Little warning here: Doc has self-image issues.

As they got undressed, Doc couldn't help noticing Wyatt's well-developed musculature. Lord, he's like a statue. He was grateful that Wyatt was facing away from him and wouldn't get a full view of his own rather unimpressive frame. He got into the warm water as quickly as he could.

Wyatt sank into the tub with a contented sigh. "Oh, yes... this is why they say cleanliness is next to godliness."

"Like bein' born again," Doc quipped with a smirk.

After a minute or two, Wyatt took up the brush by his tub and began scrubbing. "It took us a week to earn a few hundred dollars. Not bad. What do you think you'll do with the money?"

"Oh, most likely waste my substance on riotous living as usual."

"More gambling?"

"It's a living."

Wyatt scoffed, not quite that chuckle to which Doc had become partial. "Did you ever think maybe a little more honest work like this might set you up for the rest of your life?"

"What's honest about trading in other men's freedom? Sounds a bit like slavery. Besides... the rest of my life isn't likely to take much financing." Doc realized he had spoken carelessly. He really shouldn't reopen the slavery topic, and talking about his imminent demise would likely upset his friend. He took a breath and sank under the water.

The rest of my life. What will that look like? What comes after? Doc tried to push those thoughts away. Images of his mother were fighting for his attention, but in this context, they always made him uncomfortable. She had been a steadfast believer. It used to give him comfort, a confidence that he would see her again. Now it made him wonder if she knew how wayward he had been, if he was grieving her heart, and if he would end up separated from her forever. Damn it all. He was thinking too much.

He sat up and pushed his hair back from his face with a short bout of coughing. He was sure Wyatt was watching him, wondering if he was all right. He kept his gaze straight ahead. "What will you do with your reward money?" He thought he managed to sound naturally inquisitive.

"I'll put some of it by," Wyatt answered. "Maybe get a new pistol. Something pretty for Mattie. A new Bible for the reverend."

Doc smirked. "I guess you owe him that."

They fell into silence after that, focusing on making the most of the much-needed bath. A couple of hotel patrons came to make use of the washroom and left again. Doc decided the water was becoming too cold for good judgment when he started shivering. He carefully unfolded a towel and held it between the tubs as he got to his feet, preventing putting himself too much on display. He wrapped the towel around his waist and moved comfortably behind Wyatt's field of vision to get dressed.

"Shall we turn in early tonight?" Doc asked. With the saloons closed, there might not be any gambling to be had. But the idea of staying in with Wyatt was more appealing, anyway. They had gotten to know each other better in the last few days than they had in a month in Dodge.

"Maybe. I thought I might look in on the church here."

What? It took Doc a moment to be sure he had heard right. "You want a second opinion on something?"

Wyatt shrugged. "Might be interesting to see what they make of the bullet in the Bible."

"I suppose..." What a waste of time. "Are you being lured away from the broad and crooked by the temptations of saintliness, Wyatt?"

The other snorted. "Don't you worry about my soul; it's not in danger of being pure anytime soon."

"Well, don't expect me to go with you."

"I don't. You should rest anyway."

As he fastened his belt, Doc glared at Wyatt's broad shoulders, which were damp and glistening in the lamplight. He didn't like being told what to do, even in a kindly way. "Maybe I can locate a card game."

"On Sunday?"

"Wouldn't be the first time. If there is one, I'll find it."

Wyatt grasped the sides of the tub.

Doc took a step back to be sure not to get splashed and wondered if he should avert his gaze. He hadn't made up his mind by the time Wyatt stood, but he managed to look away before his friend turned in his direction. He pulled his shirt into place and started on his buttons.

"I'll just stay," Wyatt said, making use of his towel.

"Don't stay on my account."

"If you're out late, I'll have trouble getting to sleep. And I'll probably wake up when you get back."

"Then just come find me. Besides, I might not come back until morning, if the game is good enough." Doc wondered why he kept talking. He was tired. And he wanted Wyatt to stay; Wyatt had said he would stay. Where was the problem?

"Don't do that. We should start back tomorrow. We both need sleep."

Here was a decent exit to the conversation. He would be a fool not to take it. "Fine, I'll stay in. You do what you want."

When Wyatt turned to pick up his underwear, Doc looked up in time to get a glimpse of his form from the front. It called to mind prints he had seen of Michaelangelo's work—paintings and statues of saints and patriarchs. Goddamn, Mattie's a lucky woman.

Wyatt was concerned when Doc stayed under the water more than a couple of seconds. When he surfaced and coughed, Wyatt resisted the impulse to ask if he was all right. Doc didn't like being fussed over.

He hesitated to suggest going to a church that night. It had been some time since anything aroused his old feelings on faith or even curiosity on the matter, and he knew how Doc felt about the subject. His apprehension was realized in his friend's reaction.

"Maybe I can locate a card game."

"On Sunday?" Of course, such things occurred below the deadline in Dodge, but they weren't familiar with Denver.

"Wouldn't be the first time. If there is one, I'll find it."

Wyatt didn't like the idea of Doc going off to parts unknown without him. He had hoped to have an enlightening conversation at the church, get back to the hotel before Doc was asleep, and... what? Why was the memory of sleeping beside Doc forefront in his mind at the moment? Why was the memory of his warmth, of having an arm around him, so strong? And why did he so dislike the idea that Doc might finish getting dressed soon and leave the room without him?

He gripped the sides of the tub and pulled himself to his feet. His body felt heavy, as if he had soaked up gallons of water. He climbed out carefully and grabbed his towel. "I'll just stay."

"Don't stay on my account." Doc sounded like his usual, prickly self as he buttoned his shirt.

That didn't sit right.

"If you're out late, I'll have trouble getting to sleep. And I'll probably wake up when you get back."

"Then just come find me. Besides, I might not come back until morning, if the game is good enough."

Oh, hell, no. Doc needed rest badly. Wyatt wasn't going to let him stay out all night. But he couldn't put it that way. "Don't do that. We should start back tomorrow. We both need sleep."

"Fine, I'll stay in. You do what you want." He sounded downright grumpy now, but at least he had agreed.

Finally dry enough, Wyatt began getting dressed. He felt better for having bathed, but it made him aware that even his "clean" clothes could do with a wash. "I guess we should get our washing done tomorrow. It will delay us most of a day, though."

"I'm not in a hurry. If we stay until afternoon, I'm sure I can find a game."

He sounded less irritated now, so Wyatt relaxed. "Sure. That sounds good."

Doc went to the door and looked out into the hall, probably checking to be sure no ladies would see him without a waistcoat.

"I'll be right along," Wyatt said.

Doc nodded to him and left the room.

Wyatt pulled on his shirt and went to look in the mirror. I'll need a shave tomorrow, too.

Doc had stripped back to his undershirt and pantaloons when Wyatt returned to their room. He was sitting against the headboard of his bed and holding his open flask. It appeared that he wouldn't be going anywhere that night.

Good.

Wyatt finished getting himself ready for bed. He turned the lamp down and took Reverend Wright's Bible with him when he got into bed.

"Dwelling on your own mortality?" Doc asked lazily.

"I don't know." Wyatt touched the bullet hole in the cover with his index finger. He thought about doubting Thomas declaring he needed to see the holes in Jesus' hands and touch the wound at his side before he would believe he had risen from the dead. Was Providence telling him not to discount the spiritual realm? When he was a boy, he would have been excited at the prospect of receiving a sign from God. Now it made him uneasy.

He put the Bible on the table by the lamp. "You ready to have the light out?"

Doc tipped his flask back once more, screwed on the cap, and set it on the table. "Go ahead."

Wyatt cupped the lamp's chimney and blew a strong puff of air to put out the flame. He settled down into his bed with a sigh. He ought to sleep well tonight.

Ought to. So, why was he still awake some half-hour later, staring at the darkness above him?

It didn't seem like Doc was asleep either. What was wrong with them?

As if reading his mind, Doc said, "You know what it is? We haven't slept the same place twice in over a week. Can't get used to anything."

"Maybe."

Silence reigned again for some undetermined amount of time. Wyatt began to feel sleepy, but he still didn't fall asleep. Why? He had slept in their travels. Sure, he wasn't used to the bed or the surroundings, but he was bone-tired. It should be easy.

"There is one familiar thing, though."

"What's that?"

"The company."

Wyatt smiled. "True."

Maybe it would help if we were in the same bed again... Where the hell did that thought come from?

"It's all right if you want to come over here."

Wyatt suddenly became aware of his own heartbeat, and the silence seemed loud. Is he reading my mind? I can't take him up on that... what if he takes it the wrong way? Or worse, what if I've already taken things the wrong way and he's been trying to get to this all along? Conflicting thoughts seemed to come at him from all sides. But under it all, Wyatt felt a pull to accept the invitation. What the hell do I say?

He had taken so long by this time that the silence felt overwhelming.

"'Course, it's all right if you don't, too."

I do. God knows why, but I do. But nothing he thought of to say sounded anything but awkward at this point. He should turn him down politely with a "That's all right" or some such thing. Instead, he folded his covers back and sat up, pivoting his legs off the bed. Once he started moving, there was no changing his mind.

He was unable to see much, but he could tell by feel that Doc had pulled back his covers for him and moved to the side. He thought it prudent to hold his peace until he was lying beside his friend. "Good night, John."

Doc pulled the covers up over him with a subdued cough. "Good night, Wyatt."

Now seems like a good time to mention that the movie Tombstone scrambled the Earps' religious background. It didn't make sense for Morgan to ask Wyatt if he believed in God because it was something they were brought up to believe and would have noted from each other's behavior whether or not they maintained belief. The conversation was an excuse to reveal the idea of seeing a glimpse of heaven or whatever is waiting as you're dying. This is something Wyatt and Morgan actually discussed as boys. They made a pact together that if one of them died in the presence of the other, he would reveal whatever he could see of the afterlife he was approaching. Morgan kept the bargain and whispered to Wyatt, "I can't see a damn thing." This is incredibly sad to me. It makes me think that Morgan died scared because he didn't know what was coming next, and he didn't have faith to comfort him. I'm not here to advocate for religion, but I think it's always preferable for a person to die with some peace of mind, whatever the source of that peace /

Side note: In the show, The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp, when Doc suggests to Morgan that he is beyond saving, Morgan tells him "One honest prayer is all it takes." That show really put a rose-colored lens on some aspects of the true story. Even though it's mostly fiction, I still enjoyed watching it.