"I hurt myself today

to see if I still feel

I focus on the pain

The only thing that's real"

"Hurt"-Johnny Cash

"MATT! OH, MATT!" my brain screams but I remain mute, staring at the big body that I know so well, lying in the dirt of the street, blood welling up from the deep wound in his chest. I remain kneeling there in my nightgown and robe as Doc does a quick examination, and then directs men to carry Matt up the steep steps to his office.

"His badge." I see the symbol of my long frustration lying in the street, bloodied and bent by the bullet that hit its wearer. My mouth twists at the irony of this shiny object that led to Matt's wound while saving him at the same time by deflecting the bullet. I reach out and pick it up, studying it for a moment before closing my hand around it so tightly that the edges bite into my soft palm. I tighten my grip until the pain begins to lessen the sight of wounded Matt that is seared into my brain. I focus on the hurt, the only thing that's real, but still my inner album of past images of shootings starts swirling through my mind like falling dominoes of darkness. Starting with Dan Grat outdrawing and shooting Matt down as I was restrained by two well-meaning men. I had thought I would never see a more terrible sight. But that was years ago and I was so young. Most people have albums of photographs of loved ones commemorating happy occasions. My inner one is a collection of Matt lying in the dirt, unconscious and maybe dying, or returning to town bloodied and wounded. Seeing him shot from behind by one of Judge Strom's sons, being propelled forward into the Long Branch, almost made my heart stop. Matt being shot in our safe "home" location shook me badly.

Still clutching the badge, I slowly climb the steps and slip inside of Doc's office. He and Festus are so intently focused on Matt that I am unnoticed as I stay quietly by the roll top desk. Only Doc knows how my own heart tears and bleeds every time Matt is shot. The carapace I have formed around it is not immune yet, but the tiny scars are steadily forming a protective layer. This night will finish the job, and I feel surprisingly empty as my dull eyes watch the intense doctor working on the person I have loved for so many years more than anyone in the world. Wordlessly, I hold my hand over the desk top, open it, and let the damaged badge fall, clattering onto the wood. As I walk out, Doc gives me a quick glance, and sees more than I realize. After Matt is stabilized, he leaves Festus to watch him, and comes to the Long Branch to check on me. As I said, only he knows how seeing Matt shot is worse for me than for anyone else. He watches me drink down a quick bracer, then promises me that Matt will be all right.

"What about next time, Doc? What can you promise me about that?" My eyes are as dead as I feared Matt was as I look up at my dear friend. Then I slowly and silently make my way up the stairs to my dark, lonely room, feeling Doc's worried eyes on my back. I have decided to leave the pain behind.

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I have been working with my old friend Claire at the Nugget saloon in Ballard for a little over two weeks now. I am a woman with a wall of ice around her heart. No man will ever hurt me again. If I am honest with myself, I am afraid that one more sight of Matt lying desperately wounded would shatter me into a million pieces, and all that would be left would be an empty dress in the dirt. This fear angers me and I snap at everyone. I am feeling strong and unreachable until Matt walks into the Nugget. Of all of the saloons in all of the towns in all of the country, he walks into mine. My anger flares at him for daring to breach my wall, even though his job is part of the reason he has come.

"Matt, I want you to leave this town! I didn't come all the way down here to see you lying in the street again with a bullet in you!" I know if he stays too long in Ballard that a clash with corrupt "Papa" Steiffer's men is inevitable.

"Kitty, you've run a saloon for a long time. Did you ever water a drink, run a crooked table, roll a drunk?" he asks as we spar.

"Of course not!" I indignantly snap.

"Why?" he asks in his calm but intent way.

"Well, because I'm proud of what I stand for…and I'm proud of…" I retort, and instantly see the knowing look in those piercing, light blue eyes. Quickly, I look away from their power to see inside me, desperate to maintain my inner hardness. But something has begun to shift as I realize that Matt feels the same way about being Marshal. About doing the job fully and with relentless dedication.

A little later, I stand outside the saloon and my eyes soften as I watch the tall, handsome man striding away from me into the dark. The ice around my heart is melting, cracking, and falling when I spy a shooter and shout a warning in time to protect him. I feel the old spark when our eyes meet before he turns and continues on his way.

Two days later I am back in Dodge. Any possible future pain is less important than the present deep yearning. I open the door of his office and see the unmistakable light in his face as he sees me.

"Hello, Cowboy."

"Well, I was beginning to wonder when you were coming back!" His voice is warm and welcoming and the crinkles at the corners of those marvelous eyes deepen.

"What made you think I'd be coming back?" I ask with my own playful smile.

"Well, I don't know, a lot of people in town missed you. Doc, Festus, Newly…" his voice trails off.

Now my smile is deeper and full of wry pleasure. "It's nice to be missed."

We walk towards the Long Branch, our home, arms around each other's waist. I notice that he didn't put on his gun belt. The shiny badge is pinned over his heart, as always, but not totally covering it nor hardening it. It is as much a part of him as the fresh scar underneath.

I look up at the clear night sky and inhale deeply. "Mmmm…smell that air, Matt!"

He looks down at me, his voice deep and warm. "Something different?"

"Dodge City," I reply, looking up, our eyes meeting in shared pleasure.

My eyes and voice are full of an enduring, endless love for this big and special man who will wear a badge as long as he is physically able.

I am here now.

I will be here then.

End.