Chapter Text
Heavy, stale smoke hangs low in the saloon, the clinking of glasses and the pings of chips on the various tables across the playing floor. Theres enough sin to go around- drinking, smoking, gambling, couples or throuples walking up to the next floor.
A woman walks into the saloon, an innocent face-looking out of place in this den of sin. She goes to the barkeep- asking a question in a low, sweet voice. The barkeep points over to the table Doc is at- no one dares to invoke his ways- most leave without a penny left to their name.
The woman approaches the table- looking at Doc with a appreciative gaze, a soft smile on her mouth- easy, still unassuming.
Doc raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk spreading across his sweat-dampened face. His voice is smooth, laced with a flirtation.
"Well now... ain't you just a sight to behold? Tell me, darlin' -what brings such fine company to my table?"
He leans back slightly, watching her with sharp eyes that miss nothing. Behind him at a far off table, Wyatt and Morgan exchange curious glances.
She sits at the open chair, sweeping the bottom of her dress under her, a suspiciously shy smile on her blushed lips.
"I had heard rumors about a man at a Faro table that will swindle me out of my funds.. I just had to see if it was true."
Her accent is almost the same as Doc's, not from Arizona- much more South East of the country.
Doc's smirk widens into a slow smile as he notes the similar accent.
"Oh, I reckon that rumor ain't too far from the truth, darlin'," he says with a wink.
"I've been known to have a knack for making other people's money mine. But I gotta say, the last thing I was expectin' was to hear a voice 'round here that matches mine so well... what's a southern girl like yourself doin' out in these parts?" he asks.
“About the same as you, stranger, here in Tombstone to make someone else's money mine. And I must say, the fortune is almost everything I thought it would be..” she easily replies.
There's a pause between the two- Doc looks back at the two brothers- and then leans more into his chair.
The woman twirls a lock of brown hair around her finger, slowly taking in Doc’s face, his mustache, the pale sheen to his skin.
Doc chuckles, raising an eyebrow at her obvious appraisal. He's not immune to the attention, nor to the challenge she's putting forth. He takes a slow sip of bourbon, savoring the burn as it slides down his throat.
"Well now, darlin'... ain't you just a temptress? A southern belle with an eye for easy money."
He leans forward in his chair a bit- his gaze flickering over her in turn- taking in the jewelry, the dress, her hair, that look... Something about her incites him to take on her dare.
“Well, will you let me into your game here, stranger? Maybe I could even win a hand or two..” her tone is light, teasing the seasoned gambler sitting in front of her.
The barkeep sets a glass of wine in front of her, looking between the two. He expects that Doc will swindle her out of every last penny she has, pitying the poor girl.
Doc considers her proposal for a moment longer- his eyes studying her with a mixture of curiosity and calculation. He takes another sip of bourbon, then gives her a sly grin.
"You've got yourself a seat already, darlin’. Wyatt, please deal her in." Her fingertips slide a small bill over for Wyatt without hesitation.
Wyatt starts dealing cards in between the two when Doc says, "Well, we'll play a round or two. Let's see if you've got the skills to back up that confidence."
Her fingertips lift up the edges of the cards, the same sweet smile on her lips. Doc can't make out any difference in expression.
“Ladies, first, if you are the southern gentleman I think you are?” She asks.
"Of course, darlin'. Where I come from, the gentlemanly thing to do is let the lady go first."
Doc tips his hat to her in chivalry, all the while scrutinizing her even further with his quiet look. There's something about her that he can't quite put his finger on... she doesn't look like the kind of woman who should know the first thing about debauchery. Such innocent eyes, but he can see through her façade, sensing that he's sitting in front of someone more dangerous than they put on.
He leans back a bit, folding his arms as he watches her examine her cards. He's ready to see if she's as skilled and cunning as her bravery suggests.
She taps her betting chip on her full bottom lip, thinking before setting the chip over three cards, all the suit of hearts.
“Why, I had forgotten to ask, where are you from there sugar?” she asks in between placing her chips on the green-felted table, little glances towards Doc as she places the chips.
They follow after each other, placing betting chips on all the cards on the table. Doc sets his chips down inbetween her's.
"Georgia, darlin'—born and raised. Was a dentist once, 'fore I took up cards and tuberculosis with equal enthusiasm."
He smirks as he slides his bet across the table, matching hers with lazy precision. His fingers grasp the chip just so- calculated, deliberate- someone that has played this game a thousand times before.
"Though I reckon you already knew I wasn’t from around here… else you wouldn’t be flirtin’ with such a dangerous stranger." Doc declares.
He coughs once into his fist- but settles any concern before it can settle. His eyes never leave hers.
"Now... care to tell me where you hail from, or should I just assume you're a fallen angel losin’ her way through the West?"
She lets one chip tumble slowly over delicate knuckles, a slow raindrop rhythm. She's unknowingly showing that she is a little more experienced at a green-felted table than she had let on. That soft, easy smile still on her pink lips.
“I, too, am from Georgia, though I believe a little more east than where you hail from. Should I call you.. Doctor, then?”
She sets down her last chip, and takes another sip of wine, looking at Doc over the glass. The cards will be revealed after he decides where to put his last chip- Wyatt still quietly watching the two.
Doc's lips curl into a slow, appreciative grin.
“For Georgia, too? Damnation, darlin’, you’re either tryin’ to ruin me or marry me.”
He lays his last chip down with deliberate grace, then leans in just slightly, voice dropping to that honeyed drawl that makes sin sound polite.
“Call me Doc, there darlin’- and you might be?” He asks.
“Call me Bunny, hon’.” She says with a wink.
With the betting chips all placed, Wyatt picks up the deck and slowly reveals each card, one by one. The suit of hearts shows up again and again, and by the end of the reveal the girl had beaten Doc seven to one.
“Ooh, well... It must be a good day sugar.. It even landed on my luckiest number. How do you think that you can pay me there, handsome? That is, unless you're willin' to lose some more..” she teases.
Doc sits back slowly, a smirk never leaving his face—though now it's edged with something hotter: respect, maybe even admiration. He stares at the revealed cards like they’ve betrayed him personally, then lets out a low, gravelly chuckle that ends in another soft cough.
“Seven to one… on your lucky number,” he repeats, voice thick with amusement. “Well now. I do believe I’ve been played by a damned angel from Savannah.”
He removes his hat and sets it on the table with deliberate flair, then pulls a small silver pocket watch from his waistcoat—one that looks far too fine for a dying gambler. He flips it open absently; the face is cracked, time frozen at 11:58.
“This here was my father’s,” he says quietly, then snaps it shut and slides it across the felt toward her. “Consider yourself richer by one family heirloom… unless you’re willin’ to risk it all on one final hand?”
His pale fingers hover over his glass of bourbon, eyes alight with challenge—and something warmer beneath.
“Double or nothin’. And if I win…”
He pauses, letting the silence stretch.
“You owe me a dance.”
Bunny's fingers pick up the watch. Delicate, ringed fingers turn over the heavy silver. She thinks it over a long few seconds.
"My, my, Doc. You sure do know the way to a girl's heart.. but- I would like it if we played my game next- poker, if you would." She prys, putting the watch back on the table between the two.
“Oh darlin'. That's just my game.” He says, gesturing to Wyatt to deal.
After about thirty minutes of playing, their pot has grown tremendously, almost all of their chips being used. Doc calls, adding a few more chips. A few people have stopped their game to watch the two. Morgan was watching from the second floor- Doc usually only let a game of poker go on for so long if he knew he was going to win the pot.
The two had added every chip that they had- Doc finally adding his last couple to the growing mound. Bunny's legs crossed under the table- chuckling at the man across from her.
"The only thing that would make this sweeter is if you handed me a diamond, sugar."
Doc lets out a low, amused breath- half laugh, half cough- as he looks at her with that same maddening, soft smile she's maintained the whole time.
“Now there’s the rub,” he drawls, tipping his chair back on two legs. “Ain’t many men carry diamonds in their pockets like loose change… but you just might be playin’ against one.”
With slow, deliberate motion, he reaches into his coat- not for a wallet or pouch, but near the lining of his inner breast. He pulls out a small velvet drawstring bag.
“I won it off a bishop in New Orleans,” he says with a wink to Bunny. "Or so I tell myself when I need to sleep at night.”
He spills a single uncut stone onto the green felt—dull to the eye, but heavy with promise. Rough as sin and about the size of a pigeon’s egg.
Even Wyatt is stunned by the jewel being dropped into the pot, looking at Doc like he's gone mad. Her jaw opens minutely in shock, but she quickly recovers and quickly sweeps it up into a smile.
“Now, Doc..” she breathily laughs. “Ain’t it a little early for proposin'?”
She eyes the jewel, and then calls, removing her last ring with a big, heavy ruby, dropping it into the pot.
Doc chuckles at her remark, then takes a quick sip from his small silver cup.
He studies her like a hawk, taking in the way she eyes the diamond. He can tell he’s gambling against a real cardsharp now.
He matches, and then responds in a lazy drawl that does little to mask his curiosity.
“You a mind reader on top of everythin’ else, darlin’? Or you just know how to sweet talk a dyin' man so good?”
With her glass of wine drained, the flush in her cheeks is noticeable, her eyes greedier in drinking in Doc. Roving over his Adam's apple when he swallows- Lingering on his eyes with a half-lidded stare.
“I think that you will find that out very soon, sugar.” With everything on the table- all thats left is for their hands to be shown.
Wyatt gestures for them both to show at the same time.
The saloon seems to hush—not much, just a subtle dip in the noise, like the world itself leans in.
The two flip over their cards in the same way- one rake of the fingers to topple them back.
Three of a kind- on both sides. The pot sits untouched, fate undecided.
Doc doesn’t move. Sweat glistens at his temple, his breathing shallow but controlled. He lets out a low chuckle—half triumph, half surrender—and leans forward until the candlelight carves sharp shadows in his face.
“Well now..." he murmurs, voice thick with amusement and something darker, hungrier. “Looks like the devil himself can’t decide who’s worthy.”
Bunny is equally stunned. She really thought she had him...
She stands, putting on her rings in a slow, unhurried way. She then gathers the diamond and Doc's heirloom. Wyatt is about to ask her where she thinks she's going when she takes a few, slow steps.
Bunny leans over Doc's seated body, her neckline of her corset very close to his face. He can smell her this close, and feels her small fingers wiggle the watch and diamond back into his breast pocket.
“How about you make me a real happy girl Doc- and dance with me?”
She leans into his ear, breath ghosting over the shell of his ear. “Please?”
For the first time, Doc looks truly stunned.
He sits frozen as her warmth lingers, the faint scent of sugary lemon and wine wrapping around him like a noose he’s glad to wear. Her fingers in his pocket- help him this girl is a good tease.
Then he coughs sharply—but laughs through it, low and rough like gravel under boots.
“Well..." he drawls slowly, pushing to his feet with all the grace he can muster. He offers her his arm, pale hand trembling just slightly.
“If I’d known salvation wore corsets and cheated at cards… I might’ve died sooner.”
They walk to the wooden floor in a slow way, over to the boot marks and a slight dip in the wood.
He pulls her close on the dance floor, one hand at her waist, voice dropping to a whisper only she can hear. “God help me… you’re trouble.” he confesses.
Now that the two are away from the other outlaws at the table, Bunny leans into Doc- keeping their rhythm steady. Taking his hand as he offers it. Other couples dance around them in a slow clock turning to the slow tune.
“Where did you learn to play cards there, darlin'?” Doc asks curiously.
Bunny adjusts her hand in his, the true color of their eyes meeting for the first time. “Oh- well if you can believe it, books.” She responds simply.
Doc's eyebrow ticks up- surprised.
“You could've fooled me, dear.”
His pale hand slides further into her waist, feeling the fabric and boning of the corset under his fingertips.
Bunny gets slightly pinker, not from the wine. A beautiful flush as they dance and sway together in an easy rhythm.
Doc hums low in his throat—amused, intrigued, undeniably charmed.
He pulls her just a fraction closer, ignoring the tightness in his chest that has nothing to do with his illness. His thumb brushes lightly at the curve of her waist, feeling the heat of her body beneath silk and steel.
“Now here we are,” he murmurs, voice roughened by want and bourbon both- “a pair of lairs dancin’ cheek to cheek… and Lord help me if it ain’t the prettiest sin I’ve committed all week.”
Bunny looks up at Doc through long eyelashes, studying him.
She moves in closer so their hips are touching, and her hand goes from his shoulder to his collar, a slow slide across his chest. Her fingers fiddle with with his white collar, considering her next words.
"Just come find me if you ever need someone swindled. Or if you get lonely.." she mischievously adds.
The piano kicks up, the song getting more and more energetic by increments. An eager smile spreads on Bunny's face, eager to spin on Doc's hand.
The music swells, and with it, something reckless in Doc’s blood. He meets her smile with one of his own—crooked, dangerous, alive.
“Lonely?” he murmurs, spinning her out just far enough to make the silk of her dress catch the lamplight—then pulling her back in against him, hip to hip, breath to breath.
“I been lonely since the day I left Georgia. But darlin’…”
He dips his head low, voice a velvet scrape against her ear.
“…I reckon I just found me a remedy.”
The accordion and fiddle join the piano- sweeping the music into a fast, lively tune. The other couples dance around them faster, faster. People stomp and the patrons clap to the melody.
Doc turns her on another spin—faster now—and when she comes back into his arms, he looks into her eyes a second longer than the last time- loving the exhilaration he finds there. They get looser, Bunny lifts up her dress skirt, giggling and laughing as Doc tries to keep up with her.
Their hands join again and Bunny dances around him in a smooth circle, a swoop of her dress skirt around Doc.
After another pull- he spins her out one more time, the music peaking- her laughter ringing like silver bells- before pulling her sharply back into his chest, their heartbeats quick in their chests. They smile at each other, Doc's quiet chuckle is genuine.
His thumb brushes her lower lip, slow. He moves the pad of it across the soft skin, making her smile shyly at him. Doc then releases her, taking back his thumb, letting his hand settle back on her waist.
The music, the wine, the closeness of Doc, all of it makes Bunny's head swim and feel as light as a cloud. She can't help the way her stormy grey-blue eyes gaze onto his- a bright desert morning.
There is a bell in town calling for women to be back home- right at midnight. It starts its ring as they stand in the candlelight glow, still so close. She steps forward and whispers the name of her hotel in his ear.
"I suppose I better go, then. Come find me tomorrow, sugar." They reluctantly let go of each other, and Bunny goes out the saloon doors with one last wave and shy smile at Doc.
He gives a crook of his fingers to her as she leaves. Doc gets a refill of bourbon in his small sliver cup at the bar and sits down at the Faro table again.
All the Earp brothers are looking at Doc, occasionally gazing out of the saloon where Bunny just left.
Two of the brothers have their arms crossed over their chest, Wyatt with his hands on his hips. They're all expecting an explanation for the last few hours. Doc doesn't give them one.
A clearing of a throat breaks the silence. "Didn't know you danced, Doc." Virgil mutters.
Doc drains the last of his bourbon. He feels years younger—hell, maybe even decades—as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulders and replaced by a feather. He shakes his head slightly, a soft hum of disbelief that could be a laugh.
"Me neither," he mutters, still looking toward the exit. "But I suppose there's still a first time for everythin'…"
Wyatt shuffles the cards in front of him, looking like he is about to ask Doc something.
"Did that girl really beat you in Faro?" Morgan asks like he can't believe it, any of it. The girl, the jewel, the willing risk of the silver pocket watch. Doc dancing... What did they put in the whiskey tonight?
A dark, amused chuckle tumbles out of Doc's lips.
"She beat hell out of me, Morgan," he admits, voice still rough with wonder. "Damn near cleaned me out, too. That little angel plays one hell of a hand."
Doc grabs his cup, spinning the small handle.
"You know what the real kicker is?"
He doesn't even wait to see if anyone asks before continuing. He turns his head to stare across the room again, gaze distant and thoughtful.
"She could've taken everything I own," he muses softly, "and I would've let her. Hell, I'd have held the door open on her way out." He looks back to Wyatt.
"… I swear I must be losin' my damn mind."
Virgil- always the voice of reason, takes his cigar out with a pinch, the smoke puffing out in a stream.
"I think you are losin' your mind.. for letting her run off into the night like that." He places the cigar between his lips again. "Go find her Doc and we can watch the Faro table.." The other brothers nod in agreement, looking at their cards, sipping their whiskeys.
Doc hesitates just a moment, looking from the Earp brothers to where Bunny had left. A part of him- the old bastard with callused hands and an empty heart- wants nothing more than to go find Bunny and show her just what that night of dancing in the saloon had done to him. To hell with caution.
But common sense is a hard habit to break, and he sighs, shaking his head.
"I'm not chasin' down a girl half my age in the dark," he protests to himself, but it lacks any sort of conviction.
Wyatt, ever the blunt one, rolls his eyes at Doc's protest.
"You've been lookin' at that door like a man thirstin' for a drink for the past three minutes," he points out dryly. "Seems to me you've already made your choice, Doc. Might as well stop tryin' to convince yourself otherwise."
"We'll cover you," he promises gruffly. "Now go on... get outta here before you lose all your courage."
Doc hesitates a second longer, then pushes himself to his feet with a sigh.
"Goddamnit," he mutters, grabbing his hat from the table and shoving it on his head. "I'm too old for this nonsense… but I'll be damned if I don't want it..."
With no further delay, he strides toward the entrance.
"You boys look out for trouble while I'm gone... I feel like I'm about to find more than I can handle."
Doc stalks out into the warm, dry night of Tombstone. The moon is close to full, its silver glow bathing the town in light, like a promise—or a trap.
He stops on the boardwalk, breathing in deep. The faint hint of her perfume still clings to him, like a ghost at his shoulder. He follows it, letting his feet take him where Bunny went.
♤♡◇♧
Exhilarated, Bunny strolls down the street, humming a tune under her breath.
"Tomorroww.. tomorroww~" She hums, unaware of Johnny Ringo tailing her, watching her leave the saloon, guessing she had cash to shake her down. He moves in closer.
Johnny Ringo roughly grabs her arm, coming up behind her and putting a dusty hand over her mouth. He quickly leads them into a dark alley, pushing and caging her into a wall.
"Give me all of your money." He demands of her- unsheathing his revolver when she doesn't immediately hand it over.
"Don't make this difficult, sweetheart." He trails the gun down her sternum grotesquely.
Bunny sucks down a sharp breath as the cold metal touches her skin. Fear flutters behind her eyelashes but she doesn't dare let it show on her face. Instead, she narrows her eyes and meets the outlaw's gaze with a defiant glare.
"Or what?" she snaps, refusing to be
frightened. "You'll shoot a lady?"
Johnny Ringo laughs, a harsh sound. He presses the revolver lower against her chest, forcing her further into the dry brick wall. He leans in closer, face inches from hers, and gives an ugly smile.
The tip of the barrel goes over the swell of her breast, tracing over her nipple.
"Don't mistake me for a gentleman," he drawls, his tone mocking. "I'm not above puttin' a bullet through a pretty little thing like you for a handful of gold."
Bunny lets out a soft gasp as her back presses hard against the wall. Her eyes flicker and she tries to keep her expression cool, calm, not letting him see the way her heart is pounding against her ribcage.
"You'd shoot me for a mere handful of gold?" she asks, her chin tilting up in defiance. "I thought outlaws had a little more ambition than that. A good outlaw would hold me hostage for ransom. That would certainly fetch a higher price."
Johnny Ringo cocks his head to the side, considering her words. A slow smile spreads across his face, teeth flashing in the dim light.
"Now ain't you a clever one?" he murmurs, a hint of admiration in his tone. "You've got a point there, darlin'. Ransom would fetch a hell of a higher price."
He reaches up, his rough hand grasping her chin tightly.
"But you see, my new idea involves me gettin' some extra entertainment out of you…"
Bunny's lips press together in a tight line as his hand grips her chin. She tries to turn her head away, but he only tightens his hold, forcing her to look at him. Anger flares in her eyes, but it's laced with fear too.
"Your 'idea' sounds a lot like something I'd have no say in," she snaps, her voice trembling slightly. "And I'm not in the business of being a man's plaything."
Johnny's rough hand came up to cup her breast, squeezing it roughly. “Ill change your mind.” he told her.
♤♡♧