Again, apologies to anyone with unpleasant experiences at church. For some reason I'm bothering to make this aspect of the story realistic. I guess you can take the kid out of church, but you cant take the church out of the... whatever.

The sun was setting when Doc approached the church. The modest little building was young, but already graying from its time in the Kansas sun. He strayed away from the beaten path that led up to the door and sat on a sizeable rock that allowed him a decent view. He produced a handkerchief from his pocket and coughed into it, then dabbed at the sweat on his brow. It must be sweltering in the church. He pitied Wyatt a little.

There was a sort of rustle from within, and then a fiddle began to play. They must be standing for the closing hymn. Doc recognized the reverent strains of "Abide With Me" before the congregants began to sing.

"Oh, Lord," Doc murmured. He remembered the hymn being sung in the First Presbyterian Church of Griffin, Georgia and his mother's voice rising beside him. The Union Church seemed to have a passion for this particular hymn - they soldiered on through verse after verse until the last of the sunlight streaked the clouds with rosy orange and touches of purple that Doc could imagine was a new dawn in heaven rather than sunset on earth.

"Hold Thou Thy cross before my closing eyes

Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies

Heav'n's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me."

It was a cacophony of mismatched voices, but a few strong ones bore the rest along with the fiddle. There really was nothing like a fiddle to carry off a person's heart. Doc quickly dabbed his eyes and put his handkerchief away.

He looked up to see a figure coming toward the church, walking stick in hand. Doc got to his feet and let the other man approach him. "Right on time, Mister Masterson."

"Charlie thought I was crazy when I told him I needed to meet Doc Holliday over by the church before it let out."

Doc smirked. "I can imagine. I believe the preacher is just saying the benediction. Or closing prayer, or whatever they do here."

"It's been a while since I was at church too," Masterson admitted, looking a little sheepish in the fading light.

They silently watched the attendees exit the church, awkwardly nodding to the ones who noticed them. Finally, there was a long pause in traffic.

"That looks like it," Masterson said.

"Preacher hasn't come out yet," Doc pointed out.

"All right. We'll wait on him. I'll ask him outright if Wyatt's been here or talked to him about joining."

After another minute, two more people emerged from the church: James and Bessie Earp.

"James," Masterson said in surprise. He approached the couple, Doc right behind him. "Good evening, James."

"Evening, Bat," James said, looking a trifle confused. "You've met Bessie..."

"Yes, good evening," Masterson said hastily. He didn't wait for Bessie's answer. "James, is Wyatt in there?"

"He is."

Doc was struggling to keep his smile down to a smirk. The bet isn't won yet, he reminded himself. Wyatt has to be a member, or at least on his way toward it.

"Is he going to join this church?" Masterson demanded.

"He's looking to," James answered. "Why?"

"We have a little bet goin'," Doc said, smiling at James in a way that he was sure communicated, Explain this to him and you're dead.

"Oh... I see. Well, we're just waiting for him now... everyone else has left."

"What in the world made him decide to join the church? Makes no sense," Masterson grumbled, beginning to pace.

Bessie looked like she might speak, but James put a hand on her arm, and she remained silent.

At last, the church door opened again. Wyatt appeared, accompanied by Reverend Wright, a surprisingly young man who could almost have passed for another Earp brother.

"Well?" James asked.

The preacher smiled. "It's settled. Wyatt will be a member of the church within a few weeks."

Masterson began to exclaim something, but stopped himself, probably realizing what bad form it would be to curse in the presence of a preacher.

"Well, there you are," Doc drawled. "I suppose there's no more to say about it. Those of us who agreed to certain terms will have to keep our word." He was speaking mostly of himself and James, but Masterson did not know that.

"Yes, yes, you'll get your money," the young lawman grumbled.

"By the end of the week. Remember our terms."

"I'll remember." Masterson stepped closer to Wyatt. "What happened? Why did you suddenly get so religious?"

Doc caught Wyatt's eye and subtly shook his head. Don't ruin this for me, boy. I'll never forgive you.

Looking quite disoriented, Wyatt said, "Uh... it's kind of a long story, Bat. I'll tell you about it some other time."

"It'll be full dark soon," Bessie pointed out. "We should probably get on home."

If the preacher found their interactions strange, he hid it well. "Have a good night, all of you. I hope you'll come again."

"Good night, reverend," Wyatt said.

James shook Wright's hand before leading Bessie away. Wright offered his hand to Masterson, and they made a brief introduction.

He knew it was rude, but Doc turned away from them, not wanting to make a direct exchange with this man. However, as he took his second or third step, he heard the preacher call after him.

"Good night, Doctor Holliday."

It was a little unnerving that the preacher knew him by sight, and even in low light. It made Doc feel as if it must be this man's connection with God, and therefore with death, that gave him an unnatural insight. He paused and half-turned back stiffly. "Evenin', preacher," he said. He gave a small nod and turned away, determined not to stop again, no matter how rude it was.

But no one stopped him this time. Masterson caught up to him, and Doc could feel his disgruntled mood like a wave of hot air. "I just can't believe it was true," he said.

"There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio..." Doc muttered. He saw that Wyatt had halted and stood waiting for them to catch up. "...than are dreamt of in your philosophy."

"Hamlet?" Wyatt asked.

Doc shrugged, secretly pleased that Wyatt had recognized the quotation. Maybe he did like to read after all.

"I'll think twice about doubting your sources, Doc," Masterson said, clearly still upset about losing his bet. "I'll get you your money when I get paid." He shook his head sadly.

"No hurry," Doc said. He couldn't resist smirking and adding, "For me, anyway."

"Sure. I'd better get my dinner now. Charlie's having me do rounds tonight."

"See you, Bat," Wyatt said.

"See you, Wyatt."

Once Masterson was out of hearing, Wyatt asked, "Does he know we're leaving with the convoy in the morning?"

"I think he's forgotten about it."

"Did you tell him he had to pay you by the end of the week?"

"It's optional."

Doc couldn't see his face in the darkness, but Wyatt sounded distrustful when he asked, "Is something riding on that option?"

"Never you mind, Wyatt. You just worry about our upcoming travels. Have you arranged horses for us all?"

"Yes. Four of them. Two drive well in addition to being good saddle horses. I'll be riding my own horse."

"That's good. And we have provisions?"

"I discussed it with Hank. He'll have my order ready to pick up first thing. Food enough in case we have to go off the main road for a few days. Blankets and canteens, too."

That sounded about right. Doc hoped they wouldn't have to camp in the wilderness, but at least they were prepared. "All right. Well... Hank lives in the boarding house too, so I reckon I'll ask him to make sure I'm awake when he leaves. That way I can be ready to go when you are."

"All right."

"Are you fond of Shakespeare?" Doc surprised himself a little at this near-outburst. The reading question had been hovering at the back of his mind and he supposed it simply couldn't wait any longer to be addressed.

"Uh... sure. I like to take in a play whenever it's available. There's not a lot in the way of entertainment other than gambling and chorus girls. Especially not for a man who doesn't like to drink and is now tied down to one woman."

"I see. Ever read the bard for yourself?"

"A little bit. But I found if I wanted to really go at it, I had to have a dictionary handy. A dictionary or James."

"Yes, your brother seems to be quite keen on reading. That's why I brought it up. He and Bessie were exploring one of Mister Dickens's works."

They had been walking somewhat aimlessly and were now crossing to the lower side of the town, "below the deadline." Although the saloons were closed, many windows were lit. Citizens were having dinner or preparing for bed, and a few working girls were probably quietly entertaining customers who knew which door to knock on. Doc looked at Wyatt's face as squares of light fell on the half he could see. It's a good face. Distinguished.

"I probably ought to get a few books to take up those Sunday afternoons. Town's too damn quiet."

"Mm. I have a couple I could lend you. I used to have a lot more..." Before I learned I was dying and might not have time to read them all. Before I left Texas and decided it was silly trying to cart them around with me. Doc's little library had shrunk again and again until he had only half a dozen books, and two of them were on dentistry. "Dodge ought to start a library."

"That's an idea. Might encourage folks to make less trouble."

"Which would, in turn, give you more time to read."

Wyatt chuckled in his throat, a deep, warm sound. Doc found himself wanting to hear it again.

They reached the end of the boardwalk and halted awkwardly.

"I reckon we're on the wrong side of town," Doc said, smiling in the dark.

Then came that chuckle again, oddly stirring up warmth in Doc's chest.

"I reckon we are," Wyatt agreed. "Just moths drawn to flame, maybe."

"Maybe so." Doc's smile widened. He stepped off the boardwalk, venturing into the darkness. He heard Wyatt's boots scuffing the gravel just behind him.

"Are you still concerned about the trip?"

"A bit. But there's no point in worrying about it now. We're set on it, so we've got it to do."

They walked back across the railroad tracks toward the lights north of the deadline. Doc didn't want to go back to his room. He wanted to walk with Wyatt until the sun came up. And he had no idea why. It was going to be miserable enough having to get up early. Starting a journey on no sleep was a terrible idea.

A coughing fit punctuated how bad an idea it was. He halted and quickly got out his handkerchief. He knew there was blood from the feel of things before he tasted it. God, I hate this.

He felt a hand fall lightly on his shoulder and heard Wyatt ask, "You all right?"

Obviously not, you silly ass. No, he wouldn't say that. Never better. Shall we continue? Not that either. Doc made sure the spell had passed, then said, "I'm dying, Wyatt. Surely you've heard I'm a consumptive."

"No, I... I knew you were sick, but I hadn't heard with what. I'm sorry." He sounded genuinely sorry.

Doc hated it. "Well, don't be. I've already lived over twice as long as they thought I would. Every day is like puttin' one over on the devil." He tried to laugh, but only a little huff came out.

He hated it even more when Wyatt's hand left his shoulder.

"You sure you should be taking a trip to Denver right now?" Wyatt sounded nervous.

"Now's as good a time as any. In fact, summer is the time my cough tends to bother me the least. Don't you worry, son. I'm not goin' to drop dead on you. Not without a bullet in me."

They started walking again, not speaking until they reached the row of buildings containing Cox's boarding house.

"Doc, how old are you?"

Doc took offense. "Fifty-seven," he snapped.

"You don't have to tell me. It's just... you keep talking like you're older than me."

So, this wasn't about his short life expectancy. "I'm older than everyone," Doc muttered.

"I turned thirty this year," Wyatt offered.

It would be mean not to tell him now. "I'm twenty-seven... next month."

"You're Morg's age. My younger brother."

"Is that so? Hm." Doc didn't know what it was like to have a younger brother. He hoped the comparison wouldn't influence Wyatt's opinion toward thinking him immature. "That preacher sure is young, isn't he?"

"Yes. I was surprised."

"I bet he was, too, when you showed up."

Wyatt chuckled yet again. "More when he learned the reason."

Lord, what is this? His laugh makes me feel almost drunk.

They came to the boarding house and halted again. After another awkward silence, Wyatt said, "I'll walk up with you."

"I won't have you treatin' me like an invalid. I'm fine. I'll see you in the morning."

"All right... if you're sure."

Doc forced a smile. "Good night, son."

Wyatt snorted. "Good night, John."

For some reason, that warm feeling came back to Doc's chest as he headed for the stairs. Something about Wyatt using his proper name. He brushed the notion aside. I need to write that letter to Kate.

Doc's falling for him (but he still hasn't quite figured it out). Does Wyatt feel the same? At any rate, they're getting to know each other. You see the chapter title isn't just about the hymn... it's also because Doc wanted to stay with Wyatt all night. -_^

Btw, if you don't know the hymn, it really is very pretty and you can easily find it on Youtube if you want to hear what it sounds like. I wrote this chapter BEFORE I found out that the guy who wrote the hymn wrote it when he was dying of TB (consumption). No wonder it sounded so appropriate for Doc!