Whew – well, I ignored the research paper I'm supposed to be writing and worked on this instead. Got my priorities right, at least! So sorry for the long wait. Thanks to all for your super feedback and patience (and gentle prompting). Hope you enjoy. And Piglet – before you say it, I already know those arm-rippers are warming up!

Haunted Heart

A Gunsmoke Story

By Amanda (MAHC)

Chapter Eleven: It's Your Funeral

POV: Doc

Spoilers: "Disciple"

Rating: PG (Teen)

Disclaimer: Of course, the regular Dodge citizens are not my creation, but I've thrown in a few guest stars, including Sam Dillon and Coy Brennan.

XXXX

Doc Adams picked up the fretting infant and hoisted him onto his shoulder to sooth the baby's protests from the examination. In the crook of Matt's long arm, Sam had looked tiny, but now, as the physician's muscles felt the weight of the marshal's son, Doc realized Samuel Dillon was quite a substantial kid. No real surprise there, but a pleasant confirmation.

"He's a fine, healthy baby, Kitty," Doc said, just as pleased as Kitty that he could give her that news. "Gonna be almost as big as his daddy, I think."

His daddy had reluctantly deposited his family at Doc's office earlier, claiming he would return in just a few minutes after taking their bags to the room Mr. Dobie still held for him at the Dodge House. Doc had to smile at the hesitancy in the usually decisive man's actions over the brief separation from his wife and son, still not quite able to believe everything that had happened since Matt had first begun his tenacious search for Kitty eight months before.

"I coulda told ya' that," she smiled, taking Sam and easing him into the bassinette Doc had dragged out from the back of his office. The child had been fed and checked out, and now he was more than ready for a nap.

And it was Kitty's turn for Doc to inspect.

Separating business issues from personal issues, he handed her a sheet and turned away so that she could undress. "Hop up on the table and let me know when you're ready," he said, then busied himself with getting his instruments prepared. "Matt won't want to wait too long, I'll bet. It's none of my business, of course, Kitty, but what happened between you and Matt, in New Orleans, I mean?"

He heard the hint of amazement in her voice. "He came after me, Doc. He asked me to come back."

Adams knew what that simple gesture had meant. "I can't imagine what happened when you told him about Sam."

She breathed out, almost a laugh, but not quite. "He passed out."

The doctor spun around, forgetting about Kitty's state of undress. Fortunately, she had already slid under the sheet. Matt Dillon passed out? "What?"

She smiled ruefully. "Well, actually he fainted because he'd lost so much blood and because he was so exhausted, but I don't figure finding out about Sam helped him stay conscious."

"Exhausted?" Doc asked, his physician's ears perking up.

Abruptly her face darkened as she admitted, "The doctor in New Orleans said he must have been neglecting himself for – for a while. Was he right?"

Torn between honesty and putting more guilt on her, he shrugged. "It wasn't – it wasn't easy for him, Kitty," he said. "When he came back from Hays and you were gone – "

"He told me he got drunk," she said, eyes sad.

Doc's brow rose in surprise that Matt would have admitted to that rare bout of weakness. "He did. My fault. I offered it to him."

"Tell me what else," she urged.

"Kitty – "

"I need to know, Doc. Even if – even if it's bad."

He nodded and braced a hand on the edge of the table. "He was like – well, like a shell of who he used to be. He went about his business, did his job, but Matt Dillon was missing. His heart was gone, Kitty. It was out there looking for you, even when his body was in town."

She nodded, accepting what he said, tears welling in her eyes.

"He'd go out weeks at a time on some assignment, but we all knew he was looking for you at the same time. Sometimes he'd come back hurt, but it didn't seem to faze him. That last time – that last time he was in bad shape."

"Shot?" she guessed.

"No, not that time," he said, indicating it had happened on other occasions.

"His leg, then," she surmised.

"And his back. Plus, he'd gotten into it with an outlaw. A few cuts and scrapes."

"I saw them," she whispered, looking past Doc as if she were envisioning the new marks on the lawman's generously scarred body. "And the others."

"But it was his spirit that was injured the most. I was afraid – " He broke off, voice cracking.

She placed her hand on his arm. "Afraid of what?"

"Afraid it was too far gone to heal."

She absorbed this observation with poignant silence, her eyes shimmering. After a narrowly-won struggle to maintain control, she asked hoarsely, "What changed?"

"Don't know. He just appeared at my office later that day, shaved and in his Sunday clothes, saying he was going to New Orleans and didn't know when he'd be back. I thought he'd already checked down there – a few dozen times, in fact."

"He had. I was actually kinda surprised it took him so long to figure out that I'd used his name."

"Well," Doc allowed, "he wasn't thinking too clearly there for a while. Used his name, huh?"

"I guess I wanted to hang onto him somehow still. And I wanted Sam to be a Dillon."

He chuckled and leaned over the bassinette, thrusting a finger into the strong grip of Matt's son. "He is that," he agreed. Doc studied her for a minute, then said, "Kitty, you know I can't help but ask how that ring finally ended up on your finger."

She smiled in memory, and he was warmed by the pleasure that softened her face. "When Matt could get up and about, Ira arranged for the wedding. He and Charlotte are Catholic, but he knew an Episcopal priest who could make it short and sweet."

Doc raised an eyebrow. "Is that what you wanted?"

"I didn't want to leave too much time between the askin' and the gettin'!" she joked.

"Matt wasn't going to change his mind," he told her, his serious tone breaking through her lightness.

She smiled. "I know. He came to New Orleans to propose. He had to have brought the ring with him, because he didn't leave Ira's house at all until right before the wedding when we had to find a tailor to fit him for a new coat."

"New coat?" Doc asked.

"The old one – wasn't salvageable."

Of course, he realized. The knife. After Matt had left them, Kitty had related a brief version of the events on The New Orleans Lady. "I wouldn't think going through a fitting would be too comfortable for him with that shoulder."

She grimaced. "You'd be right."

Not wanting to lose the joy of the reunion, he prompted, "So, you found an obliging priest – "

"An obliging Episcopal priest," she reminded, stressing the difference. "He was a little hesitant to marry us at first. I think he wanted to make sure we were really in love or something." She smirked. "Couldn't be 'cause we were too young. Anyway, that was until Sam decided to pipe up. Charlotte was holding him, so I guess the priest figured he was hers. But it had taken us a while to get there, and Sam was hungry by the time the ceremony was about to start, so I had to take him and slip away for a while. The priest realized he wasn't Charlotte's and when we returned, he made short work of the ceremony. I thought he was going to glare a hole right through Matt before it was over."

Doc chuckled, imaging the scene and wishing, for more than one reason, that he had been there.

"Good thing he wasn't Catholic," she decided.

"Why's that?"

"We probably wouldn't have gotten out of there without saying at least twenty Hail Marys and a dozen Our Fathers," she laughed.

Doc had to admit that was probably pretty close to the truth.

"And it wasn't because of Sam," she breathed, "although I thought it was at first. I was afraid – I didn't want him to – to feel obligated. I didn't want him to ask just because – "

"He didn't," Doc assured her.

"I know." She held up her hand and gazed at the shining band. It looked much more at home on her finger than it had in his hand those months ago.

"It's a beautiful ring, Kitty," he told her sincerely.

"Isn't it? He won't tell me where he got it, but it's too fine for Jonas' store."

Doc watched her for a moment. "He got it in Hays City."

She glanced toward him. "He told you about the ring?"

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

He hesitated, wondering how much he should tell her. "Kitty, Matt got that ring in Hays – eight months ago."

Her eyebrows drew together. "Eight months – "

"He came back with it on that last trip before you – before – " He dropped off, seeing pleasure retreat with the advance of horror across her fine features.

"Doc, what are you saying?"

Sighing, he just shook his head. It was already clear.

"You mean Matt – if I hadn't left, he was going to – "

He saw the realization of eight lost months smash through her, the thoughts of those irretrievable moments. Chances forever gone. The chance to see his face when she told him she was pregnant. The chance to share their wedding with their friends. The chance to have him there for the birth of his child. The chance to watch him hold his newborn son in his hands.

"After he found out you were gone," he continued, "he came to my office to see if I knew where."

"That's why I didn't tell you," she murmured ruefully.

"He was – I've never seen Matt like that. I figured if any man ever needed a drink, he did. I told him how long you'd been gone and added what you'd told me before you left."

A groan slipped past her lips. "Oh, Doc."

"You know Matt only drinks a couple of beers at most. Maybe a shot or two of whiskey. But that flask was about empty by the time he passed out on my bed."

She closed her eyes, and he saw she couldn't even manage a response. Despite the pain he knew it was causing her, he continued, realizing she needed – and wanted – to know.

"I saw that he had taken a bullet across the ribs a few days back, so I did my best to clean that up."

Automatically, her eyes opened, the ubiquitous worry clear in them. "Was it – "

"Not bad," he said, already knowing the questions from years of experience with both of them.

"That's where that came from," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

"His clothes were pretty rough from the trail, so I figured I could at least have them cleaned for him. When I picked up his pants, the jewelry bag fell out and I found the ring and realized what he had planned. He doesn't know I knew about it, so don't say anything to him."

"Oh, Doc," she groaned. "He was going to – and I was gone – " She dropped her head, burying her face in her hands, oblivious to the sheet that fell. "Oh my God. What did I do?"

Clearing his throat, he eased the corner of the sheet back up so she could cover herself again. "Now, Kitty, it's all right. It turned out all right, didn't it?"

"But, he was going to – and I – oh, Doc, what did I do?"

"You did what you thought was best for you and for him – and for Sam."

"But – "

"No buts. Is he happy now?"

"Yes."

"Then that's enough."

"Maybe."

"Kitty," he asked carefully, not wanting to bring up any more worries for her, but not able to shake the nagging and disturbing reminder of Coy Brennan. "How's his arm?"

She sighed. "The right one?"

He nodded. Her question was just conversation. She knew which arm.

"Okay, I guess. It worked well enough to shoot and kill the guy that threw the knife at him."

Doc frowned, unsure of how to phrase his question without making her suspicious. "Kitty, did he seem – was he as fast – "

She shook her head. "I don't know. It was hard to tell. The knife was already thrown before Matt even knew to draw."

"If the man had had a gun, could Matt have outdrawn him?"

"I don't know." She frowned, eyes narrowing. He had pushed a little too much. "Is there a reason you're asking this now?"

He dropped his gaze, unwilling to tell her that what they had all feared might be happening – that a fresh, cocky, talented, young, gunslinger had come for Matt, to test the veteran lawman, to see if he could beat the legend – a challenge that would end only in death. And after Doc had seen Coy Brennan in action, he was all too afraid it could be Matt's death.

"Doc?" she asked, a little more forcefully this time.

Shaking his head, he hoped he appeared casual. "No," he said, accepting his own cowardice for the moment. "No reason. I was just wondering."

Her expression told him she didn't buy it, but he pressed on quickly before she could prod him more. "Since you're back, does that mean you're okay with him being marshal?"

It was her turn to surprise him. "He took care of that, too."

"What do you mean?"

A tender smile curved her lips. "The ring wasn't the only thing he gave me, Doc."

"No?" he asked, curiously.

"He gave me his badge, too."

Adams felt his jaw drop. "His badge?"

"He's retiring, Doc. The War Department asked him to stay on until the end of the year, but after that – "

Retiring? Son of a gun. After all those years of nagging Matt about putting himself in the line of fire, the physician thought he'd be completely relieved by that news. Instead, Doc felt a strange regret with the realization that Matt Dillon would no longer be the driving force of sanity and order in Dodge City.

Suppressing that selfish notion, he pushed a genuine smile to his face. "Well, my goodness! Congratulations, Kitty," he offered. "It's about time that big knucklehead came to his senses."

"Yeah," she agreed, but to his surprise, the tone was only half-hearted.

"Isn't that what you've wanted?"

"Sure. Of course it is," she confirmed, the smile returning. Taking a deep breath and lying down, she said, "Now, get on with this check up. This table's not the most comfortable, you know."

Suddenly uncertain, he nodded and began the exam.

XXXX

A few minutes later, Doc carefully slid the sheet back up over her breasts, satisfied with the results of his inspection.

"Well?"

He turned away to give her privacy, a little ironic, considering the thoroughness of the exam he had just conducted. "You can get dressed now, Kitty."

He heard the rustle of clothes behind him for a second before she asked again, "Well?"

"Well what?"

An exasperated sigh preceded her clarification. "Well, how am I?"

"Oh!" he answered obtusely. "Oh, well, you're fine. Just fine."

"So I can – I mean, Matt and I can – "

It dawned on him abruptly why she was so anxious for the exam. Suddenly understanding, he turned back to her. "You mean your doctor in New Orleans hasn't examined you?"

Kitty stood in her underclothes. Even though she didn't seem to mind, he turned away again. "A couple of weeks ago," she said, "but not recently. He spent most of his time checking on Matt, and by the time I felt like – well – Ira and Charlotte were there, and – and we were in a hurry to get back here, and – the train didn't have sleeper cars – " She stopped suddenly and glared at him. "Well, it's been almost two months, so I figure that – that should be long enough, right?"

Adams cleared his throat uneasily. "You mean you and Matt haven't – "

She shook her head, the misery apparently too deep to worry about embarrassment.

Doc dropped his head, turning again so she wouldn't see the smile he couldn't hold back. "Well, I don't know, Kitty," he said, taking his time putting away the instruments. "I think maybe you'd better wait just a little while longer."

"What?" Frustration edged her voice. "How much longer?"

Somehow, he managed the answer, but only by not looking at her. "Oh, no more'n two or three weeks – "

"Two or three weeks!" she exclaimed in sheer disbelief.

With effort, he said, "Well, you want to be sure. I mean, a woman's body goes through a lot having a baby – "

"I know what a woman's body goes through," she snapped.

"So you'll agree that you want to be sure that – " He looked at her, clothed again, and found himself joking only a little now. Considering who her lover – her husband – was, he realized his teasing held more than a little validity. "Kitty, Matt's – well, he's – "

"He's what, Doc?" she asked, frowning in confusion.

He sighed, not sure exactly how to phrase his concern. "Well, Matt's a big fellow, and – "

Aghast, he exclaimed, "Doc!"

"This is strictly medical advice, Kitty," he insisted, coloring.

Agony marred her beautiful features. "Doc," she groaned, then leaned a little closer, as if she were speaking in strict confidence, even though Sam was the only other occupant of the room. "Doc, you don't understand."

"I don't?"

"I can't wait. Do you know how long it's been since Matt and I – well, do you have any idea how hard it's been this past week on the trip from New Orleans?"

He felt true sympathy for her – and maybe even more for Matt. "Kitty – "

"I mean, you have no idea."

He was a man, so he figured he had at least some idea. "It's only for a few more weeks, Kitty," he pushed, falling back into the ruse.

"A few more weeks is about a few weeks and a minute too long."

"It's been hard, has it?" he asked, chuckling.

"Let me assure you, Doc, it's been hard." Then her eyes twinkled, and she leaned closer. "I mean real hard."

The innuendo he had missed the first time slapped him right in the face. Realization of what she was saying burned in his cheeks, and he fumbled with a jar on his desk, knocking it onto the floor where its content scattered in white puffs. Coughing roughly, then clearing his throat, he said, "Well, for Pete's sake, Kitty. You don't have to – I mean I didn't need to know – "

That marvelous laugh erupted from her, the sound he loved and had missed for so many months. "Serves you right, Curly. Don't tell me you weren't having a little fun yourself. Two or three weeks?"

He eyed her, then he relaxed and allowed a smirk to flatten his lips. "Well, I was mostly kidding. Still, as your doctor, I want you to be careful at first. Nice and easy, okay."

"Doc – "

"I'm serious." He thought about the look in Matt's eyes when the marshal had left her earlier. "You tell Matt, nice and easy."

"Doc!"

But this time he was really serious, and let his expression show it.

"All right," she conceded. "But Matt's not the only one who'll have to be reminded."

"I don't doubt that at all," he said, knowing Kitty was just as anxious to – well, to – From the look in Kitty's eyes, maybe she wasn't the one he should be worried about. Grunting, he swiped his mustache and made a mental note to take a long look at Matt in the morning – assuming she actually let him out of bed while it was still considered morning. "Just – "

"I know. Nice and easy," she agreed amiably, even though he knew she was probably just patronizing him.

"You tell Matt I want to see that shoulder tomorrow, and don't make it worse tonight."

"You," she declared, carrying Sam out the door, "are a dirty old man."

"I resent that!" he bristled, calling after her. "I'm not that old."

XXXX

Chuckling, he had barely turned back to clear up the office, when her terrified cry propelled him as fast as his aging legs could carry him to the door. When he reached the landing, he saw Kitty standing on the third step from the bottom, Sam clutched protectively to her breast.

"Kitty?" he asked, confused.

But she didn't answer, couldn't pull her attention away from whatever was happening on Front Street. Slowly, Doc realized the entire town was gathered on the rough boardwalks and in the alleys of Dodge, wide gazes fixed on the all-too-familiar scene that was unfolding before them. A scene Doc had watched over and over for the past twenty years.

A scene he had hoped never to see again.

Slowly, he climbed down the steps, passing Kitty and standing so that he had a better view of the situation. Matt Dillon stood, still in his dress clothes, the right tail of his new wedding coat brushed back over the butt of his pistol for easier access. The stance was one they had seen hundreds of times before: long legs braced wide, right arm hanging at his side, eyes forward and set. He had slipped his left arm out of the sling so that it hung straight as well. Twenty-five yards away, another man stood, a slender man whose cold eyes stared out from a young face, whose gun belt rode his hips low.

Heart pounding, Adams scrambled through the possible outcomes in his brain. None of them were appealing. Brennan was fast, maybe too fast, and Matt's arm hadn't been truly tested since the injury over a year before. Would he be able to outdraw a kid half his age, a kid who apparently hadn't yet embraced the concept of his own mortality, a kid who didn't have a brand-new wife and baby watching as horrified witnesses to his possible death?

"Oh, Matt," he thought, trying to force the words across the distance from his mind to the marshal's. "Don't do it. Let the kid go. This time, let him go. Dive behind a wagon or a horse trough, or something. It's not worth it."He heard Sam whimper in Kitty's arms. "Dear God, it's not worth it."

"Dillon!" Brennan called. "They say you're fast. That true?"

The eyes of Dodge shifted to the marshal.

"You don't want to find out, son," Matt said, his body still unmoving, his eyes still fixed on the target. He'd given the warning many times before, but Doc wondered if it was still backed by the same skill.

"Heard you fell into some misfortune a while back," the young man taunted. "Maybe you ain't as fast no more. Maybe you're just too old and shot up."

Matt didn't respond, merely continued to hold his position. Doc's heart felt as if it were coming right through his chest. Stepping back, he stood next to Kitty, slipping an arm around her waist to brace her, not sure what would happen if she saw Matt gunned down right in front of her and their son.

"Why don't you just back away and head on out of town while you still have the chance," Matt suggested calmly.

That just drew a harsh laugh from Brennan. "Why don't you, old man? Admit you're beat, and I'll let you walk outta here. Saw ya come into town with that pretty wife of yours and that baby. Be a shame fer her ta watch ya die screaming in the dirt there with yer guts spillin' out."

Kitty groaned softly, and Doc tightened his grip on her. Matt remained silent, a defending champion standing ready for the challenger to make his move.

"Whadda ya say, Dillon?" Brennan pushed.

Again, Matt didn't move or speak, apparently understanding that the moment was inevitable.

Brennan smiled in approval, a calculated, confident, thinning of his lips over white teeth. "All right, lawman. It's your funeral." The gunslinger grew serious then, his hungry eyes narrowing in focus on the man he faced. His hand hovered menacingly over his holster, his body hunched slightly forward.

If time could freeze, Doc knew in that moment that no clock hand moved, no breeze blew, no spectator took a breath. Dodge stopped. The world stopped. He wondered briefly if it would ever start again.

Then, both Dodge and the world erupted with the shocking double-retort of gunfire, and the physician's heart leaped into his throat with nauseating terror as he watched Matt Dillon's big body jerk violently and hurl backward to crash onto the dusty street.

Adams barely heard Kitty's cry right next to him, hardly registered the shocked gasps from the crowd.

"Please, God, no," he prayed as he stumbled out into the street, ignoring the fact that Brennan might be trigger-happy and gun him down before he could even reach Matt. Over and over, he beseeched the Almighty. For Matt, for Kitty, for Sam. For all of them.

"Please, God!"

But the lawman lay unmoving, the dirt under his body already damp and clotting with his blood, the once-sure and unerring pistol lying useless by his limp hand.

After all those years, after everything he had survived, after finding Kitty and discovering Sam, it couldn't end like this. It just couldn't!

"Please, God!" he pleaded, falling down beside the son he wished he had. "Please!"

TBC