Set sometime after Warmth and Security. Standard disclaimers. Don't own, don't profit, don't sue. No slash.

"Get the hell away from me, Buck! I don't need ya hoverin' over me! Just leave me the hell alone!"

Five heads turned to see Chris Larabee lurch to his feet and stumble towards the bar in search of another bottle of redeye. The dark-clad gunslinger had been drinking steadily for most of the day and was in a surly, morose mood. As usual, his oldest friend had been running interference for the troubled man.

"Come on now, Chris. Reckon you've had enough rotgut for one day. Let me help ya over to yer room..." begged Buck, putting his hands on the inebriated blond's shoulders in an attempt at guiding him towards the door.

Before anyone could react, Chris spun around and attacked, felling his friend with a series of hard punches. In a blind, alcohol fuelled fury, he pulled his booted foot back to kick Buck's side. Suddenly he fell forward, smacking his head on the floorboards with a resounding crack that left him seeing stars. Unable to regain his footing, he scrabbled at the floor when he realised that he was being dragged backwards by the foot with which he'd intended kicking Buck.

"Lemme go, dammit! Got no right..."

But Ezra Standish had had enough and wasn't willing to put up with Larabee's selfish, boorish behaviour anymore. He certainly had no intention of watching the grief stricken shootist beat poor loyal Buck again, only to have to put up with Chris' guilty recriminations when he sobered up and saw the damage he'd wrought. Nor did he want Vin to have to take action against a man he admired and looked at as a brother, knowing how the young Texan's sense of loyalty would cause him to feel guilty for the supposed betrayal. Spurred into action, Ezra leaped across the room with his usual lithe grace, grabbed the upraised foot and yanked with all his deceptive, yet considerable, strength. Dragging the blond away from Wilmington towards the bar, he stopped upon reaching it and grabbed the full pitcher of beer he'd previously abandoned on the way back to his usual table. Pouring its contents over Larabee's head, he commanded, "ENOUGH! Calm yourself, sir!"

The ringing authority in the normally mellow tones had several men in the saloon automatically snapping to attention, including Vin and Nathan to their chagrin. This was the voice of someone who'd been a leader of men and expected instant obedience. Strange that it should have been issued by their charmingly amiable gambler, although Vin wasn't quite as surprised as his fellow peacekeepers after a late night conversation held recently with the southern gentleman.

JD had dropped to his knees by Buck and had the dazed man's head in his lap, holding it with gentle hands. Looking up sharply at Ezra's raised voice, the boy's mouth dropped open in shock for a few seconds before his attention was recaptured by a soft moan from his injured friend. Slightly panicked, the boy called, "Nathan, Buck needs your help!"

"Naw, I don't," groaned Buck, sitting up with his knees drawn up and resting his head on his knees with both hands covering his face.

Vin had moved to squat down beside his dripping, scowling best friend, putting a cautionary hand on the beer sodden shoulder. Josiah was hovering in between the two groups, still staring curiously at Ezra as though he'd never seen the man before. Nathan had shaken off the strange compulsion to salute the southerner and was moving towards Buck, intent on seeing what needed fixing.

Ezra stood over Chris, as the two of them tried to outstare each other. Surprisingly, the black clad gunslinger was the first to look away. Winking at the stunned tracker, Ezra spun on his heel and walked briskly to Buck's side and waited for Nathan to check the ladies' man over. The only problem was that the healer couldn't get the lanky Lothario to uncover his face. Rubbing a thumb over his lower lip thoughtfully, Ezra traded bemused glances with Josiah, JD and Nathan. Slowly kneeling beside Buck, Ezra put a hand on one of his friend's broad, currently bowed, shoulders. Feeling the tremors shuddering through the big man, he gently rubbed circles as he asked quietly, "Are you hurt, Mr Wilmington?"

A strange sound, half laugh and half sob, broke from Buck as he hunched further into himself.

JD moved closer and put his arm around his friend, whispering, "Buck? Ya okay?"

"No, Mr Dunne, I don't think our gentle friend is okay at all. There's only so many times a man can be knocked down by a loved one before he just wants to stay down, isn't that right, Mr Wilmington?" Ezra carded his fingers through Buck's thick, dark hair soothingly as the older man leaned into JD's comforting embrace.

Finally lifting his bruised and bloodied face, Buck's tear washed cobalt blue eyes fixed on Ezra as he said hoarsely, "I can't go through another anniversary, Ez. I just don't have it in me. God help me, I ..." Stopping with a hard gulp, Buck bit his lower lip to stop the treacherous wobbling.

Never losing eye contact, Ezra solemnly wiped a tear from Buck's cheek with the pad of his thumb and replied, "You aren't alone this year, Buck. As you are always trying to convince me, there are five others in this strange little family beside you and Mr Larabee. We'll help you both, if you let us."

Lifting a trembling hand, Buck grasped Ezra's wrist and whispered plaintively, "Don't be too hard on him, Ez. They were his world. He lost everything when they died."

Ezra's lips thinned with disapproval but his tone was low and caressed Buck's raw nerves as he refuted, "No. Not everything, Buck. He still had a faithful, supportive brother in you, he was just too damn self-centred to see that. You lost Sarah and Adam too. You're grieving their deaths too. He should have been helping you as much as you've helped him, but you were left alone to grieve the deaths of your sister and nephew, even as you were forced to witness your brother court death over and over."

Seeing the anguish increase on the tear stained face of the stalwart man before him, Ezra stopped and changed tracks, saying, "But there now, you just leave Mr Larabee to me and Mr Tanner. You go now with Mr Jackson and our young friend Mr Dunne. Let someone take care of you for a change."

The southerner crooned, his mellifluous voice washing over the distraught man's raw nerves as his hands smoothed over Buck's large, calloused hand. JD felt his big brother relax against him and marvelled, not for the first time, at the power in Ezra's honeyed voice.

More tears spilled at Ezra's words and Buck nodded, too exhausted physically and emotionally to answer verbally. The years of trailing after his unappreciative, despairing, self-destructive friend all seemed to catch up with him in that moment and he wanted nothing more than to be put to bed so he could sleep for a year. He didn't even want any female company in the bed with him, he felt so low. He let Ezra and JD help him to his feet, feeling every one of his years and then some. Flinching at the glare he got from Chris, he returned his eyes to Ezra when the southerner squeezed his hand reassuringly. Ezra's eyes shone with understanding and compassion, providing more comfort than he knew what to do with, so he swallowed the lump in his throat and rasped, "Thanks, Ez."

Nathan nodded at Ezra gratefully as he helped JD lead the shattered ladies' man out of the saloon to the clinic over the livery. Already planning what tea to brew and which poultices to apply to Buck's hurts, he didn't see the change come over Ezra but Josiah did. Offering a prayer to whoever was listening, the large ex-preacher braced himself for the oncoming storm.

Striding back over to where his leader sat in a pool of beer still dazed by his meeting with the floor boards, Ezra sent a cautionary glance to Vin, before leaning down and snagging Chris' gun with lightning speed. Throwing it to Josiah, he stated, "You've no need for a firearm tonight, Christopher. Mr Sanchez will look after it for you until you've sobered up and returned to your senses. Now the question remaining is, are you willing to go quietly to your room and sleep off this unfortunate incident, or are you spending the night behind bars?"

Gone were the lyrical tones, Ezra's voice was hard and his face was grim. The emerald eyes that usually twinkled with humour, glinted with anger and resolve. He had very few friends and he'd be thrice damned if he let one destroy himself and take this band of brothers with him. It was time for Christopher Larabee to take a good hard look at himself and Ezra was going to provide the mirror.

Snarling, Chris threw off his best friend's restraining hands and surged to his feet, his rage burning like brimstone. With a glare that had paralysed men in the past, he spoke in a quiet voice that was loaded with deadly anger and promised dire retribution. "Who's gonna make me, Standish? You? Two bit conman, with yer high falutin' manners and soft hands? Like ter see ya try..."

As the incensed gunslinger took a step towards him, with murder in his eyes, Ezra sighed tiredly and quickly stepped forward. With a short, sharp upper cut, the gambler sent his friend into oblivion, catching him as he fell. Grunting under the weight of the taller man, he muttered, "Jail it is then. Mr Sanchez, a little help here, if you please."

Shaking himself from his stunned stupor, Josiah hurried forward to take Chris from the southerner, still looking at him as though he'd never seen Ezra before. Hoisting the lanky Hoosier up over his broad shoulder, he asked, "We really going to put Chris in jail? Doesn't seem right to lock him up for grieving, son."

"We're locking him up for the assault on Buck and for the safety of others, Mr Sanchez. Mr Larabee has the right to mourn as he sees fit, but he does not have the right to take that grief out on those around him. We've all had someone precious taken from us at some point or another, but you don't see the rest of us snarling like trapped wolves, pickling our internal organs in cheap rotgut and beating our friends into bloody pulps. No sir, I have stood by idly too long and do not intend to see any more of my associates injured because of this man's inability to handle himself under pressure," replied Ezra, his voice once again ringing with the tone of command. He gestured for the others to follow as he led the way to the jail. It was after midnight and the townsfolk had long since retired to their beds, so there was no-one to witness the ignominious incarceration of the leader of the peacekeepers. Voice lowered in deference to the slumbering townspeople, he continued, "I'm also doing this for Mr Larabee. You know how remorseful he becomes when he sobers up. I am simply trying to limit the damage for which he has to atone later."

Nodding thoughtfully, Josiah hefted the lanky gunslinger more securely onto his shoulder and continued to follow the younger man. He didn't miss the grateful look on Vin's face, as the tracker hurried to catch up with the gambler to give the scarlet clad shoulder a squeeze of thanks. The realisation that the gambler had stepped in to do what Vin had wanted to do, thereby saving the young Texan from the pain of having to strike his best friend when he was hurting, hit Josiah like a bolt from above. A huge grin broke over the older man's face at this latest proof of the gambler's heart of gold; a heart that was struggling valiantly to appear from behind the smoke and mirrors Ezra used to try and hide it.

"Damn Ez, never thought yer could take Larabee with the one punch," chuckled Vin, admiration tinging his voice as he tenderly tucked a blanket around Chris, who was now sprawled face down on a bed in one of the cells. The blond snored heavily, showing that he was asleep now, rather than unconscious. He'd woken briefly when they'd transferred him from Josiah's shoulder to the bed, but had settled into a drunken slumber when Vin had smoothed his hair and murmured a few reassurances.

Waving for the tracker to vacate the cell, Ezra checked to make sure that the water bucket was full and the slops bucket was empty before locking the door. Grinning widely at the other two, he retorted, "Contrary to what my dear mother would say, appearances are not always everything, Mr Tanner."

Chortling, Vin claimed the desk chair and lifted his long legs to prop his booted feet on the desk, heedless of the dirt that fell onto the uppermost wanted poster sitting under his feet. Tipping his hat over his eyes, the Texan leaned the chair back on two legs and went still.

"I will never understand how that boy can fall asleep in such a precarious position so abruptly," marvelled Josiah, shaking his head slowly as he gazed at the recumbent tracker.

Chuckling as he reached into his pocket for his ever present deck of cards, Ezra started to shuffle them before commenting, "An ability born of necessity. When you're always on the alert for probable danger, it's prudent to develop the ability to sleep lightly whenever and wherever you can. It's certainly not the same as a good, deep night's slumber, but it does prevent you from becoming so fatigued that you miss some treachery about to be perpetrated on your person."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience there, son," rumbled the ex-preacher sadly, his gaze moving to the chestnut haired man beside him. Noting again that, like Vin and JD, Ezra was still a young man. But both the tracker and the gambler had suffered a great deal in their short lives, giving them experience well beyond their years which made them seem at last a decade older than JD.

"I am a gambler and a conman, Mr Sanchez. I make my money by depriving others of theirs, something that does not endear me to the general populace, so I do indeed speak from experience," replied Ezra, smirking as he executed some of his more elaborate shuffles. Hiding the ache in his soul as he thought of a child cowering in a dark corner, trying not to sleep so deeply that he missed the warning sounds, terrified that the man would come again that night bringing pain and shame with him. The same child curled up in a light doze, clinging to the rafters of a livery as he hid from the angry marks of his mother, needing to be able to come awake instantly to ward off attacks from rats attracted to his tender young flesh. The same child ducking and weaving to avoid the clumsy, heavy blows aimed at him from countless different drunks, along with the sharp strikes of the sober adults in his life. The same child, now a teenager, cowering in a corner and hardly breathing for fear of waking his cellmate after being left to shoulder the blame for one of his mother's cons. Sleeping lightly and moving with speed and agility were skills that Ezra had learned long before adulthood, although they'd certainly been needed just as much then. Fighting to contain the shudder that threatened to shake his entire frame, Ezra pushed the memories aside and focused on his cards.

Josiah caught a glimpse of the immense sorrow and pain in the eyes of the man he thought of as a son and wondered at what had caused it. Ignoring his almost overwhelming compulsion to hug the man, knowing it wouldn't be appreciated, the preacher rumbled, "Well, if you two boys have everything under control here, I'll go clear up and lock the saloon. Wouldn't want to incur the wrath of Inez."

Flicking a grateful look at the big preacher, Ezra drawled, "Heaven forfend! Thank you for your assistance tonight, Mr Sanchez."

Nodding easily, Josiah paused on his way out to remark thoughtfully, "Saw a new side to you tonight, son. if I were you, I'd be prepared for a whole lot of questions from the others, particularly JD. Good night."

"Good lord," drawled the gambler quietly, dreaded the inquisition that tomorrow would bring. A snort from under the tracker's hat made him smirk and glance over at the supposedly sleeping man. "It's all very well for you, my young friend, they aren't willing to fight your natural taciturnity."

"Ma what now?"

Seeing that Vin had pushed the brim of his hat up to reveal one curious blue eye, Ezra elucidated, "Your uncommunicative nature..."

Slightly hurt, Vin cut Ezra off as he muttered, "Do so communicate. I's communicating with ya right now, ain't I?"

"If you'd let me finish?" Raising one slender finger, along with an auburn eyebrow, Ezra waited for the disgruntled tracker to finish muttering and glare up at him. "Your uncommunicative nature, OR your unwillingness to volunteer any more information than you deem strictly necessary."

"Jist 'cos I don't babble on like some folk, using twenty words when one is all that's needed, don't mean I's got this tassie-whatsit. Man likes to sit quiet and jist listen. 'S the way a man learns stuff. Ya said that made me smart. Now yer saying it's wrong. Ain't got no call ter be insultin' a body, callin' him names..."

Looking at his friend fondly for a few moments, as the Texan grumbled to himself, Ezra finally stood up and went to stand beside the lanky tracker. Knocking Vin's hat back off his head, Ezra grabbed the stubbled chin when the tracker raised his head in startlement. Making sure that he held the wide, blue-eyed gaze, Ezra told him firmly, "I meant no offence, Vin. I know that you tend to hold your tongue around people and I know why. There's nothing wrong with being taciturn - it was a description, not a criticism. It's simply a part of who you are and you know that I like you for who you are."

Blushing, Vin tried to lower his head but Ezra still held his chin so all he could do was avert his eyes. Even then, the gambler tilted Vin's head and tapped his thumb on the Texan's chin to get his attention back. Looking back up into the emerald eyes of his brother, Vin felt a flood of warmth rush through him at the love and affection he saw there. No-one had looked at him like that since his Ma, although sometimes he thought he saw a little of it in Chris or Nettie's eyes. "It's okay, Ez. I know ya weren't really meaning I's smart when ya said it. Ya was jist being kind..."

Ezra tutted and gently pushed his friend's mouth shut with a stern look.

"You are a good and intelligent man, Devin James Tanner, with a kind, courageous, loyal heart. You don't say a lot, but what you do say is usually profound, witty or poetic in a way that I could never hope to be. Don't ever let anyone make you feel less than you are... Not even me," murmured Ezra, moving his hand from Vin's chin to stroke gently over his hair, tugging lightly on one of the curls to emphasise his words. "I know that people have belittled you in the past and made you doubt yourself, but they were wrong! Do you understand me? I'm not being kind when I tell you these things. I'm being truthful. Got it, Mr Tanner?"

Blinking against the stinging in his eyes, Vin swallowed hard and nodded, before choking out, "Yeah, Ez. I got it."

Nodding back, Ezra gave Vin's shoulder a gentle squeeze before walking back to his chair. "Good."

Josiah leaned his forehead against the door jamb and quietly closed the door again. He'd come back after closing up the saloon to see if he was needed, but had stopped and lurked at the door, shamelessly eavesdropping. Long held suspicions about Ezra's solid gold heart were confirmed as he listened to his boy boosting a friend's self esteem. The good Lord knew that Vin needed someone to believe in him and look out for him. Chris protected the tracker physically, but the gunslinger had too many demons of his own to deal with Vin's. Looking up, Josiah grinned and whispered, "You did a good thing bringing those two together, Lord. Vin needed someone to care about him, Ezra needed someone to care about and they both needed someone to believe in them. Thank you."

With that, the big man made his way back to the church and his warm bed, humming a hymn deep in his chest as he went.