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The last traces of heat were just giving way to a cool Arizona night as a lone figure entered the cemetery. He moved with a purposeful gait, striding unerringly towards his destination. Even though there was barely light to make out the inscriptions on the headstones, he knew the exact location of the grave he sought. Upon finding it, the solitary figure knelt down and brushed aside the various rocks and bits of scrub that had come to rest there. His tidying up completed, he tucked his hands into his pockets and withdrew several items, placing them one at a time upon the ground.
"From our last card game," the man intoned, laying an ace of spades down. "From the last time you were able to drink this garbage without puking up blood." He laid a silver flask of whiskey down as well before pausing, as if to ask consent from the souls laid to rest around him before drawing out a long revolver. "I know you probably won't approve but I got no more need for it." He carefully placed a long-barreled Colt .45 Buntline Special on the grave, running a reverent hand over its inscribed hilt. "This was more your style anyway, I reckon."
He remained kneeling on the grave, the eerie silence of the night broken occasionally by the mournful song of coyotes and the raspy cries of night-hunting birds of prey. It was as if even the local animal population grieved with him. It had been far too long since he had been able to fulfill his promise to return to pay his final respects, and the years in between had slipped away in a moment's time. The poignancy of loss was overwhelming; the unfairness of life and death severing a bond that should have endured for years to come.
A single tear trailed down the man's cheek as he reached out with one finger to trace the dates on the headstone. 1851 - 1887. He heaved a sigh that spoke of acute feeling. "I miss you, Doc." He closed his eyes as if the coming darkness was too bright to endure.
oOo
Someone was hammering on his door, loud enough to wake the dead. Wyatt pinched the bridge of his nose, knowing the news couldn't be good. He reluctantly went to the door and opened it to admit one of the Faro dealers from the Oriental. The normally composed man had a certain urgency about him that Wyatt found disconcerting. "What is it?"
The dealer ran a nervous hand through his hair. "It's Doc. Morgan says you gotta come down to the saloon."
Wyatt groaned inwardly, allowing himself the rare pleasure of detesting his friend's fast and furious lifestyle. Not only was it speeding him towards an early grave but more often than not landed him in a heap of trouble that Wyatt frequently needed to help him out of. He sent the dealer away with the promise that he would hurry and dressed as quickly as possible.
As he entered the saloon he was immediately met at the door by his younger brother, Morgan, who wasted no time filling Wyatt in. "Doc won't quit. He's been at it for thirty-six hours already. Ike Clanton came in about an hour ago and they switched over to poker. We tried to get him to go to bed but he just won't let go."
Wyatt groaned, having seen this very scenario many a time before. "I know. And nobody can make him."
"Kate's not helping, either." Morgan inclined his head towards Doc's companion, a whore, card shark, con artist, and Doc's most long-lasting partner in crime. She was currently feeding Doc more whiskey which certainly wasn't helping the situation.
Wyatt walked over to Doc's table and sat down. The intoxicated man beamed up at Wyatt with a drunken smile, his eyes red-rimmed and watery. "Wyatt! You're just in time. Pull up a chair." He peered down, curious to see that the man in question had already done so, and swiveled his head back around to focus an unsteady stare on his hand.
Wyatt leaned in low so that only Doc could hear him. "Been hittin' it awful hard, Doc."
Without a care for who overheard him, Doc threw back his head and laughed. "Nonsense. I have not yet begun to defile myself."
Which was sadly true, Wyatt thought. This was pretty tame compared to Doc's usual antics, but all the same it might be best to try to defuse what could turn into a volatile situation. He reached out to touch Doc's shoulder. "C'mon, Doc..."
Still smiling broadly, Doc began to lay down his cards. "I will not be pawed at, thank you very much." The implication was clear. He would quit when he was damned well ready to quit. Wyatt withdrew his hand with a quiet apology.
Kate draped an arm around Doc's shoulders and grinned like she was in on the world's biggest joke. "That's right. Doc can go all day and all night and then some. That's my loving man." She refilled his whiskey cup and offered it to him. "Have another one, my loving man." She waited until he had drained the cup before kissing him long and hard, breaking away only when he began to cough.
From the other end of the table, a low, gravelly voice drawled out, "Hey, 'loving man', you been called." Ike glared savagely at Doc, just about at the end of his rope where the drunken gambler was concerned.
"Oh, if you insist," Doc smirked and flipped his cards over, showing four kings. He feigned a pout as he began to giggle. "Oops." Wyatt rolled his eyes as Doc began to rake in the pot.
Ike slapped his hand down on top of Doc's, stopping him for the moment. "What is that, Holliday? Twelve hands in a row? Son of a bitch, nobody's that lucky!"
A cold look passed over Doc's eyes as he stared back at the cowboy. "Why Ike, whatever do you mean?" Ike lifted his hand and Doc slid the money over towards his end of the table. "Maybe poker's just not your game." Kate laughed her encouragement and began sorting the bills. "I know, let's have a spelling contest!"
Ike stood up abruptly and threw his chair backwards, ready to rip Doc's throat out. In an instant, Wyatt and Morgan were on their feet as well, ready to defuse the situation with force, if necessary.
Wyatt moved to stand between Ike and the poker table, "He's just drunk, and so are you. So why don't you go home and sleep it off?" After several long moments, Ike reluctantly nodded, not wanting to start trouble with the legendary lawman, and staggered over to the bar to settle his bill and collect his guns. He strode quickly out the door muttering curses.
With nobody left at the table, Doc began collecting his possessions as Kate stowed their winnings in her carpetbag. "Well, that certainly was a bust..." His voice trailed off as he began to hack and cough, the pain in his lungs so great that he doubled over.
Wyatt shot him a nervous look, unsure if this was his usual smoker's cough or the tuberculosis that was slowly killing him. He got his answer when Doc collapsed to the floor and Kate began to shriek at seeing the blood trickle from his mouth. "Get her outta here," Wyatt barked at Morgan, who hauled Kate out of the Oriental. Wyatt knelt down beside the fallen man. "Doc, you want me to call the doctor? What do you want me to do?"
Doc's eyes were glazed over as he tried to focus on Wyatt's face. "No doctor... Bed."
"That's fine, Doc. I'll take you home." Wyatt tried to sound reassuring.
"No," Doc gasped out. "Don't want to hear that woman shrieking at me all night."
Searching for alternatives, Wyatt frowned. "Mattie's off playing cards with the girls. Do you want me to take you to my place?"
Doc nodded weakly and Wyatt lifted him up, supporting him as best as he could all the way back to his cottage. By the time he got Doc in bed, the bad spell seemed to be over and Wyatt breathed a sigh of relief. No matter how irritating and frustrating Doc could be at times, Wyatt still couldn't bear to think about that eventual day when Doc would be taken from him. He tried to mask his discomfort by tidying up the room.
Even in his exhausted state, Doc could still sense that something was amiss. "You would appear to be a man with many things on his mind. Am I right?"
Wyatt inwardly cursed Doc's uncanny knack for being able to read his mind, even when he was at death's door. "I guess you're right."
Doc repositioned himself on the bed so that his back was resting against the headboard. "Then why don't you stop finding excuses not to speak and tell your old friend what it is that weighs so heavily on your mind?"
With a resigned sigh, Wyatt crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. He stared out the window as he spoke. "It's just so damn hard to see you like this. When you drive yourself into the ground the way you do, you know it's just gonna make things worse. And when you get sick like you did tonight..." He trailed off as a shudder passed through his body, not wanting to think about the inevitable.
Doc stared intently at his friend, hearing everything that was spoken as well as the things that were not. "It's a reminder that the day will come when I will no longer be able to provide that which you crave, but cannot ask for."
Wyatt nodded curtly. "I know you're gonna die, Doc. I just... Hell, I just don't understand why you're trying to bring it about any quicker than you have to."
Doc's voice was soft and penetrating. "That's not what I'm talking about, Wyatt."
Wyatt finally turned to look Doc in the eye. "I don't understand, then. Why don't you tell me?"
Doc took a deep breath before beginning. "Allow me the courtesy of being blunt with you, Wyatt. We've known each other a long time but unlike you, I don't feel the need to guard my feelings nor do I have the luxury of time. Yes, we both know I'm going to die soon, which is all the more reason for me to live the way I do, to love the way I do."
"But you and Kate..."
"I'm not talking about Kate, and you're a damn fool if you think I am." Wyatt blinked several times in surprise, trying to fathom what his friend was talking about. "Yes, Kate is my woman, and a fairly decent one, all things considered. But she IS just a woman. There is a bond that two men share that a woman can never be a part of. You know this as well as I do. Wives and lovers come and go, but a friend remains true to the end. You are quite possibly the most fallible, wrong-headed, self-deluding, generally benighted jackass I've ever known. Yet, withal, even at your worst, you're the only human being in my entire life who ever gave me hope."
Wyatt stared back in shock at hearing the true depth of Doc's feelings for him. He knew theirs was a peculiar friendship at best, but hearing things spelled out so plainly for him eased his troubled mind more than he could ever say. "Doc..." he began but was cut off.
"Please allow me to say what I must, for as you are so fond of pointing out, I do not have much time left here. There is a reason that you and I have been able to tolerate each other as long as we have with some modicum of sanity. I did not ask to be thrust into your life nor did you ask to have my company inflicted upon you. Even so, I don't think I would be incorrect in stating that I've never cared for another human being as I care for you, Wyatt." He raised a pale hand to rest on top of Wyatt's, staring intently into the other man's eyes, trying to convey his sincerity.
Wyatt frowned, not wanting to admit the truth in the other man's words. "I wish I could blame this confession of yours on whiskey, Doc, I really do. But I think I know what you're trying to say."
"Do you, Wyatt?" Doc arched a brow in curiosity. "Do you really?"
Wyatt nodded mutely, not moving his hand from where it rested beneath Doc's. "I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't occurred to me, too." He cleared his throat, searching for the right words. "I know exactly what you're talking about, but I'm kind of at a loss, here. I don't know what to do."
Doc smiled gently. "Oh, I know I'm sharing space in your heart with that spirited young actress. But that's all I ask, Wyatt. All I want is to be allowed to enjoy what little of you I can have."
Wyatt closed his eyes briefly, feeling himself at the edge of a great canyon and helpless to stop the plunge. "You have it, Doc. Whatever I have to give you, you've got it." He placed his hand on top of Doc's and squeezed gently, smiling when he heard the other man sigh with contentment.
Doc allowed the corner of his mouth to curl up in a smirk. "This may very well be the most foolhardy thing you have ever done, Wyatt. And I thank you for that."
"To new beginnings," Wyatt nodded.
"To new beginnings," Doc answered with a lazy smile.
oOo
As Wyatt stood up he glanced down once more at the grave, nodding his approval at the items laid to rest along with the best friend he had ever known. He dusted off his pants and with a final tip of his hat, turned his back on all that remained of Doc Holliday. He emerged from the cemetery as calm and collected as he had been when he entered.
Josephine Marcus Earp stood waiting for him, patient, steadfast, and as loving a partner as any man could ever wish for. But as Doc had once said, she was still just a woman and as such, could not fathom the bonds that other men forge. She reached out a manicured hand to Wyatt and he took it, grateful that she knew instinctively that words would be no consolation. They walked hand in hand away from Boot Hill towards the waiting carriage.
"He always had a special fondness for this place," Wyatt finally spoke once they were underway. Josie fixed her wide green eyes upon him, head canted slightly to the side, waiting in silence for an explanation. "I'm... I'm not quite sure I can say why but he always felt that Tombstone was an ending for him. And a new beginning.”
"So you did what you came to do?"
Wyatt nodded. "I said goodbye. And I'll always remember."
Josie smiled gently, resting her head against his shoulder. "Then he'll never truly be gone."
Wyatt stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable. "No, I don't think he ever will."