It took me a while, but at least it's a long-ish one.
Warning: Big non-con moment toward the end of this one.
I was able to confirm that Hugo and Agate did lie along a railroad in the 1870's. Points for accuracy! There's also a railway in Denver by this time, but I'm not sure it's connected... so I'm just whatever-ing that. xp
Lots of end notes this time... feel free to skim or skip if you're not all into the history.
"We're all saints, Wyatt... Those who believe, anyway." Why didn't I just keep my mouth shut? He doesn't give a damn about theology, and I give even less of one.
And yet, not long after having those thoughts, Doc was letting Wyatt read the Bible to him. My hypocrisy knows no bounds.
But he did finally sleep, and better than usual. He tried to hold onto whatever he was dreaming, even as something dragged him toward consciousness. Someone was taking tender care of him. He expected to see Kate when he opened his eyes, the last of the dream slipping away.
No, not Kate. Wyatt's hand moved down to Doc's shoulder - from his face? Was that part of the dream?
"Morning, Doc."
"Morning." Doc glanced toward the window, which seemed entirely too bright, then at Wyatt's hand, and then at his face. "Did you sleep?"
"I dropped off a little after you did."
Doc sighed. "That's good. What time is it?"
He almost wished he hadn't asked when Wyatt withdrew his hand to go find his watch. Silly notion.
"Almost eight. We should go to breakfast."
Doc made a noncommittal sound and sat up. Wyatt got out his clothes for the day. Doc stretched and got up and started sorting out his own clothes.
He glanced in Wyatt's direction once while they were getting dressed, looking away again quickly. To his bafflement, he felt something odd. He was warm, very warm for the early hour, and it seemed his heart may have sped up a bit, too. If the symptoms had progressed further, he almost thought he would have blushed.
He wondered if his reaction to seeing a little more of Wyatt's skin than usual was due to lingering discomfort from thoughts of Michael Edwards. Even if that were so, that was alarming enough. He had thought himself beyond any fear of his fellow man, but maybe intimacy was his Achilles' heel. And if he was wrong, what would that mean?
He fussed with his waistcoat, not satisfied with how limp the collar seemed, and pondered his own odd feelings. He had felt so safe lying next to Wyatt in his bed at the last hotel...
"Ready?"
Doc turned around to find Wyatt all dressed and holding his hat. "We going to see James after?"
"I planned to."
"All right." Doc retrieved his own hat and carried it down to the dining room.
They spoke little at breakfast. Wyatt seemed preoccupied, which Doc attributed to all that had happened in the last day, culminating in James's injury.
When they finished eating, they stepped outside and put on their hats, only to remove them again at Dr. Taylor's office.
They were pleasantly surprised to see James more or less sitting up against a mound of pillows.
"Must be a hell of a night nurse," Wyatt teased his brother.
"He's still not fit to travel," Taylor said firmly. "But barring an infection, he's going to be just fine."
"That's great."
James smiled ruefully. "Sorry I messed up your plans."
"You didn't. The point in you coming along to was to give us better odds against Jackson's gang, and you did that. The rest should be easy from here."
"Sure. Easy." He looked past Wyatt to Doc. "You make sure he doesn't press his luck."
"I will," Doc said solemnly, though he wasn't sure how he was going to live up to the promise. If Wyatt talked himself into something, he doubted he could sway his friend.
While they prepared to go to breakfast, Wyatt thought over their conversation from the night before. When Doc had asked what was keeping him awake, he had actually been thinking about how easy it had been to fall asleep when the two of them were pressed up against each other in the same bed. But he wasn't about to say so, so he had said he was worried about James - which was true enough.
From the corner of his eye, he saw Doc turn toward him, and thought he might be about to say something. But Doc turned away just as Wyatt looked up at him. He pulled on his jacket and reached for his hat. Doc was fussing with the collar of his waistcoat, looking almost... flustered?
"Ready?"
Doc turned around. "We going to see James after?"
"I planned to."
"All right." Doc retrieved his own hat and carried it down to the dining room.
At breakfast, Wyatt was too preoccupied to talk much. He was thinking about the times Doc had been in the room when he was getting dressed, and the times they had slept close to each other. He thought about what James would make of it if he knew everything. Would he say John is effeminate? Doc was eccentric, that was certain - especially for a young man - but Wyatt attributed that to the heaviness of his fatal disease and looming demise. Their intimacy could be attributed to various circumstances in tandem with a growing brotherly affection. James himself had said Doc was part of the family. Surely it was nothing more than that.
Wyatt forgot about everything else when he saw how well James looked. "Must be a hell of a night nurse," he teased his brother.
"He's still not fit to travel," Taylor said firmly. "But barring an infection, he's going to be just fine."
"That's great."
James smiled ruefully. "Sorry I messed up your plans."
"You didn't. The point in you coming along to was to give us better odds against Jackson's gang, and you did that. The rest should be easy from here."
"Sure. Easy." He looked past Wyatt to Doc. "You make sure he doesn't press his luck."
"I will," Doc said solemnly.
Wyatt shook his head. "There's nothing to worry about. You just make sure you get better." He gave James's hand a squeeze. "I think we'll get ourselves ready to go and stop back in to say goodbye before we collect Jackson."
After saying goodbye to James, Doc followed Wyatt to the jail. Wyatt had a conversation with the marshal while Doc and Jackson stared at each other through the bars of his cell.
Both Doc and Jackson stared intently, neither blinking. When Doc knew he couldn't hold out much longer, he winked at the outlaw.
Jackson's lip curled in an ugly snarl.
Doc grinned in response and looked away, blinking at last. He didn't look in Jackson's direction again until Wyatt was ready to leave.
The bad thing about not having James was that one or both of them had to be watching Jackson at all times, along with minding their own horses. They didn't have much opportunity for conversation on the road. In consequence, it seemed to take forever to get to Wild Horse, but it had really taken them about two hours. They passed through and went on to the smaller settlement of Aroya, where cattle driving was just beginning to pick up for the season. There, they got lunch for themselves and their prisoner.
Jackson was very sullen all this time. It had been cool in the morning, but when they set out after lunch, the sun beat down on them intensely. They kept a relatively slow pace to spare the horses. Doc almost wished Jackson would try to escape to break up the monotony of the passing miles.
Finally, in late afternoon, they arrived in a town called Hugo. Like many in the west, it was a young but busy town. Here too, herds of cattle were beginning to pass through. Miners picked up provisions at the general store, and a stagecoach depot gave travelers a place to buy tickets and wait for the stage in shelter. Doc knew Wyatt wanted to get much further than this today, but he was sick of the long silences and dull landscape. Besides, the altitude here was considerably higher than it was in Dodge, which made it a little harder to breathe.
"Wyatt, let's stop here for tonight," Doc suggested as they rode down Hugo's main street at a walk.
Wyatt looked back at him and then faced forward again. "Maybe... I want to see about maybe taking the train from here. It'll cost us to board the horses and pay our fare, but it'll save us a good bit of time."
That sounded good to Doc. "All right, let's see."
He kept an eye on Jackson while Wyatt spoke with the ticket master. The outlaw seemed tired and still sullen, but every time he looked up it seemed as if he was waiting for an opportunity. Doc didn't let his guard down for a moment.
"There's a train to Agate tomorrow morning," Wyatt reported. "That would give us half a day's travel in an hour. Or we can follow it further, change trains and get the rest of the way to Denver in one day."
"I'm all for that, to be honest. I've had enough of this hombre." And all the riding. And not being able to talk with you.
"All right. It'll cost us about two dollars apiece per train..."
"That's hardly a worry at this point." Doc's recent winnings made the train fare seem like a paltry sum. He got out his poke and retrieved six dollars. "You see to it. And never mind about the change."
Wyatt smiled a little and disappeared back inside without further discussion. He returned holding three tickets.
"All right, we have our places on the morning train. Let's get Jackson to the jail and get something to eat."
Once it was decided, Wyatt was glad he had agreed to stay in Hugo and take the train from there. They took their time with dinner and even found a poker game afterward. In spite of getting a bit drunk, Doc didn't object to going back to the hotel at a decent hour. Wyatt was feeling optimistic on the way back, but when they got there, Doc started saying he should have a separate hotel room again.
"I don't want to keep you awake," Doc said stubbornly. He turned toward the clerk, as if about to request a second room.
"You won't." Wyatt wasn't as confident as he sounded, but he was determined not to relent. He put a hand on Doc's shoulder and steered him away from the desk. "It will be fine."
Doc shook his hand off. "You'll keep your paws to yourself, if you don't mind." But from that point, he kept his protestations to a minimum.
They said little as they got ready for bed. Wyatt wondered if Doc was annoyed with him for assuming familiarity in front of the hotel clerk. They had laid their things on the table in their room, and neither of them had claimed a bed yet. Wyatt wanted to give Doc first choice, since he wasn't in good health.
When Doc was ready for bed, he stood between the two, seeming unsure of which he wanted. Maybe he was still drunk. "Well... good night." He chose the bed further from the door and sank into it a little more heavily than Wyatt thought he meant to.
Still tipsy, at least. "Good night, Doc." Wyatt was tempted to go pull Doc's covers up to his chin like he had done for his younger siblings many a time, but he resisted. He got into the other bed and put out the lamp.
The bed was not uncomfortable, but it still took Wyatt longer than usual to fall asleep. He supposed the alcohol helped Doc drift off more quickly.
When he next woke, it was still fully dark. When his sleepy mind put together what he was hearing and why it was dark, he sat up. Doc was definitely in the throes of another nightmare.
October, 1871
John had determined to keep an open mind when he returned to Pennsylvania. It was a small wonder he had returned at all, but he made up his mind that if the situation had improved, he would not hold a grudge. He would pretend nothing had gone wrong between himself and his classmates, finish earning his certificate, and get the hell back to Georgia. He was encouraged by Gerald's showing up to help him settle back into his room at the boarding house. Gerald was rooming elsewhere this year, but he was downright friendly to John.
Gerald declined the Wilsons' invitation to dinner, but said he would see John in class on Monday. For the first time since fleeing back home in the spring, John was looking forward to class.
The following day was Sunday, and John spent it in church services with the Wilsons, as had become his custom the year before. It had become an internal battleground for him - one week he would take solace in the benevolence of a gracious God and the next he would sit in bitter stoicism, sure that such grace did not extend to someone in such a wretched state as his. On this occasion, he felt hopeful. He bowed his head and murmured the Lord's prayer with the congregation, feeling almost at peace as he uttered "Thy will be done."
But, as happens too often in this world, peace was short-lived. John was looking over his schedule for the next day when there was a knock at his door. It was a familiar knock.
It might not be him, he told himself with misgiving. He braced himself as he went to the door and lifted the latch.
"Hello, Holliday." There was Michael Edwards, looking exactly as he had in the spring.
Peace completely gone and hope following hot on its heels, John stepped back so Michael could enter and closed the door behind him. "Hello, Edwards." He turned to face his tormentor, trying to maintain some measure of confidence. "It's a new term. Things can be different."
Michael tilted his head slightly. "But I don't want them to be different. Things went quite nicely before."
"Didn't you see your lady friend again?"
"I did." Michael smiled. "It was a sweet reunion. I'm sure you can understand that I'm missing her now more than ever."
Over the last year, John had become half convinced that the lady in question did not even exist, but he didn't want to believe it. As long as she was real, it meant that Michael didn't really want him. He could go along with it being make-believe. It seemed less wicked that way.
He made another attempt. "Not all of the same students came back this year. Maybe they won't all be so swayed by you. Perhaps they've grown up a bit and decided to think for themselves and be decent people."
Michael's sanguine expression darkened quickly. He stepped quickly over to John, making him flinch back against the door. He placed a hand at the back of John's neck, holding him in a firm grip. "My, but you've gotten some big ideas over the summer," he growled. He put his other hand on John's chest and trailed it down over his waistcoat.
John felt his heartbeat spike to a panicky rattle in his chest. He broke out in a sweat as Michael's hand traveled down his pelvis and gripped him uncomfortably. He tried not to squirm, knowing from experience that it would make matters worse. He took quick, shallow breaths, using the last of his nerve to look Michael in the eye.
"Nothing has changed," Michael said in a low, deadly tone. "I still own you. I can put things back the way they were anytime I choose. Don't forget that. Understand?" His grip tightened.
John couldn't hold back a tiny sound of pain. He nodded.
Michael's grip loosened immediately and he worked his palm between John's legs as if to rub the pain away. "That's better." He kissed John softly, stroking the back of his neck. "You're probably still not properly rested from your travels. I'll visit longer tomorrow." He brought his hand forward and ran his thumb over the stubble on John's upper lip. "You ought to shave. I like smooth kisses."
July, 1878
Doc pushed away the hands that kept pawing at him, protesting angrily. "No. Let me alone, you bastard!"
"Doc! It's me, Wyatt."
"No..." Doc tried to make sense of what he had heard. He froze, gripping the arm he had thought belonged to Edwards. Wyatt... I didn't meet Wyatt until I was in Texas. Long after Philidelphia. Slowly, he relaxed and found himself lying in bed. "Wyatt." Oh, god, what did I say in my sleep? I was ready to kill Edwards... did I hurt him? There was nothing he could say that would relieve the shocking awkwardness that hung in the air. He couldn't even ask what he was desperate to know.
"It's all right." Wyatt's voice was surprisingly soft. As Doc loosened his hold, Wyatt ran his hands up Doc's arms and scooped under his shoulders, pulling him into an embrace.
It shouldn't have felt good. A man's embrace was the last thing he should want. And yet, Doc felt powerless to do the sensible thing. He leaned into it, laying his head on Wyatt's shoulder. He didn't even bother to try to prevent the tears from running down his face. At least Wyatt couldn't see them in the darkness. Doc focused on staying quiet and breathing steadily.
Wyatt rubbed Doc's back slowly and cradled his head. He said nothing either, seeming to understand that there could be no discussion. The moment either of them spoke, they would have to let go.
Ah, hat etiquette. Basically, in Victorian times, if you're a man and there's a roof over your head, your hat comes off. If you're a man and you're outside and there's any sort of weather that makes it a half-decent idea, your hat goes on. If you're a woman in your own home, you remove your hat. If you're a woman and you set foot outside your home, it goes on and generally stays on. Things get more complicated in different settings of course - women might remove their hats so as not to block someone's view at the theater, for instance, but they would never do so in church. And hats could be tiny, more like a decoration than a covering. A woman wearing her hair up was a mature lady and would probably remove her hat if she were staying somewhere long (such as overnight at a friend's house or attending a dance). A girl with her hair down was either ready for bed or too young to wear it up yet. And just as women always wore hats in church, men would be embarrassed no end to forget to remove their hats in a church. For young girls who were not "out" yet (generally under 18), hats were optional at all times, even with their hair down. This is all from my memory, though, so I should probably review it and update this if I need to make corrections. (But will I bother?)
I love dog psychology. Hear me out. xD In the dog world, eye contact is intimidating. If you're best buddies, the dog doesn't worry about it much. If they're scared, they can't bear anyone looking directly at them. If they're aggressive, eye contact is a challenge, practically an invitation to attack. I wrote the staring contest with the mentality that Jackson is a dog that is fear-aggressive. This means they're meaner the more scared they are. From across the room, Jackson feels safe enough to stare back, but the wink takes him off guard and he snarls. Rather than responding in kind, Doc appears amused and looks away, signaling that Jackson is no threat to him. Sometimes the "whatever, I'm not intimidated" body language can help settle a fear-aggressive dog. Other times, they're too deep in their fear to change their behavior at all. We don't know exactly how Jackson reacted to it, because this story has a limited POV. But based on what we've seen so far, he's probably ticked off at being dismissed. Doc has mastered the power move of dismissal (see "Oh Johnny, I apologize. I forgot you were there. You may go now").
Hugo has an elevation of 5,000 feet. That's high enough to sometimes have to alter recipes when baking to account for the thinner atmosphere! Doc won't want to stay there long.
Took an educated guess on the train fare amounts.
Traditionally, if a man and a woman are sharing a bed, the man sleeps on the side closer to the door, in case he has to get up and fight off an intruder. Idk how one normally decides when it's two men sharing a room, but Doc was a little indecisive there...
Okay yeah, I was really mean to Doc in this one, but you knew it was coming. At least we got cuddling after. All about that hurt/comfort.
Please leave a review. I'm lonely too. Thanks for reading!