All characters are copyright to CBS, I'm just borrowing them.

"With the days that lie ahead me

I'm hungry to remain

Still I know it's best to go

'cause nothing's going to change

Eyes that held so much for me

Are holding things from me now

Like the harmonies

That life will not allow"

-- "Promises We Keep" by Eleanor McEvoy

Chapter 5

Kitty stayed out longer than she had intended. In spite of Sam's fears, no one bothered her. It seemed to be one of those rare nights when Dodge City was truly quiescent. She had walked the entire length of Front Street twice and then spent time on the edge of town staring out at the cold moon and diamond stars which gilded the prairie with stark blackness and brilliant silver.

The wind blowing in off the prairie eventually cooled her temper as much as it did her body. She realized she'd left her rooms without even a wrap. Kitty headed back to the Long Branch. The saloon itself was locked tight, its windows dark. She let herself in up the back stairs and quietly opened the door to her suite.

The fire had banked down to sullen coals and the air was almost as frigid as it had been outside. It startled her to see the marshal still sprawled across her bed. She had expected him to awaken from his nap and either finish his rounds or make his way back to his cot at the jail. Matt rarely stayed this late, especially if there was a chance someone might discover them. "Matt?" she called. The big man stirred restlessly in response to her voice but didn't wake.

That was unusual; she could usually wake him, even if he was tired, just by calling his name. She sat down on the edge of the bed beside him and studied his face. Even in repose, the marshal's face held a grimace; he appeared to be in some discomfort or pain and a fine sheen of sweat dampened his curls. Kitty tenderly brushed a hand against his cheek; it was hot to the touch.

"Ah, Matt," she cried softly, full of remorse for her temperamental outburst earlier in the evening. Sighing, she got up and restocked the wood in the fireplace. When the room began to feel warmer, she returned her attention to Matt. Gently, she removed his boots and arranged him in a more comfortable position on the bed before covering him with a thick quilt she'd warmed beside the fire. Matt coughed in his sleep and muttered something incoherent. Not knowing what else to do, she patted his arm and whispered, "You just rest, cowboy. I'm going to go get Doc."

She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and crept downstairs. As she reached the foot of the stairs, the door to Sam's room opened. She heard the clicking sound of the safety being engaged on a shotgun and the bartender's scarred face split into a relieved grin. "Miss Kitty, you're back from your walk, safe and sound."

"I'm going back out," she told him, hearing the questioning note in Sam's voice, "but I won't be long. You can go back to bed, Sam." She was grateful for his loyalty and protectiveness, but she didn't need him knowing the nature of her errand. One of the reasons she'd hired Sam was for his tight lipped nature; he wouldn't talk, but there were plenty of others that would if they found out she had the marshal upstairs in her rooms. She didn't care what the citizens of Dodge City thought of her, but she did care what they thought about Matt. It was true most of them knew she was the marshal's "woman", but the upstanding citizens were willing to ignore what Kitty did for a living as long as the two of them were discrete.

This situation was anything but discrete and it was probably going to stay that way for a while. Concern for Matt's condition put all other considerations aside as she climbed the stairs to Doc's office. Kitty was relieved to see that in spite of the lateness of the hour, an oil lamp still burned in the window. Tentatively, she knocked on the door.

"Unless you're bleedin' to death, go away! I've gone to bed," the cantankerous old sawbones answered her knock. She and Doc had been friends a long time so Kitty didn't take the raillery personally. She ignored him and let herself in. Doc, as usual, was bent over his books at the desk studying them as he often did at night. Kitty noted, however, that the elderly man wore nothing but slippers and a nightshift. He hadn't been exaggerating when he said he'd gone to bed. He waved irritably without looking up and said, "Seeing as how's you've invited yourself in, you might as well tell me what the problem is."

"Curly," Kitty said, using the nickname to get his attention, "Matt needs you."

Doc Adams immediately dropped all pretenses of being irritated by the interruption. "Kitty, I didn't know it was you. What's the matter? I didn't hear any gunshots."

Kitty twisted a fold of her skirts in her hand and shook her head. "Nothing like that. Matt just kinda…collapsed…after dinner. I knew he was tired and I thought he was sleeping, but he's fevered now and I can't wake him up. This is all my fault, Doc," she confessed. "I…I pushed him too hard. I was so danged mad about that missed picnic that I didn't see…"

"It's not your fault, Kitty," Doc said quietly as he closed his book. He sighed, swiped at his mustache with his hand, and then wiped at an imaginary spot on his spectacles with his nightshirt. "I saw him after Snelling attacked him and I missed it too."

That admission from Doc shocked Kitty out of her own self recriminations. "What did you have to be mad at Matt about?"

"Well, what do you think I was mad at him about, Kitty?!" Doc blustered. "That young buck needs to learn himself how to treat womenfolk proper. He certainly can't get away with standing you up all the time." In one of the mercurial switches of mood for which he was known, Doc's voice softened. "Matt's been burning both ends of the candle for quite a while now. I'm not surprised it's finally caught him. Give me a few minutes to get dressed and I'll be there directly."

Touched by the manner in which Doc had been ready to defend her, Kitty put a slender hand on the old man's arm. "Thanks, Doc. He's upstairs in my suite." The kindly doctor's eyebrows raised at that bit of information and he tossed the redheaded proprietress a speculative look. More than once after Matt had been banged up in a fight, he had backed discretely out of the room to give the two lovers privacy. Kitty caught the look and stared Doc Adams down. "Fully clothed, I might add." She couldn't quite keep the disgust and frustration out of her voice.

Doc Adams chuckled. "You go back and sit with him. I'll be up as soon as I can."

Her guilt salved by the knowledge that Doc Adams had championed her and that he had also been too hard on their friend, Kitty returned to her suite. Matt had thrown off the quilt and was tossing his head restlessly. "Kitty…" he called hoarsely. "Kitty?"

She went to him, lovingly replaced the quilt and tucked it securely around him to keep off the cold. Her deft fingers stroked the sweat matted hair out of his eyes, worked at soothing away the knots at the temple. "Right here, Matt."

It was almost too much effort, but he willed himself to grab her hand. "Don't leave me, Kitty."

The desperate strength with which Matt's long fingered, work roughened hand held hers frightened her. Is he really afraid I'll leave one of these days? Am I that important to him? Or is he just afraid of being alone right now? She'd seen his nightmares and could understand if his request referred to the latter situation but he had never, in their seventeen year relationship, told Kitty he wanted her by his side for always. In fact, there had been a few times of late when he'd bluntly told her he thought she would be better off with someone else, someone whose first love wasn't a badge.

She couldn't tell now whether or not the declaration was in earnest or the result of delirium. It didn't matter, really. They could discuss it when he was well, if he even remembered telling her that. "Don't you worry, Matt," she told him, "I'm not going anywhere."

Kitty breathed a sigh of relief when she heard Doc's familiar tread coming up the back stairs about fifteen minutes later. Matt's restlessness had increased until it was all she could do to keep him in the bed. His blue eyes, hazy with fever, were focused on something not in the room. "I don't like the sound of that cough," Doc said as he approached. "Well, son, let's see what kind of scrape you've gotten yourself into this time."

With gentle and compassionate hands Doc Adams examined the lawman. It alarmed him that Matt didn't respond to his presence. Lightly slapping Matt's cheeks in an attempt to bring him back to consciousness produced no result nor did rough stimulation against the breast bone. He dug out his pocket watch and monitored Matt's pulse. It was much faster than it should have been. "Kitty, could you bring that lamp for me? I want to have a look at his eyes and throat, if he'll allow it."

"He'd better," she muttered as she lit the lamp for Doc and placed it on the bedside table. Kitty half hoped Matt would fight him on this one, as it would mean he wasn't as badly off as he looked.

Doc took out one of his reflectors and angled the light so that he could monitor the iris' response. Matt didn't like having the light redirected into his eyes. He squeezed them tightly closed and batted feebly at Doc's hand. "The light…it hurts…let me be, I just wanna sleep," he mumbled. "So tired…"

"Not just yet, Matt," Doc responded, "but I promise I'll let you rest soon." He turned the wick to its lowest and shielded the lamp so that the light wouldn't bother his patient. Then the doctor reached into his bag and brought out his stethoscope, the bell of which he placed against Matt's chest. It was a new contraption, biaural instead of the standard single wooden tube, and made of a substance called rubber. Kitty and Festus had ordered it for him as a birthday gift several months ago.

He didn't like what he heard; the marshal's heart labored to keep up with the demands of his overtaxed body and beat in irregular rushes and spurts. The lungs sounded no better; he counted it lucky that the right one was clear but three of the lobes on the left were filled with fluid. Sighing, he removed the earpieces from his ears and straightened.

"It's bad, Doc, isn't it?" Kitty asked quietly.

"Matt's likely got pneumonia. It might have started as a catarrh or a touch of the grippe but it's got a good hold on him now. Matt's not a young man any more. His body can't take this type of prolonged abuse like it used to."

"Try telling him that," Kitty responded with a trace of her usual asperity.

"Oh, I have," Doc said. "He's just too blamed stubborn to listen!" He began rummaging in his bag, selecting vials and laying out a syringe.

"What are you going to do for him?"

Doc Adams considered his options for a moment before responding. He chose his next words carefully because he didn't want her to give up hope. "I've got a few things I can try, but there's not much can be done for 'im except keep 'im warm, quiet, and comfortable. The main thing is to keep the pneumonia from spreading to both lungs. If we can accomplish that, he's got a fair chance of recovery."

Kitty heard the doubt in his voice. "Don't sugar coat it, Doc. What exactly are Matt's chances?" She had to ask, had to know what she was facing. The thought of losing Matt to exhaustion of all things didn't bear thinking about. She could accept the fact that some day he might be gunned down but not that something as simple as a catarrh could take him away from her. Not this way, please, she prayed to whoever might be listening. Please, just give us a bit more time.

"Don't fret, Kitty. You know I'll do my best for him. I've given him an injection of atropine sulphate to stabilize his heart and hopefully dry up some of the fluid in his lungs," Doc Adams explained, "and we'll dose him well with laudanum for the pain and the cough. You already know what to do for the fever."

Kitty nodded. "Lukewarm compresses."

"Good girl," Doc Adams responded, his voice warm with approval. He wearily accepted the glass of whiskey she thrust into his hands. Sinking onto the chair Kitty had pulled up for him, he took a sip. "The rest is up to Matt. I just wish I'd caught this sooner. I should have."

She sighed and poured herself a generous measure. "So do I, Curly, so do I." Kitty was referring to her own involvement in this fiasco. If only she hadn't been so absorbed in making him pay for having missed their picnic date! I ought to have forgiven Matt on the spot and sent him off to bed. I knew he wasn't feeling right.

Doc finished his whiskey, closed up his bag, and headed for the door. "I've left the bottle of laudanum. You can give him another dose if he becomes restless or combative. Don't hesitate to come get me if anything changes." He paused, put a hand on her shoulder. "Don't blame yourself for this, Kitty. Matt does what Matt does. We both know that."

"I know," she said. "Can't win for losing with that stubborn, foolish cowboy sometimes." Kitty planted a chaste kiss on Doc Adams' cheek. "Good night."

He tipped his crumpled black hat to her. "Good night, Miss Kitty."

After shutting the door and securing it for the night, she decided she may as well get ready for bed…not that she would be sleeping much, but if she didn't get out of the damned corsets and bustle they were going to drive her crazy. Kitty sat in the chair at the bedside and began letting her hair down for the night. She'd just finished her night time routine when she heard the marshal calling her name.

"Right here, Matt," she reassured him, grasping one of his hands so that he could at least feel her presence. That hand in hers felt uncharacteristically frail, strengthless. "Damnit, cowboy, don't you even think of leaving me!" she cried and laid her head against his chest.