Imperfection

A Gunsmoke Story

by MAHC (Amanda)

"Imperfection is the greatness of man."

Ernst Fischer

1899-1972

Chapter Four: He Was That Someone

POV: Festus

Spoilers: "Seven Hours to Dawn;" "The Bullet;" "Hidalgo"

Rating: PG

Disclaimer: I didn't create these characters. Shoot.

"Here, now, Miz Kitty, let me be a-gittin' that fer ya." Festus Haggen clanged down the boardwalk to relieve Kitty Russell of her armful of packages.

"Thanks, Festus," she answered, her smile pleasant enough, but far from genuine. "You don't have to – "

"Well, golly Bill, ain't no trouble," he assured her, stomping along beside her toward the Long Branch. The deputy had not seen her truly smile in weeks, not since – well, not since Matthew had come up overdue.

When she didn't continue the conversation, he said, "You bin a'shoppin' have ya?"

Silence met his question. "Miz Kitty?"

Startled, she turned to him. "What?"

"I sez, you bin a'shoppin?"

She placed a hand on his arm in apology. "Oh, I'm sorry, Festus. I was – thinking."

He didn't doubt that a bit.

"Yes, I've been shopping. Sometimes it – is a good distraction."

It hurt him something fierce to see the pain in those beautiful eyes, but he knew nothing he could do would change it. Only one man could take that pain away – and he was also the one, however unintentionally, causing it.

"Why doncha join Doc n' me at Delmonicos fer dinner?" he offered gallantly. Maybe he'd even buy her meal for her. Well, or at least get Doc to buy it.

But she smiled that sad smile again and shook her head. "I don't think so, but thanks just the same."

"Well, if ya change yer mind – " he started, but she cut him off, turning at the doors of the Long Branch.

"Here we are. I can take them now." She reached out to shift the packages from his arms to hers.

"I kin take 'em upstairs fer ya – "

Again, she brushed away his chivalry. "I have them, Festus. Thank you anyway."

Then she was gone, the doors swinging shut behind her. He watched as she navigated the stairs, never once looking back. With a sigh, the deputy shook his head and set his step toward the jail. He'd make some coffee, just the kind Matthew liked –

The thought twisted in his brain like a toady frog on the end of a gig. The jail would be deserted, unless Newly happened to drop by. It was amazing how empty the place could be without that big lawman stretched out across the bunk or pushed back behind the desk, or standing to fill the entire space from floor to ceiling.

He had wanted to go with Matthew to track down that low-life Mando and his gang, but the big marshal insisted he was needed in Dodge. Festus had even resorted to making the ill-advised suggestion that Dillon wasn't in top shape yet and might not be able to finish the job. After all, it had been only a few weeks since they had carried him by stretcher onto that gold train bound for Denver, not knowing whether the lawman would ever walk again – or even live, for that matter.

The back wound still suffered him, Festus knew. He had seen the way he pushed up gingerly from his desk, or the way his face tightened when he took that first step after he stood. And the limp, which he had only occasionally given into before, had now become a consistent component of his gait.

No, Festus knew Matt Dillon was in no shape to go off after a band of outlaws, but his efforts to dissuade him had drawn only a sharp glare and sour responses.

XXXX

"I'm jest a sayin', Matthew, that ther Mando and his bunch'll be so fer down in Mexico, it'll take a shovel ta dig 'em out." He made this observation as he watched the marshal gather his trail gear and unlock a rifle from the gun rack.

"Maybe," came the curt answer.

But Festus was not rebuffed. "Well," he continued, his voice wheedling, "doncha think it won't matter if'n ya wait a few days?"

Those blue eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Why?"

A lesser man would have stopped. Festus bulled on. "Well, jest ta make sure ya got whatcha need – "

"I have everything I need, Festus," he assured him brusquely, lifting his hat from the peg and tugging it low over his eyes.

Even though the marshal seemed a bit more rested that morning – and Festus had a pretty good idea where he had done that resting the night before – he still wore that expression, especially behind the eyes, of a man whose existence had just been sorely tested and who had clawed his way out of the hole only recently. The vision fortified Festus for more tenacity.

"Maybe ya orda wait fer another reason," he ventured, already bracing for the indignant protest.

"For what reason?"

It was now or never, he figured, and took a quick breath. "Matthew, it's only bin a few weeks since Doc dug that thar bullet outta yer back. Doncha think – "

Stubborn fell over the broad shoulders like a blanket. "I'm fine, Festus," he snapped.

Although Festus had expected no different an answer, he allowed the frustration at his own failure to tweak his temper. In a rare show of irritation toward the man he admired more than anyone else in the world, the deputy threw up his hands and growled, "Why shore. I kin see that. That's why ya've bin hitchin' round 'cher like a ninety year old shemale granny."

The marshal's mouth set hard, his lips pressed together. Festus hastily continued before Dillon could stop him. "How long ya think ya kin set yer horse afore that back pains ya so much ya kaint rightly even hang onto him?"

"Festus – "

"I see'd ya scrunch yer face every time ya git up. It's hurtin' ya good, and even though I ain't wantin' ya to tell ol' Doc I agree with him, ya orda stick ta what he told ya 'bout tryin' ta take it easy fer a while."

He squinted hopefully at the marshal, but Matthew merely worked his jaw a minute, then sighed and hauled his pack onto a shoulder.

"I'll be back in a few weeks. Take care of – things – while I'm gone."

Shaking his head, Festus followed him onto the boardwalk and watched as he threw the pack behind his saddle. The big man didn't even grimace when he mounted the horse, but Festus knew it took a concentrated effort not to. Dillon clicked Buck back into the street, then hesitated and turned to Festus. The deputy saw the realization on his face, the understanding and acceptance of how this trip could end. It twisted in his gut.

"If I don't – " Dillon began.

Festus flinched. "Now, no need ta go talkin' like that, Matthew. You'll be back. Besides, ya don't wanna go jinxin' yerself."

Finally, the marshal allowed a vague smile to curve his lips. "Take care of her," he said simply, his meaning clear, tearing at the deputy's heart, then swung Buck around and headed south out of town.

Festus watched him until he disappeared then stared a little longer at the empty street. It was early yet, not many folks stirring. He wondered if Dodge would notice that their marshal was gone, wondered if the very atmosphere in town would change. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But he knew one thing: if Matt Dillon didn't come back, Dodge City wouldn't be the same again.

And none of those who counted Matt Dillon as friend – or more – would either.

XXXX

As he clanged down the boardwalk toward Dodge's only decent restaurant, Festus couldn't stop thinking about Miss Kitty and the melancholy expression he had seen in her eyes. He had always known Matthew Dillon and Kitty Russell belonged together. Even from his earliest days in Dodge, he had observed their affection for each other. And, although they remained careful about revealing too much publicly, he had been privy to enough clues to know that affection was only a surface reflection of their true, deep love: a quick caress of a shoulder, a hand on a back, a brush of an arm, an exchanged glance.

Still, even those subtle moments were rare. Only one, that he recalled, allowed him a bold demonstration of that love, with Kitty falling all over the big marshal, her arms around his neck, her lips against his cheek and jaw. The amazing part was that he permitted it, returned it, even, with his head on her breast, his lips brushing hers – right there in the middle of the Long Branch in front of Doc and him. But Festus had to question the price that granted them that incredible sight, because it came after the most memorable – and painful – test for the couple, for them all: the nightmare night of Mace Gore and his murdering, thieving gang. The deputy didn't think he had ever felt so enraged or so helpless before. In the years since, he had seen Matthew in various stages of injury, but for the rest of his life he knew he could never banish the horrible vision of the big marshal lying on Front Street, bloody, pale, and very, very still. Doc had declared him dead.

Dead.

That couldn't be right. Festus had leaned down, placed his ear against that broad chest himself, and pulled back, heartsick, when he realized Doc was right. His swirling thoughts could not comprehend that the man who stood so tall, who represented such strength and authority and power was left like a two-bit tinhorn in the middle of the street. But as terrible as it was to see Matthew just lying there, it was ten times worse looking at Miss Kitty. He never wanted again to see what he saw in her eyes that night: pain, emptiness, despair, and a void so deep he swore they could all lose themselves in it.

If Matthew were to be – if he didn't come back from the dead this time, Festus wasn't sure Kitty could go through those emotions again and not shut completely down. And if that happened, he would have lost two of the three most important people in his life.

As he stepped through the entrance to Delmonico's, he noted that the third was sitting at a corner table.

"Well," Doc said, looking up, "I figured about suppertime you'd come wanderin' in."

Grateful for the distraction from his bothersome thoughts, he spluttered cooperatively. "Oh, ya ol' goat. I wuz jest gonna come ta tell I wuz buyin' this afternoon, but never you mind now."

"You're buying?" the physician exclaimed incredulously.

"I wuz, but now – "

"Charlatan," Doc accused. "You never intended – "

"I did intend – wait thar a minute. You'd you call me?"

"Charlatan," he repeated, adding a hand flourish. "Fake, fraud, pretender."

Festus drew up. "Fake? Why you ol' – " He paused and scrunched up his right eye. "Jest fer that ain't a gonna tell ya 'bout Miz Kitty."

The physician, as predicted, rose and reached out a hand to stop him. "Whoa, now I didn't say I didn't want – that is – well, what about Kitty?"

Festus shook his head in doubt, knowing he now held the upper hand. "Don't know as I feel like sharin' now, seeing as how ya'd rather not eat with me – "

"Oh for goodness sake, sit down and order."

"Well, if ya insist." Festus suppressed the smirk that pushed at his mouth.

"What about Kitty?" Adams prodded.

More serious now, the deputy sank into a chair and let out a generous sigh. "I'm worried 'bout her, Doc. She ain't hersef no more. The light's jest – well, jest about faded right outta her eyes."

Adams ran a hand over his mustache in that familiar way he had and looked down into his coffee cup. "Yeah. Yeah. I was afraid of that. Kitty's a strong woman, Festus. But she's been through an awful lot these years."

"Well, I jest don't understand. Matthew's bin gone before – "

"Not like this. Not this long – and not without some word."

Festus looked past the doctor, not wanting to see the truth in his eyes. "Doc, do ya think – "

"No. No, 'course not. Matt's okay. He's – " But he faltered and sat back heavily. "Festus, I don't know. This time, I just don't know."

Not wanting to voice his greatest fear, but needing to address what was becoming more and more possible, he asked, "What'll we do if'n he's – if'n he don't come back?"

"I don't know," Doc admitted softly.

"What'll Miz Kitty do?"

"She'll – she'll do what she has to do, Festus, just like everybody."

That was what scared him – what she had to do. "I shore don't wanna find out."

"No."

They sat for a minute, their thoughts private. Frustration built in the deputy, roiling in his gut and pushing through his limbs until he knew he couldn't just sit there any more. Without a word, he slapped his hand down on the table with a fierce wham, drawing startled glances from the other patrons.

Adams jumped and stared at him. "What the – "

"I'm a'goin' after him, Doc," he decided.

"What?"

"I'm a'goin' after Matthew." He almost smiled, satisfied at the first feeling of usefulness he'd had in weeks.

But the doctor didn't seem quite so certain. "Well, I never heard anything so – you can't – "

"Shore I kin. And I'm gonna."

"You don't even know where he went," Doc protested.

"I knowd he headed south to Mexico. That's a start."

"Festus – " Doc caught his arm as he stood.

"Doc, " he said, hoping he could convey how powerful his need was. "I gotta do this – fer Matthew, fer Miz Kitty, fer Dodge."

He felt the doctor's hand relax its grip, then fall from his arm. The gray head nodded in acquiescence. Someone had to do something. They couldn't just wait there forever until some strange lawman rode into town and told them Matt Dillon was dead. Or even worse, keep waiting and never know what had happened, wondering every day if he was coming back.

Someone had to do something. And Festus Haggen had decided he was that someone.

TBC