Images of Horatio suffused those of his father. They merged, became one, separated, then merged again. He couldn't tell who was who. He saw his father, gaunt on his deathbed, surrounded by equipment and machinery, his breathing ragged and erratic due to the intense pain. Then it transformed into Horatio's face, looking up at him with love and trust. He cried out in his sleep, once, twice, three times. Someone gently shook his left shoulder.

"David! Son, wake up!"

He bolted awake, disoriented, shaking with cold sweat, instinctively protecting his injured arm. Horatio sat on the side of the bed, looking at him, eyes sharp with concern. He put out a steadying hand. "Son, calm down. 'Twas a nightmare, is all."

Despair welled up from the innermost reaches of his soul. He bowed his head as if in shame. "Oh dad. If you only knew what I've done…You'd hate me. I know you would." His voice broke.

Horatio pulled him close into a desperate hug, his whispered voice burning in his ear, "Listen to me, boy. You are my son. I've been both father and mother to you your whole life. Why in the devil would I hate you? You are, always have been and always will be my life's joy. Don't do this to y'self son! Do you hear me? Don't!" His voice dissolved into low sobs and they clung to each other tightly. Horatio helped him ease back down into bed. "Now you lie back and relax. Take deep breaths. Don't think 'bout anything but gettin' some sleep. I'll be right here boy. Jus' relax. That's right. Don't worry 'bout a thing." He sat silent a moment, searching for a happy memory, then said, "Hey son, remember when we used to go fishin' down to the Chattahoochee? We'd catch us a whole mess of fish and then take a snooze under the trees?"

Oh God yes. He and his dad spent many lazy afternoons down at the river. The soothing tone of Horatio's voice reinforced the memories of those happy times. He felt himself growing sluggish with fatigue despite his roiling emotions. His eyes closed, struggled open again, then closed once more.

"My poor ol' hurt boy," Horatio whispered. "Sleep. Sleep." He remained by his side for the rest of the night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Kirk sat on the empty bed beside McCoy's. He stared at the monitors and equipment, wondering what his friend had found so tragically impossible to endure. Bones, what happened? Why didn't you come to me? To Spock? To anybody? He reached over and took McCoy's limp hand in his. "Bones, this is Jim. I'm so sorry about your dad. I know it hurts. It hurts like nothing else ever will. Please, please, know that we are all here for you. Please don't give up. We,..er, I,…don't know what I would do without you to kick my ass when I need it, and even when I don't. And Spock,…well, who would keep him on his Vulcan toes?" There was no response. Why was he expecting one? He replaced McCoy's hand on the bed and stood up. "Please hang on. I'll still be here to see you every evening, Bones, I promise."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

With most of the next day's morning spent once again drowsing in the armchair, he grew tired of the inactivity and the resultant mounting dread. He was ready to break out and take action. The idea was to take the offensive, to seek out and intercept this Moss Johnson away from Horatio and Gabe. It sounded like a good idea anyway. He didn't care what happened to himself, he just didn't want to drag them into any danger. He was looking for some boots, shoes, brogans, something, so he wouldn't have to go out in his stocking feet.

"Whatcha doin' son?"

He started and turned. "Uh, I thought I'd stretch my legs…"

"Since your memory still doesn't seem to be workin' aright…"

"Sir?"

"Well, I do believe that a brave and distinguished Captain in the Army of Northern Virginia like yourself is required to wear his uniform when out and about in the public eye."

Oh. He should've known that. Military regs hadn't changed much in 400 years. "Where is it?"

"In your room. I washed it and laid it out for you."

He went in the bedroom, and slowly put on the only uniform he saw, the blue-trimmed uniform of an infantry Captain. Looked rather dashing actually. Even had a sword! Don't let it go to your head. This isn't real, remember? As he was pulling on the boots, something suddenly clicked in his mind. David Leonard McCoy. Horatio McCoy. Leonard Horatio McCoy. He remembered his father telling him that his daddy had named him for an ancestor who had served with distinction in the Confederate Army. His father in turn bestowed a double honor on him by naming him after both the son and the father. It all fit! Oh Dad how'd you know?

"Well, well, well! That's what comes of leadin' militia! I'm jus' jokin' son." came Horatio's voice from the doorway. He turned to face him and made a little mock bow from the waist.

Just then a sharp, insistent rapping sounded at the front of the house. Horatio looked back over his shoulder, his expression darkening. "Stay here son."

Horatio stepped out through the parlor and onto the front porch to greet the visitor.

"Well, so proud you come to see us Moss", he said sarcastically.

The man's face was a study in anger-fueled hatred. "I come to see David, Dr. McCoy."

Horatio stood immobile, arms crossed over his chest.

"I got no quarrel with you Dr. McCoy. Stand clear!"

"I beg to differ with you Moss. Any quarrel you have with my son, you have with me. And besides, the boy's hurt! You incitin' a fight with a injured man?"

"He murdered a injured man! He didn't care that my brother was hurt!"

"Moss you jes' don't get it do you? Poor Jeff was dyin'! Horribly and painfully. David thought he did the right thing. Now I'm not sayin' it were right or wrong. I wasn't there, but I know my son! He would not kill in cold blood."

Johnson stood unmoved, seething with rage. Horatio narrowed his eyes briefly, then acquiesced.

"He's inside. Let me fetch him for you."

He stepped inside the front door, keeping his eyes on Johnson all the while.

"Son, you got a visitor."

He had figured this day was coming, and damned if it wasn't here already. What am I supposed to do? I don't know this person! He warily stepped outside, Horatio on his heels.

"McCoy I'm callin' you to account for my brother."

"Moss jus' go on home and spend this time with your family instead of harassin' David."

"Dad. This is between Moss and me…"

Horatio shot him a withering glare that gave him instant sympathy for every poor soul at whom he had had the temerity to direct that very same expression at.

A whispered aside, "Please….Pa?" That did the trick. Horatio reluctantly gave way as he moved down the front steps to face Johnson.

"Moss, I can't tell you how sorry I am about Jeff. I stand before you guilty as charged. I did what he asked me to do and what I thought was right at that time. Now do what you want with me."

Johnson wavered, momentarily taken aback. Where was the fiery temper David McCoy was renowned for? He was counting on that for his defense.

"A soft answer turneth away wrath," came an amused whisper over his shoulder. Good advice! He didn't know about turning away wrath, but it sure caused a lot of useful confusion. Johnson took a step back, as if he didn't know what to do next. He obviously had lost his nerve, and moved off back towards town.

"You ain't seen the last of me McCoy!"

He turned back toward Horatio and promptly stumbled over his own feet. Now that his bravado moment was over, he couldn't seem to stop shaking. Horatio extended a fatherly arm around his shoulders and steered him back onto the porch and inside the house.

"C'mon boy. Sit down. That was quite the trick you pulled on ol' Moss. He sure warn't expecting that."

"Maybe not, but he'll be back."

"Yeah, I expect he'll go to the saloon and get some liquid courage."

Oh great! Hoist by my own petard!

"How 'bout a little snort yourself? You look like you could use it." Horatio was readin' minds again.

He nodded tightly, his expression betraying his anxiety.

Horatio came back in and poured them each two fingers of Old No. 7. "Don't look so anguished son. It's not necessarily the end of the world."

IT'S NOT? What on earth does he mean by that?

Horatio lifted his glass, "Here's to you, son. Ahhh, that is good. Here, have another. And no, I haven't taken leave of my senses! I don't reckon even Moss is stupid enough to want to tangle with Gabe. That boy'll lay down his life for you son. He's not gonna let anything happen to you."

"I, uh…,"

"You don't remember, right? Well, I guess I can handle all the remembering around here for now. You'n Gabe grew up together son. His ma died when he was nigh onto two years old, if I recollect rightly. Y'all had something pretty hurtful in common for two little tykes and became inseparable. Still are, as a matter of fact."

At that moment, Gabe pounded up the front steps and rushed frantically into the parlor. "Cap'n? Doc? Are y'all alright? I passed Moss Johnson on the road comin' up from here and…"

"Calm y'self Gabe. We're as fine as a frog hair split three ways. My intelligent, unpredictable son here threw ol' Moss off his track."

"Doc you know if anythin' happened to either of y'all I'd never forgive m'self." He turned, "How're you feelin' Cap'n?"

"Much better Gabe. Thanks for askin'."

Gabe drew himself up to attention and saluted, "Cap'n I 'spectfully request that you let me take care of Moss. He ain't gonna mess with me."

"I can't let you do that Gabe. This is my affair."

Horatio rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "When will you accept the fact that you are not alone here boy? I'll be damned if I'm gonna abandon you to that madman!"

"And I'll be damned if I let anything happen to you!" He surprised even himself with his own vehemence. "I couldn't live with myself if anything happened to you because of my stupidity," he whispered guiltily.

Horatio came round, knelt by the chair and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Guess we're at a deadlock then, boy. You know how stubborn us McCoys can be," he smiled.

He raised an eyebrow in reply. Yes, indeed he did. And he wasn't going to back down on this one.

Horatio moved back to his seat, grinning. "Y'know son, it don't make no never mind to me. Jus' so long as you let me'n Gabe help you deal with Moss."

He rolled his eyes heavenwards. "Dad haven't you heard anythin' I've said?

"No son, can't rightly say as I have," Horatio replied mischievously. Gabe chuckled.

A warning stab of excruciating pain flew up his arm. Damn it! Won't this ever stop hurting? Hold your tongue! He knew what was coming, and felt powerless to halt the onrushing torrent of hurtful words.

"What're you laughin' at? This isn't one bit funny!" he barked at Gabe.

Gabe looked at him in stunned bewilderment.

Horatio sat forward, eyes narrowing. "Son…" he growled warningly.

"No! I'm sick and tired of this! Don't you have anything better to do?"

Gabe stared at him, mouth working, then at the floor, then helplessly at Horatio. Horatio swallowed hard at the naked hurt he saw in Gabe's eyes. He nodded, and followed Gabe as he slowly made his way out onto the porch.

He heard the sound of a hushed conversation, and saw Horatio give Gabe a quick hug before he crept away. Horatio stepped just inside the door, watching Gabe move off, before he turned to come back into the parlor.

Horatio's glare was a palpable thing. Horatio's wrath was another thing entirely. He withstood the well-deserved tirade with eyes closed, clutching his arm, trying to will the pain away. The pain in his heart didn't respond to his attempts at dismissal either.

"What in the blue-blazin' hell is wrong with you? You warn't brung up to act this way! That boy loves you like a brother! More'n likely saved your life at Sharpsburg to boot! What right d'you have to treat him thataway?" Horatio stalked across the room, then whirled, "Son are you listenin' to me?" He broke off long enough to lean down and finally notice the sheen of perspiration on his face, as well as the ill-concealed pain.

"I'm sorry dad. I'm sorry! I just don't want either of you hurt!" he whispered.

"Oh son," Horatio's tone softened. "I know you're hurtin', but don't burn your bridges! Gabe understands. I explained it to him. But his feelins sure are hurt. He's comin' back later, and I 'spect he'll be lookin' to hear an apology. Or two. Or maybe even three!"

"Yes sir. He certainly deserves it. I- I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me."

"I do son," Horatio sighed. "Pain-frustration-fear-guilt. But mainly pain right now, I see. We will get through this together, not alone! Y'all hear me?"

"Yes sir I hear you."

"All right then. Sit back and try to relax. Close your eyes. Let me fetch something for that arm."

He slept fitfully in that comfortable armchair for the rest of the afternoon, thanks to another dose of Horatio's patented pain potion. A hand gently nudged him until he awoke, thankfully releasing him from the clutches of yet another nightmare. He shook his head to clear it and Horatio's concerned face slowly came into focus.

"Son? You hungry?"

He shrugged listlessly, "I don't know. I guess so."

"David", Horatio took a seat facing him and leaned forward. "I dearly wish I could take this burden off you."

I wish you could too!

"But life has to go on! Son, if you keep this up you're either gonna be a hard, bitter, beaten man, or you're gonna find life intolerable. I don't want that for you. You've got to live son! After all," (this said with a mischievous twinkle in his eye) "you've got to ensure that the illustrious name of McCoy will go on for at least one more generation."

That got him the small smile he was aiming for.

"Whatever happens in the future son, remember - life has to go on! You're so plumb full of compassion and caring, it's no wonder you hurt. And you're in store for a lot more! Take it son! Jus' take it and go on! And try to remember your old pa every oncet awhile." Horatio reached out to gently grip his shoulder.

As if I ever could or would forget!

"Now how 'bout some supper?"

They arose together and headed to the kitchen, arms wrapped around each others' shoulders.