropped the bandage to the floor, studying his work. "The stitches have held very well. You might have a scar, but I don't think it will be too noticeable." Considering the arm thoughtfully, he brushed his fingers lightly against the skin right next to the wound just to make sure it didn't feel too warm. Adam flinched which caused surprise as well as dismay with Paul. He looked up, his worry increasing when he realized the pain his examination was causing.

"I spoke to Hop Sing earlier about a special salve he can make," he said. "I really think we should try it. It has a soothing effect."

"No, I . . . I don't want anything on it."

The words sounded labored, like he was out of breath and Adam's chin assumed a stubborn set.

"Listen Adam," Paul said with a patience he really wasn't feeling, "so far you've refused to take anything for the pain and because of your reasoning, I haven't pushed. But this would be perfectly harmless, and if you could only get past your own bullheadedness, it might actually help you."

"I can handle the pain."

The doctor's cheeks inflated, and he blew out an extended breath. This was turning out to be even more unpleasant than he'd thought it would be. A lot more. He rubbed his forehead where the dull ache seemed to be spiking again and he contemplated whether or not he possessed the strength needed to go up against his patient's obstinacy.

"How's your head?" Adam asked.

Even though he heard the genuine care in the question, Paul replied with a snap. "There's nothing wrong with my head, and don't change the subject."

Adam's face hardened and he spoke in a tone twisted with sarcasm. "Well, I sincerely apologize for showing concern for—"

"All right! You've made your point."

Both were quiet. Until Adam shifted, the bed squeaking under his weight.

"Look, I just don't want to put anything on it. Let's just leave it at that, okay?"

"Fine, be in pain then," Paul said, slipping on a mask of apathy to cover the hurt he was feeling at having his help rejected once again. He picked up the bandage-roll from the bed. "I don't even know why I bother with you," he muttered.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

The sharpened, cold edge in Adam's voice broke something loose in Paul. "What do you think it means? Here I am, wasting my time attempting to tend to you and you're fighting me every step of the way! Not to mention, we wouldn't even be here—you wouldn't even have this injury if not for your own irresponsible foolishness and—" he caught himself just in time before finishing on the words reckless drunkenness.

"And what, Paul?" Adam shot out.

"Leave it, Adam."

Paul focused on the bandage, fighting to regain his composure before it slipped completely.

"No, finish what you were gonna say," Adam demanded.

"I will not."

"Just say it!"

Dropping his hands to his lap, Paul's head snapped up. "No. Because given the current circumstances, it would be an insensitive thing to say to you."

"So, now you're suddenly concerned with being insensitive?" Adam almost smiled, a trace of sour amusement in his otherwise hostile demeanor. "Well, don't do me any favors. It's not like I don't know what you meant anyway."

"Thunderation!" Irked beyond his limits, Paul let out a growl. "You know, Madeline asked me not to be too hard on you, but you're making it exceedingly difficult!"

Something flashed beneath the blazing fire in Adam's eyes and he quickly dropped his chin.

Puzzled, Paul's own anger abated as he studied him. "What?"

"She asked the same thing of me . . ."

A tightness developed somewhere in Paul's chest and he harrumphed. "Well then . . ."

"Paul, this is—" Adam stopped speaking. He shifted to sit on the very edge of the bed, his face earnest now, the anger gone. "We can't keep doing this. We need to call some kind of truce, for Madeline's sake at least. With the two of us bickering all the time and her caught in the middle, it's going to end with her getting really upset and . . . I don't want that."

"Obviously I don't want that either," Paul huffed, fidgeting with the gauze in his hands. "She's my niece after all. And I've known her a whole lot longer than you."

His lips tightening, Adam flared his nostrils. "I'm aware of that. I'm just saying that we need to try to do what's best for her and since we're both a part of—"

"I think you'll find that I know very well what's best for her."

To Paul's astonishment, Adam suddenly jerked to his feet. "You know what's best for her and you just have to point out that I'm not it every chance you get, don't you?"

For a couple of seconds, Paul just stared up at him, stunned. "I've . . . said nothing of the kind. Now settle down before you go and hurt—"

"Do you think I don't realize what's going on? Do you think I don't know what you're trying to do with those glowering looks you give me all the time and the little sharp comments you keep firing away at me in front of Madeline?" The question dangled in the air, but Paul didn't even get a word out before Adam went on, "You're trying to push me away from her and I'm tired of it! I know what you think of me, but it's what she thinks that matters."

Shaking free of his surprise, Paul gave a mocking snort as he sat back in his chair, tipping his head up to maintain their searing eye-contact. "So, tell me lad, what do I think of you?"

"Oh, come on, Paul!" Adam snapped, flinging his hands up. "I know you think I'm not good enough for her and you're right, okay? You're right!" His face was getting flushed, his eyes glittering with resentment and bitterness. "I'm far from perfect, you saw it yourself. I was out of my head—I did and said things I shouldn't have, and I wish to God you hadn't been there to witness it! But you were, and I can't change that now. I can't do a damn thing about it!"

Paul gaped at him. "That's—that is not it, I don't—" He abruptly slammed his mouth shut to gather control. "You're wrong."

That seemed to throw Adam and he hesitated. "What?"

Through gritted teeth, Paul repeated. "You're wrong about that."

In a pause, Adam raked a hand through his hair, his shoulders lowering a fraction. "Then what? Then explain to me why you're acting so . . ." He trailed off, waiting.

Not trusting himself to speak, Paul said nothing, keeping his face hard as stone. Adam jerked his arms up and spread them wide, palms up. "You don't trust me, is that it? What? You don't think I'm capable of taking care of her?"

"I'm not going to have this discussion with you." His calm crumbling all around him, Paul waved angrily at the bed. "Sit down."

"It's really come to that then," Adam said bitterly, voice rising. "I made a mistake—a mistake—and you're just gonna keep punishing me for it because you're too damn stubborn to—"

"ENOUGH, Adam!" Paul barked, blood roaring in his ears as he felt something troubling building in himself.

"Why can't you understand that I would do anything for her? What's it gonna take for me to gain the trust I need to—"

"For God's sake man!" Paul exploded out of his chair. "There's no one in this world whom I trust more to take care of her than you!"

The words hung in the room, between them. Now it was Adam who looked stunned. His eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. Slowly, very slowly, his anger seeped away, and confusion took its place.

"Then why are you—"

"We're not discussing this now." Paul said, his voice coming precariously close to cracking. He jerked a finger at the bed. "Sit down."

"Paul—"

"Sit. Down." He swallowed, thickly, but a lump seemed stuck. "Or I'll leave this room. Hop Sing can deal with you if need be."

Paul's eyes were fixed on the bed, his heart pounding out of rhythm as he waited for Adam to comply. He almost ended up walking out the door, but just as he was about to, Adam stepped backwards and sank down on the bed again. Needing a moment to himself, Paul turned his back to him. He paced two steps away, to where his chair had been shoved back when he'd sprung out of it. Closing his eyes briefly, he wiped his brow twice with the heel of his hand. It didn't help all that much. His composure seemed to lay scattered around the room; a result of all the emotions he'd pushed back being propelled out of him in an outburst of helplessness and rage. And he couldn't take it back now. It was too late.

Tying himself to the thread of control he had left, he grabbed the chair. He pulled it back to its previous position and sat down. When he bent to retrieve the bandage-roll lying on the floor, he still hadn't met Adam's eyes and he had no intention of doing so. Wordlessly, he held out his hand. In corresponding silence, Adam extended his left arm. Paul noticed a nearly imperceptible flinch as he took hold of his wrist and he knew Adam must be suffering the consequences of waving the arm about. He gentled his touch. Not a word was said between them. And Paul made the decision that this would be the fastest bandaging job he'd ever performed.

xXXx