May 25th , 1881

"Pardon me, miss,"  Virginia quickly flipped her book closed, and shoved her copy of 'Billy the Kid: Prince of the Pistoleers' clumsily beneath a stack of visiting records, tipping over a (thankfully) dried up inkwell. She looked up to meet the even gaze of a young man, perhaps in his late twenties, who though seemed very patient with her looked like he had no time to waste. Virginia reached up to smooth her loosely pulled back brown hair instinctively, and put her business face on. "Is the doctor Romay in, do you know?"

"He's with his patients right now, sir," Virginia came to her feet so awkwardly that when her chair pushed back it screeched against the planked floor, and she inwardly cringed, shutting both eyes so hard it almost hurt and mouthing a curse. She opened an eye, leaving the other one scrunched. "I'll tell him you're here. Whom shall I say is inquiring after him?"

"Sheriff Patrick Garrett, of Lincoln County."

Virginia felt her stomach drop, and she folded her hands behind her back to stop fidgeting. Pat Garrett. Patrick Floyd Garrett. Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garrett, the one man in America that Billy the Kid feared was standing before her, the one man that had put Billy on the chase of his life was asking to speak to her father! She cleared her throat, hoping he did not see how her cheeks were blazing pink and keeping her head down. She pretended to shuffle papers, and finally managed to move around her chair without knocking it over.

"I'll tell him you've arrived."

"Please be quick."

"I will, sir." Virginia scurried off with just one glance in the young man's direction again – he was standing there with good posture, and a long rifle in his hand. About five or so men stood around him, and a stretcher with what looked like a body on it was being held up between them all. Part of her hoped, in the most distant and far-fetched way she had ever felt, that it might be Billy – but the other parts reminded her that Billy the Kid had fled to Old Mexico. She turned back to her mission without another word.

Five or so minutes later, Virginia came back down the wide hall with her father's elbow carefully clutched between her forefinger and thumb, so as not to touch the blood that smothered halfway up his wrists. Dr. Romay was weary from the usual hard day of work, and his old faded blue eyes shed no enthusiasm toward his guests, and the presence of his bloody gloves showed he had no intentions of removing them to shake hands. Virginia glanced up in time to see him squint at the handsome young man, and frown quizzically.

"Papa, it's Sheriff Garrett," she told him again, nodding to the young man and catching a smile from him. Virginia mentally cursed again, swearing her head would catch fire if he looked at her that way one more time. "He came to see you."

"Yes, I know, Gin, go back to work." Dr. Romay took a step forward. "Sheriff."

"Dr. Romay, if you'll remember we have spoken several times through mail correspondence?"

"Yes, yes," Virginia heard her father's leathery voice confirm as she moved back to her seat behind the desk, smoothing her skirt before sitting down. She knew how rude it was to eavesdrop, but at this point she didn't care, so she listened with half an ear. "Do you have him?"

"Wait, wait…" Garrett's voice. Virginia politely tucked her chin so it appeared that she was sifting through records, but when she did get the chance to sneak a glance over to the crowd of men one would look at her and she would quickly start sifting again. "There are some matters at hand that should be dealt with first before I release him into your care, Dr. Romay…"

"And they are?"

"This man is a criminal, but still a human being," Garrett stepped closer to Dr. Romay, gesturing with his hands and not seeming to care how close he was to the mess of the doctor's gloves. "He must have the same treatment as the other patients here. I want him alive." The voice lowered. "If he is to die in this hospital regardless of your expertise, it will be comfortable. Peaceful. No harassment. Do we have an understanding?"

Virginia, now sifting through papers and shamelessly watching all at once, knew her father would was impressed now. He was showing no signs of it, but she had been his daughter for nearly nineteen years now, and could read him like a newspaper. Dr. Alexander Bledel Romay had gone into the medical profession because he was a compassionate, hard-working honorable man that saw a golden opportunity to help the needy, not for the money. Never for the money. Dr. Romay was impressed only by the honorable measure of a fellow human being.

Dr. Romay, however, said nothing right away. He simply gazed levelly into the face of the other man, no expression, not even a blink. His upper lip twitched beneath a heavy grey mustache. Then, ever so slightly, he nodded. "Very well, then. I need you to come with me and sign the documents to permit him here, under my care, of course." Dr. Romay jerked his head as a gesture to be followed. "I'll have my Virginia stay out here with your men, so as to not draw any unnecessary attention."

"Thank you, Dr. Romay."

"Virginia!"

Virginia lifted her head with a few fluttering blinks to ensure an innocent appearance, and called a bit louder than necessary, "Yes, Papa?"

"I'm certain you heard most of everything we spoke of, so would you be kind enough to help these gentlemen find a place to set the stretcher?" Dr. Romay's rich voice was firm, but not unkind, and Virginia, who felt herself blushing yet again, gave a curt nod and tried to act as professional as possible. She stood to move around the desk, but her father called again, "Virginia? Make sure they're not bothered."

"Yes, sir." Virginia complied, and Dr. Romay winked at her. She heard him finally remove his gloves as Sheriff Garrett and the doctor retreated to his office, and without waiting another moment moved around the desk to the crowd of men standing idly around.

They were certainly the deputy types – young, barely getting beards in, not looking very intelligent, and not seeming extremely concerned with anything in their surroundings. Virginia, however, smiled at them and beckoned for the two holding the stretcher to follow her.

Against the wall was a large white couch, twice as long as it was wide, but also firm enough to not give way and lose support of the patient's body. She told them to set the stretcher on it, and they all sort of mumbled a "yes, ma'am" and complied. She, of course, had to stand back, but she made sure to stand on the tips of her toes to peer over one of their plaid-covered shoulders (while also trying to ignore the smell of traveling men).

The body in the stretcher was that of a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, with a very pale face and a week or so worth of stubble quickly becoming a beard. He was under a think cotton sheet that was pulled up to the middle of his chest, which told Virginia that his wounds were probably to the abdomen. When the deputies all cleared away, thankful to have their arms back, she took a step closer to further survey the "criminal". He certainly did not look like one.

His features were almost boyish, though she knew there was probably nothing boyish about what this young man had seen in his time. The youthful face was contorted in pain, the yellow brows furrowed in an incoherent expression of suffering, and his pale lips, that may have formed a rose-bud mouth if they had any color, were parted very slightly. Virginia felt herself frowning with wonder at how long, exactly, these people had been traveling with him – his skin was caked with a thick layer of dust.

"You'd hardly think him to be one of the Kid's, wouldn't you?"

Virginia tore her eyes from the prone body and turned quickly to meet a tall man, a man she had not seen earlier with the other deputies. He wore a gentlemen's garb, sleek and clean despite his own collection of dust from the outside winds, and his features were sharp. Wide blue eyes, a chiseled nose and mouth with a mustache coming just over his upper lip. Virginia snapped at herself mentally to stop staring, and instead she gave a polite smile.

"No…is he?"

"Josiah Gordon Scurlock, of the Lincoln County Regulators." the man shook his head when he looked at Scurlock, as if disappointed with the outcome of his fate, and turned back to Virginia. "Have you heard of him? 'Doc' Scurlock? No?"

"I've only heard things about Billy the Kid…what, umm…what did he do?"

"Read about the Lincoln County wars sometime, miss, you'll get all your facts there." The man turned away with a tip of his hat, and Virginia made a face at his back. There had been something very condescending in the way the man had addressed her – probably because she was a nurse. With a sigh of exasperation she turned back to the outlaw, Josiah G. Scurlock, and raised her brows expectantly.

"You certainly stirred up a lot of dust with the law, didn't you?" she asked from the side of her mouth, sounding half-ready to receive an answer. Virginia gently reached down, her fingertips hovering just above his forehead, which was still cold and painted with sweat. She combed his dirty blond hair away from his face to better see his closed eyes. Copper lashes lay against his grimy cheek, and one of the lids twitched, but it was apparent that she would get no answers out of him today. Virginia withdrew her hand.

The sound of boots clicking against the concrete floors of the hallway jolted Virginia's instincts into alert and she stepped clear away from the prone young man, waiting against the wall with her hands tucked behind her back.  The deputies shuffled their feet and bent to spit every now and then; halfway into it remembering they were in a hospital and having to suck it back up. Virginia kept her eyes down, thinking she might vomit if she looked at the spitting anymore, and when the familiar boots and shoes of Garrett and her father she glanced back up again.

"Then it's all in order, Sheriff." Dr. Romay stood to face Garrett with the same stern look, and extended a hand. Garrett took it and gave it a firm shake. "Can I do anything else for you?"

"No, you've done enough. Do you need any of my boys to help you move him?"

"No, no, my staff can probably get him to a bed a bit more safely than your boys." Dr. Romay gave Garrett's hand one last shake, and released him. Pat Garrett thanked him, tipped his hat to Virginia, and beckoned for all the deputies to follow him out.

It seemed like eternity before the door finally closed, and Virginia let her breath out.  "Papa, who were they?"

"Who they said they were. Sheriff and deputies of Lincoln County."

"And who's he?"

Dr. Romay removed his glasses to wipe them on his sleeve, and peered at the young man still unconscious in the stretcher. He glanced up at Virginia, the corner of his mouth quirking up in bemusement. "You know who he is, Ginny." He shook a finger at her, slipping his spectacles back on. "Nothing funny, now. Get the other end of that stretcher."

Virginia scurried on over to the end of the sofa, and curled her fingers tightly around the wooden handles of the stretcher, bracing her feet flatly against the floor and awaiting her father's order to lift. Dr. Romay assumed a similar position, and met her eyes from across the body. He gave a nod. As one they pulled up, and with a simultaneous grunt began to move toward the double doors that were the entrance to the wide medical room.

At the sight of Virginia and Dr. Romay shuffling in with an obviously injured man in their care, several staff members flocked to their aid. The burning in her arms came to a cooling halt as Virginia let loose the stretcher into the hands of another nurse. She took a few steps back and watched three men kneel by a bed; all holding the stretcher at it's level and preparing to make the transition to the mattress. Their arms were shaking – despite the weight the young man had obviously lost from his condition, he was still considerably heavy.

The blanket, beginning to pick up blood stains, was gently untucked from beneath his body and peeled off of him. Virginia was used to the scent and sight of blood and gore, so to see his bandaged chest only made her inwardly wince and forget it a moment later. Through the mumblings of the staff her father looked up, catching her eyes and bringing her to her feet with only a nod.

"Ginny, come round here and support his head …" he said, and Gin had already come to bend over the patient, sliding her hands between the cross-hatched twine stretcher and the back of his head, which was warm and damp with sweat. The skin on the backs of her hands snapped in sudden pain from the rough surface, and with every move to lift him up they were further chafed. Virginia bit her bottom lip but didn't complain.

"Easy, easy…" Dr. Romay's voice on it's own was like a guiding hand, a gentle hand, whether it was with Gin or his patients or his staff. He made hard work bearable, and Gin soon forgot her own ailings. She kept her hands cupped under Scurlock's head, gently keeping it aligned with his neck as his frail body was moved onto the clean white sheets of a new bed. "There's a good lad, easy…gently, gently now…" The last few commands were carried out, and with a heavy, painful sigh from Scurlock, he finally made it to the bed.

"Alright, thank you all, thank you." Dr. Romay waved all the crowding nurses away good naturedly, but took one of them by the sleeve and stopped to request their further assistance. "I'm going to need water, bandages, and lots of alcohol – brandy if nothing else. I've been told the bullet was cut out, but infection could still be festering in there."

The nurse nodded his dark head. "Yes, sir."

"Thank you."

Gin was standing over Scurlock, moving his hair away from his face again and gently adjusting the pillow beneath his head with her other hand. Dr. Romay came slowly to her side, planting both fists on his hips and pursing his lips in a grimace. He let out a long sigh.

"It's a pity, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"That such fine young men go wrong," In her father's eyes, Gin saw sympathy, as he felt for any of his patients –but also a sadness that came with it. A root of youthful, vain hope that he might have changed this outlaw's fate, if he had known him before he turned. Gin slipped a hand around Dr. Romay's elbow, and leaned her temple against his soft shoulder. He smelled of soap and spices. "He might have been anything, Ginny, anything he wanted to be. Now he's dying a wanted man."

"You won't let him die," she reminded him, the smile of a little girl on her pink lips. "You give everybody hope, even outlaws."

"Ginny, it isn't always that simple." He planted a kiss on the top of her head, and shooed her away from the bed. "Now go home. Tell your mother I'll be along shortly, I've got a few more things to take care of before I go." He gave his daughter a little push. "Go on."

"I'm going." she reached up and pecked him on the cheek, brushing her hands off on her apron and heading toward the washroom. "We expect you sooner than later, Papa."

"Of course."

Gin disappeared into the washroom, where it was becoming dim enough to light the lamps. She walked across the narrow room and adjusted the shutters so every last bit of fading sunlight would be put to good use, and when she finished she moved to the basin beneath the mirror. The last person in there had neglected to change the water, and Gin had to dump the soapy contents of the basin into the barrel by the table, and refill it herself with the pitcher on the opposite side.

She removed her apron and let her hair fall down around her shoulders after splashing her face a few times. It felt good to have her hair down, rather than in the tight bun her father required when she was working, and the water droplets that clung to her face attracted the fresh air, cooling her down. Finishing, Gin changed the basin water and left for home.

--- --- ---

May 27th, 1881

Dave snared a fistful of Billy's wet hair and buried his nose in it. A moment later he pulled away, sporting a grin of approval. "Well hot damn, Billy, you do smell like Indian spice! What the hell soap did you buy?" Billy smirked and twirled his new hat over his fist, obviously enjoying all the attention he was getting over his new suit and hat. Hendry, now that his seven layers of dirt had been scrubbed off, might as well have been glowing. He didn't boast quite as much as Billy, but that pleased grin never left his face.

Dave moved on to pick Hendry apart with insulting compliments (that everyone was used to by now and never thought much of, anyway), and Chavez stepped up to take his place. He looked Billy over a few times, walked around him in a circle, and came to stand before him again. Chavez looked very skeptical, but just Billy spread his arms and set his feet apart.

"Well? Impressed?"

Chavez snorted, reaching over and fitting two fingers between Billy's neck and the stiff grey collar, pulling it out a bit to loosen the friction it was bearing on the smaller man's flesh. He straightened the looped black tie, and snatched the hat up, and fit it roughly onto Billy's head. Chavez stepped back.

"Now I'm impressed. Do you really think you can slip past them with just this, Chivato?" Chavez never could just agree with Billy. He awaited an answer, but of course got an action instead, and Billy displayed the red pallets again. Dave stopped tormenting Hendry and caught sight of them.

"Ah thought you were just joking about that, Billy," Dave removed his black hat and ran a gloved hand through his shaggy hair. The sun was sinking fast, and a hat wasn't a necessity anymore, so he let it dangle at his side. "Are you really gonna bandage your face up?"

Billy winked at him, and shifted his gleaming eyes to Chavez. "Ya got any water around here?" Chavez frowned, and gave a casual glance over his shoulder to the poorly lit scene behind them: a few closing saloons and a general store split by an alley – and sand was everywhere. He turned back to Billy with a practical grunt, and shook his head. "Dammit." Billy swore, grinding the heel of his boot into the dust before beckoning for Hendry to come over with the bandages.

He opened a pallet, and sprinkled some of the dull-orangy powder into his palm, and ground it finer with his thumb and forefinger. He looked up from face to face as if evaluating his options, and his eyes rested on Dave. He nodded him over. Dave raised both brows high, jamming his own chest with his thumb.

"Who, me?"

"No, the guy next to ya. Yes, you, Dave." Billy's sarcasm made Dave scratch the back of his head and silently make his way over, giving his throat a cough and planting both hands on his hips, awaiting orders with a surprising obedience. Billy held the hand with the powder on it out. "Spit."

Dave glanced at Billy, glanced at the red power, and gave a little shrug. He inhaled a little air, made a few sloshy noises inside his mouth, and finally bent down to Billy's open palm and spat a sizable amount of watery foam into it. Billy added his own saliva, and managed to mush the powder into a paste. He called Hendry over with the bandages (Hendry had taken a few steps back, and was looking a little green).

"Alright, boys, remember: I need my eyes." Billy said, wiping his red painted hand on the bandages and signaling with his other hand where to fit them. It wasn't such a tedious process as Billy had made it out to be: Dave pulled the strip of cloth just beneath his eyes and under the bridge of his nose, tying it to the bottom half of the bandage that covered his mouth but kept his nostrils free. With a last few adjustments, Dave grunted his own satisfaction and knotted it. 

Billy pressed the cloth close to his face, so that it absorbed some of the paint and looked like true bloodstains, while still looking decent enough to be seen in the presence of ladies. Billy tried to smile beneath the bandages, and gave a muffled laugh. His voice was warped as well.

"Well?"

"I'm convinced." Dave barked gleefully, slapping the back of Chavez's arm hard (and surprisingly getting no reaction). "How about you, Chavez, Hendry?"

Chavez broiled Billy with a very sardonic gaze before cracking a grin, and holding both hands up – not necessarily in approval, but at least letting the Kid know he wouldn't try to stop him.  Hendry seemed to concurr more with Dave, and he straightened his own jacket. "Looks good, Billy, looks real good." He encouraged in his low, satisfied voice, and reached up to fix his tie – though he eventually couldn't avoid some help from Dave's skillful fingers. He had to remove his gloves first, however.

Billy reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the watch given to him months ago by Doc (that he had managed to retrieve from Dave through means of several headlocks and an iron grip on his pinky). He opened it and frowned at the time, nodding to Hendry.

"We best be on our way. Come on now." Billy squared his shoulders and straightened his hat, taking a bold step forward to mount his horse. Hendry followed, changing his posture to mimic Billy's. When in the saddle, Billy gave his friends a salute, and leveled a finger at Chavez and Dave's faces. His eyes flattened like a still sea, serious and intense.  "I'm countin' on you two. I aint gonna be escorted outta town by two outlaws, so be on your best behavior."

Dave nodded and lifted a hand as if to shoo them off, but Chavez folded his arms across his chest. "Use your sense, Chivato, don't attract any unnecessary attention."

With a parting snort from both pairs, they turned away from one another and began on their separate ways. Chavez and Dave waited about ten minutes to follow behind them and take their places across the street. The lights of the theater were bright, and from a street away the orchestra could be heard.

--- --- ---

There was a great deal of smartly dressed gentlemen and ladies all crowded by the entrance of the theater, talking in very soft voices while waiting to get in. Billy and Hendry were about halfway in the doors after about half an hour of standing in line and listening to three middle aged women (probably widows) gossip about things Billy and Hendry had never heard of in their lives.

The Santa Fe night was thick and heavy, and Billy was perspiring beneath the thick bandages on his face. He was so tempted to tear them away and let the wind soothe his face – which was beginning to itch like crazy at this point. And it wasn't so easy to breath, either.

Upon reaching the doors, a pretty light haired girl in a pale green dress was asking for tickets, and Hendry obediently handed them over. Billy noted how she was trying not to stare at him, but didn't laugh at her. He just tipped his hat and kept on walking, Hendry coming closer to his side as if he thought the richly settings of the Phoenix-Carver theater would eat him alive.

"Hendry," Billy whispered, harshly, giving the other man a hard nudge in the ribs. Hendry jumped a bit, and looked at him with wide, startled brown eyes. "They aint gonna eat ya, Hendry, calm down."

"I'm nervous, is all." Hendry shrugged, giving his nice crisp coat another shift on his shoulders. "I feel like everyone's watchin' us."

"They're not. These kinda folks don't think about nothin' if it don't look like it has money." Billy assured him, his words sour but his voice as sweet with charm as maple syrup. He tipped his hat at a few random people passing. "Don't worry about it. Patsy thinks we're long gone into Old Mexico."

"I'd feel better if ya kept your head down a bit more," Hendry whispered back, gravely. "Ya got a nice face, Billy, I don't wanna see it blown off cause someone saw through those two cent bandages." Billy immediately stopped walking, and turned to Hendry with wide, astonished eyes. Hendry frowned. "What is it?"

"Did you just smart mouth me?"

Hendry's frown deepened, and he looked to the ceiling for the answers. "Yeah...yeah, I think I did."

Billy barked a laugh and gave Hendry's shoulder a punch. "Hell, Hendry, ya are gettin' used to us!"  Hendry grinned at that, and Billy patted his arm. "Go find our seats. I'm gonna go see if I can get one of those cast list things. We gotta know who we're lookin' for."

"Billy, don't cause any unnecessary attention."

"Uh, Hendry, I'm a professional – " Billy pried Hendry's iron grip from his sleeve, and gave his arm another reassuring pat. "I know what I'm doin'."

"I sure hope so."

Billy gave a hearty laugh that drew heads to turn in their direction, and headed back against the current of audience members to the entrance. The push and hustle to get in the doors had died down a bit, and now the blonde girl was sitting at the long table with her chin in her hands, looking quite bored. Billy checked over his shoulder before coming directly beside her at the table, and gave the surface a tap with his forefinger that made her jump in her seat and yelp. She turned on him with flaring eyes, and seeing his face jumped once more.

"Hey there," he drawled with charm. "How's your night been?"

The girl looked around, as if there was some small chance that he was addressing someone behind her, realized there was no one else, and turned back to him. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment, and the way her eyes kept averting made Billy want to cackle – though it would definitely make short work of Dave's skillfully set bandages. "Busy, very busy…" she told him. "The first night usually is."

"I'll believe ya," Billy laughed a bit in his throat, and tapped the table again. "I'll believe ya. You're doin' an excellent job, though, what do ya do? Collect tickets around here?"

The girl's face hardened, and her full red lips tucked in to form a thin line of a mouth. She faced forward, taking a quick deep breath. "Yes, I collect tickets." As if to demonstrate, the girl began picking the tickets up and putting them into neat stacks, her movements hard and deliberate. "Because the thought of someone like me ever making it on the stage is just entirely unbelievable. I aint stage material. I'm just the ticket collector." She shot him a dark look, and Billy put his hands up.

"Hold it, missy, now ah never said that."

The girl turned her nose up a bit, and wisps of gold hair fell around to face and in her round blue eyes. "You'ere thinkin' it."

"No, I wasn't." Billy cocked his head to the side, trying not to smile and shift his bandages around too much. The girl would not look at him, even though he leaned down to get a better look at her face (and he couldn't help his eyes from traveling to survey the rest of her, but he was more discreet about that). "I was wondering why a face like yours wasn't out there one that stage. Just as high as that Joanna Charleston."

She cast her eyes to the ticket stacks, trying to hold back a smile. The pink on her cheeks intensified, and she gave a little laugh. Billy allowed himself a laugh as well, and even gave her shoulder a little slap, which she surprisingly enough did not seem to mind. "Hell, ah can even see you higher. Much higher."

"Well…" she laughed again, bringing a finger between her teeth in a nervous habit and smiling up at him. "I am an actress…"

"Ah knew it!" Billy clapped his hands together with a little cheer that made the blonde girl laugh even more, and he came to a crouch beside her, elbows on the table. "See, I knew you were an actress the minute I saw ya. I just didn't wanna say anything." He held a hand out to her. "What's your name, miss?"

"Jamie," she replied, taking his hand and shaking it once. "Jamie Taylor. What's yours?"

Billy paused for a moment, unsmiling, but his eyes twinkled. He shook her hand again, and beneath his bandages cracked another smile. "Billy."

"Billy," Jamie's voice was shaky with giggles, and she took her hand back. "Billy. Like Billy the Kid?" The faceless young man pointed at her and broke into uproarious laughter, bringing an arm to clutch his side. When his chuckles subsided enough to speak again, he met her smiling eyes with an affirmative nod.

"Yeah, yeah…kinda like Billy the Kid." She laughed at that, and Billy gestured to another stack of piles to the left of her on the far side of the table. "Those the cast lists?"

"Yeah, do ya need one?"

"If it aint too much trouble," Billy winked at her when she shuffled around the stack of papers and handed him the slip of paper. "Thank ya, ma'am. You keep that pretty face of yours in the spotlight, now!"

Jamie grinned, still looking a little embarrassed from the compliments and charm he had shamelessly bestowed on her, and Billy gave her one last wave before turning back to his destination. By the time he returned to his seat, Hendry was as white as a ghost, and was sitting erect and rigid in his seat.

"How long until they start, Hendry?"

Hendry gestured to the front of the theater, where lights were beginning to dim and the scent of sweet burning oils filled the air as the stage was lit. Billy passed the cast list over to Hendry, fingering the boldly printed name near the top. Joanna Charleston…Lady Macbeth.

"I'm sure they'll mention who's who, Hendry, but I'm warnin' ya," Billy shifted around in his seat, giving a low whistle. "They talk in…eh…Shakespearian. Don't expect to get what they're sayin', or your head'll come off."

--- --- ---