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Wyatt Earp was only afraid of one man.
And he was sharing a bed with him.
Even when faced with men bigger, stronger, smarter, more dangerous than he was, Wyatt had never been afraid of them, because he knew he could still beat them and, hell, even if he couldn't beat them, he still had some advantage over them.
But Doc Holliday was different. The disease ridden, skinny, pallid man who was prone to passing out in coughing lumps on the floor. The same Doc who could day any day now.
Wyatt was absolutely scared of him, yessir. A lot of people were scared of Doc, whether it be the bartender or good old Johnny Tyler, who had borderline blushed in relief when Doc told him to go run along like a child. Wyatt remembered Kate, looking at him with bird-sharp eyes, that he needn't fear Doc.
Of all people, Wyatt, he would never hurt you.
But, as true as Kate's words might be, this was still Doc, who they both knew damn well was the quickest draw in Tombstone. Doc, who could slide a knife through your belly just as soon as you pulled the gun on him. The skinny lunger who could take down men twice his size and make those biting remarks as he did so, as cold as ice.
And it scared Wyatt, how quickly Doc could go from unassuming at his chair, to suddenly being right there, shoving the knife in.
Wyatt was scared that Doc never seemed bothered by anything. He never cried, never yelled, never showed extremes in any emotion. Doc was like an iced over lake, and Wyatt was afraid to break through to the other side.
It was dark, the candlelight having been long extinguished. They were enjoying what little time they had - dwindling, like it was never there at all. Wyatt couldn't tell if Doc was sleeping or just laying there, and he chanced it by carefully removing his hand from Doc's hair.
"Is there something bothering you, Wyatt?" Doc inquired softly in that lilting, gentle tone that he always used. It took Wyatt's mind a minute to translate the words, Doc's accent thicker than usual. Iz theh somethin' botherin' ya, Whyitt. It didn't need to be said that Wyatt had become endeared to the way Doc pronounced his name, though.
"Nah, just thinking, is all." Wyatt replied, putting his hand on Doc's hair once more.
Doc lifted his head. "And what treacherous thought has entered your mind this time, might I ask?" A sweat damp strand of auburn hair fell over Doc's forehead, ghosting against his eye.
It was hot in the room. That was Tombstone, Wyatt supposed. "Just thinking about how you could take that handy knife on the table and kill me before I could even stand up." Wyatt was no slouch, but there was a danger and a quickness when it came to Doc that Wyatt wasn't arrogant enough to not acknowledge.
"Hm. Well, there's some advantage to this position." Doc said. "I am on too of you, which allows me to move faser. I do not have my arms on you, so my arms are free to aid me...do you fear your death, Wyatt? Shall I reassure you of my vow, that you're my friend?" He continued in that soft tone.
"Kate said that I'm the only person you wouldn't hurt." Wyatt said.
"Did she, now." Doc drawled. "Well, I don't like to call people liars without any sound evidence."
Wyatt smirked. "You're a dangerous man, Doc, 's all I wanted to say." He remembered how they first met, how Doc had appeared so suddenly with both pistols in both hands and looking more bothered about his game of poker being interrupted than the guns that suddenly flew to his face.
"I thought you liked that about me." Doc said.
"I do, I do." Wyatt conceded, his hand moving to the side of Doc's face. "I just can't help but think that you could kill me so much faster than I could defend myself, it doesn't seem like a very smart thing for me to be sharing a bed with a man who could slit my throat so easily."
At that, Doc frowned. "Easily? However do you mean?" He inquired.
"You just don't seem bothered at all when you kill someone, that's all." Wyatt said, although he sensed that he was on uneasy territory. He usually chose his words so carefully, but Doc could be a minefield of hidden bombs that Wyatt had no idea were even there.
"Is that so." Doc said quietly.
It was the reaction that Wyatt had learned to look out for. "I said something wrong now, didn't I?" He said.
"No, not at all. I do believe it's getting early, we mustn't raise any alarm bells in your pretty wife's head." Doc pushed himself up with feline grace, answering the question that his verbal answer wouldn't.
Wyatt bit back an exasperated groan. "We aren't together in anything but name anymore. God knows that, so should you." He said.
"I do not believe God looks down on this destitute little town." Doc had the decency to put his pants back on and button them before he got up fully, moving towards the table where his bottle of whiskey sat. "In fact, I believe he forgot he created it." He set about pouring himself a glass.
"What'd I say wrong, Doc?" Wyatt asked, setting about dressing himself because, well, it was getting early. Wyatt knew he couldn't be seen emerging from Doc's temporary home so early without someone seeing him and getting all suspicious, that just wouldn't do.
Doc downed his glass in one go, undoubtedly to push back the cough rising in his throat from his chest. "Kate, that devilish woman, was not lying. I would not hurt you, and I feel ashamed to say that you could be beating on me and I wouldn't hurt you, then. You are my friend, closer than my friend, actually, but no specifics are necessary now." He didn't go for another glass. Instead, Doc stood, and reached for his shirt, which he had so carefully discarded on the back of the chair he had been sitting on.
"That's what you're upset about?" Wyatt said, feeling like he had gotten himself into more trouble than he had been going for.
Carefully, Doc began to button his shirt. "It does bother me, when I kill people. I try not to kill people who aren't trying to kill me but people these days are nasty bastards and they would kill me within seconds if I didn't put a bullet in their head." He said. Still, Doc talked in that calm, soft voice, and his face didn't betray any wayward emotions, anyways. "It bothered me when I had to stab Ed Bailey but if I didn't stab him, he would've killed me, and if I didn't shoot at the McLaury brothers and Tom Clanton, they would've killed me, or you, or your brothers."
Wyatt groaned, then. Mattie always did say he had a tendency to dig himself into holes deeper than he could easily get out of, and just in case Doc went back on his word, Wyatt set about finding his shirt. "Shit. I'm sorry, Doc. I just wasn't thinking when I said that." He said.
Doc didn't react to the words. "It's a dog eat dog world, and sometimes, you have to be the first to bite. To protect yourself and protect each other." He sat down heavily onto his chair, and reached for the glass.
And Wyatt let him, the words repeated themselves in his head. Doc poured himself another glass, and Wyatt watched as Doc drank it with a pensive look on his pale face, those eyes that Wyatt loved so much focused on the wall. "Thank you, Doc." Wyatt said. "Thank you for being here with us. For fighting a fight that wasn't yours."
"The fight was all mine." Doc replied.
Wyatt found his coat. "It really wasn't. And yet, you fought anyways." He walked over and put his hand on Doc's shoulder. "Maybe I could stay for a little longer."
"Don't be ridiculous, my friend. It's nearing daylight." Doc said.
"Yes. But how many more mornings do we have left, huh?" Wyatt squeezed Doc's shoulder and, finally, Doc looked up at him. Wyatt discarded his coat on the chair and pulled Doc up, earning a muffled cough in response. "Come on, Doc, back into bed."
Doc was the most dangerous man that Wyatt knew.
But Wyatt figured it was ironic that he was the fool to go and hurt the one he loved.