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

"Two hearts that shouldn't

Talk to each other become close

In a town much like a prison cell

"People speak our names

On the street in hushed tones

Oh the stories they'd tell

If anyone would listen"

-- "Promises" by Megadeth

Chapter 6

A pale ray of early morning sunlight coursing through the window, whose curtains Kitty had forgotten to close, illuminated a touching tableau as Doc Adams let himself into Kitty's suite from the back stairs the next morning. Her head resting on Matt's shoulder and her long red curls spilling in wild abandon across the coverlet, Kitty had fallen asleep at the bedside. One of Matt's hands twined in the tresses at the back of her head; the other she clasped tightly in her own. Doc could see the tracks where tears had dried unnoticed on her cheeks and knew the night had been a hard one for her.

Matt lie so still and unmoving that Doc feared the worst. He took his spectacles out of his coat pocket, put them on, and breathed a sigh of relief when he detected the slight rise and fall of Matt's chest which meant life…and hope. Not wishing to wake her abruptly, Doc laid a gentle hand on Kitty's shoulder. "Good morning, Kitty," he said quietly.

Yawning, Kitty carefully disengaged Matt's hand from her hair and leaned back in the chair. She kept a tight hold on the hand she'd captured with hers. "Well, it's a morning anyway," she responded with a wavering smile. She rose and gestured for Doc to take her place. "I'll get a pot of coffee going."

"I'd like that, Kitty." Once more he got what he need out of his bag, doused his hands in rubbing alcohol, and conducted his examination. Matt seemed no better off than he had been last night; the fever was higher and his breathing came in short, shallow gasps. He disliked the blue ashen tint to the lawman's skin. The big man's heart sounded slightly stronger but it still struggled. Doc shook his head, debating whether another injection would help or if he ought to augment the previous treatment with digitalis or quinine. "How has he been? Has he had anything?"

Kitty shook her head as she handed Doc one of the plain white coffee cups she carried. "A few spoonfuls of brandy to help with the cough, but it didn't stay down. Matt wouldn't even take water after that." Her slender fingers wrapped around her own cup as she savored the warmth sinking into her stiffened hands. Her expression was troubled. "The fever spiked in the early hours of the morning. Matt got real restless, kept trying to leave, wanting me to roust Festus and Newly out of their beds so he could talk to them." A trace of grim satisfaction crept into her voice. "So I dosed him good with laudanum like you said. He's been quiet for the last hour."

Doc Adams finished his coffee and set the mug down on the table next to the bed. He swiped a hand over his mustache and chewed at it thoughtfully. "Matt probably couldn't tolerate the quinine, then. We'll try digitalis and see if that helps. I need to get that heart of his stabilized before…" He knew it was unprofessional but he couldn't finish that sentence. So much depended on chance rather than skill --- on the hope that the digitalis would work, that the fever itself wouldn't kill Matt, that his lungs wouldn't give out.

"Matt's strong," Kitty said firmly, denying the words Doc hadn't had the heart to utter. "He'll make it. He damned well better," she muttered savagely.

"Kitty." Doc's eyes filled with compassion as he took in the dark smudges under her eyes, the rumpled nightdress, and the tear tracks still evident on her cheeks. They spoke volumes of her complete devotion to the man lying in that bed, a man Doc himself considered like a son. The last thing he wanted to do was cause more distress but he couldn't be less than honest with her. "We have to prepare ourselves ---"

She slammed the coffee cup down so hard it broke. Though tears sprang to her eyes, Kitty ignored the scalding liquid and resulting cuts. "No, Doc, don't say it. He will get better. You just do whatever you have to do to make that happen."

Appalled that she'd hurt herself, the stunned doctor could only nod mute acceptance. "You know I'll do the best I can for Matt to give him every chance of recovery," he assured her again. "He's as comfortable as I can make him. Why don't you let me look at that hand?"

"It's nothing," Kitty said, snatching the hand behind her back. Matt always did say it was my big mouth and hot temper which kept getting me into trouble. She idly wondered how many more things she'd end up breaking before this was over. That lawman's enough to try the patience of a saint…and I'm no saint!

"I'll be the judge of that." Doc grabbed at her wrist, catching her off guard, and gently forced the fingers open. The palm was red and blotchy with a blister across the base of the thumb but the cuts were superficial. "Why don't you have a bit of a wash and then let me put some salve on that burn? It'll do you a world of good. No, I don't want to hear any excuses," he said, shaking a finger at her. "I'll sit with Matt for a while."

Suddenly Kitty was acutely conscious of her state of dishabille. While she had absolutely no intention of allowing Matt to be bothered with visitors while he was in such bad shape, she knew they would come. The townspeople, worried about their marshal, would want to see him and reassure themselves. Burke, in particular, would find some way to insinuate himself into their confidence so that he could verify for himself that the marshal still lived. Kitty didn't want to deal with those people clothed only in her nightdress with the marshal in the same room. There would be rumors enough because Matt was in her rooms; she didn't feel like giving the gossips more fuel for their wagging tongues. "Doc," she said, her hand on the door handle to the little washroom, "folks are gonna talk…"

Anger and challenge flashed in Doc Adams' eyes. "Oh they will, will they? And are they the ones with the diploma in medicine, that they know what's best for Marshal Dillon? I think not! Why, I can think of several medically sound reasons why the best place for him would be here. You're a competent nurse and your rooms are a damned sight warmer and cleaner than that dusty, drafty jail. Besides, I wouldn't risk moving him right now. It would seriously jeopardize any chance of Matt's recovery. No, you just let me handle the likes of Widow Pry and Burke. If either speaks one blamed word of untruth I'll…I'll sew their mouths shut!"

His outburst had the effect he had hoped for. Kitty burst into giggles and flashed him a genuine smile. "I believe you would! I won't be long," she told him as she gathered some clean clothing and then proceeded to follow the doctor's instructions.

By the time Kitty had washed up, changed back into decent clothing, and artfully applied make-up to hide the ravages of a sleepless night she felt much better. Matt might have played the odds too close this time, but he'd beat them. He always had. Meanwhile, she'd deal with the townsfolk's comments as she usually did, with a tight smile and a cold shoulder.

"Any improvement?" she asked Doc Adams as she came out of the washroom.

He smiled to see her looking somewhat restored and refreshed. In deference to the colder weather, Kitty had chosen a heavy dark blue plaid skirt with gold fringing and matched it with a cornflower blue blouse of watered silk. She was still fastening the topmost of the pearl buttons. "The hand?" Doc reminded her with a piercing look.

Kitty debated refusing him but the stubborn glint in his eyes, so rarely seen, convinced her to do otherwise. "Oh, all right! I don't suppose you'll leave me be until you get your way."

While Doc cleaned the cuts, salved the blisters, and bound it neatly in a clean bandage he answered her previous question. "I'd say so. The digitalis is starting to do its job. His heart beat is strong and steady. If we can get Matt's fever down and get some sustenance into him, we'll be in good shape." He patted the top of her hand. "There you go. I don't need to tell you to keep it clean and dry, do I?" The look Kitty gave him would have ignited matches. "No, I see I don't." Doc Adams began gathering up his instruments and placing them in his bag. "You mind that temper and tongue of yours," he cautioned as he left. "Let me take care of the rumor mill." The scowl on his face was directed at the town in general. "I meant what I said. I want Matt kept warm, quiet, and undisturbed. This is the best place for it."

Downstairs, Doc Adams was assailed by questions. "How's Matthew, Doc? I seed yesterdee that he was sickenin' for somethin'. I been powerful worrit 'bout ole Matthew."

"How long will Marshal Dillon be out of it?" Newly asked.

"I told him he needed to take better care of hisself," came Burke's strident voice, "but instead he had to give in to other unwholesome pursuits. Look where it's gotten him now. God help us with the marshal down."

"Burke, you shut your mouth," Doc's voice had a dangerous edge to it and Burke hastily backed away. "I don't want to hear another blasphemous word out of you."

"He's right about one thing, Doc," said Newly whose first concern, with Matt unable to fulfill his duties, was the town's safety. "This is going to cause trouble. We have two big herds of cattle coming through in the next three weeks and there was a wire to the marshal's office this morning saying the Whittacker gang is in the area."

"You boys'll just have to hold it together," Doc responded, "because unless you want to bury the Marshal my orders aren't negotiable. Matt will stay up there" he jerked his head in the direction of the Long Branch and Kitty's rooms "in that bed until I say so and he's not to be disturbed."

"You ole scudder," Festus exploded, "always jawin' and flappin' yer lips without sayin' anythin' important. Ya still ain't answered my question. What's wrong with Matthew?"

He was used to Festus lighting into him whenever the opportunity presented itself but it had always been nothing but good natured jesting. The intensity behind the deputy marshal's verbal scorching wounded him. "Don't get your britches in a knot," Doc Adams said testily, "I was getting to that." He sighed and fiddled with the handle on his bag as he tried to figure out how to break the news. Finally, deciding there was no gentle way to put it, he spoke. "Matt's suffering from exhaustion probably has pneumonia. It'll be a while before he recovers." The all heard the unspoken words hanging in the air: if he ever does.