A/N: A little bit of whump, a tiny touch of angst (just a baby bit), some fluffy stuff all throughout (why am I going down fluff road so much lately?), a bit of confusion, and my usual sense of odd humor. This one's for the Chris and Ezra folks. :)
Chris sat in front of the saloon tapping one foot in aggravation as he gazed up towards the clinic door. He didn't understand why the hell he was so damn irritated over the situation. It should've been nice, a stress-free break from his usual role, but instead he just found himself feeling…left out.
He shook his head. 'Left out' wasn't quite the right way to describe the tight feeling in his core, or the unexplainable anger that would bubble up each and every time one of the others stepped through that door. With a start followed by a curse, Chris realized he wasn't simply feeling the pangs of sitting on the outskirts. He was downright jealous.
"Damn you, Ezra," he mumbled, clenching his teeth down on his cheroot.
He couldn't believe he was actually feeling jealous over that damned Southerner. It would make sense if Vin was the one laying up there – the two of them had a tight bond from the very moment their eyes locked across a dusty street. Buck, though Chris's oldest friend, would probably seek out JD's company first, but the dark-clad gunslinger would come in a very close second. A jealous twist in his gut would only be reasonable if Buck forgot that Larabee existed. Standish, though? Hell, Chris and Ezra didn't get along eight days out of the week, so why the hell should the seven's leader be so hung up on the fact that the gambler was calling out to everyone but him?
Simple. It was because every other time that Standish had fallen to illness or injury, he always looked for Chris. Larabee never really quite understood exactly why it was that his presence so soothed the normally obstinate man, especially since the Southerner seemed to take great pleasure in playing a constant dangerous game of 'poke the bear' with the short-tempered gunslinger which often ended in an exchange of hurtful words and the occasional physical blow. Chris would've almost been certain that Standish didn't like him (and vice versa) were it not for the simple fact that in a pained or fevered stupor, Ezra sought comfort and safety in Chris's presence, and Chris would worry enough about the ailing man to willingly provide him with an uncharacteristically soft touch and a gentle voice.
This time, though, for whatever reason, Standish was giving him the cold shoulder. It didn't seem to be something done out of anger or fear, Ezra didn't glare at him or shy away from his touch. It was just as if the Southerner had become completely indifferent to the fact that Larabee was nearby. When Ezra opened his eyes for the first time in nearly three days, he had casually stared at the gunslinger for a few seconds before shifting his gaze around the rest of the room. Chris had stood by, ready for the gambler to reach out for him, call his name, get that distraught look that signaled Standish was flashing back to some unpleasant memory from his past, but none of that happened this time.
"Ezra, you with me?" Chris had prompted.
Standish didn't even turn back in his direction, simply continued to search around the clinic until he caught sight of JD who had fallen asleep with his head down on the table in the far corner. With a small smile, Ezra had let himself drift back off before anything more could be said. Chris had just figured perhaps the Southerner hadn't actually been awake that first time.
The second time he woke up was during the process of Josiah and Nathan sitting him up some so they could force some water down him. As soon as the eyelids started fluttering, Chris stepped in to perform his usual duties of calming down the conman who had a tendency to panic when jostled to consciousness under circumstances he couldn't control. Green eyes flashed with that familiar fear for only a second before they locked onto the two men holding him between them, both braced for the struggle that usually occurred. Instead, Ezra relaxed in their grasp and graciously accepted the cup of water held to his lips, not even seeming to notice that Chris was in the room. He was back to sleep within seconds of being lowered back to the pillows.
The third awakening did not go as smoothly, Standish jolting upright in bed after having experienced one of his haunting nightmares. Chris jumped up from his chair almost as quickly, ready to release the usual stream of soothing words that would assure Ezra that all was well, that he was safe. When Chris gripped his shoulder, however, Ezra looked up at him and tentatively called for Buck. Thinking maybe the gambler had dreamed of some harm having befallen the ladies' man, Chris tried to tell the Southerner that Buck was fine, but Ezra didn't even let him get three words out at a time. He just kept repeating Buck's name in a manner that wasn't exactly overly frantic, more just searching. The oddest thing about it, though, was that it didn't really seem that Ezra was asking Chris directly about Buck's whereabouts. It was more like he was talking at Chris, but not really talking to him. Anyone else could've been standing there and it wouldn't have made a difference.
Except it did make a difference, Chris quickly realized. As Standish recovered, he began responding more and more to the other members of the seven - seeking them out, smiling when they were in the room, sleeping easier when they spoke to him – but not if it were Chris standing vigil. For some odd reason it was as if Chris never even existed in Ezra's world. Standish would recognize that a body was in the room with him, but Chris may as well have been a stranger fresh off the stage with as much attention as he was getting. After a few more days of being ignored Chris had decided he'd had enough. If Ezra didn't need him there, fine. He had better things to do.
And that pissed him off to no end.
"Damn, smug, son of a bitch," the gunslinger grated out again as he stood to turn back to the saloon. He hesitated for a moment when the door opened and Josiah came wandering out, his eyes scanning the town down below. Chris waited for a second actually hoping that the preacher was searching for him, but instead the man began waving in Vin's direction redirecting the tracker from his trek to join his friend at the saloon. Vin shot Chris a small apologetic look and a shrug, then made his way up to Ezra's side.
Where I should be, Chris couldn't help but think. Dropping his head, he cursed the Southerner again and pushed his way inside to share some company with a bottle.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
It was late. Chris sat by himself in the corner of the saloon getting dangerously close to the bottom of the bottle. Of course, it hadn't been full when he started and he knew Inez must've watered it down some in an attempt to avoid his even more temperamental state when he was truly drunk. He didn't really mind, though. There was still enough alcohol in his system to cut the idiotic pangs of unwarranted jealousy, and he was finally starting to be able to relax when one last costumer wandered into the bar.
"We're closing, Mr…" Inez began, but trailed off.
Chris looked up to see what had caught her attention and cursed when he realized who was picking his way towards the shadowed table. Standish, barefoot and shirtless, the white bandages around his torso standing out starkly against the candlelight, shuffled to an empty chair and plunked down into it without his usual grace. This was followed by him placing his arms onto the table and dropping his head down onto them, falling asleep almost instantly without so much as looking in the gunslinger's direction.
"What the hell?" Chris mumbled. He reached over and gently shook the conman's shoulder. "Ezra. Ezra, wake up." His efforts were met with foggy green eyes peaking up in his general direction. Chris sighed. "Come on, Ez, Nathan'll kill you when he finds out you're out of bed."
The gambler shook his head and hid his face again in the crook of his arm. Chris, a little too inebriated to physically force Standish back to the clinic, sat back with a defeated huff and proceeded to finish off his bottle. After some time passed, Inez appeared with a blanket and draped it over the sleeping man's shoulders, earning her a thankful smile from the gunslinger before she retired for the night.
The two sat that way for another hour before Standish groaned and shifted in his seat, bringing his head up once more.
"You ready to go back to bed?" Chris asked, a bemused smile on his face as Ezra winced while trying to stretch out cramping neck muscles.
In response, Standish didn't nod, didn't say anything, merely stood and began traipsing towards the stairs that would lead to his own bedroom. Chris frowned at the response and debated whether or not to steer the wounded man back towards the clinic, but figuring Ezra's room was much closer and there were less stairs to deal with, he decided to help him up to his featherbed instead. For his part, Ezra made no sort of acknowledgement that the gunslinger was even there when Chris put a steadying hand under his elbow, guiding him carefully up to his room. Nor did he thank Chris for helping him into bed and offering up some water. Just as in the clinic, Ezra simply fell asleep without saying one word to his increasingly flustered leader.
"What's going on with you, Standish?" Chris whispered as he sat in Ezra's rocker, prepared to watch over his healing friend for the night.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
A light knocking sound brought Chris to instant awareness, his hand dropping quickly to his gun as his eyes darted first from the prone form on the bed to the door where the noise had emanated from.
"Chris?" It was Josiah's soft voice, instantly melting the tension in the gunslinger's protective stance. "You in there with Ezra?"
Scowling as bones creaked and popped when he stood from the rocker, Chris made his way over to the door and allowed the preacher entrance, putting a finger to his lips briefly as he nodded towards the sleeping man. Josiah looked at Ezra, then at Chris, a small smile spreading across his face.
"Something funny?" Chris grumped.
"You find him or did he find you?" the preacher asked in return.
The gunslinger frowned. "Neither. He found the saloon. Got as far as the table and passed out for a spell before I helped him up here. Man doesn't even know I exist as far as I can tell."
Josiah chuckled airily, causing the seven's leader to deepen his scowl. He hadn't meant to sound so bitter about the fact that Ezra had been ignoring him; hell, hadn't meant to say one word about it. It was too damn early to be dealing with the preacher's cryptic way of getting a person to talk; Chris's guard was down.
"He found you, then," Josiah said in response to his own question.
"He wasn't looking for me," Chris argued back.
"You haven't been around," the bigger man countered.
Chris dropped his head. "Not like he's noticed."
Josiah placed a hand on the gunslinger's shoulder. "Oh, he noticed, brother. Why do you think he wandered out here looking for you?"
Larabee stubbornly shook his head. "If he wanted me in there why didn't he just ask for me like he usually does? And why won't he talk to me? He looks right through me like he doesn't even know who I am."
Josiah moved to place himself in Chris's direct line of site, making sure to catch his attention. "He hasn't been calling for you because somewhere in his head he's figured out that he doesn't have to. He expects you to just be there, Chris. The rest of us, he still has to check, make sure we didn't abandon him. You, though, he's gotten used to knowing you're supposed to be at his side, watching over him. Took him a while to realize you weren't because he just assumed you were nearby where you should be. I saw it in his eyes as soon as he realized there was a missing piece to his puzzle." He chuckled again. "Didn't realize he'd come out looking for it, though. Nathan'll have my hide once he finds out I let him slip past me."
Chris didn't have a chance to respond before the healer stormed into the room, and the gunslinger had to bite back a grin at Nathan's ability to throw a tantrum while also being nearly silent. Added to that was the admirable skill of being able to both glare daggers at Josiah while gently checking over his patient at the same time. During the whole process, Ezra never even stirred.
"Damn fool shouldn't be out of bed traipsing around like that," Nathan grumbled. "One fall could've popped those stitches, then where would he be? Bleedin' all over the road somewhere, most likely. Head's still muddied up too much to really know what's going on. Josiah, you were supposed to be watching him."
"Sorry, brother," Josiah placated with raised hands, "I let my guard down. I honestly didn't think he'd be strong enough to stand, let alone make it all the way over here."
"He shouldn't have been," Nathan said, shaking his head. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say the man's fueled on stubbornness, alone."
Chris snorted an agreement and, feeling the effects of a slight hangover making themselves known, excused himself from the room leaving Ezra in the capable hands of the healer and preacher. He caught Josiah's eye just before heading out the door, but decided to ignore what he saw there. What the preacher said couldn't be true, that Ezra now trusted Chris so implicitly to instinctively know, even in complete delirium, that the gunslinger would just be there. There was no logic in that, especially when Chris had on multiple occasions threatened to shoot the exasperating Southerner, himself.
No, what Josiah said didn't make any sense. Last night Chris had just happened to be in the most logical place for the gambler to wander off to - the saloon was his home, after all. Ezra was always itching to get back to his own featherbed after being holed up in the clinic for a while; this time was no different. Just because he didn't quite have the strength to make it up the stairs didn't mean he purposely sought out Larabee's table to rest at. It was probably habit. The conman often used that same secluded corner table when he was not in the mood to keep up appearances. Being injured and sick, it'd be the first table he'd turn to once he realized he couldn't get to his room. He had looked at Chris for those few seconds but hadn't actually given any sign that he knew who he was looking at, just responding to a voice that was talking at him before promptly dismissing it. It didn't matter that it was Chris sitting there, didn't matter at all.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
After retiring to his own room for a few more hours to sleep off the alcohol from the night before, Chris found himself sitting in his usual perch in front of the saloon just watching the town pass by, and finding himself still mulling over Josiah's nonsensical words. A presence appeared beside him and he looked over expecting his guest to be the quiet tracker, but was surprised to see that Standish had once again escaped the confines of his bed. Without a word, Ezra slumped into the other available chair and rested his head on the back of it, allowing his eyes to slip closed. Chris stared at him for a second before he heard the healer's curse rolling out from Ezra's second story window.
"He's out here, Nathan," Chris hollered back, smirking at the wave of muffled expletives that followed.
The healer appeared on the porch within seconds and proceeded to fuss at the Southerner, who opened an eye and shot an irritated glare in Nathan's direction. After a second, he swatted at the prying hands. "I'm fine, Nathan" he mumbled. "Leave me alone."
"You're not 'fine,' Ezra. You keep this up and we're gonna have to start all over again."
"Just needed some air," Ezra muttered back defensively.
Chris smirked triumphantly, but inside didn't quite feel it. For a second he thought maybe Josiah's words had held some merit, that maybe Standish wandered out here looking for him, after all. By Ezra's own words, though, it was just another matter of the gunslinger being in the right place at the right time. The Southerner just wanted to be outside, nothing more. For some reason the pleasure of being proven right couldn't quite override the disappointment Chris surprisingly felt by being proven wrong.
"I'll get him a blanket," Chris offered. "Let him sit out for a bit, Nathan, man's been stuck inside for too long."
Nathan thought it over for a second before relenting, seeing that the Southerner was already pretty much asleep in the chair. The fresh air might do him some good, anyway, and at least everyone could clearly keep an eye on the slippery weasel if he was right out in the open. Plus, it'd be a lot easier to tie his ankle to a chair leg than it would the bedpost…
"Something funny?" Chris asked as he returned to tuck a blanket around Standish.
Nathan's grin grew wider as he shook his head and settled into the chair that Chris had vacated. With a shrug, the gunslinger simply meandered off to find some other way to pass the time.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Chris smiled slightly as he rode back into town late in the afternoon, wondering how long the healer had allowed Ezra his sought-out freedom before hauling him back upstairs; or whether the empty chairs in front of the saloon signified another daring escape on Standish's part. That would have been impressive if the conman had managed to slink away right out from under Nathan's nose, but since no one was frantically rushing through the streets calling out Ezra's name, Chris figured the injured man was put back in bed where he belonged.
The livery was much darker inside than the blaring afternoon sunlight that Larabee's eyes had adjusted to, and he fumbled blindly towards Job's stall for a minute before his pupils compensated for the difference. As it was, he barely had time to register the form curled up in the straw bedding in the corner of the stall before ushering his horse inside.
"Whoa, Cowboy, hold on a sec," Vin called from behind him, confusing the gunslinger even more. He waited patiently as the tracker hurriedly stepped around him and squatted down beside the person mostly hidden in the hay, shaking presumably a shoulder. Chris almost burst out laughing when a very disoriented Standish sat up mumbling nonsense, straw sticking out of his hair every which way.
"How'd he get away from Nathan this time?" Chris asked, leaving Job to stand in the doorway as he came in to kneel down beside Tanner.
Vin chuckled and shook his head. "All those times Nathan tied him to the furniture? Looks like Ez used 'em to his advantage." He stopped and smiled at the gunslinger's questioning look. "Gave him plenty of chances to practice untying knots."
"Never take for granted an opportunity to acquire a new skill," Ezra muttered, swaying slightly and clearly still groggy.
"Why's he sleeping in Job's stall?" Chris asked, ignoring the man.
Vin shrugged. "Probably 'cause it's empty and Tiny just laid down new straw while you were out. He seemed so cozy I didn't have the heart to move him."
"Nate didn't care?"
"Nate doesn't know," Tanner smirked. "Had to light outta town down to the Houston's place. That ol' plow horse of Cecil's decided he didn't want to work today and told Cecil as much. From the sounds of it he's gonna need a stitch or two, but should be all right."
Chris and Vin shared a friendly laugh, having warned the farmer on many occasions that his horse was getting too old for the heavy workload anymore. Looked like the man just had to learn the hard way.
Much like a certain stubborn gambler, who whispered a breathy, "ow" as he tried to clamber to his feet too quickly. Both men were instantly up and steadying him, giving him a moment to compose himself before trying to lead him out of the livery.
"Better get him back to bed before Nathan finds out," Chris instructed the sharpshooter. "And get that hay out of his hair; it'll give you both away."
Ezra reached up a shaky hand to sweep his fingers through the unruly straw, grasping a few pieces of it only to stare at them in horror before letting them fall to the ground. "Good lord, Mr. Tanner, you can't drag me through town like this. I'm filthy."
Vin sighed and non-too-gently slapped the rest of the hay from the gambler's head before roughly brushing the rest off his clothing, mindful to avoid the places where the man's injuries remained hidden beneath the simple attire. "There, now you're clean. Let's go."
"I need a bath," Ezra insisted, but the argumentative tone was lost to the weakness that his body still sported.
Chris grinned as the two men quarreled all the way out the door, and no doubt all the way back to Ezra's room. He knew the second the conman's head hit that feather pillow, though, that all protests would vanish. Standish still required too much healing for much else besides sleep, but given a few more days Chris knew Nathan would be in an almost constant state of conniption with trying to keep the Southerner's activity level down.
Then again, it seemed Standish may already have prematurely reached that state far earlier than his condition should allow. The gunslinger couldn't help but wonder why Ezra was more restless than usual this time around. Could it possibly be…?
He shook his head and went back to work tending to his horse.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Evening came and Nathan returned, seeming none the wiser of Ezra's earlier antics as the healer came down from checking on his wily patient. It would remain that way, too, as it seemed a collective agreement had been silently made amongst the other five peacekeepers not to reveal the conman's handy new trick. It'd be much funnier to see Nathan's reaction later when Ezra was more up to playing his disappearing act…
"He all right?" Chris, ever the concerned leader, asked as the healer sat down to join the others for supper.
Nathan frowned. "Sleeping, but he's been a might agitated over something lately. Gonna take him longer to heal if he doesn't rest proper."
"Well, he does have those nightmares sometimes when he's sick," JD offered.
Shaking his head, Nathan continued. "No, it's different this time. Don't seem to matter none if he's asleep or awake; he's just been… I don't know, fidgety."
As if sensing he was being talked about, Standish seemed to appear behind them almost out of thin air, pulling a chair over and squashing it between Chris and Buck. Nathan stared at him in disbelief for only a second before the look darkened into a frustrated scowl. Ezra met the glare with uncaring eyes as he snaked a hand out to steal a biscuit off Buck's plate.
"Hey!" the ladies' man quipped, no real menace in his tone as he watched the gambler silently dare the healer to take the prized biscuit away from him.
Nathan scowled. "You just go ahead and eat that. When your stomach takes it out on you later, you can fend for yourself."
"Fine," Ezra declared and boldly broke off a small piece of bread, shoving it in his mouth. The healer noted with only mild satisfaction that Standish reached for JD's milk to wash it down with and not one of the others' glasses. It seemed the Southerner still had sense enough to know better than to challenge Nathan on the consumption of alcohol - that was a battle that nobody won.
As the meal progressed, everyone went back to their usual antics while sneaking tiny glances at the Southerner's amazingly slow progress of getting through his biscuit. His eyes had taken on a glassy look early on and they knew it was merely through a stubborn persistence to prove Nathan wrong that his hand continued the process of passing the almost crumb-sized pieces of food through his lips. Inez had graciously brought the man a large glass of water, which Ezra had proceeded to sip at between each bite. Nathan had thanked her silently for that, knowing that the milk would sit almost as heavily in the man's system as the bread would. At least the water would dilute it down some and hopefully would be enough to keep it where it belonged. If not, Ezra would be in a world of hurt, and of course Nathan wouldn't hold to his threat of not being by his side during the ordeal. That wouldn't stop the healer from brandishing a string of, "I told you so's" throughout the process, however.
When the last piece of biscuit was finally swallowed, Standish let the tiniest of victorious smiles touch his lips before he nearly fell out of his chair in his exhaustion. Chris's quick reflexes caught the man, who promptly passed out right there in the gunslinger's arms.
"Careful there, hoss, he could blow any minute," Buck chuckled as his friend struggled beneath the gambler's dead weight.
Nathan huffed as he stood and slapped Josiah on the arm. "Come on, Josiah, let's get this fool back to his room. Hopefully he'll just sleep it off and we won't be needing that bucket."
"You coming?" the preacher asked as he hefted the sleeping man into his arms, the question pointed at Chris.
"I think you and Nathan can handle him," the gunslinger answered, then added a little bitterly, "Been doin' fine without me the past few days, anyway."
"I think you'd better rethink that," Josiah returned as he and Nathan made their way towards the stairs with their unconscious burden. "You ever remember Ezra getting between you and Buck before now?"
He let the question hang as he continued on his way, leaving Chris furling his brow in thought.
"What the hell was that about?" Buck asked.
"Nothing," Chris answered dismissively. "Just Josiah spouting off his usual nonsense."
The others shrugged off the odd exchange and went back to enjoying each other's company, leaving Chris to silently roll the preacher's words and the recent events around in his head.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
He was dreaming. It wasn't one of his nightmares from after the fire, but a dream of before – before Adam, before Sarah, before Ella, back when it was just him and Buck getting into trouble around the town they grew up in. The two younger versions of the hardened men they eventually became were racing through an alley, both fleeing from the schoolmaster whose backside was now covered in brown paint. They laughed as they rounded a corner and damn near stepped on a drunk who was puking his guts out all over the walkway. Chris scrunched up his face in disgust, taking a few steps back away from the man. When the retching finished, a low, pained moan escaped the drunkard's lips, and green, beseeching eyes stared tearfully up at the young man. Chris knew those eyes…
Larabee woke with a start, the tendrils of the dreams floating away as awareness took hold of his conscious thoughts. The night was quiet around him but something seemed off, causing his muscles to tense and his senses to become more alert. He seemed to wait forever in dark tension until finally a soft noise registered in his ears - a moan, much like the one from his dream.
He was out of bed and at the door in a heartbeat's time, ripping it open to find Standish curled on his side on the floor beside a puddle of water and partially digested biscuit. Ezra's arms were wrapped around his midsection and his face was turned so that he was pressing his forehead into the wood, breathing raggedly and scrunching his eyes up in pain.
"Christ, Ezra," Chris exclaimed, reaching down to gently sit the gambler up. Ezra let out a tiny whimper, but otherwise allowed the gunslinger to maneuver him up and back into the bedroom, distancing them from the mess in the hallway. With a bit of a struggle, Chris managed to get the Southerner into the bed and tucked beneath the blankets, noting the slight fever that had begun to develop again. For a moment, the gunslinger was at a loss as to what to do first. The pitcher on the bedstand was empty so there was nothing to offer the sick man to drink or wipe his face down with, Nathan would have to be fetched to check over the healing wounds, the hall needed to be cleaned; all of which required Chris to leave Ezra unattended if even for a few minutes. With no other option, he decided that water should be priority one and he could maybe locate the healer along the way, or at least someone to go fetch him. Goal in mind, he grabbed the pitcher and headed for the door.
A long, tired sigh escaped from the figure on the bed just as Chris stepped into the hall. Pausing for a moment, the gunslinger moved to peer back into the room, and was nearly startled to see Standish appear just on the other side of the door. Ezra kept his glassy eyes glued to the floor as he stood on shaky legs, head bowed as he seemed to await his leader's next move.
"Ezra, go back to bed," Chris gently ordered. The Southerner held his ground until Larabee grabbed his arm and walked him back in, easily pushing him down to the mattress. "Listen," he started, bending down to try to make eye contact with the fevered man, "I just need to step out for a minute. You need to stay here. I'll be right back, all right?"
Ezra made no move to confirm or deny that he had heard the gunslinger's comment. Chris clenched his teeth and stood to head out again. Again, there was a muffled groan as Standish somehow managed to struggle back to his feet in attempt to follow.
"Dammit, Ezra, I said I'd be right back. Get back in that damn bed!" Chris growled, trying very hard not to wake the other patrons of the boarding house. Ezra didn't move.
A low chuckle whispered up from behind Chris and he turned, scowl neatly plastered on his face, as the preacher approached. "Problem, Chris?" Josiah asked.
Larabee cursed. He cursed Standish for being so stubborn, cursed himself for his unwarranted jealousy and inability to see the truth, cursed the preacher for his smug, "I told you so," smile, and cursed the fact that somewhere deep inside he felt the slightest joy over still being needed and wanted by the most irritating man on the planet.
His quiet tirade was interrupted by a soft, "Chris? I don't feel good."
Chris sighed and shoved the water pitcher into Josiah's chest before once again taking hold of the Southerner. "That's why I said to stay in the bed, Ez, and pretty sure that's why Nathan told you not to eat that damn biscuit."
Ezra nodded dumbly. "Not one of my brightest moments," he mumbled, clutching an arm around his bandaged torso as Chris laid him back down in the bed.
Josiah watched for a second before catching the gunslinger's eye. "I'll get Nathan and take care of the water. You take care of him."
"When that's done, tend to that mess, too," Chris said, then grinned as Josiah scrunched up his face and made to protest. The gunslinger smiled wider as he pointed to Ezra. "He'll follow me out there if I try to do it. You don't want him hurting himself more 'cause I left him alone, do you?"
Josiah shook his head. "You're a wicked man, Chris Larabee."
"Just following your advice," Chris countered, and chuckled as the preacher left to complete his tasks, grumbling as he shut the door behind him.
Movement in the bed caught his attention and he frowned as the gambler pulled his knees up towards his midsection, groaning lightly. Guilt promptly washed the humor away from the forefront of Chris's emotional state as he realized that his lesson-learned had resulted in bringing more pain to his friend.
"Never again, Ezra," he promised. The Southerner cracked open teary eyes to seek out the voice talking to him. Chris vocalized more clearly, "I won't leave you when you're hurting again. You have my word."
Without responding, Ezra merely allowed his eyes to slide shut and seemed to slip off into a light slumber. This time Chris didn't take the slight as a sign of being ignored or unwanted; he took it as it was meant to be - recognition that all the pieces of the puzzle were back where they belonged.
~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~M7~
Chris sat in the chair outside the jail idly watching the town pass by, chuckling as Nathan stormed out of the saloon cursing under his breath and holding a loose piece of rope in his hand. The healer shot Larabee a questioning look, who could only shrug his answer in return. As Nathan rushed off still muttering, the sound of someone sneaking around the side of the jailhouse caught the gunslinger's ear.
"If you're trying to make it to the livery, now'd be the time to run for it," Larabee offered.
Ezra casually stepped out from his hiding place as if he was merely taking a stroll, but his eyes darting nervously down the street ruined the illusion. "I'm afraid I'm not yet up to the simple task of running, Mr. Larabee. Perhaps for a small fee, I could convince you to distract our well-meaning healer long enough for me to effect my escape?"
Chris titled his head up in thought for a moment. "Don't think it's safe for you to be riding out there on your own. What happens if you fall off?"
The gambler scowled and shifted his weight in agitation. "Then come with me! For the love of God, man, I can't stand being imprisoned in my room for one moment longer!"
Taking a closer look at his friend, Chris squinted his eyes as he scrutinized the man's condition. Standish still looked a little weak, a little pale, a little shaky, but seemed like he'd be okay to sit his horse. That didn't mean the gunslinger was about to let him off easy, though.
"Alright. I'll give ya a hand if you promise to take the morning shifts for a week once you're back on your feet."
Ezra's face paled even more. "But…but that's… Why?"
Chris shrugged. "Let everyone else get a chance to sleep for a change. They've all been pulling your weight while you've been down. Figure they could use a break." Ezra frowned and looked like he was about to head off to the livery on his own. "You'll never make it, especially if I holler at Nathan."
The conman stopped in his tracks and turned slowly back towards Larabee, all the while keeping one eye focused on where Nathan had disappeared. "You wouldn't."
Chris simply shot the Southerner an evil grin.
Ezra's shoulders slumped and he shut his eyes for a second, grinding out the word, "Fine." He opened them again as Chris stood and walked past him, patting him on the shoulder. Ezra sneered as he made to follow. "I hope you don't mind that at the moment I'm finding it difficult to be grateful for your assistance," he ground out.
Chris shrugged yet again. "Fine with me," he stated casually, hiding his smile as he led the way to freedom.
The End!