In this one, you get to see Doc's point of view on his conversations with Wyatt. It seems things are starting to get a little arousing for both of them, though neither has a clue yet.

Disclaimer: I have no idea if rooms were available for rent on the first floor of the Dodge House.

Doc knew he was being foolish - he had known this day would come - but he couldn't find the motivation to do anything after Kate left. He lay staring at the ceiling for hours until finally his aching eyes closed. He woke up in a fit of coughing. The lamp was burning low, putting out a lot of smoke. He knew he should have put it out. He should put it out now. Instead, he reached for his whiskey bottle and took a short drink before setting it carefully back on the bedside table. He got up to relieve himself and then stumbled back to bed. After that, he drifted in and out of sleep until there was a hollow knock on the door.

He considered ignoring it. However, curiosity got the better of him. Besides, there was a slight chance that it was Kate, back sooner than expected. "Who is it?" he called in a raspy voice.

"It's Wyatt Earp... Doc, is that you?"

Doc sat up a little and propped some pillows behind him before calling, "Come in, Wyatt."

Wyatt entered and Doc observed him approaching the bed in his peripheral vision. "Doc, you all right?"

"Sure." Doc reached for the whiskey bottle again, this time bothering with a glass. "Take a nip?"

"I don't really care for it, thanks." Wyatt paused. "Did you sleep last night?"

"Some."

"Did you sleep in your clothes?"

None of your business. "As a matter of fact, I did."

"What happened? Where's Kate?"

Ah, the lawman finally deduced something. Doc shrugged. "Out peddling her wares, no doubt."

"She..."

It was too tiresome to let Wyatt conjecture. "She left, Wyatt. She took exception to your treatment of Frankie Bell, and by extension, my response. So, she decided to quit my presence to return at a hitherto undetermined time. She's gone," he added for emphasis, meeting Wyatt's eye for the first time.

Wyatt dropped his gaze. "John, I'm sorry." He sighed. "It's my fault."

It was the first time Doc could remember Wyatt calling him by his given name, in spite of having gotten his permission some time ago. He didn't like how small it made Wyatt sound just now. He muttered, "Very astute of you" and resisted the temptation to heap further sarcasm on him.

"Is there anything I can do?"

"No, I prefer that you don't attempt to interfere. She'll be back when she's ready." He quirked an eyebrow when Wyatt sat on the edge of his bed, but said nothing.

"I came because you had customers waiting at your office..."

An opportunity for honest business - lost. "I see."

"Have you eaten today?"

He cast aside the impulse to lie. "I have not."

To Doc's annoyance, Wyatt reached over and corked the whiskey bottle. "You didn't eat dinner either, did you? You'd barely started when I showed up."

Doc shrugged. He wished Wyatt would just go away and let him drink on an empty stomach.

"Come on, I'll buy you lunch. It's the least I can do."

"Apologies don't become you, Wyatt. My esteem for you drops with every hangdog look and sorry syllable."

Wyatt suddenly grabbed Doc by the waistcoat and pulled him upright. "Come on. I'm buying you lunch."

Doc nearly snarled at him for wrinkling his prized article of clothing (rather a moot point after having slept in it), but his anger was overcome by admiration for the shift to an aggressive approach. That becomes you. "That's better," he said.

He let Wyatt take him to the cafe up the street from the Long Branch. It was a dull little establishment compared to what Doc was used to, but it was probably for the best. The way he was feeling, he needed to avoid people. For their sake and his.

After ordering a simple meal, Doc casually asked about the business involving Miss Bell. Wyatt sheepishly recounted the relevant events.

"You dog," Doc muttered, without much genuine condemnation. Wyatt was a young man; young men made mistakes. He made himself eat, since the penitent lawman had paid for the food.

Next thing he knew, Wyatt was telling him about a Bob Jackson, an outlaw apprehended in Wichita. Doc liked having information that Wyatt wanted.

"You know him?"

"I've made his acquaintance at the Faro table."

"What's he like?"

"Mean son of a bitch," Doc said with perfect dramatic timing.

"Hm. Well, there's a share of the reward in it for whoever can move him from the Colorado state line to Denver. I aim to see if James will go with me."

Doc wasn't sure why he felt so unnerved. He hadn't known Wyatt all that long, and so far, he had really been more trouble than he was worth. Besides, if he was confident, maybe he had reason - maybe he could handle this. But he set his fork down and looked Wyatt in the eye to ask, "You want to move that hombre hundreds of miles with only your brother to back you up?"

"Planning to find a third man."

"Plan to find a fourth."

"He's that bad?"

After a gulp of water to stave off a cough, Doc recounted his brief acquaintance with the man in question, scowling at the memory. But it seemed that his cautionary tale did nothing to dampen Wyatt's enthusiasm. "Then there's his gang to worry about," he pointed out.

"Right. Which is why I'm looking for a third man."

Exasperated, Doc said, "You're a fool."

"It's good money."

"Not if you're too dead to collect it."

"What are you so worried about? I'd think you'd be glad to get rid of me."

For some reason, the thought of Wyatt being gone for good, of being dead, made Doc's heart sting. He chased the feeling away with a nonchalant response. "Au contraire, my good sir. I've invested too much in you to let you die now."

"Are you saying you have a bet on how long I'll live?"

What a dense response. And yet, it might have been prudent to let him believe his conclusion correct. Instead, Doc said, "I'm saying I saved your life at risk of my own, I saved your romance at risk of my own, and I have practically nothing to show for it."

"I bought you lunch."

"I bought you dinner."

"...True."

They were silent for several seconds while Doc resumed eating. He shouldn't care so much... Apparently, he cared about Wyatt enough that Kate had noticed. That wasn't like him. Finally, he said, "How much reward money?" Money was always good.

"A thousand dollars, split three ways."

"You'll expect the lion's share, I suppose."

"Five for me, two-fifty for James and our third man."

Two low for me to risk my hide on this. "Four for you, three hundred for James and me."

"You?"

"I told you: I've invested too heavily in you to let you die now. When do we leave?"

Wyatt told him.

"Maybe Kate will be back before we leave... If not, I'll write her a letter explaining."

"Don't you think she'll be irritated if you go off with me right now?" Wyatt touched on the very thing that worried Doc.

He shouldn't think badly of Kate, but since she wasn't around, Doc indulged some complaining. "Perhaps so, but she has to actually speak to me if she wants to tell me she disapproves," he grumbled darkly. It wasn't gentlemanly. He pushed the thought away.

"All right... Well, I should get back over to the jail. I'll see James about the transport this evening. Where will I find you?"

"Some card table, most likely."

Wyatt nodded. "See you later, then. Don't forget to eat next time. You're thin as a rail."

"I will make an effort, Doctor Earp," Doc said, not holding back any sarcasm this time.

He left off eating as soon as Wyatt was out of sight. He had consumed most of the meal anyway and felt repulsed at the idea of continuing. He left a tip for the waitress, reasoning that it was probably harder for respectable women to earn a decent wage in a town like Dodge than it was for the unrespectable ones. He nearly headed straight for the Long Branch saloon, but the possibility of seeing Kate on someone else's arm made him hesitate. Instead, he set out for his make-shift office at the Dodge House.

The rented room was on the first floor and had a window customers could look through from the outside. A hand-painted sign reading "Closed" in pretty letters hung in the window. Doc went in through the lobby and unlocked the door to his office. He went to the window and flipped the sign over. Then he opened his case of instruments and made sure they were all clean and in order. He made sure the adjustable chair was in proper working condition. Then he fetched a fresh jug of water. Then there was nothing to do. Doc pulled his worn deck of cards from his waistcoat pocket and shuffled them in the air in front of him - cut, riffle, bridge, overhand, repeat.

He soon tired of shuffling and put the cards away. He went to the window and looked outside. A horse was stomping at the hitching post across the street. A man spat on the sidewalk as he passed. Another man walked a lady up to the cafe. Doc sighed and turned away. A quick check of the time told him he had been there less than an hour. Another twenty minutes or so, and he would close up again and try to find some punters for a Faro game.

He took his cards out again and began building a house on the wooden table. Two cards leaning together. Then two leaning on their side edges, front and back. Then two more across the ends of those. Then two lying flat on either side of the peak, like awnings. Then he began the second tier with two cards leaning together like the first pair on top of the last two he had set down. This level was much more delicate to place than the first.

He was starting the third tier when a knock at the door startled him just enough to make his hand waver a fraction of an inch. The card house fell, leaving only part of the first tier intact.

"Just a moment," Doc called, quickly scooping the deck back together and tucking it into his pocket. He crossed to the door and opened it. To his surprise, Bat Masterson stood outside. Doc wondered if he was in trouble. Again. "Mister Masterson, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Masterson, not currently wearing a badge that Doc could see, awkwardly shifted his weight, looking past Doc into the office. "May I come in?"

Doc stepped back, swinging to the side like a second door admitting Masterson entrance. "Please, make yourself at home."

The other man removed his hat as he entered and held it in his hands. "See, I've been having this little pain when I have cold drinks... sometimes hot food will set it off now too," he said, turning his hat slowly in his hands.

"Let's have a look." Doc rolled up his sleeves.

"Well... how much will this cost me?"

"The consultation is free."

Masterson settled gingerly into the chair and Doc cranked it back.

"Uh, are your services confidential?" Masterson asked.

Doc cocked his head to the side. "There's no shame in having a toothache, Mister Masterson."

"Oh, sure." Masterson glanced furtively at Doc. "It's just that you know Wyatt Earp, isn't that right?"

"Mister Earp and I are acquainted."

"Well, I have to work with him. And I'd just rather he didn't know I couldn't deal with a little tooth pain, you get me?"

Doc was amused. Masterson was young - younger than himself - and he clearly had a lot of pride. He gave the other a smile that he hoped was not too condescending. "I've no reason to disclose the circumstances to anyone, Mister Masterson. Provided you don't make an enemy of me, you can rest easy that Mister Earp won't hear of it."

Masterson nodded. "Thank you, Doctor Holliday."

"Now, can you show me which tooth has been giving you trouble?"

I didn't really plan on that last scene. You can blame it on the fact that I've been watching The Life And Legend of Wyatt Earp, in which Bat features heavily. I'm not too keen on the real Bat Masterson, at least when it comes to the way he went from being on good terms with Doc to denouncing him later in life. Mostly I wanted to give Doc a little dentistry business. It sucks to go through all that time in college and not be able to use what you learned.

Next time, I plan to move toward the action... and more awkwardness. xD