I had originally intended this epilogue to be a light, fun ending to an angst-filled story, but my muse had other ideas when I got into it. It grew much heavier than I thought it would, but I hope my muse's instincts were right. Never fear – despite the weight, I think (hope) everyone will be satisfied. I have to say many, MANY thanks to all of you for reading and for being so kind and so generous to provide me with feedback about the story. I have truly enjoyed becoming a member of the GS world and I look forward to continuing my enjoyment both writing more stories and reading the great ones many of you write.
Imperfection
A Gunsmoke Story
by MAHC (Amanda)
"Imperfection is the greatness of man."
Ernst Fischer
1899-1972
"The years do not wait for us."
Chinese Proverb
Epilogue: The Years Do Not Wait for Us
POV: Matt
Spoilers: "The Jailer;" "The Badge;" "The Bullet;" "Hidalgo"
Rating: R
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Matt Dillon lay still as he felt Kitty's hand slide gently over the latest additions to his collection of scars. She had earned the right, after all. He knew that each mar to his skin was an equal scar on her heart. The least he could do was to let her touch, to let her connect somehow with the physical trauma that caused her own emotional pain.
The sickening illusion that had swamped him on the trail, the vision of Kitty pointing a gun at him, accusing him, killing him, had haunted his dreams since he had awakened in Doc's bedroom almost a month before. In the two days they had been in Denver, Kitty had shaken him from the nightmare more than once, her eyes warm with concern, her lips soft with comfort. He had, of course, assured her it was nothing, merely the expected, troublesome memories that came with the job, but he doubted his success in any lasting distraction. Short term was another story, and his physical efforts to change the subject were always met with willing and enthusiastic cooperation. So far, in fact, they had seen little of the brash, gold and silver-rich Colorado city past their bedroom in the Larimer Hotel.
Even now, they lay entwined in the soft covers of the ornate bed, his body sinking into the contented afterglow of slow, tender lovemaking. It would be very easy to drift off with the warmth of her smooth flesh pressed against him, but the contrasting tension of Kitty's muscles told him she had other ideas. Propping her head on one hand, she looked down at him.
"Matt?" she asked, and he stiffened warily at the dripping coyness in her voice.
"Hmm?"
She twirled the hair on his chest, a literal demonstration of twisting him around her little finger. He knew he was doomed. "What was it Doc told you?"
"What do you mean?" he returned, attempting innocence, but it sounded weak even to his ears.
She eyed him sharply. "You know very well, Matt Dillon, what I mean. What was it Doc was talking about at the station? You said you would tell me when we got on the train."
"I said I would tell you later," he clarified, rather boldly, considering his situation.
She switched tactics, pouting a bit. "I thought you would tell me then."
"Well, I tell ya, you didn't ask." He knew he was pushing it.
"Whose fault was that, Mister?" she wanted to know, tugging hard enough on the curls to draw a yelp from him. "You distracted me."
"I thought you'd like it," he protested honestly.
"I know very well that Doc didn't fork over the extra money for passage on one of those new sleeper cars," she said, almost accusingly, but just as quickly her tone softened with a smile. "But I'm awfully glad you did, Cowboy."
He had hoped she would be. When the railroad boasted of luxurious, roomy accommodations, they obviously had not had a six foot, seven inch, 240-pound marshal in mind. Still, cramped as he had been in the narrow bed, he was cramped in there with her. Of course, it sure beat the last time he had ridden that route – lying with a bullet in his back in the baggage car.
"You haven't answered me," she reminded, letting her hand drift lower, down his abdomen and over the flesh that had already begun responding to her again.
He groaned, helpfully arching into her touch. "Uh – Kitty, when you do that, I can't even remember my own name, much less something Doc told me three weeks ago."
"Okay," she agreed, "I'll stop," and pulled away.
He groaned again, this time in disappointment. "I didn't mean you had to – "
"Apparently, I do, to get my answer."
"That's blackmail, Miss Russell," he accused.
"It is, indeed, Marshal Dillon," she agreed.
"You seem you have me between a rock and a hard place – "
She smirked, shifting so that she lay between his legs. "I think that's my line, Mister."
Even past the levity, her persistence showed him that maybe it was time. He thought back to that day, to the revelations that had occurred in Doc's office, revelations about her, but even more about himself. And he wondered just how much he should tell her.
His sudden silence drew her head up, her eyes intense, curious. Remembering what he had told Doc about those eyes, he drew a breath and began.
XXXX
The marshal dragged himself back onto the soft mattress, grimacing against the pain his attempt had caused. He hadn't believed Doc earlier when he said it wasn't yet time to try such a move. Still, the discomfort subsided after a minute, and he began to think about giving it another shot – he just hadn't gotten his legs under him good before – but Doc's whistle on the stairs quickly changed his mind. No need to aggravate the physician, who was already irritated with his restless patient. Instead, he decided to switch tactics. Maybe if he cooperated, did everything the doctor said, it would shock Adams into letting him go to Kitty's a day or two early. And he knew how to manipulate Kitty – in one or two things, anyway.
"Morning, Matt," the older man called, then did a double take.
The marshal put on his best innocent face. "What?"
Adams gestured vaguely. "I half expected to find you sprawled out on the floor after trying to haul that big, stubborn body out of bed."
The innocent expression grew a bit strained. "What would make you think that?"
Frowning suspiciously, Doc turned to look at him, eyes peering closely. "Hmm. I have no idea. You have certainly never given me any cause over the past eighteen years to mistrust you when it came to following my medical advice!"
A diversion was what he needed. "Kitty tells me ya booked us on the train to Denver."
He saw the doctor's spine straighten as if preparing for battle. "I certainly did, and I don't want to hear any protests about it. You need the rest, and Kitty needs the break, and I'm not gonna sit here and watch you – "
"Sounds like a good idea."
" – destroy yourself by trying to get back to work before – " His words stumbled to a halt. "What?"
"I said it sounds like a good idea," Matt repeated patiently, suddenly feeling much more comfortable. "I appreciate it."
"Well, sure, I'm glad to – what did you say?"
Shrugging slightly so he didn't move too much, he said, "I'm taking ya up on your offer."
"You are?" Doc could not have sounded more surprised if Festus had just announced he was serving high tea to the Queen.
"Yep."
The physician stared for a minute, scrubbed at his mustache, and stared some more, before he nodded. "Well, all right, then."
"All right."
"Good."
Matt nodded, struggling to keep a straight face. He wished Kitty had been there to see the exchange. But it wasn't hard to grow serious when he thought about what Doc had said. Kitty did need the break, he knew. The guilt of what his absence and yet another injury had done to her dug at him, pestered him, until he couldn't shake the sick feeling in his gut. It frustrated him on two levels. First – and certainly most important – that he had caused her pain again. But second, that he couldn't think about anything else. That was dangerous, what he had feared from the moment he knew he had fallen for the fiery redhead all those years ago. His job was first, he had told her; it had to be for him to be an effective lawman. No one tying him down, no one causing second thoughts, stealing his attention from what was potentially a life-threatening daily duty.
Doc must have seen the darkness fall over his face, because he dragged a chair over to the bed and sat. After a moment of thought, he said, "She'd do anything for you, you know that."
No need to ask who "she" was. "Yeah," Matt acknowledged.
A few years back, Doc had broached the subject of his relationship with Kitty, the time she had left town after he'd been shot yet again. When he couldn't talk Matt into asking Kitty to stay, the physician had flat out told him he was a fool, and Matt had not denied it.
He had been truly afraid that was it; she wouldn't be coming back. And he knew he had no right to ask her to, although he yearned to tell her not to go. But he couldn't stand it, riding down to Ballard on the pretense of being on official marshalling business. She hadn't been fooled. He still could feel the pounding of his heart when he heard her greeting the night she came back.
"Hello, Cowboy." The memory brought a smile to his lips, brushing away the darkness.
"Well," Doc said, "that's better."
"What?"
"That smile instead of the scowl you wore a minute ago. I'm not gonna ask you what caused it."
"Good."
"But I am gonna ask you what you're gonna do."
"Do about what?"
"I think you know."
Damn. "Doc, I hate to say it's none of your business – "
Without warning, Adams' eyebrows gathered furiously like thunderheads of an approaching storm. "None of my business?" he snapped. "None of my business?"
Bracing himself for the onslaught, Matt could only hope the tornado didn't suck him up in its vortex.
The doctor stood suddenly, almost menacingly, over the bed and pointed an accusing finger. "Listen to me, Marshal. Who do you think stayed around here and talked to her, tried to get her to eat, to go on with life, every day you were gone? Who do you think held her when McMannis came riding into town with a body we all thought was you draped over his saddle? Who do you think sat up with her when the nightmares got too bad and she woke up screaming for you?"
Oh God. He stared at the doctor, stomach heaving, throat constricting. Adams could not have hit him harder if he had used his fists. No words came, but the stricken look on his face must have shocked the doctor back into control, because he sighed and shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Matt," he said, sitting again. "I never meant – Kitty'll have my hide for telling you those things."
"No," he managed hoarsely, swallowing. "No, I'm – glad you did." He turned his face toward the window, unable to look straight at the other man. The guilt crushed him.
"She loves you," Adams said simply.
The marshal nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He knew that, of course. She loved him unconditionally, even knowing what he could never offer her, even knowing it meant facing his death on a daily basis. She loved him.
"I know you have to do your job, Matt." His tone had mellowed to a more conciliatory pitch. "But can't you give her a little more time when you are around?"
"Kitty knows how it is, how it has to be," he said, voice low. "She's never made me choose between my job and her." His voice dropped to a whisper. "And I do."
"What?"
"I do spend time with her," he said, stung that Doc would suggest otherwise.
"Well, I know, some, but – "
"Every night," he admitted, knowing if it were anyone but Doc, he wouldn't be saying a word. "When I'm in Dodge, I spend every night with her, in her room, and we – " He flushed, wondering why he was explaining himself.
If that was a revelation to the physician, he gave no sign. "It takes more than being good in bed to satisfy a woman's needs," Doc said, his voice level and completely unselfconscious.
Jaw dropping, the marshal croaked out, "What?"
"You and Kitty seem to, well, she seems to be a lot more chipper in the mornings after you've – when you're in town."
Matt felt the heat in his cheeks. Apparently, he had been rather naïve to think Doc wasn't aware of the depth of their relationship.
But the physician appeared oblivious to his patient's discomfort. "Physical pleasure, no matter how intense, is fleeting. She's gonna need more than that from you for the long haul."
He started to ask how long the long haul was. After all, he and Kitty had already been together seventeen years. But he decided maybe discretion was the better part of valor at the moment.
"'The years do not wait for us,'" Adams quoted.
"What?"
"Something I heard from a Chinaman who was working on the railroad a few years back. Matt, you're a good lawman. Hell, you're the best lawman in Kansas, probably in the country. But you've been a lawman for a long time. Is that how you want to finish your life? You're still relatively young. You have a lot more living to do. Kitty won't wait forever."
"She will," he almost said, until an image flashed through his mind. An image of a redheaded beauty telling him she couldn't do it anymore. An image of a gun in those lovely hands that had once shown him such pleasure. An image of a fiery blast directed right at him.
"Is being a marshal all you want?" Doc continued. "Is that enough? Is lying with Kitty, using her to satisfy your physical needs enough?"
He felt the blood rush to his face. "I don't use Kitty to satisfy my physical needs!" he ground out, fighting for control. Surely, Doc didn't think –
Emotions churned inside him, boiled to the surface. Maybe it was the fatigue; maybe it was the pain; maybe it was the guilt. The wall he had carefully constructed over the years of holding in, of controlling his feelings, cracked like a surging river through a broken dam, and he turned to the doctor, pulling himself up in the bed, feeding on the pain of his body to ignite his words.
"How can you – you don't know. It isn't like that. When we're – together, it's more than just – sex. It's – " He wasn't sure he could describe what it felt like being with Kitty, not just the pleasure, but the warmth, and the contentment, and the completeness. "It's – well – it isn't like that at all."
He was shaking now, shaking with both physical and emotional pain, shaking with the memory of how tender and how passionate she was. The sensations were so strong that he almost forgot someone else was there.
"Sometimes I can't breathe when she touches me. When she looks at me and I see right down into her soul, I can't breathe."
He closed his eyes and dragged in a ragged breath, as if the mere thought had tried to rob him of that ability.
"I love her. My God, I love her so much, and now I can't even think about anything else except what I've done to her, how I hurt her. How can I go to her and expect her to – I can't think about anything else." Opening his eyes again, he saw Doc's stunned face, and out of sheer uncontrolled frustration, made him the target of his powerful confession. "Do you understand?" he asked, voice rising almost to a shout. "I can't think about anything else! I can't think about anything else!"
Chest heaving, he choked back a sob on the last word, horrified at himself. The great Matt Dillon, strong, invincible, undaunted, brought low by his own imperfections, his own insecurities, his own guilt. Not completely able to believe what he had just done, he collapsed onto the bed and flung an arm over his eyes, desperate to be anywhere else but there.
The room remained silent for a long moment until Doc Adams, his voice eerily quiet, said, "I know it's not like that, Matt. I know you love Kitty. I was there when you went crazy after you found out she headed out to that gold mine on her own. I was there when you followed her to Ballard. I was there when you brought her back from Etta Stone. You wouldn't let her out of your sight for a week. I was there. I saw."
The marshal felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder. "I'm just saying, son, it doesn't matter whether or not you admit it, you've already chosen."
Son. It did not escape Matt, even in the turmoil, that Doc had used that term. He knew that the physician considered him almost more that way than a friend. And the older man felt toward Kitty like a daughter, despite the years of teasing marriage proposals. Somehow, it made things even harder. How many more people could he disappoint?
But the doctor's voice was kind. "Just remember what I told you," he reminded, stepping away as if the last few surreal minutes had never happened.
Matt didn't respond, couldn't respond, wasn't sure which thing he was supposed to remember, except that Doc still thought he was a fool, and he still couldn't deny it. As he lay there with his tortured, confused thoughts, his brain fighting to make sense of things, he wondered if it was enough. And if he decided it wasn't, wondered if it was even possible to have enough.
XXXX
Kitty's hands were still, no longer running across his scars, or even dancing playfully over his groin. He hadn't told her everything, had been careful not to mention that Doc had talked about her nightmares, had left out the intensity of his tirade against the physician, more from embarrassment than anything else. But he had told her enough.
After a very long moment, she took a heavy breath and turned so that her head rested against his stomach. "What did you decide?" she asked hesitantly, as if she was afraid to hear his answer.
He had planned to do this later in the week, closer to time for them to return to Dodge, giving him a chance to think through just how he would say it. But maybe fate had forced his hand. Fate, and a certain pushy country doctor.
Pulling her up his body so that they were face to face, he held her gaze steadily, working harder to summon up his courage than he ever had when facing outlaws. "I decided it's not enough. I decided I don't think it's possible to have enough."
"Oh." He saw the light fade, watched the hurt flicker.
"But I'm gonna do my best to get there."
"What?"
He sat up now, brought her with him so their knees touched. "Doc was right. I've already chosen, Kitty. I chose a long time ago. When I was out there on the trail, when I didn't think I could go any farther, you were the one who keep me going."
"But I wasn't there – "
"You were. You were right there with me. I saw you. When I closed my eyes, when I dreamed, I saw you. When I was in Agustin's house, you took my hand, you made the pain go away." He watched the tears slide down her cheeks and reached to brush them away.
"That was Lucero," she told him, and he thought he heard just a twinge of jealousy in her voice.
"No. It was you."
"Matt, what are you – "
"Kitty, you've been my woman for seventeen years now. Do you think you would mind being my wife?"
He almost wished they had been at one of those photograph parlors so he could preserve her expression, bring it out and look at it whenever he wanted. Shock, joy, amazement, love. Terrible, deep love. And again he felt his chest and throat tighten, his breath leave him, as he looked past those beautiful blue eyes and into her soul.
"Oh, Matt," she whispered. "I – I – Matt, are you sure?"
With no small effort, he forced air into his lungs and nodded. "I told you, I chose a long time ago. I was just too much of a fool to realize it."
She stared at him another beat, then threw herself forward, arms around his neck, lips on his, breasts against his chest. They fell back onto the bed, their passion instantly ignited. He could tell this would be no slow-burning, gentle lovemaking. Her body writhed on top of his, her pelvis ground into his. A groan escaped him as he tried to slow her, but she only moved more frantically. Surrendering to the inevitable, he let his body go, turning them so that he hovered over her, pushing at her entrance.
"Yes," she breathed, clutching at his hips to pull him in.
With her permission – or rather her order – he thrust deep and hard, carrying them both up toward the headboard. Kitty's cry was one of agonized pleasure. He recognized it because he echoed hers with one of his own. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her hips rose to meet each surge as he withdrew, pulling back almost to the edge, then plunged back in, harder and deeper. Slick with sweat, they slid together, building faster and faster toward the ultimate ecstasy. He bit his lip to hang on, not entirely sure he could make it, tasted blood in his mouth. His entire world centered on her, deep inside her, and he felt the deliciously painful tightness tug between his legs.
Desperately, he tried to distract his overwhelmed body, closed his eyes and conjured up visions of toothless old Miz Harper and her equally homely eighteen children. It helped some, and he felt the imminent release ease just a bit. Still, once he opened his eyes again and saw Kitty's face, mouth open and eyes wide with the pleasure he was giving her, he couldn't stop the rush.
"Kitty – "he warned hoarsely, but it was too late.
His body surged forward, carrying him as far as she could take him, and his muscles froze with the head-to-toe contractions that shot his seed deep inside her, hard pulses over and over. He felt her own body answer, squeeze him again and again in uneven spasms as she bucked beneath him. He couldn't keep from crying out, and hoped that no one out in the hallway thought they might need help.
When his muscles finally released him, he began to rock again, more gently this time, in and out, his motions tender, soothing. Eventually, he felt her own pulses fade, and she melted back onto the pillows, arms and legs flung out in total and complete fulfillment. He smiled at the sight, remembering what Doc had said.
"It takes more than being good in bed to satisfy a woman's needs."
He knew, of course, that was true, but he couldn't deny the stroke of pride at the knowledge that she looked pretty damned satisfied right then. Carefully, he withdrew and lay beside her, drawing her against him, smoothing her hair, kissing her shoulder.
When she spoke, her voice almost purred. "You didn't propose just so I'd let you have your way with me, did you?"
"What if I did?" he wondered.
She stretched luxuriously. "Works for me."
As his brain began to clear, he realized something. "Hey, wait a minute. You never gave me an answer."
"What?"
"To my proposal."
"You don't think what we just did was an answer?"
"Maybe I need more."
Her shoulders shook in a chuckle. "More than that? I don't think I can do more than that. At least not for a while yet."
"Kitty," he said, losing the tease from his tone. He wanted to hear her say it, needed to hear her say it.
She looked up at him, a curious, long-suffering smile on her lips. "No."
His breath caught, his heart skipped a beat. No? "Wh – what?"
"My answer," she explained calmly. "No."
He sat up and ran a hand through his hair, not knowing what to say, not expecting this at all. She might as well have punched him in the stomach. "Kitty, I thought, I mean – "
"You thought what, Cowboy?" she asked.
"I thought you wanted – "
Her smile contradicted what he thought she had just told him. "You asked me if I would mind being your wife. The answer is no. I wouldn't mind it a bit." She leaned in and kissed him with such tenderness that he ached. When she pulled back, her eyes shone with mischief.
Once his heart started beating again, he put on his best frown and said, "You are an evil woman Kathleen Russell, playing with a man's heart."
"Is that what I played with?" she asked slyly. "I thought it was something else."
He sighed and lay back down, pulling her with him. "There's a justice of the peace a few blocks down from the hotel," he told her. At least he had been out enough to find that.
She lifted up again. "Here?"
"Why not?" Then it occurred to him. "Or maybe you want to wait until we get back to Dodge."
But she shook her head. "Cowboy, you might start thinking on it, and I don't want to take that chance."
He laughed. "We can go see him tomorrow."
Kitty snuggled against him, and he felt her legs grow heavy over his own. "I bet Doc'll be surprised," she murmured sleepily.
Matt smiled and stroked his fingers through her hair. "I wouldn't count on it, Kitty. I wouldn't count on it."
The years do not wait for us, Doc had said. But Matt Dillon didn't care now. In fact, he didn't want them to. Not anymore.
Her hands found the scars again, touched each one, beginning with that first one, almost faded completely, tracing each imperfection lovingly, ending with the latest two, still pink and tender. There would be more. They both knew that, but as long as she was there to count them, he wouldn't mind as much.
END