Hank was the first visitor Sully and Michaela had the following morning.  He was startled, upon entering the clinic, to see them both out of bed and seated by Michaela's desk—but he was genuinely pleased as well.  Though, if he were to be honest with himself, he would have to admit that part of his relief over their improved conditions was purely selfish—it would make it easier to say what he had to say.

     "You're lookin' a whole sight better than the last time I saw ya," he remarked to Sully now.  "You too, Michaela.  How ya feelin'?" he inquired of Sully.

     "I've felt better, but I'm doin' all right," Sully answered him.  "My shoulder aches, but I can move my arm—“  He lifted the arm cradled in the sling to demonstrate, grimacing slightly.  "And Andrew says the stiffness will go away in time."

     "Good to hear," Hank commented.  His eyes went to Michaela.  "And  look at you, sittin' behind your desk just as pert as ever!  Nobody'd ever know you'd been laid up in bed—‘cept for that fancy robe you're wearin'," he added suggestively.

     Michaela pulled her deep green robe about her more securely,  blushing scarlet under Hank's appreciative gaze.  She glanced at Sully, expecting him to object to Hank's familiar tone, but apparently he shared Hank’s admiration, because he just smiled.

     “Men!” she thought, disgruntled.

     "I didn't mean to embarrass ya," Hank added contritely.  "I seen my girls in a lot less than that, Michaela.  Ya look real ladylike—just like always.  I'm glad to see ya lookin' so good.  Ya feelin' all right?" he asked.

     Michaela's pique at Hank's teasing dissolved in the obvious sincerity of his concern.  "I appreciate your good wishes, Hank," she said.  "Yes, I'm feeling much improved.  Andrew finally let me take a few steps this morning.  I was shaky, but I stayed on my feet!" she said proudly.

     "Andrew thought we could both do with some exercise," Sully chimed in.  "Best medicine I could get," he added.  "It sure beats layin' in that bed."

     Hank nodded.  "I know what ya mean," he agreed.

     "I'm glad you stopped by," Sully said.  "Michaela and me were both wonderin' how things were goin' for you.  You think there'll be any trouble for you 'cause of killin' Flagg?""

     "Nah," Hank said dismissively.  "He was a wanted man, and it was a clear case of self-defense.  I'll have to go up to Denver and answer a few questions, make a statement—but it's just a formality."

     "I'm relieved to hear that," Sully told him.  "You did Michaela and me a great kindness—saved our lives.  I wouldn't want to see you punished for it.  Fact is, you've done me more than a few favors lately Hank.  I owe you—a lot.”

     "Just doin' my job," Hank responded, looking uncomfortable.  "Nothin' personal like ya seem to think."

     "Have it your way," Sully conceded.  "Still, I'm grateful."

     Hank's discomforture increased.  He hastened to bring up the true reason for his visit, before Sully or Michaela could thank him any more and make him feel still more guilty.

     "I got somethin' to tell ya," he said abruptly.  Sully and Michaela looked a little startled at his brusque change in tone, but they regarded him with equanimity.

     "What's on your mind?" asked Sully.

     Hank removed his hat and raked the hair back from his face.  "'Fore I start, I gotta warn ya—ya ain't gonna like what I got ta say.  But do me a favor and hear me out, 'fore ya pass judgement."  He paused, studying their faces.  Michaela was watching him warily, and a guarded expression had crept into Sully's eyes.  However all he said was, "Go on."

     Hank took a breath.  "I had a visit from Matthew last night—well actually, more like early this mornin'.  It's all right.  I was up anyway—couldn't sleep.  Seems Matthew couldn't either.  He come in the bar and started throwin' back my best whiskey like it was spring water."  He saw Michaela's look of alarm and interjected hastily, "Ya don't need ta worry on that score--I managed to put a stop to it 'fore it got out of hand.  It wasn't hard—I think Matthew figured out on his own that drinkin' wasn't gonna cure what ailed him."

     "But still," Michaela said worriedly.  She sought her husband's eyes.  "Sully—Matthew drinking?  He hasn't done that since—“

     Sully's expression was equally somber.  "Since Ingrid died and he started workin' for the railroad," he finished for her.  She nodded, and he reached out to cover her hand with his.

     "We both thought he looked troubled last night," Michaela went on.  "But we thought it was just stress because of everything that happened.  I had no idea that last night's events had upset him so deeply."  She looked stricken at her failure to recognize her son's pain.

     "He was upset about last night, yeah—but it ain't what ya think," Hank said.  "Don't go blaming yourself for not knowin'—‘cause ya couldn't have.   But you're gonna find out now—it's what I come to tell ya."

     "Maybe you'd best get on with it,"  Sully advised.  He spoke quietly, but there was a disquieting edge to his tone.

     "All right," Hank agreed.  He dreaded what he had to say next, but plunged forward resolutely nonetheless.  "The day we told McKay about Bancroft and the Klan, after you left the room—Horace brought me two wires.  One was from the circuit judge.  Ya know about that.   But the other one—“ He hesitated, then continued, "was from the Denver sheriff, tellin' me that Bancroft had killed himself—and Flagg had escaped."

     Sully's eyes were riveted on him.  "What exactly are you sayin'?" he asked, softly and deliberately.

     Hank took another deep breath.  "I'm sayin', we knew—me and McKay.  Two days before Flagg showed up here, we knew he'd escaped and was on the loose."  Michaela gazed at him with an expression of shock—and what was worse—betrayal.  Hank could not have said why, but it tore at him to know he had put that look in her eyes. Sully's face was empty of expression altogether.

     "Let me make sure I understand this," Sully spoke ominously.  "For two days you knew that the man who almost killed my wife was free and on his way here to try it again, and *you didn't tell me*?"

     Hank met his eyes.  "That's right."

     To Michaela's horrified eyes, the next few moments passed in a blur.  Sully's movements were so lightening fast as to be almost imperceptible.  One moment he was seated in a chair, the next he had thrown Hank up against the clinic door, glaring at him murderously with his left hand clamped around Hank's throat.

     "WHAT WERE YOU THINKIN'?!" he shouted.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Sully!" Michaela cried out desperately.  "Sully, stop!  Sully, you'll injure yourself!"  She wouldn't have believed he had the strength in his weakened condition to overpower Hank.  But it was clear that adrenaline had taken over and the last thing Sully cared about was the wound in his shoulder.  In that instant, Michaela realized two other things as well:  that Sully was entirely capable of killing Hank—and that Hank wasn't fighting back.

     "Sully!" she implored him again.  "I beg you—don't do this!  I understand that you're angry, but this isn't the way to solve things!  Sully, please!"

     It was as if he hadn’t heard her.  He was breathing heavily, his eyes flat and cold and totally devoid of any emotion save rage.

     "Sully—you're CHOKING him!" she said in horror.

     Finally, her words seemed to penetrate the terrible force of Sully's anger.  Sully glared at Hank for a few more agonizing seconds—then, with a look of disgust, he jerked his hand from Hank's throat and turned away.

     Michaela reached out a hand to him.  "All you all right?" she said anxiously.  "Let me look at your shoulder."  But he shrugged away from her.

     "I'm fine," he muttered.  "Don't fuss."  He walked a few feet away, his back to her.  Michaela looked after him helplesly, then turned to Hank, who was breathing raggedly and coughing

     "Are you all right?" she asked him quietly.  Hank took a shuddering breath and nodded.

     At her question, Sully spun around.  "What do *you* care how he is?" he spat out.  "He betrayed us Michaela!  Him and McKay both!  They were willin' to let Flagg do his worst without even givin' us a chance to defend ourselves!"

     "Sully, I can't believe that," Michaela ventured falteringly.

     "That—that ain't how it was,"  Hank rasped hoarsely.

     "Shut up!" Sully snapped at him.  "I don't want to hear any more words out of your lyin' mouth!"

     "Sully, please!" Michaela begged him, nearly in tears.  "I don't understand this any more than you do, but I want to try.  I need to know why Hank and McKay kept the truth from us—and what all this has to do with Matthew.  Sully, not five minutes ago you thanked Hank for saving our lives.  Please give him a chance to explain."

     For a long moment she thought she'd lost him—that Sully's intense anger had blotted out any trace of his reason.  But finally he spoke.  "He wouldn't have needed to save our lives if he'd been truthful with us," he said grimly.  "I woulda known about the danger—been prepared."

     "There must have been a reason," Michaela insisted.  "Sully, Hank came here voluntarily to talk to us—make a clean breast of things.  We know that somehow this affects Matthew.  Regardless of what you feel about Hank, we owe it to Matthew to at least hear Hank out."

     Sully sighed heavily.  "All right," he agreed.  "For Matthew's sake.  And yours."

     "Thank you," Michaela said to him sincerely, knowing how much the concession had cost him.  Turning to Hank again she asked,  "Are you recovered enough to talk?"

     "Yeah," he managed, his voice slightly stronger.

     "Then go ahead—explain yourself," Sully demanded.

     "We decided—not to say nothin'—to keep ya from doin' exactly the kind of thing ya done just now," Hank said with difficulty.

     "What are you takin' about?" said Sully coldly.

     "We were tryin' to stop ya from doin' somethin' crazy—like escapin' yourself and goin' after Flagg—maybe addin' a real murder charge to the other ones ya got against ya.  We were tryin' to keep ya from goin' out and maybe gettin' yourself killed.  We weren't gonna keep the news from ya forever—just long enough to give McKay's men a chance to track down Flagg and bring him in."

     "What gave you the right to interfere in my life and make my decisions for me?" Sully said accusingly.

     "We're the law, Sully," said Hank.  "Ya said it to me yourself—we got the right to do whatever we see fit to keep order—and we don't need your permission.  'Sides, ya keep forgettin' that you're still a prisoner.  Ya know, McKay done ya a big favor, lettin' ya stay in the clinic 'stead of lockin' ya up in jail.  If he hadn't been willin', or I hadn't gone along with him, you'd be in jail right now.  If you'd been behind bars, ya couldn't have done nothin' about Flagg anyway.

     "Fact is, I thought maybe we *should* lock ya up—to protect ya from yourself," he admitted.  "But McKay didn't want to break his word to ya 'bout the clinic, and . . ."  He paused.

     "And what?" Sully goaded him
 
     "Matthew begged us not to," finished Hank.

* * * * * * * * * *

     "Matthew?" Sully repeated slowly.  "Matthew knew about this?"

     "He was there when Horace brought the telegram," Hank said.  "We all talked about it together—tryin' to figure out what we should do.  When McKay said we should hold off tellin' ya, Matthew was against it.  He didn't want to lie to ya, said you had a right to know the truth.  But McKay told him that doin' this would protect ya—Michaela too.  So finally, Matthew went along.

     "But after what happened last night, he was all tore up.  He came to the Gold Nugget, tryin' to drown his sorrows.  But I tried to make him see it was no good—drinkin' to hide from your problems.  Instead I tried to get him to talk.  That's when I found out how upset he was.  At first he said it was 'cause he wasn't in town when Flagg came after ya.  But finally, he admitted it was the lie—and you and Michaela nearly dyin’ ‘cause of it—that was eatin' him up inside.  He didn't—he don't—think ya can forgive that."

     "Oh, God," said Sully bleakly, and collapsed into his chair, all the anger and fight suddenly gone out of him.  "Matthew," he said more softly.

     "What he must be going through," Michaela whispered.

     "I told him you'd understand," Hank went on.  "I told him ya knew how he felt about ya, and how you'd know he was just tryin' to help ya, best way he could.  But I don't think he believed me—‘cause I ain't the one he needed to hear it from.

     "So which one of us is right, Sully?  Me or Matthew?  Will ya blow up at Matthew like you did  at me?  Will ya turn your back on him and never forgive what he did?   It's clear ya gone back to hatin' me—well, so be it.  I can live with that.  But—I don't think Matthew can."  Hank stopped speaking, and there was a long, painful silence.

     "'Course I wouldn't turn my back on him," Sully finally said in a low voice..  "Matthew's gotta know that," he asserted after a moment.
 
     "I don't think so," Hank said.  "Leastways, not where Michaela's concerned.  Matthew figured you might be able to forgive him wrongin' you, but that you might never be able to forgive him puttin' his ma in danger."

     "Sully," Michaela said, looking at him searchingly.  "You don't feel that way, do you?"

     He shook his head.  "’Course not.   I could never bring myself to punish him any more when he's already punishin’ himself so much.  I feel bad for him, carryin' around a burden like that."

     "I think it would make him feel a great deal better if you were to tell him that," Michaela suggested.

     Sully reached over to take her hand.  "I will, I'll talk to him," he told her quietly.

     "What about Hank, and Sgt. McKay?" Michaela said tentatively.  "If you can forgive Matthew, can you forgive them as well—recognizing that they had good intentions, even if things didn't work out as they'd hoped?"

     "It ain't exactly the same thing, Michaela," he resisted.  "Matthew's my son.  I—I love him."

     It warmed Michaela's heart to hear Sully say those words aloud, but now she said only, "And McKay was starting to become your friend—you said so yourself.  He bent the law to allow you to stay in the clinic with me, although he didn't have to.  As for Hank—he tracked down this man, and ultimately killed him—to protect us.  He risked his life on our behalf, Sully.  Can you find it in your heart to overlook Hank's and McKay's mistakes and remember instead the good they tried to do?"

     Sully's eyes met hers.  In her expression, he could read her anxious hope that he could somehow find forgiveness within himself for those who'd wronged him.  He was silent for several moments.  Then,  getting to his feet, he came over to Hank and put out his free hand.  "Sorry for what I did," he said.  "I let my anger get the best of me.  I shouldn't have."

     Hank accepted Sully's outstretched hand and they shook.  "Ya had cause," he said.

     "Hank," said Michaela, "I want to thank you for what you did for Matthew last night.  Since, under the circumstances, he may not have felt he could come to us, I'm glad he had you to talk to."

     "Michaela's right," Sully echoed after a brief hesitation.  "You gave him good advice."

     "I just tried to do what's right—to listen to what he was thinkin' and feelin'—and talk to him the way I'd want somebody to talk to my own kid if he was in trouble," Hank responded.  The men's eyes met in a moment of understanding.

     "Well, now it's my turn to do some listenin' and talkin'—and make things right with Matthew," Sully said.