OK Doc p. 7
"Somebody needs to call for a doctor," Rose said.
"We ain’t got one," said a voice from the back of the crowd. "Even Doc’s out of town."
"He’s a doctor." Wyatt said, nodding at the Doctor as he and Reggie cut the shirt off Virgil’s back.
"He’s not..."
"It’s okay, Rose," the Doctor said in that deep, intense voice he got when things were bad. He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to her, snagging the sonic screwdriver from a pocket on the way.
He leaned over the injured man. Reggie was already wiping the blood from Virgil’s back with the bar towels, Rose could see the bullethole, low on the man’s back, still sluggishly pumping blood. She could smell the blood, the thick coppery tang of it hanging heavy in the still saloon air. She clamped her teeth shut, swallowing bile.
The Doctor ran the sonic screwdriver over the man's back, studying the wound.
"What is that thing?" Wyatt asked.
The Doctor wasn’t paying attention, "New diagnostic tool, from Philadelphia," he answered offhand. He stood back, considering. "The bullet’s still in there, close to the spine." The Doctor looked up his eyes darting around as if he was searching for something. The saloon was filled with milling, worried townsfolk, all of them silently watching, their breaths making the muggy heat even more oppressive. "I need a piece of metal."
Reggie ducked under her skirts and pulled out a knife, handing it to him handle first. "No," the Doctor shook his head, still scanning the room. "Wyatt, give me your gun."
The Deputy jumped. "He’s not a horse, you can’t just shoot him!"
"Don’t be daft!" the Doctor sneered. "If you want him to live, give me your gun."
Reluctantly, Wyatt drew his sixgun and handed it to the stranger.
The Doctor took the gun, broke it open, dumped out the bullets and cleared the chamber, then turned to the shelf behind him and stuck the barrel in a glass of whiskey, swishing it around. Wyatt made a squeaking noise of protest behind him but didn’t say anything.
The Doctor poured whiskey over his hands, flicking the excess away negligently, then took the sonic screwdriver and started pulling it down the barrel of the gun, stroking it several times with the vibrations, always in the same direction.
"Right," he turned back to his patient and glared at Wyatt and a few other men. "Hold him down. He’s going to buck."
Fortunately Virgil was still unconscious. Three men stepped forward and helped hold him down. Wyatt leaned onto his shoulders, the others grabbed hips and legs.
"Rose," the Doctor waved Rose over from the end of the bar. He held the sonic screwdriver lying against the man’s buttock, pointing the light up along the man’s back. It was emitting the deepest hum she’s ever heard from it. "Hold this right there." He tilted it to show he was pressing it against the base of the man’s long back muscles, in the small of his back. He transferred the screwdriver to her and she held it tightly, her knuckles resting on the man’s backside as she aimed it up along the man’s muscles. She could feel the vibrations of it rattling the nerves in her hand, like a live thing. "That will relax the muscles," he said. "Keep it steady." She nodded.
The Doctor took Wyatt Earps pistol and pressed the muzzle of it to the puckered bullet wound. He rotated it slightly and worked the tip into the blood slicked hole. He pushed the muzzle into the man’s back. The crowd gasped.
"Shut up!" the Doctor growled. He concentrated fiercely, working the barrel of the gun slowly into the wound. The barrel was larger than the bullet, the muzzle stretched the skin, and Rose winced, pushing the sonic screwdriver harder against the man’s back, understanding now why the muscles needed to be loose.
Virgil started to stir. "Somebody put him out!" the Doctor yelled.
Rose winced as a man in the crowd quickly pistolwhipped the Marshal, dropping him back into unconsciousness.
The Doctor shook his head and gritted his teeth, concentrating on his task. He stopped the grinding advance of the pistol and started pulling it back out, slowly.
The barrel cleared the bullet hole with an organic schloop, as the wound puckered back. The bullet was stuck to the end of the barrel.
Everyone in the room sighed, a huge exhalation. The Doctor threw the bloodied gun on the shelf behind him and took the towels Reggie handed him, wiping down the man’s back, clearing away the worst of the blood and finished cleaning it with a towel dipped in whiskey.
He took the sonic screwdriver from Rose and changed the setting. He aimed the screwdriver down into the bullethole and activated a quick burst. A hard shrill whine ripped the air and made everyone jump and cover their ears, a bottle behind the Doctor shattered, there was a hard, tight, "Phupht!" from the man’s back, Virgil jerked, and a small puff of smoke wafted up from the wound.
"I’ve cauterized the artery. It should stop the worst of the bleeding." He turned to Wyatt, who was looking at him, whitefaced. "He’s lost far too much blood. It’s going to take time for him to recover."
Wyatt nodded.
The Doctor pressed a clean folded towel to the wound, leaning on it to stop the rest of the bleeding. He turned to Reggie. "Honey..."
"My name is Reggie," she said frostily.
He stared at her blankly for a moment. "No, I mean, I need honey. For the dressing. It will keep the wound sterile and promote healing."
"Oh." Reggie’s shoulders relaxed. "Jeff," she turned to the fourteen year old boy who’d been watching everything from a tense, huddled position halfway up the stairs. "Go fetch me a new jar of Berta’s best honey, skoot now!"
"Yes, ma’am." The boy scuttled down through the crowd and disappeared through the door at the end of the bar.
Once he returned it only took a few minutes to bandage Virgil up and transfer him to a room upstairs. The men followed the Earp brothers upstairs to supervise the transfer. The room started to clear as the townsfolk filtered back out into the street now that the excitement was over. Reggie started setting her bar to rights.
Rose got her first good look at the Doctor as he leaned wearily against the bar, braced on his arms. Her weary hero, decked out in a bloody western shirt and suspenders. Her heart swelled in her chest with pride and possession. She walked up, touched his arm. "I didn’t think you were that kind of doctor," she said softly.
He turned to look at her. "War teaches you a lot of things," he said wearily, more in spirit than in body, she knew. She saw a line of blood on his cheekbone.
"You’re hurt!" She reached up to wipe away the blood and get a better look.
"Sliced by a brick chip from the wall, I suspect." She wiped the blood away with careful fingers, then frowned. She picked up one of the last clean towels, dipped it in the alcohol and cleaned off the rest of his cheek. There was no cut. Yet he’d obviously been bleeding. She looked up at him with worried eyes. He shook his head slightly, eyes darting to Reggie. Rose nodded.
She picked up his duster from the end of the bar and held it out to him. There was blood on the cuffs and front.
"I’ll take care of that," Reggie said, reaching for the coat. She’d finished clearing up the bar. "And I’ll find you another shirt, Doctor. That one looks ruined."
The Doctor looked down at his bloody shirtfront. "Oh, that’s not a problem." He stepped out from behind the bar and unselfconsciously stripped out of his shirt. He gave the shirt a sharp "snap!" and all the blood flicked off of it in a dry red cloud. He turned and saw the ladies. Reggie was looking at him with disbelief, staring at the shirt.
"I know a lot of inventors," the Doctor explained.
Reggie nodded dubiously. "That must be handy."
He slipped the pristine shirt back on and started buttoning it up. Rose was staring at his bare chest, ogling him, her cheeks flushed. The Doctor smiled a secretive little smile and kept buttoning.
Reggie noticed Rose’s response and cleared her throat. "Yes, well, your shirt may be clean, but I’ll just see to this jacket. Rose, you come with me, we can sponge those stains out of your hem."
Her voice broke the spell and Rose jerked her face toward the older woman. She cleared her throat, "Yeah, sure, thanks."
Reggie herded Rose toward the back door and threw the Doctor’s jacket over her arm. She paused as she passed the Doctor, giving him a humorous but repressive look. "I trust those pants aren’t made of the same material?" she said softly.
"No ma’am." he said, grinning irrepressibly.
She nodded to the stairs, "There’s water pitchers and basins up in the rooms, you can finish cleaning up there."
She headed out, following Rose. She threw him a look over her shoulder, half reproach, half humor at his antics.
He grinned and headed upstairs.
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