Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter Nine: Twenty Years, But No Buckshot

POV: Kitty

Spoilers: "Tap Day for Kitty;" "Bad Lady from Brookline;" "The Badge;" "Disciple"

Rating: Teen (PG)

Disclaimer: Not my characters (except the obvious one – although I guess Matt and Kitty take the most credit for him)

XXXX

Daylight had begun to pry through the heavy drapes of the guest room at the house on Dauphine Street, thin shafts of illumination throwing bright streaks across the rumpled bedclothes. Kitty squirmed in the straight-backed chair and drew a deep breath, extending arms and legs in a ginger stretch. She had sneaked back into Matt's room just before dawn, having seen to her son's needs – their son, she corrected herself. Her eyes fell on the man whose long frame took up most of the bed before her, and she couldn't resist reaching out and running her fingers over the rough stubble of his jaw, through the untamed waves of his hair. He needed a trim – more like a full cut, actually. The long curls flipped around his ears and hung over his forehead, not as dark as when she had first run her hands through them twenty years before, but still just as thick.

She hadn't tried to fool herself, hadn't pretended that she was over him. She knew well enough that would never happen – not after eight months or eight years or eighty years. The moment she laid eyes on that big, tall, handsome lawman, her heart had been completely, hopelessly, and eternally entangled with his. Now, twenty years later, she was no less caught. On the contrary, Matt Dillon had sunk so deep inside her and wrapped himself so solidly around her heart that not even death could pry him loose. And, she thought ruefully, the Grim Reaper had certainly tried to often enough.

As was her habit, she let her gaze scan his body, taking note of the new marks, of the small scar just below his eye, the larger one across his ribs, and another over the knuckles of his left hand. Each had been added since she had last seen him. As usual, she wondered what had left them, wondered how much pain their creations had caused, wondered if her presence might have made them hurt just a little less. If she had been there, maybe she could have helped him, soothed the discomfort – or at least distracted him for a while. But she hadn't been there. He had earned those scars alone.

"Kitty?"

She looked up at the sound of the soft drawl to see her cousin Charlotte peek into the room. Smiling tiredly, Kitty lifted her chin to welcome the other woman. Although they held a direct blood relation through grandparents, the two women couldn't have been more different in appearance. While Kitty had inherited the fair skin and fiery hair of her mother's family, Charlotte favored the dark Creole of her father's side, her raven curls piled up in a tight mass on top of her head. And while Charlotte had been content to fall into the expected second-class status of most women of her day, Kitty had balked at being dependent on anyone except herself. Still, the two had formed a bond in childhood that had been reborn in the months since Kitty returned to New Orleans.

Charlotte stepped across the threshold. "You must be exhausted," she observed. "Why don't you let me sit with him for a while?"

Kitty couldn't deny the fatigue that pressed down on each muscle, but there was no way she would leave him. Not now. Not after they'd had to call the doctor again. And certainly not after the way Matt had reacted to Sam. "I'm okay," she told her cousin.

The other woman shook her head. "Sure."

"Sam still asleep?" Kitty asked, changing the focus.

It worked. Charlotte gave her a soft smile. "Like a baby. He sure is beautiful, Kitty."

"He is, isn't he?"

"I always figured you'd have handsome children, but now that I've seen his daddy, I can tell Sam gets it from both sides."

Well, she couldn't refute that.

"Is he going to be all right?" Charlotte asked, glancing pointedly toward the bed.

Kitty sighed, wishing she really knew. The doctor said his wounds would mend. But there were more than just physical recoveries to consider now. "I think so, if I can just keep him in bed for a little while."

Her cousin colored. "Seems like you already did that."

Kitty raised a brow in surprised acknowledgement of that truth. Charlotte usually was too timid to make such suggestive statements.

"If you'll pardon my asking, Kitty," she continued, "but, my goodness, how on earth could you have walked away from that?" Her head nodded toward the sleeping man, and Kitty saw the appreciative twinkle in her dark eyes.

Sighing, Kitty looked at him, trying to imagine him from someone else's view, to look at him as if she hadn't known him intimately for two decades. He was still the biggest man she had ever seen – and the best looking. His assets were plentiful: firm hips, long legs – the muscles bold and hard from years of riding; broad chest, wide shoulders, trim waist, strong arms; thick, curly hair, handsome face. There was no doubt that, physically, he was the most impressive man she had ever seen.

But there was so much more to Matt Dillon: his deep sense of right and wrong; his genuine concern for his fellow humans; his value of honesty and fair play; his kindness and gentleness; and in the most intimate of situations, his tenderness and selflessness.

But it was the damn unwavering devotion to duty that had finally defeated her. She couldn't compete with it. Instead of sharing all those complex thoughts with Charlotte, however, she just shrugged. "Damned if I know."

Her cousin cocked her head dubiously, but didn't debate the response. Instead, she asked another question. "What did he say when you told him about – Sam?"

Kitty's eyes darkened, the guilty memory weighing on her. She had expected him to be shocked, certainly; angry, probably. What she got, though, was something much more complex.

She didn't answer Charlotte, but her cousin seemed to sense the uneasiness. Offering an understanding smile, she observed, "He must love you very much, Kitty, to come all this way after all this time."

"Yeah," Kitty whispered, her eyes lingering on his lips, which were slightly open. He had always looked younger and a tad vulnerable like that. She resisted the urge to crawl in next to him and hold him close. When she dragged her gaze away, she saw Charlotte's sympathetic eyes on her.

"Are you glad he came?" she asked quietly.

Glad? She was ecstatic. She was thrilled. She was terrified.

When she didn't answer again, Charlotte prodded, "What are you going to do, Kitty?"

It was a question she had asked herself for the past four days. What, indeed? Maybe that depended on what Matt did. As she watched the steady rise and fall of his chest, her thoughts returned to those moments after she had dropped her bombshell on him.

XXXX

Kitty Russell had seen every expression that Matt Dillon's handsome face could make – or at least she thought she had until she watched him stand immobile, staring at the infant squirming in her extended arms. Although many people saw the formidable U.S. marshal as stoic and impenetrable, in her presence, those expressive features had revealed a myriad of emotions: honest delight, heated desire, furious anger, hard determination, subtle amusement. But she didn't think that, until this moment, she had ever observed flat-out, speechless astonishment.

The illogical notion occurred to her to place a hand on his chest and see if he was still breathing. Of course, he wasn't alone. Her own breath came tentatively, as well. Still, he had paled visibly, and she could count it as reasonably sure that blood loss wasn't the only cause. For a moment, she was afraid he would pass out right there on the floor and re-open the shoulder wound the doctor had just finished closing back up after he had lost his balance and fallen only a couple of hours before. But so far he had managed to hang on, his blue eyes locking on the matching blue eyes of the child – his child, she had just announced.

Moments before, when they had kissed for the first time in months, she had wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him, to shout for joy at the heat and passion of his lips on hers, at the anticipation of feeling his hard body again. It had taken all her strength to pull away and not throw herself on him, bandaged shoulder and all. But it wouldn't have been fair to either of them. Even if he had been physically able to block out the pain of his injury and absorb the pleasure of her body – and he had certainly managed that numerous times in the past – there was something he needed to know, deserved to know, before he risked his heart – and hers – again.

Slowly, his gaze rose from the baby, and what she saw on his face then was even worse than the hurt she had seen on it their last night together.

Betrayal.

Unable to suppress the tears that sprang to her eyes, she let him look, allowed him the moment of silent condemnation. Even though she knew she'd had to leave Dodge, she could not deny him the right to place the secret of this squirming bundle of guilt on her shoulders. Not that he was aware he was doing it – in fact, she wasn't sure he was aware of anything except the shock of the child before him.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft mewling of their baby. Finally, his eyes closed, and he swayed, catching a hand on the bed post to steady himself.

"Matt?" Alarmed, Kitty noted the darkening stain on the bandage and shifted Sam to the crook of her arm before she grasped Matt's elbow. "You need to sit."

He shook his head and straightened, as if to prove he wasn't mere moments away from collapse. "No. I just – I – " His features melted into that look that had always held the capability to tear right through her heart, that look that appeared as though he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders.

"Matt?" she asked again quietly, shaken by the depth of his pain.

The lines of his face tightened, and he drew in a ragged breath. "My God, Kitty."

Those three words cut her deeper than any drawn-out tirade ever could. She reached out to him. "Matt – "

But he pulled back, barely staying on his feet. "Kitty?" he asked, face wiped clean of any mask, soul bared completely to her to reveal the wound that cut him much deeper than any solid knife could. "You didn't tell me? You didn't – " He looked down at the baby again, his voice falling to a whisper. "My son?"

She nodded, heartsick with the realization that her actions that had been done to spare him the pain of having to protect and worry about a woman and child had instead caused more injury and grief. "Get back in bed, Matt," she admonished as gently as possible, concerned about the sudden paleness of his cheeks. "I'll get Ira – "

"You didn't tell me," he murmured once more, the words falling from his lips as his body fell back against the heavy wardrobe, his head slamming hard into the wood.

She screamed his name, then Ira's, startling Sam, whose own cries joined in the chaos. Ira's rapid footsteps hammered down the hall, followed quickly by softer ones. He and Charlotte darted into the room, and before Kitty could really register what had happened, her cousin held the baby, and Ira was struggling to haul Matt's solid frame off the floor. Kitty helped as best she could, and they managed to drag the tall lawman back onto the bed. Ira had then summoned the doctor again, who wasn't too pleased about being roused from his bed – for the second time – in one night. But he determined that there had been no further damage done and had left, pacified by the wad of greenbacks Ira pressed into his palm.

XXXX

Fresh guilt washed over her with the memory. She figured she knew Matt Dillon better than anyone else. Twenty years of intimacy, twenty years of confidences, twenty years of shared looks and private smiles. Still, even after all that time – even with her – she had never felt he ever completely let go of the tight grip he held on his deepest feelings. Oh, he had whispered beautiful words to her as he held her close and brought her body the most exquisite pleasures. He told her secrets about his childhood and about some of his experiences on the trail. He had joked with her, let his guard down when they were alone. And she knew that no one else had ever heard – or would ever hear – those things. Still, there had remained a piece of Matt Dillon buried so deep that no one had ever seen it.

Until she pried it loose. It didn't matter that she felt it was for his own good. It didn't matter that she figured the truth would cause him more grief. It didn't matter. When she saw the devastation in his eyes as he realized she had kept Sam from him, it didn't matter. At that point, he had not – or maybe could not – press down his emotions. She saw him turned inside out.

"You didn't tell me – "

This man who usually chose to play his feelings so close to the vest had spilled his emotions all over the table for her to see.

A low groan drew her from her memory of the previous night's activities, and she stood, leaning over him, vaguely taking note that Charlotte had left. Matt shifted his long body under the covers, the muscles of his torso flexing with the movement. Slowly, his eyes squinted open, blinking slightly against the light. She watched as he took in his surroundings, his quick mind evaluating his situation, even past what must be a formidable headache. He turned his gaze toward her, surprise, pleasure, and uncertainty touching his features.

"Kitty?" he rasped, his right hand coming up to press against the back of his head. Even over her wariness about his reaction, she couldn't help noticing how his bicep bulged as he probed the sore spot.

"Hello, Matt," she greeted, voice tight. "How do you feel?"

"Head – hurts," he muttered, his fingers probing the area she knew was swollen from his fall.

"Well, don't even think about gettin' up. I don't think Ira has enough money to drag that doctor back out here for a third time."

His eyes focused quickly. "Third – what happened?"

"You had a showdown with the armoire, there. It won." Cautiously, she asked, "Do you remember – "

Swallowing, he looked up at her. "I'm not sure. Brain's kinda swimmy – to quote Festus."

She felt a sad pang at the mention of the deputy she hadn't seen in almost a year.

Clearing his throat weakly, Matt frowned. "Did the doctor give me any laudanum? I had the craziest dream."

She stiffened. "Dream?"

A painful smile crossed his lips. "Yeah. Believe it or not, you were – well, we had a – " Abrupt realization swept over his face, draining it of what little color had returned while he slept. Dropping his hand, he stared up at her, mouth open. "Kitty – it – it wasn't a dream, was it?"

Gently, she shook her head and rested her palm against his cheek. "No, Cowboy. It wasn't a dream."

Eyes wide, he held her gaze in wonder. "You really – we have – "

If the stakes hadn't been quite so high, she might have found the entire conversation amusing. As it was, she was barely breathing, waiting to see what he would say, how he would react.

Finally, he swallowed again and asked, "A son?"

"A son," she confirmed quietly.

He looked away for a moment and frowned in thought, then looked back at her. "Samuel?"

"Sam."

Now his eyes narrowed, and silence fell between them. As the seconds ticked off, she heard and felt her heartbeat pound louder and faster, bit back the churning nausea in her stomach. He could yell at her. Or not talk at all. Or – worst of all – leave.

Finally, he took a breath and looked at her, his eyes clear and calm. "Sam's – a good name," he decided, jutting his chin to the side and biting at his lower lip.

Relief flooded her, raced through her legs with such force that she almost sank to the floor beside him. "Would you like to hold him?" she offered tentatively.

His jaw muscles clenched, the muscles working hard, as his eyes locked with hers, and she saw uncertainty and hope mingling. "Hold him?"

"Hold him," she repeated lightly, then teased, "You know, in your arms?"

She watched his throat constrict as he swallowed once and nodded.

Almost shaking, she nodded back. "You wait here," she instructed, forcing herself not to run toward the door. "Don't you go anywhere, you hear me?"

The smile, however slight, that curved his mouth thrilled her. "Yes, ma'am," he replied obediently.

Sam protested being awakened from his nap, and normally she would have balked at the very thought, but she didn't think twice about it this time. Instead, she scooped up the infant, pressing a kiss against his soft forehead, and hurried back to Matt's room, barely able to contain her joy at the anticipated union of father and son.

When she returned, she saw that he had swung his legs over the side of the bed, keeping the sheet across his lap, a welcome glow of pink coloring his cheeks – whether from the small exertion or from the embarrassment of discovering he wore no clothes at all, Kitty couldn't tell.

He started to stand when she entered, but she shooed him back down. "Hold out your arms."

When he did as he was told, she placed the child into his father's large hands. Sam wasn't a small baby. He had weighed close to eight pounds at birth, and that was coming two weeks early. He would be tall, too, she could tell, his little body already stretching long when he threw his arms and legs out in the occasional fit of pique. Still, Matt's hands cradled him easily, as if he were designed to fit in their grasp.

The soft blanket fell back from his head, revealing gentle swirls of reddish-brown hair. His blue eyes opened and he peered up into the face of the man who had helped create him. With effort, Kitty tore her gaze away from her son and plastered it on his father.

The big lawman stared down at the child, a slow, amazed smile spreading over his face. "By golly, Kitty," he breathed, awe in his eyes. "By golly."

Thank God. Thank God.

"The doctor says he's healthy," she said, fighting to keep her voice even, to prevent the burgeoning tears from cascading down her cheeks.

"He's a mighty fine looking boy," he said, not shifting his gaze even one inch from the child.

Her heart swelled with love and pride for both of her men. "Like his daddy," she observed, leaning forward.

Matt looked up just as she bent down, just in time for her lips to brush his. But the idyllic scene lasted only a few seconds. When she pulled back, pain had touched his eyes again. "Why didn't you tell me, Kitty?" he whispered. "Why didn't you tell me?"

He deserved to know, but she wasn't sure she had an answer. "What would you have done, Matt?" she returned instead. "What would you have done when all of Dodge discovered that the marshal's woman was pregnant with his child?"

"Nothing would have changed, Kitty," he promised in earnest.

A scowl darkened her face. She knew what he meant, but it wasn't the right answer. "That's what I was afraid of."

A frown wrinkled his forehead. "No, I meant – I meant I wouldn't have – " Suddenly, his shoulders slumped, and he stared down at his son. "I would have been there. You didn't need to do this alone."

"I know you would have been there, Matt," she told him quietly. She had never doubted it. That was not the reason she left.

"Then why – why didn't you want me to know?"

Sucking in a fortifying breath, she admitted, "I was afraid that every time you looked at me or at Sam, you'd resent us. I was afraid that you'd be too worried about us to keep your edge. I was afraid that one day another Bonner would come around, looking for you or me and finding something even better – your son. I was afraid that if something happened to Sam, you'd never forgive yourself." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "And I was afraid I'd never forgive you, either."

He winced and lifted his chin, face gaunt, realization of the truth of her words hitting him. "I see."

And she saw immediately that he did see. Maybe he saw too well.

"Do you want me to leave, Kitty?" he asked quietly, and she knew without a doubt that if she said yes he would walk out of there and never question her – even if it ripped him apart. She also knew that if he left, she would be shredded along with him.

"No." She said it so softly that he hadn't heard.

"Kitty?"

Her jaw working, she took one more fortifying breath and answered louder, "No. I don't."

She heard him let out a shuddering breath, but when she looked back at him, his face was composed.

"Kitty, I know you said you wouldn't return to Dodge."

There was a "but" in there, she could tell. "Couldn't return – "

"But – "

There it was.

Suddenly, he held Sam out to her. "Take him for a minute?"

Confused, she held their son close to her and watched as his father braced against the bed post and stood, disregarding the fact that the sheet fell completely from him and left him totally bare to her gaze. Despite herself, she let her eyes take in the delicious sight of his long, hard muscles. He had always been solid, but the months since she had left had seen him grow leaner, and she felt a pang of guilt that she had been the cause. Gingerly, he lifted his trousers from where she had folded them neatly on a chair and stepped into them, buttoning the front panel before he lifted his head to look at her again.

"A man ought to be wearing pants to do what I want to do," he explained.

She wanted to tease him, to tell him what he usually wanted to do didn't require pants, at all. But the intensity in his eyes stopped the joke before it started.

She sighed, her heart aching with the decision she had to make. He loved her. And he didn't resent Sam. And somehow he had forgiven her for leaving, for not telling her about his son. But what he was about to ask her to do – well, she didn't know if she could give it to him.

"Matt," she said, voice shaking, "you know I – I can't go back to Dodge. Nothing's changed. There's still the fear, there's still the danger." With the reminders of why she left, her arguments grew stronger. "You'll still be out on the trail. You'll still be the target for every two-bit gunman – I can't just go back to being the marshal's woman. There's Sam, now, and – and how would you do your job and worry about a woman and a child – "

"Kitty," he interrupted, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I told you twenty years ago how it had to be. You knew I was a lawman, and you knew what that meant. You knew there were choices I didn't have because of that. You were free to go whenever you wanted."

If this was his idea of trying to talk her into going back with him –

"Twenty years, Kitty. Don't you think I knew all that time what you wanted, what I couldn't give you?"

She had wondered if he really did know what she wanted.

"Kitty, I can't be something or someone I'm not. You ought to know me well enough to realize that. And for more than twenty years, I was a lawman."

Well, damn it, she sure as hell knew that. She knew it all too well.

"But when you left, I realized – I realized – " He swallowed, and she heard his voice catch, felt his hands convulse on her shoulders. Softly, he said, "I told you once that I needed you, Kitty, do you remember?"

How could she forget? Those words had brought her back from the depths of hopelessness and despair as she lay on Doc's table, beaten and abused by Jude Bonner, wishing she were dead. But those few words from the man who loved her pulled her back, gave her something to live for.

She nodded, unable to speak.

"Well, I still need you, Kitty." To her shock, his eyes glistened with tears. Dropping his grip suddenly, he turned away from her, his broad back hunched against some inner pain.

"Matt?"

But he shook his head, and she watched those wide shoulders shake slightly. "You asked me what I'd been doing since you left. Do you really want to know?"

Did she? She wasn't sure anymore. It suddenly seemed too terrible to contemplate. But she heard herself whisper, "Yes."

"Falling apart, Kitty." Now his voice broke completely, and he barely choked out the words. "I've been falling apart."

She stared at his back, stunned. This was Matt Dillon – invulnerable, invincible. Matt Dillon. Falling apart? What had she done?

Quickly, but carefully, she laid Sam in the center of the bed, creating a barrier out of the two pillows. Then, touching Matt's arm lightly, she pulled him around to face her, forcing herself not to gasp at the flow of tears down his cheeks.

His face was open and raw, something she had never seen before, someone she had never seen before, not completely. And even past her pain of seeing him like this, she felt a flood of love and protectiveness. She had told Molly McConnell those many years ago that Matt Dillon was a man with no strings on him, but that he was more hers than anybody else's. She had waited twenty years, but now she realized that he was hers. He was hers completely and unquestionably.

"Oh, Matt," she whispered, falling into his arms and burying her face against his bare chest. "Oh, Matt."

He caught her to him fiercely, as if he were terrified she would vanish outside his grip. His chest heaved with the battle to control the sobs he refused to release. His voice shook as he confessed again, "I need you, Kitty. I need you so much."

He needed her. And she needed him. In that moment, she couldn't deny him anything. Not herself, not his son, not his town.

She held him, whispered to him, soothed him, just as he had done for her so many times before. When their trembling finally faded, he lifted his hands to her face and drew her off his chest. Their eyes met, blue on blue, soul on soul. He lowered his mouth to hers, taking her lips tenderly at first, then with an urgency that escaped his control. Her arms tightened around his back, her mouth opened to him, her breasts pushed against his ribs. Some nagging reminder deep within her brain told her to stop, noted that the doctor had not yet released her for such activity. But the overwhelming sensation of being in his arms, tasting his lips on hers, feeling his hard excitement growing against her, swept her away.

All logical thought vanished. She wondered if he would take her there on the floor, or if he would just lift her up against the wall while she wrapped her legs around his waist. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except his body on hers – and, soon, his body in hers.

She groaned as his tongue trailed down her neck and his hands slid up her sides to let the heavy weight of her breasts rest in his large palms. Her milk let down, a natural sensation that didn't distinguish between the causes of stimulation. She wondered if he could tell.

Just when she knew they were passing the point of no return, just when she reached for the straining buttons of his trousers, he tore his mouth away from her and stood there, gasping and sweating.

"Matt?" she groaned, wanting nothing more than for him to take her.

He shook his head, gritting his teeth and fighting for breath. "We can't – not with the baby there – Kitty, I shouldn't have – I'm – I'm sorry."

Her own breath still heaving, she pressed her fingers pressed against his lips. He was right, of course. Damn it. "No. Please don't apologize."

"I just – it's been so long, and I haven't – "

"I know," she assured him. "I haven't either."

As she watched, he steeled himself and straightened, those broad shoulders squaring. When he spoke again, his voice was firm, controlled. "Kitty, listen, for twenty years – longer, really – you've been your own woman, right? I've never told you what to do, even when you wanted me to, maybe.

She nodded, knowing he referred to her short-lived and confused romance with Will Stambridge.

"But – but I have to tell you something now. I should have done it a long time ago."

Her heart leaped, pounding in her chest as she stared at him.

He took her hands into his, almost swallowing them. "I love you, Kitty. I love you and I don't want to be without you. I need you to come back to Dodge with me."

He had finally asked, after all these years. He had actually asked her to come back. Even when she had run off to Ballard, and he had followed her under the pretense of an official law investigation, he hadn't come right out and said he wanted her to come back to Dodge. Now, he had asked, now, when she had finally summoned the courage to break away and survive without the dust of Front Street, now, when she was determined not to re-open that chapter of her life.

Now.

Sighing, she fought for the right words. She desperately loved Matthew Dillon, but she couldn't go back to the life they'd had. Not now. Too much had changed.

"Matt – " she tried.

But he stopped her, shaking his head. "Let me finish – please."

She nodded, nonplussed.

"I need you to come back. I need you to come back because you still love me. You said so, yesterday – or last week – or whenever it was I got stabbed."

Well, she couldn't deny that.

"And because Sam needs a father."

"But what will people say – "

"And because I don't give a damn what people say." He shoved his hands inside his front pants pockets, withdrawing a rich blue velvet bag with his right, kneeling before her as he dumped its contents into his palm

Kneeling?

"Matt, what on earth are you doing?"

She let her gaze drop from his face to see what he held. To her astonishment, in his palm lay a small, golden band, its surface sparkling with diamonds. Her heart skipped a beat, her ears thudded with the uneven pounding, her eyes widened in disbelief. He knelt there, his soul bared to her, his face offering her everything she had ever wanted.

"Matter of fact, they'll probably just say it's about time that idiot marshal came to his senses and married Kitty Russell."

What?

What?

Married? Did he say married? She stared down at him in disbelief, but there he was, kneeling – and on his bad leg, too.

Twenty years. She had teased Matt once, long ago, after their curious encounter with Nip Cullers, that it had taken his housekeeper Nettie twenty years and a little buckshot to snag him. Little could she have known then that her own vigil would be twenty years, as well. At least Matt had avoided the buckshot.

Before she could formulate an answer, even before she knew what her answer would be, he took in another heavy breath and blew it out. "Kitty, I need you to come back because of one more thing."

In that moment, he opened his other hand, and she saw it, so bold, so symbolic, so damned familiar, lying there in his huge palm.

But it couldn't be. It simply couldn't be.

Somehow, she tore her gaze away long enough to look at him again, and she was struck by the conflict of fear, sadness, hope, and anticipation in his eyes.

After twenty years. It didn't seem possible.

Slowly, unbelievingly, she reached down and lifted the shining piece of metal with her fingers.

"Am I too late, Kitty?" he asked in a whisper.

She stared at the badge, then at him, and wondered.

"Am I too late?"

TBC