2. Well, I might call you Doctor.

[bestsir]

Who: Harry Goodsir and OPEN
What: Doctor's hours
Where: Harry's cabin, around town
When: Anytime during October, early November
Warnings: TBD

It's taken some weeks—including the awful voices and even, ironically, the words of Cornelius Hickey—for Goodsir to finally act on advice he'd given to Edward Little when they'd first arrived.

He starts by placing a notice on the board. Then he starts scavenging the town for all the medical supplies he can find, consolidating a store of them in his cabin. What he does manage to find, in combination with the contents of his surgeon's chest, isn't nearly as much as he would like, but it will do.

He has learned much, these last few weeks. That disease and infection is caused not by miasma, by tiny animalcules that may be spread by various forms of contact, and that wounds must be kept clean—disinfected—thus averting festering and gangrene. That there are compounds in food that keep the body healthy, and that not all foods contain those compounds. He tries not to dwell on the lives he might have saved with that knowledge on the expedition, and to focus on the here and now. As he said to Little: to live, and do what good he can.

And to try not to let his hatred of Cornelius Hickey consume him.

Comments

[pacificator]

I know better than to tempt fate. That's a funny thing to say, kind of. Wynonna's been edging toward the exit, trying to find a good time to head out without a. insulting him or b. overstaying her welcome, but she pauses at that, thinking of a bus, a girl on it who was kind and chatty. A note from Aunt Gus, telling her to come home. A happy birthday text from Waverly jingling cheerfully on her phone at midnight, the moment she turned twenty-seven.

The moment the curse kicked in. "I kinda figured most doctors would be too scientific to believe in fate or superstition," she says. It's a little careful; the way a dog that's been kicked too many times is a little careful when sniffing at an outstretched and ostensibly friendly hand. "You believe in destiny, doc?"

[bestsir]

Goodsir has started tidying up, in that perfunctory way that isn't showing someone the door, but also indicating that he won't be offended if they need to go. Her question pulls him up short.

"No. Not particularly," he says, and shakes his head. "Though I do believe that over time, one's choices may narrow further and further, until ... well. Until there are only the most essentials."

To live, or to die. To exit on one's own terms, or to wait until the end comes. That's what it was for him, in the end.

[pacificator]

The most essentials. What are her choices, back home? To break the curse, or to die another failed Earp heir and pass the damn thing onto her baby sister? "Yeah."

For a second, it seems as though she might say something else, but she shakes her head and the moment passes. Wynonna heads to the door, pushes it slightly open before she glances back. "Anyway, see you around, doc. Take it easy."