#doc holliday x reader

[danielshouseofwhores]

Hello!

Whether you write for F1 or not, we all despise harassment. In the F1 fanfic community, there is this person going around and harassing @/logansargeantsbabymom and stealing their writing.

If you are not familiar with this drama already:

can you fucking fulfill my request? it’s been 4 days and you JUST posted. i’m sorry it’s not out yet but i have a job and other requests be

i literally don’t get why you could respond to my last request but not my fic? i also don’t get why it’s such a big deal, i’m just asking a

As much as I hate to keep posting about this, I got a lovely message from a fan!! I feel like you should read them: Like bro, I’m here fo

I come here today to ask you all, f1 fan or not, to block and report both of these blogs.

The user is @/buckyswifeblogs and @/blockingmeisinsane

[filmtv2022]

The The Bitter End: Comfort (Extra Scene)

18+ MDNI

Series Masterlist

Synopsis: John and Y/N, share a heated moment alone. The pair find comfort in one another's arms.

Warning: Spice/Smut + alcohol

A/N: Here we go again with another extra scene for To The Bitter End! I hope you all enjoy it and as always... I apologize for any mistakes.

The dense cloak of night had settled into every corner of the worn home filling in the gaps and leaving behind a muted silence. It seemed to inhabit the space as a stalwart tenant, immovable and proud yet unable to comprehend the passing of time. Ripped from the trap of restless sleep, the heavy sound of your ragged breathing was rough through the cotton sheets curled below your chin. Perspiration had collected in a heavy sheen across the expanse of your exposed skin, sticking your threadbare nightgown to your body. Returning to sleep was a lost cause. The only choices were to lay awake contemplating the very worries that plagued your dreams or to return to the nightly routine that had become your escape from it all during the previous weeks.

The decision was easy. Pulling back the covers, goosebumps ran wild over your arms and legs. The blind search for your housecoat came to a quick conclusion as the supple texture was easy to find even in the pervasive darkness that shrouded the room. You wrapped it tightly around your body, tying the belt in a sturdy knot at your hip. The only light that seeped between the curtains was that of the moon beyond the windows. A cloudless night meant the silvery haze was strong enough to guide your steps into the hall. Forgoing slippers, you focused on the rough grain of the ancient hardwood beneath your bare feet. The slow ambling journey away from the bedroom was made by memory as you tracked the path away from your nightmares and into the arms of the person who soothed your soul.

A soft glow illuminated the area around the piano, and basking in it sat John. His lithe frame moved gracefully with the music he played from memory. Lost in the melody, it appeared as though your arrival went entirely unnoticed. It was from your vantage point at the bottom of the stairs that you watched in awe of the sheer talent and passion that emanated from him. His face was slack and tender, free of the worry that often knit his brows together. The only sign of struggle that remained was the stained and tattered handkerchief which sat perched near his glass of whiskey atop the piano.

John’s shoulders tensed in a fight against the shallow cough that took control of his body. This had you moving toward him, seeking to comfort and be comforted. His focus remained fixed on the keys, but the ghost of a smile tugged at his lips as he heard you approach. The soft pad of your steps blended with the rhythm of the music before coming to rest behind him. Out of need and instinct, you reached for him. Your hands came to rest on his shoulders as he greeted you gently, “Hello, darlin’ ”

“Hello, my loving man.” Working your thumbs into the vicious knots along his back, you dipped to press a kiss to his cheek. It was warm, flush with the ever-present fever that accompanied his ailment, “How are you feeling, John?”

“I’m right as the rain.” He continued to play even as his lungs spasmed once again.

“That’s good,” letting your hands wander to his chest, you brought your lips to the broad column of his neck. The gentle caress of your whisper against the shell of his ear was distracting beyond measure causing him to fumble in the music, “It’s my turn.”

“Of course,” John lifted his hands from the keys to find you. The steady balance of his grip guided you to sit on the bench in front of him. With feather-light strokes, you ran your fingertips over the ivories. Doc took advantage of this and allowed himself to drift aimless touches over your body. He mapped every curve and valley paying close attention to tender spots that needed caring for, and the way you reciprocated his movements. Finally, you began to play, and he recognized the song immediately, Chopin’s Nocturn No. 19. It was the same one you’d heard him play the first night you met, and hearing you skillfully navigate it filled the hallow depths of his soul.

He let you play, happy to luxuriate in the firm press of your back against his chest. John’s wide palms found their homes low across your stomach and hip, letting him toy with the knot of your housecoat. Your concentration waned at the feeling of him nipping a line of fire along your neck. A soundless gasp accompanied the tug of his fingers at the knot. He made quick work of the barrier, pushing the sides of the garment back to give him more of what he wanted. With only the thin fabric of your nightgown now standing as an obstacle between the pair of you, he explored to his heart's content.

Leaning in, he found the hem of your pajamas bunching it between his fingers as he drew it higher and higher. John nestled the fabric at your hip before returning to your body. He started at your knee, drawing lazy circles on your skin, each stroke brought him closer to where you longed for him the most. Nearly there, he chuckled at the hypnotic arch of your body into this touch.

“Is there something you’d like, darlin’? Hmm?” the smooth vibrations of his questioning hum had you ready to beg, but the words to ask just weren’t there. Instead, he was met with a pleading whimper, “Use your words.”

“John,” breathless, you tried to keep playing, but your coordination failed completely at the feeling of his hand running along the inside of your thigh, “Please.”

“As you wish,” and with that he gave into his desires. Threading his free hand into your hair, he fixed your position so that he could claim your lips in a bruising kiss. A sharp tug at the base of your neck earned him an unholy groan. The embrace grew desperate, tongues clashing in a heady battle for control. This fight would be one that you lost without an ounce of regret because in doing so you surrendered yourself to his protective and loving embrace.

John’s sure touch found its mark without fail. Over and over, his calloused touch sent electricity singing down your spine. Settling into a rhythm, John listened to the hitch your breath the closer you came to the edge. Warmth pooled low in your body forming a band of pleasure that was nearly ready to snap. You clung to him, your hands searching for purchase anywhere you could find it. With one hand twisted in the silken strands of his hair, you reached back to find him while the other fell to his wrist holding him in place.

“I’ve got you,” staying steady, John watched you fall apart in his arms. Waves of desire tore through every nerve with his continued movements. His lips found yours again swallowing the frantic gasps and moans that poured from you. In time, your body relaxed into his. Your muscles were loose and pilant as he held you upright in his arms. Even with the release you’d just found, your body begged for more. Inhaling deeply, your lungs settled enough for you to speak.

“Take me to bed, John.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you could feel the smile on his lips as he pressed them to your neck. A low huff of laughter rumbled his lungs, the end of which was punctuated by a small cough, but nothing could dampen this moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. The only thing that mattered was the overwhelming trust and love that flowed between the pair of you. Together anything, and everything, felt possible.

[sstrawberriel]

Soo, I lowkey wanna start making character.ai bots. Especially for Top Gun characters (Both 86 and TGM) and val kilmer/tom cruise characters. If y'all have any requests and prompts for a bot, please send 'em in to me😭 ESPECIALLY Tom Kazansky. that man is SO FINEEE and so underrated bro😮‍💨

[hottombstone]

This is a fanfiction between Doc Holiday x(Fem) reader! I might make it into a series lol!

DISCLAIMER!! The series will have smut😏

I’ve been riding my horse jack for what seems like years. The heat was stinging my lungs and having me in desperate need for water. Tombstone was just up ahead as you were relived to arrive after all the train ride before riding jack was nothin fun. As I ride into town there were men already drunk and women trying to keep their innocence from them. I hitched jack at a post closest to a trauf, he definitely needed the water more than me.

I go into the Oriental to grab myself a drink before heading to the hotel. I walk in and the immediate smell of cigars and whiskey is intoxicating. It was very crowded as I make my way to the bar. “What can I get for you miss?” The polite bar keeper said. “Just a whiskey on the rocks” I smile at him and he seems surprised that I dainty girl as myself would order something like that.

He hands me the glass and I pay him the money. I sit looking around my hat low so no one would really take notice of me. I was in a very simple black dress nothing fancy to make an impression. I hear a familiar laugh come from the poker table and I’ll be. It was your good friend Wyatt Erp! I get off the chair trying not to bump into all the drunks. I approach the table where he’s dealing. “Hello there ma’am what can I get started for ya?” I smile as I lift my head to show my face.

“Well a hug would be a good start and I’ll buy in with what I can.” He stands up and smiles big. “Y/n girl! I haven’t seen you in ages. Look at you!” He spins me around. “I can’t believe you’re in tombstone!” I grin. “Well Daddy always said I had a heart for adventure!” Wyatt laughs “He sure did!” “So you gonna deal me in or what?” He smiles and sits down. “Of course where are my manners.” He deals me in and shows me to the table.

All the men at the table don’t even look at me till I take my hat off and my beautiful long hair tumbles down showing soft waves. The two men are looking at me in a way that’s not attractive to you in any way. I hear a voice to my left “This isn’t usually a game for pretty daisys like yourself darlin.” I smirk to myself. “You’ve obviously been playin with the wrong women.” The other men laugh and I roll my eyes. “Who are you woman?” The dirty toothless man says.

I give a confident answer “I’m the Daisy who’s gonna bet you at cards.” They both laugh. I look to my left and the man raises his head to reveal his dashingly handsome face. He smirks “Let’s play then..”

“I raise..” I push my chips in. The other two men through down their cards in a fold. “That’s an awful lot a money you bettin on darlin.. I think you want to rethink your decision.” My face still straight showing no emotion. “I think I’ll take my chances..” he puts down his cards showing a flush and everybody’s in awe laughing he goes to take the pile. “Not so fast there handsome… I think my cards have a say in the matter..”

I put down my cards to show a full house. The room gets quiet. “Well..” I say to break the silence. “Thank you for the wonderful game but I best be on my way to rest.” I put my hand on the handsome man’s shoulder. “For your troubles..” I put a few chips in his hand and a kiss on the cheek. I stand up to leave.. “What’s your name darlin.?” “Y/n” “Well miss Y/n I’m Doc Holiday.” He says kissing my hand. I roll my eyes and smile “Well Mr. Holiday I’ll see you tomorrow.. but a game like that has a girl like me wore out.”

I take my hand away and give him a flirtatious look and walk out of the Oriental. I put Jack in a stable and get into my hotel room. I lock the doors and open the window for some cool air. I strip to a simple yet elegant sleep wear and close my eyes as butterflies flutter in my belly thinking of Mr. Doc Holiday…

[rndmmarston]

Doc Holliday X F/Reader

Im Back…AGAIN

Warnings-None(I don’t think)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Y/Ns Pov

It was a Nice Morning In Tombstone,Hot like usual, Doc Was sitting outside leaned back with his feet Propped up on a chair at the Barber, I walked over to him “Morning” I said as I sat next to him “Morning Darlin’” he said with his eyes closed looking very Relaxed.

I leaned back into my chair and watched the people walk up and down the street, I seen in the Distance Wyatt, Virgil and Morgan, as they were walking,Ringo,One of the cowboys, Came out of the saloon looking very drunk and looking to start trouble, “Well what do we have here…” he said with a slight Slur “What do want Ringo?” Virgil said Putting his hand on his Revolver “I want your blood, and i want your souls and i want them both right now” He said slightly Stumbling over, I stood up and leaned against the railing watching them, After the O.K Corral shoot out things were not going well between the Earp’s and the Cowboys, I looked over at Doc he was still leaning back, now he had pulled his hat down over his face, i guess to keep the sun out of his eyes, “Oh Look who we have over here~” I looked over to realize Ringo was talking to me “Leave her out of this…” Wyatt said stepping forward, Ringo just smiled “Now see, with out your lover here…You ain’t nothing without him…” I just stayed quiet, I seen in the corner of my eye Doc had put his hand over his Gun…He’s listening… “You know…Why are you with him anyways?” he asked me with slurred words “Why are you with a Lunger? Ya know he is gonna die soon…” He said with a Smirk… “Ya know its sad how he isn’t here to protect you…” He said with a smirk

“Just leave her Alone Ringo…” Wyatt said Getting Ringo attentions, As Ringo was looking at Wyatt Doc Stood up and Put his Gun behind his back, He Whistled getting Ringo’s Attention, Ringo’s eyes Widened when he seen him “Ive been here the whole time…” Doc said stepping down “Go to hell…Ill put ya out of your Misery-“ “Say when” Then Curly bill and A few other cowboys came out of the Saloon, As soon as Ringo went to for Doc he got pulled back by the cowboys “Don’t mind him he’s just drunk thats all!” Curly bill said while laughing.

“gentlemen” Doc tipped his hat at the Earp’s and Walked back over to the Barber, I stood there leaning against the railing, He came up to me wrapping his arm around my waist “You Okay Darlin’?” “yeah…Im fine…” “Its okay…Im here to protect you…Don’t listen to anything he says to you…” He says with a slight smile “I wont…Thanks” I said as I leaned up and kisses his cheek.

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A/N- This is a Short story…Its Currently 2:45 Where i am so its not the best i know, Sorry i dont ever post on here <3

•Requests~Open•

[doingthingsthewriteway]

Moss

request: yes

summary: Daisy Pt. 2. More trials (and a lot of fluff) between doc and daisy

Doc Holliday was a lot of things and stupid was not on that list. Something that often got him in a heap of trouble was his education. Quick witted remarks in a variety of languages would swirl around his brain, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. He was well versed in novels, theater, nocturnes, and even a dash of politics. His understanding of God and the universe was also impressive. 

So no, he certainly wasn’t stupid. Why then was his Daisy hiding things from him? Did she think his male nature made him inherently oblivious to the state of things? Clearly something was wrong. 

Smoke from a pipe- not a cigar nor cigarette but herbs his Y/N read about to ease his pain thank you very much- billowed around swirling with all of his doubts. Doc puffed away as he thought back on all of the recent nonsense. 

First was subtle. One fine evening, Doc’s family gathered in the Oriental. He felt himself glow with pride as the Earp’s and Y/N surrounded him each night. Sometimes he thought he was delirious with another fever as the sound of laughter and touches of affection enveloped him. 

That evening, however, as he waited patiently for Y/N return to his lap, a frown furrowed his handsome face. She balanced on his thighs, glass in hand. “Darlin’?” He tapped the glass with a hesitant finger. “You switch to gin?” 

Her laugh was enough to erase the frown. “No, huckleberry, I thought we could benefit from some water. I still don’t want you drinking, can’t live without you.”

“Oh hell, honey, you’re stuck with my nonsense for the rest of your life.” Her pretty eyelashes and bustle free legs were enough to make him forget. 

Then, all together, Y/N stopped their evening nightcap. Now, yes he needed to quit his drinking to excess, but a glass of bourbon with his baby every night surely was not a problem. Doc wondered if going to the Oriental every night reminded his bride of his affair, which seemed reasonable. Certainly not willing to be on the receiving end of her wrath anytime soon, he let that go. 

Next was more straight forward. Wyatt had received tickets for boxsets at the Birdcage. Y/N loved Faust so naturally Doc jumped at the chance for a family outing. His darling all but squealed with delight when Doc sauntered into suite, with a dress bag slung over his arm. 

“May I have the pleasure of escorting you to the depths of hell tonight, Mrs. Holliday?” Mustached lips tickled up her arm, over her collarbone, and down to her cleavage. 

“Oh absolutely, Mr. Holliday!” Taking the dress out of the brown wrapping, she gasped. “Oh, John!” It was her turn to sprinkle his gruff face with kisses. 

The maroon silk looked downright sinful on his bride (and she thought the exact same thing about his matching waist coat). The Hollidays were a sight to behold in Tombstone. With her on his arm, Doc felt all the southern gentry he was raised in. Nothing could make him feel unworthy of power or love. 

Settled in the dim theater, Y/N fanned herself, a rush of heat hitting her. A holler from the floor seats broke her trance and drew her eyes of the one she despised most. Johnny Ringo practically howled at her, tongue wagging like a rabid dog. 

“Pay no mind to Mr. Ringo.” A gentle hand grasped her chin and forced her attention back to Doc, where it belong he reasoned. “Only I may purchase your soul.” 

Y/N’s eyes fluttered and hummed in delight. “You already have, Doc.” That settled his swirling doubts. Yes, he liked to think he held her soul inside his own. His soul clutching to hers in order to survive. He owned her, not in an oppressive sense. Not like how his father view his mother, but in the way that she was his and his alone and he could proudly say the same. 

Yet, just shy of intermission his darling uttered a “oh fuck” under her breath. Doc chuckled, eyebrow quirked in amusement. Yet before he could comment on the lewd nature of his otherwise polite wife, she was grasping her skirts and rushing out of the box. 

Before he could even move, Allie Earp ran after his wife. Looking at the remaining Earps- excluding Wyatt who looked all too close to committing something dangerous- Doc glared. “Something I don’t know?” 

“Lady stuff?” Morgan suggested earning a grunt of support from Virgil. 

At intermission, Doc found his wife with Allie. Allie had the audacity to grin at Doc, blue eyes twinkling. “Doctor is in.” She giggled. 

And yes, normally Doc would have ate that up. Reveling in the limelight and delightful female attention. However, normally Doc was the unstable one and not his wife.  Still, he couldn’t help himself from saying a charming, “It seems my favorite patient is ill.” 

“I’m fine, Doc.” Y/N offered a grimace of a smile. Slowly standing, she took the fan from Allie. “Just got too hot all of a sudden.” 

Nodding, if only to avoid adding another public confrontation to the history of their relationship, Doc ordered a tonic water from the bar and escorted his wife back to their seats. Allie just chittering all the way. 

The final straw was down right offensive. Doc enjoyed few things more than waking up in the early hours of the morning when the sun was just beginning to think of rising and loving his wife. She was always so eager from a nights rest that she just folded into him. His lungs weren’t heavy from a full day allowing him to thrust and grunt for a glorious eternity. 

Yet, every morning that past week when he rolled over she was gone. He’d call out her name practically mewling with need only to be met with silence. Ignoring the hurt that struck his heart, he’d go back to bed. 

Finally, this morning was the last straw. He figured he’d stay awake, greet her entering their room. The longer he sat awake, pipe in hand, the wilder this thoughts went. Doc prided himself in a remarkably even temper but fear was ensnaring his rationality. 

A dose of opium sounded wonderful right about now. It would just calm his nerves, make it so he wouldn’t lash out. Last thing he wanted to do to his daisy was be mean. Lord knows he’s hurt her enough. He was sure he had a vial tucked away somewhere. 

By the time she entered their room, Doc was in tears. Red eyes narrowed into a glare at her. She gasped. “Doc, are you alright?” 

A rumbling cough worked its way out his lungs. “Daisy, I am rolling.” He hissed. Standing from his spot by the window, he grabbed his cane for balance. “Awful late night for you though.” 

“Are you high?” 

“I hardly see the need in answering that.” He snipped. “It’s quite obvious we both are up to things we shouldn’t be.” 

“Now, John, listen to me.”

“Is it to get back at me? Do you think my heart doesn’t hurt when you leave me?” 

“John, please just trust me.” her voice wobbled with tears. 

“I know I’ve not been the best husband to you-“

“You’ve been wonderful.” 

“Stop lying.” The opium only made his accent stronger. “Please just be honest with me, my soul can’t bare it any longer.” 

With a sad smile, Y/N crossed the floor to her husband. One hand tenderly held his cheek, wiping away at trailing tears. The other reached for his own, pressing a key into his palm. “Get dressed and follow me.” 

Confused, dazed, spellbound by his bride he dressed quickly. She held her arm out to him knowing his pride would much prefer her to stabilize him than his cane. “I’ve not been truthful and I am so very sorry for that Doc, but I hope you’ll forgive me.” 

They walked the dusty streets of Tombstone together. The early morning air left their lungs clear. Cactus clung to the early morning dew as the couple clung to each other. Near the edge of town, Y/N paused in front of a stately Greek Revival home. 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” She asked nuzzling into his neck. 

“Yes, though it is difficult to find anything that compares to you darlin’.” 

With warm cheeks, Y/N giggled. “Try the key Doc.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Doc sputtered pulling away in shock. 

“Try the key.” 

A burst of speed had him rushing to the door. Rocking chairs lined the porch, tucked safely behind columns. The key slide in perfectly. Her name was all he could sigh, tears welling in his eyes again. 

Joining him, she nudged him forward. “I’ll give you the tour.” 

While still barren of furniture, the grand home had billowing curtains with long windows that ached of home. As Y/N rattled on about something to do with paint colors Doc waved a hand of dismissal not really caring how she wanted to paint. 

“How?” He managed to grunt,masking his emotion with a forced cough. 

“I was left an impressive about of money in a will.” A small smile tugged on her lips. “A great aunt everyone else hated. The only stipulation was to use it for my family.” 

A tug on his hand led up him the stately staircase. “I was thinking our bedroom could be here if-“ 

“I can handle them darlin’. Don’t you worry about me.” 

The next door was shut, Y/N’s eyes glittering with mischief. “This is your second surprise.” 

“Oh if this is one of those sinful European things-“Doc paused as the door opened revealing the only painted room in the house. 

gentle moss green walls greeted him. A canopy hung from the ceiling, the netting protecting a crib. “Daisy? Are you in a delicate way?” His green eyes flickered from her face to the perky bodice of her dress  to her tummy. 

A nod of her head confirmed. his heart nearly burst out his chest. A joyful laugh tickled out his throat. He didn’t give a damn what would be said about him now, his wife was carrying his baby. His. 

Nudging her nose against his, she leaned in to capture his lips pulling softly on the plump skin. Words weren’t needed as they removed each layer of clothing from each other. Fingers interlocked as they lay together on the soft mossy green rug below them. 

[laanswife]

Gif from @telumendils

When I watched the second season of Star Trek: Strange New Worlds and Melanie Scrofano appeared, I was like: "Who is this beautiful woman on my screen?". Then I searched on the Internet and saw in her philology the series Wynonna Earp, which I had already heard of so I decided to stop and watch it at another time.

This month I decided to start watching and I've already watched 3 entire seasons (I watched the first one in just one day), because, what the hell, this series is incredible and it doesn't get the recognition it deserves.

Ps.: Now I live and breathe this character, because she's a bitch with a badass gun and gorgeous hair.

Gif from @dreamlonelywolf

[cowboys-of-tombstone]

It Started With a Letter (Johnny Ringo x Holliday!Reader) 2/3

< Previous ☆ Next >

      Hours later you returned home with high spirits. All the usual customers arrived with cheerful attitudes and hardly any drunken shenanigans were made. You enclosed the door to your home and as you started towards your room, you saw Doc sitting in one of your chairs in the living room. The dim light from a nearby candle painted him in a ghastly appearance. Though you could barely see him, you could make out his cold gaze towards you, even without such an expression present.

      “John, what are you doin’ up at this hour? You need to rest with your condition, you know?” You asked as you carefully approached the chair adjacent to Doc.

      “How courteous,” Doc chuckled as he crossed his legs, “but I’m fine, thank you. I was hopin’ to have a short word, if you don’t mind.”

      Your eyes closed tightly and your lips pinched even tighter. That brother of yours just wouldn’t let up. A small forced smile graced your lips as you motioned Doc to continue.

      As he lightly dabbed the sweat from his face, he said, “Perhaps I had not made myself as clear. I am only lookin’ out for your safety.”

      “Whatever do you mean? I thought we were both plenty clear on our stances when you told me how you felt about my friend earlier today.” 

      “I admit I was a bit unreasonable, but that was because I was so caught off keister. Even you’d have to agree, for someone like Johnny Ringo to step through your front door like that, would be a shock to anyone.”

      You squint one eye as you asked, “Oh? You were just shocked, is all? So you don’t mind my friendship with Johnny, then? Now that the shock has worn off?”

      “Now wait just a moment-”

      “Hmph,” you quickly cut to the point, “just as I thought, we are in the exact spot we left ourselves in earlier, John. I had hoped, despite my better judgment, that you had come to be civil as a guest in my home.”

      “Why, Dear Sister, I have the utmost intentions to be civil, all I am askin’ is for you to reconsider your relationship to that Johnny Ringo.”

      “John Henry Holliday, what is the matter with you? It’s not as if we’re married or somethin’!” 

      “Sister, I have the consumption, not blindness. I was in town and I saw the way you both were meanderin’ about.”

      Your teeth boor into your bottom lip, “Meanderin’?! You damn, dullard, he was walkin’ me to work like he always does! You’d know that if you didn’t make a fool out of yourself and me!”

      Doc’s stern glare broke with a subtle shift of the eyes. The thick air rang in your ears as you both sat in utter silence. 

      Doc wetted his chapped lips as he finally said, “Perhaps I made an error of judgment.”

      “To put it lightly, for sure.” You replied, barely containing both your righteousness and exasperation. 

      Doc ascended from his seat as he sighed, “I’d prefer if you didn’t see him, entirely. He’s very dangerous, after all.”

      Pushing from his seat, Doc began to make his way to the guest room. Just as he was about to vanish in the darkness, you uttered, “Anymore dangerous than you?” The clicking of his boots stopped for just a moment before disappearing with the sound of the squealing door.

      Although you were left alone again, a certain sense of self satisfaction arose within you as you skipped to the candle and blew it out with a kiss.

------------------

      “A walk you say?” you asked as you and Johnny finished your cups of coffee.

        Even though Doc had his opinions on your friendship with Johnny Ringo, the three of you compromised by simply having the two gunslingers avoid each other entirely. If by chance, Doc came home when you two were together, an awkward, but brief, silence would pass until he went about his business.

      “Sure, it ain’t too hot out. Might be fun too.” Johnny added as he leaned back into his chair. Needing only a short time to consider, you happily agreed to Johnny’s proposal.

      “I can’t find a reason to say no! Let me go put on somethin’ more comfortable and we’ll head out!” 

      To stay comfortable on this trip through the Arizona wilderness, you chose a thin blue dress that reached just above your ankles. Its material was flexible enough to not feel constricting, and provided room to move about freely. To go with the dress, you chose some practical ankle high boots that you used to work in your garden, or anywhere else for that matter, to keep your feet from being bloody nubs when the job was done. You finished lacing your boots and hopped off your bed. As you met with Johnny in the front room, he rubbed his chin with a smile.

      “What’cha think?” You asked as you had a quick spin around. 

      “Ya look good.” He nodded as he looked away in an attempt to hide the heat radiating from his cheeks. Seeing Johnny glow like that threw you off, and yet, you felt your chest flutter from it. He always held his cards close to himself. Even when he told you what he was feeling, it was hard to know if he really meant it or not. Now, as he attempted to wipe away his shame, you had a glimpse of what he can really feel.

      Not wanting to get too distracted, and perhaps to save Johnny from his own mild embarrassment, you nudged, “Well, I suppose you lead the way then! I’m curious about where you want to go.”

      “I think you’ll like it. I know I did.” he replied as he casually made his way to your front door.

      Out into the fresh air, awaited Johnny’s horse. As you approached, its pink snout sniffed you curiously. Carefully, you reached out and patted its velvet nostrils and lips. The horse’s warm breath blew into your palms without a hint of distrust. You eased into holding its face and neck, and in turn, it began to rest its head into you.

      “I think he likes you.” Johnny said as he drummed his steed’s belly.

      “He’s very gentle.” You noted while the horse quietly knickered.

      “Well, despite bein’ the horse of a Cowboy, he’s his own beast for sure. Rides as good as anyone else’s in the worst of times, but he’d never hurt a fly.”

      “Maybe it’s because he knows you take good care of him.” you winked while Johnny lifted you onto his horse.

      “Thanks, I try to take care of those I’m close to.” Johnny sighed as he hopped on the front end of the saddle.

      You thought about what he meant by that as he snapped the reigns of his horse. The beat of horseshoes against the ground was soothing, and as you listened, you relaxed your head against his back. A gentle heat emitted from his jacket that lulled you half asleep. He curiously did nothing as you leaned against him, but his tense, fibrous muscles welcomed your gentle touch. 

      The town drifted away along the waves of the sandy ocean. As you continued along a sparsely used trail, the sand began to subside. Red rocks sprouted where the sand had ended, leading to massive stone structures and pathways, all carved out by millions of years of time. 

      For you, it was like you were in a bubble, away from the worries of the world at large. A time capsule that showed a past, and perhaps a future untouched by Man. For Johnny, it was as if he were guarding an ancient treasure for eternity and you were its golden centerpiece, a sacred chalice in this forgotten land. 

      Eventually the hypnotic ride was too much and soon you continued such reveries in your sleep, succumbing to Johnny’s heat. Johnny, on the other hand, had his mind revving like a locomotive. 

      Unbeknownst to you, Johnny had spent a lot of time self-reflecting about the night with the drunken patron. He recalled how enraged he was when that drunk bastard laid his hands on you, how ready he was willing to kill; not for himself, nor his gang, but so that you were safe. He reminisced about how you wrapped your arms around him and let all your frustrations fall onto his coat. Surprised as he was at your actions, Johnny felt something akin to sparklers running up and down his body at the same time. His face and hands glowed red but remained hidden from you. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since someone hugged him so deeply, so tightly. It felt like all the wrongs in the whole world were made right once again in the single moment. 

      After you were brought safely home, that strange night, Johnny returned to The Cowboy’s camp alone. As he watched the campfire dance, the smoldering heat crept onto him. So too, was a single realization that choked him like a noose: he not only had feelings for you, but he had them for a while, and just didn’t know it up until that point. 

      Before he could recollect on how it was on his mind for days, his thoughts burned away like a diary thrown into a hearth. Familiar landmarks sprung up from all over, pointing him in the right direction. Knowing you both were close, Johnny carefully tapped you awake from your slumber. 

      “Hey, we’re here.” Johnny whispered as he patted on your leg. As you both circled around one last rock formation, the land began to flow like a sea of gold and rubies.

      Blanket flowers flooded a small plain below, gripping tightly to the stream that ran through its middle. Towering above them were lush trees and cacti who silently guarded the quiet oasis. Through the cool breeze, the distinct whistle of hummingbirds echoed faintly.

      “It’s so beautiful.” you uttered, taking in the view.

      “Knew you’d like it,” Johnny smirked proudly as he hopped off his horse. He held out his hand to you and while you gripped it tightly, you slid from his steed to the bumpy, eroded ground beneath you.

      “How did you find this place?” you asked, peering off the ledge to examine the distance to the valley below.

      Johnny shrugged, “When you got free time on your hands, sometimes you want to see where the trail takes you.” 

      “Why Johnny, you sound so dashin’.” you jest as you briefly fan yourself.

      Johnny shook his head and sighed, “Do you wanna sit here and keep making jokes? Or do you wanna go down and see all that for yourself?”

      “Oh, uh, I don’t know Johnny. Don’t you think it’s a little high?” you questioned as you glanced over the edge again, confirming the steep drop.

      “Yeah, you’re right,” he agreed, “But don’t worry! I brought us a heavy rope to get us down there.”

      Despite your reasonable doubt, you wrapped the prickly rope around your waist. Dryness swept across your tongue as you braced yourself at the edge. Johnny tightened the other end to a large stone and squared his stance. Gingerly, you stepped off and placed your boot on the cliff's perpendicular face. Slowly, you shuffled down without any problems, but when your feet were firmly planted on the ground again, you let out a deep breath of relief.

      “Alright!” You called out, “It’s your turn, Cowboy!”

      Without warning, Johnny leaped from the cliff and, like a spider, seamlessly glided down to your side. 

      “Show off.” you playfully rolled your eyes. 

      It was one thing to see this small oasis from the cliff, but now the air was soaked with smells akin to a flower shop. It was clear how much more was hidden away at that distance. Bees were pacing up and down the petals of almost every flower. Ladybugs groomed each plant for any unwanted pests. Between them both, butterflies lazily fluttered about, with no actual destination in mind. 

      As you both carefully trodden deeper into the valley, the sound of running water brushed against your ears. You looked to Johnny, and he, to you. After all, a fresh drink is always welcomed in Arizona.

      The splashes of the water against the rocks sounded crisp and cold. The stream was not very wide, one could jump halfway across it, but when Johnny measured it with a long dried stick, the water could reach his waist. Tiny silver minnows darted through the crystal clear water, despite its current, and snails sat snuggly between the rocks at the bottom. 

      Johnny wetted a piece of cloth from the stream and wiped his face with it. You cupped the water in your hands and took a sip. It didn’t taste like anything, but it swept away the bitter, dry taste in your mouth. 

      As he wrung out his cloth, Johnny turned to have another look around. However, when you checked on him, you noticed he froze in place.

      “What is it? What do you see?” you whispered.

      “Stand up slowly and look over there, where the valley closes.” Johnny replied, as he pointed to the spot of interest.

      As you rose above the flowers, the valley wrapped into a thin crevice. Standing at that narrow exit, stood a pale pronghorn, who was staring right back. The creature was strange, it was fat like a ram, but had the legs of a slender deer, and it looked like its horns were stolen from a stag beetle. Yet, it stood with the poise and grace of a prince, and viewed you as humble guests in its court. You attempted to get a better look at the sacred creature, but a crow’s call sent it sprinting down the crevice.

      If you had blinked, you would’ve sworn it disappeared into thin air.

      “Oh, damn!” You clicked your tongue, “I wanna go after it now. Just to see it one more time.”

      “Same, but I’ve heard some say they’re the fastest animals with hooves. I believe it too, he’s probably long gone now.” Johnny shook his head as he held his hips.

      There were a couple stuffed pronghorn trophies amongst other taxidermies within the businesses of Tombstone, yet to see one alive and amongst the flowers of this hidden valley was truly a moment to bear witness. You turned to Johnny and gave him a tight hug.

      “Oh, what’s this for?” Johnny asked as he returned the hug, patting you on the back. 

      “For bringin’ me here. I’ve never seen anythin’ like it.” you smiled as you held him tighter. 

      It was strange, your gentle soul kept on finding new ways to captivate him. No matter the reason, no matter how simple the affair, you always had something to be thankful for because of him. Again, it wasn’t as if The Cowboys didn’t show appreciation for each other, Johnny kept reminding himself. But a lingering fact remained, that you weren’t bound by some thieves’ honor or creed. You were the way you were with just about everybody. And perhaps that’s what Johnny liked most about you.

      These feelings in Johnny’s chest burned at him worse than Ol’ Man Clanton’s homemade moonshine. Unable to take his emotional indigestion, Johnny took your hands into his and said, “Well, don’t thank me yet! We still can look around a bit more before we go.”

      You nodded and the two of you began your look about. Though, the valley was vastly smaller than a sight such as The Grand Canyon. In fact, it was about as wide as a street in Tombstone and ran about as long as one, before pinching into tight exit points on either side. The both of you decided to try to circle the oasis and see what you could find.

      Your fingertips caressed the canyon wall. It was like they had melted from the desert sun, but hardened before the river of liquid stone could be washed away. As you continued around the diameter of the valley, you began to notice how uneven the soil was underneath the unassuming flowers. Before your mind could fully process the terrain, the ground dipped steeply from underneath you. 

      Just as suddenly as you lost your balance, Johnny’s arms slipped around your waist, stopping the fall.

      “Woah there, you alright?” he whispered in your ear. 

      You let out a short gasp, “O-oh! I just slipped, is all!”

      The rouge let loose of your waist once you stood upright. With a devilish grin, he offered you his arm and said, “Well, we can’t go on havin’ that, why don’t ya hold onto me from here on?”

      You felt your cheeks glowing as you gently grasped him. The sly coyote knew exactly what he was doing, and so did you. Even then, despite your racing heart, you could get used to the prospect. 

      The clouds reddened as you both scoured the valley, looking into every crack and nook. Laughter echoed from the walls of the valley as the crickets began to sing. A gentle breeze blew through you, causing your skin to crawl. Ever so keen on your condition, Johnny rubbed his hands against your freezing shoulders. You looked over the valley one more time as the sun exited stage right, the lightning bugs signaling the moon to rise. 

      “Goodness! How long were we out here?” you asked.

      “Time flies, I guess. ‘Bout time we started heading back.” Johnny confirmed your suspicion. 

      You let out a great sigh, not wanting to let such an idyllic day end, but as the cold settled into your bones, the idea of warming yourself to a cozy fire back at home became more than tempting. 

      Meandering back to the rope, Johnny quickly scaled the valley’s face. When your turn arrived, Johnny called to you from above, “Just tie the line around your waist. My horse and I’ll take care of the rest.”

      You do as Johnny said, and once your waist was secured, you yanked on the rope sharply, testing the strength. With confidence, you grinned up at him, and hollered, “Ready when you are!” And in no time at all, you flew from the valley floor, up to meet with Johnny. As your head finally poked above the cliff, muscular hands held onto you, and hauled you up. You couldn’t find ground for your feet to stand on, as he gently spun you around, your hands resting on his chest to steady yourself with.

      When Johnny finally decided to let you loose, you landed firmly on his awaiting horse. With you secured, he too hopped on, a quick snap of the reins sent you both on your journey home. 

      It baffled you how quickly the desert could shift from blistering heat to shivering cold. Before you were even a third of the way back, the cold had begun to make your fingers ache and brought about a constant shiver. You wondered to yourself how those Cowboys could willingly survive in these unforgiving lands. What lunatic, you postulated, could live through the wingbeat of Satan himself, for the sake of being free from the laws of man?

      “Hey.”

      Your hyperbolic suppositions of Cowboys and their survival, burst from the rouge’s sharp voice.

      “What is it?” you asked as you clenched tightly to his jacket.

      “Are you cold back there?”

      “N-no, I’ll be alright. I know we’re close to town, anyway.” you nodded to yourself as your eyes clenched shut.

      “Not even halfway, ya know.” Johnny clarified.

      “Oh,” you sighed, swearing much more of the journey had passed, “Well, in any case, I’ll be fine. I made it this far already.”

      You could practically hear his eyes rolling in his skull. The horse slowed to a walking pace, and just as you began to wonder why, Johnny threw his jacket over your shoulders. Warmth rained down on your person, as if next to a hot stove. 

      “I, uh… you didn’t-” you stammered.

      “You’re welcome.” Johnny waved without looking back.

      You slipped your arms through the slightly baggy sleeves and tightly hugged his waist. “... thank you…” you whispered gingerly. 

      How cruel the passage of time could be. The cold winds had sunk their claws into you for what felt like hours, when your journey had only just begun. Now that you were safe within the realms of Johnny’s coat, you peaked open your eyes and saw the flickering lights of Tombstone in the distance. Your heart sank just a bit, if only that moment could have lasted longer.

      The sounds of civilization manifested from the silence, and before you knew it, you had returned home. Up the steps to your front door, you handed back Johnny’s jacket to him.

      “Thank you again for the wonderful time, Johnny.” You beamed warmly. Without hesitation, you stood on your toes and planted a peck on his cheek.

      Johnny could hardly respond as you waved him goodbye behind your door. Even after disappearing into your cottage, the Cowboy struggled to make heads or tails of what had just happened. Eventually, all he could do was smile, shake his head in disbelief, and ride out towards camp. 

      In another part of the house, Doc listened, as you hummed back to your room. He took another drag from a cigarette butt as he sat in darkness. Moonlight dimly trickled through the curtains and cast its light upon him. Kate snored lightly in their bed, having long since fallen into slumber. He pondered, he postulated, he thought to himself, deep in a mire of viscus vulgarity. 

      How foolish of him to trust his naive sister to be with a conniving snake such as Johnny Ringo. He grounded the remainder of his cigarette into the windowsill, snuffing out its flame. Perhaps, he concluded, it would be best that he took a closer look into the relationship you and Johnny had.

------------------

      In the days that passed your trip into the wilderness, Johnny would continue to offer his arm to you, to make sure that, “you wouldn’t fall again.” You scoffed initially, even if you still took his arm in yours. Yet, because of how often he’d offer you his support, it did not take long for you to reach out for him instead. Soon, all of Tombstone took note of the new habit you two had developed. 

      Even Doc became begrudgingly aware of what the two of you had been up to. If he didn’t catch you strutting up and down town together, some imbecile would waddle right up to him, just out of stabbing distance, to inform Doc of what he already agonizingly knew. The only testament to his capabilities in this fog of anguish he was in, was to drown it out with just another bitter drink.

      Doc roused from a hazy stupor, finding himself back in your home. Although he was “awake,” it was impossible to describe him as “lucid.” His ribs ached from his coughing, every sound he heard rang into a prolonged echo, and his vision doubled and tripled. As he suffered within his fever dream, Kate nonchalantly sat beside him as she continued to look over their earnings from earlier last night. 

      The front door opened with a creak and you walked in from a hard day’s work.

      “Evenin’, ya’ll.” you sighed as you placed your coat on the rack.

      “Hullooo~” Kate answered quietly. You awaited Doc’s answer while you locked up for the night. Silence eerily breathed down your neck as you awaited for your brother to respond. When it never came, you spun around with a perplexed frown, curious as to what was the matter.

      “Oh my God! Is John alright?!” you gasped.

      Kate shot you a baffled look, then to Doc, then back to you and replied, “Yes he’s fine, why?”

      Doc sat limply in the chair with a deathly complexion. Kate’s obliviousness made your stomach twist into a sickening knot. 

      “I’m gonna get a doctor.” you declared sharply. As you marched to grab your coat again, a loud cough brought you to a halt.

      “Why, Dear Sister!” Doc wheezed, “Did you just make it home?”

      “I was just about to get you a doctor, John. I’m worried about your condition!”

      “Oh nonsense. I just lived slightly above my means, is all.” He slurred, waving away your concerns.

      “That’s right,” Kate interjected as she quickly put away the money she was counting, “Even a man like Doc could use some rest every so often.” 

      “The two of you can’t be serious-” you started.

      Doc leaned forward to rise from his seat as he said breathily, “Come, darlin’. Won’t you help me to the room?”

      “Of course, my loving man.” Kate smiled as she held the wobbly gunslinger. The two hobbled back to their quarters without another word. You bit your thumb hard enough for it to turn white as you wondered if there was even anything you could do for your brother.

------------------

      The next day, after work, you returned home. Though you were fatigued, dinner was not going to make itself. And Kate, you surmised, wasn’t the kind to make it either. The recipe wasn’t anything complicated, just some salted pork and beans. There was plenty enough for Doc and Kate too.

      Although, when dinner was finished and you sat down to eat, you became aware of how quiet your home actually was. In retrospect, you surmised that making the extra salted pork and beans for folks who probably weren’t going to be home that night, was a bad idea. Regardless, you also concluded that, if they did get home later that night, at least they’d have a little something for tonight or even early tomorrow.

      After dinner, you scrawled down a note for Doc and Kate to help themselves, and placed it on top of the closed pot. Slipping into your nightgown, you nestled in your bed for a bit of reading. The soft candle light bounced off the pages of your book, and it wasn’t long until it hypnotized you into lassitude. You placed your book on the nightstand, blew out the candle, and settled down for the night.

      The following morning, the sun’s rays peaked through your curtains and gently warmed your face. Sitting up, you began to stretch, but paused. You listened, but there was nothing. Had Doc and Kate even returned home last night? Your tongue clicked as you continued to postulate, concluding that they could’ve returned home and were just asleep.

      The door to your room creaked as you took a peek outside. You shuffled to the kitchen, and found it just as you left it. Not the pot, nor your note were even touched. A bit of worry gnawed at the back of your head as you tossed a glance to the guest room’s door.

      The scent of tobacco ash wafted from the gap underneath the door. You bit your cheek, gently knocking the hollow sounding wood. 

      No response.

      This time, you pressed your ear against the door as you knocked again, and listened. Only the white noise of still air could be heard on the other side. Now, fully entrenched in your inquisitiveness, you carefully twisted the door knob, and peered inside. 

      The bed was made, albeit haphazardly. The ashtray on the nightstand was filled to the brim with the ends of cigarettes, and all the surfaces of the room, at least, had a couple of empty bottles resting upon them. Although there was an overwhelming scent from all the smoking, it was stale. Because of it, you couldn’t believe they had returned at all.

      Tightening your mouth to one side, you closed the door. Though you wondered about your brother and his partner’s whereabouts, they were adults, who were fully capable of coming and going as they pleased. You swallowed your worry, and drifted to the kitchen to take care of the leftovers and dishes.

      On the second day, you checked your brother’s room again. Not only was no one inside still, but in fact, it seemed that the room hadn’t been touched entirely. The wrinkles on the bed remained the same and the smell in the room was staler than the last. Thoughts of concern buzzed in and out of your mind as you got ready for work. You glanced one last time at the empty room before you left. A search might be in order, if he wasn’t home by the time you got off, you concluded.

      Work was difficult with your brother on your mind. Just like your toughest days, however, you were able to pull through, in the end. Once your shift was over, and you were on your way out, you stopped to look back at the restaurant. The only two customers in the place sat huddled together around a single table. 

      Your fingers strummed your side. Perhaps, it was possible that these two gentlemen knew who Doc was and had seen him around. Your brother did have a standout reputation, afterall. 

      Approaching their table, you waved, “Oh, pardon me, gentlemen.”

      The two mangled prospectors smiled with missing teeth, one lisping, “Howdy, Miss Holliday! Is everything alright?”

      “Actually, I was wonderin’, do either of you know my brother, Doc Holliday?” you asked, lightly wringing your dress.

      The two turned to each other with intrigue, “Why, sure. Just about everybody knows Doc, I’d reckon. Can’t miss a character like that!”

      “Can’t miss his lady friend, neither.” one nudged the other.

      You rolled your eyes, “Yes, I’m sure. Um, but, have either of you seen them in town within the past two days?”

      One of them leaned in closer, “You didn’t know, Miss Holliday? He’s been at it at the Dragoon Saloon for the past two days. I reckon he hasn’t even gotten an ounce of sleep. Dropped by their yesterday to wet my whistle after work, and then again this mornin’ on my way back.” 

      You stepped back slowly shaking your head. Had he truly been out drinking for the past two days straight? All you could muster to the prospectors was a soft, “Thank you.” Then you rushed out the door to your next destination.

      The Dragoon Saloon, thankfully, was only a brisk jog down the street. You were relieved to find that he wasn’t a pile of bones bleaching in the desert somewhere. But what in the world was he thinking?

      Just as you approached the doors of the saloon, a party of three had pushed themselves out. Two on the outside carried the third member in the middle, practically dragging him by the boots. When they finally came into the street light, you realized it was Doc being carried by Kate and a man you didn’t know.

      You pushed past the stranger and took his place in carrying Doc, gasping, “What happened to him?”

      The stranger interjected hoarsely, “Came into me bar with his lady friend two days ago. I had come in to work all of yesterday, switched out with one o’ me bar keeps fer some shut eye. Came back today and he was still at it. Must’a been at it fer a total of 36 hours!”

      The bar owner’s confirmation was still as shocking as what the prospectors had claimed. You knew Kate fed into his vices, but you were nearly left speechless as to how she could’ve allowed Doc to go so far. 

      Almost in response to your demanding glance, Kate blurted out, “How could I stop him? Once Doc started winning there was no pulling out! The plan was always to fold once we lost a certain amount, but he never did.”

      Perhaps, gripped by sheer astonishment, your voice wouldn’t utter another word, even when you tried. 

      The barkeep implored, “Are you lasses fine with takin’ ‘em back home by yerselves?”

      Refocusing your attention to him, you nodded, “Yes, I’m sure we will make it just fine.” You then motioned to Kate, “Come on, let’s get him home.”

      Between you and Kate, you were both able to stagger back to your cottage. Exhaustively, you two carefully laid Doc onto his bed. You wanted a word with Kate, but she too flopped onto the mattress next to her man, kicking her boots off at the same time.

      It was a possibility, you thought, that for once, Kate was right. You too were exhausted from hauling your near cadaver of a brother all the way home. It made sense to call it quits for the meantime. After all, she too was up with your brother for the past two days. You doubted she was in any condition to be reasoned with. But you were sure to have a word with her in private, the next chance you got.

      Late in the afternoon, the following day, you were in the midst of preparing dinner, once again. This time, you had your guests in mind. The creamy, chicken and dumpling soup bubbled as you gingerly stirred the concoction of soft vegetables, and tender chicken chunks, together.

      Your brother, nor his company, had emerged from their room the entire day. Outside of muffled groans and heavy snores, you could’ve assumed they left again for another binge. Yet, the pleasant smell must’ve seeped into their room. 

      Soon enough, Doc emerged from his cave with the wobbly legs of a newborn calf. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused. The bags under his eyes resembled black bruises rather than mere exhaustion. His face almost appeared to be made of wax. And his body, in an attempt to purge the toxins that flooded him, produced a sour scent from his pools of sweat. 

      He hobbled along to the front room clenching himself for warmth. Hunger leaked from his gaze as he stared through your kitchen’s half wall.

      “Mornin’ there, sleepy head.” you smiled warmly, “Seems like you had a busy couple of days, would you like somethin’ for that headache of yours?”

      He nodded. With shame or sickness, you couldn’t tell, but he didn’t verbally answer nor did he meet your gaze. The pour of the soup was reflected in his glassy eyes. While the frustration remained, your aggravation was replaced with pity. Even one so proud as Doc Holliday was made humble at the feet of his vices.

      You greeted his weary gaze with a gentle smile as you passed him a billowing bowl. His eyes shot glances to you and the bowl as he felt the heat emanate from it. The spoon scuttled at the bottom, clasping to the tender vegetable and milky base. Doc’s lips slid against the spoon. You could’ve sworn steam escaped his nostrils from the soup’s intense heat.

      “Exquisite as always.” Doc muttered softly.

      “I try.” you chuckled.

      “Indeed.” Doc agreed, setting the bowl down on the half wall’s counter. “If I may, I want you to know that I greatly appreciate your hospitality.”

      “Of course, John! We’re kin, afterall, you and I. I just hate that you’ve gone and done this to yourself. Now, I’m not sayin’ you can’t have fun, but, you know better than this. I was really frightened for you these past couple of days. Come to my surprise you’re havin’ a grand ol’ time. So much of a good time, in fact, that the mosquitos could get a hangover from ya!”

      “I understand.” Doc sheepishly remarked.

      Exhaling through your nostrils, you poured another bowl. Though you really wanted to be more firm with him, it seemed no such push was necessary. You could feel the weight on his brow. Despite how upset you were from the whole ordeal, you couldn’t help but feel empathy for your sickly scoundrel of a brother. He was, afterall, just trying to find his place in the grand scheme of things. Just like everyone else in this world.

      You handed him the other bowl, sighing, “Here, for your plus one. I’m sure she’s not feelin’ any better.”

      “Positively writhin’, the poor dear.” Doc whispered, “But I think this will do the trick.”

      He hobbled back in the direction of his room with both bowls in tow. Before heading inside, he called back to you, “I can’t thank you enough.”

      “Well, don’t let that stop you from tryin’, Dear Brother.”

      As you finally poured yourself a bowl, you heard the rare chuckle from your brother as he closed the door behind him.

      The mellow waters of content washed over your shoulders. Sure, Doc had the habit of deciding what he wanted to do, rather than what he should do, but it seemed, to you, that he took what you said with some consideration. Knowing this, you felt relief for your brother, and yourself as well. For a moment, you felt hopeful that maybe, just maybe, your concerns hadn’t fallen on deaf ears, this time. 

      At least, that’s what you had hoped.

      Not even a week later, while you and Johnny quietly read in the front room together, Kate dragged Doc in, roughly throwing the door open. The couple had been out since dawn and had only returned then, after the sun long since set. You shot up from your seat with concern. The way she huddled against him, and struggled to walk in, signaled that something was wrong.

      But then the stench of alcohol and tobacco slapped you. 

      “Don’t mind us! We’ll just be in our room.” Kate waved, struggling with her dead weight.

      You and Johnny continued to watch, unblinkingly and expressionlessly. Kate’s hollow footsteps were matched by the sudden thud of her losing grip of Doc and dropping him. She sucked in air through her teeth as she struggled unsuccessfully to lift him. You stepped forth to assist them, however, Kate raised Doc into a seated position. From there, she hooked her arms underneath his armpits and dragged him, knocking over a few of your books from the shelves as they passed by.

      “Oops, pardon me!” Kate awkwardly chuckled, as she lumbered Doc back to their room.

      Initially, you were in utter shock, but as their door shut, your expression fell into absolute contempt.

      You spun around, reaching for every which way to apologize to your guest, until Johnny held up his hand.

      “No need to be sorry. You didn’t make them drunk, afterall.”

      While you appreciated the sentiment, it didn’t change how Doc and Kate had acted. It didn’t change the fact that the talk you had with him meant nothing. And it certainly didn’t change your embarrassment in front of Johnny.

      You politely nodded and returned to your seat with your best attempt to continue to enjoy your visit. A few hours later, your grandfather clock sent Johnny Ringo on his way. And you awaited Doc’s return to the surface.

      Just like any hapless seal, unknowingly caught by an awaiting hunter, Doc staggered out of his room and into the kitchen. You could practically see his veins pulling and stretching his temples. His gaunt and off-colored skin wrapped tightly around his face and hands, begging to be hydrated. As he messily poured a couple of glasses of water you quickly approached his side, almost startling him.

      “Pay no mind, I’ll wipe up the mess right now.” Doc blurped.

      “Doc, what are you doin’?” you asked.

      “Hm?” he muttered, stealing a sip from one of the cups.

      “What in heaven’s name was that about earlier?” you asked, pointing to the front door. Doc could only respond with a perplexed look, so you continued, “Earlier? When you and Kate got home? Or were you passed out when Kate dragged you in, in front of my guest?”

      There was a peak of confusion in his brow. Doc looked in your direction, but he seemed to almost look through you, at the same time. It was like he was made of petrified wood, and in a very short amount of time, you could no longer bear his silence.

      “What happened to the last time we talked about this? I recall you sayin’ that you understood, yet there you were, dead as a doornail.” you exasperated as your hands slapped your sides. 

      Unable to answer, or perhaps unwilling to, he turned back to the counter and poured more water into the cup he drank from. Just as before, you felt the need to trudge the issue along further for any kind of answer.

      “Were you just sayin’ that to get me out of your hair?” you asked, “Or you did understand but you just don’t care?”

      Even still, his lips were sealed and his silence was piercing.

      “Don’t you have anythin’ to say? I’m worried about you, John. Please, just talk to me.” 

      Crickets chirped outside your home as you awaited his answer. Driven into a corner, Doc exhaled deeply, as he turned to face you again, “I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be fine.” 

      Doc took the cups and slid past you, to what you perceived to be, complete dismissal.

      “Dammit, John! Is that how it’s goin’ to be? Well then, I better not see you drunk when I’m around!” You stiffly pointed your finger to Doc as he closed the door to his room behind him.

      Holding your breath, you swung at the air, beating at your imaginary brother, black and blue. Your threat was only a bluff and he called it as easily as the redness that painted your face. The imponent rage subsided and you were left hollow. While your arms clutched each other tightly in a lukewarm self embrace, you took a moment to ponder to yourself.

      You didn’t think that you were asking for much, were you? Were you really being so absurd? Did you go too far? You thought about it every which way, but found yourself back in the same place, with the same conclusions. 

      You knew you were right to be worried and upset about Doc’s drinking habits. So, why then, did he not see that? You thought you and he had reached some sort of earnest moment. In retrospect, perhaps you had been a bit naive, but to have him be so dismissive of your sentiments and pleas, broke your heart. 

      You slinked down into a chair by the dining table. Your chin tightened. The weight that you felt from it all was crushing. You felt helpless from your frustration that sat on your chest and wringed your neck. Tears welled in your eyes and you tried to stop them by holding your face in your hands. It was almost impossible to swallow nothing at all.

      The next day, though you could still taste a faint bitterness, most of your vexation was washed away by the time you had awoken. 

      This day, you had planned to run some errands. Your household was in desperate need of groceries, and not to mention, there was a pile of laundry that had been neglected for a couple of days, at that point. It seemed as if life cared little for your struggles. But, in a way, it brought you relief. In your mind, it was like a reminder of things that you should be focusing on, rather than the petty squabbles with your brother. 

      You tapped the toe of your boot to the floor, ensuring your comfort within it. Ready to go, you reached for the front door, when you heard a click from behind. 

      Doc wandered the kitchen with a crow-like gait, no doubt in search of something to eat. Swallowing the rest of that bitter taste from earlier, and henceforth your pride as well, you broke the silence, “I need to get groceries, John. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Is there anythin’ you’d like from the market?”

      Almost mechanically, Doc halted his search, and monotonously replied, “No, thank you.” Before returning, wordlessly, back to his room. Not even a goodbye.

      Smoke billowed within the confines of Doc and Kate’s bedroom. Kate laid on the bed, and propped herself up by her elbow underneath a pile of pillows. She watched the strings of smoke dance through the air, while Doc took a seat in the room’s sole chair. Pouring himself another shot into his tin cup, he felt the burning need to introspect.

      He listened, and you closed the front door upon your leave. It was his queue to take another drink. The biting heat passed his tongue and sterilized his throat. Though quite clever, more often than not, Doc was easily swept up in the winds of his intemperance and passions. So too, did he think he had the reins of control when, in reality, the bit was in between his teeth instead.

      With self assurance, he clamped down on his imaginary bridle, with the belief that it was of his own determination. You didn’t want to see him drunk, so be it. He was merely a guest in your home, after all. 

      You, on the other hand, looked upon your brother’s distant behavior with charity. Perhaps, you caught him off guard with how forgiving you sounded, you gloated to yourself in jest. Jokes aside, you weren’t surprised in the way your brother found himself. You had just swallowed your own pride, despite the residual feelings of grievance you had prior. In fact, it still lingered like the cough from a bad cold. And if you felt that way, how could you expect Doc to fare any better? Regardless, when enough time passed, you figured a compromise of sorts was bound to arise.

      Days passed, and yet the silence between the two of you remained the same. You’d argue it got worse, even. Doc would disappear for hours at a time, and only returned long after you had fallen asleep. You could only tell of his and Kate’s return from the muffled snores that seeped from the cracks of their room. When you did catch him awake, there were no hellos or goodbyes. They no longer ate the food you left out for them, and it was as if you were alone in your home, but not quite. 

      More like, phantoms to each other’s perception; the only kind of awareness to be conceived was through whispers and a cold harsh breeze. 

------------------

      Clouds rumbled over the mountains like a flock of stampeding sheep. Despite their woolish appearance, lightning flicked in and around them as water poured from underneath. Thunderstorms were far from unheard of, but most of Tombstone was caught off guard from its sudden apparition. 

      You too scrambled to beat the storm as the clouds began to blot out the sun. Of course you chose a shift that started when the rain rolled in. Perfect.

      A cough of makeup billowed from your room as you rapidly pecked at your cheeks with a powder puff. Your heart pounded as you applied the waxy, red pigment to your lips as the final touches to your appearance. You sighed, releasing the tenseness weighing on your shoulders. The rest of the makeup was thrown into a small chest and placed back onto your vanity dresser. 

      Just as you reached for your umbrella, a knock at your door pulled your attention away to answer it. Waiting on the other side of your door was Johnny Ringo who greeted you with a hat tip. The desaturated light from outside contrasted with the faint warm candle you kept to light your home.

      “You ready to go?” He asked, looking over his shoulder into the gloom.

      “Yes, let me just grab my bag!” You assured him, blowing out the candle and running back inside.

      Emerging back from the darkness of your home, you nudged Johnny out of the way and locked the door. By then, the clouds smothered the sky in a thick gray tone. This bleakness however, could not break the atmosphere you and Johnny shared together. He smiled warmly as he held out his arm for yours, and as you took his, the chill in the air dissipated. 

      “So, what’s in your plans today?” You asked Johnny as you both walked the main street. 

      “Ol’ Behan has a few of us goin’ around collecting taxes for ‘im.” Johnny shook his head, “Always sendin’ us to take on folks who aren’t too keen on payin’ up without a beating first.”

      “Oh, I’m sorry I asked.” You sucked in some air through your teeth. “I’m glad you can find work with Mr. Behan, but I’d hate for you to hurt yourself doin’ all that.”

      He raised his brows with a half smile, “Why, aren’t you a sweetheart?”

      Your cheeks turned rosy and your eyes widened. You had to hear him say it again as you asked, “What did you just say to me, Johnny Ringo?”

      “Oh, well-uh..” he stumbled over himself, flatlined by your straightforwardness.

      Thunder ripped you both apart with the promise of imminent rain. You looked to the heavens and saw lighting sprinting across the sky. You reached for your umbrella but found it missing.

      “Aw, Hell!” You scowled, “I forgot my umbrella at home!”

      “How’d you forget that in this weather?” Johnny scrunched his face.

      “Oh, really? And where’s yours then?” You asked as you slapped your sides.

      Johnny bulged his eyes mockingly, tapping his wide brimmed hat and jacket. The man was practically begging for you to let him have it. Before you could oblige, mist caressed your face.

      A sheet of water fell from the heavens like theater curtains. A stillness in your being allowed you to accept your cold shivering fate. However, a familiar soft, wooly texture encased you, and your hand was gripped tightly. As you were pulled along, you realized, yet again, that Johnny Ringo was responsible for your safekeeping.

      Laughter slipped from your lips while you both sprinted for the Crystal Palace. Johnny looked back at you, perplexed by your sudden bout of laughter. His furrowed brow faded away and he joined you in glee. The mud squished under your boots as you continued your perilous sprint. Water tapped on the coat, slowly turning it damp, even on the inside. The glow from inside the Palace drew you to it like a moth to a flame as you came ever closer.

      Just as soon as it started, you made it to the safety of the Palace’s rickety porch. You handed Johnny his coat as you huffed to catch your breath. 

      “Thank you for the save, back there.” You said, crossing your arms while you tapped the sand off your soggy boots. 

      “Anytime, sweetheart.” Johnny nodded. His hands reached for yours and were still warm despite the rain. “Try to stay dry, now.”

      You bit your bottom lip. There he said it again, looking deep into your eyes with that smug smile of his. He knew you were dough in his hands, yet you tried to hold your ground all the while.

      “I’d say the same, but I know you won’t listen.” You teased him with a smile.

      “I’ll try.” He relented warmly.

      You both said your goodbyes, while Johnny buttoned his jacket and stepped forth into the storm. You too hurried inside to freshen up for your shift. Your patrons awaited you to brighten up this gloomy day.

      Hours later, as your shift wrapped up, the Palace was jam-packed with customers. Their collective heat kept the establishment pleasantly warm if one ignored the musky smell. You didn’t realize the gift it was to be in there until you stepped outside again. The wind whistled in your ears and rain made it nearly impossible to see far into the night.

      Looking back within the Palace, you realized then, why it was so busy. Not a soul was seen outside, except for a lone smoker who also hid under the balcony of the poker house across the street. 

      Pondering for a moment, you tried to convince yourself to go back in and borrow an umbrella. Yet, when you saw how occupied your boss and coworkers were, you paused. 

      ‘Just ask them’ you urged yourself.

      ‘But they’re so busy.’ 

      ‘You’ll get soaked!’

      ‘They’ll get soaked if it’s still rainin’ when their shift’s over!’ 

      Your boots stomped on the splintered patio in spite of yourself. Convinced there was no other option, you readied yourself to sprint all the way home. Just as you finished praying to be free of pneumonia, you heard a horse approach you from behind.

      “Hey there, sweetheart.”

      Even in the heavy rain, you could make out the horseman’s familiar silhouette.

      “Johnny? Is that you?” you squinted.

      “Thought you might need this.” A semicircle sprang out from his form, revealing a navy blue umbrella. 

      The crevices in the polished wooden handle rubbed against your hand. As your chest pounded, you softly uttered, “Oh, Johnny. You didn’t have to-”

      “Come on, let’s get you back home.” he coaxed you onto his horse. Even though the rain still poured, the wind died down, no longer presenting a biting sensation to your cheeks. With your new umbrella blanketing the both of you, even the weather was more than bearable. Allowing for a comfortable pace, the horse cantered the two of you back home.

      Across the street, under the balcony of the poker house, the lone smoker watched the two of you disappear into the rain. Alcohol and nicotine flooded his veins, yet he felt nothing, numb to even the freezing air.

      “There you are, Doc!” Kate called from the entrance, “Why aren’t you inside?”

      “I’ll be right there, darlin’.” he muttered lowly, watching your trail wash away from the sand.

      Your cottage came into view sooner than you expected, not that you could complain. The succulents in your garden were swollen from the rain, with some even sprouting purple blossoms. Hearing the taps of water on your roof brought a shiver of relief as you unlocked the door. Droplets slithered off the umbrella, like silver snakes, as you shook it off.

      “I can’t thank you enough, Johnny. Would you believe it if I told you I was plannin’ on runnin’ all the way home?” you chuckled as you reached out to hand the umbrella back to him.

      “Yeah, I believe it!” Johnny tsked as he looked down to see what you were passing him, “Which is why I think you can keep it.”

      “Oh no, Johnny! I said I just forgot my umbrella, not that I didn’t have one.” You clarified, “Besides, I’m already home now. You could use this a lot more than me at this point.”

      “Don’t worry about it, it’s a gift.” he smiled, “Just be sure you remember to actually bring it next time.”

      Your eyes sharpened and your hands fell on your hips, “Look who’s a sweetheart now? Care to come in and dry off?”

      “I’d love to, but I gotta get my ol’ Rosinante to a stable and dry him off. Don’t need him keeling over on me.”

      A pang of disappointment washed over you, even if it was the right thing to do. You set the umbrella down and jumped into his arms, pecking him on the cheek, “See you around then, Cowboy.”

      The flustered bandit rubbed his cheek before, without warning, kissing you back on yours. 

      “See you around.” he tipped his hat and sauntered back to his horse.

      Though the rain drenched the ground, and lightning crackled across the sky, you felt like you were showered in sunshine. That dastardly thief might have gifted you an umbrella, but he rode away having stolen your heart. 

------------------

      The thunderstorm came and went. Left in its trail were fields of green and miles of flowers. The miners still mined, the farmers still farmed, and yet all, for a moment each day, took time to breathe the fresh air, see the blue sky, and admire the emerald horizon that met it.

      The Crystal Palace, too, was embraced by this moment of calm. Customers would be frequent, but not door busting, high spirited, but far from table turning. Not to mention, many were tipping generously. 

      While cleaning your section of tables, the chime attached to the door jingled.

      “Come on in and make yourself at home!” You called as you admired your spotless work. 

      “Why, thank you kindly, Dear Sister.” A voice whistled back.

      Doc poked his head into the side of your vision with a devilish grin. Kate was glued to his waist like a lace covered tick. 

      “John! What a surprise!” you stammered, “Is there somethin’ the matter?” Your skin prickled beneath your clothes. You had better odds of crossing a jackalope than Doc these days. Hell, even before your spat, not once did he come to visit you while you worked, keeping to the other businesses of Tombstone instead. You were happy to see him, as always, but you couldn’t help but have pause from his sudden appearance. Why, now, did he decide to bless you with his presence?

      “Far from it,” he replied with a slush in his voice, “Kate and I were just on a stroll when it occurred to us, we hadn’t had the chance to pay you a visit!”

      “Hope we aren’t intruding.” Kate noted with a Cheshire smile.

      “Oh, John, have you caught the fever?” you poked.

      Doc cleared his throat with a chuckle, “I am as fresh as the grass is green, I assure you.”

      Your ever aloof brother finally paid you a friendly visit. Perhaps, you thought, the fair weather had reached him too. Shame tugged at your heart for your previous assumptions as you motioned Doc and Kate in.

      “Tell me what you’d like to drink and I’ll sit you two where the gamblin’ tables are.” you smiled brightly.

      “We’ll have two glasses of whiskey on the rocks.” Doc pointed to himself and Kate.

      “I’ll be right back, then!” You assured them. 

      ‘Looks like his egg is already poached,’ you thought to yourself. The clear cubes of ice clanked at the bottom of a pair of crystalline cups. As you put the whiskey bottle to the glass’ lip, your mouth scrunched to one side. He had been, at that point, the most pleasant with you since his arrival, but it ached knowing that he was not himself and you were about to contribute to it. The whole reason he had given you the cold shoulder treatment was because of this. And now, you were willing to lean in and embrace his vice, just to be within his good graces.

      ‘Maybe I could ask him to go get some rest.’

      ‘But he and Kate are already here. And they were in a good mood for once too!’

      ‘Look at him, though. He should be at home restin’.’

      ‘Now that I think about it, there’ve been sloppier folks who came and left through those doors just fine...’

      ‘I suppose one drink won’t kill ‘em?’

      Like rolling a stone over the hilltop, as you began to pour, it became easier.

      “Sorry it took so long, I thought I lost the whiskey!” You laughed as you returned to Doc’s table.

      Mist had already condensed on the surface of the two glasses. Doc took one and swirled the amber colored liquid within it. He was enraptured by its flowing form, or its wooden, peaty aroma, or its burning flavor. Which captivated him most, if not all three, you couldn’t be sure of. His jittery hands pressed the drink to his colorless lips. Though he took a delicate sip, the act of swallowing was painful and forced. 

      “Darlin’,” he coughed. 

      “Yes, Doc?” Kate asked, leaning her head on his shoulder.

      He rummaged around in his breast pocket and pulled out some spare change, “Would you kindly fetch me a cigar from the front? Cherry, please.”

      “I don’t mind gettin’ it!” you volunteered.

      Doc stiffly grabbed your hand before you could walk off. He tightly smiled, “While you’re at it, darlin’, see if you could find yourself a flavor to your likin’ as well.”

      Kate had the venomous smile of a viper as she glanced between you and Doc. Wordlessly, Doc’s partner rose from her seat and hurried off.

      Only when Kate was out of view, did Doc let out a sigh, “I do believe I owe you an apology.”

      “For what, John?” 

      “For, uh,” Doc hesitated, “for not bein’ there for you. As an older brother, that is.”

      “Where is this comin’ from?”

      “I have the same plague that took our mother and siblings. It’ll take me tomorrow or another year from now. Before it does, I want you to know how proud I am of you.” His hand still clenched yours, shaking and soggy with sweat.

      “When I came to town,” he continued, “and I asked about you, there wasn’t a soul that could give you a bad name. No one could believe that you and I fell from the same tree. Every chance they took, they asked ‘Oh the sweet one from The Crystal Palace? She’s your sister? What happened to you?’ And every time they asked, well, I couldn’t be prouder. Knowin’ that you weren’t like me.”

      You clenched your lips together and you squeezed his hand back. Your breath shook, “You don’t have to put yourself down, John. I have loved you no matter what you’ve done. I just wish that you had the courage to tell me this when you’re sober, so I know you meant it.”

      Doc nodded in a circle, “Fair enough, I’d wager. I’ll make a promise to it.”

      His bright smile contradicted the dark circles under his eyes and his pasty tone. He always made those kinds of noble promises when you two were younger, until they were too hard to keep. Then he stopped promising all together. 

      Then he just left. 

      You wanted to believe him, but all you could mutter was, “If you say so, John.”

      The sound of the door’s bell rang in your ears. You patted your brother’s back and gently placed his hand on the table. You swallowed your heart back down and took a step back from him. The sting of his cheap promises had always hurt you deeply, and for just once, you wanted him to feel it too. To simply walk off without another word.

      And yet…

      “Well, don’t take too long then.” you relented, “Pardon me, John. I have to go.”

      Doc nodded and gestured to your destination with an open palm. With that, you left Doc in peace to attend to the new customers.

      Just as you reached the front, your steps screeched to a halt. 

      Johnny and two other Cowboys, Stillwell and Barnes, awaited to be seated.

      “Oh, look! The Georgia Peach is here today!” Stillwell grinned crookedly. 

      “No coincidence there, huh, Johnny?” Barnes chuckled, nudging Johnny elbow to elbow.

      “Hey there, sweetheart. Hope you’re not too busy?” Johnny asked, giving a short wave while rubbing his back.

      “I don’t knooow~,” you noted, as you looked around the fractionally empty restaurant, “It’s very busy in here today!”

      You waved them in and led them to the bar as you rounded the other side of it.

      “So what can I get you today, boys?” you asked as you leaned on the counter.

      “I’ll just have a beer.” Johnny raised his hand.

      “Don’t worry, Peach Pie, we’ll make ourselves at home in the back.” Stillwell thumbed at himself and Barnes.

      “Behave yourselves back there, boys!” you called as you filled Johnny’s pint. 

      “We promise.~” Barnes answered as the pair made a beeline for the gambling tables.

      “And what about you, handsome? How have you been?” you asked Johnny, sliding the cold beer his way.

      Johnny drank deeply from the mug and wiped the foam from his mustache, “I’ve been alright. What about you? How’s things been here today?”

      “I’m fine, thank you. And it hasn’t been too bad here, I would’ve thought it’d have been busier. On account of the nice weather and everythin’. Have you been keepin’ yourself busy?”

“I have, now that you’ve mentioned it. Me, Bill, Barnes, and Stillwell just got back from sellin’ some cattle that we found-”

      “Uh-uh! I don’t want to know, Johnny. You know how all that makes me worry about you.” you blurted out as you cleaned another glass, “I will have none of it, sir!”

      “Well,” he raised his brows and smiled, “aren’t you a box of matches?”

      You leaned back onto the counter, “Matches? That’s a new one. And pray tell, how am I a fire starter? Just because I worry about you?”

      “Yes, that, but you’re also bright, and,” Johnny leaned in closer to you, “you light my fire.”

      You rolled your eyes and let out a short laugh, “How charmin’! Did you learn that one from Mr. Brocius?”

      “Ahem, nah. He’s not the only Cowboy around here with charm.” Johnny replied confidently as he dusted off his knuckles.

------------------

      Just moments before entering the Crystal Palace, Curly Bill Brocius grabbed his right hand man’s shoulder.

      “Remember, Juanito, you wanna sweep her off her feet! Tell her that she lights your flame.” Curly Bill stared deeply into his other hand and wiggled his fingers to resemble a wispy ember.

      “You sure?” Johnny asked suspiciously.

      “Oh yeah! It works every time, it never gets old! They love that poetry stuff, it should be easy for you. I saw you readin’ that one feller, Vir-,V-, Virgin-”

      “Virgil?”

      “That’s the spice! Now go knock her bustle off!”

      Thud!

      Johnny hissed and rubbed his back as he, Stillwell and Barnes headed inside. Curly Bill, on the other hand, sauntered off on his own to cause a ruckus elsewhere.

------------------

      “Alright then, Romeo,” you chuckled, “What else have you been up to?”

      “So,” Johnny began, gulping down his beer, “after we were done with our, uh, business, I had some cash in my pocket to spend. Went lookin’ around in an antique store and found this.”

      He slipped his hand into his coat. With the finesse of a magician, a book sprang out from underneath. ‘Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque,’ was written on its spine, even though most of it had faded off.

      “Oh my goodness, did you get me a book by Poe?” You asked, feeling the rugged cover.

      Johnny nodded proudly, “The owner of the place swore it was an original copy too. I know how much you like romance. Thought it’d be the book for you.”

      Your hand grasped your chest, “Johnny, this had to have cost an arm and a leg!”

      He shook his head, “Nah, I know the guy. I brought ‘em a few trinkets here and there.”

      You clenched the book tightly, at a loss for words. You took his hand in yours and rubbed his scar covered fingers.

      “If I’m a matchstick, you must be a gas can, cause you’re always addin’ fuel to the fire.” you managed to say.

      You both leaned in closer, practically feeling the heat radiating off each other. The drumming of your heart could be felt from your fingertips to your earlobes.

      “And you were sayin’ I was talkin’ to Bill?” Johnny softly chuckled. 

      The two of you drew in closer, and closer, and then…

      CRASH!

      The sound of shattering glass brought the whole establishment to a bitter silence. Grunting and the squealing of chairs were coming from the back of the Palace. You feared for the worst as you made a mad dash for the gambling tables. When you turned the corner, you found Stillwell, on the ground, holding Doc by the collar. Barnes stood above both men, complacently monitoring with his arms crossed. 

      Kate watched uselessly behind him, but when she noticed you she called out, “They’re hurting him! Do something!”

      Stillwell shook Doc violently while barking, “Stay out of this, Peach! This lunger son of a bitch wants to act like he’s better than everyone else!”

      You reached out to break up the two, but were pulled back by the waist. Johnny stepped forward from behind with an ice cold stare. Barnes stepped back as Johnny made his approach.

      “Drop him, Stillwell.” Johnny bellowed.

      “But Johnny, he-”

      “Drop him.” 

      Stillwell snarled at Doc one last time, before letting loose of his grip. As the Cowboy rose to his feet, Barnes came to his side and patted his shoulder. They slowly staggered out, eyes full of disappointment, as if abandoned by him. Johnny too looked down, unable to watch them leave.

      Your brow furrowed and your hands shakily clenched into tight fists. What had started out as a blueprint for the perfect day in Tombstone, crumbled apart like stale bread. You whipped around to face your brother, but he still laid on the floor, unmoving. Foam gathered at the edges of his mouth.

      “Oh my God, John!” you cried out as you slid to his side. His pulse was faint and his breathing was shallow.

      “What’s wrong?” Johnny urged.

      “I don’t know, but he needs a doctor, right now!”

      Just then, your boss stumbled in, “What in the hell’s going on here, Holliday?!”

      “Here, help me and Johnny pick him up!” you grunted as you struggled to prop Doc up into a sitting position.

      Your boss took your place at Doc’s shoulders while you and Johnny each took a leg. All together, you heaved to raise Doc from the sticky floor. Looking around to find the best option for your footing, you noticed Kate was still at the tables. She shoveled several unearned bills and chips into her purse, while everyone was distracted.

      Your mouth was left agape with disgust. Here, the supposed love of her life was, possibly dying, and all she could think about was the piles of money left unattended. You didn’t expect her to fight The Cowboys head on, or even draw that little revolver of hers, with Barnes, just as equipped, watching over the ordeal. But the least she could do, you thought, was to keep focus on her ‘loving man’ rather than the money. If Doc wasn’t at risk of dying, you knew you’d fold her with more wrinkles than any of the bills she stuck in that bag.

      “Kate!” You implored, “Go get the doctor and meet us in the break room!”

      Kate rattled her head with a nod while sloppily zipping up her bag. She rushed off in a flash, and you four barged into the breakroom, much to the shock of the unsuspecting waitresses.

      “Get the hell out of the way!” your boss shouted while you all made your way to the sofa. 

      With Doc set to rest, your boss shooed your coworkers out. Johnny and you unbuttoned Doc’s shirt and dried off his sweat, each respectively. 

      Shortly thereafter, Kate returned with the local doctor. You, Johnny, your boss, and Kate waited outside as he gathered his prognosis.

      The Doctor emerged from the breakroom rubbing his sinus. As he adjusted his glasses, he asked, hoarsely, “May I assume that you are friends and family of Mr. Holliday?”

      “Unfortunately.” Johnny crossed his arms.

      “He’s my brother.” you sighed.

      “Oh, I just work here.” your boss shrugged.

      “He’s my loving man.” Kate clasped her hands, as you sneered back at her, “Is he gonna be alright, Doctor?”

      “He’ll be fine, nothing that some sulfur and hop couldn’t fix. However, his tuberculosis has severely advanced. I’m not one to assume a patient’s life choices, but I’d wager he doesn’t normally have a restful lifestyle, which is what he needs.” 

      Johnny hissed out a sigh and you nodded shamefully, Kate stiffened with a tight lip.

      The doctor smoothed back his receded hairline, “Right then. If you want him to have any chance at living past another six months, his lavish way of living must end. My best guess is less than a month, otherwise.”

      The group was silent, Johnny squeezed your hand and rubbed his thumb against it. You squeezed back as tight as you could, turning your knuckles pale. 

      Kate broke the silence when she said, in a low voice, “Can we see him? Is he awake?”

      “Yes, he’s awake. I’d recommend keeping it short though, he needs to be taken back to a bed and rest.”

      Kate brushed past the doctor into the breakroom, she closed the door behind her and you all could hear mumbling on the other side.

      “There’s my strong stallion…” you managed to hear. 

      The doctor craned his head over to you, “You said you were his sister, correct?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Good, his condition is nothing to snub a nose at. Mr. Holliday has given himself quite the reputation in this town, for his ceaseless search for money, alcohol, and cigarettes. Even if I didn’t believe a word of it, what I observed in that room would’ve changed my opinion instantly. Do watch him, because the rumors about Mr. Holliday aren’t about him alone.” The doctor thumbed back to the breakroom door, where Kate’s giggles emitted from. 

      “Thank you, Doctor.” you nodded as you shook his hand.

      “I’ll get outta your hair too now, Holliday. You got enough to worry about, just come in tomorrow.” your boss waved, taking the doctor with him back to the front. 

      You leaned against the wall with both hands. The very air stood on your shoulders with the weight of lead. It wasn’t as if you could’ve predicted the altercation itself, but with what the doctor said in regards to his alcohol use, and how you now contributed to it, you began to feel sick, knowing that you were right and still went against your better judgment, regardless. At least if you shooed him away, your conscience would’ve been cleared of this twisting poison that you felt. It became so overwhelming you could hardly even stand, but just as you were about to collapse, a familiar set of arms held you up by your waist.

      “It’s alright, everything’s gonna be ok.” Johnny whispered as he laid his head on your shoulder.

      “I don’t know, Johnny. I don’t think it will be. John will always do what he wants… but he’s the only one I have left.”

      “Well, don’t beat yourself up over his choices. He’s living the life he chose.”

      “I know, but that doesn’t change that I want what’s best for him. You’ve wanted what was best for somebody, right?”

      He hadn’t, not for a long time. He loved The Cowboys, in the closest way to loving a family. He mourned their deaths and honored them all like brothers. But, the simple fact remained that they all knew the price of being a Cowboy. The price of the freedom they all had, ultimately, was death. If a Cowboy hadn’t been gunned down by the law, it would be because, ‘he died for living too much.’ That was it, no conscience to say he was living too lavish or too dangerously. 

      “No. I hadn’t, but I do now.” he declared. He spun you around and embraced you tightly. You heard his chest pounding like a train engine, and he clasped you so intensely that your breathing shallowed. “He’s lucky to have someone like you.” 

      Oh that Johnny, he always did have a way with words, didn’t he? Your hands gently held his face as you softly touched his forehead to yours.

      “Don’t cut yourself short there, Cowboy.” 

      He laid his chin on top of your head, frozen in thought. It all seemed so obvious then. Of course you cared for him! 

      This whole time, Johnny felt like he had to watch his own back. Afterall, who had better interest in himself, than himself. He just assumed you were disinterested in his tales, despite you telling him how worried you were. It was easier to take it that way, rather than to believe the actual truth of the matter. In these unforgiving lands, where only the strong survived, why would anyone have pity for the likes of thieves and murderers like him. 

      It was inconceivable for someone like Doc Holliday to have someone love him in the most caring and truest sense, while squandering it. Johnny was sure that if he were in Doc’s place, he would never take advantage of it. And yet, here you were, never once hiding how much you cared about him, and Johnny had been willfully blind to it. 

      He stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, and said, “Guess I’m lucky to have you too.”

      Johnny couldn’t see your grin widening as you pressed against his coat. In a way, you felt lucky too. You couldn’t have met a better friend, and, well… maybe…

      Kate’s laugh resonated from the break room again, yanking you back from your thoughts. You could feel your shoulders droop as you released Johnny, “I should probably go find a wagon to take John home in.” Looking back towards the break room door, however, you exasperated, “I really don’t want to though.” 

      Exhaustion and guilt churned in your stomach. You wanted to take Doc home immediately so he could rest, but you didn’t want to deal with his stubbornness or his plus one all the way there. Not an hour ago, you had assumed he was well enough for at least one drink. Now, knowing him and how headstrong he is, he’d likely die within a couple of weeks. Without an ounce of shame on his face, at that. You really weren’t sure if you could keep yourself composed, should he or that- that cankerous jockey were to become unreasonable in any sense.

      Johnny could feel your frustration radiating off of you. Thinking fast, he looked around the hallway and spotted a lonely bench. He took you by the hand and sat you both on it.

      “Well, we don’t have to take him right now. A couple of minutes won’t kill ‘em.”

      Maybe he was right. Allowing you and Doc a moment of space to compose yourselves after the news was probably for the best. The only reply of acceptance you could give was to lean your head on his shoulder as Johnny wrapped his arm around yours.

------------------

      Thankfully, you were able to get Doc home without much of a fuss. Though, Johnny actively attempted to ignore both Doc and Kate, constantly reminding himself that he was helping you rather than them. All things considered, Doc had found himself oddly quiet during the trip and a couple days after. Johnny and you joked that the incident at the Crystal Palace had scared him straight. Although, in secret, you hoped it was true.

      Your boots dragged against the dirt road and your head hung in defeat. Initially, you had set off to get groceries and some suggested medication for your brother’s condition. While you were able to get the medicine, the local grocer had been robbed, again, and was closed for the day. With its closure, there was no point in staying in town. So you turned back and headed for home. 

      The suspicious stench of tobacco slinked about your front porch. If you told Kate once, you told her a thousand times, you didn’t mind if she smoked. The problem was to be sure it was away from Doc. You didn’t want his symptoms to be agitated, and you definitely didn’t want him hankerin’ for one of his vices. Perhaps another reminder was needed to set things straight.

      When you opened the front door, however, the smell grew even stronger.

      “John? Kate?” you called out. The house was quiet, pricking your nerves in its eerie silence. The floorboards groaned as you rushed over to your brother’s room. You could taste the nicotine as it flooded the air. 

      You swung Doc’s door open and were blindsided by the billowing bog of vapor. Doc laid in bed, underneath the cover, but pooled in sweat. In his hand a cigarette glowed, between his legs sat an ashtray and the ends of several others. Kate lazily leaned against him like an alley cat, her lips wrapped around a glass of liquor. 

      Your throat swelled shut as you managed to clamor, “What the hell is goin’ on here?!”

      “Well good afternoon, Sister. Glad to see shoppin’ brought you home so soon!” 

      “The grocer was robbed today.” you growled. 

      “Now ain’t that a pity,” Doc tsked as he took another drag, “Oh well, I do love whatever you make in that kitchen of yours.”

      “Enough games, John. The main reason I went to town today was to get you your medicine.” you explained, tossing the package of supplies onto his lap, “And I walk in to see you lookin’ like this. Why?”

      “I’m glad you asked.” Doc sat up more with a smile. “When I woke up this mornin’, Kate informed me that you had left for groceries. You should’ve seen it, I was right as rain. And this is how Kate and I decided to celebrate.”

      Your jaw trembled from how hard you clenched it, “John, you can’t live like this anymore. Kate, you heard the doctor, why did you bring him cigarettes and booze?”

      “If my lovin’ man says he’s feelin’ better, then he is!” Kate smirked curtly.

      Were you on the moon, in a mirror world, or had everyone gone mad?! You bit your lip hard enough to bleed, “Is that how you feel, John. Truly?”

      “Yes.” John said astutely.

      “FINE!” you exploded, the reverberation staggered both Doc and Kate. “Why should I keep carin’ when it’s obvious that you don’t care about yourself or me! All you give a damn about is money, booze and that big nosed floozy over there!”

      “Now sister! You’ve gone too-”

      WHAM!  

      You slammed the door before another word could be said.

      ‘I don’t need this,’ you said to yourself, ‘and I don’t need them either!’ Just as you were stomping out your front door, a bundle of colors caught your eye. You checked under your foot, before you stepped, and found a bouquet of colorful wildflowers, neatly stacked on top of a letter.

      You looked around, but there was no other soul to be seen. The paper crinkled as you unfolded the letter.

To Miss Holliday,

      These last couple of months with you have been some of the happiest I’ve had in years. I’ve been wanting to tell you how I’ve felt for a while now, but I could never find the words to say aloud. But I’ve thought of a poem that’ll show you what I mean.

      My sweetheart, with all the citrus

      In the needles of pine,

      How I’d give all the world’s

      Gold to make you mine.

.

      A tender sweetness than any

      Grape from the vine,

      More refreshing than water from an

      Olla; crisp and divine.

      On cold desert nights, you are

      My star that does brightly shine.

.

      Yes, my heart is captured

      Enraptured in your twine.

      So here in the sand

      Is where I draw the line.

      I have spoken from my soul

      Now I must hear you opine.

      By the end of the letter, tears had drifted onto your cheeks. A quivering smile graced your lips as you brought the letter close to your chest, eyes clenched shut. You choked down the sobs that threatened to escape your throat. Breathing through your nose slowly, you opened your eyes again with affirmation. You set the letter and flowers down on the end table next to the front door, and headed out to find Johnny.

      Marching forth with determination, you had a sense of clarity that wasn’t present since Doc’s health scare. So, to Hell with him and Kate too. Why not spend time with someone who actually appreciated you?

      While you were burning a trail towards town, Doc and Kate were still locked in shock from your outburst. He looked to the still smoldering end in his hand, then to the medical package that sat in his lap. Contempt locked his mouth to one side as he breathed out of his nostrils. He extinguished the cigarette butt, then got out of the covers.

      “What are you going to do?” Kate asked as she slid to the edge of the bed.

      “What do you think?” Doc grunted as he limped out of the room. Perhaps you were right about his condition. He had woken up just about able to jump out to bed. But now, he felt like he’d crawled out of a frozen river, with even his clothes weighing him down.

      By the time he reached the front door, he realized you were long gone. And then he saw the flowers, and underneath them, a letter. His hand was held close to his chest, failing to resist his curiosity. With a roll of his fingers, he peeled the letter open and began to read. 

      That slimy snake, Johnny Ringo. Of course he would take advantage of Sister’s good nature, he thought to himself. Nobody, but a Cowboy, a rotten crook would impose himself upon a situation that would gain him favor in some way. Doc had to do something about it.

      “Darlin’,” he called back, “get the horse and my holster.”

------------------

      The streets were heavy with people and The Cowboys watched them pass by. 

      “So Juanito,” Curly Bill spat into the sand, “how’d your girl like your poem?”

      Johnny leaned against his horse as he pondered aloud, “I don’t know. I hope she likes it though.”

      “Oh no, Johnny! You just left it? How ya gonna know what she thinks?”

      “We see each other all the time. I think she’d tell me when she’s ready.”

      “Still though, I’d want to know what my girl thought when she saw it, if it were me.” Curly Bill shrugged.

      “Looks like you’re gonna find out now, Johnny.” Ike Clanton flicked a look towards the crowd with a grin.

      You emerged from the sea of people with a shy smile. The blood in your fingers turned white from how hard you wrung them. What bravado you had, washed away when you saw the back of Johnny’s hat while you were still in the crowd. The unblinking stares of The Cowboys certainly did not help matters.

      “Hey, Matches! How you doin’?” Johnny smiled brightly.

      “Hey, Johnny! Um, do you mind if we go for a walk?”

      A couple of The Cowboys whooed and murmured amongst themselves.

      “HEY! SHUT YOUR MOUTHS!” Curly Bill hollered at his nosey onlookers before turning to you and Johnny, “Don’t mind us, we’re talkin’ about somethin’ else. Enjoy your date, Juanito!”

      Johnny’s tongue clicked as he hurried you on his horse. He snapped the reins and sped the both of you away. Whistles and cheers could be heard behind you despite Curly Bill’s efforts to stifle them.

      “They’re too much sometimes.” Johnny muttered under his breath, much to your amusement. 

      One thing you learned from your trips with Johnny, was how much nature surrounded the town. Whenever you went for a walk or a picnic, there was always a fresh field, a mountain top, or a tree’s shade to enjoy. While your first trip into the valley in bloom had a special place in your heart, it always felt like a new experience. 

      However, this was different, and you both knew it. There was a nervousness to the quietude that was so stifling, neither of you could find the courage to speak. Nature itself shared the sentiment, there were no birds singing, nor leaves rustled in the bushes.

      Click-Click

      Click-Click

      Click-Click

      The hoof steps of Johnny’s horse were ever present, however. Sounding to the beat of a keratin covered heart, the humble creature unknowingly brought you uneasiness.

      Click-Click

      Click-Click

      Click-Click

      It was unnoticeable at first, and for most of the ride. But now it was constant and its sound couldn’t be drowned out. You didn’t want to be dramatic, however with no other noise to be heard, you felt like you needed some form of relief. With a bit of hesitation, you licked the dryness from your lips. Just as you were about to ask Johnny to stop, another sound drifted in from the backdrop. 

      The white noise sounded like the dead air of a phonograph. Its fuzzy buzzing did bring calmness to you, but replaced it with curiosity. It sounded so familiar, and yet, it just escaped you. But as you drew closer, its pitter pattering rhythm had clicked all the pieces together. Running water! 

      Out from the dead and drying bushes, suddenly sprang green and vibrant foliage. As you rounded it, the source of the sudden greenage became clear. A waterfall spouted from the twisted and serpentine roots of the oasis. Even the bedrock that held up the waterfall had been molded into stalactites that were virtually indistinguishable from the plants it supported. And coating it all was a thin layer of moss that somehow prospered, despite its hellish setting. Through its various textures and forms, the environment almost became a single organism, breathing and slumbering eternal peaceful dreams.

      The shimmering emerald in the desert held you under such a spell, you had barely even noticed Johnny lowering you from his horse. At the foot of the waterfall, sat a rippling creek with turquoise water. You slipped off your boots and dipped your toes at the water’s edge. Despite the warm weather, the running water had kept the pond cool. You could have just jumped in if you had a bathing suit with you. 

      Johnny’s presence manifested behind you as he asked, “What’cha think?”

      “Johnny, it’s beautiful. How do you keep findin’ these places?”

      “I keep tellin’ ya, when ya gotta lotta free time on your hands ya just sort of stumble into them.”

      “I suppose it helps if you got know how. ‘Specially someone who sleeps outdoors regularly.”

      “I think you’d like it if you gave it a try.” Johnny nudged you.

      “Oh I would! I know I would, that’s one of the reasons why I came here. Yes, I came here when I heard of the silver mine and prospect too, but there was a sense of freedom and opportunity to this land. They say Tombstone will be just as big as Los Angeles and San Francisco in a few years, and I don’t doubt it. But to be here and see it still untamed has been breathtakin’.

      “Not to mention, you and well, even my brother are both free from the chains of city life. I may not agree with what you both do, and John, he may be flawed for sure, but I can respect livin’ by your own rules rather than what society tells you to.

      “He’s been that way since he was young, ‘specially since our mother died. Our father remarried only a couple of months after her funeral… and that never sat right with John.”

      You looked deeply into the pond and swirled your finger through it. Johnny peered into the same spot you were, almost as if he saw the memories you did reflected in it.

      “What about you?” He asked, taking a quick glance.

      “I tried to, but I suppose it never sat right with me as well. I haven’t spoken to our father since I left for Tombstone. I reckon I don’t plan on it either.

      “When John left, he would write to me all the time, tellin’ me all about his progress in dentistry. But when he was diagnosed with his condition, the same that took our mother and our other two siblings, our letters slowed to a crawl. He would promise me that one day he would pick me up and we’d be free to find our future for ourselves. But he never did, so… I did it for myself. I had hoped when I sent him that letter, that he would come and we could be a family again. But, well, uh… sorry! I’m just ramblin’ now.” you laughed in an attempt to change the subject.

      Johnny took a smooth black stone from the ground and inspected it. With a snap of his wrist he sent the stone skipping across the pond’s rippled surface. 

      “You know,” Johnny began, “I left my family when my old man passed too, guess I was a foolhardy kid. Tried to go back and see them, but they wanted no part of me either. But I don’t think they ever knew what it was like when he… uh…”

      A wave of rigidity enveloped Johnny’s form. The only true sense of life to him was seen in his darting eyes and his tongue swishing inside his cheek.

      You placed your hand on his back, “What happened?”

      “I don’t know what really happened. We were headin’ out West and found a spot to stretch our legs from being cooped in the wagon all day. He took the shotgun to make sure the spot was all clear and I trailed behind him. I don’t know if he twisted his ankle, or he held the gun too tight. When he stepped off that wagon, I heard a bang, and he was gone. Gone in a cloud of red.

      “He was a pastor. Kinda shrewd, I heard, but he meant well. He loved all of us though and tried to keep us straight laced. He’d tell us that the Lord has a plan for all of us, that there’s purpose in all of it. Well, I’m still tryna find what the purpose was in him being taken like that. If there even is a reason for all of it, that is. 

      “Seems strange for the divine to take a kid’s dad. To have him see a less deserving man’s face that way, or what was left of it anyway.

      “I guess, even more strange, is a family abandoning one of their own when he needed them most.”

      Johnny’s story pierced your heart like a steel javelin. You knew how much of a good person he could be. Sure, he could’ve made better lifestyle choices, but he certainly tried around you. Was the way in which Johnny’s family treated him the same as how you had been treating Doc? Were you pushing Doc away when he needed you most, as well? 

      Worry gripped your heart and began to strangle it. You asked yourself, ‘So, there was somethin’ more I had to do for my brother? What else could I possibly do to make him understand that somebody cares?’ Just as your mind began to spin…

      “Huh, thinkin’ over it now…” Johnny pondered aloud as he rose to skip another stone, “Maybe… I was askin’ too much of ‘em.” 

      “How do you figure that?”

      “When I left, I was still a boy and I hadn’t returned until a couple of months before you came. What I had done, for better or for worse, had all reached my folks long before I even thought about going back. I had thought that I could go back. But as far as they knew, I was a monster wearing their Johnny’s clothing. 

      “They all lost Pa that day too, and not a single one of ‘em else killed a man except for me. They continued being good, honest folk after seeing his face, like I did. They all moved on and kept believin’, and… I just couldn’t.

      “All the crimes I’ve done, not once had He struck me down for it. Made me wish He did when Ma closed the door on me. Only thing I could do then was realize that I couldn’t blame anyone except myself.”

      While you still ached for your brother, Johnny’s recollection had brought your heart a bit more at ease. You wanted to do everything you could for Doc, and even set him on the right path if you could. But the fact of the matter was, he didn’t even want to help himself. He made that very clear that morning. Regardless of your intentions, it ultimately was up to him to decide how he lived. 

      Perhaps, you pondered to yourself, Doc… wasn’t planning on living much longer. Maybe he was just planning to have a bit more fun before he was gone. The thought alone almost made you sick, and yet, if it was his choice, who were you to say otherwise, if his condition really was so unbearable? You just wished he tried more with the time he had left. 

      Glancing to your Cowboy, you concluded that, yes, you wished Doc tried more, like Johnny did.

      “Yes, you don’t always make the best choices, Johnny. Despite my worries.” you nodded as you slid your boots back on, “I don’t like where you get your money or how you get it, and I’m sure I don’t like who you get it from, either. It doesn’t make sense that you have such a good head on your shoulders and still live the life that you live. But, when you take your time out of your day to walk me to and from work, to share your interests with me and listen when I share mine, when you stood up for my womanhood, when you kept The Cowboys from hurtin’ my brother, despite what may have transpired, when you were there for me when I was told my brother was going to die, and you helped me through it, every step of the way; Mr. John Peters Ringo, I’d reckon you’d ought to keep things in perspective.”

      Johnny’s back was turned towards you, his coat billowed gently with the breeze. You awaited his response, but it was too long for your tastes. 

      You stepped up beside him and gave him a short shove with your hip, and he stumbled a few soggy steps into the water. His boots and pants were soaked and he looked to you with clenched teeth from the sudden chill. However, your smug grin ignited him like red to a bull. 

      He sprinted towards you, leaving you no time to scramble away. Scooping you up onto his shoulders, he waded back to the pond and hung you over the cold, crisp water. You squeaked as you pleaded, “Johnny Ringo, don’t you dare!” 

      That same smug grin you had was reflected on him, and then he let go. You thought you fell into the water, but the cold never came. You fluttered one eye open and saw you were still safe in his arms.

      “Got’cha, didn’t I?” he smirked down at you. A scoff and a quick slap to his chest was all the answer he needed and began walking you back to dry land.

      Before you could walk away, Johnny pulled you back to him by your wrist. Tripping over yourself, you fell into his chest. He secured you in his arms and gently hugged you.

      “Hey, thanks for all that. I needed it.” he whispered as he placed his cheek on your forehead.

      A heartfelt smile graced your lips and you settled into his embrace. Your eyes closed as you hummed, “You have been the best thing that has happened to me since I’ve met you.”

      And perhaps, that was what Johnny wanted to hear all his life, to be needed by someone as much as he needed them. You felt his breaths become heavy and strained. He gripped you so intensely, that his fingers stung your back. You felt him struggling while his throat constricted and his eyes were painfully shut tight, barely containing this flood of feeling he’d never had. 

      Though you weren’t sure if you could comprehend fully how he felt, your own heart swelled. When Johnny revealed this side of himself to you, you saw visions of primordial metaphors, messages even the most humble of beasts understood. To yearn for a touch and not just feel pain or lust. For someone else to hold his heart, whose chains wrung out his back from its weight. For another to witness the brilliance of his burning soul and not be blinded by it, that is what love is to a man.

      In time, his pain subsided and his arms unfurled from holding you. He let out a short embarrassed laugh while thumbing his nose, but you smiled genuinely. There was nothing to be embarrassed about, and you were overjoyed that he trusted you enough with such a moment.

      “I just want you to know,” he began, “it was nice to have a reason to wake up in the morning.”

      “Oh?”

      “Yeah, it was nice to wake up, wash up, and walk you to work. If I didn’t have work to do myself, I’d go back to camp and read something you got for me. Then when the day ended, I looked forward to walking you home and doing it all again the next day. Before you came along, I didn’t find myself the chance to read as much as I wanted to, even though it was my favorite pastime. Really, I didn’t have a reason for much of anything until you got here.”

      For a man who seemed to live by his own rules, it sounded like he put a lot of effort into making his schedule around you.

      “It’s nice workin’ at the Crystal Palace,” you nodded, meeting his green eyes to yours, “everyday is a new adventure. It’s always another cast of colorful characters. But, my favorite part of the day, too, was gettin’ to see you at the end of my shift every time.”

      An invisible force, beyond your comprehension, pulled you both together. Once again, you shared an embrace with both of your hearts pulsing to the same beat.

      “So,” Johnny whispered into your ear, “what did you think about my letter?”

      “Did you mean it?” you whispered back.

      “Every word of it.”

      “Then…” you concluded as you motioned his face in front of yours, “let me hear you say it.”

      “I love you.”

      “I love you too.”

      Though the sun still stood in the sky, you swore you saw stars through your kiss. The waterfall became soundless and you could see the individual flaps of a butterfly’s fluttering wings. As your eyes closed, an energy resonated through your body that was impossible to describe. It was like warming your hands next to a stove after a cold snap, or a refreshing drink after a blistering day. 

      The area around his mouth was abrasive, stinging your lips when you missed his, but tickling when you landed on his mustache. His lips, on the other hand, were soft and tender. You found it similar to biting into a prickly pear. Even if the spines were removed, the surface could still be bristly. However, the fruit itself, sweet and invigorating. 

      Your hands snaked up towards his shoulders, and as he adjusted himself to accommodate you, his hat fell to his back, revealing his fine, satiny hair. Running your fingers through it, to your surprise, it was hardly as coarse as you thought it’d be. To the contrary, it was like silk, feathery even.

      Your attention was brought to his hands when he tightly grasped your arms. His fingers seemed almost wooden, from a life hard lived. And yet, despite this, his touch was loving, and much more adoring than they would imply. He reached lower, strumming up and down your back, causing you to shiver.

      When Johnny held your arms, he felt goosebumps forming on your skin. Despite the long, hard hours you worked, to him, you still seemed delicate, and he took extra care to be gentle. You felt cold to his touch, but as he continued to hold you, he could feel your heat from your heart resonating underneath.

      Closing his eyes as well, Johnny saw flashes of red emerging from the darkness. The experience reminded him of fireworks without the smell of gunpowder.

      It transfixed Johnny with fascination, as it was like the mechanical components of the entire universe ticked along like cogs in a clock. And like such a complex mechanism, reaching its apex point at the twelfth hour, so too did the stars and planets align for that moment. Once the moment passed, these components resumed their typical functions, and normality returned.

      When your eyes opened again, the sun had turned the sky orange and purple. You released yourselves from that explosive moment, while panting and with wobbly legs. You leaned into each other, gathering your bearings, when you touched one another’s forehead in consolidation.

      Vulnerability swept over you, like a herbivore fleeing from the hunt. Your stomach was dropping as if you were staring off the edge of a cliff. Despite feeling this instinctual sensation, however, the thrill only made you desperately want to go back and continue where you left off with him. Perhaps just… a bit more, even?

      Such intrusive thoughts added shame to your already stewing goulash of emotions. You weren’t that kind of girl, so why were you in such a conflict with yourself?

      Johnny had a glint in his eye as he, too, hungered for more. Yet, your indecisiveness was palpable. He rubbed his neck and clenched his teeth, as he smoothed his hair back up for his hat. When his lady fair is ready, after all.

      You, on the other hand, weren’t looking to spoil the mood. Even then, when you stepped forward, motioning him with a tilt of your head, his gaze softened. The glint from his eyes vanished and he shook his head slowly.

      “We ain’t gotta.” he hummed as he placed his hands on your shoulders, kissing your forehead.

      The boiling cauldron of emotions was extinguished by his integrity. Its weight, all of it, vanished. Your mouth twisted up into a sheepish, yet grateful, smile, “Thank you.”

      He nodded with a half grin of his own. Needing to satiate himself somehow, Johnny pulled out a cigarette and match. As the black smoke filled his lungs, he leaned against a rock and waved for you to sit on a stone right next to him.

      The stone’s cold surface made your body clench when you took a seat upon it. Once again, silence had bewitched the both of you. While the silence was once welcomed, it seemed that recently, there was always tension within it. You had thought, once you both have had your feelings for each other recognized, that the heaviness would subside. Yet, there you were, the question popped, and it felt like you were still at the starting line.

      It was so asinine, so absurd… that you started to laugh.

      “What is it?” Johnny asked, catching your contagious chuckle.

      “What are we doin’, Johnny?” you happily sighed.

      “What do you mean?”

      “Why are we actin’ like a pair of school children?”

      Johnny paused for a moment, then replied, “I guess, for me, it was ‘cause I never had something like this before.”

      You nodded, “That’s fair, I can’t say that I’m not in the same boat. But let’s not waste time worryin’, when we can be enjoyin’ ourselves as we did before today.”

      Johnny sighed with smoke pooling from his nostrils, “Yeah. I can get behind that.”

      He leaned further back onto the rock he perched himself upon and looked up to the first stars of the sky. 

      “So,” Johnny inquired, “know any of them constellations?”

      “Only a couple of the big ones, The Dippers, Orion, and such. Ever dabbled with zodiacs and horoscopes?”

      He pshawed, “I don’t believe in that hogwash.”

      “I didn’t say I believed in it! I just think it’s fun, is all.” You insisted with a light push. 

      Your combined laughter trailed into the wind, and you continued to enjoy each other’s companionship, while there was still light in between the stars.

------------------

      The purple and orange sky had long since vanished into the night. Outside of a few gaslit street lamps, Tombstone was surprisingly absent of the usual nightlife. There weren’t even any lights coming from your own cottage upon your approach.

      Nevertheless, the eeriness of it all couldn’t take away the wonderful time you had with Johnny. In fact, the solitude of the sleeping town had its own charm, in a way. It was as if the two of you were the only inhabitants of the entire town; or the entire world, at that. 

      You tiptoed up your porch with Johnny trailing behind. You weren’t trying to attract any unwanted attention to yourself and him, nor disturb anyone within your own household.

      “Why are we being so mousy?” Johnny whispered.

      “We’re not, I just don’t want to be rude.” you assured him as you pulled out your house key, carefully unlocking the door. “It’s very late, are you sure you wouldn’t want to stay in one of my spare rooms?”

      “That’s nice of you. But I’d rather not, I don’t want problems with your brother in the morning.”

      You were disappointed, but more so, you felt guilty for Johnny. You felt as though he shouldn’t have had to be at the mercy of Doc’s whims, especially since it was your house at the bottom line. Relenting the thought, you gave Johnny a tight hug while sighing, “Well, be safe on your way back to camp, you hear?”

      “I’ll try.” Johnny teased as he placed one last kiss on your lips.

      After a deep hug, you shared your goodbye’s and waved as Johnny galloped off into the sleepy desert. 

      Sneaking past the front door, you shuffled into the front room, stepping over the floorboards that creak. Before you could make it to your room, a presence within the room froze your blood cold.

      “Good evenin’, sister.”

      A piercing scream rang out from your throat, as you jumped towards the door. Your eyes were still adjusting to the darkness, when you finally recognized the voice.

      “John? What are you doin’ sittin’ here in the dark… again?” you asked with a hand clenching your heart.

      “Waitin’ for my Dear Sister’s return, again.” Doc noted while lighting a lantern, “You were out for a long time with Johnny Ringo, I presume.”

      “You would presume correct.” you replied, crossing your arms. ‘I suppose it was a blessin’ in disguise that Johnny decided against stayin’.’

      Though expressionless, you saw Doc’s grip tightening on the arm of the sofa, “I presume you both waltzed off as friends, again?”

      “Not anymore.”

      “Come again?”

      “Unlike my own brother, and his tramp, Johnny tries his best by me. He always had, and…” you sucked in a mouthful of air, “and I love him for it.”

      Doc arose from his chair slowly and blinked with the eyes of a cold-blooded crocodile. With nothing else to say, he slithered back into his den, without another sound.

      This small victory could’ve lifted you off the floor with joy. ‘If only Johnny was here to see it!’ you thought as you blew out the lantern for the night.

Hey! Just so you guys know, I have a Ko-Fi available. If you guys enjoy my work, please don’t hesitate in supporting my stuff by buying me a Coffee.🤠

[squeakyfir]

I'm your huckleberry (Tombstone 1993) (Doc Holliday)

Description:

The joys of modern inventions and miracles are often taken for granted. Your hungry or thirsty? Get something from the fridge or make it. You need to go somewhere? Drive or call an uber. Your hurt? Go to the doctor.

Your bored? Watch a movie, play video games, watch videos on the internet, talk to people without ever leaving your house.

Some much time is in our hands... but back in the 19th century... you wouldn't last very long.

Diseases are rampant, gun violence is higher, no modern technology, barely any good medicine, almost all of your favorite food doesn't exist and most of the people are rude as hell. But... That doesn't mean all of them were so bad. Love was not something most people in this time really cared about. At least, in the town of Tombstone, Arizona.

After falling asleep with a nice looking stone you bought at a small stand at the carnival, your whole world becomes the opposite. Six people from the past discover you unconscious and alone in the blistering heat and offer help but it was their help that let you meet the most amazing man you've ever met.

John Henry "Doc" Holliday.

Chapter 1

Next

Time is not a thing, but it keeps things in balance, and it never stops. You learn new things every day. Like today, you bought a ticket to go to the local carnival and once you entered, you started to regret the decision. There was a lot of people, more than you can handle, and it was still a bit damp from the rain earlier. The sounds of people talking, the cliche carnival music and game sounds were definitely a sight to see.

The carnival also had small kiosks and shop stands. There was one doing face paints and another selling cheap jewelry. But there was one that caught your eye. It was definitely out of place for all of the bright and flashy colors of the carnival. It was illuminated with dark orange light and had a small sign that read, "Mrs. Hatches shop".

No one was there and from strictly looking at it, it looked like a witch shop. It was a bit odd for it to be here but you still went towards it. The strong smell of incense burners and herbs were very potent and made the little shop very eerie.

"Hello" you called out.

"Aah, a customer"! An old voice said. "Come in my dear".

"Who's there"? A shadow moved from the corner and as it stepped into the light, a very old lady with a wooden cane came forward. She was a bit shorter than you and her skin was very pale with veins appearing near the surface. Her gray hair was put up in a bun loosely with loose hairs being freed and she wore and black woven dress with what appeared to be an emerald ring. "I am" she said as gently as she could. "Who might you be"?

"Uhh... I'm (Y/n)".

The old woman quickly took your hand and examined it. "What are you doing"?

"Reading your palm".

"Ok, great" you said in a slight sarcastic tone, "But please don't touch me".

"Hold still now" she said like a mother scolding her child. "Hmmm... Oh yes, yes, yes! How wonderful"!

"What? What's so wonderful"?

"When I read people's palms, I can tell what their fortune is".

"What is it" you asked curiously.

"Come, I will show you"! She quickly went over to a table that became visible when she lit an old oil lamp. On the table was a glass sphere sitting on a marble stand. "Let me guess" you said sarcastically, "A crystal ball"?

"I know people believe that these are not accurate but I assure you my child, this is what it seems to be". She motioned for you to come sit and you hesitantly did. "What's your name, anyways" you asked.

"Glinda Hatches"! As soon as she said her name she rubbed the glass sphere and smoke appeared inside the sphere and was illuminated with white light. "Wow".

"Now, you may ask one question".

"Why only one"?

"The first question is free but any other questions will cost $5".

"What"?

"That'll be $5 since you already asked two questions-"

"Alright alright alright"! You sighed and you did have cash on you but you were gonna save that for some funnel cakes but after seeing this, you were still very curious. You couldn't think of anything. "Would you like some suggestions"?

"Sure".

"You can ask things such about your family, your past life, your soulmate, you can see things that you can't remember-"

"Wait" you said interrupting her. "Did you just say soulmate"?

Glinda grinned. "Would you like to see you soul mate"?

"Sure".

Glinda rubbed the glass sphere and you muttered, "This should be interesting". The light inside the sphere turned bright white and revealed an image of a man with a black hat, a short-hair moustache and goatee. His skin looked really pale but he looked like a very capable man. "Ooh, he's cute".

"Oh my" Glinda said, "I have never seen this before".

"Seen what"?

"Your soulmate is already dead" Glinda said in disbelief.

"How is that possible? That doesn't make sense". You looked back at the image of the man. "Who is he anyways"?

"His name is John Henry Holliday. As in Doc Holliday. He was a famous gunslinger and poker player".

"Ooh, I like him already! But how is he my soul mate if he's already dead"?

"I'm not sure. But hold on, I have something that may help you". Glinda stood up and rushed over to small chest rummaging around inside. While she was doing that, you took in the features of your supposed "soulmate". He looked very serious and you could see his eyes, he looked so tired. It looked as if his eyes had dark circles around them. He was truly interesting and you decided to Google more information about him but Glinda came back before you could and handed you a small stone.

"This will help you".

The stone was white with black blotches on it and was smoothed out with a silver frame around it. "How does this help me"?

"When used correctly, it will bring your soulmate to you".

"Uh-huh. Sure" you said sarcastically.

"Do you want it or not" Glinda asked.

"Well" you examined the stone and decided that it was good enough for a necklace at least. "Ok. I'll take it".

"Great"! Glinda gave you the stone and said, "That'll be 35$".

"WHAT!? Why"!?

"Remember what I said, 5$ per question". You knew you only had 20$ cash but the rest would be paid with a card. You were about to deny the purchase but you saw a literal crystal ball and had a feeling that everything she has shared with you was factual. "Do you accept credit and debit"?

"Yes, here". She pulled out a chip reader and charged you the exact amount but then had the nerve to push a glass jar near your hand that read "Tip Jar".

"Are you serious"?

"This is how I make my living" she said honestly.

"Tell you what" you said, "If this really does work, I'll come straight back here and give you a 100$ tip".

"Will you" she asked doubtfully.

"I will, I promise". You took your card back and left. That was all your cash and some of your money from your card but you decided to just go home. You were very confused. Going through the large crowd of people to get back to your car felt like an eternity. You would just go home and sleep instead. When you got into your car, you examined the stone more closely, it really was a nice stone and you think you could actually make a necklace out of it. You just put it in the pocket on the dashboard and drove home.

It didn't take long to get home and you were greeted by your dog, Gracie, a golden retriever. Happy to see you as always. You didn't even bother to change into your pajamas and fell onto your bed with Gracie quickly joining you and plugging your phone into your solar panel phone charger. It was odd to have that but your original charger was broken and this solar panel charger had back up power on it to still keep itself powered. You examined the stone on your bed under the dimmed light from the moon and just fell asleep with it in your grasp.

Not knowing, it would literally change your life...

[safarigirlsp]

The Museum Beast

Historian Nicholas Mills x OC

Word Count: 13.8k

Warnings: NSFW. Smut. Horror. Lots of Violence. Gore. Chasing. Monster Action. This is heavily inspired by one of my favorite novels, Relic. If you like any of this, I highly encourage you to read it!

I’m willing to continue this and write more if people like it!

Note: Going forward, I'm going to write characters from now on instead of Readers just because it's really annoying trying to switch back and forth for the non-fic writing I do. However, the female characters will be totally physically vague aside from having a name, so they can still easily be read as an insert by anyone who chooses to insert themselves.

Based on two requests I combined then butchered from @iamburdened and @queeniebee

AO3 Link

Two of the world’s tallest free-standing dinosaurs were frozen mid-battle in the Theodore Roosevelt Rotunda on the second floor of the New York Museum of Natural History. In dramatic repose, a Barosaurus reared to protect its young from an attacking Allosaurus. The skeletal titans made the browsing museum patrons look like ants milling at their feet. Alice was never unable to walk past the dinosaurs without craning her neck upward to admire their towering presence. The great saurians were much more interesting to focus on than the throng of chattering primates that inhabited the museum during business hours. Walking through the past with her heels echoing on tile hallways that stretched the length of city blocks, she allowed herself to be distracted by the jungle of extinct species giving life to their dioramas. From the tiny, feathered dinosaur skeleton displayed in a dramatically lit shadow box to the gigantic open jaws of a megalodon framing the entrance to an adjoining hallway, there was always something interesting that caught her eye.

If she walked briskly it was a decent cardio session to make her way to the North American section of the museum. A special exhibit had just opened, an exhibition on the American Old West. It had all the good stuff. Cowboys, gunslingers, train robbers, mountain men, and miners. The exhibit was livelier curated than most, or maybe the subject simply lent itself to action and movement. Standing guard on either side of the entrance were the wax likenesses of Buffalo Bill, wearing his original buckskin outfit, bedazzled with fringe and conchos, and Sitting Bull, dressed in a magnificent headdress boasting a rainbow of colors in its plumage. In one corner was a round table of wax men dressed in full regalia, engaged in a heated poker game. A man with luxurious curly hair sat with his back facing the audience, displaying his hand of aces and eights, the famous Dead Man’s Hand, held by ‘Wild’ Bill Hickock when he was gunned down. The mural painted in the corner Hickock faced even showed the characteristic swinging doors of a saloon, being pushed open by a man with a gun in his hand and murder in his eyes. In another corner ‘Hanging’ Judge Parker sat at his desk, writing in his ledger, backlit by a mural of a man swinging from the gallows outside his office window.

Alice was delighted to see some of the famous men of the old west depicted in less obvious settings than gunfights. These exploits were detailed in paintings that supplemented the exhibits and dozens of informative plaques, but many characters were shown in niche exposes that spoke to the true enthusiasts among the visitors.

The most famous lawman of all, Wyatt Earp, was depicted indulging in his guilty pleasure of gambling with his notoriously beautiful actress wife playing right alongside him as she smoked a cigar. Instead of being shown in his best-known role as Wyatt Earp’s right hand in the infamous Tombstone events, Doc Holliday was portrayed as a suave gentleman, dressed in a fancy brocade vest and cravat, focused on the smiling attentions of his consort, Big-Nosed Kate. The deadliest outlaw of all and likely psychopath John Wesley Hardin was shown lounging on a dirty bunk inside a jail cell. He was intently focused on a large law book. After serving his time, he turned from gunfighting to the practice of law. The plaque detailing his exploits explained tongue-in-cheek that he had traded the illegal form of lawlessness for the legal alternative.

Ample attention was also given to women of note. From saloon owners to cut-throat madams, women’s stories were interspersed with the male narrative. There was of course a display devoted to Calamity Jane, dressed as a man and just as dangerous. Prominently featured was the lesser known but equally successful outlaw Belle Starr, shown wearing a pretty red dress while brandishing a six-gun astride her huge, coal-black horse, Venus. The most famous woman of all, and arguably one of the most iconic figures of the Old West, Annie Oakley, was given a full diorama of her own. A wax figure depicted the pint-sized sharpshooter holding a rifle as she aimed for the cigarette held between her husband’s lips.

An armory worth of firearms from the period were on display. From iconic Colt .45 revolvers and Winchester 30-30 lever action rifles to unique pieces like tiny six-barreled pepper-box derringers and huge Sharps rifles, there were enough firearms to lay siege to a small country. It was befitting for the period, when a man’s gun and his horse were the best friends he could ever have. Without either, a man’s lifespan would likely be reduced to weeks or even days.

The exhibition hall was spacious, even with a veritable herd of visitors milling through it like buffalo on the plains. School children raced through the halls and between dioramas as unchecked as packs of coyotes, while their teachers and handlers tried in vain to wrangle them under control. It was afternoon and most groups were on their final turn around the exhibits before leaving. A few pairs of surly teenagers lingered on the sidelines, looking like they were trying to find a place to whip out a cigarette to enhance their cool, and probably having escaped their own class trip from some other section of the vast museum. Despite the chaos the minors instigated, snippets of intelligent conversation also fluttered around the room.

In an attempt to avoid the class field trips, Alice moved to an adjacent room inside the sprawling exhibit. This spacious room was devoted to art of and from the period, Native American weavings and pottery, animated bronze sculptures, and vibrant oil paintings. The more sedate nature of the art exhibits appealed to a more sedate crowd, unable to hold the interest of children and teenagers. The only other people in the art room were an elderly couple, a group of three college-age people who looked like modern beatniks, and one impressively built man standing off to one side, studying the plaque of a detailed mural-size painting.

Alice couldn’t help but appraise the man discreetly as he stood quartering away from her. He was tall and broad, his robust physique apparent through his flannel shirt and jeans. Even from her angle, she could tell his features were strong and masculine. Dark hair curled around his collar and his strong stubble-covered jaw flexed as he read, his bright eyes darting quickly over the text. She wondered briefly about approaching him – men that attractive were rare to find out in the wild – but it struck her as ridiculous to approach the man like she was in a bar and ask him if he came here often. Rolling her eyes inwardly at herself, she turned her attention toward the opposite wall and a painting of a painfully skinny man riding an equally emaciated white horse on a moonlight night.

It was rewarding when out of the corner of her eye she saw the man turn and pause just to look at her. The man glanced toward the doorway leading back into the main exhibit then back at her, seeming to decide whether or not he too wanted to risk making an ass of himself with a clumsy come-on in an art exhibit. Alice fought to hide her smile when he made his decision in her favor.

The handsome man sidled up to her, his approach practiced and laissez-faire. His shoulders were squared and his stride confident, but he angled across the exhibit hall from the side, his eyes fixed on the oil paintings instead of his prize, like a lion casually strolling by a gazelle to gauge distance before an attack. There was an impulse to turn to him with an accusatorily arched eyebrow to show she was onto him. But he was attractive enough to give him the benefit of the doubt. Being pursued added a certain spice to the air, after all. With his large hands in his pockets and his posture confident but relaxed, he dripped with top notes of James Dean and undertones of Clint Eastwood.

“Frederick Remington,” the man read the artist’s name when he stopped beside her. He was a full head taller and his voice was deep and a little gravely, barely tinged with a Western drawl. “I think my dad has one of his 30.06 rifles.”

Alice hoped he was teasing, that there were a few active brain cells sparking inside that pretty head. The hint of a smirk twisting the man’s lips confirmed it. Keeping her face deadpan, she played along. “Yeah? These artists must have been starving during their lifetimes, being forced to branch out like that. I hear the guy behind Winchester Arms was really into weird avant garde architecture, too.”

The man grinned and turned to face her, fixing her with a pair of bright eyes the color of whiskey. “I think that was his wife. Leave it to a woman to spend a man’s hard-earned gun money on a house in the California hills, complete with staircases leading to ceilings and dead ends. Think she had a Remington on the walls?”

“I don’t know if Sarah Winchester was a fan of Frederick Remington, but I bet there were a few works by Eliphalet Remington somewhere inside,” Alice teased.

“I’m impressed,” the man laughed. “I couldn’t have pulled that name out of thin air.”

“I bet now you’re wondering if I’m a gun nut or just a history buff. A woman should keep an air of mystery about her.” She smiled and looked at him squarely. She decided he looked at home in the Old West exhibit, exuding a ruggedly masculine quality that was all too rare in modern society. He had a face that belonged on the streets of Dodge City, those crisp hooded eyes staring down the barrel of a Colt .45. She realized she had been staring into those eyes for a rudely long moment, and continued talking to smooth over that faux pas, “I never cared much for Remington’s paintings. They’re drab and all the subjects are in painfully sorry condition – horses and men alike.” She pointed to an incredible scene of two cowboys roping a grizzly bear, their movements frozen on canvas mid-stride, mid-lasso, and mid-snarl, painted with confident strokes in a vibrant palette. “Charlie Russell is my favorite. You can’t beat the color and the action in his paintings.”

“I wonder if that’s worse than having a tiger by the tail,” he pondered, pointing at the lassoed grizzly, snarling and swiping at the horse and rider. “What would your boyfriend say?”

“That position is currently vacant. What a brash way to inquire.” She smiled and nodded back at the snarling grizzly. “I’m sure three out of four ex-boyfriends would say they’d take their chances with the bear.”

“It’d take more than a bear or a tiger to scare me away from such a pretty face,” he teased, using those impressive eyes as tactically as a gun. “I never did have much instinct for self-preservation. Plenty of brash though, and other things synonymous.”

She laughed genuinely. “You’ve covered art, guns, tigers, and balls in three minutes flat. That’s quite an icebreaker without even introducing yourself. What else should I know?”

“Nicholas Mills.” He grinned handsomely and extended his hand, it was callused and powerful and large, easily swallowing hers in his warm grip. “I’m here consulting on this exhibition, on loan from the Old West Museum in Cheyanne.”

“Alice,” she returned, giving his hand a firm shake. “You’re a historian?” Her tone was skeptical as she pointedly eyed his flannel shirt and jeans. “Is tweed out of vogue for you types these days?”

“In the west it’s all denim and cotton.” He popped the collar of his shirt. “Linen if you want to be pretentious. Dust sticks to tweed like hell, not to mention burs.”

“What about your ten-gallon hat and dinnerplate-sized belt buckle?” The question gave her a convenient excuse to gauge the way he filled out his jeans. He wasn’t a man who skipped leg day.

“Those are only fashion accessories in Texas. Maybe Santa Fe. Where I’m from, if you’re wearing a cowboy hat, it better have a sweat ring around the headband, and if you’re wearing a belt buckle, it better be tarnished. Those are work accessories for working ranch hands, not fashion statements.” He let his eyes travel the curves of her figure under the guise of admiring her outfit of jeans and a blazer. “I suppose those duds work equally well for business or pleasure in most fields.” He smirked, but moved on before she could wonder at the double entendre. “Do I get a last name or just Alice?”

Smiling coyly, Alice replied, “I’ll give you a hint and see how well you know your stuff. It’s the name of one of my favorite songs and of a color that looks terrible on me, and I share it with a gunfighter who I’m sad to see isn’t featured in your exhibit. He had one of the best names in the business. That’s three hints, actually. So, are you posing as a historian to hit on unsuspecting women, or the real deal?”

“I’m not up on music and I can’t imagine there’s a color that could make you look terrible,” Nick frowned and pursed his lips. “I know of a couple of noteworthy Browns and even a Dunn, but their names don’t have any special ring to them. If I was a betting man, I’d put my dollar on ‘Texas’ Jack Vermillion. Alice Vermillion?”

“If you were betting, you’d have hit the jackpot,” Alice said with a genuine smile. “A man who knows Texas Jack and Charlie Russell. I’m not yet impressed, but I am intrigued.”

“If this goes the direction I’m hoping, I may yet hit that jackpot and you’ll be very impressed.” He didn’t give her the chance to address that sentiment before changing the subject. He cocked his head toward another painting depicting a man and woman seated side by side beneath an upside down canoe propped above them, taking shelter from a torrent of rain in a thick forest. Despite the weather, the couple was engaged in smiling conversation. “I’m a Goodwin man, myself. But I’m biased. Every time I look at his paintings of cowboys packing up in Alaska or canoeing in the Great North, adventurous couples fishing and hunting together, I get nostalgia for a place I’ve never been.” He smiled to himself. “Someday.”

“Isn’t New York about as far away as a man can get from canoeing up in the Great North and fighting grizzlies over your catch of the day?” she teased. “Not much chance of facing down a maneater on the mean streets of NYC. Although, I hear these days you’re more likely to get bitten by a New Yorker than a shark.”

“You must not know about the Museum Beast.” He flashed a grin that was lopsided and full of mischief.

Alice cocked a skeptical eyebrow. “It’s a little early in the day for ghost stories. Shouldn’t you invite me someplace nicer before you start trying to rattle the delicate woman into wanting to cling to your big, strong arm?”

“I’m appalled you think I’m that easy, miss.” He flexed one of those big, strong arms in question in the sluttiest possible way. “It’s no campfire ghost story. The folks who work here believe it. They say there’s a huge beast living in the basement, roaming the halls at night.” Holding up his hands, he hummed the Twilight Zone theme. “They say it preys on researchers who embezzle grant money and curators who hit on their secretaries.”

Alice laughed, maybe snorted a little, decidedly unladylike. “So, you’re saying I’m safe then?”

“I’ll keep you safe,” he teased with faux gravity. “Just stick close to me.”

“That sounds like a pretty firm offer to help with some research to me.” She put her hands on her hips in a playful challenge.

“Would it be smart of you to trust the research skills of a man who’s not wearing a tweed jacket?” He grinned. “What kind of research? Are you a student?”

“God no!” she laughed. “I haven’t been a student in over a decade. I’m something much worse.”

Nick raised his eyebrows, inquiring.

“I’m a defense lawyer, trying desperately to find an angle to show my very guilty client has a mitigating defense.” She mirrored his expression, raising her eyebrows. “You want the facts? They’re not for the squeamish. You don’t have a full stomach, do you?”

“A pretty face with a shady job and an iron stomach to boot?” he laughed again. “You have my attention.”

“Have you ever gotten carried away and gone down some weird rabbit holes?” she asked with a self-deprecating grin.

‘Sure.” He nodded. “I’m not surprised you’re one to go chasing rabbits, Alice.”

“My client is a murder, a serial killer. A cannibal, to be precise.” She watched him for any of the silent tells she was used to seeing when a listener wanted her to stop, or to chew their arm off and escape her work stories. Seeing none, she continued. “He grew up in Centralia, Pennsylvania before the town was evacuated, then worked in mines all of his adult life. He tells me this affected him. Sadly, conventional psych evals don’t back up his claim. So, before I lay out the big bucks on an expert to say whatever I want, I wanted to do some research on the effects of heavy metal poisoning on miners and a correlation with cannibalism. I figured looking at the Old West miners before there were regulations might be a good place to start.”

“Cannibalism, huh? Romantic topic. Did you see the Donner Party exhibit?” He smirked and jerked his thumb in the direction of a diorama of several wax figures huddled around a dying campfire, clutching furs around them to fight the bitter blizzarding cold while suggestively roasting skewers of meat.

“It’s very nice.” She looked back at the macabre display. “But not what I’m looking for. They had a different defense to cannibalism. Duress, definitely. If I were representing one of them, I’d also argue self-defense, in an eat or be eaten sense. I’d win.”

Nick grinned then pursed his lips, nodding as he considered her problem. “You won’t find anything useful up here but if you want to go deeper down this rabbit hole, you’d want to have a look in the museum’s archives. This museum has the largest collection of natural history artifacts in the world. That’s one reason I’m here, frankly, is a chance to explore their collection of Old West relics. It’s better than being a kid in a candy store. It’s almost as good as an occultist getting a backstage pass to the Vatican Archives.” He fixed his intense eyes on hers. “I bet we could find some good stuff in there.”

“Are you offering to sneak me into the museum’s archives with you?” She added a seductive edge to her voice and added, “You’re going to lift up the museum’s skirt for me and show me her goods?”

“I’ll have you know skirt-lifting is a great talent of mine.” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “Yeah, I’m offering, so long as you let me take you out afterwards. We can discuss our findings over dinner.”

“You won’t get in trouble?” she asked sincerely.

“They can’t fire me.” He shrugged. “The worst they could do is chew me out and deport me back to Cheyanne. What do you say? Dinner in exchange for a private curated tour and me risking getting a big ole ass-chewing?”

“Deal.” Alice smiled, offering her hand again and they shook on it.

*******************************************************************************************

It was creeping toward five when Nick led Alice out of an employee service elevator on one of the lower levels of the museum. They had met an exodus of employees heading the opposite direction on their way home for the day.

“Is it too late for this adventure?” Alice asked as they walked down a hallway so long she could barely see the end of it. The lights were dim and there were no windows on this lower level. They passed dozens of closed doors and multiple other hallways branching off. She thought the minotaur could get lost in this place.

“I have my all hours, all access pass.” He tapped his jeans pocket where a laminated card was stowed. It served as both an ID card and a key to most of the locked doors in the museum and the employee-only areas.

“How do you not get lost in here?” Alice asked, looking around the endless halls. Especially with no natural light or signage, it seemed impossible.

“Nah, I get lost all the time. I consider it part of the adventure,” he laughed, then saw her askance look and added sheepishly, “Sorry, I forgot I was supposed to be your intrepid guide. I won’t let on if I get lost. Just consider it exploring.”

“That’s comforting,” she laughed too. Secretly, she thought it might not be the most terrible thing to be lost for a few hours or even the night in a place with so much to explore with a handsome man.

Alice was convinced they had covered the distance of several city blocks before they arrived at a pair of heavy oak doors with a plain brass plate announcing they had reached the B Archives.

“Does that mean there’s an entire alphabet of archive rooms and collections?” she asked as Nick held the door open for her.

“Probably.” He shrugged. “I’ve only poked around in Archives A, B, and C. Those collections date from the recent past until the eighteenth century or so.”

Inside the B Archives, Alice was reminded of an enormous library that had seen better days. Or the basement of an ultra-rich hoarder. Rows of metal shelves streaked away as far as she could see in the dim lighting, seven-feet high and with another foot or two of boxes piled on top. Between rows there was enough space for two people to walk abreast if they wanted to get a little cozy with one another. At various intervals in the rows there were alcoves fitted with small tables where one could examine their find without taking it up to the front. The light added to the aged feel, the bulbs candlelight-yellow, a few of which were weak and flickering. The front of the room had a kind of sitting area with chairs and a spattering of small tables. There was a small office inside too, a door with a smoked glass window open ajar.

A hunched old man with white hair and coke bottle glasses poked his head out from the office door, squinting at Nick for several seconds before addressing him. “You’ve been bothering me a lot lately.”

“This time I brought a pretty girl who wants to bother you,” Nick said, placing his hand on the small of Alice’s back as he led her toward the old man. “She’s curious what you have on mines in the old west. Particularly mines with gruesome histories. Murders, deaths, breakouts of illness or insanity. All that good stuff. Cannibalism in particular, if you have any of that on the menu.”

“Cannibalism? On a perfectly decent Friday afternoon?” The old man scoffed, but proceeded to ponder the matter, his bushy white eyebrows drawing together in thought. After a moment, he held up a triumphant finger. “You know, there is a rather curious box of effects that might interest you. It’s some remnants of an old Colorado sheriff’s things. He led quite an illustrious life, it seems. His heirs donated most of his effects to the museum. I took a quick peek through it years ago when it came in, but I haven’t thought of it since.” He pointed a bony finger down the row of aisles. “Aisle S, box 5425, if memory serves, and it always does.”

“How in the hell do you do that?” Nick asked, shaking his head.

“Photographic memory.” The man tapped his temple. “Which also means I’ll remember you precisely if you mess up my boxes.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Nick assured him then led the way toward aisle S.

It took them some time to locate box 5425, partially because many of the labels were faded beyond readability. When they found it, Nick had to stand on his tiptoes and stretch his arms to their full reach to nudge it off its perch on top of another box on the top shelf. He nearly dropped the box when it came free, catching it with one hand and fumbling for balance for a harrowing second. Once he held it securely in his arms, he smiled cockily at Alice and headed toward the nearest alcove in their row.

The alcove was centered in the row and seated directly under a flickering yellow light. Nick set the box down on the small table, barely large enough for a coffee date. The lights were sparsely spaced, leaving shadowy stretches between pools of yellow light. There were still several towering rows of shelving between them and the entrance, but sound carried well in the sepulcher-like room. He was spreading the contents of the box out on the table when he heard then entrance door creak open and a voice bounced down the aisle toward them.

“I’m clocking out for the day.” The old man called. “Put that box back where you found it and don’t tell anyone I left you unattended in here, and we’ll still be friends tomorrow.”

“You got it,” Nick replied, projecting his deep voice so it boomed through the archives. Then he turned to Alice with a wolfish expression, “I hope you didn’t want a chaperone.”

“All a chaperone does is keep an honest man honest,” she replied, appreciating just how close they stood at the small table. “I think you’re a man who will break as many rules as I let you, chaperone or not.”

“Maybe so.” He grinned sideways and chewed his lip as he opened the box.

It may have been a mistake, she realized, allowing herself to be shut away privately and in such close confines with this man. Her profession was dominated by men, she was used to working closely with men and attractiveness or lack thereof never entered into it. Rarely, at least. It was a foreign feeling to be dominated by hormones the way she was now. Her senses felt assaulted, a gate failing before a battering ram. The way he looked and the rich gravel in his voice were bad enough, but now in the close space, Alice couldn’t ignore the masculine scent that subtly infiltrated her nose. She didn’t know if the scent of pine and leather mingled with musk was cologne or if it belonged to him. The small table necessitated him being close to her, their bodies almost touching. He didn’t crowd her, but still the size of him was tantalizingly imposing with the minimal space between them. She felt the heat from his body on her skin when he leaned over to study the papers spread across the table next to her. It made her think of being overpowered, manhandled, taken, even – the things that modern empowered women were supposed to have evolved beyond but that the base part of them craved when they sensed a man masculine enough to give it.

Nick pulled a letter from the box, the paper brittle and yellowed with age. Protocol dictated he should be wearing gloves to handle it, but he didn’t want to leave Alice alone long enough to fetch a pair. Despite his bravado, he had always found these dark and mostly abandoned places inside the museum creepy. He never let it get to him or get in the way of anything he needed to do, of course. But it was still an unsettling sort of environment, surrounded by the dead and their effects, in a place where voices echoed and shadows creeped. It was easy to imagine wakeful spirits watching him from the corner of his eye, just at the edges of the feeble light.

Not unlike being inside a deep, dark mine, he thought as he looked at the letter. He read aloud to Alice, thinking he might have actually struck gold, at least in terms of finding something to keep their afternoon interesting.

October 13, 1882

Darlin Belle,

I’m sure missin you tonight. I don’t know if you’ll ever read this but I hope it will find its way to you. I’m gonna write you like you was here with me and I was just talkin to you over dinner. It makes me miss you less. Every time I think about bein home, all that is to me is bein with you. The men in the posse kid me for bein whipped by you but I can’t find a damn to give over it. Miserable lonely bastards, the lot of em. But I guess they didn’t leave no one behind to miss em when they died. I hope you’ll miss me and remember the things that were good about me. There aren’t many, so it shouldn’t be hard.

“That sounds romantic,” Alice said with a wistful lilt. “I’m not sure it’s useful for my purposes, but I like it.”

Nick grinned and nodded. He read ahead to himself, but decided not to share it with the woman who was now looking at him with a pretty, hopeful smile. Best not to spoil the mood. He read the next few paragraphs to himself, feeling a prickly chill drag along the length of his spine like ghostly fingernails.

It’s been snowin up here in these mountains for days and it’s up over my knees now. Sure makes me miss the warmth of your touch. There’s nothin finer than holdin you in my arms, smellin your hair like flowers and cinnamon, feelin you soft n warm. I think you might be the only thing that can thaw me out ever again. Here I gone and got myself all hot and bothered just thinkin about you. But the snow’s been a blessin for me. It made the blood trail of the one I wounded easy to follow. I found him holed up under a ledge and finished him off with my knife so as not to fire off a shot. Sound carries in these mountains. The snow got thicker after dark. Thick enough to hide my tracks from the rest who are huntin me.

They haven’t found my hideout yet, but they will. I have to beat em to the punch.

I ain’t got much time cause they know the mountains better than me. It makes hidin hard and ambushin harder.

Sorry my writins goin from bad to worse fast. My fingers are numb as hell.

Curious, Alice leaned in to look at the letter and read it along with him. Spender folded it back together with a snap, too rough for the old paper and cleared his throat. He hastily put it back in the box – in the bottom of the box, under some other more innocuous looking items. “I don’t think the rest is worth reading today.”

Instead, he reached for a pocket watch with a gold hunting case, beautifully engraved with an elk hunting scene. Holding it delicately in his hands, he popped open the cover and read the engraving aloud, “To my handsome sheriff. You carry my love for you wherever you go. Belle.”

“That’s beautiful.” Turning toward him, Alice looked into his eyes as she spoke. Though his composure remained steady on the surface, she saw the way his chest expanded, his jaw clenched, his throat bobbed. It gave her a feeling of power knowing Nick was just as affected by their proximity as she was, maybe even more. She told herself she wouldn’t completely give into hormones. But she could give a little. How long had it been since she’d made out with a man like a horny teenager during a study session? Probably not since she had been a horny teenager. She could live a little now. Resting her ass against the tale, she leaned back against it and looked up at him, intentionally giving him the image of her laying sprawled beneath him. It would be a perfectly innocuous posture if the air wasn’t so charged between them, the attraction so tangible. The way he swallowed thickly told her that it wasn’t innocuous to him either.

The next move was his, Nick realized. Smirking to mask the way his pulse thundered, he stepped closer to her, using the excuse of setting the watch down on the table near her hip resting against the table’s edge. He left his hand there on the table, and when Alice kept looking up at him rather than anywhere else, Nick knew he had her tacit approval to act bolder. With his next step, he positioned himself in front of her. His right hand still rested near the pocket watch that held less interest to Alice than the man. He flattened his right hand on the table beside her then planted his left hand on her opposite side. There was still space between their bodies, if only inches, but he now caged her against the table and loomed over her.

“Find anything that interests you down here yet, darlin?’” he asked, letting the huskiness in his voice reflect his mounting arousal.

Alice heard something that sounded like a faint scratch from somewhere inside the archives. It was hardly enough to pull her attention away from the stupidly attractive man who was doing his best to make her forget all the dating rules and run every base right here in this dusty archive.

“I don’t have enough information to know if I’m interested in anything yet,” she teased. Angling her chin up, she presented her jaw and neck in a favorable angle for kissing.

“What do I need to clear up for you?” he played along as he lowered his head, trailing his nose over her cheek and his lips over her jaw, kissing lightly and teasing her with the scratch of his beard.

A box shifted on a shelf deeper in the archive, as though something had bumped it or rubbed against it. Alice heard that too, but she didn’t care. Not when Nick’s lips had moved to her neck and were giving her goosebumps, making her breath come short and her spine tingle. Encouraged by the way her body arched toward his and the way her hands had flown to his shoulders, Nick hooked his hands behind her thighs and hoisted her up onto the table. Pushing her legs apart, he stepped between them, bringing their bodies together then letting his hands caress her thighs and back as he continued kissing her neck. Every part of his body was hard beneath her roving hands, each plane and ridge of muscle a new excitement to discover. She could feel how hard he was inside his jeans too, but she would save exploring all of him for another time. She had talked herself into a nice makeout session with a handsome stranger, but she hadn’t yet abandoned all of her morals.

Bringing his hand to the back of her neck, he cradled her head while he exerted that subtle masculine control that could make a woman want to submit to him. Nick teased the side of her neck with his teeth, also teasing her restraint. He grinned against her skin when he pulled a soft moan from her throat, beginning to lose himself in the feel of her body against his, her soft skin under his callused hands.

When she moaned, Alice heard a strange response from somewhere in the dimly lit room. Something like a wet huffed breath, or a sloppy inhale. It sounded like a large dog snuffling. It was unmistakably not something she could attribute to the old room or hear ears playing tricks on her.

“Nick,” she whispered, not from arousal but trepidation. “Did you hear that?”

“’Course, darlin,’” he muttered dismissively as he nosed and kissed along her collarbone, his fingers digging into her thigh.

“What is it?” She was starting to pull back, making him tighten his hold on her.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing,” he spoke against her skin, trying to placate her. He hadn’t heard anything, but if there was something, it was probably a fucking rat the size of a wiener dog. They had those fuckin’ things in New York. But he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that. Giant rats wouldn’t do a damn thing to keep her revved up for him. Forcing the thought from his own mind, he resumed kissing her, rubbing his words in with his lips. “It’s an old place. There’s bound to be some weird noises.”

“Listen!” she whisper-yelled, grabbing a fistful of his thick hair and yanking far too harshly to be mistaken for anything sexy.

He winced and frowned at her through one eye, the other was squeezed shut from the pain in his scalp. “You could just tell me to fuckin’ stop, you know?”

“Listen,” she said again, this time her whisper was barely audible. She heard another scrape and maybe another sniffing breath. But everything was quieter now, more subtle. As if whatever was making those faint noises was trying to be stealthier.

“That could be anything,” Nick said at full volume with a laugh on his voice. His voice seemed to boom throughout the archives, sparking off Alice’s inflamed nerve endings.

She clapped a hand over his mouth, hard enough to make him flinch. Her body was bolt upright, incidentally pressing her body flush to his, her every muscle taught. She knew her system had shot into a fight or flight response, but she didn’t know why. Her consciousness hadn’t registered anything that warranted such a reaction, a few odd sounds in an old museum was hardly noteworthy. But something about what she heard struck a chord in her core, deep in her subconscious where instinct reigned. Every sense she had sparked like live electric wires, screaming at her to run away as fast as she could, but she didn’t know what she was running from or even which direction to bolt. Her eyes were wide and terrified when they met Nick’s and she whispered, “Something’s in here with us. Listen. We have to get out.”

His eyes crinkled with amusement and he kissed her palm still held over his mouth. Taking her wrist, he plucked her hand away and kissed her there on her pulse point. He did it teasingly, but he lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper, “I spooked you good with that story about the Museum Beast.” He smirked and teased further, “I thought you were a big girl who could handle some campfire tales.”

“Can you not hear anything over the sound of your hard on?” she hissed, placing a restraining hand on his chest. “Listen, and try to think with the right head for a minute.”

Nick laughed, he always had a weakness for the feisty ones. He was about to tell her as much and steal another kiss when he heard it. A kind of snuffling, like someone with a runny nose, but also different and unmistakable. Growing up in Wyoming, he had spent plenty of time outdoors around wildlife, hunting, fishing, and hiking. He’d heard that sound once before when he’d come face to face with a grizzly around a bend in a trail. Given their poor eyesight, grizzlies tended to grunt and sniff their way along, their way of assessing their environment. He didn’t believe what his mind registered. There couldn’t be a fucking bear in a New York museum. But he also couldn’t rationally attribute the sound to some wheezy curator or a congested janitor, especially not when paired with a stealthy padded footfall.

“We need to run.” Alice fisted his lapel. Her voice had dropped below a whisper to an urgent breath.

“No, darlin,’ don’t run.” He grabbed her waist and pulled her off the table, returning her feet to the floor. Taking her arm, he pulled her behind him, placing himself closest toward the strange noises and whatever creature made them. He began to back slowly away down the aisle, pushing her behind him, trying to keep his steps silent. His mind raced frantically, but he forced his body to remain in control, repeating, “Don’t run.”

“Can we fight it?” she asked, touching his back from behind, trying to calm herself by keeping contact with him

“We may have to,” Nick gritted, unsure what to do since he had no idea what was creeping toward them from a few rows away. “Just don’t run. If there’s some kind of animal in here with us, the worst thing you can do is run.”

*******************************************************************************************

That little bitch, Warren thought petulantly as he walked down the dim hallway. The hallway that stretched on for the length of a city block. It was such bullshit. He hadn’t walked this much since he got kicked off his co-ed flag football team in junior high. Fuck her, he thought again as he kicked at a piece of crumpled paper on the tile floor, missed, and stumbled sideways. At least no one was around to see him. His uppity date was nowhere to be found. She had the gall to shove him away when he tried to fondle her boobs before running away from him. The ungrateful bitch. Warren had used his lunch hour to help her sneak out of high school, had paid her admission into the museum, and wasted his afternoon leading her around the exhibits and thrilling her with his acumen. She owed him a feel. He would just tell all her friends she sucked his dick in his car and have the last laugh.

Sullenly picking at the chipped black paint on his stubby fingers, he turned down yet another pointlessly long hallway. Despite being as blonde as a California It Girl and having a dumpy potatoesque physique, he thought that his crooked guyliner and black skinny jeans that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of a sweaty plumber’s crack gave him the hot goth look the girls liked. Not so much the girls in his peerage at college – they were stuck up bitches anyway, already hounding after the guys who were studying law at Harvard – but the girls who were just about to graduate from high school, just turned eighteen, maybe a little homely and desperate for a date to prom. Those were his preferred prey. He usually had some meager success with them, before their fathers found out about him and heartlessly separated them. It enhanced his view of himself as a tragic, long-suffering Shakespearean love interest who had turned to goth rock to bemoan his existence.

Since Warren had somehow managed to get turned around inside the maze of hallways until after it closed for the day, the museum was also devoid of employees. He thought it was only a matter of time before he ran into a security guard. He had a story lined up for why he was inside after hours, a grand tale that emphasized his victimhood. Maybe he could even end up with his name in the paper over it. That would really impress the girls.

Now, Warren lumbered along a random hallway, trying to find his way to an exit. He needed to find an elevator first. He had sneaked into some kind of service elevator with the girl and gone down several floors in his search for privacy. He thought he was in some kind of storage area or basement now, every room he passed was vacant save for troves of weird antiques. He had found the door to a stairwell a few turns back down the hallway, but he wasn’t about to walk up several flights of stairs. His day had been shit enough so far without climbing stairs.

After what seemed like an eternity, he came to a pair of double doors marked B Archives. He couldn’t remember the last time he had walked so far. He must have put in over two miles inside this stupid museum already. Like, a month’s worth of walking. Maybe there was a desk inside with a chair he could rest in even if he couldn’t find an employee to lead him out of this suckhole.

Success! Inside the B Archives were rows of forgotten looking shelves that Warren couldn’t give a shit less about, but there was also an office with an open door and the promise of a desk and cushy chair. The lights were on inside, giving him the additional hope that some diligent employee still remained there after hours.

“Hey?” he called out to anyone who might answer. His voice echoed eerily down the rows and off the tile like tumbleweeds rolling down the streets of a ghost town. “Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out.”

Something sounded in response from far back in the archives, down one of the dim rows. It sounded like a startled step, like he had caught someone off guard and they had turned around fast.

“If you could call a guard or even just tell me how to find the exit, that would be great,” Warren shouted. He walked toward the sound, down toward the back of the archives past the ends of the phalanx of aisles. A strange feeling began to creep into his senses, like the uneasy feeling he got when he watched horror movies alone. The feeling that had made him instigate a rule that he didn’t watch scary movies after nine. He even thought he heard the sound of something breathing heavily. Maybe he needed to ration his porn intake too, now he was blending porn sound effects with horror reactions. He mumbled to himself, “Who wouldn’t be creeped out by all this stupid old shit?”

Warren hadn’t paid attention to the way his walk had slowed without him meaning to or the way his mouth had gone dry. He jumped like he had bumped into an electric fence when one of the lightbulbs overhead surged then dimmed. He was glad the girl had run off now, so she couldn’t see him sweat and his hands shake. He heard something down the aisle to his left, something like a single impatient rap of nails on a desk.

The flickering of a waning yellow bulb drew his attention down the aisle. In the flickering light, it looked like something was moving in the aisle, just beyond the reach of the light on the far side. Something crouched and hulking in the shadows. It must be a trick of the dim light. That and being a little freaked out from being stuck down here all alone for what felt like hours. Still, Warren wished he had worn his smudged glasses. He didn’t wear them when he was trying to impress a girl because they weren’t cool.

He was focusing too hard on the shadows. Focus too hard on something and it can seem like the thing is moving. It was a common optical illusion, and the flickering light didn’t help. It made the weird shape in the shadows look like an animal with its head lowered, stealthily sneaking toward him down the aisle.

“Fuck this,” Warren exclaimed, throwing his hands up like an overwrought woman. He didn’t need to be in the creepy old room in the creepy old museum basement. At least the never-ending hallways weren’t filled to the brim with weird antiques.

Down the aisle something sniffed, like someone with a runny nose. Something definitely moved just beyond the light.

“Shit’s probably haunted,” he decided. That made it easier. He was a staunch Ghost Hunters fan and he’d learned a thing or two from them. Forcing a laugh, he added, “Suck my balls, ghosts!”

Turning on his heel in a flippant insult to the ghosts, he walked briskly back the way he had come. He heard something else, seemingly misplaced inside the haunted archives. He very distinctly heard the sound of a footfall and what sounded like a muffled voice, maybe two if one was whispering, coming from deeper down one of the aisles. But it was immediately overshadowed by the sound of a heavy body rushing down the aisle with the flickering light, and nails scraping on tile. Or claws.

Looking back over his shoulder, Warren saw a huge dark body moving fast down the aisle toward him in a kind of lope. An animal, grunting and running toward him. His mind couldn’t process all the details, or it didn’t want to. What his mind hitched on were the teeth. When the creature ran through the scant pool of light, vicious exposed teeth glinted inside its snarling jaws.

Warren ran.

The beast lunged after its prey with the instinct of a predator to chase after a fleeing animal. Warren felt it when the beast gave chase, like the stale air had chilled and all the ghosts inside the archives were watching him. Claws scrambling on tile and heavy galloping echoed behind him, punctuated by grunts.

Warren could see the exit door. It wasn’t far. He could make it. Trying to make his legs pump faster, he looked back over his shoulder. The creature had rounded the end of the aisle and was charging straight at him in large bounding strides. It was bigger than a lion with terrible yellow eyes and teeth like ivory daggers. And it was close.

With a sob, Warren tried to eke out more speed from his already failing legs, but his steps were clumsy and his breathing labored. All that walking all day had done him in. Something slammed into his back, heavy and sharp at the same time, sending him careening forward face down onto the tile. His back felt like it was on fire, stinging and melting at the same time with hot fluid slicking his shirt to his skin.

Crying, Warren looked over his shoulder, expecting to see the creature’s mouth open as it came in for the killing bite. But the beast sat on its haunches, poised like a giant cat, flicking a broad reptilian tail from side to side and drumming the claws of its forepaw on the tile. It watched him with evil yellow eyes, and it waited. With another blubbering sob, Warren staggered up to his feet and tried to run again. He didn’t get as far this time, only a few steps. The beast bounded after him, swiping one of its razor-clawed paws at Warren’s legs. Warren felt his flesh tear as his feet gave out from under him and he collapsed again. He had played enough gory video games to guess the beast had clawed through his calf on one leg and severed his Achilles tendon on the other.

The creature paused again, watching its crippled prey with a curiously cocked head as the pitiful human crawled away, one foot turned the wrong direction and flopping lifelessly on the floor, leaving a wide swatch of delicious smelling blood in its wake.

Warren couldn’t stand back up this time, and he barely had enough gumption left to crawl. After a few desperate flailing attempts, he turned over and flopped onto his back. He stared at the horrendous beast, his watery eyes meeting those of fearsome yellow. With a sickening horror that churned in his bowels he realized what the beast was doing. It was playing with him. The fucking monster was toying with him like a cat with a mouse. The beast cocked its head to the other side as it gave an impatient flick of its tail. Just like a cat with a mouse, the fun was over when the mouse stopped running.

Warren swore he saw an excited gleam flash inside those eyes as the monster lunged at him one final time. He looked into its ravenous eyes, as a heavy weight landed on his chest, pinning him in place. He felt his body being ripped open from throat to crotch with a sound like tearing burlap. The pain was extraordinary, but he couldn’t close his eyes against it.

Gruesome wet smacking noises filled the archive and Warren’s body jerked, tugged from someplace deep inside. He tried to scream but couldn’t with his diaphragm slashed open. Warren was still very much alive when the monster started eating him.

*******************************************************************************************

Nick could hear it clearly now, a heavy body moving with great stealth and wet breathing. Closing in on them from a couple aisles away. There could be no doubt, no mistaking it for the noises of an old room or for scuttling vermin. He had placed his body between the approaching animal and the woman. It was a protective male instinct and gallant, but not an act that would be overly helpful if the thing attacked them. A human’s top speed was equivalent to a chicken. If an Olympic sprinter would have a hard time outrunning a rooster, Nick had no delusions that he could outrun an apex predator. All running would do would trigger it into attacking. He also didn’t think he could fight it off, not if it really wanted to attack. He didn’t have a weapon and humans were really quite feeble animals without their tools. He knew the ways a man could try to survive a predator attack – play dead with a grizzly, fight a black bear, shout at a lion to try to scare it off. None of them would work if the animal really wanted to get him. Then, a man could only hope the animal lost interest before it killed him. Balling his fists, he decided that if it came to a fight, he’d fight until his last breath. Or until he was torn apart.

“Hey! Is there anyone here? I need some directions to the way out,” an unfamiliar voice sounded through the archives.

Nick froze, every sense piqued. He reached behind him and grabbed Alice’s hand, squeezing tightly, silently willing her to stay calm and quiet. He didn’t know the woman and he hoped to hell she had enough sense to stay still and silent, not to yell back toward the stranger or to run in his direction. A mistake like that would be their death sentence. Alice squeezed his hand back, reassuring him, and placed her other hand on his back. The monstrous beast had stilled, its attention captured by the noisome intruder instead of the quieter, more boring quarry. It sniffed the air, assessing the stranger.

Each heartbeat pounded in Nick’s ears like war drums, each second an agony as they waited for the monster to decide which prey it wanted to hunt. With frightening quickness, the beast turned and vanished into the shadowy depths of the aisle.

Keeping hold of Alice’s hand, Nick turned to her and met her eyes. Very deliberately, he brought his forefinger to his lips in the universal gesture for utter silence. He tugged her with him down the aisle in the opposite direction the creature had gone. They heard the stranger’s voice asking the room if someone could tell him how to find the exit. Nick led Alice away from the stranger and away from the beast.

The unknown man was toast. There was nothing Nick could do, and he wasn’t going to waste the life of a woman trying to save a man he didn’t know. He was also smart enough or shellfish enough to value his own life over that of a foolhardy stranger. He hoped the fool would distract the monster enough for them to sneak around it and make the exit themselves. His mind raced ahead of his feet, thinking past the exit to the museum. If they made it out of the archives, they would find themselves back in a long, straight hallway with nowhere to hide and no chance of outrunning whatever the hell this animal was.

To reassure himself, he felt his pocket for the museum key card. He didn’t know if it would help them, but without it they had no chance.

The stranger’s footsteps echoed through the archives as the man started walking down along the ends of the forest of aisles. Nick gambled that the beast’s attention was fixed on that sound and that victim. Pulling Alice along beside him, he trotted down the aisle as swiftly as he could while keeping his footsteps light. For such a large man, he could move stealthily, a skill ingrained by a youth spent hunting with his father and refined by a stint in the military. He was pleased that Alice matched him in both pace and silence. He ran to the far end of the aisle, listening to the intermittent mutterings from the idiot bumbling around at the front of the vast room. The beast could no longer be heard, which worried him, but he had gambled on this hand and now he had to let it ride.

The back of the archives was notably darker than the front and even in between the aisles with the temperamental lightbulbs. An animal stink hung in the air along the back wall, as if the animal used this shady area as a trail of sorts. They moved quickly past the ends of the aisles in the direction of the exit. Nick was a step ahead, still holding Alice’s hand. Looking down each aisle they passed, the archives flashed in time with their steps, giving a visual picture of the room pieced together in morse code.

Nick stopped suddenly, causing Alice to collide with his back. He was so solid, she didn’t even knock him off balance, like running into a warm sculpture. He didn’t so much as look down at her, his wide eyes fixed down the aisle. Thirty feet away from them down the aisle, a hulking silhouette crouched in the center. It looked black in the feeble light and had no discernable features, but they could tell it faced away from them by a broad crocodilian tail flicking back and forth as it watched and waited. Nick didn’t dare move again, not even to step back behind the end of the aisle. It was blind luck the beast had been so focused on the stranger that it hadn’t seen or heard them creeping up at its back. His heart thundered so loudly in his own ears that he thought the beast must surely hear it too.

“Suck my balls, ghosts!” the fool shouted from the end of the aisle, then he started marching away back toward the exit. The beast’s tail stilled, as it watched its prey retreat.

Nick squeezed Alice’s hand, a signal to make ready. The stranger hadn’t taken three steps when the beast launched itself forward down the aisle, entirely focused on its prey. Nick whispered urgently, his voice little more than a growled breath, “Now, we run!”

Nick charged ahead, sprinting full tilt down the back of the archives, pulling Alice along with him. She gripped his hand tight, letting herself be all but dragged along, her feet barely seeming to touch the ground. There was no other way she could keep pace with his long surging stride. Their running footsteps were overshadowed by the sharp sound of claws scrambling on tile and a heavy pounding gallop, then by the sobbing screams of the stranger when the beast caught him. There was no mistaking the anguished cries that filled the archive like a whirring saw in a butcher shop.

At the end of the room, Nick careened around the last aisle, his boots slipping on the tile, and pushed himself even harder down the last straight stretch along the wall toward the door. The screaming continued, now imbued with a gurgling wet quality and sickening chewing and crunching. Alice had heard sounds like that before on National Geographic shows featuring lions over a kill. A meaty abattoir smell engulfed them as they raced down the aisle, bringing them closer to both the beast and the exit.

There was open space at the front of the room, where the beast presently feasted on its dying prey. About fifteen feet worth of open floor between the ends of the aisles and the exit door. There was no option of hiding or stealth when they crossed it. Nick made a mad dash when he reached the end of the aisle, bursting out onto the open floor like a pheasant breaking cover in front of a hound.

The beast reared up from its kill, startled by the two humans erupting from the aisle. It took a second to assimilate these new targets, enough time for them to cover half the open floor. Gnashing its bloody jaws, the beast lunged after the two new fleeing morsels. It landed on forepaws slick with blood, its front legs slipping and splaying out on the tile. Its wet claws found no purchase on tile, and the beast fishtailed before getting its balance.

Nick turned loose of Alice’s hand a step before the double doors and barreled into them with his shoulder at full speed. The doors exploded open, shooting splinters of wood out into the hallway, with Nick falling through off-balance. Alice jumped through on his heels and he pushed her ahead of him as he recovered his footing and ran. Reaching into his pocket for the museum badge, he heard the beast grunting and scrambling through the broken wooden doors, very close behind them.

The nearest door down the hallway was marked obscurely Lab 754, a single door with no windows and a scanner beside it. He didn’t know what was inside, but he knew they couldn’t outrun the monster down a straight hallway. Grabbing Alice by the waistband of her jeans, Nick skidded them both to a stop at the door. His fingers felt clumsy when he articulated the badge over the scanner. A militant light flashed red and an insolent tone told him the card was declined.

“Fuck, fuck fuck,” Nick growled as Alice’s nails dug painfully into his arm. Turning the badge over so his gawky picture faced outward and the barcode on the back faced the scanner, he pressed it against the scanner again and gripped the doorknob in a blanched white fist. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the hulking creature charging down the hallway at them, eyes gleaming yellow, teeth glinting white.

A green light flashed, taking too long to approve their entry with a pleasant tone. The beast was another stride closer, close enough to see individual drops of blood slinging from its jaws. The lock slid open with a metallic click. Nick wrenched the doorknob and yanked the door open toward him. Alice rushed inside, but he shoved her ahead of him anyway as he slipped in behind her. The beast crashed into the open door, slamming it shut right behind Nick’s back with violent force. He had thrown himself inside and barreled into Alice, all but tackling her to the floor as he fell and sprawled over her. He cringed involuntarily at the sound of the beast colliding with the wooden door, hunching over Alice beneath him.

All doors opened outward in public buildings like the museum, pursuant to fire code regulations. And most of the doors in this older basement area of the museum were thick, sturdy wood. The door shuddered ominously, but it held.

Nick looked down at Alice from the position of a lover with his hands planted on either side of her head, his hips pinning her down, their chests touching and their noses nearly so. “Are you alright? We have to keep moving. That door won’t hold for long.”

“Waiting on you,” she said breathlessly, shoving on his broad chest to push him back.

The beast roared and hit the door again. This time splinters shot into the room from the dying doorframe like tiny javelins.

Nick pulled her up with him as he pushed up to his feet. They each looked around the room, trying to quickly assess their surroundings. Fluorescent light lined the ceiling instead of weak yellow bulbs. A long central table ran the length of the room piled with what looked like various artifacts and fossils, including the impressive skull of a sabretooth tiger. Chairs were pulled up to the table at intervals, demarcating different workstations. The air inside was cool and crisp and a subtle whirring indicated a local air system. A shop broom leaned in the far corner, its bristles chalky white with bone dust.

“A restoration lab, damn it to hell.” Nick slammed his hand angrily on the tabletop. “We won’t find anything useful in here.” But he began looking anyway as he made his way through the room.

Alice lingered behind him, turning on several bright lamps placed over the table and pointing them at the rapidly weakening door. She turned on one of the drills on the table, leaving it to buzz and bounce across the tabletop. Nick looked at her with a frown and she shrugged and told him, “It might buy us a few more seconds.”

The back of the room ended depressingly in a simple wall. Nick glared at it as if he could burn a hole through the plaster with his anger. He grinned sardonically at Alice, “The hallway makes a U bend. The service elevator we came down in is probably less than twenty away on the other side of this wall. You don’t happen to have a battering ram hidden in your brassier, do you?”

“That would be my other bra,” she said, looking back at the door as it took another thunderous hit, this time accompanied by the squeal of the metal hinges bending inward.

Nick leaned his head back, staring at the ceiling in frustration. His body jerked like he’d been startled and he ran to the broom standing in the corner. Grabbing it, he sprinted back to the far wall, holding it like a spear. Using the wide, bristled head, he rammed it straight up above his head and into the square air vent in the ceiling. Another hard thrust and the vent crumpled and fell out of the ventilation shaft, leaving a gaping square hole in the ceiling ten feet above their heads.

“Here!” he told Alice urgently, clapping his hands together before linking his fingers to form a stirrup with his hands. The beast struck the door again, tearing a hole through the wood. It pawed through the hole with its claws, scraping and tearing at the wood as it snarled in frustration.

“Can you get up there too?” Alice asked as she placed her foot in his hands.

“Don’t think about it,” Nick grunted as he hefted her up into the square vent like she was nothing but a doll. She hoisted her high enough to bring her chest level with the inside of the vent. Planting her elbows on the flat metal and kicking her legs, she struggled inside. Laying on her stomach, she looked back down through the square hole at Nick below.

Bending his knees, he jumped straight up into the vent opening. It was at the far reach of his vertical jump, but his fingers caught the metal lip. But there was no purchase on the slick metal and his hands slipped off almost instantly. Alice leaned down into the opening, reaching a hand down to him.

“Get out of the way!” he waved her hand away. She began to protest, but he shouted, “Can you curl two-thirty-five? Then I’ll only pull you back out with me.”

The beast crashed into the door a final time, bursting into the lab in an explosion of splinters. It halted immediately when the brilliantly bright spotlight hit its eyes, sitting back on its haunches and shaking its head.

“Give me the broom!” Alice said.

Grinning with understanding despite it all, Nick shoved the head of the broom up into her hands. The beast snarled and swiped the light out of its eyes, then turned its attention to the jumping drill and its grating, high-pitched whine. Alice maneuvered the broom so its handle spanned the square opening, wedged as tightly against the sides as she could get it. The beast crushed the drill with its teeth, shaking its head with the drill in its mouth like a dog with a squeaky toy, then throwing it aside. Fixing its ferocious yellow eyes on Nick at the far end of the room, it charged.

Nick bent his knees, looking up at the broom handle inside the vent. He would only get one shot. Swinging his arms, he jumped up with everything he had. The beast swiped at Nick’s legs as he caught the broom handle, but he jerked them up just in time. Using the broom handle like a pull-up bar, he hoisted himself up into the ventilation shaft. Alice shoved herself backward to make room for him as he lunged forward into the small space, making sure his long legs were clear of the opening.

The beast jumped up after him, slamming its head into the metal of the shaft, denting it upwards. Roaring in frustration, it jumped again, making another dent. Then it reared on its hind legs and clawed at the metal. The sound was a terrible, deafening squeal inside the shaft, ringing in their ears. There was enough space for them to crawl on their hands and knees, and Alice crawled frantically away.

“Can’t beat the view,” Nick quipped, following right behind her.

The beast tried jumping at the vent once more before apparently realizing it was futile. The silence when it stopped was much more unnerving than the banging and scratching and snarling had been.

It didn’t take long for them to come to another vent. Looking through the metal slats, Nick quickly assessed they were now over the section of hallway that housed the service elevator. He easily yanked it open and dropped down through it to the floor. Alice lowered herself down feet first until she felt him catch her legs in a reassuring bearhug and let her slide the rest of the way down his body. Holding her against him, he grinned at her and jerked his chin to the side, “Look what we found.”

The service elevator was no more than fifteen feet away. As she sighed with relief, collapsing into Nick’s arms, Alice heard the now familiar sound of clawed feet scrambling on the tile. “It guessed where we were heading!”

They sprinted to the elevator and Nick punched the Up button over and over. The arrow above the doors illuminated green and the bell dinged. But the doors were old and slow to open. The beast rounded the corner of the hallway in a fury of claws and teeth and lather, charging at them with its horrible teeth bared in a snarl. But claws for all their ferocity did not keep traction on smooth tile. When the beast rounded the tight corner, it did so in an uncontrolled skid. The beast scrambled to keep its balance, but it had charged into the corner too fast. Its shoulder slammed into the opposite side of the hallway as it slid, paws flailing haphazardly beneath it, buying its prey an extra second to live. Nick shoved Alice inside when the opening between the doors was still too narrow for him to fit. Even as the doors still opened, she was pushing the button for the upper floor. Nick slipped inside as the beast ran him down, only one good lunge away.

Nick and Alice pressed themselves to the back of the elevator, watching helplessly as death charged at them and the doors closed too slowly. Their view between the doors narrowed with terrible sluggishness until all they could see were those slitted yellow eyes and bloody frothing jaws. The beast lunged at the gap in the doors, striking the metal with a horrendous crash. Saliva and blood spewed through the opening, splattering Alice and Nick, just as the doors closed and the elevator lurched upward.

The doors opened to a main hallway on one of the upper floors, home to the biggest and most popular museum exhibits. Large windows lined this hallway admitting the moonlight and there was enough light in the individual exhibits to allow the security cameras to identify a thief if needed. Many smaller hallways branched off this main one, each leading to an exhibit. They were near the entrance to an exhibit that glowed green in the dim light, labeled Rainforest. A metal stairwell door was beside the elevator.

“Now at least I know where we are,” Nick could have laughed with relief. He ducked into Alice and stole a quick kiss from her lips.

“Freeze!” A militant voice sliced through the silence in the hall. “Put your hands up!”

They turned to see a short and corpulent museum security guard standing behind them, holding a revolver trained on Nick. He had just rounded a corner of the hallway and shuffled toward them as quickly as his pendulous gut would allow, his utility belt jingling with every labored step. Using his gun, the guard gestured from Nick to the far wall, and ordered, “Turn and face that wall right now. And I better see your hands while you’re sniffing plaster. Move!”

“There’s something in here with us,” Alice said, trying to calm the guard. “You need to take us all out before it finds us.”

“I’m sure there is, honey,” the guard sniggered and took a belligerent step toward Nick. “I gave you a command, hoss.”

The security guard held his gun on Nick, the barrel shaking in his uncertain grip. He was the most dangerous sort of person to hold a man at gunpoint – nervous and unfamiliar with a weapon or with apprehending a suspect. Those were the men likely to shoot first and ask questions later, or even shoot accidentally when they shook hard enough to spasm their trigger finger.

“Turn around now!” the guard shouted again, spittle flying from his lips, his jowls quaking.

The guard was too far away from Nick to make a grab for the gun or knock it away. So, he turned, faced the wall, and planted his hands flat on its smooth surface. He made a great effort to keep his voice calm when he spoke over this shoulder, “Look, buddy, there’s something after us. Something chasing us. Something monstrous. None of us are safe here, including you. You have to get us all out right now. Arrest me and charge me with whatever the hell you want, just get us out.”

The guard spoke into the radio clipped to his belt, “I caught someone sneaking around inside the rainforest exhibit. Looks like a pair of lovebirds who broke in to get it on. I need backup. The guy’s giving me hell. He’s a big bastard too. Threatened my safety already.”

“Ten-Four,” a voice crackled through the radio static. “Sending backup. Just cuff ‘em and keep ‘em where you have ‘em until backup gets there.”

Risking a bullet, Nick growled, “Look, you stupid bastard. You can get all the backup you want and you can arrest me. So long as you get us the fuck outta here, and you do it now! We need to move, goddamnit!”

“The big guy is making more threats,” the guard radioed.

The sound of a door being shoved open inside the stairwell echoed behind the door. It sounded like it came from a flight or two below. Alice heard claws scrambling up the stairs. She met Nick’s cool eyes and she winked.

“Excuse me, sir,” Alice said to the guard in a demure tone. “Our friend’s in the stairwell. Go see for yourself. He’s the one you want to arrest.”

“What the Christ are you all doing in here?” the guard scoffed. “Bunch of assholes ruining my night to have a goddamn orgy!”

The scrambling reached the nearest steps, the sound of a heavy body closing in on the door. The guard heard it too. Keeping his gun pointed at Nick’s back, he stepped to the stairwell door. Grabbing the doorhandle, he yelled with gusto, “Hey asshole, this is museum security. I hear you in there. I’m gonna open the door and I better see your hands!”

He didn’t need to open the door. The door exploded open with a metal screech and a monstrous creature burst from the darkness of the stairwell, aiming for the blustering guard. The guard yanked the trigger when the beast struck him with the force of a wrecking ball, sending a bullet into the wall as man and beast went careening together twenty feet across the floor. Its body had passed Alice by inches, close enough for her to smell the fresh blood and older rancid death on its scaly hide.

Nick shoved away from the wall, grabbing Alice’s arm and running with her in the opposite direction from the carnage. The guard was screaming, but it lasted only as long as a few of their running strides before it was cut off with a wet gurgle and replaced by a sound like an overfull trash bag bursting.

They ran into the thick of the rainforest exhibit, where they were surrounded by vibrant dioramas and luscious vegetation. The windows on this floor admitted silver moonlight, allowing them to see it very clearly. Birds of every color of the spectrum were frozen mid-flight, golden jaguars prowled, and ancient Amazonian architecture formed a visual feast. The highlight of the rainforest exhibit was also the centerpiece of the exhibit hall. A huge glass terrarium filled with tropical vegetation housed an army of living butterflies. Thousands of beautiful butterflies of kaleidoscopic colors flitted through the plants inside in a living whirlwind of colorful wings.

They ran past the butterflies to the far end of the exhibit where another hallway branched off. Nick pointed down it and whispered, “The old west exhibit is just down that way. The guns in there are all functional, and a few of the gunbelts still have live rounds. Maybe…”

“Will the bullets still fire after sitting for more than a century?” Alice asked skeptically.

“As long as the primers haven’t gone bad. Or gotten wet. And the cartridges have remained sealed, and the gunpowder hasn’t leaked out.” He grinned sardonically.

“So, probably not,” Alice surmised.

“Probably not,” Nick agreed. “But do you have a better idea?”

The beast entered the rainforest exhibit with its nose held high, sniffing the air. Nick pulled Alice to him and backed against the wall, hiding them as best he could behind an Amazonian monolith decorated with carvings of ancient deities. The beast froze, its eyes fixed ahead, its posture rigid. It looked as if it stared right at them through the length of the butterfly terrarium. With an excited grunt, the beast swiped at the end of the glass cage, breaking it open, and jumped inside. Thousands of butterflies came to life like confetti, fluttering around the beast that had disturbed them. The beast was captivated, cocking its head curiously at the butterflies, flicking its tail as it swiped its paws at them and tried to chomp them between its jaws. It jumped and twisted and twirled inside the terrarium like a cat confronted with a thousand laser dots. It grunted happily as it pounced on a large Monarch then snorted when another flew at its nose.

Slowly, Nick pulled Alice with him toward the hall leading to the old west exhibit. They edged along the wall at a crawling pace so as not to draw the beast’s attention while it chomped and swiped at the whirlwind of butterflies. The old west exhibit came into view at the end of the hallway, horses and cowboys and bison materializing in the dim light. Nick brought his lips to Alice’s ear and told her, “You go grab all the guns you can find. I’ll start looking through the gunbelts for live rounds. .45’s and 30-30’s are going to be our best bets for a match.”

She nodded her understanding as another sound boomed through the hall. The sound of several running footsteps and the clink of metal. Narrow beams of light bounced around inside the old west exhibit from flashlights held by running men.

Nick stopped short, his hold on her arm keeping Alice beside him. He pulled her down with him when he dropped to his knees, raising his hands above his head in a clear posture of supplication, just as several armed security guards ran into the hallway from the old west exhibit. The light hit Nick’s face, momentarily blinding him, as the men rushed them, guns drawn. Alice looked behind them and saw a huge shadow looming in the entrance to the rainforest exhibit, watching them with gleaming eyes. The guard’s light didn’t reach it and they were too focused on Nick to notice the real threat. The shadow seemed to disintegrate back into the darkness like a receding nightmare. The beast must be intelligent enough to avoid confronting so many drawn firearms. Or it was simply biding its time for the right moment.

“You’re under arrest!” the lead guard shouted as he rushed Nick. Turning him bodily around, he shoved him to his stomach with his face pressed into the tile and yanked his arms behind his back.

“We didn’t do anything, you idiot!” Alice said futility. “There’s something in here with us.”

“Save it, lady,” the guard said gruffly. “You both have the right to remain silent and I suggest you fucking use it.” He prodded his gun rudely into Nick’s back and cuffed his hands. “I heard all about you on the radio. Some big bastard resisting arrest after breaking in. And I saw some of your handiwork already.”

“You have to listen, it wasn’t me,” Nick gritted. “There’s some kind of animal in here with us.”

“Yeah, get started on that insanity defense right off the bat, you murdering sonofabitch,” the guard hissed. “Just keep talking so I can testify to all your bullshit.”

Two guards came and hefted Nick up by his arms, yanking them painfully back and straining his shoulders. Alice looked at him when he stood, giving him her steadiest and most reassuring gaze. “Don’t tell them anything. It won’t do you any good. Let your lawyer do the talking for you.” She winked at him for the second time that night. “I promise you have a good one.”

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 © safarigirlsp 2024

Tagging some buddies!

@babbushka @in-silks-and-flesh-and-leather @mrs-gucci @mrs-zimmerman @iamburdened @gabesprincess @rynwritesstuff @candycanes19 @caillea @cas-backwards-tie @queeniebee @mythrielofsolitude @ghoulian13 @icarusinthesea @reyloaddict55 @reylokisses @heartlight-starlight @richbrittstein @thepalaceofmelanie @reveluving @fax4life27 @vedavan @queen-of-elves @srorgana1 @kyloremus @lumberjack00fantasies

[filmtv2022]

To The Bitter End:

The Meeting of a Lifetime (Extra Scene)

Series Masterlist (It is 18+ as a whole... even though this part isn't)

Synopsis: This scene occurs right before Doc and Y/N share a quiet moment on the porch after meeting for the first time. Doc, Wyatt, and Y/N share drink and laughter together, and for the first time in a long time, John and Y/N feel alive.

Warnings: Language + drinking + smoking + spoilers? (It connects right into the rest of the story, but I think anyone could probably read this and be okay)

A/N: Well, it's been nearly two years since I posted To The Bitter End, and I haven't stopped thinking about it. I went back and read it again, and I have to say, I'm so unbelievably proud of that story. With that being said, recently a few ideas for extra scenes popped into my head for this story, and I thought... why not write them for others to enjoy (hopefully). As always, I apologize for any errors! Also, I'll put the stupid page break in once Tumblr gets it shit together! :)

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Passing the bottle of whiskey across the table to Wyatt you could feel the impending lull in conversation. Maybe it was the alcohol loosening your tongue or perhaps it was the mesmerizing smirk that played across your guest’s face, but you just couldn’t help yourself, “So, John, you said you’re a doctor. Of what exactly?” 

Wyatt tucked in his drink, falling silent as his focus darted between you and John. Not yet worried, but also unwilling to relax. He’d seen you take a conversation a step to far one too many times to be comfortable. 

“Dentistry,” John sipped at his drink, hearing your murmured hum of incredulity he continued on, “I sense skepticism. Care to enlighten me as to why?” 

“How perceptive,” Clearing your throat, you tossed back the rest of your whiskey, “It's just that you don’t strike me as a man who’s willing to settle down. Which I assume would be necessary to have a thriving practice. I truly have a hard time picturing you like that… a white coat covering your fine suit and tie, no gun in your holster, and only patient after patient to occupy your mind. It doesn’t add up. You’re an intellectual, I’ll give ya that. A businessman, sure. But one to call any place home longer than absolutely necessary… never. You, John Holliday, are a wanderer. I can see it in your eyes."

Doc remained quiet as you reached for the bottle, and poured yourself another. There was something in his gaze as it remained fixed to yours. A dark haze belied his base nature, but for John, it was the distinct feeling of you peeling back the layers of his cultured facade as easily as breathing that terrified and intrigued him the most. Trapped in your aura, he finished his own drink, letting the glass thud on the thick wooden table before inhaling deeply from his cigar, “And you darlin’… are as dangerous as they come.” 

“Perhaps,” you chewed the inside of your lip, tugging your features into a sly smile, “And yet, what does man, such as yourself, have to fear of little ol’ me?” 

“Everything,” John’s tone was serious and steady, and yet nothing in his response could hide the way you drew him in. 

You clung to his every move, tracking the minute changes in his countenance. The pull of his lips, the bob of his throat… the hitch of his lungs. It felt as though there were no secrets between you at this moment, and it thrilled you.

“Smart answer, Mr. Holliday,” the uncomfortable grit of Wyatt’s cough broke the trance, “Now where were we? Ah, that's right we were discussing my brother's propensity to find himself embroiled in less than lawful activities from which he cannot extricate himself without help despite being a legendary lawman. That's precisely what we were talking about, care to elaborate Wyatt?”

“You're a downright menace, you know that?” Wyatt's huffed chuckle assured you that no offense had actually been taken.

“Yes, I’m well aware. And who do we have to blame for that?” you brought your glass up and took a deep swig of the amber liquid, “Because truthfully, I’m not sure what you expect of me after bein’ cooped up in this hell hole of a tinder box all day while you go off galavanting as some goddamn hero of the wild west. But again, I am glad you aren’t dead. I don’t know what the hell I’d do without ya. Quite honestly, I’m afraid I’d be joining you six feet under when Virg and Morgan got a hold of me ‘cause somehow I’d be blamed for your death.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N you can't say shit like that.”

“I can… and I will,” smirking at Wyatt you couldn’t help, but swell with pride at the sound of John’s laughter. Joining in the levity, your tone was light and airy as you spoke, “Now if you don’t mind. I’m going to get some air.” 

Despite opening the open windows, the room had grown stuffy with heat from the fire & smoke from the men’s cigars.

Needing a small break for fresh air you excused yourself to the front porch. Wyatt took advantage of the moment to go seek out yet another bottle of whiskey as you all had worked your way through the first. 

The air had cooled substantially from this afternoon and sent goosebumps running over your skin. But you didn’t care, the clean, crisp scent of the air was exactly what you needed to clear your head. There on the porch, staring out into the vast nothingness ahead of you, the palpable tension you felt in your body began to dim. Losing a loved one was something that scared you through and through, and realizing how close you’d come to that today put your nerves on high. The creak of the door opening had you turning your head back to see who had joined you. You were pleasantly surprised to see John making his way towards you. Laying your palms on the wooden railing in front of you, you closed your eyes & and let your head fall back a little as you inhaled deeply. The scent of the night air mixed with another, one that over time you’d realize was distinctly John. It was a perfect mix of whiskey, smoke & sweat. It filled your lungs sweetly bringing with it a feeling of peace. 

You could feel him stop behind you, only a few inches separated the two of you. The pair of you stood there for a moment in silence. Your eyes were still closed allowing your body to relax. John on the other hand was fixated on you. His eyes mapped your face, trying to commit every beautiful feature to memory. His gaze landed finally on your lips, and the longer John stared the more difficult it became for him to refrain from leaning down to kiss you. A small gust of wind blew over the porch causing you to shiver slightly. Without thinking John removed his jacket & placed it over your shoulders before rubbing his hands along your upper arms in an attempt to warm you. Sighing with contentment, you leaned your body back until you met his frame. The skirt of your light yellow dress blew in the wind wrapping itself around John.

Opening your eyes you turned your head to look up at John.

“Thank you. Thank you for keeping him safe.”

“Anything for you darlin’ ” 

It was here on this night that the invisible string that would tie you two together had started to form.

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise IIl: Tango

Summary: An Old Christmas tune brings Eddie face-to-face with what he has been running from. Turns out, you aren't as different as you think you are.

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone AU!, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character, period-appropriate death, angst, fluff, piano smut, oral (fem receiving)

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.6k

Author's Note: I've been creatively and emotionally constipated for weeks now, so the fact that I even got this out when I did was a feart on it's own and I'm very proud of myself for it.

As always, thank you to @dr-aculaaa for being my BTS on this project, love you <3

Find the series masterlist here!

Edward was a man of repose, though, in your sadness, you’d figured you’d been, too. Maybe it wasn't repose at all. Stoicism, maybe, but there was one thing you knew for certain: He was much prettier than you. His skin of alabaster, freckles across flesh kisses of vulnerability and dusted across his worn body as a reminder of the naivety of the youth he once possessed. 

You supposed this is what it was now, slender fingers plucking at strings in the dead of night. Be it the stoicism or the naivety of youth, the moon cast a glow across his cheeks and carved rivers through the valleys of his face. You listen to the inflection of strings scraping loosely across frets. F, A, B, A, in a smooth stacking rhythm. 

There is a twang to his strumming, like there was a string loose somewhere– but not entirely like your piano. The piano had a resounding twang, it echoed within itself like the ghosts of internal hammers and keys before throwing its brashness out against the walls of your bar. You did not know how to tune it, and it would not be tuned again. 

This sound was much softer, much less brash than your own, the hum resounded within the walls of the instrument itself before dissipating the sound into the open night air like an inkwell in water. It spread, filled the space and lingered until there was another sound to see it out. A choreography of sorts, yet the song was all too familiar in the way it filled the space in your head and the hole in your heart. 

Its tiny, needle-pointed feet danced across your brain in flashes of sheer white fabric and the song of the oak floors of The Grand Hotel. Their piano did not sing the same far-east folk song as yours, no, instead it hummed an autumnal hymn of reverence and elegance. It was not as perverse as your piano, but your piano was more gentle with your heart. Your piano didn’t remind you of that worn spot on the floor, or the cracking scabs forming on your hardened knuckles. 

The corner of the door jamb dug a divot into your shoulder, but you didn’t have the grace to move without making the entire balcony creak, so you didn’t. A singular step forward pulls a groan from the floor of the porch where the wood expands with the heat of the impending monsoon, and, regretfully, his fingers pull themselves from the frets like the nails holding the plants to the rafters of the porch. 

“Hello, Edward.”

“Ma’am.”

You leaned back against the post, arms folded and unable to will away the beginning semblances of a grin from your lips. You couldn’t help the roll of your eyes in his direction. 

“I think we’re past ma’am now, Edward.” 

“Well, in that case, I also think we’re past Edward, now.” A grin that resembled your own pulled at the corners of his mouth. He had asked you to call him Eddie earlier, it felt less formal than this. The formality kept you upright, kept this whole thing from crumbling.  

You folded your arms in front of yourself, hip dropping heavy across the solid singing of your piano. Kind-of-but-not-really attempting to conceal the smile spreading across your face like a disease, “That’s a pretty song you were playing.”

“Learned it from a woman.” Eddie had said to you, arms folded, starting a stride with heavy, hollow footing towards you. Slow and in a metronomy rhythm. 

You cocked a brow at him, smile spackled heavy across your face, “Oh really?” 

“Yes, really.” He insisted, “She owned a bar out west. Played it at night on an old piano.” 

“Well I’ve got an old piano here.” You said to him, arms staying folded as you kicked your boot out in a heavy, choreographed stride, “Maybe I can teach you to play it sometime.” 

It was always this song and dance. Always this beautiful waltz of back-and-forth quips, lines wonderfully blurred by the haze of smoke from a cigar and sweet as the kiss of sasparilla, though, that bitter aftertaste would still rear it’s ugly head like the snake from the hole. Rattles thick in the stagnant air like a warning. 

“Y’know,” Eddie had said to you through a puff of smoke, “You should really stop giving me all of these free things.” 

You’d never take that into account. One cigar from the humidor, in the grander scheme of things, would never be enough repayment for anything he had done for this town. Anything he had done for you, 

“Well,” You’d quipped back, sitting back down at the polished bench of your old piano, “ – maybe you should stop saving my life, then.” 

That bitter aftertaste, a sting of smoke stilled in the in-between hung heavy in the air– shattered by the opening arpeggio shrill enough to shatter it like glass. 

“I’ll always save your life.” 

You couldn’t decipher if the pause in your song had been intentional, though, you’d hoped it seemed intentional enough to be a plausible excuse for your silence in return. The bass notes rang heavy under the shifting mechanisms in the hollow underside of the piano as you placed a foot, too-heavy, against pedals in a desperate effort to drown out the harshness of noise, the heaviness of your hands– the weight of this place. 

He filled his space on the opposite half of the thin piano bench, his legs bracing against the floor to press his back against yours. He leaned his head backwards, a welcome weight against your shoulder, and tried to feel the muscles in your hands turn over each other and vibrate in time to the bass crescendos and tinny melodic trebles. 

“Where’d you learn to play something as pretty as this, anyhow?” He kept his voice soft, turning his head to attempt to look at what you were doing. You could feel the heavy breath from his nose cool against your neck. 

“It’s an old German worship song. My husband’s mother would sing it at Christmas.”

He looked at the handwriting along the ledger lines and felt sorrow for the woman that wrote it. 

He can see their Christmas, a mother’s voice a warm river across the rocks of a piano melody, a distraction from the war waging just outside of their front doors. A fire and a meal, though, he remembered the wartime– remembered a time where his own mother had rationed enough of their weekly collection to have a real, fresh meal. He thought of that warmth and then thought of you. 

He tips his head back and blows a plume of smoke in an effort to stifle the memory. Instead, he wishes to replace that warmth with you. 

He stared at the hole in the floor, the discolored groove where you had scrubbed your knuckles bloody and raw. He thought about the him-shaped divot he had scrubbed into the frozen planes of Montana. 

He thought of her, the eldest daughter of two Roman Catholic missionaries following the fur trade to an unholy promised land. 

He thought about God, and just how cruel He could be. 

Did Eddie sit where your husband once sat? Did he lean against the expanse of your back and feel the vibration of the keys travel through the wiry expanses of your arms and settle back against him, just as Eddie had? 

Would he leave a him-shaped hole in you the same way your husband had? Would you wear down the wood the same way he wore down himself? 

“I was married, too.” he admitted to you, voice shattering the turning of sheet music and the resonant patriarchal basso that echoed out against these glass windows. 

“What was her name?”

“Christine.”

“Is that why you’re here?”

“Yes.” 

You sound like his mother, he thinks, authoritative but not coddling in the way you question him. He wonders if you feel a discomfort in this statement. He hopes you feel a solidarity in your grieving enough to overlook it. You do not ask him how she died, though, if you were to, he would tell you:

Christine dies at the hand of laudanum, too beautiful to not have a devastating fault. The red-haired daughter of southwest Arksansas– far across that deep blue water she lived, and it was across that water where he had loved and left her. He thought of her skin, like ivory though cold as porcelain even long before her death. Her body, as it was laid to rest, had remained the same even in death as it had during her life. No amount of insurmountable beauty could cover the sullenness under her eyes or the frailness of her wrists. The red halo of hair surrounding her head could not guarantee a peaceful end. No amount of love was enough to save her from herself. 

He thinks of her eyes, long before the hollowness had clouded them over like a storm. He remembered a time where there was a soft glow there, a gas lamp that only he could ignite. He wondered if your eyes held that same glow. 

He thinks of a time where she stood outside of her father’s river home, barefoot in the mess of cattails and thick grass to encase him in a loving embrace. He had insisted that she put some shoes on. He wondered if you did the same, letting your feet burn in the sun-warm sand. He wondered if your husband insisted that you do the same.

Their marriage had died long before she had. The kiss of opium tincture still bitter against his own lips as he pressed them to hers for a last time. 

Your hands were not as tender as hers, yet the tenderness was not what he craved. He thought about this now, as you held his arm in a grounding grip. Tight enough to know that you were still there but not enough to hurt. He wondered if you needed that, too. 

This kiss was all-encompassing, starving in nature, though awkward on the deliverance. 

He knew you would forgive him if he was being too forward, but he figured you were a little past apologies now. Your back is laid across his lap, twisting and contorting to meet his own lips from your side of the piano bench. He uses this leverage to pull you forward, more over him than against him. 

There are hot tears that run down his cheeks, though, he’d figured you were past those now, too. 

His embrace around your back is not hungry– it is desperate, as if he is clinging to anything to keep him tethered to this plane. 

The piano bench scrapes loud against the knotted wooden floors of the bar as he pushes your back against the keys. They sounded with an off-key crash and lingered for moments too long. You do not feel the way the keys and beveled finish of the piano press into your back, in the same way he does not feel the knotted pine dig into his knees when he kneels at your feet. 

“Please,” He whines, tears no longer streaming down his ruddy face, though the sticky tracks remain, “Please jus’ let me taste.” 

It is not possible for you to deny him when crystalline tears budding up against a pink lashline– when a heavy hand drags itself against your leg in anticipation– no– pleading. 

You lean further back, balancing on the slippery edge of the piano bench, and you swear you can hear a soft, “Thank you.” whispered against your thigh between soft, wet kisses. 

His grip is bruising. In the same way you had tethered him to this earth, he binds you to him. One hand lies on the pool where the outer fat of your thigh presses flat against the wood, the other a vice, at your knee in order to keep your legs open. 

The edges of teeth graze against tender skin, affixing themselves along garter belts as hungry hands find purchase on your hips beneath chemise underdresses. Hot, humid breath dampens your skin as it escapes from his teeth– clamped along the garter now sliding down your leg and off your foot. A strong hand pushes back upwards, feeling along the silken hair there. 

Edward was a man of repose. In your sadness, you’d figured you’d been, too. Though, you wouldn’t have guessed it by the way he pressed a hot, flat tongue against your core and traveled upwards slowly in an experimental taste. 

“Like fuckin’ sugar,” He wines into you, his hair a splayed mess against your thighs, his tongue finding purchase against your core. 

Thick fingers prod within you, the slow in and out a tether to focus on as you shook. He wanted you to shake. He wanted you to tremble and shiver all of the worries that had plagued you to the bone. 

Eddie could not be your husband, but he could make you forget– even if it was just for the night. 

He reaches upwards from beneath your dresses, a hand intertwining itself with yours and feeling across the ridges of your cut and calloused knuckles. 

You could not be Christine, but you could be here– even if it was never in your bed. 

At the precipice of your climax, you cry out, and he likes to think that it is for him. He squeezes your hand, emerging from beneath your clothes with hair askew and a dewey sheen across reddened cheeks. When he kisses you, it is softer and you taste yourself on his lips. He does not think of the bitter taste of opium residual on the lips of Christine. Instead, he only thinks of you. 

He does not waste time when he hikes your skirtings above your waist, hands like a vice against the fat of your hips. He is quick when he unclasps his belt and unbuttons his trousers, and smooth when he slides himself into you. 

You are quieter than other women, soft staccato breaths escaping with whispers of moans punctuate his thrusts– slowly and then with more rigor. 

He keeps a furrowed brow as a bead of sweat drips down his nose and onto the bare skin on your chest where his lips now find purchase, staccatos of his own dotting your skin like galaxies in the vastness. 

He sees the way the soft glow of the lamp light heats your skin, the pink ruddiness that graces your cheeks or the glitter that flashes over your eyelids when the light catches the oil there. He sees the way your soft lashes kiss the apples of your cheeks or the soft folds of your neck as your head lolls to the side in satisfaction. He sees the way your hair curls with sweat around your ears in soft coils or the way his saliva has settled in a gloss along your lips. 

And by the stars above you, he swears that he could love you.

A thumb is heavy against you, in circles and figure eights as it wills you towards the edge that you closely teeter upon. 

“It’s okay,” He whispers to you, by soft pianissimo whispers, “You can have this. I want you to have this.” 

A barely-there sigh escapes your lips, deeper-winded than the rest and you allow your body to fall slack as he continues to pump in a rhythm, finishing quickly and lowering your underskirts as he sinks to his knees. 

Tonight, you would hold his head against your stomach as hot tears would once again roll down his face. Tonight, you would card fingers through the tangles in his hair as he lays his upper body limp and racks with soft sobs across your lap. 

Tonight, you think you will unmake the left side of the bed. 

[rndmmarston]

Doc Holliday X Reader

A/N-This is my First ever post on here and my first ever time writing stuff like this, so sorry if its not that great. <3

Warnings- None

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It was a Regular night at the oriental, cowboys drinking, working girls doing there thing, and lots a gambling. I was at the faro table filling up drinks for the Earp’s and for Doc. I don’t know what it is between me and Doc,we’ve known each other for years but we aren’t together but we have some sort of weird relationship. My thoughts were interrupted by the Earp’s and Doc coming back to the table, “Thanks Y/N” Wyatt said sitting down at the table. I stood beside Doc as we watch the Card games take place.

Three Guys with Red sash’s walk into the Oriental looking to cause trouble, they walked up to table, one of them wearing a bright red shirt snatch’s the dollar bill out of Wyatt’s hand “Wyatt Earp huh, Heard about you” I then took a few step’s to get behind Doc just in case something happen, “Listen here now Mr Kansas Law dog Law dont go round here” said the third one. “Im retired” Wyatt said trying not to cause any Trouble “Good, Thats Real good” The one in the Bright red said while placing down chips, the Third then got real close to Wyatt “ Yeah, thats good, Mr. Law Dog, ‘cause law don’t go around here” “Yeah i heard you heard the first time, Winner to the King Five Hundred Dollars” I started to feel a little tense, I never like the Cowboys they always kinda scared me “ Shut up Ike” “You Must be Doc Holliday” I felt yourself get even more tense, “ Thats the Rumor” Doc said coughing a little bit “You retired too?” “Not me im in my Prime” Doc said strongly “Yeah, you look it” “ and You Must Ringo, Look darling Johnny Ringo” He said pointing at Ringo while looking at me, My heart starts to beat out of my chest “ The deadliest pistoleer since Wild Bill they say, what do you think darling should I hate him?” He said asking me “You don’t even know him” I said trying to act Calm that he called me ‘Darling’ “Yes, but theres just something about him, something around the eye’s I don’t know Reminds me of…Me, No im sure of it I hate him” he said before drinking “He’s drunk” Wyatt said to Ringo trying to keep it Calm and not break out a fight, “In vino Veritas” Doc said in some different Language “Age quod agis” I started to get more Scared of what was gonna happen next I took a few more steps behind Doc to get closer to the Earp’s, Doc and Ringo said more stuff in Latin I think, then Marshall Fred white stepped in “ Come on boys we Don’t want no trouble in here. Not in any Language” I look down to see Wyatt cocking a Gun under the Table, “Thats Latin Darlin’, Evidently Mr. Ringo an educated man, Now I really hate him” Ringo then pulls his gun at Doc making me Jump a little but Doc stood there like a statue, Ringo then Started teasing him by putting his gun down then pointing it back at him, Ringo them started to spin his gun around in the air, the bar started to yell and clap, he then holstered his gun and the bar got quiet waiting to see what Doc would do back at Ringo, Doc drank the rest of his Drink out of his cup before he started to spin it Around like a Gun Mocking Ringo, he then was done, the Bar clapped and laughed, All Ringo did was smile and walk away with the other 2 Cowboys over to the bar. “Hey Doc” I asked while Walking out of The Oriental back to the Hotel “Yes darlin’?” There was a little pause, “What are we?” I asked “well” theres was another pause, our faces got a little closer, he then pressed his soft lips against mine, I was shocked but then started to kiss him back, It almost felt like I had sparkss in my Body, I put my hands around his Neck as he put his around my waist, I wish that kiss would have lasted for ever but we pulled apart breathless, “Does that answer your Question darlin’?” He asked with a smirk on his face “ I think it does” I said smiling at him. __________________________________________ A/N- Sorry if that wasn’t the best, like a said it is my first time, if you have any Requests i would happily (Attempt) to Do them! <GIF is Not mine>

[doingthingsthewriteway]

upcoming works

I’ve got a part 2 for daisy x doc (very fluffy relationship stuff, might make you barf) 

and I’m working on a Madmartigan fic. 

I would love some ideas for Iceman so feel free to send in asks. 

Also, if you also share in my affinity for val, feel free to reach out. 

[whiskeyswriting]

Dragon's 5k Followers Celebration

For Rachael:

Asserting Her Tiny Dominance (Doc Holliday x Baylie Kazasnky x Rachael Kazansky)

Chaos Squad’s Incorrect Quotes with Rooster

Love is Blind? No. John is Blind! (John Henry Petterson x Rachael)

Preview: Gotham’s Golden Couple (Bruce Wayne x Rachael)

Where Are We Going? (Iceman x Dragon)

Reader Insert:

Slow Dance in a Parking Lot (Steven Grant x Fem!Reader)

Syllabus and Tea (Baron Zemo x Reader)

Those Two Lines (Goose x Fem!Reader)

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[cedarsue]

When the Strength of Men Wavers - A Tombstone Fanfiction

Doc Holliday x original character

"Ida Marlene Earp did her best to be a lady, but her brothers taught her that character was not found in how well one adhered to societal norms."

After Morgan's death, Ida Earp is determined to keep those she has left alive. Without giving the men much choice, she joins Wyatt's Vendetta Ride. Ida falls into taking care of a certain friend of Wyatt's, the one and only Doc Holliday, on the trail for vengeance.

NOTE: I do my best to stay away from distinctive physical descriptions of Ida so that loyal fans of "_______ x reader" (It's me. I'm fans.) can enjoy the story a little more! [Other than Ida Earp and some minor characters, I do not own/did not create any of the characters written in this work.]