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Chapter Text

Dusk had fallen amongst all of Bisbee, the saloons rising from their slight slumber of the day, and ready for what awoke in the night. Men from Tombstone, Tucson, Phoenix, and even Jerome came for the gamble and the ladies that gave them their carnal desires.

Madame Jane’s girls descended the stairs of the Copper City Saloon. Most painted, some high, some blonde, some brunette, and some red-haired. All had a tale behind them or a bone to pick. Lana lingered upstairs applying her makeup for the fourth time. She was Madame Jane’s newest attraction; young 19, plump, and recklessly beautiful, chestnut brown curly hair bringing out the hazel in her eyes. It was her first night and she would be booted if she could not prove herself amongst the other girls. Jane had found her on the outskirts of town, starved and in shock. After taking her under her wing, she found herself a prostitute and envied by the older women of the brothel. Her hand stood steady enough for her to finally finish her face without a smudge of blush in the wrong place. Staring in the mirror, Lana saw her sister in all of her features. Her eyes closed and she could hear Chopin start to play through her memory. Her fingers twitched slightly where they lay in her lap. The lace of her gown became keys for just that moment in time and she was home. The knock on her door made her fidget. The surroundings of what she once knew as home flooded away.

“Lana-“

“Yes, I-,” she stopped speaking. Jane paid this no mind, as Lana’s shock from the week prior had completely muted her for a time. She still did not speak much. She stood frozen and sat at the vanity, Jane’s footsteps heavily fading with distance.

Chopin.

One of Chopin’s nocturnes was actually playing beneath the floor she was on. The vibrations of the chords were strong, but sensuous, vibrating under her feet. And like a lullaby, they lulled her out of her haven. The corner of her lips pulled slightly with each dainty step she took. Reaching the ground floor, her eyes searched for the piano she had been avoiding ever since her arrival. It reminded her too much of home and she couldn’t bear it until now. Among the ivory keys were two pale hands, fingering without missing a beat. To everyone else within the saloon, the music was a second to their focus, innocuous, and deftly hidden in the air around them. As the nocturne ended, so did Lana’s trance. She could see who had been playing from a side angle.

It was a lanky fellow, dressed quite sharply without a tailcoat. His dress shirt was white, and grey around the collar with perspiration. It was almost unnoticeable with his red ascot. A dark grey waistcoat complemented the ensemble. She saw beads of sweat had formed upon his forehead as he dabbed at them with a handkerchief. Lana was still near the steps and knew attention would be drawn toward her if she were to reside much longer. She made her way towards the piano player, unaware of why or what conversation she would have with this man. Mindlessly passing the chairs around them, her approach turned him toward her fully now. His hair was a dark dirt blonde, a slight mustache handsomely placed above his lips. His face looked ashen with such tiredness, Lana thought she could see through him if she tried hard enough. The only contrast to his skin was the redness that lay just beyond his green eyes. He was sickly and beautiful with it.

Before Lana had the chance to think, a voice sounded from across the saloon.

“That was real touchin’, Doc, now get over ‘ere” a man yelled crankily. Everyone in the saloon hollered with laughter and the man’s attention was turned to poker. His stride was unwavering as he started to move past Lana.

“Pardon, my dear,” he said, careful to get around her and the few chairs. His voice was evidence of a southern accent that added to his appeal. Lana dared not turn towards the direction he was heading, embarrassed of the emotion that had enveloped her. Instead, Lana sat at the piano, trying to see through the fog of the former atmosphere.

Doc.

The man had to be in his late twenties to early thirties. He seemed known amongst everyone in the saloon. He’d won hand after hand until his opponents left in an abrupt rage. The rest of the saloon girls didn’t bat an eye at this man or the hands he was winning. There was something off about that. Why?

Around midnight, Lana caught the eye of a cowboy who had come in just an hour before with a few of his friends. In a matter of seconds, she was prey to his hawk-like eyes that pierced into her more with every step he took toward her from his seat at the bar. She took a deep breath through her nose as he arrived mere feet in front of her. He smelled of whiskey and rain. Maybe he would have been considered attractive to her if the smirk on his face wasn’t so smug. The two stared at each other until Lana got the message she was to speak first.

“Hello,” was all she could muster. Her candidness did not seem to phase him. She took note of his sunburnt face, and wavy red locks. Despite him being in his forties, his blue eyes were as sharp as a young eagle’s. He was in fact, a predator.

“You can’t be a day over 20,” he muttered, his eyes trailing down from her face. The vile orbs peered further down towards her cleavage. Her bosom was adorned by the soft black fabric of her dress. She forced a smile and shakily took one of his hands. They were rough with scars and calluses. She tried to ignore it as she spoke.

“You like a young girl in your bed?” she said lowly in an attempt to be seductive. The look on the older man’s face proved her advance was successful. It was one of instant lust and sadistic gratification. Madame had told Lana this was the point of no return and where her price was to be discussed. The saloon was ablaze with booze, poker, and chatter, no one noticed when the man grabbed at her arm and pulled her with him as he walked towards the steps. Lana started to struggle against his grip and the man squeezed tighter around her veins. He was not planning on paying that night.

“Shut it, whore,” he growled lowly at her. She gulped, knowing she’d earn nothing from the endeavor she was to endure. Her arm pulsed in the man’s hold as he started to climb the stairs. Lana looked at the ceiling and closed her eyes as her lungs began to heave with anxiety.

I am still your child, Father. Please.

The whole saloon went quiet at a standstill. The red-haired man stopped before he could reach the third step. Lana stumbled back, her fumble the only sound heard. Her hand quickly fell from its trap. She rubbed her wrist, slowly turning to see what had ensued. Her eye was even with the barrel of a revolver. Her breath hitched in her throat as she looked at the man behind the gun. All she could make out in her focus were the green eyes she had fallen into just hours prior. Doc.

“Would you favor me in steppin’ aside, my dear?” he spoke softly. Without a moment’s hesitation or even so much as a nod, Lana listened to him. As she did so, Doc’s brow furrowed at the man on the steps.

“Be a good fellow and turn around.”

The man did so, his hands slowly rising to the sides of his temple. The eyes of the predator were now weak, blinking rapidly, waiting for his life to flash. He had his own gun, but he didn’t dare reach for it.

“I was just foolin’ with the la-“

“No. You were leavin’.” Doc’s stance was unwavering. Just like that, the man had paced slowly out of the saloon as if every step he took could’ve been on glass.

Like clockwork, once the man was out of sight, the saloon murmured it's way back to its original grandeur of gambling and drinks. Doc’s eyes followed the man the whole way out of the saloon doors. His silent seething calmed and he finally looked at Lana.

“You alright, darlin'?” he said softly. His eyes were like hooks on her soul.

Chapter Text

Her mind was still reeling when Doc spoke again and shrugged, grabbing one of his revolvers from the holster that he had just put away. 

“He can’t be far, dear. I’ll change his fate,” he said casually. Everyone in the saloon gasped collectively at the gun in his hand again. Lana’s eyes widened, heavy anxiety rising in her chest.

A gun in his hands was like a beacon of chaos.

He must have taken her silence as an indication to finish the man off. She shook her head quickly and placed her hand on Doc’s arm, pulling at the fabric of the fine white shirt as she moved back behind the stairwell they were standing at. All the eyes on both of them were too much for her to bear. He followed her motions as he holstered his gun again. The saloon-goers eyed the two before they were lost from their sight behind the stairwell. They went back to their activities, many glancing at the hallway every so often.

“You’re a rather forward one,” he said through a chuckle, amused at her shyness. There was a smirk on his face as he cocked his head toward her hand still gripping the shirt on his arm. Lana had been looking at his face. The shock of her actions faded when she realized he may have been a bit drunk, his pupils slightly dilated but focused nonetheless. Her eyes dropped down to the connection of his arm’s sleeve and her hand. She quickly pulled away, her face flushing and her cheeks burning. She felt like a bashful child and she hated it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she managed to say through her embarrassment and trouble speaking.

“Don’t give it a thought, darlin’,” he said assuringly as he smoothed out the shirt around the wrinkled sleeve. He seemed the type of man to always look his best, the ensemble even going well with his sick frame. 

The two stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity behind those stairs, apart from the rest of the saloon, or even the world. Lana kept her head down, looking at the floor and his shined shoes. Doc grew a genuine smile, looking at her brown curls, her face hidden from him. The ringlets in her hair went well with the intricate swirling pattern of the lace on her black dress. He could tell it took her a few moments to speak up and was anticipating some kind of thanks when her shoulders started to shake up and down. He immediately knew she was crying and he stood frigid for a moment as her violent and silent sobs made her hair bounce slightly around her face like ribbons.

He was a brave man. That doesn’t mean he was always a good one. He had lost count of how many he had killed, how much he had cheated, and how many times he had outrun death, even in the state he was in. Of all the bravery he had that got him through unplanned disasters, it was now that he was lost on what to do.

That cowboy flashed throughout Lana’s mind as she cried without any sound, a ringing filling her ears. She could see others just like him in her house. It all scattered across her mind in flashing images, accompanied by the sound of thunder.

Blood. 

Her mother’s fabrics and needles.

Her father’s portrait, the frame in pieces. 

Her sister’s nightgown, identical to one of her own, wrinkled and ripped.

All on the floor.

And then her vision went black.

Doc reached out and caught her at the waist. His movements were as fast as lightning that touched across the sky on the night her life had changed.

***

When Lana opened her eyes, it took her other senses a minute or two to set in. She was faced with an interlaced patterned red ceiling. 

I’m in Madame Jane’s room.

She turned her head and saw Jane sitting on the loveseat next to her large bureau. The perfume bottles on top of the furniture sparkled in the dim candlelight of the room. Lana furrowed her eyebrows and gulped before she spoke. Her throat was a bit dry from the hard slumber she had slipped into, her hair slightly astray and in her face.

“What happened? Where is he?“

“He left, doll,” Jane said softly. 

Madame Jane or Jane as she liked to be called sometimes, was a kind, upper middle-aged, and retired painted lady. She was a tall woman, her black hair cascading down to her thighs. Her long mane complimented her blue-grey eyes and pale skin well. Although she was kind, she didn’t take any slack when it came to her business. This revelation dawned on Lana. She rose to sit up quickly on the bed she lay in. The comfort that brushed against the skin of her arms from the silk blankets grew cold and alarming in her sudden panic. She knew by the absent murmurs downstairs and the lighter hue of the blue night sky that the saloon had closed and her time was up. The Copper City Saloon closed at 3:00 A.M. She made no profits for the night and she was going to be kicked out.

“Madame Jane,” she spoke, her eyes pleading with the older woman. Jane nodded and waited for Lana to continue. Lana breathed deeply, mustering up the courage to speak when all the visions of before dawned on her. Madame Jane waited patiently. She wouldn’t say it but Lana reminded her a lot of herself in her younger days. A bit lost and trying to pick up pieces. A few minutes passed as Lana digested her newfound memories, the puzzle coming together to paint a cursed picture. All the words came to the surface like a tidal wave. “Can I have one more chance? I don’t know what happened, I swear. He didn’t do a thing, I swear to you. This is all my fault, it was all my fault,” she rambled, starting to cry. Her head ached from her sorrow and she longed to be numb. Lana admired Jane’s hospitality. She began to think in circles while Jane stared at her. The older woman was shocked at all the words that flooded out of Lana's mouth.

She probably thinks Doc did something unforgivable. It’s all my fault.

So is losing Lydia and my parents.

Her thoughts were interrupted. Madame Jane had started counting money quickly. The paper currency seemed to appear in her hand out of thin air while Lana was in her panicked trance. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the money in Jane’s hands and her face as the tips of the money rolled past her fingers and long nails. The older woman had stopped counting for a moment as she examined the bills. The left side of her mouth pulled towards the corner, the aged lines of her face evident as the side smile developed. She took her cut and placed the rest of the money on the bed in front of Lana, sure to place the last bill on top carefully.

“Mr. Holliday paid more than enough for your time with him. You need not worry, Lana,” she said, her tone softly urging Lana to calm. She was worried about the young woman’s state. Lana stared at the money and eventually shook her head confused. She felt defeated.

“We barely spoke for two minutes. I know, you said some just like to talk, but we hadn’t even discussed any kind of arrangement-“ she started but Madame Jane interrupted her.

“Lana. Doll. This is a lot of money. He wanted to give it to you. It’s yours. He’s been in here a few and the other girls don’t bother with him. He doesn’t give them the light of day. But he pulled a gun out to defend you,” Jane said, the hint of a teasing tone at the end of her sentence. Lana listened and nodded slowly, knowing Jane had a point.

She was concerned with her sudden fascination with the man. It so suddenly hit her like whiplash yet gradually engulfed her like drowning water. She longed to hear him play more Chopin. She longed to play along with him but she hadn't even uttered his name to him.

She had gone back to her room that night, just a few hours until daybreak came back around again. The halls were quiet upstairs, only a few hushed and muffled voices heard from the rooms of the older women. Inside her room, Lana got her tin box out from behind her nightstand and started to put the money in after she had fiddled the lock open. Right before locking it up again, she looked closer at the bills that lay on the scarred metal. The image of Washington on the Delaware River looked tired and bored back at her as she squinted at something beyond it in the corner.

The ink looked slightly fresh and Lana brushed her thumb over it, seeing it smudge onto the boat Washington and his men were in on the paper currency. A single word and initials that had to be Doc’s.

Tombstone - JHH.

Chapter Text

Tombstone, Arizona was like nothing Lana had ever come across. In hindsight, that made a lot of sense, as before she ended up in Bisbee, her small hometown of Embell was all that she had ever known. To others, it might have been a bit dull for finer tastes, but it was home and she missed it more than ever.

That feeling of yearning for home subsided just slightly when she stepped out of the coach she had been in for three hours. After finding out that Tombstone was a town and not just some riddle for Lana to solve, she was on her way after thinking it over for a day. She stretched in place as she looked around her. The town was bustling with color and people. From the look of many men’s faces dirty with grime, a mining camp couldn’t have been far. Lana was overwhelmed by all of the sounds she heard in the busy town. Horses were galloping, pianos notes were ringing out into the streets, tools were clamoring, and people were hollering with laughter. The number of saloons amazed her. She was so in awe, that she stopped in the middle of the street for just a moment, beginning to smile. There had to be a job for her somewhere and she knew exactly where to start. Her mind was set on finding out where the mining camps were. She and her sister, Lydia had been somewhat of secretary assistants for the coal mine back in Embell for about a year. Before she knew it, she was walking again and her eyes landed on the Grand Hotel. It was a nice place, the entrance at the corner of the square building. The people around the building looked like they were from every class. Lana had an old bag Madame Jane had given her wrapped around her torso, starting at her shoulder. She climbed the stairs of the hotel as she took the bag off her shoulder and rummaged for the money Doc had given her. 150 dollars was more than enough to hold her over until she started making her own money and renting out her own place somewhere. She saw the bill she was looking for in the corner of the worn leather bag when it was snatched violently from her hands. The friction of the leather being ripped from her hands hurt, so she winced and clasped both hands together.

“Hey! Give that back!” she shrieked immediately. The culprit seemed to be a teenage boy, a wide grin on his lips as he ran down the steps of the hotel, darting past people who paid him no mind. As fast as he was running, he couldn’t be a day over thirteen. This must have been a game for him, the child laughing as he weaved his way through the small crowds around him. His head kept turning back to see how close Lana was, hoping she was just on his tail. She began to panic as the two of them ran into an even bigger crowd of people, losing sight of the boy time and time again. His tiny head kept popping up in Lana’s vision like a damn weasel, the boy even jumping above the crowd so she could see him. 

“Help! Please! He took my bag!” Lana yelled, desperate for anyone to lend a hand. She ended up at the corner of Allen and 5th Street, her legs giving out as the young thief ran into the alleyway. She was huffing, bent over, and out of breath. Her lungs were begging for more air as they burned. Her calves felt like they were on fire and she could collapse any second. She hadn’t run that fast since the night she ran away from home. Her eyes started to water thinking about her family and their house. She wondered how she could have been so careless to take the bag off her shoulder, let alone look through it in public, in a town she had never been to. A collection of male voices sounded a few feet in front of her. 

“Ma’am,” they all said. Lana stood up straight and squinted through the Arizona sun at the three men in front of her. Each was older than her and looked a lot alike. Their stances were hard to describe, but they weren’t men to be reckoned with. “This must be yours,” the one in the middle said, her bag held in his hand by the strap, his other hand holding a cigar. Her eyes widened and she stepped forward, taking the bag carefully from the man holding it. He had a thick dark brown mustache and a plainly handsome face. He was dressed in all black, with even a hat to match. He looked nothing short of sharp.

“Thank you all so much,” she said softly, suddenly intimidated. Lana reached out her hand to initiate a handshake with each of the men, as she was the lady.

“Wyatt Earp. These are my brothers, Virgil and Morgan.” The other two men bowed their heads at her politely. Morgan looked a lot like Wyatt, but his features were more relaxed, and his hair was a lighter shade of brown. Virgil seemed to be the quiet oak of the brothers, his hair slightly grey, though all of the brothers looked to be around the same age. Morgan and Virgil were also dressed sharply, though they lacked coats.

“Lana Pearson,” Lana said just as the handshakes ended and both her hands were back on the leather of her bag, wrapping it back around her. She must have looked a mess, her whole predicament taking up their valued time. She smoothed out her brown day dress, though that probably didn’t help the wrinkles that had formed on the cheap fabric. “I apologize for this, really.”

“No trouble for us, I promise,” Wyatt assured her with a smile. She figured the boy must’ve run off after being caught by the three men. It seems that was her queue to leave but she was wrong, Wyatt continued in conversation. “It seems you just touched down here. So have we. Well, we’re off and running. Just acquired us a quarter-interest in the game at the Oriental,” he spoke, wrapping both of his arms around each of his two brothers. This seemed to be news to them as well from the impressed looks on their faces. 

“Acquired?” Virgil asked.

“So to speak,” Wyatt answered and all three laughed heartedly. Lana smiled at their banter. It was the first thing to remind her of Lydia that broke her heart in the best way with the warmest memories. In the corner of her eye, she could see a chubby man coming down the road and his round face had the look of vengeance written all over it. There was a shotgun in his hand and a menacing gleam in his eye. Lana was going to speak up to warn the men when someone decided to do so for her. 

“Why Johnny Tyler!” the voice boomed. Lana recognized it right away. There was something about Doc that took all of her hesitation and caution away. She didn’t know if that was an omen for something. He was standing in the threshold of some building. Lana couldn’t take her eyes from him. She hadn’t recalled turning her head to look either. It was almost as if he had always been in her line of sight. “You madcap,” Doc spoke again, shaking his head in playful disapproval of Johnny. He was dressed just as handsomely as the last time she had seen him. The hat on his head was a new addition for her and it complimented him well. One could tell from the look in Doc’s eyes he had no fear for the gun Johnny held, nor a fear in the world. That was dangerous and Lana knew it.

“Doc?” Johnny said cautiously, putting his gun down as Doc approached him, his hands behind his back to show he was to do no harm with the revolvers on his waist. At least not at that moment.

“Where you going with that shotgun?” Doc inquired of him.

“I didn’t know you was back in town,” Johnny said. He sounded like a child who had gotten caught doing something vile. The facade of an innocent tone was set upon the table in hopes that he wouldn’t be punished. Lana wondered what Doc would think of the cards in front of him, and more importantly, what he would do.

To her surprise, Doc’s attention turned to her. Her face flushed as he approached her and the group with ease. He bowed before her, his hand out and awaiting hers. Lana was shocked at how forward he was. She gave him her hand and he kissed her knuckles softly before turning his attention to Wyatt and his brothers. She could feel the warmth of his hand linger against her skin.

“Well, well. How the hell are you?” Wyatt asked, grinning as he smoked his cigar. The world was rather small to Lana, the two men having known each other already. It would have never been a prediction she could have made.

“Wyatt. I am rolling,” Doc answered, tipping his head. He exchanged pleasantries with Morgan and Virgil, their handshakes firm. The three knew each other well, but Doc and Wyatt knew each other better and Lana could tell that they had an unspoken bond with one another despite not shaking hands. 

“This is Lana Pearson. Though it seems you’ve both met,” Wyatt said, eyeing Doc closely as he referred to the way Doc had chosen to greet her so intimately. Doc smirked and nodded his head, though it was just his first time learning Lana’s name. 

“Wait. Wyatt Earp?” Johnny said a few feet away. All five in the group looked back at Johnny, having forgotten him for a moment. Doc then looked back at them and let out a soft laugh that sounded like the richest classical music. 

“Going into business ourselves, Doc. Wyatt just got us a faro game,” Morgan revealed.

“Since when is faro a business?” Doc asked, lifting a cigarette to his lips that Lana hadn’t noted before.

“Didn’t you always say that gambling’s an honest trade?” Wyatt asked Doc teasingly. 

“No, I said poker’s an honest trade. Only suckers buck the tiger. The odds are all with the house,” Doc defended himself to Wyatt. Lana, Morgan, and Virgil began to laugh silently at the both of them. They looked at each other and tried to contain their amusement over Wyatt and Doc’s quarrel. 

“Well, it depends on how you look at it. I mean, it’s not like anybody’s putting their gun to their head now, is it?” said Wyatt.

“That’s what I love about Wyatt. He can talk himself into anything,” Doc said, looking at Lana, and finally shaking hands with Wyatt. The group laughed some more before turning their attention back to Johnny.

“Oh. Johnny, I apologize. I forgot you were there. You may go now,” Doc said to him, his hand waving him off like an insect. 

“Just leave that shotgun,” Wyatt added, inhaling more puffs of his cigar.

Johnny followed suit, dropping the gun carefully.

“Thank you,” he seemed to say to most of the group before walking off around the corner. Lana couldn’t believe that didn’t end in some sort of skirmish. From that interaction alone, she could tell that Doc, Wyatt, and his brothers were feared, and for good reason. Lana looked back in the direction of the Grand Hotel and Doc took note of it. He sniffled a bit and coughed some before speaking up again. 

“Forgive me. I’d like to escort Ms. Pearson to her room at the Grand Hotel,” Doc said smoothly, holding out his arm for Lana’s. She took it and they both said their goodbyes to Wyatt, Morgan, and Virgil. 

Chapter Text

Lana didn’t know what to expect when the door to her hotel room closed, but the silence was deafening. Doc had made check-in go as smooth as possible, his subtle charm emphasized when speaking with others in the most casual of circumstances. The people of the hotel seemed to know him well, so she figured he frequented there. Lana felt like some puppy or a shadow, following him to her room on the second floor, although he was merely being a gentleman and escorting her. The room was small but clean. 

She faced the door that Doc had closed, the strap of her bag firmly in her hand, trying to think of something to say, something to talk about with him that would come naturally. Her mind tip-toed over a few topics she thought she could touch upon without being too personal as she didn’t know him that well. Lana thought to bring up Wyatt and his brothers when Doc turned around to face her, his handsome face catching her off guard all over again. She gulped and her train of thought had been derailed off course and lost for good.

She briefly wondered what he may have been sick with, unsure if she really wanted to know. It was too soon to ask. His face read blank as his eyes scanned her from the outline of her collarbones amongst her dress to her long skirt, then back up towards her face. You could say what you wanted but he was only a man. Doc always had an eye for detail but managed to miss the light freckles that started at the bridge of Lana’s nose and cascaded across her cheeks when they first met. She stared back at him as she realized that he wasn’t going to speak first. She said the first thing that came to her mind.

“JHH?” she asked, her phrase quick and pushed through an exhale. The letters on the money he had given her were the first thing that came to mind. 

Doc’s face contorted into an emotion she could read. Confusion. “You left those three initials on the fifty-dollar bill,” she clarified quietly as if she had said something she shouldn’t have. Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it but she wanted to know his real name. 

“Ain’t that a daisy,” Doc said, chuckling as he removed his hat from his head and set it on a stand next to the door of the highly decorated room. The walls were a dark green, the furniture a pale wooden brown that almost matched the dress Lana wore. She was now the one to look confused at such a response from Doc.

“Pardon. I hadn’t realized I left my full initials,” Doc explained, fishing a silver flask out of his navy blue waistcoat that lay under his black tailcoat. His ascot was ivory white and his trousers were dark. Any article of clothing would compliment him well. Lana waited as he took a few swigs from the flask, glancing at the young girl in front of him. If only she could read his mind. The two were silent again although they both knew what the younger one wanted. Lana crossed her arms and her hazel eyes met Doc’s, silently asking for an answer to the question about his name. He sighed and rolled his eyes exaggeratively like the character that he was.

Lana didn’t know it but there was something about the way she looked at him that made him submit and he didn’t know if he liked it yet.  There was something about her in general. It was evident with the way he had left the initials he no longer identified so closely with. She wasn’t like Kate at all. The nature of the force between them wasn’t merely sexual. He knew if he wanted to deny any of her future requests, he would have to look anywhere else but her eyes. “John Henry Holliday. I prefer Doc,” he said, bowing before her playfully, his arms outstretched wide. The Arizona sun had given him a sheen of sweat on his face. Lana let out a scoff and nodded her head. Somehow it fit while also being oddly out of place. She couldn’t call him John Henry if she had tried. 

“Thank you, Doc,” she said. She cocked her head, another question on the tip of her tongue. She began to open her mouth when Doc shook his head to silence her. He knew what she was going to ask all too well.

“Dentist. Once upon a time,” he explained. He was actually a doctor once. Lana knew it was probably a question he got a lot from the rushed response. She couldn’t help but be a bit entertained by the newfound information, after all, she had not been anticipating it. The room grew quiet again and Lana started unpacking what little she had into a large chest at the end of the bed. She thought deeply as she did so about anything and everything in her life, but mostly about the man still near the door. He had begun drinking from his flask again and glancing at her every so often.

Lana stopped in the middle of her movements, her hands falling to her sides almost in defeat as she looked at Doc helplessly. He tilted his head and she took a deep breath. Lana noted that he was a bit tall, at least six feet.

“Why am I here? Why are you here? Why are you still here? I-I don’t know,” she said, looking away from him. That wasn’t the way she wanted to ask about her doubts or voice her thoughts. Her eyes lay on the open chest in front of her, along with the clothes she had put in as Doc approached her without much thought. She looked up at him as he got on his knees next to her, their eyes meeting again. She held her breath, trying not to falter under such a potent gaze. If any other man had looked at her the way he did then, she would have been inclined to be afraid.

Doc cursed himself and the day he was born long before Lana came along, but the rapid grasp she had over him was a curse he could relish in without guilt or shame. She waited for him to speak as he stared at her, trying to formulate a response to her concerns. The green amongst the brown in her irises reminded him of paintings he had seen in what felt like another life. It appeared that he couldn’t think clearly enough to speak. 

He looked beyond her eyes, flicking downward, only to find her lips. Though exciting, Doc found himself in troubling hot water. They didn’t know it, but both of their heartbeats were in tune with the other, Lana looking at his pale lips too. There didn’t look to be much life in them, but she knew better and wanted to find out just how much better she knew. All too quickly, Doc was frantically pulling backward, his coughs buried into the handkerchief he had pulled out of his pocket with quick-draw fingers. 

Lana exhaled through her nose quietly, reality catching up with her. Just for a moment, she thought he may have moved closer to her face and kissed her.

He's just trying to help me is all. Nothing more to it. Or at least that's what she told herself.

“Truth be told, I do not know,” he said bluntly as if the answer were obvious and perhaps it was now that Lana was hearing it from him. She just nodded and began to put the rest of her belongings away, Doc joining in kindly after pulling himself together after the fit. “I take it, you’re not busy,” Doc said when the chest was packed, locked up, and the two were standing upright and facing each other.

“On the contrary, I need to find work. And not as a working girl,” she retorted, shaking her head. Doc nodded, heading back towards the door and grabbing his hat off of the rack. He placed it back on his head before speaking again. 

“Come to the Oriental tonight. You’ll find what you’re looking for. Or rather who,” Doc advised, tipping his hat at Lana before making his way out of the door. She watched him leave so effortlessly and didn’t like the dropping feeling it brought to her stomach.

“Wait, Doc!” Lana called to him just before he was out of earshot. He stopped and smirked to himself, turning back around to see Lana, peeking out of the doorway, her hands on the frame. She looked like she belonged on canvas for all the world to see. The light through the curtains in the hallway filtered against her pale olive skin exquisitely.

“Thank you,” she said sincerely, trying to keep her eyes from watering too much. He wasn’t aware of the chance he had given her. She was afraid of what lie ahead but she didn’t want to let him down. He only nodded in response before he disappeared down the corner and towards the steps.

***

The sun was just about setting when Lana headed toward the Oriental. It looked like a melting orange on the horizon, bleeding into the clouds around it like watercolor. Her eyes stood glued to it as she carried herself to the saloon. The closer she got, the louder the voices from inside got, hollering, hooting, chatting, and laughing. She was shy but figured maybe she’d find a good time.

Upon entering, she found a fine establishment. There was an inviting bar, surprisingly empty, and with deep mahogany. The place was packed with people elsewhere in the saloon, their drinks already in hand. Lana sat down and looked around at the folk. Her eyes scanned and landed on the table in the corner, Wyatt, and Morgan sitting behind it. Doc stood up against the wall next to the two of them, a small silver cup in hand. The shine of it reminded her of the flask from earlier. He found her eyes on him and smiled, nodding his head at her with a small wave of the cup. She averted her eyes and looked away. Her head was down, looking at various pairs of shoes. She noted the high-button ones, leather pumps, and heeled boots with spurs. She couldn’t look away forever and she knew that. Her eyes rose slightly amongst the people. Many wore hats from pork-pies, derbies, to brimmed sombreros. When her eyes landed back on the table, she found Doc and Wyatt talking. Wyatt caught her gaze and smiled, raising his hand to wave her over in their direction. She smiled back earnestly and internally sighed before getting off of her seat to walk over. 

“Lana,” Wyatt acknowledged her as she arrived. She stood at the far corner of the table, not wanting to get in the way of any high rollers that wanted their hand at the faro game. “Smart girl. We’ve had a few rollers have a pity party already,” Wyatt commented, he and Morgan nodding their heads at each other. Wyatt and the rest of the men at the table were hatless compared to the rest of the room. Lana took a glance at Doc who was already looking at her, the silver of his cup meeting at his lips as he drank. He was transfixing her again and she had to find a way out of it.

“Wyatt. Who was that man from earlier? With the shotgun?” Lana asked, her attention back on Wyatt. He laughed softly before answering her question. 

“Some bum who was holding business up in here. Wasn’t too happy with the way I rid of him, I suppose,” he said. Lana nodded before he spoke again. “So, now we’re in the mining business. Turning into regular tycoons. Gonna call this one the Mattie Blaylock. Mattie’ll get a kick out of that one, it’s her maiden name,” he said while Doc laughed softly to himself, sipping on his cup some more. Lana’s eyes widened at the realization. Doc was right, she found who she was looking for when it came to a job. She opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by Doc who kept the conversation going.

“And what a maiden. Pure as the driven snow, I’m sure,” he said. Lana was unaware of the weight of Doc’s words. Wyatt’s wife, Mattie, had been a prostitute before becoming his wife by law. Morgan knew though and replied to Doc’s remark.

“Hey, Doc, come on now,” he said, offended on his brother’s behalf. Wyatt paid it no mind. He knew his friend quite well.

“It’s just his style, Morg. He doesn’t mean anything,” he assured his brother. Morgan looked unsure, but kept his further thoughts to himself, just as he always did when it came to Doc. The slight tension between them gave Lana her queue to speak. 

“Me and my sister used to be secretary sorts for a mining camp,” she said, referring back to what Wyatt had said before the comment about his wife. Wyatt’s attention turned back on Lana and he nodded his head showing a focused interest in what she had said. 

“We could use your expertise, Ms. Pearson,” he replied. Lana nodded and held out her hand for Wyatt to shake, and he obliged. It looked like she had landed herself a job on her first day in town. Doc furrowed his eyebrow at the mention of Lana having a sister. His curiosity was never at bay, wanting to know more and more. The men chatted with Lana a little longer before getting up for a break to walk around the saloon. She looked at their seats and wondered if she could sit in one of them until they got back. 

“Lana,” Doc spoke her name for the first time. She looked up, his arm offered and out for her. The dimly-lit saloon sconces made the top of his hair shine warmly, creating a golden silhouette amongst his temple. She beamed at him as their arms interlocked and they tagged along with the two other men, weaving their way through the people around the saloon.

“Tell me something, my friend. I’m curious. Do you actually consider yourself a married man, forsaking all others?” Doc asked in nothing but teasing speculation.

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean, I was no angel when we met. But neither was she,” Wyatt answered. Lana was starting to understand this Mattie the three referred to was Wyatt’s wife, making him a married man. It made sense to her, after all, Wyatt was a handsome and successful man. She didn’t know how successful just yet. Her small hometown never got word of his feats in Dodge City. “People can change, Doc. Sooner or later, you gotta grow up,” Wyatt further explained himself to an amused and slightly drunk Doc. His stature had begun to sway ever so slightly, leaning into Lana. She didn’t mind it, the warmth of his side against hers appealing all too well. He turned towards Lana on his arm and rolled his eyes, the gleam in them signaling to her something mischievous. 

“I see. And what would you do if she walked in here?” Doc said. Lana’s ears perked up and her eyes rose.

“She?” Wyatt replied.

“You know damn well who I mean,” Doc prodded on. Lana was lost but interested nonetheless. Wyatt stood quiet as if he had no clue, but his face said otherwise, having something to hide and deny.

“That dusky-hued lady Satan, that’s who,” Doc revealed. He and Morgan laughed at Wyatt’s sudden bashfulness when the woman was brought up. Lana leaned closer into Doc’s arm, leaning up towards his ear. She didn’t mean to, but her lips lightly brushed the lobe as she began to whisper to him.

“Who?” she asked softly. Doc would’ve purred if it had been appropriate but he kept his composure despite the euphoria that filled his body like opium.

“Some actress from a show earlier at Schieffelin Hall. Me, Mattie, Virgil and his wife, Allie, Morgan, Doc, and Kate went to see it,” Wyatt said, his head nodding at Doc when he said the name, Kate. Lana felt her blood slowly run cold, and freeze, her body going stiff. If any more color could’ve drained from Doc’s face it would have. If looks could kill, Wyatt would’ve been six feet under but he just shrugged at Doc, the payback dealt for bringing up the actress Wyatt was smitten with. He knew he got Doc in a bit of trouble and he was satisfied with it. The group had reached the bar and got some drinks when the conversation turned up again. 

“Oh. I’d ignore her,” Wyatt said, finally answering the question Doc had asked. Doc’s gaze on Wyatt was like steel. 

“Ignore her?” 

“I’d ignore her. People can change, Doc.”

“I’ll remember you said that,” Doc said, smiling as he clinked his cup with Wyatt’s. He squinted at Doc and wondered what he was getting at. 

The saloon had grown louder as a woman and her entourage entered. Josephine Marcus was her name according to all the murmurs. The brunette was dressed in a lovely silver gown that Lana would’ve killed to own someday. She knew upon looking at her that this was the crush Wyatt had. Even as a married man, Lana couldn’t blame him. The woman spotted Wyatt and started to approach. Lana, Doc, and Morgan looked at him as he turned away from her. Lana thought it was quite impressive. 

“Satisfied?” Wyatt said to Doc.

Doc nodded his head at his friend, a true look of accomplishment within his contagious smile.

“I stand corrected. Wyatt, you’re an oak.”

Eventually, the group made their way back to the faro table. Doc was properly drunk at that point, never letting Lana off of his arm even when she pulled away slightly. Her mind was racing thinking about who this Kate was to Doc, and why she cared in the first place. Just at the height of the night, three cowboys walked into the saloon. 

The atmosphere grew tense like they were all in shark-infested waters with the men. Lana tightened her grip on Doc’s arm. The two looked at each other simultaneously and Doc managed to nod his head at her as if to say that he had her. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his eyes. Again, Lana knew that was dangerous. It was just another day for Doc and if it had to be a battle, he was prepared. It brought her some comfort as she wondered what would happen next. 

Chapter Text

If there was one thing the town of Tombstone was best at, it was gossiping. It seemed to be an Olympic sports show for the town on that warm and windy evening. Lana had never learned the names of people she had just set eyes on so quickly. The three men that entered the premises went by Johnny Ringo, Curly Bill, and Ike Clanton. They reminded her of a pack of wolves with the way they stalked into the saloon. 

Ike was a plump man of small stature, his hair and beard disheveled and slightly grey with age. His very spirit reminded Lana of a small but rowdy pug that lived next door to her family home back in Embell. The comparison between the man and the dog had made her giggle quietly to herself while she reveled in the thought.

Curly Bill was a fitting name for the man and the way he carried himself so wildly. The dark waves of his hair were a mess like the mustache above his lip. Clean-shaven wasn’t a word to describe him. He played the leader of the group like a role he wasn’t fit for and Lana could tell. But was she the only one?

There was something about Johnny Ringo though. Although he wore a red sash like every other cowboy, he was more dangerous than the rest of them. One could tell just by looking at him. There was a foreboding air about him that drafted like a misty aura around his person. He had dark hair like Curly Bill, his face overtly handsome despite the sweat and grime that coated it. His clothes were a bit more tattered than his companions’, but he wore them well. Lana had been staring absent-mindedly like a child in awe. Just as Ike and Curly Bill started to approach the faro table with Ringo not far behind him, he spotted Lana’s lingering eye retreating. The expression on his face grew curious and playful. The whole time her arm stood interlocked with Doc’s and she felt a tight squeeze come from him. Lana had been so distracted with the newcomers that she hadn’t noticed Wyatt signing something for a man who seemed full of genuine gratitude. It appeared to be money. The object of the man’s desires was snatched from his hands by Curly Bill.

“Wyatt Earp, huh? Heard ah’ you,” he said, his tone bored as he gazed down at Wyatt in his seat. Ringo stood at Bill’s side, Ike deciding to include himself as leaned over the far end of the faro table towards Wyatt. Curly Bill silently placed a bet with a few chips in the faro game. Wyatt accessed the cards in front of him. He wasn’t so easily intimidated. 

“Listen now, Mr. Kansas Law-Dog. Law don’t go around here. Savvy?” he said. Wyatt seemed slightly amused at Ike’s remark, but he kept his composure and spoke candidly.

“I’m retired.”

“Good. That’s real good,” Curly Bill said, his voice dripping with satisfaction from Wyatt’s answer. 

“Yeah, that's real good, law-dog cause’ law just don’t go around here,” Ike reminded Wyatt. He was close to him and his breath must have had a funny odor with how Wyatt squinted in disgust. He was getting ever more annoyed at the newcomers. 

“Yeah, I heard you the first time. Winner to the King, 500 dollars,” Wyatt said as Morgan leaned over his brother, placing the money on the table towards Curly Bill. He just laughed and took what was in front of him while telling Ike to shut up under his breath. Ringo was now the one to look bored next to him, his eyes moving from the money to Doc who had remained silent, drinking from his cup again. It was starting to become a familiar sight. The two looked at each other as if edging the other to speak first. Doc had more pride than that, his gaze saying so. 

“And you must be Doc Holliday,” he said as if he was unsure. He knew damn well who Doc was. Doc cleared his throat before responding.

“That’s the rumor.”

“You retired, too?” Ringo asked him. A threat?

“Not me. I’m in my prime,” Doc answered. He was so obviously drunk, but more than sure of himself, even in the condition that he was in.

“Yeah, you look it,” Ringo joked. The remark infuriated Lana slightly. She watched as Ringo looked Doc up and down as if he was inferior in some way. 

“You must be Ringo. Look, darlin’. Johnny Ringo. Deadliest pistoleer since Wild Bill, they say. What do you think, darlin’? Should I hate him?” Doc said, directing his attention to Lana. She hadn’t anticipated being included in the conversation. It completely caught her off guard. She took a glance at Ringo and thought of the first thing to come to her head, trying to diffuse the situation. 

“Doc. You don’t even know him,” she answered her tone pleading. He smiled that mischievous smile at Lana, clearly willing to take matters a step further.

“That’s true. I don’t know. There’s just something about him. Something around the eyes. I don’t know. Reminds me of…me. No, I’m sure of it. I hate him.” Everyone could feel the tension start to build in the saloon, all eyes on the group.

“He’s drunk,” Wyatt said, his hand held out before Ringo who kept his eyes on Doc like prey. Wyatt reached slowly under the table for the gun that was hidden under the wood, hanging and ready for a fight. But this was all a game to a man like Doc.

“In vino veritas,” Doc said quietly as he sipped on the liquor in his cup. In wine there is truth. He was testing the man before him in the ancient tongue of Latin that Lana knew all too well from lessons with her late father. He was saying that he was nothing but honest when drunk.

“Age quod agis,” Ringo responded. Do what you do. Lana could’ve been mistaken, but for the first time, Doc looked surprised, the light behind his eyes growing. Ringo had told him to continue being the drunk that he was as if it was his one and only specialty.

“Credat Judaeus Apella, non ego.” Let Apella, the Jew believe, not I. Ringo visibly grew more agitated. Doc did not care to hear Ringo’s thoughts about him, let alone anyone else’s.

“Iuventus stultorum magister,” Ringo replied to Doc, patting the gun that lay in the holster on his hip. Youth is the teacher of fools. Ringo was implying that he ought to teach Doc a lesson.

Lana could’ve jumped out of her skin at the movement. She slowly removed her arm from Doc’s grip and moved behind him. Something told her to keep a hand on him though, so she placed it on the back of his shoulder. His muscles were relaxed against her fingers as if he could have been asleep. The acknowledgment of Ringo’s gun only made Doc grin like a Cheshire cat, his teeth shining along with the sweat on his forehead. He replied in Latin one last time.

“In pace requiescat.” May he rest in peace. Doc had warned Ringo, that if he was to try him, he’d be dead in an instant. Johnny Ringo looked like he was about to burst at any second. An older man with white hair approached the table slowly. The badge on his chest indicated he was the town marshal. 

“Come on boys. We don’t want any trouble in here. Not in any language,” he said. His words were meant to calm the group that surrounded the faro table. Lana closed her eyes for a moment and prayed that Doc would just be quiet again but even by now, she knew him well enough.

“That’s Latin, darlin’. Evidently, Mr. Ringo’s an educated man. Now I really hate him.”

Ringo stared at Doc, their gazes held together by the strongest foundation. All of a sudden, a nickel-plated .45 pistol was in Ringo’s hand and aimed at Doc’s face. Lana flinched behind Doc, her hand gripping at his shoulder. Everyone in the saloon echoed her movements apart from Doc. He was as still as a corpse.

“Watch it, Johnny,” Bill warned his friend lightly. Bill continued. “I hear he’s real fast."

The whole ordeal grew more amusing to Doc by the minute when Ringo slowly brought the gun back, only to aim it at him again after flipping it in his hand. He then started to twirl it in his hand and around his fingers. Doc’s face lay blank as he studied the other man’s mannerisms with the gun. The rigid atmosphere in the building faded and people started to hoot and whistle around the show of tricks. Ringo’s gun, with a flash of its silver, was back in its holster just as fast as it had come out. He touched up the sides of his mustache with a smirk on his face as applause started to surround him.

Doc stood still while everyone turned to look his way, the clapping beginning to die down. With a subtle roll of his eyes, he downed the rest of what was in the cup he had been drinking from all night. As he began to face Ringo, he then hooked his finger in the handle of his cup and started to imitate Ringo’s routine exactly the way it had been performed. Lana began to laugh with the rest of the large room full of people. The relief was liberating. Ringo nodded and let a strange look of approval reach across his face before he and his friends left the Oriental when Doc was finished.

***

Lana found herself drained after the Oriental and walking back to the Grand Hotel with Doc. She hadn’t asked him to escort her back, but he insisted that a lady should never walk alone at night. If she were to get into trouble, she was unsure of just how much help Doc would be in his drunken state. Just before leaving the saloon, he had been at the piano, playing Chopin flawlessly like a madman. To his surprise, she had joined him in playing many nocturnes that night. She had even drank some.

Again, she was on his arm and found that she could get used to the comfortability it gave her. The two were in front of her hotel room door by the time she remembered what had plagued her mind before Ringo, Bill, and Ike had entered the saloon earlier. Kate. Doc noticed the worry begin to plaster across her face but she spoke before he could question her about anything.

“Thank you for getting me out tonight, Doc. I’m going to get some rest now,” she said as they pulled apart at the arm. Her tone was rushed and he didn’t appreciate it.

“Lana, darlin’,” he spoke, reaching out and grasping her arm carefully as she began to open the door. She turned back around to face him, avoiding eye contact and it made him sober up a bit as he let go of her. “Look at me when I speak to you, dear,” he said sternly, sounding disappointed. There he went again, making her feel like a child. She looked at him directly with a defeated sigh. “Tell me what’s wrong,” he demanded rather than asked.

“I’m tired is all. I really must rest now,” Lana said dismissively.

“I don’t take kindly to lies.” Doc was growing impatient.

“It’s a good thing I’m not lying.” Lana could match his wit at that moment.

“Lana,” Doc said slowly. It was an advised caution. He had enough of Lana’s tone. He could give her spitfire if he deemed she needed it. She took a deep breath, nodding her head.

“I’m sorry. It’s just silly, really,” she explained. Doc waited for the answer he wanted. He had a feeling he knew exactly what Lana was going to bring up and he wasn’t prepared for such a conversation.

“Who is she? This Kate?”

Chapter Text

The question seemed to warrant someone Lana hadn’t yet met. Doc’s jaw clenched firmly and he looked at Lana like she was someone on the street, crazed and out of line. Such displeasure hadn’t been graced upon her yet. Thus far, Doc’s eyes had always locked on hers as if she was one of the many ghosts he had in his life, all too familiar and comfortably haunting. Lana peered back at him, biting on the inside of her lip nervously. She knew she had crossed some sort of line but there was no undoing the action, so why would she back out now under any intimidation. They were both on the threshold of her hotel room entrance, the ceiling high above their heads. Doc turned his head toward her room, his eyes closing slowly as he contemplated what he was going to say. They opened again and seemed darker in the irises than they were before, from a meadow to a wasteland. He had been deep in thought. Lana may have been mistaken, but he might’ve been angered by her, or trying not to be.

“We can talk in the morning,” he spoke. It was a suggestion of no kind and evident enough. He was standing as straight up as she had seen him do so in the past few hours and he wished to give her no answers that night. Lana shook her head, something telling her to pry just a bit more.

“Just tell me who she is,” she said, almost desperately. She knew she had no right but it was eating away at her, her stomach in knots that ached. They hadn’t known each other for long and were in no way involved with each other but neither was blind to the way their eyes would linger longer than they should, their souls tied in one way or another.

“I’m drunk,” Doc replied impatiently. But he had sobered up some.

“In vino veritas,” Lana challenged him like a worthy competitor. In wine there is truth. And she wanted to hear it. He hadn’t let Johnny Ringo see his puzzlement at his knowledge of Latin earlier that night, but he let it show at Lana’s then and there. Doc knew Lana wasn’t some mere whore he was unknowingly trying to reform, but this proved it further. She was an educated young lady and in his mind, she was using that against him. He took one step toward Lana, leaning his head down so it hovered a few inches higher than hers, their faces inches in width apart. Her breath caught in her throat like it was trapped in a web of his making. 

“Tell me something, darlin’. Who are you to interrogate me?” he asked. His tone was stern yet carried the same air it always did. He was indirectly referring to their knowing each other for a day or so. She didn’t know how to respond, feeling so many things she couldn’t ferment. His scolding reminded her of her father’s and her eyes started to flicker open and shut as she tried to keep tears from welling up past her waterline. She hated confrontation but couldn’t cry in front of him again. She took a deep breath and gathered all the courage she could to speak, as it was getting hard for her for the first time in a few days.

“Who am I? To you?” she said, barely above a whisper. Doc nodded his head, never blinking as the woman in front of him was trying not to fall to pieces where she stood. Despite his quarrel with himself earlier, he looked her in the eyes, refusing to falter. She was quiet for a few seconds before speaking up again. “I don’t know. Someone. I had hoped. I mean, you wanted me to come here, right? I came because of you,” she said through a broken laugh, shaking her head at how foolish it all made her feel. It felt like he had come into her life like he had always been there and she didn’t know it, but he had a similar feeling. What she said managed to crack him gradually as she spoke, his face contorting to show guilt.

They stood close still, Doc trying to find the words for an apology. He peered at her so clearly conflicted until his signature smirk reached across his lips and Lana tilted her head curiously at him.

“Your eyes. That’s where your spell starts,” he explained his change in demeanor. His voice was quiet, like what he had said was the most precious secret. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, bringing his fingers up to her chin, pushing her face up to his. Their noses brushed against each other and Lana found it hard to breathe again. 

“Doc-“

He hushed her quietly, pressing his forehead to hers for just a moment. His temple was so hot against hers. She wondered if he may have had a fever. His eyes were closed, not a shift seen under the lids. His hair pressed into the curls from the crown of her head. He looked like he was exactly where he was supposed to be and Lana wished he could be at peace with it so she could too. He withdrew, stepping back from her. Lana exhaled and leaned back against the frame of the door. He did the same on his side, sighing. 

“You look tired, dear,” Doc said.

“I am,” Lana replied rather awkwardly. She didn’t know what to make of his actions or his words. He was the most confounding man she had ever met and it threw her for a loop, drunk off his touch. “I need sleep,” she spoke, finally stepping into the room, the epitome of exhaustion. She didn’t care about her previous worries for the time being.

“We can talk over breakfast in the morning, my treat,” Doc offered Lana as he moved back into the hallway. He could tell she was tired and wanted her space. Lana nodded in response as she began to shut the door slowly. The hall was dark, melting perfectly with Doc’s dark attire as if he could sink into the night and disappear. 

“Goodnight, Doc.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

***

Lana was up early, not knowing when Doc would be awake for breakfast. Mornings were always odd for Lana for the past week or so. She’d wake up in a place foreign to home, frightened for half a second. In that half second, she expected to be home in her room in Embell. She would rise to the sun coming in through the window next to Lydia’s bed across the room, just like she had that morning.

The wooden floor was known to creak slightly beneath one’s feet but Lana knew where to step to avoid the sound. It had always been like a game to her ever since she was a child, zig-zagging around the room in the early hours of the morning while counting the brown birds embedded in the flowers amongst the wallpaper. Her sights were set on drawing the window’s curtains before her mother asked her if she did so when she arrived downstairs. The linen floated in the soft gusts of wind that came into the room. She made a stop at her sister’s bed when she realized she wasn’t awake yet, forgetting about the curtains. She reached over and lightly shook her shoulder.

“Lydia,” she whispered, careful not to scare her as she woke. Lydia’s eyes opened slowly as she stirred, looking up at Lana. The two were mirrors of the other. The only real difference was that Lydia had a small birthmark on the tip of her nose, while Lana had one on the right side of her cheek. In their first few years of life, the marks were the only way of telling them apart. Now their personalities also helped.

“Leave me alone,” Lydia whined, pulling the covers over her head. Lana sighed and pulled them back. Lydia rolled her eyes and laid there on her back, her hair strewn all over the pillow below her head. She hadn’t prepared her hair for sleep since they were both kids while Lana’s was in a loose braid. She stared down at her twin, putting her hands on her hips like their mother would.

“We’ve got work today. I don’t want to be late,” Lana pled with her sister. She walked away towards the door, planning to head to the washroom before Lydia spoke up.

“I’m really tired, Lan. Tell Mr. McFarlane I don’t feel well.”

Lana stopped in her tracks and quickly turned around.

“But you feel fine,” Lana said. “I don’t like to be there without you, you know this, Lyd.” She was practically begging her now. Some of the miners would pass by the office and try to flirt with the both of them. Lana wasn’t like her sister, who had the confidence to shoot them down.

“I just need a day. I promise I’ll come in tomorrow. We can catch lightnings' tonight?” Lydia said to her sister. The offer of catching lightning bugs or fireflies was a childish one but it was one of Lana’s favorite things to do during the summers and Lydia knew it. She sighed and agreed to her sister’s offer before exiting the room to get ready for the day. She had done so quickly before making her way downstairs to have breakfast with her parents.

Her mother, Eliza, was in the kitchen, setting the table for breakfast. She had a sweet face, greying blonde hair, and hazel eyes that she gave her daughters. Lana scurried to her side to help her, extending her hand out for the silverware the older woman had been putting on the table. Eliza smiled and handed her the rest of the ware.

“Good morning, Lan,” she chimed in a warm sing-song voice.

“Morning, Mama.”

“Did you draw those curtains?” Lana sighed and slowed her movements for a moment.

“No, I forgot while I was waking up Lydia.”

“Where’s Lydia?”

Lana finished setting the last two sets of silverware when her mother asked her about her sister’s absence.

“She’s not feeling well,” she lied to her mother. She didn’t like to but she knew that if her mother found out Lydia was bailing out on work, she would be upset. It seemed like more of a white lie, but it was a lie nonetheless. 

“Poor girl. I’ll check in on her after breakfast. You think your father would eat her hot hotcakes?” Eliza said. Lana nodded as her father, Arthur, walked into the kitchen. He was of average height for a man, his hair brown hair disheveled. The bags under his eyes were dark, somehow complimenting his light blue eyes. Lana pulled his chair out for him at the table and he sat downs smiling at the women in his life. He noticed one was missing, looking out to the parlor. Eliza must have noticed his confusion as Lana took her seat next to her father at the round table.

“Lydia is under the weather for today. I should have her feeling herself by the end of the day,” Eliza said, carrying her husband’s breakfast plate over after she had loaded it with food. Arthur nodded and soon the three were seated before the first meal of the day. After prayer, time seemed to go fast, as it always did when Lana had to go off to work. She didn’t mind her job, she was actually grateful for it, wanting to work as a woman of her time, but she hated being away from her parents for long hours. Today would be challenging without Lydia but she knew she’d make it through. She kissed her parents' cheeks before she left and told them she loved them. When she reached the end of her porch she realized she hadn’t said goodbye to her sister. She went around to the side of the house where the fireflies would be later that night, amongst her mother’s garden.

“Lyd!” she called up to her sister through the window in front of her bed. Lydia appeared, still in her beige nightgown as she began to draw the curtains back. Lana smiled because she didn’t even have to ask like she usually would have. “Love you!”

“Love you too, Lan.”

That was the last time Lana had seen her sister and parents alive.

Chapter Text

[Content/Trigger Warning: This chapter contains blood, reference to r*pe, and a traumatic situation.]

By the time Doc had noticed Lana was a little quieter than she usually was, they had been sitting in the small restaurant for a while. The establishment was a short walk away from the Grand Hotel. The ceilings were high and blank, thick decorated columns separating the different sections of the restaurant. After a short wait, Doc had been directed to accompany Lana to their table by the hostess. They had ordered and been quiet ever since they were left alone.

An ornate chandelier was suspended in the air above the table the two sat at, unlit in the early hours of the morning. Lana stared at it, seemingly mesmerized by it when their food was bought over to the table. Doc looked at her expectedly, as her eyes shifted to him. She blinked a few times in confusion before removing her gloves. He didn’t really care about etiquette but he had a feeling Lana did, and it appeared he was right by the way she hastily took her gloves off. Doc admired it in a way, how Lana still cared about such trivial things, still wide-eyed and young. She was dressed casually, her ruffled white shirt had a high collar, complimenting her long purple skirt. Doc’s white dress shirt lay under a red waistcoat, his black tailcoat on the back of his chair. He got some weary looks about it, but no one would bother him about it. They ate quietly before Doc spoke.

“So. Kate.”

Lana looked up from her food. She quickly swallowed the eggs she had just shuffled into her mouth as silently as she could. Doc picked up the glass of peach juice he had ordered.

“Is she your wife?” Lana asked softly, afraid of the answer. Doc was bringing the glass to his lips when he processed what she had asked him. He stopped his movement and set the beverage back down, staring at the napkins next to his plate of boiled eggs and toast.

“No. Maybe. Technically, but I suppose not completely. By the common law, perhaps.” The answer pained him more than it did Lana. He could say a lot about Kate but most of it wouldn’t have been pretty. What they had was once special, but now venomous and complicated more than anything else. The fault wasn’t reserved for him nor Kate, but a shared nuisance they had concocted together. Doc finally drank from his glass as Lana stared at him, waiting for a further explanation, but he had another idea. “My turn. You have a sister, right?”

Lana hadn’t expected any questions. She wondered how he knew, her eyebrows furrowing before answering hesitantly. After reminiscing earlier on her life before she met Doc, she felt the slightest bit more comfortable in her grief. It wasn’t until recently that she had experienced such loss and trauma.

“Yes.”

“Does she have a name?” 

“My turn,” Lana said sharply. She began to wonder what was his motive in asking about her sister. Doc raised his brows, amused at Lana’s concentration. She wouldn’t let him control the conversation. She was paying close attention. To him, she was a minx when she wanted to be, or maybe she just didn’t realize how she drove him insane. “Can you explain more?”

“We’re not together. Not anymore. Suppose we never were. Not good for each other, her and I. Though, I’m not much good for anyone. That’s about it,” Doc said, chuckling at himself. Lana noticed he barely touched his plate as she digested the information. “Satisfied?” Lana nodded in annoyance.

“Shoot,” she said, awaiting more questions on Lydia. It was only fair that she answer his questions, for he had answered hers. She wasn’t sure just how deep she could allow him to go into the topic.

“Her name?”

“Lydia,” Lana replied. Her voice had cracked when she said it. The last time she had uttered her name was that last night when she saw her, bruised, bleeding, and naked in the bathroom.

***

Lana lay in a fit of hysterical tears on her parent’s laps, hyperventilating and screaming into her hand over the most painful mental anguish she had ever felt in her life. Arthur and Eliza had been sitting on the couch in the parlor when they were shot in the back of their heads from behind. Eliza had been sewing a small chemise for the neighbor’s daughter while Arthur had been reading the Odyssey. The book, the needles, and cotton lay on the wooden floorboards just beyond where Lana sobbed violently for what felt like hours. Her head lay on Eliza’s thigh, her left hand on her father’s arm that lay limp at his side. Blood had long begun to trickle down the napes of their necks, painting the couch crimson. The house was a mess, with glass shards all over the floor from the busted windows, along with splints of wood from the wrecked furniture, and red sashes. When Lana arrived and saw what she saw, she immediately started yelling for Lydia but heard no reply. It made her collapse where she had been, in front of her parents, shaking their shoulders, begging them to wake up. Her eyes began to go dry as she hugged her mother’s leg when she heard it.

“Lan.” It was the softest she ever heard her boisterous sister speak. Lana bolted up towards the stairs, her shoes hitting the ground loudly. She pushed herself harder with each step to carry her with faster and faster velocity. Their bedroom door was open. The linen curtains remained drawn from earlier when the twins saw each other in the window.

“Lyd!” Lana exclaimed in a panic as she looked around their room. It was just as in shambles as the rest of the house downstairs. Their clothes and knick-knacks were strewn around the floor, broken into jagged pieces. Lydia’s nightgown was in the center of the room, ripped and saturated with the same dark liquid from downstairs.

“Here,” Lydia said breathlessly. The sound came from the bathroom. This door was open as well, nearly off of its hinges as Lana entered and looked at the floor. Lydia lay in a pool of blood, nude, bruised, cut up, and shivering. Her left eye was swollen shut and she had been beaten severely, but she smiled weakly at the sight of her sister like it was Christmas morning. Lana gasped and scurried to her side, sitting on her knees next to her. Lydia wasn’t far from the shelves wear their mother would store towels. Lana reached over her sister to grab one quickly. She covered Lydia hurriedly.

“What, what in the world happened?” she asked Lydia. She knew what had happened but the reason was missing. She tried to answer Lana but couldn’t find the strength to speak. “It’s okay. Shh, we can make it out of here,” Lana assured Lydia as she looked around, unsure of what to do next. Lydia shook her head as best as she could. 

“The shed,” she whispered, spitting up a copious amount of blood. Lana pushed herself up on her knees to peer out the window at the back of the yard. Through small flickers of lightning bugs, she could see the silhouettes of a few men in the darkness near the shed. “They’re looking for you.” The notion sent chills down her spine that felt like electricity.

Lana wanted to ask why but she knew there wasn’t much time. She sat back on her knees, leaning over to put her arm under Lydia’s head, in an attempt to pick her up. Her hair was matted and wet against Lana’s forearm. Lydia shook her head, coughing and choking some before clearing her throat in overt frustration.

“I’m not leaving you here, Lyd.” Lana’s tone was desperate, voice cracking in places like a child.

“You have to. I’m dying, Lan.” 

Lana blinked back tears at that, trying to keep her mind clear for both of their survival. She knew her sister had been bleeding out for a while and there was nothing she could do but living without her and her parents wasn’t something she could imagine or live with. In Lana’s mind, Lydia was too stubborn to succumb to something like death.

“Lydia, please,” Lana started to sob, begging her sister to live despite her awaiting fate. For the last time, Lydia shook her head, her eyes firmly squinted. She had decided to die on that floor long before her sister had come home. Lana kept getting flashes of memories as she kept wiping away tears, not wanting her last image of Lydia to be blurry. She could hear their laughs as toddlers, see their jars of lightning bugs, taste their mother’s apple pie, and feel her stomach hurt from what felt like endless laughter. The two of them heard the men come in from the backdoor. Lana’s eyes widened, and her chest started to rise and fall as she cried, now shaking her head frantically. Lydia grabbed her hand and squeezed it lightly. Lana could feel the blood and sweat between both of their skin rub together.

“Go. Now. Run. I love you,” Lydia said. 

“The front door is open! She’s in ‘ere!” they heard from below.

“I love you,” Lana whispered, bringing her sister’s hand to her lips and kissing it with a bit of pressure. The last bit of consciousness left Lydia’s body at that moment, her hand falling from Lana’s. Steps echoed from the stairs in the hall as Lana sputtered prayers for her sister’s soul. She rose to her feet and looked towards the bathroom window. A flash of lightning blinded her as she hiked up her petticoat and skirt to get through the window. A clap of thunder shook the house as a cowboy entered the bathroom to see Lana jump from the second floor.

***

“Lana, darlin’. You’re cryin’.”

She looked up at Doc across the table from her. Concern graced his face so handsomely and it was all Lana could see as her tunnel vision subsided. One by one her senses came back to her and she realized that Doc was holding her hand in the center of the table. It shocked her, just how natural it felt, their hands fitting together like parts of a lost relic. He was her shield against time in moments like these, the gradual curse forgotten and unmoving for once. She was going to apologize but didn’t feel the need as she looked around her. It didn’t appear that anyone was disturbed. There were only two tears that had cascaded down her cheeks, drying quickly and staining her skin. Her free hand grabbed a napkin to dab at the area.

“Lana.”

She had been looking at their hands before she looked up at his face. She’d never get over looking at him. She felt as if she were unworthy in one way or another. Every time she set her eyes on him, she breathed him in like a curse, the task getting much too heavy. It must have been the dooming but euphoric high he gave her.

“Hm?”

“My intention. My intentions. They’re never meant to hurt you. Please. Remember that,” he said to her. He seemed adamant about it, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. His palm was calloused but soft; the hand of a man. He had many more questions for her but knew it would take time. He was a patient man when he wanted to be and he would wait for Lana.

The two ate the rest of their breakfast in comforting silence. It was unlike anything they had ever experienced, the absence of awkward tension as they remained quiet. They just enjoyed the other’s presence for the remainder of their time together that day. Doc escorted her back to her room at the Grand Hotel, as she wanted to get ready to go see Wyatt about the secretary gig for the mine they had discussed briefly. 

“You and Wyatt are friends, right?” Lana asked Doc when they reached her door, much like they did the night before. He nodded his head at her, wondering where the conversation was going.

“Wyatt Earp is my friend,” Doc voiced. It wasn’t enough for him to merely nod his head. Doc had saved his life once back in Dodge City. They weren't friends then but had been ever since.

“Do you have a lot of friends?” It was an odd question, the air around it, but Doc shook his head honestly. It wasn't something he was ashamed of.

“I don’t,” he said solemnly.

“He wasn’t just teasing me about the job, right?” Lana wondered aloud to Doc. He took a deep breath before answering her, reminding himself that Lana didn't know how honorable Wyatt Earp was yet. 

“Wyatt Earp is a man of his word. A man of truth. He won’t steer you wrong, dear.”

“Forgive me, I don’t mean to offend. Just nervous is all. And I don’t trust people with a lot of friends,” Lana explained herself and her previous question. The notion made Doc’s heart swell in chest slightly. She trusted him and therefore she trusted Wyatt. As a man, he was often shamed for not having close ties with many others, but she understood why. He couldn’t help but smile at her like she had put the sun in the sky. “I hope you’ve got room for me,” she teased him, beaming back at him.

“Oh, I’ve gotcha’,” Doc said, grasping her hand in his as he bowed down to kiss her knuckles. The early afternoon light through the windows was warm against the skin of her hand, transferring to Doc's lips deliciously.

He had taken the words right out of her mouth, or what she had been thinking inside of her foggy little head. 

You have me.

Chapter Text

Weeks had passed, but it felt like seasons to Lana Pearson. Each week felt like it brought new weather. Most of her days were spent either working at the mining office or spending time at the Oriental with Doc Holliday and the Earp brothers. She had grown close to the men, especially Doc. He was her escort around Tombstone most of the time. She found it amusing, as she used to feel like his shadow, but now he was hers. The man had grown more fond of her than he would’ve liked in the short time they had known each other, though he wouldn't admit to such a thing. Their evenings were filled with nocturnes from Chopin and Beethoven at the piano. Her playing skills rivaled his but he found her a worthy companion to play with for hours on end. He was still one with the bottle but seemed to lay off of it a little more when Lana was around.

She had gotten out of the office later than usual, the sun already setting on the horizon. It resembled the scene from almost a month prior when Lana had first gone to the Oriental, the large star bleeding into the clouds again. The mine wasn’t far from the main stretch of town. The stagecoach ride was short and convenient, stopping just short of Allen Street. As Lana stepped out of the coach with the help of the driver’s hand, she looked down at what she wore. It was a simple ensemble, a blue skirt and ruffled white shirt with a brooch Doc had picked out for her. She briefly wondered if she should go back to her room to change into something nicer than the clothes she worked in. 

It’s already dark. That’d be a waste of time. 

Her stride was relaxed as she walked into the saloon, undoing the bun her hair was in. Her curls dropped effortlessly on her shoulders like ashes. The Oriental was like a second home to her now. She was familiar with all the barkeeps and locals that frequented there. The place was alive that night with couples already dancing near the bar, laughing and drinking as they socialized amongst each other. The surrounding noises made a hum of vibration below her feet that put her in a giddy mood. The crowds were the same every night, yet more different than the last. The faro table was empty but Lana knew the Earp brothers would be arriving soon, the sun having just set. As for Doc, he was usually early and waiting at the table. Lana looked around curiously for his lanky figure when she spotted him at the piano. 

She could see the top of his blessed head beyond the figure in front of him. The woman faced her, leaning against Doc’s back, her eyes closed blissfully and her head lulled back on his shoulder. She seemed to listen to him play sensually. Lana didn’t even have to wonder if it was who she thought it was. In a matter of seconds, she felt so small and lost, like she had been slapped in the face or punched in the gut. 

Mary Katherine “Big Nose Kate” Horony was gorgeous. Wavy red hair and strong feminine features complimented her full red lips, rouge painted on her high cheekbones. The dress she wore was of black lace, adorning her body carefully from head to toe. She was definitely older than Lana, making her feel even more microscopic and insignificant. Lana wasn’t far from the two of them, so she could hear a conversation transpire between Doc and a cowboy named Billy Clanton. She watched the corner silently as she remained frozen in time, her heart breaking.

“Hey,” he called to Doc as he sauntered over near the piano. “Hey. Is that Old Dog Tray? That sounds like Old Dog Tray to me.” He was clearly drunk, his stepping off center with his person.

“Pardon?” Doc said, his tone giving off his annoyance with the interruption, although he continued to finger the keys in front of him seamlessly. 

“You know. Stephen Foster. Oh! Susanna. Camp-town Races. Stephen-stinking-Foster,” the man continued, walking around the piano and leaning his arm over the top of it. Kate was unfazed, her eyes still closed as she lightly swayed with Doc’s movements as he played the instrument in front of him. Lana wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman was Aphrodite herself.

“Oh, yes. Well, this happens to be a nocturne,” Doc explained to the young man.

“A which?” Doc looked up at Billy now.

“You know. Fredric-fucking-Chopin.”

Lana felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to look at who had done it. She had gone so extremely numb at the sight that had been in front of her, she hadn’t flinched at all to the surprise touch of Wyatt Earp. Everything felt slower than before like she was drunk or hit in the head with a blunt object.

“Lana.” His voice sounded muffled, like an echo in the distance even though he stood right next to her. She tried to respond but found she couldn’t bring herself to speak, nearly feeling sick to her stomach. It frustrated her, as she thought she had gotten over the habit by now. Internally, she had a million things to say, just aching to come out of her mouth. She was turned toward Wyatt but her eyes averted looking at him directly. Instead, she kept her eyes down and admired his clothes. “You know. I don’t much like her, either,” Wyatt whispered half-heartedly, trying his best to cheer Lana up. She squeezed her fists together a few times while she breathed deeply, trying her best to bring words to the surface.

“I’m gonna retire early tonight, Wyatt. Got some logging to do in the afternoon tomorrow at the office,” she said in a monotone. Wyatt wasn’t one to pry with a woman, so he nodded his head. The look on his face was one of pity and he couldn’t help but speak up a little as Lana began to stride away.

“He’s crazy about you. You and I both know that.”

It made Lana stop in her tracks, her back to Wyatt before she started to walk away again. The air was as slightly cold as it could be in Arizona, waking her senses as she walked out onto the street. She began to feel again like any other human being and couldn’t stop the tears forming in her eyes. Her hands rose to wipe them as she began to sputter out soft sobs as quietly as she could. Wyatt’s words played throughout her mind on a repeating cycle, drilling into her brain.

It suddenly hit her like a ton of bricks, like whiplash, or like a hard gust of wind. Every time he would leave, she would hold her breath. She would count the thuds before his footsteps were lost to the ground he walked on. She would exhale when she was sure he was gone. And she would miss him until she saw him again. She knew the part of his hair, the crook of his smile, and the light behind his eyes. She was crazy about him too and she was done denying it or trying to make her feelings into something less prone to destruction. 

Not too far down the road, Lana heard gunshots shrill out like ringing bells. She shuttered, nearly leaping out of her skin, and looked down towards the silhouette of a man who began to shoot to and fro. Glass store windows shattered and horses were spooked, their riders urging them forward away from the madness of Curly Bill. He moved out further into the street, the full moon bathing him in its light. The man began to howl like a dog as he peered at the lunar satellite. He raised his guns into the air, one after the other in each hand, and fired at the moon like he could shoot it down.

The marshal that had tried to diffuse the situation between Doc and Ringo weeks ago made his way out into the street. He had lost an argument with the Sheriff, Behan in the saloon over who should stop the commotion. As this was a town matter rather than a county one, Fred White figured he had better step in and disarm the rouge cowboy before someone got hurt. He was dressed in shades of grey and blue, blending into the light of the night.

“Curly Bill!” Fred called out to the high lunatic. Bill turned in the direction of the voice quickly, aiming his gun at the town marshal to find they were aiming at each other in unison. “Come on now.”

“Well, howdy, Fred!” Bill said, smiling like it was Christmas Day.

“Hand those over, Curly. Hand em’ over,” Fred urged the madman. Josephine Marcus and Sheriff Behan emerged from the saloon arm in arm to observe the scene. Fred’s tired eyes were focused but looked anxious in the moonlight. Curly Bill looked at the guns in his hand lucidly as if they were toys.

“Why, sure, Dad,” he said in an amused slur. The guns flipped in his hands, the gun butt-first to the marshal. “I’m only funnin’,” he assured Fred as he walked over slowly. Lana let out a breath, the weight off her chest rising, as Bill was about to be disarmed. Fred lowered his gun, looking the cowboy up and down, unsure of what he was seeing, but he looked visibly relieved. He reached out for one gun when Curly Bill fired the other gun into Fred’s chest. Smoke quickly rose into the air from the close-range shot. Lana gasped collectively with those who had been outside watching, her heart feeling like it dropped in her chest as Fred collapsed into the street. It hurt to see the man die in front of her, having shared a few brief moments with the marshal over the last few weeks. He was well-liked and deservedly so.

“Fred? Come on now. Fred?” Curly called out to the dead man in the dirt below him. Like a bull, Wyatt Earp raced onto the scene, hitting the murderer over the head with his a borrowed pistol from a man named Milton. Lana was wide-eyed and scared now. In the weeks she spent with the Earp brothers, she had learned that relations between them and the cowboys were souring. She didn’t know what this would mean for the future.

“Got old Fred White!” a voice cried in disbelief.

“Hey! He shot the marshal! Everybody!” another rang out. All of a sudden, it seemed that the whole of the town was piling out into the street.

“Wyatt!” Lana yelled out. Wyatt looked at her, his bright blue eyes silently telling her to keep quiet.

“Better get him off the street,” he said softly as John Clum approached. He was an agent for an American Indian Reservation not too far from Tombstone who had been spending some time at the Oriental. More people began to exclaim about the body of the marshal in the middle of the street as Clum tended to the corpse.

“Get a rope! String em’ up!” a townsperson demanded of Wyatt while he told people to keep their distance.

“Nobody’s hanging anybody,” Wyatt said firmly, ever the man of justice.

“He just killed a man!”

“Then he’ll stand trial for it. Now get back! Move!” Wyatt said, losing some of his patience as he pointed his weapon at the crowd that started to draw near him. They began to back off slowly as Ike and a few cowboys drew closer.

“Turn him loose,” Ike said as Wyatt turned to face him, immediately pointing his gun. Ike moved slightly, Wyatt’s gun following him.

“He said to turn loose of him,” Billy Clanton called out behind Ike, feet away. He had sobered up some from the direness of the situation. Lana began to internally panic as she looked on, wondering if Wyatt would falter to the cowboys as Ike was really close now.

“Well, I’m not. So go home,” Wyatt said plainly as he grabbed at Curly Bill’s red collar, pulling the barely conscious man back with him as he looked around at the crowd.

“I swear to God. Law-dog. You don’t step aside, we’ll tear you apart,” Ike said darkly to Wyatt like it was a promise. Wyatt cocked his gun, pushing the muzzle of the pistol onto Ike’s temple without hesitation. His focus was honed in on Ike, his gaze steady.

“All right, you die first. Get it?” Wyatt barked at Ike. “Your friends might get me in a rush, but not before I make your head into a canoe. You understand me?” His tone was serious as he looked straight into Ike’s eyes. He was ready to kill and no one could deny it then. Ike looked like he soiled himself.

“He’s bluffin’. Let’s rush him,” Billy said to his comrades that looked at him for their next move.

“No. He ain’t bluffin’,” Ike choked out brokenly.

“You’re not as stupid as you look, Ike,” Wyatt said to him. Wyatt's resolve never faltered as he kept his gun against Ike’s forehead. “Now tell them to get back.”

“Go on now, get back,” he begged the other cowboys as he pushed his arms away from himself, scared for his life. “Go on! Billy! He’ll kill me.”

Lana didn’t have to look at Doc to know he had approached like a panther. He carried himself like the Grim Reaper that he was, his tailcoat absent, his waistcoat grey, and puff tie black like his trousers. He had a .38 revolver in his left hand and a cup in his right. He sipped from it like it was the sweetest nectar. His other Colt Navy revolver shined in its holster at his waist, .45, a beacon of chaos.

“And you. Music lover,” he said nonchalantly, aiming his gun at Billy. He turned around to face Doc. “You’re next," Doc purred.

“It’s the drunk piano player,” Billy said with a vindictive laugh, referring to their prior conversation. Doc shrugged as he took another swig off his silver cup, deep and thirsty, his eyes never leaving the Clanton boy. But what was he so parched for? “You’re so drunk. You can’t hit nothin’. In fact, you’re probably seeing double,” Billy said matter-of-factly, pulling a large knife out from somewhere near his waist. Lana had never seen a knife so big, and she thought more shots were to be fired at any second. 

With a roll of his eyes, Doc hooked the handle of the cup on one of his fingers in his right hand, grabbing his other revolver from its holster. 

“I have two guns. One for each of ya’,” he said, grinning from ear to ear, his lips sealed. Doc twirled the weapons backward in his hands so fast before they were aiming at Billy again. Lana second-guessed if they had actually moved to her naked eye as Billy froze, chastened.

“All right! Break it up now!” Lana hears Virgil yell as he runs out into the street with Morgan, firing a shotgun into the air to break the tension. Morgan had a shotgun of his own, pointing it around at the crowd of cowboys until they eased up off of Wyatt. “Go home now!” Virgil continued. Lana watched on as the cowboys began to disband furiously.

“I’ll see you soon. I’ll see you soon,” Ike said to Wyatt as he walked backward, eventually turning away completely after pointing. An omen. Things were about to get a lot more interesting for the town of Tombstone, history ready to paint a picture for the late West.

“We’ll meet again,” Billy taunted Doc before he followed his brother into the night.

Now, more than ever, Lana wished she could hide as Doc finally saw her standing yards away. Her eyes were trained on him like he was some kind of accident she couldn’t tear her eyes from. She thought of everything else she could focus on. Wyatt was hauling Curly Bill away to be locked up. Morgan and Virgil followed their brother. Fred still lay dead on the ground with Clum patting the small fire that had started on the fabric of his shirt. All of that and she was still Doc's prey, unmoving as he prepared to pounce on her. 

Chapter Text

She was like a deer, frozen until the predator started to go in for the kill, his face calm on his easy prey. All of a sudden she was full of all the energy she could ever need to escape, not missing a single beat as she started to jog back to the hotel, her arms lifting high to carry her faster. It felt like she was running for her life by the time she got into the main lobby, but she didn’t know what from. She usually stopped to greet the clerk behind the desk but continued up the stairs in the corner. The poor man looked rather confounded with her change in attitude toward him.

Lana’s mind began to race, playing images from a month prior as she ascended the hotel staircase. Her vision began to flash like a camera, blinding her for brief moments. Every time she blinked, the stairs turned into the ones at her house in Embell. Lana wondered briefly if she was running up to find her sister dying all over again. The mental pattern stopped when the front doors to the Grand Hotel were heard bursting open, hitting the walls loudly as Lana slipped and nearly fell over her own feet. It was Doc and there was no denying it by the murmurs of his name, amongst the rattling of picture frames from the impact. Lana’s feet skidded against the wood of the second floor, her room already in her sights. It was her only haven. She would hide there and shut everyone out because it was all she knew how to do when she was upset.

Heavy footsteps sounded off behind her as she fumbled with the key in her pocket. It got caught in a bundle of thread and Lana cursed quietly to herself, trying not to panic. She managed to jam it into the hole of the door and turn when she got it free, pushing her weight into the slab of wood with her left hip. Her small frame fell into the room and onto the floor, yelping quietly at the small rug burn forming on her forearm. The angle she was now at allowed her to gaze at Doc, who was approaching her door slowly, his footsteps silent and absent somehow. He stopped just a few feet away from the threshold, ever the common occurrence. The look on his face was blank, but he seemed just about ready to draw on her.

Both of their eyes trailed towards the door, the only object that could be put between them. His goal was to keep it open while hers was to close it. He wouldn’t draw on her, of course, but he would knock the hinges off that door if it meant getting to her. Lana began to seethe, already knowing he had the advantage. Sure, he was upright and on his feet, but he was also the fastest man alive. She swore lightning coursed through his veins.

In the nick of time, both parties went for the door. It ended up open just ajar, creaking loudly as Doc’s hand gripped the side without struggle, his foot in the doorway. He was completely unfazed and as he would say it, in his prime. Lana was on the other side of the door, hunched over, and using all her strength to shut it but it was no use. She had lost. She couldn’t shut him or her feelings out anymore.

The whole ordeal had exhausted her. She felt so numb, all the while, she could feel herself falling apart at the fractured seams, backing away. To her, there had to be a distance between them at that moment, or a corner to cower in. He followed her deftly, taking steps forward just as she took them back, from the ball to the sole of her feet. She refused to look at him as if it could kill her. Sometimes it felt like the rapturous high he gave could poison anyone. Eventually, her back ended up hitting the wardrobe, the knobs lightly digging into her shoulder blades. The door had been closed, the room quiescent, as if no two living souls were present. Doc was close to her now, just feet away. He had stopped abruptly to take her in.

Lana looked terrified. Her eyes were dry and wide with tears, looking anywhere but at the man in front of her. It felt like the walls were closing in around them, ready to crush them into nothingness. Her hands were fidgeting at her sides, her heart beating so hard in her chest, that she feared he could hear it. She longed to hit him. Curse him. Embrace him. Kiss him. Doc looked like he wanted to say something, but continued to just stare with that bare expression of his until Lana heard his voice.

“Look at me.”

She shook her head. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. She outright refused. There was no going back once she would, destined to the fate of a fly in the web he wove. 

“Look at me,” Doc said firmly, again.

“I hate you,” she breathed through a whisper of pure frustration. It came up like a sudden storm. Her face had started to flush angrily as her head shook profusely. “I don’t mean it. But I hate you,” she said through gulps of sudden sobs that escaped like lucky prisoners of her mind.

“Be my guest. After all, I’m deserving,” Doc replied simply as he inched closer. It stung a little but he knew she didn't hate him, no matter how much she might have wanted to.

Many hated Doc Holliday, but no one could do it like he did. Until Lana, he hadn’t cared about anyone’s opinion since the day his mother died. The same consumption that plagued his own lungs had wasted her away. The woman had taken something of her son with her that remained absent since he was fifteen years old. For a long time, Doc had unknowingly been searching for the dormancy until he was sure it had truly departed. One glance at Lana Pearson in the Copper City Saloon and the glimpse of what he had lost shone brightly around her like an eclipse. She let him grasp her chin in his fingers, angling her gaze to him. He admired the way her curls framed her face and her freckles flittered around on her cheeks and nose. It was almost as if he was looking at her for the first time all over again.

“My dear God,” she breathed. He squinted back at her curiously. There was something new in her eyes that now peered back at his like he was a spectacle. She thought herself insane for the yearning to kiss him at that moment in spite of what she had seen in the saloon. No matter how hard she tried to stop it, her mind pushed those images of Kate sitting with him on their piano bench away. All Lana could see was what was in front of her. Doc was the closest to her he had ever been and all she wanted was to kiss him where he stood. The only problem was she wouldn’t bring herself to do it. She had more pride than she initially thought, even outweighing Doc’s when the universe deemed the time right.

“What is it?” he spoke softly to her.

With a few blinks, tears dropped quickly down Lana’s face, gliding down her cheekbones as she shook her head, her lip trembling some. It was an itch she couldn’t scratch, a destination she couldn’t reach, and a curse she couldn’t break. Not on her own. She sighed, trying not to sob again, her breathing as shaky as ever.

“Please,” was all she could muster, her eyes scanning his from left to right, desperately begging him to know that she loved and needed him and couldn’t mask it any longer. The lingering glances had grown painful. The distance she would try to put between them was useless. Being without him was a waste of time for her. His gaze seemed lost on what she had meant in the single word she uttered until it clicked for him. Doc felt it in the center of his being. He stopped scanning her face for clues, moving his hand from her chin to caress her cheek. He didn’t say anything, but tilted his head at her slightly, silently asking if she was sure. There was no going back after this. Lana nodded her head.

“Please,” she said it again like she was begging for oxygen, her legs just about ready to give out.

And then he had leaned in and kissed her, their lips warmly meeting the way he had always imagined.

Chapter Text

Lana thought it would have been like fireworks finally going off as you waited in the damp of the night on the Fourth of July. But it was like coming home from a long trip as a child. You would run straight to the comfort of your bed. There was no anxiety with the antidote he had given her. It was the same for Doc, though he was surprised at the absence of the yearning to ravish Lana. He didn’t mind just kissing her.

The wetness of the tears that had streaked down her face was lukewarm against where Doc’s face had touched hers. Neither had moved their lips against the other’s, let alone breathed. It was the sweetest and most gentle touch Doc had ever shared with a woman. He’d never kissed a woman the way he had Lana, and he never would. He never experienced the world standing still until that day. His hand that was on her cheek shifted slowly as if he might break her, into her hair near the temple of her head. It dropped slightly, Doc tucking strands of hair behind her ear as he pulled away. He opened his eyes and she followed suit. The pair were caught in time, just staring at the other briefly as if they couldn’t believe what was in front of them.

***

Doc could hear the coward, Sheriff Behan bickering with Marshal White about who would go outside to disarm the ever-wild, Curly Bill. The roll of his eyes was automatic as he stopped pressing the ivory keys in front of him to look over his shoulder. Beyond the peripheral sight of Kate’s shoulder against his back, even further beyond the two lawmen, and a world away from the lettering on the glass, he could see Lana leaving the saloon through one of the windows. He was too far to see how puffy her face was, but he could tell she had been crying by the shaking of her frame, and the wiping she was performing at her eyes with the sleeve of her blouse. 

Another figure came into his field of view, blurring his vision. Wyatt Earp, moving in order to avoid being put into the situation outside, Doc thought. The look on Wyatt’s face said differently. His piercing eyes were on Doc, not having to utter a word. Wyatt cocked his head toward the window as Lana was scurrying away. 

“Damn you, Wyatt,” Doc sighed as he turned away from his good friend, closing the fall board of the piano before looking back at Wyatt again. His eyes trailed to the Sheriff and Marshal behind Wyatt. Doc playfully cocked his head as he grinned, and it was Wyatt’s turn to sigh. 

If Doc was to go after Lana, Wyatt should try and help out with Curly Bill. Doc knew that he would. The oak just couldn't help it.

Doc got up from the bench to Kate’s surprise. She reached out and grabbed at his arm loosely, urging him to turn around where he stood, and so he did.

“Are you alright?” she asked with waned concern. Asking about how he was feeling, or even his condition seemed like a protocol now, second nature, done without much of a caring thought. There was no depth in those blue eyes of hers. 

“Right as the mail,” he answered her with a smile as he gathered his tailcoat onto his person. Now seemed a good time as any to tell her what he had to. After putting his arms through the holes of his coat, he put his hand to Kate’s chin, his thumb right on the edge just as he had done so many times and for so many years. She blinked back up at him from where she sat, the look in her eyes, as previously said, not the same as it once had been. He and her both knew it. For a brief moment, he merely looked at her, bittersweet memories scattering across his mind like pages lost in the wind.

“Though. We must talk darlin’. It appears we must redefine the nature of our association,” he told her while withdrawing his hand.

By the look on Kate’s face, he knew it wasn’t what she wanted to hear. Her head tilted as if she was talking to a madman.

“I’m a good woman to you, Doc. Don’t I always take care of you?”

Doc nodded his head, although that predicament was up for debate.

“Yes. It’s true. You are a good woman. Then again, you may be the antichrist,” he teased her, hoping it would ease the suddenly tense atmosphere between the two. She wasn’t going to talk him out of it this time. “Goodbye, Katherine,” he said softly, the two words all that had to have been said. It wasn’t long before he walked away from her dumbfounded expression and up to Wyatt.

He was already equipped with a pistol from Milt, the owner of the Oriental.

“Are you sure I oughta go out there?” Wyatt asked Doc, almost like a child. Doc patted his friend on the back as he shrugged.

“You will or you won’t,” he mused. At that moment, a gunshot had gone off that was different from the others the maniac had been firing. This bullet had definitely hit someone. Doc knew without the following gasps it was accompanied by. Wyatt was already heading out of the door when Doc sauntered after him at a slow pace. Lana would have to wait until the situation was dissolved, for it had grown more dangerous than originally anticipated.

***

“Doc.”

Her voice was so soft, he thought he may have imagined it. She was somehow still there in front of him, the fairy kisses strewn across her face, and the single dimple barely visible on her right cheek, just beyond a small birthmark.

“Doc,” she said again, her tone more worried than the last. He shook his head, bringing his hands up to cup her round face as if she was an illusion in front of him. Did he have to look closely to figure out the trick being played on him? He was the most undeserving son of a bitch he ever knew. What lesson did God want him to learn now?

What kind of test was it this time? He felt lost but strangely comfortable being at Lana’s mercy for the moment.

“John.” 

It should have been foreign to him. He should’ve felt scornful about it. But it was the sweetest sound coming from her lips, like honeysuckle in the summer, ripe from the memories of his childhood. He had locked that away long ago, but the slight taste was on the tip of his tongue. If Lana hadn’t begun to speak up once more, he would’ve kissed her again, like a man starved in the trance she had put him in.

“I need to know,” she explained herself, reaching up to pull Doc’s hands from the sides of her face. Both of their hands sank down between them, clasped together tightly, their fingers interlocked. “Do you love her?”

Doc shook his head. He was never so sure of something in his life. His mind had been cloudy with the question of love for Kate for years, never willing to admit that there was nothing there for him anymore. But somehow, the answer made its way through. “No,” he reiterated himself with no hesitation.

Lana wanted to believe him more than anything but couldn’t shake her self-loathing conscience. 

“I don’t want to be the other woman. I don’t want to be a complication. I don’t want to be your plaything. So please, just tell me just what it is that you want from me, Doc,” she spoke, her voice getting louder with confidence as she went on, her gaze raising higher from where she had been looking down. Her eyes were level with Doc’s, squinted and focused but he could see that she was bracing herself for heartbreak and feudal rejection. Doc tightened his jaw, staring back at Lana with his weighted eyes of steel until he gave the act up, his look softening at the woman in front of him. It was so simple for him now, it was almost amusing.

“You,” he answered her, his fingertips meeting her chin as he leaned in to kiss her again. Lana turned her face, closing her eyes and wincing mentally. Doc was content with kissing her cheek, so he did so. “What is it, darlin’?”

“I’m afraid,” Lana replied to the question, her eyes growing teary again.

“Of what? Name it and it shall be purged,” Doc told her, his promise firm and grounded. Both his hands were on her shoulders now, rubbing down amongst her arms in hopes to comfort her. 

“I’m afraid of you.”

A pang started in Doc’s chest, but he couldn’t bring himself to criticize or blame Lana. If he was anyone else, he’d be afraid of him too. He used to be ashamed of himself and just how much he hadn’t cared for much of anything throughout moments in his life. But it was no surprise to him by now. Doc pulled his arms and hands away from Lana, resigning them to his own sides. He wanted her to know that at least for now, she was safe with him. She felt an immense amount of guilt for what she had said, but it was just how she felt, and she didn’t want to hide her feelings from him anymore. She couldn’t deny how she wanted him despite the anxiety he would give her. 

“That is most unfortunate,” was all Doc could muster in his temporary stupor. Lana nodded her head, taking a deep breath before she went out on the limb she had been barely steadying herself on. Eventually, she was bound to fall over the edge.

“I want you to stay. Tonight.”

Chapter Text

The rays of the sun were usually welcome to Lana, beloved guests who always got the early invitation. They did well to lighten up a room, as well as warm it. What she really adored about the sun was the effect it had on her mind, almost never failing to lift her spirits when she was low. The dark would usually groom her sorrows into beings that were larger than life, and she did well to avoid bathing in it. That morning, the sun’s rays shone brightly through the two windows in her room, cascading every few minutes closer and closer to where Lana lay until the array lined up evenly with one of her closed eyes. Within a few seconds, she was half-awake, rolling over on her side to find refuge from the bright disturbance. She’d expected to seamlessly fall into the other side of the double bed but was met with a foreign mass that completely ripped her from the arms of slumber. Her eyes opened slowly, then started to blink rapidly at the site in front of her.

The young woman had rolled into Doc’s thigh. The palms of her hands quickly pushed at the bed as she started to pull herself up from the mattress. It felt like phantoms had tried to drag her back down into the warmth that formed there with how tiresome she felt. To her dismay, she was still in the clothes she had worn to work the day before, rather than one of her nightgowns. Doc was down to his dress shirt and trousers and sat up against the headboard of the bed. He was completely still, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in an odd pattern. Lana breathed a sigh of relief, having not woken the man as she had originally thought. The alarm had been warranted by Doc’s presence in her bed, an unexpected awakening.

The time she had fallen asleep was a mystery to her, but Doc had been sitting in the armchair for all of the hours they had spoken the night before, as if it had been an honorary post he dedicated his life to, poised and comfortable. Last night, after Lana was done sputtering apologies for the way her proposal had come out, she explained that she merely wanted to talk to Doc and relish in his company that she felt she needed for the remainder of the troubling night before. He had done well to tease her before accepting her apology. He knew her request hadn’t been a lewd one. Even if it had been, for her, he had more honor than to take her up on it. But after all, the two were left alone in the room, and he had been invited to stay the night. He just couldn’t pass up any opportunity to tease Lana, lightheartedly or not. Seeing her flustered genuinely made something in him stir.

They had stayed up until the early hours, relaying back and forth about several topics, mostly intellectual speak of literature, philosophy, and other studies and arts. The conversation had eventually turned personal, Lana making a point to get as many spouts of information about Doc as possible. She now knew plenty about his taste for music and books, but in the realm of his life, her attempts were mostly unsuccessful, but the few victories she had gotten were held close to her heart, the little treasures that they were. Doc had gotten his formal education in the northern state of Pennsylvania, even enrolled at a school of dentistry before he went into the actual practice, though that was as far as he would let the minx pry about his past. It was a tough practice according to the older man, though he had enjoyed his time in the business before heading west. That was the last aspect of their conversation Lana remembered before falling asleep.

On the other hand, Doc had learned about Lana’s life a lot more. The man had been direly hung up on the fact that she had failed to mention the fact that her dearly departed sister was her twin. According to Doc, Lana had committed a great crime by withholding such information. To him, the world had, in a sense, almost been blessed with two of her rather than just one. 

His teasing aside, he learned of Lana’s family’s demise, and the boggling connection it seemed to have with the cowboys. He was never going to live that down or let that go. Lana didn’t know it due to the stoic nature he had learned from the many games he played in and out of the saloon, but he would get to the bottom of that if it was the last thing he did.

There was no care that it could very well be, for he was ready to meet with his old friend, Death, whenever the bastard had the time for him. Doc had done well to avoid any talk of his condition, as he was ignoring it himself. Yet he knew that his next consumptive fit couldn’t be too far ahead in front of him. For the past month they had known each other, Lana followed a similar protocol of ignoring the overt state that he was in though she did this without thought. He masked the progression well behind his aplomb charm. She was often tempted to ask Wyatt, his brothers, or even their wives about it, but ignorance was blissful and she figured naively that if it were that bad, he would have been open about it, and not as active as he seemed.

Lana carefully made her way out of bed without too much sound. To her surprise, her embarrassment about the sleeping arrangement was silent, though her cheeks burned as she wondered how and when he made his way over to her side. If it were anyone else, she would have jumped up to the height of the ceiling upon discovering a man in her bed. But it was him, as still as a tree and as peaceful as Lana had ever seen him. She had made her way to the folding screen in her room but stopped in her tracks. Doc was asleep but still present nonetheless and she could not bring herself to change with him there, even behind the panel. Where she was staying was nice, but didn’t warrant a private washroom. The young woman sighed as her senses continued to adapt to the morning. Her torso ached slightly, still having on her corset. Feeling defeated, Lana opted to wait for the man to awaken when she heard his voice, low and rugged with the effect of slumber.

“Mornin’, darlin.” The air of it was casual, but it was more than enough to make her swoon where she stood, but she managed to keep her composure intact somehow, lucky that her back was to him. Upon turning around, she found him sitting up, a hearty smile on his tired face.

“Morning, Doc.” Lana was at a loss for words, fully aware of the reality that caught up to her. They had kissed the night before, and he had stayed the night with her, as innocent as it was, she couldn’t help but feel that she had done something wrong. 

“I do apologize for my migration. After some time, the chair wasn’t terribly comfortable,” he spoke again, gesturing to the armchair nearer to the corner of the room. He seemed to be pulling himself together as he looked around. Lana nodded her head in understanding, although she was still slightly reeling from the surprise. Doc could read it on her face as he did up the buttons of his waistcoat, a small frown forming. “Forgive me. I see I’ve caught you off guard. Perhaps it was a crude decision on my part.”

“No,” she assured him, waving her hand downward. She wouldn’t tell him but she had slept like a baby, exhausted and restless throughout the day, fighting the lull of sleep until her brain had given out. Maybe he had played a role in that. As Lana drifted off in her thoughts, Doc was devoured by his.

He had kissed her. He had told her he wanted her. His mind, all too logical and realistic, wouldn’t allow him such luxury without a fight of torment. The high gone, it haunted him with questions he didn’t want to answer to and conversations he knew he would have to have with Lana, even with himself. He let out a ragged breath, thinking of how rotten of a man he was to drag Lana into his life, ever the one to blame himself for everything. In the end, it all drew back to him somehow or so he made himself think over the course of many years and setbacks. Doc wanted her in his life in spite of his feeling that he didn’t deserve it. However, he didn’t want her there for his death, trying to find some loophole around having one and not the other.

As Doc got up onto his feet, a knock sounded at the door and the two looked at each other quizzically as if the other had invited someone to something so scandalous.

“Miss Pearson? Are you alright?” Wyatt could be heard asking from beyond the door. It then hit Lana that she was supposed to be at work and she had no idea what time it was. Letting out a curse under her breath, she began to approach the entrance. Her hand lifted to rub the center of her forehead, where a headache was starting to form from the stress of the situation. Sure, Wyatt was becoming a close friend of hers, but he was still her boss and she hadn’t shown up at the office on time. How would she appear to him, cooped up in her room, with a man he knew well, no less? His arrival was one of business, always opting to call her by her first name outside of work.

“Yes! I’ll be right out and on my way! Forgive me, I overslept for the first and last time,” Lana explained herself, speaking toward the crack in the door in hopes that the man on the other side could hear her better somehow. Looking back over her shoulder, she caught a glimpse of Doc, plopping his hat onto the crown of his head, seeming all the more ready to depart from the room. Lana’s eyes squinted at him curiously in the early Arizona sun that poured into the room.

“Alright. Thank you, Miss Pearson. I also have somewhat of an invitation for you,” Wyatt went on. This caught Lana by surprise, turning her head back towards the voice outside just as she was ready to pick Doc’s brain about last night.

“Of course. What is it?” she questioned Wyatt, crossing her arms over her chest uneasily. What could it possibly be? 

“Allie and Louisa. One night a week they like to have supper together. They’ve requested your presence for tonight. 7 o’clock. Fremont and First.” 

Allie was Virgil’s wife, while Louisa was Morgan’s. Lana had only ever exchanged pleasantries with them over the course of the month she had been in Tombstone, mostly seeing the two ladies in shops around town. They were fine women, making their way up in the town’s hierarchy effortlessly and Lana couldn’t help but feel intimidated at the offer of a meal with them. Who was she to decline though? After all, they were Wyatt’s sisters-in-law and she would hate to make him feel uncomfortable or upset in any way at a refusal on her part.

“I should like that very much, Wyatt. Thank you.”

And with that, Wyatt’s footsteps could be heard retreating from the young woman’s door. Lana sighed once the sound had faded, leaning her head against the wood. Her hair had nearly all fallen out of the braided style she had made yesterday, cascading down towards her face and away from the base of her neck. After the breath had fully exhaled from her lungs, she could sense the presence suddenly so close behind her.

Chapter Text

“Crack me back of the head like some stinkin’ bull! Hell, you ain’t no fightin’ man, you’re just a goddamn cop!” Curly Bill could be heard barking at Wyatt Earp from his cell behind bars in the town jail. Doc didn’t pay it any mind and neither did Wyatt. Instead, Wyatt continued to talk to Clum about the situation from the night before. 

Doc leaned against the wall near the entrance of the establishment. The smoke from his cigarette was just about the most interesting thing he could focus on, just inches in front of his face as it rose further and further up toward the ceiling until it evaporated from sight. He pursed his lips around the cigarette as he began to take in another drag, his eyes closing tiredly, allowing his mind to drift back to the bay, the shore, and back to her as the smoke filled his seasoned lungs, ripe with scarred and frayed tissue.

***

Lana’s words lifted into the air around Doc curiously, his senses shifting.

“I want you to stay. Tonight.”

Immediately Lana made mumbles of apologies in hopes to explain further.

When was the last time he spent the night alone with a woman? It felt like a lifetime ago. He was no saint. It was in his younger days he had enjoyed female company a tad bit more than every so often. He had paid for it like the most valuable of services or goods. That was how he had become aquatinted with Kate, trying to fill a void inside of him that he had refused to acknowledge, all the while doubting its existence altogether. The women, booze, and riches never seemed to follow him very far. It wasn’t something he was particularly proud of, but he would never deny it, for he was an honest man.

The innocent nature of Lana’s proposal didn’t remain lost on Doc for too long, his focus straying from his own thoughts to her face. It read how it usually did, a look of unsureness as she tried to read him. He was perhaps the most unreadable man in the West, maybe even the country. It was an odd fascination she had started getting accustomed to, how she knew him in such intricate ways now, yet was lost on others that could paint the bigger picture of his person. What a feat she was trying to accomplish.

“Stay?” Doc mused, his eyebrows raising with a slightly playful suggestion.

Lana nodded her head then tilted her gaze on Doc. Was he insinuating what she thought he was?

“For what in particular? Do satisfy my curiosity,” he asked as if he was as clueless as the day he was born, although he knew her request hadn’t been a lewd one. Even if it had been, for her, he had more honor than that. But after all, the two were left alone in the room, and he had been invited to stay the night. He just couldn’t pass up any opportunity to tease Lana, lightheartedly or not. Seeing her flustered genuinely made something in him stir.

“To talk,” she answered him matter-of-factly, crossing her arms and angling her gaze at Doc. Even in his hazy, half-drunken, and slightly gaunt state, he was just as graceful and aplomb as ever, just more relaxed in the present.

“What ever would you wish to talk about, Miss Pearson?” Doc continued, walking backward a few feet to sit in an armchair that sat in the hotel room, moving languidly.

Lana let her eyes roll as her cheeks began to tighten. She strained, trying to stop herself from blushing. She took a deep breath when Doc raised his hands from where they rested at his sides, signaling that he was far from serious. The grin on his face was infectious and Lana couldn’t help but let out the most content laugh he had ever been blessed with hearing. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight in front of him as she apologized quietly a few times. The two then caught themselves growing quiet.

Doc noticed that Lana avoided eye contact with him often. It was a habit of hers, always finding herself looking at his shoes, just like the night they had met under the stairs. She wouldn’t be surprised if she knew them better than the man who wore and put them on every morning. Maybe she should move on to something else, perhaps another article of clothing. A small chuckle sounded from her at the thought, completely smitten with the very idea of Doc.

“Come. Sit. We can talk, as you call it,” he spoke up first. Lana raised her head at the sound of his voice which broke through the shy tension that had formed. Her eyes fell on his lap for a moment and she mentally cursed herself for her less-than-pious thoughts, opting for the large chest not far from where he had sauntered moments prior. She sat down hesitantly, although she knew the chest could support her weight. The leather of the detailing on it beneath her reminded her of the first day she touched down in Tombstone, wide-eyed, lost, yet joyful, Doc helping her with the few belongings she had brought with her like he had nothing better to do.

Then the two began to talk until the sun rose.

Lana was the first to fall asleep though she had put up a good fight, her gradual grogginess proving to be entertaining to Doc as she tried to keep engaging in conversation with him. His intellect knew no bounds and she wanted to keep up with him because she knew that she could, even from her new spot on her bed. She had thought its comfort would be a blessing rather than a curse that would ultimately lull her to sleep.

Toward the end, she made him promise to keep her awake and yet, mutters of her name had become so soft, careful not to rouse her from her impending slumber. Doc was glad that she had finally fallen asleep as he was left alone with his thoughts.

***

“Three weeks!” a voice had exclaimed. Doc looked over at his friend, Wyatt quizzically from under the brim of his hat. The shadow painted on his face hid the concern in his eyes. “That bastard Spicer is gonna take three weeks to get back to town,” the other man explained his sudden outburst to Doc, his finger pointed and then curled into a fist in overt frustration.

“What ever in the world is that oaf out of town for? I wonder,” Doc replied candidly. Truth be told, he didn’t care for the reason but rather that he was away from Tombstone in the first place while the Cowboys were starting to run more rampant than ever.

“Well, so do I. Some Justice of the Peace he is,” Wyatt went on as he signaled Doc to walk with him by a nod of his head. Doc obliged, both men leaving the jail, walking side by side with an unadulterated and natural swagger. They were immediately met with eyes from the townsfolk who mumbled quietly about their involvement in last night’s events. Wyatt couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Doc on the other hand gave a single wink to two women that passed them by, their eyes lingering as they whispered to each other in hushed speculation. Flushed at the sentiment, they began to walk faster and out of sight, scoffing under their breath at the audacity of a man so careless.

“Regular celebrities now. You and I, my friend,” Doc told Wyatt who shook his head, a chuckle on his lips as the Arizona heat engulfed everyone without mercy. As frustrated as he was, Wyatt chose to relish in the light his friend was making of the idle gossip about them. He began to second-guess if he should have walked out of the saloon that night at all but what had ensued the night before had already been done and set in stone with no room for regrets.

“Yeah. Suppose so. I’m just hoping,” Wyatt began but trailed off when he saw her shift into frame. Josephine was on the sheriff’s arm again just some yards away. Her hazel eyes caught him and she gave him a small but genuine and reassuring smile that seemed to make everything feel normal for just an infinite moment. It reminded him of a day they rode together. The conversations they had played back through his head. What a woman she was and what a fool he felt for the way she made him feel.

“And hope you may,” Doc chimed as he saw the subtle interaction between the man and woman. Wyatt was so obviously enamored with Miss Marcus that it pained him just the way Lana pained Doc. Their circumstances were different but both were hooked like fiends.

Wyatt sighed and averted his gaze almost shamefully.

“What I was saying was that I hope Judge Spicer does well to lock that man up when he arrives back in town. Enough trouble that Bill’s kind has been for all of us,” he explained himself as they headed towards the Oriental.

“Oh, of course,” Doc said. “A just trial is all that be on your mind.”

“Indeed, Doc. Indeed,” Wyatt assured him with confidence after silently composing himself. It was just before they had gotten to the saloon’s entrance that Wyatt brought up an instance from earlier on in the day that he had forgotten to ask about.

“Where were you this morning? I stopped by your room. Quite frankly, I wonder if you ever got back to it after-“ Wyatt began but Doc smoothly and rapidly cut him off.

“After what?” he asked, stopping in his tracks slowly.

“Chasing that broken-hearted girl after she saw Kate all over you. I know you didn’t ask for such attention but you didn’t exactly condemn it, my friend,” Wyatt told Doc truthfully. He merely nodded his head in response, not wanting to acknowledge the actual nature of his shame. He knew Wyatt was right and was more than willing to admit to that but another matter worried him.

“I am working on my complicity. You have my word. But I should hope that you aren’t alluding to carnal transgressions with Miss Pearson on my part during the night, Wyatt,” Doc said in a bit of a firm tone. He valued Lana’s reputation and wanted there to be no mistake about the utmost respect he had for it.

“Well. If you’re saying nothing happened, I am inclined to believe you. But you don’t deny that you stood the night with her?” Wyatt replied then questioned Doc in a simple manner. After all, Doc was always a man of his word.

“I do not deny that,” he answered, starting to walk into the familiar establishment with Wyatt who began to grin, patting Doc on the back.

“Good. You see, Doc? People can change. Falling in love and all,” Wyatt teased the man beside him as they walked up to the mahogany bar. His words echoed a night of the past. It was then late afternoon, and people began to walk through the saloon doors in groups, just as he and Wyatt had done moments prior. Sheriff Behan and Josephine came in looking like the closest thing to royalty in Tombstone. The woman’s gown must have cost a month’s wages. Doc grinned as he nodded towards the handsome couple that included Wyatt’s fancy. Wyatt peered at the scene, his skin starting to crawl but he managed to keep his composure intact. What was he to do about his pitiful feelings amidst the ever-growing chaos?

“Oh, yes. People can change. Falling in love and all,” Doc chaffed with the other man before he ordered himself a drink he would cherish. Meanwhile, Lana got ready for her evening with the Earp women, fresh off her shift at the camp. She wondered what pins she would put in her hair, or what brooch she should wear, so unaware of what was to come.

She thought of Doc, and he simultaneously thought of her too.

Chapter Text

The silver stars shown like bright freckles on the face of the dark blue night sky. A few misty clouds danced across the fixtures like grey brushstrokes. Lana noted the saltiness of the cool air as she looked on toward the dainty lights in the sky. She had worn one of her nice dresses to dinner with the Earp women, a warm and dark teal color. Lana's favorite out of the two women had to be Morgan's wife, Louisa. She'd decided then on her walk home, her mind afloat with the different happenings in her life. Louisa, or Lou, as she had told Lana to call her, had Morgan's same playfulness as the youngest of the Earp brothers, but she carried it with feminine poise somehow. She and Allie had advised her to seek housing in a seamstress shop they both frequented. According to them, a few other young, single working women like Lana were living there above the storefront. The old folk around the parts were not fond of such feminine independence, finding it rather odd and much too modern or 'northern' for their tastes according to the Earp women. Nevertheless, Lana decided she would talk to the owners about renting the next morning. The conversation on the matter played out again, Lana not wanting to miss out on any important detail she may have been passive on.

***

"So, you're saying I can just walk in and ask?" she asked Allie and Lou, tilting her head curiously. They nodded in response, patting their lips with napkins after having finished a warm supper of stew and vegetables.

"Mr. and Mrs. Spengler are the kindest folk in Tombstone, I can assure you," Allie told Lana, rising from the table and ridding it of the empty plates. The plates were expensive, Lana thought as she looked at their intricate handcrafted designs of blue clovers. Lou started to get up to help, but Allie waved her off playfully, the two laughing at each other. Lana could tell they were close and she longed to be close with another female like them. As an unmarried young adult woman, it appeared she didn't have any female friends to call her own. Before the death of her family, she didn't have any girls in Embell to call friends either. Her sister, Lydia was all she ever felt that she really needed back then. Perhaps that would change over time with the Earp women. Allie had left the room when Lou looked at Lana expectantly. It caught her off guard, peering to her right and then her left as if she had missed something entirely. All of the Earps lived on First Fremont but at different corners. This was Allie and Virgil's home.

"So. Doc," Lou said simply, sitting back in her chair with a look of pure amusement on her face as Lana's grew pink with bashfulness. It was a bit of a complicated time for her and Doc. After the night before she couldn't say that they were mere friends any longer, the feelings between them having been expressed and even relished in a single kiss that seemed to last a lifetime.

"What about him?" Lana replied as casually as she could. Lou tilted her head at Lana with a playful roll of her eyes as she chuckled heartily, her large blonde locks of hair following the subtle movement. Somehow, her soft laughter made her eyes bluer.

"Now, my husband and Virgil are not keen on the idea of him, but they respect what he has done for Wyatt in the past. That man is a character I often see you with is all I am saying," Lou said to Lana, leaning back in her chair against the wooden backing for a moment. Allie had arrived back in the dining room, quickly giving Lou's chair a slap with the palm of her hand.

"Upright, Lou. We have a younger guest," Allie playfully ordered and scolded her friend who straightened out her posture, a small wince on her pretty face. Lana wondered if Lou was in any pain but didn't want to pry on their first meeting. "I was just asking Miss Pearson about her time with good ol' Doc," Lou said, looking to her right at Allie who had sat back down in her seat. Allie gave Lou a knowing look before turning back to face Lana.

"Ah, yes. You have been spending a lot of time with Mr. Holliday," Allie spoke to Lana formally. The tone of her voice seemed less amused with Lana than Lou had been. This made Lana shift in her seat as she looked at the older woman. Alvira Packingham Sullivan Earp was older than Louisa Houston Earp and every bit of a high-society woman who could intimidate anyone she deemed lesser than her, but luckily she was more motherly to Lana than she would have originally thought. "Now, Doc is damn near family, but I do recommend you do well to keep carrying yourself with the natural grace that God blessed you with. Don't let the anarchy in one weathered man ruin your reputation is all I am saying, my dear."

Lana nodded slowly, weighing the words that had been spoken to her. She was inclined to question Allie further but before she could, the chiming of a distant grandfather clock seemed to rattle the wooden floorboards beneath her in a soft hum. She smiled at Allie and Lou before thanking them and taking her leave around 8:00 PM.

***

Despite being in Arizona, Lana did find herself a bit chilly as the temperature had dropped far from the early heat of the day. It didn't help that the nice dress she wore was absent of the long sleeves she was used to wearing, the gown being a little less modest than her usual attire. She was quick to start wrapping her arms around herself, her hands resting on either side of her upper forearms. Her hands rubbed lightly at the exposed skin on her arms as she walked down the street, sure to walk in the path of the dimly lit street lamps on the right side of the road.

An eerie whistling sounded off in the distance not too far in front of her but she could not see its source. It was so fluid and in tune, that she could have mistaken the sound for a flute at a second listen as she stopped walking abruptly.

All of a sudden, she could make out a familiar foreboding silhouette, accompanied by that same misty aura from over a month before upon one of the street lamps not far in front of her. His back leaned against the light, his head tipped upward along with the hat on his head. The gas light flickered above in the lantern that sat on the black pole, casting a glimmer onto the sweat on Johnny Ringo's face. Lana remembered having met him once, though not very properly due to the circumstances of their first encounter, but of course, she knew very well about him and who he was in Tombstone.

"You know," he started to speak to who she could only assume was her, as she was the only one walking on that side of the road. Murmurs of nearby people were distant in nearby storefronts and saloons up and down the road. "You look familiar," he tells Lana. Despite the fear Ringo quickly instilled in her, she kept a hard gaze on him, trying to make it as steely as possible.

"I do believe we have crossed paths, before, Mr. Ringo," she says bluntly before starting to saunter forward in hopes that he would leave her be, but she knew better than to assume such a thing. His kind were not on good terms with the Earps by any means and she was an extension of the enemy.

"I'm not talking about the Oriental, doll," he replied to her as she walked past the street lamp. He didn't have to look at her to know she had stopped walking again. He didn't even have to pay attention to the sound of the silence that had ensued when her feet stopped hitting the ground or her dress stopped rustling as she moved. Lana turned around slowly to her right, looking slightly over her shoulder at Johnny. The spurs of his boots glinted slightly even with the mud on them hidden amongst the shadow of his body. The gas light above continued to flicker with his weight against the post, illuminating his dark attire, his red sash the only contrast against the dingy ensemble that somehow complimented his person.

"I have never spoken a word to you before now. Nor have I ever seen you before stepping foot in Tombstone," she reiterates to him slowly, her tone revealing more of her confusion at what he was referring to or trying to play at.

"Not in Tombstone either," he says with a light chuckle and a shake of his head as he peered at Lana from under his shabby hat, clad with small holes and rips. "I could've sworn I knew a girl like you in Embell," he said, his voice haunting somehow as it carried on the wind toward Lana like a suffocating smoke. "Problem is I can't seem to remember her damn name. Folk round' here say your name is Lana. Now I know that wasn't her name."

Lydia, Lana thought.

Chapter Text

Lydia had stopped wearing her hair in a braid for bed when she was fourteen. The chestnut waves growing from her head had become just as unruly as she did in her behavior. Before that age, she was just as obedient and in line as Lana was.

Not long after that, she would sneak out of the family home late at night. Lana never did ask her sister where she would go. Lydia was a charismatic and social individual who could not seem to be tamed or shaped into any mold, the ever-evolving young woman she had been. Lana felt stagnant in comparison, merely watching the metamorphosis of her sister like a true bystander. Wherever Lydia would go off to, she must have been safe with others to protect her from the cruelty of the world that Lana so often sheltered herself from. Lydia was louder than Lana but in a way that was attractive and inviting to others and unafraid to act like a woman far ahead of her time.

Lana never breathed a word when the creak and rustle of the floorboards would awaken her in the midnight hour, her eyes fluttering open like shutters. The same noises were usually accompanied by the subtle stifled giggling of her sister along with the swishing of her skirts amidst the wooden floor and her person after hurriedly dressing to go out into the night. Lana would only stare from her twin-sized bed across the room just beyond the curtained windows before Lydia would climb down the gutter and vines of the house on the other side of the wall. A small shush or wave was all that would bid her twin adieu.

Lydia would always return just before sunrise, more or less in one piece through that same window. Sometimes, Lana dreamed that she would have the courage to tag along with her sister one day when she felt particularly brave, but the day never came. Lydia was adventurous whereas Lana was frozen in place, afraid to disappoint their parents or face the world.

There on that Tombstone street under white twinkling stars that had held such wonder just moments ago, Lana wondered if it were even possible that her dear sister could have involved herself with the likes of a man like Johnny Ringo, let alone any of the cowboys she had encountered during her time in Tombstone. The stars seemed like all too worthy spectators for how small Lana felt at that moment. She stared at Ringo like a woman gone gradually mad at the implications of an association between him and Lydia.

“Now just what the hell are you talking about?” she breathed out through the unanticipated storm of dangerous panicked anger that seemed to flash across her face and through her frame. She suddenly found herself approaching Ringo as if he wasn’t one of the most dangerous men in town, pointing a gun at Doc himself that night in the Oriental, even if it was in good reckless fun.

The look on Ringo’s face was one of pure satisfaction with Lana’s emotional and provoked response. It proved to her that this was just what he had wanted. Anyone could see it by the curve in the cursedly attractive smirk across his annoyingly handsome face. He got under her skin and he wanted to dig even deeper like the viper that he was. The little minx had fallen right into his trap. His stature stood casual, but his gaze was threatening, almost desperately daring.

“And just who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” Johnny replied, his eyes widening not in fear, but as a crazed warning, the subtle movement halting Lana in her own motions. He had done more than match Lana’s tone. He returned it tenfold without so much as an obvious sign of agitation. This left her at a loss for words, but not at the desperate and eager curiosity he had instilled in her like an addictive poison. That could never prove dormant in her. She tried to compose herself with a deep breath, knowing that a rush of anger would not get her the answers that she was yearning for.

“Forgive me-“ she started to speak but the cowboy cut off her attempt to diffuse the situation with a swift and natural air.

“You know, I think you been in town long enough to know better than to mouth off to a man like me,” Johnny tells her, his gaze firm on the unique fixtures of her face, seemingly studying her as he approaches closer himself, his presence a whirlwind of intimidation that seems to envelop all her caution. “Actin’ like you don’t know me, even in the slightest. Playin’ games I never did like,” he says to her, his tone low and rippling with an unspoken understanding that Lana could not reciprocate as Johnny’s eyes continued to peer over her person as if she was some sort of allusion from the past.

It suddenly clicked into place, like a lock in a door that was bound to open. Lana’s eyes widened with a hopeful and disbelieving arch between the middle of her brow as she realized Johnny must have known Lydia in some scarce way.

She remembered the way Johnny looked at her in the Oriental the night she had met him, her mind momentarily transporting her back under the soft sconce lights as she stood next to an intoxicated Doc.

The expression on Johnny’s face had grown curious and playful near that faro table. Almost in a faint familiar way rather than just a flirt now that Lana was playing it back in her mind like a cascading moving picture show.

Before Lana could even muster up the words to explain the predicament, much less fully process it herself, Doc’s rich voice rang out like the velvety satin that it resembled in sound.

“Mr. Ringo,” he spoke accusatorially at the short distance in which Johnny had put himself in front of Miss Pearson. It was a testament to how close a gentleman should not stand to a woman, especially in public, even at the time of night that it was. It took a moment for Lana to turn her head toward Doc, the loose curls at the crown of her head following the movement of its host amidst the soft wind. Her mind was a whirlwind of worry and queries that she felt she could not afford for Doc to interrupt.

“Yes. Me and Mr. Ringo were just conversing,” Lana said calmly, her gaze shifting back toward the man so close in front of her, that she could see the pores of his tanned face. One step closer and it would have been downright scandalous. She would curse herself for getting so wound up and oblivious later. That was her queue to step back from Ringo, their eyes meeting as her shoes could be heard hitting the dirt ground. Lana’s look was still, but purposeful in their quest to silently ask that he not cause a commotion. Ringo seemed to read the woman like a book he was keen on finishing another time.

"Go on, now. Say something witty or happily move along," Doc seemed to challenge Ringo as he spoke. The two men looked at each other for a long moment in which they were entirely at odds, yet even as men.

Eventually, Ringo slowly sauntered off down the road, his strange air in tow as he mumbled under his breath, looking back at Lana over his jacketed shoulder for a fleeting moment.

Chapter Text

It felt like Lana had been holding the longest breath of her life by the time Ringo was properly out of sight.

Whatever pivotal conversation she was to have with him would have to wait until they crossed paths again. The tension in her chest lightened ever so slightly, Johnny Ringo and his enigmatic aura no longer the cause of her anxiety for the time being,

She had planned to let go of the oxygen as her body shifted its attention back toward the older gentleman before her, moving her weight from one leg to the other beneath her navy blue evening gown. The accents and richness of the deep color complimented her skin tone well against the backdrop of the night.

The look on Doc’s face made her hold her breath just a few seconds longer. It made her a bit lightheaded. His handsome countenance was a perfect picture of suspicion and perhaps even a bit of disdain. As for whether that disdain was at her, or her part in the interaction with Ringo, she was unsure.

“Doc,“ Lana began, trying to explain herself to the man she was quite loosely, but albeit, still quite involved with at this point. Lana was not ignorant of their association and could sympathize with the displeasure he wore so easily. However, she knew very well that she had done nothing wrong despite how the scene may have looked.

It wasn’t anything like Lana finding Doc playing piano in the Oriental with Kate practically smothering herself all over him.

“Now, what in the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asked after cutting her off with a swift air. He’d worry about the specifics of her encounter with Ringo in a moment. His curtness had taken her aback for a moment, and it took another second for her to compose herself with a dignified response expected from a lady. She took a deep breath before she tried her best to respond.

“I was just going home for the night-“

“At this time? Without a chaperone?” he interrupted her again and Lana felt like a scolded child, as she often did in Doc’s presence. This wasn’t the first time he had made her feel this way and she knew it wouldn’t be the last. He could be so charming when he wanted to be, making it difficult for her to resist relishing in his presence. However, it was moments like these that made her ponder whether his charm was worth the more undesirable parts of his personality.

“Oh, Doc. The hotel is barely a walk away from the Earps. I believe I can manage a short commute down the road after supper,” Lana said, casting her gaze away from Doc so he would not see the rolling of her eyes and the sigh that exhaled from her lips.

“Not without the spawn of Satan on your tail. Though, evidently, you’ve long since been acquainted. Perhaps even more than that with the distance you let him encroach on you,” Doc replied, his tone accusatory and insinuating as his hands rested on his hips, just above the navy colt revolvers in their holsters.

Lana couldn’t help but take offense to his words, her eyes widening where they had been pinned on the ground beside him and back a few feet before they settled on his face. Her mind had just started to slow its reeling from the encounter with Ringo and what further it could mean. She was not yet ready for Doc’s antics or his sugared insults.

Her nose scrunched up in the way it usually did when she became cross with him in the month or so that they’d known each other.

“If you’re implying something scandalous and downright ridiculous, just come out with it,” she tried him wearily, her arms crossing across her chest resolutely. Her limbs had covered the lower-cut neckline of the gown she had worn to the dinner she had just departed from. She wasn’t shocked by the audacity of the man in front of her because she had grown accustomed to it, but it bothered her nonetheless. “What kind of a woman do you think I am? And what kind of woman do you already know me to be?”

The silence that followed from the pair had only left the wind’s instrumentals in the air around them to be basked in. It juxtaposed effortlessly with the Arizonan ambiance of the desert night. Lana Pearson had stumped Doc Holliday for the time being, his defensiveness over her person amid a contradictory war between what he had heard from Ringo and what he had learned in the month that he had known the young woman. He had grown to care for her far deeper than he initially would have liked as a dying man.

“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn,” Doc said, straightening his posture with a soft sigh as he lightly touched the grey puff tie at the front base of his neck.

“Yes. That’s what you do, Doc,” Lana mumbled under her breath with a shake of her head as she turned away from him under the gaslit lamps that lined the road. There it still was in her chest, though there was now an agitation that bloomed with his audacity. It was heavy on her bosom and she couldn’t help but try and lighten it by voicing her frustrations with the sarcasm that Doc did not appreciate. Although she had spoken lowly, practically a similar wisp to the gradual wind that carried on around them, Doc had heard her clearly.

“Will you speak up for me, dear? I don’t believe I quite heard the nerve of you,” he replied firmly, sauntering over toward her, his arm twitching slightly as he moved. He stopped abruptly in place, that light behind his eyes seemingly flickering. The mannerism caught Lana’s attention, her gaze flicking down to the black sleeve of his cropped tailcoat. His silver interlaced cufflinks glinted like diamonds in the dim light of the lamps above the two.

Lana had a mind to continue their bickering. She wanted to defend herself against the onslaught of his words and the way he could make her feel so small at times while doing and saying so little. But she had never seen Doc falter in such a way. It had come like a flash of lightning, making him paler than she had ever seen and he was usually quite ashen to look at. It faded just as quickly as it had come, his posture straightening with some difficulty. His hands clenched into fists as he cleared his throat and squinted his eyes painfully shut, waiting for the moment of weakness to pass.

“Doc,” Lana breathed wearily, her hands reaching out as if to touch him with some helpless cure on her fingertips.

“Fine. I’m just fine,” he insisted rather crankily, trying to swallow the frog in his throat without coughing up a terrible mess. He didn’t want Lana to see any of it. He had been good at keeping the worst of it away from her. Hell, he had avoided much talk of his condition altogether.

Waving off Lana’s attempt to get a closer look at him, Doc gave her a quick bow as an adieu that she wasn’t willing to accept for the night. Unwilling or perhaps even unable to try to rectify her dissatisfaction, Doc turned on his heel and headed toward the other side of the street. He kicked up a bit of the desert dust amidst the spurs of his shoes as he went.

“Doc!” Lana called after him, her tone dragging and fed up with the stubbornness he showed in the face of something alarming to her. 

“I am fine, doll. Now get on home. I hear the hotel is barely a walk away from the Earps. I’m needed at the Oriental,” he said with a subtle sneer, continuing to walk away from her, albeit, as he beat his chest some with the side of his left fist. His knuckles sounded hard as the rhythm vibrated through his frame that stood up straight.

Again, Lana dismissed this behavior, hiking up one side of her skirts and scurrying after him. 

“Something is wrong. I know it. Do not be so reckless,” she pleaded with him, wise to the fact that he was trying to hide behind his stoic exterior. 

“Nonsense. I have not yet begun to defile myself,” Doc murmured as he walked. He never looked back to see if Lana was following him because he could hear her shoes come down hard on the dirt beneath them, trying to keep up with the long strides of his tall stature.

The swagger of such familiar strides grew wobbly, and Doc eventually fell to the ground in a sandy heap, completely unconscious without a moment’s notice to the young woman before him.

Chapter Text

Doc had come to, his tunnel vision slowly but surely subsiding as a man he knew well during his time in Tombstone came into view, just beyond the blinking of his eyes.

George E. Goodfellow wasn’t the most fit for his age and profession, but he was kind in the face and wouldn’t beat around the bush when it came to the healthcare that he provided. Doc had done much of the same during his brief practice as a dentist in Georgia before the consumption had caught up to him. Although their professions were so different from one another, they were alike in other ways that couldn't be denied. His brutal honesty about the deterioration of his lungs was not unwelcome to Doc most of the time. It was a fate that he had largely accepted the moment he got his diagnosis before he headed west in hopes that the dry environment would buy him more time to delay what he knew as the inevitable.

However, he began to wish he hadn’t woken up at all. His head ached as he craned to look around the hotel room. He found the familiar silhouette of Lana’s evening gown lit up by the gas lamps outside on the streets beyond the balcony she paced back and forth on. The windowed double doors that connected the balcony to the room were open, the night wind rushing in softly around her skirts to rustle the curtains and flicker the candle lit at his bedside. This let Lana hear Dr. Goodfellow greet his ailing patient who lifted himself to sit with some difficulty.

“Ah, there he is,” Goodfellow said, already leaning forward with his stethoscope, primed and ready to listen to what was left of Doc’s lungs.

He gave a weak cough when the metal greeted the thin fabric of his perspired white undershirt, waiting to reply as Goodfellow worked.

“Well, your condition is quite advanced,” the doctor breathed quietly after listening to Doc’s lungs for a moment before pulling away to sit properly in the wooden chair he had procured for his assessment. Pulling the earpieces free, he went on somewhat begrudgingly, “I’d say you lost, some, sixty percent of your lung tissue. Maybe more.”

Doc paid the words no mind, seeking the epitome of Goodfellow’s examination.

“What’s the verdict?” he asked, an air of impatience in his tone.

“Two years. Two days. Hard to say, if you stop now. Your smokin’, your drinkin’, your gamblin’, your nightlife. You need complete rest. What I mean is,” Goodfellow paused before clearing his throat as his gaze drifted to Lana out on the balcony whose back was turned to allow Doc and Goodfellow some privacy as patient and doctor. “You must attempt to deny any marital impulse.”

The notion that Doc had engaged in the pleasure of knowing an unmarried woman like Lana intimately queued to him that the doctor’s time tending to him was up, the pressure of his blood heightening at the very insinuation. Doc did not want to be lectured about his libido and its relationship with the wasting of his body. But he was in no shape to protest or ridicule the blunt comment from his doctor.

On the other hand, for Lana, not only was she respectful enough to allow them such privacy, she also feared what she might hear if she were to take even a step closer. She could make out the murmurs through the distance between them, and she was grateful for it for the time being.

“Get out of my sight,” Doc said passively, his hand coming up, weak in its posture to wave the remark off.

With that, Goodfellow left just as quickly as he had come without any fuss, his time of administering what care he could to Doc coming to an end. It was the sound of his boots against the creaking wooden floorboards of the room that prompted Lana to turn back toward the windowed and curtained doors connecting the balcony to Doc’s hotel room.

She remained in place after she had turned for a moment, unsure if she should venture forth of her own accord or wait to be beckoned by Doc’s call that they both knew she was sure to answer.

And yet it took Doc a moment for her name to grace the bridge of his lips.

“Lana, dear,” he called for her as propped himself up further on the bed amongst the pillow supporting the fragile frame of his back. The artisan wood of the headboard behind him dug slightly into his shoulder blades as his gaze found her again.

She walked through the threshold of the balcony doors with such poise despite the overt worry spread across her pretty face that Doc could not help the air that hitched in his throat. The unanticipated exhale caused him to begin coughing much to his own frustration as he again hit his chest with the side of his fist.

A familiar crease in Lana’s brow came again as she watched Doc cough his way through the small fit, his eyes rolling in an overt annoyance at the betrayal of his own lungs. He needn’t even gesture toward the tall glass of water at his bedside table, Lana already sauntering closer to fetch it for him with tame hands even with the worry she felt ever since Doc had passed out in the street about twenty minutes before. Luckily, patrons from within the surrounding establishments didn’t let their curiosity trump their willingness to help Lana when she had called out frantically for help.

“Here,” she spoke softly as she handed the glass of water over to the pale hands that stretched out to her, his limbs languid but eager.

After he had taken the glass, Doc brought it to his lips gingerly as his eyes followed the movement of Lana’s left hand that shifted behind her to glide over the bustle and skirts of her gown. She casually flattened the garment to sit down properly at the edge of his bed. Although she was a respectful distance away, the choice of seat in comparison to the chair Dr. Goodfellow had been sitting in just a few feet away was not lost on him. It appeared she longed to be closer to him, just as he longed to be closer to her.

As he sipped, his thoughts began to deepen to the far recesses of his mind. He found himself once again nursed back to life after a consumptive fit that ravaged what was left of his body, this one worse than the last, and not just because Lana had witnessed it. The pattern was sure to continue itself, spiraling downward while his relationship with Lana would likely follow in tow. But he didn’t want that and he would do whatever it took to avoid it, his hands tied behind his back while his lungs gave out on him over and over again. Even something as uncomfortable and vulnerable as being the most honest he could be.

He hated talking about the accursed disease that stole his mother, his life, his practice, and the spirit he had once known.

The sigh that had left his lungs was the most exasperated one Lana had ever heard exhaled from his person as he set the glass of water down on the bedside it had originally come from. And not because he was annoyed, but because he was surrendering in some way to the tired nature of his mind, his body, and his damned heart.

“Darlin’. Will you listen closely to me for a moment?” he asked of her as she neatly folded her hands in her lap, still sitting at the edge of his bed. She was just as poised and comfortable as he had been beside her in her room at the Grand Hotel the night prior, at least in the physicality of her frame. Her hazel eyes told a different story entirely, the irises already murky with the condensation of her emotions at the unknown.

She didn’t have to tell him she was ready to hang onto his every word like the last spindle of thread. He already knew and thought he should pity her for it. But instead, he could not help but let a small smile onto his dry lips. A bittersweet feeling accompanied the pain in his chest that had turned into a dull constant ache. Lana simply nodded her head with a sympathetic yet unsteady smile on her face for both of their sakes as he decided to venture forward with a slow hesitance. 

However, Doc's mind continued to divvy up distractions.

He didn’t quite know where to start without being so abhorrently blunt. He even thought he should avoid the subject entirely, briefly wondering if word of what had happened got back to Wyatt who was sure to come check on him. Wyatt’s voice was already a distant echo in his ear, sure to bicker with him about the matter of his health.

But for some reason, the brooch he had gotten her came to mind. He recalled her wearing it the day before. It's rose gold lotus-shaped base was set with a single pearl lining up in parallel with her collarbones just beneath the simple white ruffled shirt she had worn.

Picturing her as she was on the day he had so casually gifted it to her made it easier for him to say the words they both needed to hear. In his mind’s eye, her smile was not so forced. Her excitement had been so genuine she had laughed out loud. Little did Doc know, Lana valued the brooch more for its giver rather than the object itself.

His mouth twitched at the corners after breathing a deep sigh, purposefully hitting the back of his head on the headboard behind him as if it would clear the organized chaos of his thoughts. Before he opened his mouth to speak, Lana beat him to it, unable to keep her unease at bay and eager for an answer.

“Doc. Be honest with me now. Are you dying?”