Chapter Text
Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock; T.S. Eliot
Carson City was a beautiful city, if a bit too busy for Doc’s tastes. He was unused to being so far west, but he found the dry air helped with his lungs as long as he avoided the deserts. Which, unfortunately, was near impossible. But in such civilized places like Carson City, he’d be hard-pressed to find a patch of sand within city limits.
Riding in with half the Nevada desert stuck to both his clothes and his poor horse, Keats, he was only grateful he’d had the foresight to tug a bandana over his mouth and nose before he started his journey across the dunes. Despite the extra layer between him and the elements, his breathing beneath the bandana was more haggard than usual, and he was slumped forward in the saddle over the neck of his horse from the long ride. Even through his usual desire to ride his own horse over taking a stagecoach if possible, his body was beginning to feel saddle-sore from the long journey.
Him and Kate had a bit of a… falling out, a few weeks prior. Doc had wanted to move on from Prescott, sick of the hustle and bustle and the Godawful heat interspersed with a truly atrocious amount of Bible-thumpers. And if that wasn’t bad enough, the law had begun cracking down on crime with an upsurge in recruitment. Needless to say, Doc had felt suffocated on all fronts and was practically begging Kate to leave. Unfortunate for him, yet fortunate for her, business was great for her in Prescott, and she was loathe to leave. She wanted to build up her savings again, having not worked since their brief stay in Dodge City. Doc admitted to himself, rather reluctantly, that he’d definitely mishandled the situation, and his lonely exile was perhaps his own fault.
Before what Doc learned in Dodge, he would’ve gone to Wyatt to commiserate with the other man, but after learning of Wyatt’s new beau? Doc refused to go. Refused to watch through green-tinted glass while Wyatt doted on his new woman. Even then, he was still tempted; tempted to see if he could lure Wyatt back to him, if only for another night. After just thinking that, though, he was filled with far too much guilt to remain comfortable with himself if he followed through. As much as he wanted Wyatt for himself, his own warped sense of honor refused to take away Wyatt’s slice of paradise, especially after Doc was given his own small piece in Dodge when Wyatt put his pursuing on hold.
Thus: Nevada. He was tired of big cities, but he didn’t have the energy to deal with a small town without Kate there as a buffer. So he grit his teeth and bore the strain put on him in larger cities. At least their saloons were a bit nicer than the ones found in most dusty little towns this far west.
It was late spring, and the sun was already almost set when Doc managed to square away a hotel room for at least the next week. He sat on the edge of his bed in his room, blankly staring at his luggage uncaringly dropped to the floor. A romantic at heart, he wasn’t ashamed to say he missed Kate something dreadful, but he was ashamed to think of how he was handling it, and how he handled the situation that even led him there. Doc sighed, listless, and wasn’t surprised when a wet cough followed.
Spending the next few minutes hacking away into his poor stained kerchief, he painstakingly managed to suck in an agonized breath that didn’t end with a cough. He leaned back, sweating and shaking faintly, staring down at the blood-stained cloth in his hand. He tried not to think about how much fresh blood was just added.
“I need a drink,” he muttered, voice raw from the fit.
Hauling himself to his feet with a long groan, not bothering to hide it since he was alone, he made his way downstairs to ask the attendant for the nearest half-decent saloon.
Without much surprise, the next several hours were spent trying to get as unbelievably drunk as he could, which was quite a feat considering his tolerance. But as it neared eleven in the evening, he was starting to see double, and he was fairly comfortable in the assumption that if he tried to stand, he would not be getting back up from the ground once he inevitably hit it.
Between one blink and the next the barstool next to him had a new occupant, voicing a gentle request for a shot of tequila. Curious, Doc dragged his eyes over to the newcomer like there were weights attached, and stared. The man was vaguely familiar, whether it be the mustache or the similarly kind looking eyes. Whatever it was, it caused Doc’s fleeting attention to zero in on the young man.
The stranger, catching Doc’s stare, frowned and turned to Doc more fully. “There a problem?”
Doc hummed, leaning most of his weight against the bartop. “You wouldn’t happen to be related to a man by the name Wyatt Earp, would you?” he questioned, tilting his head and resting it against his hand, hardly able to feel the limb. Everything had finally gone pleasantly numb, both his turmoiling emotions and the chronic ache in his chest.
The man beside him frowned while his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Why do you ask?” he said, voice wary.
“Oh, you just look mighty similar to him, my friend,” slurred Doc, waving the hand he wasn’t leaning on around limply.
The other man hummed before slinging back his shot of tequila and answering Doc. “As a matter of fact, I am related to a Wyatt Earp; he’s my brother. I’m Morgan Earp,” Morgan introduced, putting forward his hand to shake.
Doc pulled his head off his hand with great effort, and put it out as well. “Doc Holliday,” he grunted, shaking their hands. “A pleasure to meet another Earp.”
“Oh I’ve heard of ya! Undead-dentist-outlaw-gambler-man,” Morgan exclaimed, grinning over at Doc.
“That is quite the number of adjectives for just one man,” Doc observed, blindly reaching for his glass of whiskey and drinking down the remaining dregs and clumsily motioning for another. He silently hoped that with the presence of someone else, he wouldn’t be cut off so soon.
“Number of what now?”
Doc laughed with a shrug. “Don’t worry about it, my tequila drinking friend,” he soothed, turning to the bartender who was returning with his whiskey. “Another tequila for my friend here, if you will kind sir,” Doc drawled, vision splitting in two once more before slowly remerging.
The bartender surreptitiously glanced over at Morgan to make sure that was alright before going to pour another and put it on Doc’s already overmuch tab.
“While I appreciate the gesture, are you sure you can handle another one?” Morgan asked, looking concerned as he watched Doc drink half his glass in one go. Doc only raised his eyebrows while wiping his mouth on the sleeve of his duster he hadn’t bothered to take off. He didn’t care if it seemed rude. The meek spring heat from the day had been leached out into the sand and cement and left the air just the side of too chilly for Doc’s rail-thin body.
“My friend, I can always handle more whiskey,” Doc said, voice syrup-slow and over careful with the pronunciation even as he grinned at the end.
Morgan only chuckled a little while shrugging. “Alright then, I won’t leave you to drink alone.” He downed his shot of tequila in short fashion with a grimace before flagging down the poor bartender again. “I’ll have what he’s having, but put it on my tab, if you could,” he requested, waving off Doc’s drunken protests.
“We’ve only just met! You don’t need to ply me with drinks to hold my attention, I swear it. You’ll have plenty of time to buy me more in the future if you really wanna,” Morgan admonished, cracking a smile at Doc’s face of resignation. Goes to show that all the Earps were stubborn as all hell. Just his luck.
“Alright, alright, you’ve got me. Consider yourself lucky that I’ve had just a little too much to drink to properly defend my honor,” replied Doc, eyeing the rest of his whiskey before deciding to take pity on himself and the poor bartender and left the rest to finish a little later.
Morgan, distinctly still amused, politely thanked the bartender for the whiskey and took a careful sip. He hummed appreciatively. “Not what I expected a gunslinger like you to drink.”
Doc snorted. “I consider myself more of a gambler, you see. The guns are just… a deterrent.”
Eyeing Doc’s gleaming six-shooters in their customary cavalry draw shoulder holster positions, Morgan decided not to say anything further.
Abruptly, part of their conversation from earlier came to mind and Doc became curious. “Just a moment, where did you hear of me? I can’t imagine it was from Wyatt,” he asked, tilting his head.
Morgan’s face brightened, displaying just how youthful he really was. Despite the minimal age gap, it made Doc feel indescribably old for a few moments while Morgan began speaking.
“Well, a few years ago I happened to be reading the paper when I read about the death of a semi-famous gambler who’d made a mean name for himself out west,” he started while Doc watched attentively. “Said you’d been a dentist, which is probably why I recognized your name when it came up again, ‘cause it struck me as something a bit odd, but I gave the paper to my wife and didn’t think on it any longer.”
“And then?” Doc prompted, curious.
Morgan let out an amused breath, mouth quirking into a slight grin. “And then a few months later I read about some gambler stabbin’ another man and it somehow ending with half the town in flames. For a while, I couldn’t remember where I’d heard your name, but eventually it came to me and I thought it mighty interesting that you’d somehow escaped death. Meeting you is kinda… well, it’s kinda an honor, if I’m to be honest,” Morgan finished, looking a bit bashful at his ending admission.
Doc couldn’t help but find it cute, like one found a puppy begging for scraps cute. “An honor? For little ole me? Oh how you stroke my ego, friend. An unwise move many would tell you, I’m sure,” mused Doc, picking up his whiskey once more and grinning into the glass before signaling for another.
“I think you’ve had enough, partner. I’ll get you some beer, since it’s cheaper ‘n cleaner than the water ‘round here, but no more liquor,” the bartender stated, eyes hard and posture resolute. Doc knew there was no arguing with a man of his countenance, and with his current state and current company, he found he didn’t want to bother with trying.
“A beer then,” Doc amended, grimacing a bit in displeasure. He wasn’t a fan of beer, but he’d had the water in these parts and the man wasn’t lying about the abysmal quality of it.
Doc looked at the remaining dregs of his whiskey for a moment, unceremoniously downing it in one large gulp and professional enough to contain the instinctual splutter. He hummed at the taste and found his eyes drifting over to the dusty piano in the corner, but any desire to play was quashed once he remembered there would be no delicate weight pressed against his back as he drunkenly swayed in time with the keys.
Determined to distract himself, he dragged his heavy gaze away from the piano and settled it on Morgan Earp.
“Well then do me the honor of answering a question of mine,” Doc said, picking up on their previous conversation with ease, as if he hadn’t just been denied a drink and that he wasn’t barely keeping himself in his seat. “What’s a… nice an’ honorable man like you doin’ round these parts? Especially when your dear brother is a good deal further east than here.”
Once again, Morgan brightened, looking genuinely excited by Doc’s question.
“Oh wow, I can’t believe I get to tell you before Wyatt. Me and Virgil were just out visiting Wyatt to make plans to move to a place called Tombstone down in Arizona together. We were just resting here for the evening before headin’ on the rest of the way home,” explained Morgan, taking another sip of his whiskey once he’d finished.
Doc frowned, sorting through his whiskey-addled mind for any memory of a man named Virgil but came up blank.
“And… who is Virgil?” Doc asked, looking over at the approaching bartender and disdainfully taking the glass of beer with a sneer.
“Ah, right. Virgil is our older brother, another lawman. Or, well, former I suppose. This is supposed to be our retirement, though I’m mostly tagging along to get away from the rest of our brothers,” Morgan answered, watching with barely veiled amusement at the open disgust on Doc’s face as he sipped at the beer.
"Our older brother?” Questioned Doc, eyebrow rising curiously.
Morgan laughed, tilting his head back a bit. Doc figured all the tequila and whiskey was starting to hit the man. “Oh yeah. He’s the oldest of our whole bunch, something that Wyatt’s uppity ass is always a bit sour about. Virgil makes a point never to bring it up, but Wyatt’s always pissy when anyone else does,” he explained, grinning loosely.
Doc laughed with Morgan, shaking his head because he could almost perfectly visualize the exact face he imagined Wyatt would make. Likely similar to the one Doc had seen when the man had been on the business side of an outlaw’s gun.
“Why am I not surprised that our Wyatt has a surly streak to him,” commented Doc, voice dry as the cool air outside.
“If you met some of our other brothers, you’d be thanking God for how alright us three turned out,” Morgan mused, mustache twitching.
Doc hummed and looked at Morgan out of the corner of his eye while he gulped down his beer, baring his teeth at it as he slammed it unnecessarily hard onto the counter. He pretended he didn’t see the glare the bartender shot him.
Letting loose a yawn that was quickly followed by a stifled cough, Doc set a ten dollar bill on the bartop to cover his tab, and was quietly glad to see Morgan do the same. They both stood up, but when Doc reached his full height, he suddenly found that everything was swimming around him and forming an indistinct yet colorful blur. He blinked, slow like a cat, and was only a little disappointed when it didn’t clear his vision.
He reached out blindly, missing the first couple of tries by guessing the distance incorrectly before his right hand finally landed on Morgan’s shoulder. He took a step forward and had a feeling the point of contact was the only thing keeping him upright.
“My friend,” he began, words decidedly more slurred than they had been just moments ago, “I believe I’ll be needing your assistance to my place of residence, if you’d be so kind.”
From what Doc’s limited perception told him, Morgan was amused, but thankfully not irate with the drunk gambler. “Sure, Doc. Where’re you holed up, then?”
“Place just a ways down the street. Only hotel on this block, if that helps,” Doc muttered, clumsily adjusting his hat as he was slowly led outside into the noticeably cooler air.
Doc took in a breath not laden with smoke and sweat, and his exhale was only a little raspy. Lord, his lungs sure did like Nevada more than he did. Perhaps Tombstone would be a more enjoyable place to reside with a similar enough climate. Thoughts for later, he supposed. Once he was with Kate again.
“I know it,” Morgan replied, hand carefully grasping Doc’s elbow and tucking it against his side so Doc could lean on him, which he did, liberally.
“Got anything for ya at home?” Doc prompted, disliking the brief silence that had fallen over them. He’d always had a dislike for silence, but now that silence meant those around him could hear the weakness in his lungs, or was met with a powerful feeling of fear when it was broken by a hammer being cocked, he’d found an even deeper dislike.
Morgan let out an almost dreamy sigh, and Doc found his lips twitching up, bemused.
“My wife,” he breathed. “Louisa. Most beautiful woman I ever saw, and she agreed to marry me! I’d asked her half expecting her to laugh at my sorry self, but she just said yes and kissed me silly. Lord, I’m the luckiest man alive, I’d say.”
Doc looked down at his stumbling feet, half as distraction and half as a legitimate desire to not trip and fall.
“You got a woman?” Morgan asked, voice friendly. Doc glanced up and reckoned they were only about halfway to his hotel, so he let out a decidedly less dreamy sigh, one far more weary than Morgan’s, and found himself answering.
“I suppose I do, though we’re a bit on the outs right now, you might say,” Doc muttered.
Morgan looked distinctly uncomfortable. “Hey now, if she’s gonna be yellin’ at me for bringin’ your sorry self home I don’t wanna be involved,” he warned, peering over at Doc.
Doc only snorted and shook his head. “Ah, if only. No, my besotted friend, she’s far, far away in the distant land of Arizona,” he complained, mouth downturned unhappily.
“Well, er. Good?” Morgan said, voice pitching as if asking a question but not fully committing to it.
“Depends, I suppose. Good for her, most definitely bad for me,” replied Doc, solemn.
“Why’s that then?” Morgan asked, voice distracted as he began searching for Doc’s hotel.
“Well, she’s got a real lucrative business over there making her some real money. I find myself unable to begrudge her desire to make a fortune for herself. Unfortunately, me and sticking to one place do not get along much. So when I voiced my desire to leave, she opposed me.” He paused, letting out a half embarrassed sigh this time. “And I can admit that I didn’t handle it as well as I should have.”
Morgan hummed, eyes narrowed in thought. “Have you thought about apologizin’? That usually helps, considering I’m usually the one doing somethin’ wrong,” he suggested, readjusting his hold on Doc which had begun to slip.
Doc scoffed. “Of course, but then what? I apologize and we stay in Prescott even longer? I believe I’ll find myself camped here for a while longer until I believe her more willing to leave. Certainly once she’s compiled a good amount of savings.”
There was a frown on Morgan’s face as he glanced over at Doc. “Well, relationships are about compromise, I guess. Way I see it; why both of ya be really unhappy apart when you can be content together until you decide on where to go?” Wondered Morgan, voice trailing off as they got close to Doc’s hotel.
Doc began to frown as well, mulling over Morgan’s words. They came to a stop at the entrance to the hotel and Doc turned to Morgan.
“How did you become so wise?” Doc accused, words slurring together.
Morgan could only shrug sheepishly. “When me an’ Lou started courting, we only ever did things I liked or talked about my interests, and I noticed how unhappy she got. Suppose most things in a relationship are similar enough to just compromise, since she’s been a lot happier since we started doing things her way too. And since she’s happier, I’m happier I guess.”
Doc eyed him, considering. Coming to a decision, he relinquished his hold on Morgan and took a wobbly step back. “You might just be onto something, my friend. I will take your words into consideration.” He stuck his hand out, and was pleased when Morgan took it in a firm, friendly grip. “Thank you kindly for walking my flammable self home. I hope I’ll see you again shortly.”
Morgan grinned back at Doc. “Me too. You have a good night, Doc,” Morgan said, turning and waving blindly behind him as he walked off.
Doc watched him go, speculative, before he sighed to himself and went inside.