Seed of Deception Part 2
A Maverick story by Deana

My continuation of the Maverick episode 'Seed of Deception'.

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Bart shifted slightly in his chair, trying not to wince. The gunshot wound low in his right shoulder was throbbing, the pain radiating in all directions. It was difficult not be able to move it much, considering that it was his dominant hand, but at least he usually used his left hand to hold cards...which is what he was foolishly doing at the moment.

Bret shot concerned looks at his brother, knowing that he was in pain. He would never forget the moment when he'd been told that Bart '...might not make it'. He knew that the bloodstain on Bart's shirt had looked like the wound was in his chest, so he understood how it had initially seemed, but it was still a terrifying thing to have been told. "You all right?" he asked.

Bart smiled slightly, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm fine," he answered. He was too pale.

Bret didn't believe him. If the bullet had hit him an inch lower, it would've ended up in his lung. "We don't have to play...when I proposed it, you'd looked better than you do right now."

Bart smiled again. He'd felt better at the time when Bret had playfully demanded it, to try to win back the money that he'd generously given Bart as his share of the reward for capturing Jim Mundy and his gang. He was feeling lightheaded now, but answered, "It's all right, we might as well finish."

Bret frowned. Was Bart winning?

Bart tried to keep his poker face, and wondered how he was doing at it. He was tired, but he also had three aces and two kings. He shifted his cards into his right hand for a second so he could pick up the rest of his money and toss it into the pile. "I call," he said, unexpectedly.

Bret's eyebrows shot up. He matched the bet and laid down his cards: three jacks and two queens.

Bart smiled...and this time, it reached his eyes, pain or not. He reached over—not able to hide a wince this time—and raked in the money with his left hand.

Bret was speechless. He'd playfully tried to take advantage of his brother while he wasn't at his best, and wasn't going to actually keep Bart's money if he won, but he hadn't stopped to think of what would happen if Bart was the winner.

Bart started counting the money one-handed where it lay on the table, and when he got to the amount where Bret had originally split it, he took that half and tried to reach forward as far as he could to hand it to Bret. "Here," he said, his voice sounding a little rough when he moved too much.

Surprised, Bret quickly reached out and took it.

"You thought I'd keep it?" Bart asked, carefully leaning back in the chair. "After you were nice enough to give me half when I didn't even earn it?"

"I wasn't going to keep yours if I won, either," Bret said, sticking his money into his wallet. His expression turned somber. "And you did earn it," he said, gesturing to Bart's wounded shoulder.

Bart nodded. "I guess you have a point there." He yawned.

Bret took out his watch; it was just after five in the evening. "Hungry?" he asked, figuring Bart wouldn't be able to stay awake for a later supper.

Bart hesitated, blinking tiredly. "Not really."

Bret stood and reached for his brother's good arm to help him up. "I'll order room service," he said, as if Bart's answer had been 'yes'.

Bart said nothing, letting Bret pull him out of the chair. The lightheadedness increased and he stumbled a step.

Bret tightened the grip on him. "You all right?" he asked again, frowning.

Bart blinked a few times. "Stood up too fast," he said.

Bret had tried to go slow, but obviously wasn't slow enough. "Sorry." He carefully led his brother over to his bed and sat him there, gently removing Bart's jacket and helping him lie down.

Bart closed his eyes with a wince and let out a deep breath, accidentally letting his pain show for a moment.

Bret squeezed his brother's good shoulder. "I'll be right back," he said.

Bart nodded, and as he watched him leave the room, he realized that Bret didn't ask him what he wanted. Apparently he was going to have to eat whatever big brother decided was good for him. He closed his eyes with a sigh and groaned, now that Bret wasn't around to hear it. His wound was hurting worse than Bret knew.

When Bret came back, he found that Bart had dozed off. He frowned at that, not wanting to have to wake him up when their food arrived. He sat in the chair beside Bart's bed and just watched his brother sleep, wishing that he'd never gone along with the town believing that he was Doc Holliday and Bart was Wyatt Earp. They should've simply told them the facts and went on their way. If they had, then Jim Mundy wouldn't have spared them a glance and Bart would not have been shot.

"Got nothing better to do?"

Bret blinked and saw that Bart's eyes were half-open. "Oh," he said. "Did I wake you up?" He had no idea how much time had passed while he'd sat there thinking.

Bart shook his head. "No, this did," he said, gesturing to his throbbing shoulder.

Bret sighed. "Wish there was something I could do," he said, guiltily.

Bart heard the strange tone in his brother's voice, and opened his eyes all the way, but before he could really look at him or say anything, there was a knock at the door and Bret stood to let their supper into the room. He watched his brother take the cart and wheel it over. "What's on the menu?" he asked.

"Just what you need," Bret said, masking his guilt and sounding like his usual self again. He carefully helped Bart sit up and placed a tray on his lap, taking off the cover and revealing a big bowl of beef and potatoes.

It smelled delicious, but it wasn't what Bart really felt like eating.

"No complaints," said Bret. "This is what your body needs."

Bart would've rather had soup.

"I know you'd rather have soup," Bret said, as if reading his mind. "But answer me this, brother dear…do you really want to try raising liquid on a spoon with your left hand?"

Bart looked up from staring at the bowl. "That's true."

Bret nodded and took a mug off the cart. "It'd be easier for you to drink the broth."

Bart smiled, taking the mug. "Yes sir, big brother." He figured he'd better just go along with him, since Bret obviously felt guilty that he'd been shot.

Bret smiled back. Bart hadn't called him that in a long time.

They ate mostly in silence, Bret watching as Bart attempted to eat with his left hand. He got the hang of it after turning the fork upside down and stabbing his food. Bart didn't manage to eat it all, but he ate enough to satisfy his brother, considering. After Bret pushed the cart into the hall laden with their dishes, he came back to see Bart dozing again. "If you're gonna be down for the count, we should get you out of those clothes and change your bandage," he said.

Bart didn't want to move, and sighed.

"Come on," said Bret, sitting in the chair again and lightly squeezing his brother's good arm. "You'll be more comfortable that way."

At that, Bart opened his eyes and tried to move. Bret helped him sit on the side of the bed and got his shirt off. He sighed at the sight of the bandage, and almost didn't want to take it off and see the wound on his brother that he could've prevented.

Bart knew his thoughts, but just as he opened his mouth to say something, Bret reached forward and removed the bandage. He didn't let himself outwardly react at the sight of the ugly, stitched wound, and he set about placing a clean folded cloth over it and wrapping a roll of bandage around Bart's body to hold it there.

"This isn't your fault," Bart suddenly said.

"Yes it is," Bret quickly replied. "If I had insisted that we weren't Earp and Holliday—if I hadn't been foolish enough to call you 'Wyatt'!—then Mundy would never have even noticed us and this whole thing would not have happened."

Bart sighed. He understood his brother's reasoning, but still. "You had no way of knowing that I would get shot. Even I had no way of knowing, or I would've kept trying to walk away from his henchman before he shot me!" The pain suddenly flared and he sucked in a breath.

Bret winced right along with him. "Sorry," he said, trying to be more gentle.

Bart let the breath out. "I'm fine."

Bret sighed.

The pain flared again and Bart closed his eyes, unable to say anything else until Bret finished with the bandage. After the ordeal was over, he reopened his eyes and looked at his brother. "It wasn't your fault," he repeated.

Bret held his gaze, reading the sincerity in his brother's eyes. Finally, he nodded and looked away.

Bart wasn't sure if his words were enough to completely convince his brother, but he could see that Bret was considering it, so that would have to do for now…especially since he couldn't stay awake any longer to keep talking to him anyway.

Bret saw how fast Bart was fading and quickly got his brother into nightclothes. He helped him lie down and pulled the covers up, adding an extra blanket; the night was chilly. "Sleep well," he said.

Bart nodded, eyes closed. "You too," he mumbled.

Bret sighed, doubting that he would.

TBC