Disclaimer: My first Bonanza story! Please note: all recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. All original characters and plot are the property of the author. No copyright infringement is intended.

Relatives

A What Happened Next Scene for First Born

Joe pressed his fingertips to the ache above his right eye and willed himself not to think of last night, but the memories snuck through and knotted his stomach. He wasn't going to think of Clay, the miners, responsibilities or regrets. He was going to lie in bed and go to sleep, just like the doctor had ordered, and try to think of nothing at all. Resisting the urge to yank off the tight bandage across his chest, he scrunched his eyes shut. He needed to sleep, God knows he needed it badly. He hadn't had more than two or three hour's shuteye since town yesterday.

The fresh thought of Clay had him swearing softly through his teeth. He breathed in deep, wanting to chase the feeling away, but it washed over him, and he wasn't in his room anymore, but there in the woods with the smell of campfire smoke, a cup of coffee warm in his hand, and his brother arguing. He sank into the sensation, but he couldn't hold on and steadily it slipped away.

He knew better than to let it linger, take root. Because it would only bloom with anger. He opened his eyes then narrowed them against the splash of yellow sun filtering through the curtains. He reached for the glass at his bedside, wishing for the entire world it held whiskey instead of water.

The quick swish of cool water down his throat did nothing to ease the knocking in his skull, or stop the thoughts from coming. He considered—briefly—getting out of bed, but settled on pushing himself halfway up the headboard instead, propping his head in one hand.

The door to his room opened partway with a quiet snick of the knob. Whoever was in the hallway hesitated at the threshold. He held his breath. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep…

"Joe?"

Pa.

The string of events had burned a hole in him. It hurt—it hurt unbelievably—so he covered the wounds with a thick coating of politeness.

"Mornin', Pa." It wasn't until he reached for the glass again that he realized his hands were shaky.

Pa hitched a breath. "You're hurting."

Joe could feel his fingers twitching and he caught the quick drop of Pa's eyes, watching them. He stilled his hands. "Sure. Just a little."

Pa gave him a small, crooked smile. "That must mean the ride last night didn't do too much damage."

Something rose in his chest, something thick and choking. Joe looked full on at his father and let the feeling drain away before he could trust himself to speak again. "How are Hoss and Adam getting along?" he finally said.

"Fine, they've almost got the herd to the upper pasture. It'll go faster when we have you back."

Pa's eyes had softened, that was all it was, just those soft eyes and his low voice, but Joe had to look away. He stared at the yellow curtain and breathed in deep. He wasn't ready—he didn't know how to sort it out in his own head, let alone make any sense to his father. "He told me he couldn't live this life and I couldn't live his."

"I thought as much…" Pa seemed to be fumbling for words, rushing them out. "Where did he go?"

"I don't know."

"But you're sure he left?"

"I'm sure."

"How?"

"Trust me, after we argued, he left."

"Joseph, we can find him again. He couldn't have gotten too far down the trail."

"No."

"I'm sorry." Pa's voice had turned all velvety and Joe knew he didn't understand. He rubbed his thumb against the smooth sheet on his chest. "Is that what you think, that I'm feeling sorry for myself?"

"Nobody could blame you if you were."

He thought hard, and his gaze turned to the ceiling. "It's just sometimes…" He sighed quietly and remembered his water, downing it all at once, then wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "Pa, have you ever wondered why things happen the way they do? Like Clay finding us?"

The words came to him as if from a cherished secret. He couldn't help his voice from faltering. "Did you know Clay was in Mexico with Juarez?"

Pa didn't answer for second and Joe hung his head, waiting.

"I didn't know."

"Well, he told me while we were drinking that pulque." He started to raise the glass, wanting some distraction, wanting something, but then it came to him that it was empty and he set it down on the bedside table. It made a jiggling thud.

"You must have thought I'd gone loco, riding off like that."

"We were worried, that's all."

"Yeah, well…" Joe smiled wryly. "You should've been, it's not easy with your ribs busted up." The smile faded away and he hesitated for a long, slow breath. "I couldn't figure out why he took off."

The reaction showed in a lift of an eyebrow, the twitch at the corner of his father's mouth. There was temper, but it was reined in and corralled. Pa turned abruptly to the bureau.

"The ranch wasn't for Clay. You saw that." He held up the picture of Joe's mother, fingering its silver-scalloped edge. "You haven't been yourself lately. So…unsettled. He made that happen."

"I know, Pa…that's what I'm trying to tell you. I saw it, last night in the woods. It doesn't change the way things are—him leaving—but if he hadn't of come to the Ponderosa, I wouldn't have known."

"I'm still sorry." Pa reached for his shoulder and Joe let him, relaxing under the firm squeeze and the way Pa left his hand just lying there.

"Maybe I grew up a little," Joe said quietly.

"Am I going to lose you after all?"

Surprise washed through him. His father was truly saddened.

And an even more startling admission. "I'm an old fool."

Why hadn't he noticed the uncombed hair, the creased shirt and trousers? It wasn't like his father to be unkempt. "Pa, you've never been a fool." But he'd been worried—and still was if looks were anything to go by.

They'd weathered through life at the ranch, each other's wants and needs. And yet, after all that had happened, his father was waiting for an answer.

He stared at the man standing so straight before him. The man he'd known all his life. "You can't lose me that easy. Clay…I'll miss him. For what could've been."

His father's mouth thinned out to a single grim line. "For what he did or didn't do…I can't fault the reasoning behind his actions, just the actions themselves. This is where you belong. It's not something to be wagered, or something to be bartered." Pa watched him for a very long moment. "Clay should have stayed," he softly said.

The words were one last volley shot over the bow, and spoken so low Joe could barely make them out. He smiled a full toothy grin. "I know. Now why don't you get some breakfast? I'll be down soon."

Pa shook his head. "I'll be up, with more broth. You rest, son."

Stopping at the door, his father turned and nodded. "Joe, your legacy will always be here at the Ponderosa. And Clay's, if he'll see fit."

The words were tumbled out and the door snapped shut before he had a chance to reply. Legacy was a funny word, but the fact his father had acknowledged another legacy, the one riding away, left hope for the future.

And as for his brother…. Joe sighed, that was a subject for another day. He slumped down in bed, energy spent. Turning his cheek into the hollow of the pillow, he finally slept.

~The End~

March 2015