Tombstone; D.H.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

// Happy Valentines Day! Hope yall are staying safe and having a good weekend! Sorry for typos, you know how it goes. As usual i think this is a trash chapter, so sorry.//

The Bird Cage was crowded and smokey as we walked in. Doc's hand on my hip guided me along behind my aunts and uncles, to a corner of the room where we climbed a small set of stairs. At the top, I hung back and turned around to look at Doc to see how he was tolerating the climb. He cleared his throat once, then caught my eyes.

"Yes?" He asked, a soft expression on his face.

"Just making sure you're alright, you used to not be able to climb stairs. Remember?" I smirked a little.

Doc chuckled as his hand found its way back to my side as we continued walking down a narrow hall to our box seats next to Wyatt and Mattie.

"I told you before, darlin', I feel fine. Barely feels like a cold or somethin'. Don't worry yourself about me, tonight is about havin' a good time." Doc remarked as he gently took the shawl from my shoulders before we sat.

But I do worry. I worry a lot, this could all go away and you'll be back where you were on your deathbed and I can't stand to think of losing you.

I swallowed, looking around the room at the people of Tombstone and was alarmed to find that they were looking back at me. Or in my general direction, at least.

"Mr. Earp," a voice called behind us. It was Sheriff Behan, with an older man and woman lingering behind him.

"This is Mayor Clump and his wife," Behan introduced as Wyatt stood and shook the mayor's hand.

"Mr. Earp, I was wondering if-" the mayor began.

"Not a prayer." Wyatt said firmly as he sat back down, "Nice meetin' you."

I glanced at the mayor's face; he looked dumbfounded and surprised at Wyatt's dismissal and, to be honest, so was I. I hadn't a clue what the mayor was about to ask my uncle, nor the reason why Wyatt cut him off, but I did know it was none of my business.

Doc chuckled, looking over at Wyatt who then shrugged, indifferent. A member of the wait staff approached the group, placing glasses of whiskey on each table.

I looked to Doc, who was already staring at me.

"I suppose you'd rather I abstain from drinking, right darlin'?" Doc asked quietly, leaning toward me.

"It would certainly help your recovery...if you can resist," I whispered back.

Doc's lips lingered near my ear. I waited for him to speak, but he sat back slowly and nodded, licking his lips.

Suddenly the room became dark. The orchestra began playing a peppy tune as the first act of the show pranced out onto the stage. The man was in a suit and tie and was beginning to juggle three bowling pins.

The men sitting on the first floor were hooping and hollering, shouting obscenities to the actors. I jumped in my chair as one of them pointed his pistol at the stage and fired a shot at the stage props. Doc placed an arm around the back of my chair and his coat sleeves lightly skimmed my back.

"Why do they have to be so rough all the time? It must be exhausting." I remarked.

"Oh I don't know, darlin'," Doc muttered sarcastically, "them bein' such wholesome boys and all, it's very surprising indeed."

I gave Doc a look which elicited a chuckle from him.

Looking down into the crowd of Cowboys to watch them in their immaturity, I locked eyes with Johnny Ringo; he was looking up and to his left, staring harshly at Doc and I. His expression was half-blank but held an ominous shape that I knew all too well. My stomach sinked uncomfortably as I watched him shift his gaze back toward the performance, rage encompassing his face.