Well you asked for it! Here's Hank's thoughts at the crucial moment. I seem to have this thing for updating really quickly (as noted by Captain Tish!) I just get so involved in my stories that I feel the need to write the next chapter and the next and the next! At some point though, I am actually going to have to study for my exams! Until then however - as always - enjoy!

Colorado Springs

At that moment, Emma Jane wasn't the only person calling Hank's name. It tripped off of Jessica's tongue as he moved inside her, the same way he had done every night since his wife had left for New York. At first, she had been nervous and taken aback, but now Jessica felt a sense of pride at being Hank's chosen one and went out of her way to please her employer. She revelled in the looks he gave her across the saloon, looks that indicated he wanted to take her to bed at every opportunity and the extent of his efforts and the way he touched her, indicated to her that he had really always wanted her all along.

Hank, on the other hand, never said anything to Jessica when these couplings occurred. He bit his lip and quashed any moans of pleasure she might have elicited from him, because he knew that if he were to give vent to his feelings and cry out, it wouldn't be Jessica's name he was calling. But then, after all, it wasn't really Jessica he was making love to; it was Emma Jane.

When he had finished, he rolled straight off of her, as he did every night, much to her disappointment. How she would love it if he would just stay with her, rest his head against her chest and let her soothe him. But he never did, and this night was no exception. As he stood up and gathered up his clothes, Jessica pushed herself up on her elbows and regarded him.

"Ya don't have to go," she said, hoping to entice him back into her bed, "Gits awful lonely in here."

Hank didn't reply. Instead, he made his way quickly to the door, opened it and left the room, closing it behind him. Then he went into his own bedroom and lay down on the bed, letting the sweat from his body permeate the sheets, allowing him to pretend that he had just exploded inside his wife.

He lay looking at the ceiling, his eyes tracing the faint crack that ran along it. He had never really noticed it until she had left, a result of the nights he had spent gazing at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The room seemed bare without her possessions dotted around, her clothes hanging in the wardrobe, her scent lingering in the air. It was as if the previous ten years had never happened.

He missed her, missed her with an ache like none he had ever experienced. When he was in the saloon, he kept expecting to see her out of the corner of his eye, coming down the stairs or talking to the customers. He missed the way she used to look up as she poured Jake yet another whiskey and smile at him across the room. He missed holding her in his arms and murmuring how much he loved her in her ear. He missed Victoria too, her cheeky smile and bright eyes. He missed his life.

"Hank?" he looked up to see Jessica standing in the doorway, her robe hanging loosely off of her, daringly exposing what she considered her best assets. She twirled the belt around in front of her and smiled at him, "Told ya ya didn't have to go."

"Go away," he told her.

"I could make ya happy, Hank," she said meaningfully, "Happier than Emma Jane ever could. I was one of yer favourites before she came here. I could be again," she looked longingly at him, "We'd be good together. A team, partners. I know we could make it work."

He looked back at her, stunned that she could even imagine herself taking Emma Jane's place in his heart, his home or even his bed, "Git out."

"I mean it, Hank," Jessica persisted."

He got up off the bed lightening fast, stormed over to the door and pushed her back into the hallway, "Told ya to git out," he said, "Ya couldn't hold a candle to her." With that, he slammed the door in her face.

But Jessica wasn't perturbed. She knew that Hank was missing Emma Jane, but given time, he would come around. And she knew that his harsh words wouldn't prevent him from visiting her again. With a small smile on her face, she headed back to her own room.

SSSS

The following day, the saloon was busy due to the stagecoach having rolled into town. Although he knew in his heart she wouldn't be on it, Hank had still stood at the door of the saloon as it arrived, scanning the people getting off it, just in case. Defeated, he had then gone back to the bar, preparing to spend yet another day without her. They had been apart before, when she had returned to New York for her sister's funeral, but he had known then that she would be coming back. This time, he didn't know if he would ever see her again.

Jessica wandered around the room, talking to the various customers, plying her trade to perfection. But she kept glancing in Hank's direction, wondering if her antics were making him jealous, hoping to see the look of barely controlled desire in his eyes. She was not rewarded this day. He had his head down as he served a customer and when he glanced up and caught her eye, he looked quickly away.

"No matter," she told herself, "There's still time."

Jake and Loren were sat at one of the corner tables, discussing all manner of banal and boring things which only interest men of a certain level of intellect. Despite it not even being lunchtime, Jake had drunk enough whiskey to loosen his tongue and give him the false courage to say things most wise men would have kept to themselves.

"You ask me, she was askin' fer it," he told Loren, "Way she strutted around in here, all lookin' but no touchin'."

"Aw now Jake," Loren said, uncomfortable, "You can't say that."

"Why not?" Jake demanded, looking at Loren, "Ya know what she was like. Thought she was better than anybody else in this town. Well…til Michaela came anyway. That guy just gave her what she was lookin' for."

"She was married to Hank," Loren reminded him, "You think he didn't give that to her?"

"Yeah well," Jake took another drink of whiskey, "All I'm sayin' is, was bout time someone showed her. Don't know how ya put up with her being your Abigail's friend all them years."

Loren winced at the mention of his daughter's name, "She and Abigail were very close. It was nice for her to have a friend."

"But what kind of friend?" Jake asked him, "The kind of woman who's obviously desperate fer it?" In his excitement at telling Loren exactly what he thought of Emma Jane, Jake was oblivious to the fact that Hank, having overheard every word, was now standing behind him, "Probably the best time she ever had."

"Git the hell out," Hank said quietly, fighting to keep his temper under control.

Jake turned around in his seat," Hank!" he waved his glass at his friend, "Was just sayin' to Loren…"

"I knows what ya were just sayin'," Hank replied, "And I told ya to get the hell out." Jake simply stared at him, "Git out of my saloon!" Hank grabbed him by the shirt and started hauling him towards the door.

"Hey!" Jake protested, "hey, Hank…"

Hank opened the saloon door and threw Jake out onto the street. The other man turned back to face him, swaying on his feet, "What ya gettin' so worked up for?" he demanded, "I was just telling Loren bout Emma Jane."

"Ya don't say nothin' bout her, ya hear me?" Hank replied dangerously.

"She's left ya!" Jake stated the obvious, "No need to protect her now…" he was cut off by Hank's fist colliding with his jaw, sending him sprawling backwards onto the road. He got back on his feet and lunged at Hank, but the other man, in his sobriety, grabbed Jake again and landed another stinging blow on his face.

By this time, a small crowd had gathered to watch the fight, including Michaela and Sully, the latter of whom was trying to decide whether or not he should wade in and break it up.

"Ya don't talk about her like that!" Hank yelled at Jake, pushing him backwards again, "Ya hear me?" Jake remained flat on his back looking at the sky, "All of ya!" Hank turned to the crowd, "Ya don't say nothin'!" With that, he turned and stormed back into the saloon.

Michaela hurried quickly to Jake's side, "Jake, are you all right?"

"I'm…fine," he replied drunkenly, as they attempted to help him up, "I'm…" his legs buckled again and he fell back down.

"Help me get him to the clinic," Michaela said to Sully who, aided by Robert E, lifted Jake off of the ground and carried him across the street. They put him down on the bed in the clinic and Michaela checked Jake's eyes. "Jake? Can you hear me?" He groaned in response, "He's not hurt, just drunk," she assessed, "I'll clean up his face and he should be fine."

"What about Hank?" Sully asked.

"Leave him," Michaela advised, "Something tells me he won't be in the mood for any help.

She was right. Hank stormed back into the saloon, slammed a glass and a bottle of whiskey down on the counter and poured himself one. Then another and another. Part of him wanted to get drunk like Jake, so drunk that he couldn't remember anything that had happened over the last few days. Couldn't remember that she had left him.

Jessica wandered over, "Ya all right?"

"Fine," he replied tersely, not wanting her company.

"Yer hand…" she reached for it but he snatched it away and regarded her angrily.

"Don't touch me," he said.

"I was only…"

"Well don't!" he retorted, "Yer just a whore, Jessica. Ya ain't never gonna be anything else." He jumped over the bar and turned to serve another customer, leaving her standing, her cheeks burning with humiliation and anger.

SSSS

As he was closing up for the night, Michaela appeared at the door of the saloon holding her medical bag. She watched him for a brief moment, before pushing open the door and walking inside.

"Closed," he told her briefly.

"I thought I'd come and take a look at your hand," she said, "You gave Jake quite a punch."

"He deserved it."

"Maybe, but I'd still like to take a look."

"I'm fine."

"Please?"

Hank sighed, put down the bar cloth he was holding and walked over to her. He held out his hand for her to see and she turned it over and pressed down gently on the bones. He winced.

"Does that hurt?"

"Bit."

"Well, I don't think you've broken anything. It's more likely to be just bruising. Rest it for a few days and don't punch anything else." She didn't expect a thank you and she wasn't disappointed. He turned back to what he had been doing. "You miss her, don't you?"

To Hank, it seemed like the most stupid of questions, but he answered truthfully, "Yeah, I do."

"I was surprised when she said she was leaving," Michaela ventured, "Especially when she said that things were…difficult…between the two of you."

Hank had no desire to get involved in a deep and meaningful conversation with Michaela about Emma Jane, but his curiosity was piqued, "She said that?"

Michaela nodded, "And she was upset about everything that had happened."

"Weren't all my fault," he replied defensively, "I never raped her."

"No, and she shouldn't have kept it a secret. But it didn't look as though you were supporting her the way you should have."

Hank laughed bitterly. Here it came, the accusations and recriminations. He wouldn't have minded if they had come from Emma Jane. He would welcome the sight of her standing in front of him, yelling about everything that he had failed to do as her husband. But to hear it from Michaela…

"So ya think ya know all about our marriage do ya, Michaela?" he looked at her, "Even though ya ain't never been married, or even lain with a man?"

Michaela fought down her indignation, "I don't need that experience to be able to tell when a man isn't treating a woman they way he ought to." She paused before asking her next question, "Did you hurt her?"

Hank turned sharply in her direction, "What d'you say?"

"I asked you if you hurt her? If that's why she ran away."

"Ya suggestin' I hit her?" He dared her to make the accusation, even though it was true.

"I didn't necessarily mean physically."

"What business is it of yers anyway?" he demanded, "What goes on between me and Emma Jane is our business, not nobody else's. Thank ya to keep yer nose out." He turned back to the bar.

"I would if I thought you were happy. If I thought that I wouldn't keep finding your friends in my clinic after you've lashed out at them because of how you feel." She went in for the kill, "You could have prevented all of this, Hank. You didn't have to let her go."

"Leave me alone," he replied.

"Why? So you can wallow in your own self-pity and make everyone around you miserable?"

Hank stepped toward her, "Ya think I'm so capable of strikin' my wife what makes ya think I won't strike you?"

"Because I know you regret everything that's happened, only you're too pig-headed to realise it. You know what you have to do to be happy again, but you won't take that road in case it shows you that you were wrong. You're a coward!"

"Ya know nothin'!" he yelled at her, "Now, get out!"

Michaela lifted her bag and stepped towards the door, "You seem to be saying a lot of that at the moment, Hank. Pretty soon, people are going to stop caring and you'll lose everyone that means anything to you." With that, she turned and pushed open the door.

Hank watched the space where she had been standing, shaking his head at just how arrogant and self-important Michaela seemed to think her opinion was and yet also knowing that she was right. He could fix this. He could get on the next stage to Denver, get the train to New York and get Emma Jane and Victoria back.

But something stopped him. What if she was happy, back among her own kind? No doubt she was spending her evenings going to the opera and parties, being reintroduced to all the eligible young men that she so despised ten years ago and yet would seem so appealing now after having been married to him. She would be greeted like a long-lost daughter, and Victoria would be raised like a child of the city, rather than the child of a brothel keeper in a backwater town. Maybe it was for the best that he simply let them be. And yet, he felt as though part of him was missing, as though part of him had been severed from his body and he was slowly draining away without it. Who would have imagined, when he tricked the poor, frightened girl into marrying him that day on the train ten years ago, that he would be so in love with, and so lost without her?

Hank locked the saloon doors and climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He opened the door and looked at the empty bed. For a moment, he could imagine Emma Jane lying in it, her arms open wide, her smile mischievous, her body willing and able to satisfy and be satisfied. Then her image evaporated, like fine mist, and he was left looking at an empty bed in an empty room, one which offered no comfort.

Despite his sense of self-hatred and the knowledge that he was only betraying what he held so dear, he turned and opened the door to Jessica's room, where he knew he would find the comfort he craved.

She looked up from where she had been darning one of her dresses and smiled broadly. She had known he would come back. She held her arms open, in the very manner that he craved, and he fell into them, moulding his body against hers, his lips finding the soft crevice of her neck, his heat finding hers. And in that moment, he was with Emma Jane again.