I went back and invented a little lock-up for Granada, since I said they put Jackson in the jail... and then revealed that Granada has no jail. Ha! This is why you should take notes while you write, but... it's fanfic so I haven't been bothering. xp

I had to make stuff up about Doc's college life because info isn't readily available and I'm not spending a lot of time and money on research for a story I'm not getting paid to write. xp

I use two Tombstone quotes in this chapter. One is obvious, but can you spot them both?

November, 1870

As he stalked angrily back toward Wilson's boarding house, John wondered if he would see Gerald again that night. The other young man was also a boarder at Wilson's, and they saw each other at breakfast nearly every morning and sometimes dinner as well. He hadn't taken dinner at his home-away-from-home tonight and running into his classmates had distracted him from buying dinner. Now he felt too irritated to eat. But he knew that if he went to bed without dinner, he was bound to awaken with hunger or not be able to sleep at all. So, instead of heading upstairs to his room, he turned off the hall into the kitchen.

Mrs. Wilson, a gray-haired woman in her early sixties, was preparing something for the next morning's breakfast. She looked up and gave him a little smile. "Good evening, John."

"Good evening, Missus Wilson," John said politely, removing his hat. "I'm afraid I'm in a poor temper just now, and I haven't had any dinner. I don't suppose there's anything left you could spare?"

"Oh, of course! Wash up and have a seat at the table."

"Yes'm. Thank you."

She pumped the water for him while he scrubbed his hands. "What is it that has you so irritated?"

"I wouldn't want to trouble you, ma'am."

"It's no trouble. I consider you students to be like family. Why, you could almost be my grandson."

"That's mighty kind of you to say." John rinsed the soap off his hands and accepted a towel to dry them.

"Tell me what's wrong."

"It's just I'm having some trouble fittin' in with my classmates. All of them seem to hate me."

"I can't imagine why. You're one of the politest young people I've met."

John went to sit at the kitchen table. "I reckon it's my accent."

"Oh. That." She seemed to understand what he meant.

"Matter of fact, the way they are, I'm surprised you and your husband don't hate me too."

Mrs. Wilson sighed softly as she set a pot on the stove. "It's hard for some folks to get past things... the war was rough on everyone."

"Did your family lose anyone? If you don't mind my asking."

"I don't mind. Yes, we lost our eldest, Tom. And Robert was wounded, and we thought we'd lose him to infection, but he pulled through, thank God. He's got two children of his own, now. We're up to seven grandchildren."

In spite of the heavy topic, John was beginning to feel better. Mrs. Wilson's voice was soothing. "I'm sorry about Tom... I'm lucky not to have lost anyone from my family."

"Not lucky. It was Providence."

"Yes, ma'am."

They fell silent for a few minutes while she reheated some dinner on the stove. When she brought it to him, she said, "I don't know how to advise you about your classmates. Just try to kill them with kindness, I suppose."

"I try not to respond in kind, but... well, this evening, for instance: I met some of them in town and they were playing cards. Once I figured I knew enough to play with them, they let me. I wasn't sure I'd won the round until they all got angry with me and accused me of cheatin'." John's throat became too tight to say more.

"That's a dreadful position to be in."

John swallowed. "I tried to be a good sport about it, told them I wouldn't take their money if they didn't think it fair, but that didn't seem to do a lick o' good." His throat tightened all over again. He couldn't decide if he was more sad or angry. His eyes stung, and he avoided looking at his hostess.

"Oh, John." She put her arm around his shoulders in a motherly fashion.

The act of compassion tipped him over the edge and a tear ran down his face. "Why do they have to hate me so?" he rasped through his constricted throat. "I never harmed any of 'em."

"It isn't you they hate - not really. You're the scapegoat taking the punishment for all the grievances they carry around. It isn't fair." She leaned her head on his.

It was just the sort of thing his mother would have done. John closed his moist eyes and leaned into her. It was the first time he hadn't felt alone since he arrived in Philadelphia. Then he took a deep breath and pulled away from her slightly. "I'm sorry, Missus Wilson. I ought to be able to manage things without troubling you or fallin' to pieces."

"Don't you worry. I've raised three boys and two girls. I've seen many joys and many sorrows." She patted his arm. "Just you try to keep your chin up tomorrow and don't treat them any differently. You weren't in the wrong, and you need to give them the chance to do better."

"I'll try."

"Good. Now, eat your dinner."

"Yes, ma'am."

July, 1878

Doc sat up and looked around for his guns when the door opened. Then he realized it was the adjoining door that had opened, not the hall door. Wyatt was looking through it.

"You're awake," Wyatt observed. He stepped into the room, fully dressed.

Doc coughed and cleared his throat. "I am now. What time is it?"

"A little after nine."

"Why didn't you wake me sooner?"

"It's raining pretty hard. I don't think we're going anywhere today."

"Hm." Doc arranged his pillows behind him and leaned back. "In that case, why didn't you just let me sleep?"

"I didn't mean to wake you. Just wanted to see if you were up. If you want to get up now, we're going down for breakfast."

"All right. Give me a few minutes."

Wyatt nodded and retreated, closing the door behind him.

Doc stretched and yawned. He felt rested, but also a little stiff. He had probably slept in the same position too long. That's what happens when you have the rain to lull you and you sleep too many hours at a stretch.

Damn it all, I could have gambled half the night and still got plenty of sleep! He flung the covers back and grabbed his clothes. "Damn you, Wyatt Earp," he grumbled to himself.

A few minutes later, he joined the brothers in their room.

"Ready?" Wyatt asked.

"Yes." Doc was going to leave it at that, but his upbringing wouldn't let him. He turned to James. "Good morning, James."

"Morning, Doc," James replied.

As they filed out the door, Doc observed the brothers' hats and coats hung on their pegs. Wyatt's were soaked. "You've been to check on Jackson and to the livery already this morning?" he guessed.

"Yes. He's none too happy, but he hasn't busted out. The livery man is glad to have our business another day, though I think he was hoping to talk us into leasing some fresh horses, and now there's no point. The horses will get plenty of rest today."

Once they were seated in the hotel dining room, Doc said dryly, "Perhaps it'll rain through 'til tomorrow... and there'll be no need to turn in early."

Wyatt gave something between a clearing of the throat and a sigh. "I didn't know it would turn out this way..."

"Wyatt's not responsible for the weather," James put in. "For all he knew, we could have gotten an early start today. Although, we did talk about the possibility of a storm right here in this room last night, as you may recall. You said nothing then."

"I was too busy workin' on my dinner to please Wyatt," Doc sniped. "Why I let him sway my humor so, I can't imagine."

After a little pause, James said with a smirk, "He's a conniver, all right."

Wyatt made a sound of protest.

"Don't try to deny it. We're all out here on your fanciful idea, and I'm guessin' you'll have me and Doc and maybe Virg and Morgan out doing more wild things with you too before long. You could talk a squirrel down from a tree or an antelope up into one."

Doc chuckled. He couldn't stay angry. Maybe Wyatt was manipulative, but it seemed almost to be part of his charm. All right, boy. Maybe you've got me on a leash, but maybe I don't mind it. The warm feeling came back to his chest, and it didn't unnerve him this time. It was sort of nice to have it back.

After breakfast, the three men went back up to Wyatt's and James's room. They agreed that on a day like this, men were more apt to gamble in the middle of the day, and they would go in pursuit of a game after lunch. In the meantime, there wasn't much to do for a couple of hours.

James got out a book and settled down on his bed. "Want me to read aloud?" he asked.

Doc sat at their small table and began setting up cards for a game of solitaire. "What's the book?" he asked.

"David Copperfield."

"I've read it." He glanced up at Wyatt, who was watching him with a bored expression. "Though, maybe Wyatt hasn't."

"I haven't," Wyatt confirmed.

"Of course, maybe you oughta be studyin' that Bible so you'll be ready for your churchin' when you get back to Dodge." Doc smirked. "Besides, I reckon Jackson's gang will hit us shortly after we leave this town. If they don't try to take him tonight."

"What makes you say that?"

"No lawman here. No law for miles. The best help we could count on is a volunteer posse. And how likely you think we are to get anyone to come out and help us when we've very few connections in town? Hell, I'm surprised they didn't try to get him out last night."

"He's right," James said, holding a finger in his book to keep his place. "Maybe we ought to move Jackson into the hotel. Doc can sleep in here with us."

Doc shook his head. "I believe the tenant across the hall checked out this morning. I can move over there."

"If there's trouble, we want you as close as possible," said Wyatt. "You should stay with us."

Looking around the room with some skepticism, Doc said, "Is someone going to be keeping watch at all hours? Or are we going to move another bed in here?"

"James and I can share. It wouldn't be the first time. Are those soldiers still in town?"

"They might be," said James. "They wouldn't want to travel in this weather any more than we do."

Doc was barely following the conversation anymore. He was too hung up on the image of the Earp brothers sharing a bed. He wondered when it had happened before. He wondered what it was like to sleep beside a man your age who cared about you. He flipped over the queen of spades and suddenly thought of Kate. He missed her, he realized.

"Doc, you should move your things in here. I'll go speak to the manager about bringing Jackson in to make sure no one opens the door of two-thirteen. Then we need to bring him over. I might need a hand with him."

"I'm your huckleberry," Doc said, pushing his chair back.

"No, you need to get the room ready. James can come with me."

Preparing his room wouldn't take long, and Doc didn't like being left out of the action. But he didn't relish the idea of tramping around in the pouring rain, so he didn't argue.

Not only did he move his belongings out of the one-bed room, he took down the curtains from the window and removed the pitcher, basin and washstand. Next, he carried the little table and chair through to the larger room. He even removed one of the pillows from the bed and took the case from the other. By this time, he was coughing and sweating from exertion.

"Damned lungs," he grumbled. At twenty, he could have done all of this without breaking a sweat.

Finally, he heard heavy footsteps in the hall. He opened the door and saw James leading the way toward him, Jackson coming along behind with bound hands, and Wyatt behind him with gun drawn. He stepped back to let them into the room.

"Any trouble?" Doc asked.

"Nothing we couldn't handle," James answered. He looked around. "What happened here?"

"I didn't want Mister Jackson to have anything that might facilitate his escape."

"Good thinking," said Wyatt. "A bed's all he really needs anyway."

"I want to visit the privy before you lock me in here," Jackson said, glaring at Wyatt.

"All right." Wyatt motioned to the doorway. "You could have said that a little sooner."

Doc followed Wyatt and his prisoner down the hall. When they got to the washroom, they halted.

"I need my hands free," Jackson said.

"You made do with cuffed hands when I took you breakfast."

"It's inhumane. You ever tried to get your britches up and down without full use of your hands?"

"Fine." Wyatt handed his gun to Doc and produced the key to the handcuffs. "If you try anything, you won't get this courtesy again."

"Courtesy," Jackson snorted.

"Just be glad this hotel has chamber pot service," Doc pointed out. "Otherwise, you'd be making a trip back out into the rain. No one wants that."

Jackson merely glared at him before moving out of sight.

"This is the worst of prison transports," Wyatt said. "I don't mind the travel, but supervising the call of nature is an ugly business."

Doc handed Wyatt's gun back to him. "Indeed. Like keepin' a dog."

"A badly behaved dog."

"If only the sound of the rain would cover the sound of what's goin' on in there."

"We should be so blessed."

The ordeal was finally over - Jackson emerged from his stall and washed his hands thoroughly, probably stalling for time before he would have to be cuffed again.

"You want to cuff him, or hold the gun?" Wyatt asked.

"Gun," Doc said immediately. He didn't want to touch the unsavory ruffian if possible.

Wyatt handed over his revolver and approached Jackson with the cuffs.

Jackson put out his hands, but then made a sudden move Doc couldn't see properly because Wyatt was between them.

As a scuffle began, Doc said sharply, "Hold it!" and cocked Wyatt's pistol, but Jackson paid him no attention. "James," he called over his shoulder, not sure if James would hear him. He waited until the pair quit tussling and Jackson got Wyatt around the neck with one burly arm.

"I'll break his neck!" Jackson shouted.

"No, you won't," Doc said in a condescending tone. "Why would you do a thing like that? I've still got a gun on you, and you'd only be standin' trial for two murders then. Don't be foolish."

Wyatt tried struggling a bit, but Jackson outweighed him by at least fifty pounds, and a good deal of it seemed to be muscle.

"You're friends," Jackson said. "I seen you talkin' thick as thieves."

"Saw," Doc interrupted.

"What?"

"You saw us talking, not seen."

"Shut up, you Dixie bastard. It'd break your little heart if I break his neck. Drop the gun."

"Wyatt, is the reward the same if we bring him in dead?" Doc asked lazily. It wasn't that he wasn't at all concerned for his friend. He simply had contempt for Jackson's lack of intelligence, and experience had taught him to remain calm when he was threatened.

"Nope," Wyatt wheezed, clearly not getting enough air. He tried to stomp on Jackson's foot, but the moment he moved, Jackson jerked him off balance and he had to abandon the attempt.

"Pity. Lookie here, 'Colorado Bob,' I don't know if you know my reputation, but I can shoot the fly off a heifer's ear at fifty paces. It won't be any trick at all to wing you just now. And you're right: Wyatt Earp is my friend. If you kill him, I won't worry about the reward money anymore. I'll just drop you right here and now and think nothin' of it."

He heard footsteps behind him.

"James?" Doc didn't take his eyes off Jackson.

"Yeah, Doc." James asked no questions.

"How 'bout it, Jackson? I'd hate to discharge a revolver inside the hotel. Once my bullet passes through your shoulder... your arm... your calf... or grazes your skull..." Doc moved the muzzle of the gun slightly to aim at each location. "...it might go on to put a hole in somethin', and then we'd have to pay for the damage. An' that would be a shame."

Jackson swallowed.

"I think shoulder's best, don't you, James? I don't fancy having to drag him or help him limp around."

"Wait." Jackson shoved Wyatt away.

"So rough," Doc scolded. "There was no call for that."

"You all right, Wyatt?" James asked.

"Fine," Wyatt said, sounding very put out. He retrieved the handcuffs from the floor and put them on Jackson. Then he punched the outlaw in the nose. "Come on."

Jackson howled with pain and grabbed his bleeding nose as Wyatt steered him down the hall. He complained of "unnecessary force" and such, but no one had any sympathy to spare.

In the old west, very few public places had actual toilets. Your options were: go outside to the outhouse some hundred or more feet from the building you were staying in or do your business in a chamber pot that would get emptied later. I decided not to deal with the details until now. I probably should have made them use an outhouse in Lakin. Oh well. Who wants to read about outhouses, anyway? If you've never used one, you wouldn't know this, but they stink very strongly. Not the sort of place one would have a romantic meet-up, for instance. An indoor washroom, though... maybe? Depending on whether or not there were chamber pots in said washroom, and when they had last been emptied and cleaned. So yeah, for the most part, there isn't much point in discussing the convenience or lack of convenience of cowboy bathrooms. xp

For some reason I keep giggling over "Dixie bastard."