MANHATTAN - AUGUST 1899

Doc left Marquette's flat in a sleep-deprived stupor.

He'd been up the night prior taking care of two young newsies with the flu. He'd already gone through two pairs of shirts, having dirtied the other ones with the kids' vomit. Nothing he wasn't used to, but he was running out of clean clothes. And bandages. And paregoric. And thread.

The bottle of laudanum Jack had presented him with at Medda's had been stored safely out of reach from his younger patients. He was savoring every drop for the ones who really needed it. And they were measly drops at that. Doc wasn't in the business of creating addicts to the stuff.

And now he'd just gave a very frightened Camille the news that she was pregnant again. He recommended she ask the nice German lady next door for advice. The woman already had six of her own. But Doc was out of his area of expertise there. Only so much he could do.

Marquette had pulled Doc aside, saying he couldn't afford another kid. He was barely getting by as it was. So, he asked Doc what to do, as if Doc had any idea.

"You ain't excited about Amelie having a new little brother or sister?" Doc asked, trying to feign a smile. It did little to boost morale.

Marquette hung his head as they stepped into the hall, rubbing his eyes in worry. "Doc, I had to sell my father's timepiece to pay rent this month," he said, shaking his head. "Amelie cries most nights because she's hungry. If we have another one, we'll have to move out. And I don't know where we'll go."

Doc nodded, not really having a solution, but offering a listening ear. "I know. You do the best you can."

"It's not enough." Marquette's voice broke. Desperation was clear. "The Children's Aid will take Amelie away if we get evicted. They've already sent a woman over here to inquire. A neighbor said she cries all night long. Said we're not feeding her."

He was rambling now, and Doc had to slow him down. "Hey. They ain't taking Amelie away, okay? But your wife needs you now. More than ever."

The walk from the flat to his lodgings felt like the longest walk of his life. He was ready to collapse at any second. Just once he wanted to lay down and sleep in until he woke up on his own.

Still, he counted himself lucky to be on the outside. Refuge nights were the worst. Now that he was free, he could rest without worrying which one of his friends would need him at all hours. To patch a wound. To assess a fever. To pull a tooth.

He had nightmares about Calico. How Doc had failed him. Completely and utterly failed him. How could he not see past the coughs and sluggish delirium? He was too busy stitching up No Name to pay attention to Calico's spiraling mental state. It was all his fault.

At least, that's how Doc felt. He'd let his friends down.

And as he trudged down the cellar steps, he thought maybe he could get a few hours of shut eye before anyone else needed him. The flu-ridden newsies were sound asleep, groaning ever so slightly.

Yes, a nap sounded like an absolute ticket to paradise.

But just as he'd settled onto one of the bare, thin mattresses against the wall, a clattering of feet bounding down the cellar steps followed by shouts for Doc tore that hope into shreds.

"Doc!" Sophie was out of breath, her face and hair drenched in sweat. She had been running at full speed, it seemed. "Doc, you..." She fought to put air back into her lungs and spit the message out. "Doc, you have to come quick!"

"What is it, Sophie?" He asked tiredly, forcing himself to stand on his aching feet. "Are you okay?"

"It ain't me!" She said, grabbing his arm, and dragging him to the exit. "It's Colleen! You have to come, please! I'm so scared! I don't want to lose her!"

Doc tried to process all she was saying while his mind drifted in and out of shut down mode. "What happened?"

"I don't know!" Sophie cried, pulling him up the stairs. "But she's in awful bad shape, Doc! We need you! Please!"

Once again, Doc swallowed his cry for help and willingly ran back into hell.