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

"When I think about the turn my life has taken

I know it's because of you that I receive so many blessings

I had a home but no privacy; I didn't know a thing about my legacy

When I realized you were there for me, I called on your name and you came

And you did just what you said, for that I'll love you forever

You kept your word to me, for that I'll love you forever"

-- "Promises" performed by India.Arie

Author's Note: Some of Matt's delirious ramblings are taken from the early radio episodes Jaliscoe, Dodge City Killer (also known as Doc's Reward in the television series), The Juniper Tree and from the first season episodes Helping Hands. The dialogue is theirs, the actions attributed to the characters are all mine. Special thanks to Mary and Linda for providing help with choosing the right episodes and in providing or straightening out some of the scenes for which I had no access to references. Without them, this would have been a much poorer effort.

Chapter 7

Matt Dillon was lost in his own private hell.

As the darkness folded down over him, Matt was left alone with his memories. They circled around him like vultures, picking at old wounds until they were laid open to his conscience and he couldn't do anything else except face them.

Matt had been marshal of Dodge City for only a few months when the incident with Jaliscoe occurred. He had been up all night trailing the cowboy, who was suspected of murdering homesteaders. It had been a fruitless effort. Tired, unhappy, and discouraged, he had headed to the Long Branch in order to track down the one viable lead he had left. Kitty, spotting him, had seen the uncharacteristically slumped shoulders and called out to him.

"Oh," said Matt tiredly, "hiya, Kitty." He put on a small but genuine smile just for her.

Kitty raised a ginger colored eyebrow. The young marshal had been finding more and more excuses to either drop by or end his rounds at the Long Branch when Kitty was working. "Business again, Matt?"

He had wished he could have answered in the negative, could have sat at her table all night basking in her beauty and allowing her to coax him into better spirits. Matt found himself resenting the other clients who claimed her attention. It didn't help his mood any. Feeling like a boy with his hand caught in the cookie jar, he nervously crumpled the brim of his Stetson in his big hands. He had the impression from her wary tone of voice, almost catty, that he'd forgotten something. "Well," he explained, "I was looking for Ben Rourke."

"Isn't here," Kitty responded with a careless toss of her head which sent coppery ringlets cascading down her back. Matt wasn't certain if she'd done it on purpose or not, but he liked it. She perched on the edge of the table, revealing long slender legs encased in net stockings, crossed her ankles and swung her feet. "He left about an hour ago; some of his boys came in after him." She stroked a fingertip across his broad shoulder, digging the nails in slightly. "Matt…I waited for you last night."

Weariness, accompanied by guilt as he realized just what he'd forgotten, chafed at him like a badly fitting saddle. He felt snared. "Kitty, I worked last night."

"All night?" He remembered the skepticism in her voice; she hadn't believed him. Only her eyes had given her concern away. She'd never seen him this way before, heartsick and defeated. He hadn't allowed it because he rarely showed emotion at all back then. Kitty had often needled him about being capable of feeling anything but duty.

"Yeah."

The simple admission accompanied by his uncharacteristic moodiness had softened her. She simply hadn't the heart to keep needling him. Instead, she slid into his lap, arms loosely around Matt's neck, and held him. "What's the matter, Matt?" The softly spoken words were like a benediction or a release from his burdens. He'd leaned forward and rested his head on her breasts while she tenderly stroked the dark brown curls. "There's a bad feeling in the air, Matt. Something's going to happen. What is it?"

They'd talked quietly for a while of the people moving through the town, of the rumor that the soldiers were going to pull out of the city and back to Fort Dodge, of the various schemes Kitty had overheard from her clients. Finally Matt had said, for Kitty's ears only, "I don't have any way of stopping it." She'd understood his helplessness, his sense of failure, the feeling he'd been derelict in his duties. There was one thing she could do about it, if he'd only accept the gift from her. Before she could offer, however, Matt had been called out onto Front Street to diffuse a lynch mob.

She'd called fearfully after him, "Be careful, Matt, you be careful, please!"

Something in her voice…that had been the first time Matt had had any idea that she cared for him…and it had been the first time, later in the evening, that he'd sought her out again and she'd taken him to her bed. He could still feel the silkiness of her skin when he'd first touched it, soft and lightly scented with Tudor rose water.

"So soft," he murmured. "Kitty…Kitty, I need…" He cried out as he had that night, wanting her, and then those same soft hands were stroking his forehead, those same lips gently caressed his cheek. The coolness of her touch temporarily quenched the fire, soothing him, but the fever fed tortures of his conscience patiently awaited him in the darkness.

He hadn't learned until months later, when he'd made his first devastating mistake in their relationship, that she'd never taken another man to her bed again because her heart belonged to only one man, to him…US Marshal Matt Dillon.

His heavy conscience guided him unerringly to that fateful day.

"Wrong…I never meant…I didn't under…Kitty, I'm so sorry…."

Doc's life hung in the balance, he thought stubbornly. That's why I did it. Doc needed… but the ruthless voice inside his head chided him, "Doc would rather have hanged than ask Kitty to…"

"I know, I know," he protested, whether in his mind or aloud, he no longer knew. "I was wrong. How could I…?" He drew in a deep shuddering breath and felt the guilt blanket him again, pulling him, driving him deeper into despair.

It played out again in front of him as if in slow motion – Doc, accused of murdering a man who tried to prevent him from treating a patient, the angry townspeople threatening both of them when he'd refused to arrest the physician, the man who'd started stalking Doc, his desperate need to find out the stalker's intentions, and then – fatally – his wretched suggestion to Kitty.

Matt didn't like being seen going upstairs in the Long Branch but there was nothing to be done about it. Stiff legged and stone faced, he'd climbed those stairs to knock on Kitty's door. She'd been wearing nothing but her petticoats, stockings, and a camisole. An attractive blush crept up from her throat to stain her cheeks. It touched him to see a woman who had worked in Kitty's profession still had such modesty, just one more reason why he knew he loved her so even then…and that made what he was about to ask that much more difficult.

"Ah…Matt…I was just getting ready for work. I wasn't expecting company."

He found himself staring at a point somewhere above her head, unable to meet her eyes, and clearing his throat awkwardly. Matt knew now what he had asked hurt her but at the time, he couldn't see any other way to do it. He'd justified it by telling himself it wasn't as though he were asking her to do anything against her nature. "About this trouble Doc's in, Kitty...I think you might be able to help."

As long as he lived he'd see that look on her face. The hurt, quickly concealed, the resignation as if she'd always expected some demeaning suggestion from him and had now received it, and the hard, poker faced mask that had slipped into place. He could still hear her voice too – hard, brittle, resigned, and somehow echoing every other saloon girl he'd ever heard. All of her uniqueness, all of her individuality had disappeared, leaving behind nothing more than what he was using her for – a receptacle for the brutish needs of cowboys on the trail. "Sure. I'd do anything for Doc." He hadn't missed the emphasis she'd put on Doc's name either, nor its implication. She wouldn't be doing anything for him.

Even as he said it, he knew he was making a mistake – maybe one that couldn't be forgiven and as quickly he tried to take it all back.

"Maybe it's asking too much. Now, I doubt that he's a man to get drunk by himself or easily. And even drunk, I don't know if you can make him talk."

Kitty's voice dripped self loathing and hatred. "Leave that to me, Matt. Like I said, I'll do anything for Doc."

The next day, she'd sought Matt alone at the jail. She'd come no further than the doorway. The distance hurt him like a physical blow. Her voice had been cold, impersonal. "I got the information you needed. I didn't need to sleep with him to do it, either. He was a braggart and an easy drunk, spilled his guts after the third whiskey. Matt…there's been no one but you since the first night we were together. There never will be."

Matt knew then he'd seriously wronged her. It had been a long time before the two of them were at ease with one another again.

"My dearest Kitty," Matt murmured in his delirium, "you were never a whore, common or otherwise. I'm so sorry, Kit! I'm sorry…."

Other times, other images, people he'd failed crowded him, the faces smothering him with the weight of their accusations.

Steve Elser, who he'd tried to help and wound up killing. Steve was standing there shouting at him.

"Nobody's runnin' me out. Nobody's kickin' me around no more. I've been putting off this time, but now I'm glad it's here. I don't need no help from you. I don't need nobody." A bullet blasted into Matt's side; his hand hadn't even been anywhere near his holster because he hadn't expected Elser to shoot him.

A cold fury had consumed him, blocking out all else including the pain from his wound. "Don't shoot!" he'd growled at the cowboys. "He's mine!" Matt didn't even remember making the killing shot.

That had been one of only a dozen times in his entire career that Matt had allowed personal emotions to govern the use of his revolver. He had always considered those times a deep personal failing, a failure to uphold the law as well as a failure of ethics. He'd long ago stopped visiting Boot Hill regularly, but when he did walk there these days, Steve Elser's grave was one at which he always paused…and remembered.

Steve whirled away, blown into a cloud of dust only to be replaced by Etta Stone.

"Killed my man, you did, Dillon, hung him. Now you and your woman are going to see what it was like." The hatred on her face burned in his throat, and he could see her and her sons, lying dead in the farmyard – his fault.

And that Judge – the one who'd tried to hang Kitty, was gaveling for order, pounding, pounding, pounding on his bench – as if he were trying to pound his gavel right through Matt's throbbing head.

Again he felt the cool fingers on his face, caressing his cheeks and wiping a cool cloth over his forehead. Kitty's voice whispered to him in snatches through the nightmares, "Cowboy…live for me…love… not time yet…"

He wanted to do something about the tears --- his Kitty shouldn't be crying, and him the cause yet again --- but then Mace Gore and Jude Bonner were holding onto his legs and pulling down on him as the noose around his neck tightened. He gasped for breath, his chest laboring, the two dead men pulling, laughing, howling… howling…

Toward morning, Matt returned to consciousness with a deep shuddering sigh. The fever still held him but his mind was clear. He saw, through the window and as though from a great distance, a half moon rising through the window. A single sharp yapping bark broke the silence. Another answered, followed by yet another --- tentative questioning cries which escalated into long quavering howls. The yammering rose and fell again; it was a familiar sound to him as coyotes had kept him company on the trail many times. Kitty, asleep on his shoulder, shuddered and lifted her head. She gave a little scream as the eerie sound rose again out on the plains. Matt felt her hand holding his clasp it tighter.

His throat felt like someone had taken a cattle brand to it and his brain acted like it was wrapped in cotton, but he managed to twine the other hand in her curls and whisper, "Just a pack of coyotes, Kit, don't fret." Matt wanted to say more --- he had so much more that needed said --- but a coughing fit prevented him from doing so.

Kitty pressed a spoon to his lips. "Here, Matt, take some brandy. It'll help with the cough." He managed to swallow it but the fire in his stomach turned into an upward spiral, one he just hadn't the strength to fight. Helpless, Matt was grateful for the strength and love in Kitty's touch. She held him while he retched and then cleaned him up and settled him back against the pillows. The coolness of her touch as she stroked the hair back from his face soothed him.

He couldn't drink the water she offered him. "That's enough, Kitty," he said. "Just let me sleep and I'll be all right."

Matt had almost fallen asleep again when the sound of a gunshot on Front Street caused both of them to jump. Sick and disoriented as he was, Matt's lawman's instincts took over. He found himself struggling to sit up and reaching for a gun he no longer wore. His head swam as he forced himself into an upright position. Stars crowded out his vision and threatened to send him back to the darkness. He fought it, groped around for his boots. "Where's my gun, Kitty?"

"Now, you just hold it right there, Matthew Dillon!" Kitty exploded. "Where the blazes do you think you're going?"

"The town… I've got to…Dodge is my responsibil…" Another fit of coughing bent him nearly double; he wrapped both arms around his ribs in an effort to stop the pain and get a deeper breath. He felt like he was going to be sick again.

"No." Kitty's voice was gentle but firm. "Doc said you needed to stay in bed and that's where you're gonna stay." If he had been at full strength, there would have been no way she could have gotten the big man back to bed, but Matt didn't have the fortitude to resist her.

"Kitty," he said desperately, "I've gotta…"

The fire in her eyes matched her hair. She put both hands on her hips and stared him down. "No, you don't 'gotta'. Let Festus and Newly take care of it." She cocked her head, listening. "It's quiet now anyhow. Back to bed with you."

He sighed heavily, wanting to give in to her, wanting nothing more than to sink back into the feather bed and the comfort of her arms. His sense of duty wouldn't let him. "I haveta talk to Festus and Newly…"

"Matt, that stupid sense of honor of yours is gonna get you killed if you don't get back in that bed and stay there!" Kitty stomped her feet, furious with him. "I'm not going to allow it." The tears coursed down her cheeks, unnoticed. "If you're gonna get yourself killed, you do not get to do it while I'm watching over you. Take this." She shoved a small glass with a measured dose of laudanum at him.

Stunned by this emotional firestorm, Matt found himself obeying her before he'd even thought about it. As the laudanum induced lassitude began to overtake him, he thought he remembered what he wanted most to say to her. "I love you, Kitty. I always have."

Had he been able to say that aloud? He didn't know.

He had been told that a man getting ready to die notices changes heralding the approach of death. The body gets ready. One by one the active functions cease until the force of life becomes a downward vortex into which a man's soul is drawn. Every cell in Matt's body was seared through with the fierce, burning power of the fever. He struggled against the vortex, searching for an anchor. She wasn't there. Unreasoning terror swept over him. She wasn't there --- something had spirited her away --- he would never see her again. "Kitty," he called. "Kitty, don't leave me."

The laudanum and the fever dragged him back down into the darkness he was too weak and tired to fight any longer.

A sweeter voice --- not Kitty's, as it has a more motherly tone --- spoke from the mists which had settled over his mind. "I had me a man once, Matt. I traded him for a bottle of brandy."

Brandy, that had been her name. He recalled that she'd been the madam for one of the more upscale bawdy houses during his early days in Dodge City. She'd been his confidante for some of the nastier things, things he wanted to shield Kitty from at all costs, about his job. "Don't ever hurt a person, Matt. You never get through paying for it."

But he had. People associated with Matt Dillon got hurt. That was as real as the badge he wore. Matt had always thought that he'd paid for it with his solitary nature and facing those dangers himself so that his friends wouldn't have to. It was one of the reasons he had never had a family with Kitty. Now, however, he wondered just who it was being made to pay for his perceived shortcomings.

"Kitty…Kitty, I never meant to…to deny you…a life with me…." The knowledge of what he'd done rested so heavily on his heart. It was so difficult to breathe, struggling between one heartbeat and the next. "I'm…I'm gettin' awful tired…."

Matt was distantly aware of two trusted voices talking above him in snatches.

"…can give him anything else…." Doc's voice, worried and frustrated.

"…something you can do…can't let him go …." Kitty's voice, teary and despairing.

He wished he could touch her and tell her he wasn't going anywhere, that he'd make everything right between them. The light began to fade along with the sounds. Was this what it felt like to die? Is that what was happening?

Strong, sure hands adjusted the pillows and propped him up in a half sitting position. He could breathe more easily now, though it still felt like his heart was trying to beat its way out of his ribcage. "Here, son, this'll help." A cup was held to Matt's lips and he swallowed the bitter dose. "…a mix of quinine and aconite…last hope…" Doc, talking to Kitty. "…hold him…give some comfort…won't hurt anything now…."

He felt the mattress shifting as she sat down and settled him into her arms. Her small hands smoothed the hair out of his eyes and caressed his cheek. "Sleep, Matt," the beloved voice whispered in his ear. "It's all right to let go, Matt. I'll…I'll understand."

That was all Matt needed from her. He let go.