Defend Me from My Friends

by MAHC (Amanda)

Chapter 14: Half Dead

POVs: Doc/Matt

Being the only physician within a hundred miles was a difficult job even at the best of times, but at the worst it was just about impossible. As Chester guided the wagon over the rutted prairie road, Doc Adams fretted over both the patient he had just left and the one he was headed to see. So far, Bodkin had survived a chest wound, something Doc had seriously doubted would happen when he first knelt by the bank president there in the dust on Front Street. He had labored the rest of the day and into the night to dig out the bullet and keep the other man alive. And he would still be there by his side if Chester had not barreled back into town around midnight two days later shouting up the stairs that he had found Mister Dillon and Doc needed to grab his bag and come immediately.

Regardless of his close connection with Matt Dillon, though, Doc couldn't just leave Bodkin in such a tenuous condition, even with Chester's impatient insistence. It was another eight hours before he felt his patient was stable enough to leave in the hands of his wife and Ma Smalley. Exhausted, having managed only a few hours' sleep in the past three days, Doc rubbed at his eyes and squinted across the grassy plain before him, wondering in what shape they might find Matt. Frustration ate at him over his inability to get to the marshal earlier, and he wasn't sure if he could handle it if – if Matt was – if he hadn't been able to hang on until –

"It's just over the rise past them trees, Doc," Chester said over the rattle of the wagon wheels. "Shore am glad we found ol' Buck wanderin' around. Mister Dillon'd be mighty sorry ta lose him."

Doc turned to look at the big buckskin tied behind them next to Chester's bay. He hoped Buck's master would be coherent enough to be happy about seeing the gelding.

They rode along in silence for another few minutes, until Chester sighed and shook his head. "I shorely hope Mister Dillon's doin' better. I tell ya', Doc, I ain't never seem him look sa' bad. I mean his face was all bruised up, and his stomach was black and blue, and – "

"Chester – "

" – his leg, you know the one that got shot, well it was kindly red and swolled up – "

"Chester!"

The marshal's assistant stopped abruptly and stared at his companion. "Doc?"

Swallowing hard, the physician shook his head of the guilt that twisted through him with the vision Chester painted all too clearly. "Let's just – just get there, all right?"

"All right. I was just tryin' ta tell ya what ta expect."

Doc heard the hurt in his friend's voice but didn't respond – couldn't respond. Emotion pushed to the surface by fatigue stung his eyes with tears. He turned away so Chester wouldn't see, fighting back fears that had not yet been realized. He prayed they never would.

xxx

The smells of battle assaulted him again, choking him. He knew what was coming, but he couldn't do one thing to change it. Again he watched as the lieutenant jerked in death, again he raised his rifle, again he fired at the rebel, and again he saw Glenn fall.

"No!" he yelled to himself, to the rebels, to the war. "No!

"I'm sorry, Glenn, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Matt."

"I'm sorry."

"Shh, Matt. Shh."

The battle noises faded away, replaced by a soft, soothing voice and a gentle hand.

"Kitty," he mumbled.

"Yes, Matt. I'm here."

Still hazy, he lacked the will – and desire – to keep one of the few secrets he still held from her. He forced burning, bloodshot eyes open, looking at her, knowing from her startled expression that his guilt and pain were clear.

"Glenn," he gasped. "I had to try – give him the chance because – because I – I – "

"Shot him," Kitty finished.

His face showed surprised, then confusion as the question formed on his lips, then comprehension as it died there. "Nightmare?" he figured.

"Delirium," she clarified.

Groaning, he shifted to an elbow, despite her attempts to keep him down.

"How do you feel?" she asked, brushing a lock of matted, sweaty hair back from his forehead, careful of the raw slash left by Cantrell's bullet.

A near-chuckled escaped him. "I've felt better," he admitted.

She gave him that understanding, intimate smile that he'd never seen her give anyone else. "I'm sure Doc will be here soon. You just rest."

"Rest with me," he coaxed, easing his shoulders back onto the bed.

"I don't want to hurt you."

He smiled. "You won't. I'll be all right."

He tugged her down toward him, pressing her head gently against his shoulder, allowing her fingers to caress his chest, which he just now noticed was bare, not that he minded. A bit of concentration revealed that his chest wasn't the only thing that was bare, and it gave him hope for his recovery to note that his body managed at least the beginnings of a reaction. Grinning slightly, he took her hand and slid it down until it rested over the semi-hard evidence below his waist. "See?"

Eyes wide, she fussed, "Matt Dillon! How can you – "

"I'd have to be dead not to respond to your touch."

A mischievous smile curved her lips as she curled her fingers gently around the responding shaft, quilt and all. "So I guess it's good that you're only half dead."

He winced, but her kiss softened the sting of her tease. "Come all the way in here with me," he coaxed, patting the bed.

Seriousness washed over her smooth face. "No, Matt. You really do need to rest – "

"I'll rest better with you next to me," he assured her.

"Somehow I doubt that. And I know I sure wouldn't rest."

A smirk lifted his mouth. "If I promise to be good?" The pain throbbing through his body would ensure that promise.

"You're always good. That's what I'm worried about. Besides, the bed's not big enough."

"We'll manage."

Shaking her head, she slid out of her outer clothing, leaving on the pantalets. "For safety," she warned him.

He smiled, considering it a victory, and enjoyed the softness of her body curled next to his, trying to ignore the torture of both his injuries and her enticing curves as he drifted off again.

xxx

When he woke again, the sun had moved higher in the sky, the rays no longer casting harsh light into the cabin. He gritted his teeth and braced to slide out from under Kitty and off the bed. After some moments of nausea and shooting pain, he forced himself up on weak, trembling legs and stumbled to the cabin wall, his battered, naked body shivering from the rush of adrenaline that accompanied his determination. Exhausted, Kitty shifted on the bed, moaned his name, and settled back, still asleep. His ruined clothes lay by the fireplace, and he managed to limp over to them, one arm thrust out against the wall to keep his balance, his thigh screaming, his head pounding. It took a strong will and almost ten minutes to pull on his bloodied pants and shirt, and once he got his trousers buttoned, his fingers shook so much that he didn't bother with fastening the shirt. Socks and boots proved almost impossible, since he was trying to tug them on without sitting on the bed and disturbing Kitty. He contemplated using the rickety-looking chair but decided he'd mostly likely end up on the floor, and the chances he could haul his weak body back up were slim. Finally, he braced his back against the rough wall and somehow managed to finish getting himself at least partly dressed. He waited a few moments, gulping air as quietly as possible; then a few more labored steps brought him to the cabin's threshold -

- just in time to hear the bed squeak.

"What the hell are you doing?" She sounded as angry as he figured she'd be, hands on her hips, eyes flashing.

Blinking against the dizziness, he resisted the urge to tell her how beautiful she looked when she was mad – that wouldn't help at all – and said, "I have to go after them, Kitty. You know I do."

"No, I don't know you do!" Furiously, she jerked her dress from the end of the bed and shrugged into it, in preparation, he figured, either to stop him or to follow him. "Matt, you can barely stand. There's no way – "

"Kitty – "

"Matt, please!"

The agony on her face cracked his resolve. He reached out, drawing her to him so that they leaned against the door frame, ignoring the pain that movement created. His left hand cradled the back of her head as she pressed against his chest. His lips brushed her tousled hair. He knew he had to go; she knew he was going to go. But for just a moment, they could forget about Glenn and Bodkin and the bank and everything else except for their bodies holding each other. It wasn't as if it was the first time.

xxx

From Chester's dire description, Doc expected to find the lawman just moments away from death. Instead, he and the marshal's assistant arrived to the scene of an intimate embrace framed in the cabin doorway.

Still, even from the wagon, he could see by the way Matt held himself that he was suffering. And the blood splattered all over his clothing only reinforced the obvious.

"Well, forevermore," Chester said, staring.

"Matt?" Doc called, grabbing his medical bag and climbing down to the ground.

Without turning or releasing Kitty, Dillon asked, "How's Bodkin?"

Doc breathed out, almost a laugh. Just like Matt. "He'll live, I think. Bullet was deep. Lost a lot of blood. Not unlike someone else I know."

Kitty pulled out of the embrace just as he reached the doorway. "Doc, please talk some sense into him. Tell him he can't go."

"Go? Go where?" He didn't give Matt the chance to answer. Instead, he took the big man's arm to guide him back into the cabin. "You just get back on that bed – " Glancing down, he added, "Such as it is."

Dillon's voice protested even as his body betrayed him by obeying. With a grunt that sounded almost grateful, he collapsed onto the quilt. Doc lifted an eyebrow when he had Matt push down his pants to get a look at the leg wound.

"I was – in a hurry," the marshal explained, seemingly unconcerned about his lack of union suit.

Doc smirked. "Hurry for what?" He was rewarded by the flush of red that colored the handsome face.

But that was the last moment of levity for a while. Despite his gentle touch, Doc was unable to keep from drawing several gasps and a groan or two from the seriously wounded man as he continued the examination.

"What the hell happened to you?" he muttered. Matt didn't answer, his jaw clenched, his eyes closed.

"How is he?" Chester asked when Doc finally straightened and tugged the stethoscope from his ears.

He shook his head. "Any other man – " he began, then thought better of the blunt statement when he caught a glimpse of Kitty's expression. "He's got a lot of healing to do," he amended. It certainly wasn't an overstatement.

She lifted worried eyes in acknowledgement.

"You done, Doc?" Matt asked hoarsely, dragging his abused body from the bed and standing somewhat tentatively before them.

Adams shook his head in irritation, staring at him. "You are the stubbornest – "

"Doc," Dillon said, duty and pain weighing down his tone, "I have to go after them. They have that bank roll and – "

"And Glenn Cantrell betrayed you." The revelation occurred to him suddenly.

That strong brow frowned. "It's not that – "

"Isn't it?"

Any sane man would have shrunk to nothing in the face of the formidable lawman's hard stare, but Doc Adams had long ago realized he was far from sane. Otherwise, why the hell would he have stayed in a raw, frontier hellhole like Dodge City when he could have been sitting pretty in some modern, clean, big-city hospital?

After a long moment, Dillon cocked his jaw and shook his head gingerly, eyes tightening with pain. "Maybe – maybe some, Doc," he said, an admittance that worried Adams even more than the anger.

He looked back at the marshal, grateful for the stubbornness that kept him alive, although he wouldn't admit it. Softening now that he had made his point, he allowed, "Only natural. I'd feel the same way."

The normally strong voice was barely a whisper. "Yeah."

"But you aren't going anywhere right now."

"I told you – "

"Matt, do you have any idea what kind of shape you're in?"

Dillon breathed out in a short laugh, then grimaced. "I think I do, Doc."

"I wonder. You have at least two ribs cracked, a gunshot wound to the head – "

"Just a graze – " Matt tried to interject, but Doc ignored him.

"And I'm pretty sure you're suffering from the effects of a concussion. Not to mention some pretty severe contusions and lacerations – and a serious leg wound that's also given you a fever. No way you'll sit a horse, even for a few minutes."

But that declaration only seemed to sharpen the younger man's determination. "I'm sorry, Doc, but I've gotta go."

The physician threw a frustrated glance toward Kitty, saw from her expression that she had already been through the same conversation with the stubborn marshal. She sighed, her face pale and drawn with worry.

They both watched as Matt struggled to stay on his feet, somehow forcing his battered body across the room to stand braced in the doorway. His next words were thick with reluctance. "I could – use some help saddling Buck."

"Ol' Buck ain't in good enough shape ta go anywhere, Mister Dillon," Chester told him.

"What?"

"Doc an' me found him out on the prairie. We watered and fed him, but he's awful tired."

For a moment, Matt looked confused. Then he squinted outside and nodded. "Guess I'll need to take your bay, Chester."

"Now just a minute – " Doc began.

"Matt!" Kitty pleaded at the same time, but he was already limping heavily toward the back of the wagon.

"Chester," Doc said loudly enough for Matt to hear as he struggled to climb onto the horse, "as soon as Buck is rested enough, take him so you can bring the marshal back when he falls off."

The patient didn't acknowledge the admonition, but finally managed to swing his injured leg up and over so that he could seat himself in the saddle. With a final look back at Kitty, he clicked the horse forward.

Doc heard a soft sob as Kitty stepped up beside him and took his arm. He patted her hand in comfort. "He'll be okay," he reassured her. "He'll be okay."

But his mind held other thoughts. He won't make it half a mile before he drops.

TBC