Here's another installment. I hope you enjoy it.

TW: bullying/blackmail/assault/non-con... time for more young-Doc wump. Ugh, you're gonna hate me.

There's another Tombstone line in this one. I bet you can spot it.

"Who wants the first watch?" Wyatt asked when their camp was set up and a simple dinner was warming over a hissing, steamy fire.

"Makes no difference to me," said Doc. "I'm used to bein' up at all hours and going to bed whenever I feel like it."

"Then I guess I'll go first and you can go second. That all right with you, James?"

"I've been known to rise early," James said.

"What day is it?" Doc asked suddenly.

"One night in Lakin, two in Granada," James mused, rubbing his chin. "I guess it's Thursday. Why?"

"Oh, just... wonderin' what Kate's doing."

Actually, Doc was wondering whether or not it would occur to Bat Masterson to give the money he owed him to Kate instead of waiting for him to come back. They might not reach Denver by the end of the week, let alone get back to Dodge. Bat was probably going to be sore about it. Doc smirked a little.

"The one good thing about this whole damned affair," Jackson said from his position a few feet from the fire, "is that I get a full night's sleep while you have to take turns keeping watch." He smiled like a cat with a cornered mouse.

"No need for you to miss out on the brotherhood of guard duty," said James. "We'll just wake you up with the changing of the guard each time so you can feel a part of things."

Doc smiled devilishly. He was beginning to like James a lot.

Jackson cursed James under his breath.

"Don't make things worse on yourself," Wyatt advised him. "We could find all sorts of ways to make you miserable if we'd a mind to."

Doc stared into the fire, pondering Wyatt's words. Yes, he could probably think of a half dozen nasty tricks they could play on their captive. And he'd still be fit as a fiddle when they reached Denver, well able to stand trial. There were plenty of ways to torment the mind without harming the body.

His schoolmates in Philidelphia had found ways to do both. It was a wonder he had ever graduated.

November, 1870

John had told Mrs. Wilson and her husband that he was ill the night his classmates worked him over. He truly didn't have much of an appetite and wanted nothing more than to sleep. So, he had gone to bed early, hoping things would get better with a new day.

He woke extremely stiff and sore. It seemed like he was in more pain than he had been when it first happened. Yet, he determined to get to class. He left early so he could go slowly. He checked around every corner, worried that his classmates might be waiting to cut him off. But he made it to class without incident, and just in time. That was fortunate - he didn't want the teacher taking the time to ask if he was all right. He was sure he looked dreadful, even though no one had struck his face.

The next day wasn't much better, but little by little, he improved. His peers were cold to him like before, speaking to him only when absolutely necessary. He remembered well what Michael had said to him and didn't try to talk to any of them, not even Gerald. When they encountered each other at meals at the boarding house, it felt tense; they avoided looking at each other.

Finally, Saturday evening, John could relax in the knowledge that there was no class the following day. He had survived another week. He decided to review the week's material a bit after dinner and then turn in. The Wilsons' had come to expect him to attend church with them, so he didn't want to be up late.

He was surprised by a knock on his door. He looked up from the table where he was studying by lantern light. "Yes? Come in."

An even greater surprise was in store for him when the door opened and revealed none other than Michael himself.

John was at a loss. Calling for help didn't seem like the worst idea, but it looked like Michael was alone. What could he possibly want? Should he try being polite to him as if nothing had happened?

"Hello, John." Michael stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

Moving to action rather awkwardly, John pushed his chair back and stood. "Mi... Edwards." He swallowed. "Good evening." He watched Michael guardedly, trying to ready himself for anything.

Michael sauntered over to the desk and looked at John's textbook and copy book laid out. "You're a good student," he observed.

"So are you, by all accounts," John acknowledged, still not trusting that this was to be a pleasant visit.

"You take instructions well."

John took his meaning. "It seems the most prudent thing to do. Best for all concerned."

"Yes." Michael smiled at him. It was not a friendly smile. "I'm sure you noticed that no one has troubled you since I gave you your instructions."

Does he expect me to thank him? John wondered. He waited in silence.

"I'm sure you want it to stay that way, don't you?" Michael turned toward him, barely a foot between them. "I can make certain of that for you. But you have to do something for me. That's fair, isn't it?"

If you were interested in fair play, you wouldn't have come at me in a mob. John still kept silent.

"Because if you're not interested in diplomacy, I can just as easily make life a living hell for you."

There were his true colors. This wasn't an offer of peace at all. It was blackmail.

"What do you want?" John asked. He didn't want to drag this out. He would give in here if he had to - as long as he could finish taking his courses in peace, then he could eventually leave this place behind forever. He would give a lot for that.

"I'm lonely."

What? John was completely baffled.

"There's a girl I like - she's gone to the country for the winter, and I won't see her until spring."

Write her letters. What on earth do you want me to do about it?

"I'm used to her company." Michael reached up and put his hand on the back of John's neck, resting his wrist on John's shoulder. He looked at him in a conspiratorial way as he went on, "To a certain level of intimacy. You understand."

John didn't quite understand, but he knew he was expected to. He felt warm, and yet Michael's touch had made him shiver. "What do you want from me?" he asked quietly.

"I want you to fill in for her. Give me the intimacy I crave in her absence."

This made no sense. John was sure he was blushing now, completely out of his depth. "What... what do you mean?"

Michael sighed. "You're really a country bumpkin, aren't you?"

"I am not," John said before he could stop himself. He knew he shouldn't be contrary in such a delicate situation. But he knew himself to be a well-bred and well-educated young man, so Michael's words struck a nerve.

"I'm talking about amorous congress."

John's face felt warmer still. Michael was obviously a reprobate and he needed to come to the point right away. He must not know how he sounded. "Just how do you expect me to 'fill in'? I don't know what you think I can do."

Michael's hand slid up to the side of John's face and he leaned forward, bringing his lips to John's before the younger man could react. "Do you understand now?"

John involuntarily lurched backward, eyes wide, heart racing. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"You know what I'm doing. I couldn't have made it any plainer for you. Are you going to agree to my terms or not?"

"You... you can't expect your friends to assault me just because I wouldn't play at bein' your lady friend." Saying such a thing out loud made it worse. Every inch of his skin must be flaring red by now.

"No, of course not." Michael's hand went back to John's neck and tightened uncomfortably. "They'll do it for no reason at all if I tell them. And if you try to tell anyone about this, I'll say it was you that wanted it, not me. They'll believe me. Don't forget, you're the outsider here."

John's head was reeling. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. It was worse than a nightmare. No words would come to him.

"Of course, you've a third option." Michael shuffled forward until his chest touched John's.

John froze, terrified of what was coming, but not daring to move.

Michael's face brushed against John's and he could feel his warm breath when he whispered, "You can withdraw from school and go home." He leaned back to smile at John. "It can all be over."

Oh, God, tell me this isn't real. I did nothing to deserve this. I'm doing well in school - I thought this was where I was meant to be.

Michael stroked the back of John's neck above his collar, working his fingertips in and out of John's hair. "But you've worked hard. You don't want to quit now, do you?"

John was in danger of crying. He took a slow, deep breath. Pull yourself together. Don't let him see you fall apart. He swallowed. "No."

"Then we have a bargain?"

John stared at Michael's cravat, willing his voice to remain steady. No. It's a devil's bargain. But at the moment, he seemed to have no choice. In a compliant tone, he asked, "What do you expect me to do?"

Michael smiled again. "Just whatever I ask you to. It won't be difficult. Kiss me to show that you really understand."

Everything in him was screaming at him to run. Cowards run away. John wasn't a coward. If his father and brother could face the Yankees in battle, he could handle a stupid kiss. He wasn't going home early. That would be a disgrace. With another steadying breath, he lifted his chin and met Michael in another kiss.

When it was done, Michael embraced him and whispered in his ear again. "That's a good fellow. Now we can be friends again."

Were we ever friends, Michael? I tried so hard, but you didn't want it. Is this what you wanted all along?

"But you mustn't mention any of this to anyone, understand?"

John nodded and forced himself to say, "I won't."

"Good." Michael gave him one more little caress and then stepped back, checking that his clothes were in order. "Good evening, John. I'll see you soon."

John couldn't answer. He stood like a statue until the door closed again. Then he sank onto his bed and stared at the ceiling. "My god, what's happened?" he murmured.

Mercifully, Doc didn't remember dreaming anything when Wyatt woke him for his turn to keep watch. He sat up from the little incline made by the underside of a saddle and pulled on the coat he had been using as a blanket. The actual blanket itself had been folded under him to give a little comfort and separation from the cold, damp ground.

Wyatt had managed to keep the fire burning. Jackson was clearly asleep, giving off a quiet snoring.

Doc eyed him distastefully. "Should we let him sleep after all? He's much more affable this way."

Wyatt shook his head. "I prefer to have him a little sleepy, even if it sours him."

"Right. I guess we must, then."

"I'll do it. How are you feeling?" Wyatt looked a little concerned in the low light of the fire.

"Fine."

Wyatt hesitated.

Doc realized he must have done some coughing in his sleep. "I'm fine," he repeated, pulling the flask from his coat pocket. "You want a nightcap?"

"No thanks. Rouse me first if you think anything's wrong."

"I will."

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

Doc watched Wyatt walk around the fire to Jackson's bedroll and nudge the outlaw with his boot. Jackson woke up like a dog that had been dreaming about rabbits. He snarled something at Wyatt and hunkered down to go back to sleep.

Wyatt gave Doc a little wave before going back to the spot Doc had vacated beside James.

Doc sat on a saddle blanket on the ground and tried not to watch the fire directly. It was always a temptation, being the only thing very visible and moving, but if trouble showed up, he needed his eyes adjusted to the darkness. He pulled his coat tight around himself. It was a cool night for July. Must be thanks to the rain, he supposed.

He was glad it didn't seem likely to rain again for a while, but he couldn't help thinking about how much he preferred the arrangements of the night before - Wyatt close by, keeping him warm in a comfortable bed, much less worry of someone creeping up on them. He sighed and took another sip from his flask before checking his pocket watch. It seemed that Wyatt had let him sleep a little longer than he ought. He really needs to quit worrying about me.

Hours passed, and while there were eerie sounds around them, Doc judged them all to be animal - or good animal imitations performed by Comanches. The coyotes were the most unsettling, but they sounded far away. In reality, he knew he should worry more about the leaves rustling nearby. Still, he doubted anyone in Jackson's gang could be that stealthy. If anyone was sneaking around their camp, they were in moccasins.

-_- Poor John Holliday... totally inexperienced and vulnerable. This explains why he may be ignoring his own feelings toward Wyatt. It's not just Victorian sensibility - it's trauma. D:

It may also explain where some of his swagger came from in later years - the overconfidence, the self-assuredness - things a bully uses to be mean, a physically weak guy can use to defend himself. Being loved is nice, but unfortunately sometimes being feared is safer.

By the way, if you're wondering why John is looking forward to the day off on Sunday, I heard/read somewhere that his dentistry classes would have been six days a week. I assume the day off would have been Sunday, due to the prevailing church attendance of the time. I can't imagine college classes on six days... but then again, they probably didn't have any electives or extra calicular functions, so the day may have been shorter than we're used to today.

"Amorous congress" is the polite Victorian way to say sex. While John was probably quite sheltered in his young life, he did attend school and have local friends who could get a bit wild at times, so he isn't completely ignorant. He knows enough to know that he's in big trouble.