This is Prompt No. 59-Book

Mitchie heard people screaming as she doubled up under the table, clutching her chest. She groaned as she rolled to the other side of the table, forcing herself to stand. She gripped the edge of the card table for support and surveyed the scene in front of her. Women had their hands clapped over their mouths as they shrunk away from the table where the card game had gone on. Nigel's body was slumped over the table, having scattered cards and drinks all over in a wet mess.

Mitchie turned away before she could spot any blood or gore. She had gone through enough of that before when she had been in the army, and she felt no inclination to witness it again. She looked around, searching for the killer, and found a young man standing at the head of the table, his feet braced apart and the gun still raised in his hands.

He turned calmly and asked Mitchie, "Are you alright?"

She nodded. "Yes, thank you," she said, still in shock.

He turned, shoving his gun back into its holster, and left the saloon with barely even a nod to the stunned bar keeper. Mitchie turned back around and saw Caitlyn motioning subtly for her. She made her way through the crowd, which wasn't difficult since they parted the way for her, and left the saloon with Caitlyn following at a safe distance.

When Mitchie felt the first rush of fresh, cold air hit her face, it was both welcoming and sickening. She breathed it in, thankful for the breeze after the smoke-filled room. She stumbled into the alley next to the saloon, her chest burning from the force of the bullet. She placed one hand on the wall of the building, bending over in the hopes of catching her breath.

"Lieutenant?" Caitlyn called, still in character.

"Over here," Mitchie groaned.

There was a patter of feet and then Caitlyn appeared, her face white with worry. She eyed the bullet hole over her heart and raised questioning eyes to Mitchie's face. In response, Mitchie lifted her arms to her breast pocket and pulled out the little prop book. Buried right in the middle of the leather and unused pages was the bullet from Nigel's gun.

Caitlyn's eyes shone with relief and she shook her head. "Why is it that whenever I see you, you have a bullet in some part of your body?" Now that the crisis was over and she was sure that Mitchie was only going to be sore from the blow and not dead, the tartness had returned to Caitlyn's speech.

Mitchie chuckled as she rubbed her sternum, wincing as she said, "It's a habit I'm really trying to break." She smiled weakly at Caitlyn and asked, trying to ignore the blurriness of her vision, "Who was that man?"

Caitlyn realized that she was referring to the one that had shot Nigel and she responded with a shrug, "I don't know. Maybe he was another agent, or maybe he was just a young man with his head screwed on straight." Mitchie had to smile at that guess.

"What happened to the money?" Mitchie asked, forcing herself to stand up straighter now that some of the pain was wearing off.

Caitlyn patted her skirt. "I have it right here." She smiled. "Someone insisted that you had won it fair and square, so they asked me to get it to you." Caitlyn appeared as though she was trying not to laugh.

"Not exactly fairly," Mitchie admitted with a wry grin.

Caitlyn regarded her curiously. "Why did you not fold?" she asked. "Why did you put yourself in such a dangerous spot?"

"Because," Mitchie replied, "I thought that anything I could contribute to the Union Army would be helpful." She shrugged. "I figured that the UUS could use the money."

Caitlyn rolled her eyes. "You never cease to amaze me," she told Mitchie honestly. She frowned suddenly and asked, "Are you alright? You don't look well."

"I don't feel well," Mitchie told her. "I think it's the alcohol they gave me."

Caitlyn's ears perked up at that. "What alcohol?" she demanded.

"One of those guys back there knocked over the water you gave me and brought me back another glass with actual alcohol in it," Mitchie explained. "I only had two sips, but I'm not feeling very good at all. My vision's all blurry and I feel like I'm going to get sick."

Caitlyn bit her lip and shook her head. "I don't think it was the alcohol," she told Mitchie.

"Well then what was it?" Mitchie asked, swaying slightly as she stood up straighter.

"I think you were drugged."

"What?" Mitchie asked, confused.

"I think they drugged you," Caitlyn told her. "He probably knocked the glass over on purpose."

"But why?" Mitchie asked.

"They probably thought that you would pass out from the drug and then they would take you away," Caitlyn explained matter-of-factly. "When you regained consciousness, they would ask you all sorts of questions about who you were working for." Caitlyn shuddered. "I knew you weren't ready for this," she muttered. "They shouldn't have sent you into that place."

"But I got the information," Mitchie protested, trying to force her weak voice to sound at least a little argumentative.

"At what cost?" Caitlyn pointed out. "If we hadn't given you that book, you would've been dead right now. If you'd passed out and the gang had taken you away, you would be dead right now. Either way, this was far too dangerous."

Mitchie had no strength to protest. She simply hung her head. "I'm sorry," she said, the words coming out slightly slurred.

"For what?" Caitlyn asked.

"For failing," Mitchie replied.

Caitlyn shook her head. "You didn't fail," she stressed, trying to make Mitchie see her point. "You did extremely well under the circumstances. My only point is that you shouldn't have had to deal with those circumstances."

Mitchie nodded, but her head only bobbed. She felt exhausted and her neck felt so heavy that she didn't know for how much longer she could hold it up. "Mmhmm," she whispered, her eyelids drifting shut and then opening suddenly again. Now, she was struggling to stay awake.

Caitlyn noticed and grabbed her hand. "We have to get you back to the base."

"But people will think that you're with us if they see you taking me back," Mitchie protested, trying to think clearly through the fog that was hazing her brain.

"I wish I could, but I can't take you," Caitlyn told her. "I can't miss my shift." She began walking, pulling Mitchie along behind her as she wove through the alley towards the back of the saloon. "History is going to have to take you."

"History?" Mitchie asked, confused.

Caitlyn pulled her into a large building in the "backyard" of the saloon and Mitchie realized by the smell that it was a stable. She pulled Mitchie to the far end of the stable opened one of the stall doors. Grabbing the bridle of the horse inside, Caitlyn pulled out the horse she and Mitchie had ridden earlier that night. "History," she said, "my horse. He's named that because we're changing history right now."

She helped hoist Mitchie into the saddle and then led the horse outside and down the alley once again. When they reached the main road, Caitlyn looped the reins around History's saddle horn and told Mitchie, "He'll take you back to the base, you just have to hang on."

Without giving Mitchie time to protest about leaving her behind, Caitlyn slapped history's flanks and the horse lunged forward, soon disappearing in to the night.

"Take care of her," Caitlyn whispered into the darkness. "Please."

A/N: Review please! :D