A/N: So this is another gem I found in my files and read while I probably should have been studying instead. It was better than I remembered, rough in spots but I really like my take on Nathan in this one, and with the first part done and an idea for an ending brewing now, I thought I'd share it. It's my first attempt at a younger but not little Ezra fic, and unlike in Troublemakers he's the only one younger. Hope you enjoy it!

This is set during working girls, and some dialogue has been pulled from the episode.

*.*.*.*.*

*.*.*

*.*

Nathan stormed down the street, almost unable to think he was seething so badly. He wouldn't have wanted to believe what he'd been told, but JD didn't have a dishonest bone in his body. Nathan had known Ezra was a lot of things, but even he hadn't dreamed the conman would pull something like this. He slowed as he came up the church steps, not wanting to disrespect Josiah by bursting into his sanctuary. Nathan stopped just inside the doorway, watching, growing more disgusted with every word he heard. What was Josiah thinking, letting this happen in his church? If anyone could have put a stop to it, it would have been him, Nathan had noticed the only people the southerner even pretended to listen to were Josiah and Chris. Instead, he stood there offering platitudes about beauty and natural states. Finally, he couldn't take it anymore, the words almost ripping from his throat as he stomped up the aisle.

"Dignity?! You know... It take a bold man to talk about dignity when he tryin' to sell women off like they're cattle." Nathan was almost vibrating with the force of his angry words.

Ezra's face shuttered, eyes going flat and blank, as he faced the healer, "Ah'll ignore that."

"You better do that. How else you going to get some sleep tonight?"

Ezra shifted a little with the healer's words, but otherwise didn't react. "Anything else?"

Nathan almost gaped at what seemed to be a clear dismissal, "About making profit off the back of another human being!? Hell, yeah, I got a lot to say! But..." He shook his head, "it would just be wasted on you."

Ezra's face flashed his hurt for just a second as Nathan snarled out his last words, turning his back on him and storming down the church aisle, before smoothing out into its usual poker face.

He turned back to the ladies, fully intending to get started again, but to his own surprise instead what came out of his mouth was, "Ah believe Charm school is ovah, ladies. If yah'll will please excuse me…" Ezra flashed his most conciliatory smile at them, making sure his movements were nothing but smooth and sure as he headed to the back door. His mouth had already betrayed him; he was not about to let his body do so too.

"For the day?" Miss Emily, the blonde one who honestly wasn't more than a girl, about JD's age, called after him.

"At least." Ezra felt the smile falter on his face, and turned to hurry out the back door, not stopping until he had made it to the back of the saloon, where, when he was certain no one was around, he let himself lean against the back of the building and take a deep breath, Mr. Jackson's words ringing in his ears.

*.*.*.*.*

Nathan had stopped in his tracks when he heard Ezra say his "charm school" was over, still furious, but unable to avoid turning back. Was he serious, or was it a trick?

Seeing Ezra almost rush out the back door, Nathan's eyebrows drew together, a flicker of concern hastily stomped down. If Ezra felt guilty, he'd more than earned it.

"Perhaps your words weren't wasted after all." Josiah turned from the wall to raise an eyebrow at his old friend, who seemed to be thinking hard, and finally nodded half-grudgingly. Josiah turned back to his work, moving the scraper up and down steadily, "I reckon that boy has more layers over him than this church ever had of paint. Just like the little glimpses of grain starting to show here, every once in a while we get a peak beneath those layers. Most of the time, though, we just see the paint."

"Dammit Josiah, I got every right to be pissed." Nathan snapped it, but much of his anger had deflated, leaving him suddenly weary.

Josiah gave him a knowing look, "Mighty disappointed too."

Nathan nodded again, this time running a hand over his face. Yeah, yeah, he was. He'd thought after seeing Ezra in the Seminole village, happily interacting with all the children, whether they were colored, Indian, mixed, it clearly hadn't mattered, that he'd been mistaken about the man. Even after the garbage he'd said in the saloon, Nathan had given him another chance, and this had felt all too much like a betrayal. His actions today might not have showed a lack of respect for colored people in particular, but they had shown a lack of respect for all people, for the dignity of human life, and Nathan was honestly disgusted by it. Buck walked up then, looking a bit sheepish, "Nathan, I didn't-"

"Save it, Buck, I know you heard you gotta talk to the ladies and didn't think twice." Nathan shook his head, "I'm goin' for a walk."

*.*.*.*.*.*

'selling women off like cattle'…'How else you going to get some sleep tonight?'

Ezra pressed his eyes tightly closed, hoping no one came out to use the necessary in back of the saloon anytime soon. Is that what it looked like he was doing? Ezra had honestly been trying to provide aid, to increase the ladies standing in life. Marriage was protection for a woman, as long as it wasn't a bad marriage. He may have been exaggerating a diminutive amount when he talked about placing them in the finest homes in the land, but unsuitable candidates would be turned away posthaste. Furthermore, it was not as though the final choice would not be left up to the ladies, no one would be marrying anyone they did not want to.

If he made a little money, or perhaps a bit more than a little money, doing so, well, a gentleman required compensation for his efforts, did he not?

Yet, the look on Nathan's face…the man had been infuriated, certainly, far more than Ezra had ever seen him. But also...pained. There was no doubt his actions had hurt the man he'd come to respect, even if he wasn't quite sure you could call them…friends wasn't the right word, Ezra P. Standish did not have friends…comrades, perhaps. He'd hoped, after Mr. Jackson had seemed to have forgiven his initial poor behavior after the battle at the Indian village, but obviously, that wasn't to be, not after this. That Mr. Jackson's words had hurt him as well was not of consequence, not now when Ezra was doubting his own actions.

Ezra wished he could say it did not matter to him, but while he was very skilled at lying to others, lying to himself was not a skill he had ever mastered, nor wanted to. It was dangerous to con others when you were not aware of reality yourself. The simple fact of the matter was that it did. Mr. Jackson's, and the other five men he had somehow fallen into company with, opinions mattered to him a great deal.

Things had been much easier when the only opinions that mattered to him were his own and Chaucer's.

Perhaps Ezra would go and drink until no one's opinion of him, including his own, which was not very high at the moment, mattered. That sounded like the best option. Pushing himself off the wall, he straightened his clothes and headed through the backdoor of the saloon, planning to find oblivion in a bottle.

Unfortunately, what Ezra Standish wanted apparently mattered very little to the universe at large. Almost as soon as he had entered into the saloon proper, a rather mischievously grinning Vin and a Mr. Larabee who thankfully was not, as that would have been disturbing, waylaid him.

They had shocking news about Mrs. Travis, and the most interesting plan to distract Wickes. He'd expected to pay for it later when Vin and Chris had strolled by at the beginning of his ill fated charm school, stopping to laugh at him demonstrating graceful walking, but he had not expected it to come to all this.

Ezra reminded himself very firmly, as he strolled into the tent city's bar, that he did, for what godforsaken reason he had no idea, care what his comrades thought of him. If this could help rescue Mrs. Travis, who had been nothing but kind, from that vile Wickes character the humiliation would be worth it. Also, his pardon depended on this peacekeeping business. It was not, admittedly, the first-time Ezra had dressed in drag. It was, however, the only time he had done so as part of a scheme that would not potentially make him very rich.

*.*.*.*.*.*

Nathan walked into the saloon, worn out from an evening spent trying to deal with two patients in shock. Miss Lydia had killed a man and probably needed Josiah's brand of medicine more than his, but being near Nora had seemed to calm her. Mrs. Travis was settled in at her rooms in the back of the Clarion, with Mrs. Potter checking on her. He ordered a drink and as he sipped it rubbed wearily at his eyes. One entertaining thing had come from today, and that was seeing poor Ezra dolled up in that dress. He would never live it down, at least that was Buck's intention. Nathan sighed and rubbed at his eyes again as he compared what Ezra had done in the morning to what Ezra had done in the afternoon. He just didn't understand the man! Spent his morning devising ways to marry women off for money, and spent his afternoon in a dress to help protect a woman! Nathan liked it when he could look at a man's actions and see his character clearly. Ezra confused the absolute hell out of him.

That Nathan's disapproval over that disgrace with the ladies had actually caused him to stop his scheme…if it wasn't some kind of trick...he didn't even know what to think. He had a hard time imagining his opinion was that important to Ezra, to a son of the south, but it seemed it was. That damn gambler reminded him of a child at times, like he didn't know right or wrong without someone explaining it. Nathan took a deep sip of his drink. Like a child-that brought up another thought that had been playing in his mind since four weeks ago at the start of their trip to the Seminole Village….

How old was Ezra? There were times when he seemed worldly wise, he was a conman through and through and could handle himself, there was no doubt about that. Other times though, Ezra hardly seemed older than Vin. Younger, maybe.

Sensing someone hovering, Nathan looked to the side and noticed Miss Molly hesitating near him. Hoping nothing was ailing her-if she'd caught something from her, uh, company, Buck would get it and then half the town would be sick-Nathan turned and smiled, "Evenin', Miss Molly."

"Evening, Mr. Jackson." She smiled back, looking a bit nervous, "I remembered that you told me that if I saw Mr. Larabee with a second bottle of redeye," Nathan groaned internally, "to let you know, but I figured Ez-Mr. Standish being close to finishing a first, with a second on order, might be something you'd want to know too." Nathan automatically looked at the seven's table, then at the one near it where Ezra played his games, mouth furrowing into a hard line. Ezra drank as often as the rest of them, but generally quality over quantity, and for all he was solid, he was built small, didn't have the size or tolerance of Chris or Josiah.

"Where is he?"

"In the far corner, over around the side of the bar." Where none of the others would see him trying to kill himself when they walked in. If this was over his pride being hurt from wearing that stupid dress Nathan was going to kill him. It must have been humiliating, he won't deny that, but Ezra shouldn't be drinking himself half to death over doing a good thing for once. He slammed his own drink, nodding thanks to Molly as he pushed back from the bar and headed that way. Ezra had tucked himself into the corner with his back to the wall, but since he wasn't paying any attention to his surroundings Nathan wasn't sure what good that was doing. He marched over to the table, becoming more annoyed when Ezra didn't notice that someone was walking up. It wasn't until he'd kicked out the chair across from the man that he even looked up, though that did give Nathan a good opportunity to reach over and swipe the bottle of whiskey that was clasped loosely in his hand, the liquid only an inch or two from the bottom. Since when did Ezra drink straight from the bottle? He was sitting in his shirt sleeves too, something Nathan had never expected to see, his jacket discarded on the chair next to him, and his vest unbuttoned.

"Mistah Jackson?" Sinking down into the chair he'd moved, Nathan stared hard at Ezra who seemed to shrink back a little.

"What the hell does your sorry ass think you're doing?"

"Enjoying a libation." His words came out slurred, and if he hadn't been so pissed Nathan might have found it amusing that the ten dollar words stuck around when the man was smashed off his ass.

"Yeah, well, you're done for the night, ya dang fool. Be lucky as hell if you ain't sick as a dog come mornin'."

"That is often…the consequence for indulging on an empty stomach. Worth it." A flicker of his usual grin showed on Ezra's face at the change in his companion's expression at those words. Needling Mr. Jackson was always entertaining. The smile fell off Ezra's face as his mind went back to that afternoon. Truly angering the man was a different story altogether.

"You tryin' to provoke me?" Nathan glared, before worry and common sense took over, "I'm gonna order you something to eat, ya idiot. You ain't gonna move 'til I get back, ya hear?" Ezra wondered how Mr. Jackson would take the news that doing so might be quite impossible for him at the moment anyway, but wisely only nodded, not even letting out the sarcastic 'Yessah!' that wanted to escape him. Nathan stood up, went to head to the bar proper, then turned around to snatch the bottle of whiskey away from where Ezra's hand was reaching for it. With another glare, muttering about dang stubborn idiots who needed their fool hides tanned before they killed themselves-a refrain that was becoming more common the better he got to know the rest of the seven-Nathan quickly flagged down one of bar girls and asked for one of whatever was good.

As he took his seat again Nathan leaned over to snatch the second bottle of whiskey that had been delivered while he was gone and that Ezra thankfully hadn't been able to open (though he had managed to get his vest the rest of the way off, setting it on the seat next to him. Nathan really hoped he wasn't going to continue with that.) ignoring Ezra's complaints. Nathan considered the other man, and wondered whether he wanted to bother asking him why he'd been trying to drink his liver away, now that he'd stopped him. Wasn't really his problem…but, if that were true he wouldn't be sitting here, would he? Ezra's head lolled slightly to the side, and Nathan had to fight the urge to reach across the saloon table and smack the fool for drinking so much on an empty stomach. If he hadn't come along when he did the boy would likely have poisoned himself!

The boy. Nathan frowned down at the table. That thought kept coming back to him. He had noticed when they were with the Seminoles that after five days without shaving Ezra hardly had more than peach fuzz. That for all he would never show it he seemed to hero worship Chris as much as JD. Ezra acted-most of the time-as though he were close to Nathan's age and dressed in all them fancy clothes he looked it. Every once in a while though, he said or did something that just screamed the word into Nathan's mind. No one else had seemed to notice, to pick up on the signs Nathan saw clearly. He couldn't rightly recall if Ezra had ever actually given an age, or just let them assume, and as he trained his gaze back on his fellow peacekeeper looked intently at a face that seemed very youthful. Without all that fancy get-up, without that constant guard on his expression, he looked younger even than Nathan had been thinking, closer in age to JD than to Vin. "Mistah Jackson?"

"Yep?" Ezra flinched a little at the hard tone and Nathan might have felt bad if he hadn't just found him trying to give Chris a run for his money.

"If Ah had not been planning to turn a profit would mah actions still have troubled yah so?" Nathan went to snap at him, but snapped his mouth shut instead at the expression on Ezra's face, studying him intently. Ezra was in earnest, and more than that his eyes had an uncertainty, a pleading in them, that the healer in him couldn't help but respond too.

"You really don't understand, do you? If you hadn't been," He swallowed here, pushing back a surge of both nausea and temper with a force of will, "turnin' a profit, nah, I wouldn't have been as upset, but that wouldn't have made it right, Ezra. You were talkin' about sellin' women-handin' them out like they free parcels seem much better to you?"

"But, Ah wasn't…marriage is protection…Mothah always…" His voice wavered with doubt and Nathan cut him off, forcefully, not about to stop when it seemed like he might have a chance at actually getting through to him.

"People ain't things, to be bought or sold or given away! No so-called protection worth bein' property. I'd thank you to take my word on that." He'd caught Ezra's eyes with his own while he was talking, and was glad he had. Ezra's face looked shocked, but it was only in his eyes that Nathan saw the horror, the proof to him that the other man was starting to understand.

"Mah intentions were not…Ah didn't…", Ezra trailed off, but didn't look away, and finally, finally nodded. Nathan looked into those eyes, eyes that for some reason seemed to be willing to take his yes or no as law after only about a month of knowing each other, when they didn't even get along half the time, and had only one question in his own mind.

"Ezra, how old are you?"

Ezra blinked at him, a flash of panic showing, before he attempted to put his usual poker face up, but it wasn't fooling Nathan. "Ah must confess, Ah do not perceive what that has to-"

"Ezra."

"What age do yah perceive me to be?"

Nathan glared, "Ezra, quit foolin' around and tell me."

"Ah am 38." He said it without a twitch, and if it hadn't been so baldly ridiculous it would have been a very good performance. Nathan had been pretty sure before, but now he was certain, Ezra wasn't anywhere near as old as he'd been implying.

"Want to try again? Somewhere in the realm of possibility." Nathan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms across his chest. Ezra looked away from him over at the bartender and waved at the man, pointing at the mostly empty bottle of whiskey in request for another. The bartender, having seen that Nathan had both the remains of the first and the second bottle of whiskey that had been ordered sitting on the chair next to him, looked to the other man before bringing it over. He'd seen how fast the healer could throw a knife. Nathan shook his head without looking away from Ezra. "Ezra. Answer me."

"What's going on?" Josiah settled down on the side of Nathan that wasn't occupied with whiskey bottles.

"Other than Ezra tryin' to kill hisself by drinkin' nearly a whole bottle of whiskey on an empty stomach? Was tryin' to start on a second a moment ago."

Josiah looked at Ezra with both concern and disapproval, "Ezra…son…"

"Ah can hold mah liquor." He said it insistently, but couldn't seem to look Josiah in the eye. The rather pronounced slur didn't exactly help his case either.

"I ordered some food for 'im, it should soak up some of what's left in his stomach." Nathan turned back to Ezra, "You want to tell 'Siah what else we were talkin' about?"

Ezra looked down, "The ladies…Ah-"

"Not that. What we were just talking about."

"Ah…do not recall." Ezra looked genuinely puzzled, and he'd drunk enough Nathan was almost inclined to believe him. Almost. The barmaid brought over his tray then anyway, and Ezra poked at the stew rather dubiously even as he thanked her.

"You need to eat the bread, and at least some of the potatoes out of that stew." Ezra looked at Nathan as though he was crazy, and Nathan continued before he could get into too much of a fuss. "Don't be a damn fool, unless you wanna get sick as a dog you need to eat." Figuring Ezra was more likely to eat if Nathan wasn't staring at him he turned to Josiah, waiting 'til he could see Ezra at least picking at the bread out of the corner of his eye, before saying quietly, "How old would you say Ezra is Josiah?"

Josiah frowned, turning from observing Ezra to throw a questioning glance at Nathan. "I would have said Ezra was close in age to you, 28 or 29, perhaps a bit younger, Brother Nathan, but your question makes me wonder."

"Been noticin' for a while some little things that made me wonder if he wasn't younger than he's puttin' on. He looks awfully young without that fancy jacket and vest on, his hair mussed up, doesn't he?" Josiah looked at Ezra and after a minute had to nod, brows drawing together. "Asked him how old he was-told me 38." Josiah outright laughed at this, and Nathan nodded. "Not one of his better lies."

"He damn sure ain't only 12 years younger than me."

"Ah can hear yah gentlemen, yah know…it is not mah fault 'Siah is ancient…" Josiah shook his head, amused by Ezra being just as much of a smart aleck whether he was sober or blind drunk, though he didn't particularly like being called ancient, not when he was starting to feel it some days. Nathan just rolled his eyes.

"Eat your damn stew."

"Wait a second, Nathan. Ezra? Son, I want to talk to you."

"Ah have been ordered to ingest mah 'damn stew', and therefore am unable to do so." Ezra smirked, though the expression was ruined in that his eyes couldn't quite seem to focus on Josiah.

"Brother Ezra." Josiah growled just a bit, pulling out the stern look he'd noticed the boy-Lord, Nathan was right, wasn't he?-responded too, whether he'd admit it or not. "Look at me." Reluctantly, Ezra put down the spoon he'd been poking at his stew with.

"Yes, Mr. Sanchez?"

"How old are you?"

Ezra stifled a groan; his intoxication making him want to do what he'd never want to do ordinarily, bang his head on the table no matter how undignified it was. He'd known that was what Josiah was going to ask him, just held out hope. Why had they noticed now? What measure had he failed in, what had given Mr. Jackson cause to notice? It had been years since someone had seen through this particular con. He'd been pretending to be at least five years older than he was since he was fourteen. "Ah assure yah sah, Ah am above the age of majority…"

"That ain't what I asked you." Josiah had never thought to doubt that, and didn't now-that Ezra could be under 21 and they hadn't realized, he hadn't realized-no. He ignored the tightening in his belly.

"Mistah Sanchez…"

"Ezra."

He wasn't going to stop, he might drop it now if Ezra pushed, but just like with his church, if a job were left undone Josiah would be back to finish it. Ezra, who had spent most of his life studying human character had already learned that. And…why not? His mother's voice rang in his head, talking about the vulnerability he would be exposing himself to, how they would use it against him, but Ezra found he didn't want to listen to her. It had been so long since he'd had any companions besides her to listen to, and while he wasn't sure if he could trust all of them, Ezra found that he did trust, at least as much as he was able to, Josiah.

He just hoped he wasn't wrong. It would be far from the first time.

Truthfully, Ezra wanted to tell Josiah. Wanted him to know. Sober he never would have given in to the urge, but dammit what was wrong with having a colleague or two who knew his age? Perhaps he'd even tell them his birthday…he looked down at the table, not sure what he'd see when he said it. "Twenty-two. Next March." He forced himself to breath steadily, wishing he had his cards in his hands. Taking them from his pocket now would make it obvious that he was doing so as a nervous habit, and that was unacceptable.

"Damn, that's a sight younger than I thought," came from Nathan, more of a mutter to himself than anything else, but Ezra heard it and hunched in a bit as a new thought occurred to him. He had now revealed himself to only be about three years older than Mr. Dunne, and unlike Mr. Dunne he was neither the sheriff, nor did he have a self-proclaimed adopted brother such as the formidable Mr. Wilmington to vouch for him. What if they decided his age made him too much of a liability? Ezra had been planning to leave in a week when the thirty days were up, but he suddenly realized he didn't want to. That it would hurt if he was forced to and what the hell had he done.

Josiah was more shocked than Nathan, who at least had had more than a few minutes to get used to the idea of Ezra being younger than they'd thought, barely holding back his blurt of, "It's May!" as he let his thoughts collect. Ezra was 21-yes, above the age of majority, but only by a few months. Josiah felt that earlier knot of guilt reform. He knew Ezra was a con artist, and a good one-he hadn't bothered to try and hide or downplay it, seeming, in retrospect, to be almost relieved that they already knew, and had shared several stories that were as funny as they were concerning, more concerning then ever with this new revelation. This was one con Josiah thought he should have been able to see through. As much as Chris was the unquestioned leader, Josiah was the oldest of their merry band and had started to feel a connection that was almost like family with each of them. While that connection was akin to the one between brothers for Chris, Buck and Nathan, if a baby brother for Nathan, it was more paternal towards the youngest three, Ezra in particular. Josiah had thought within only a day or two of meeting the young southerner that the young man seemed to need his guidance and now he knew it was true. Shaking himself out of his thoughts he looked at the young man who was still staring at the table, posture slightly defensive, as though expecting an attack. "Ezra, it's alright." When Ezra continued to say nothing, Josiah slid his chair over, resting a hand on his shoulder. "It really is."

"Josiah?" Ezra looked up slightly, face pale, "Ah fear Ah am going-" Ezra swallowed hard and went to put a hand to his mouth; Josiah had been there enough times to realize what was happening and slid the arm closest to Ezra around the smaller man's waist, using the other to grab Ezra's arm and pull it over his shoulders, hauling him to his feet and heading towards the backdoor in a hurry. They made it to the porch railing just in time, Josiah holding Ezra by the shoulder to keep him from tipping over it, his other hand rubbing slow circles on the boy's back, fighting down a sympathetic chuckle-he doubted Ezra would appreciate it. Finally, he seemed to be done for the moment, and let out a long, low groan. Josiah couldn't help but let out the chuckle then.

"Better out then in."

"Ah do believe yah are enjoying mah suffering, Mr. Sanchez." Ezra sounded both miserable and accusing and Josiah patted the still shaking back in front of him and then pulled the young man to his feet, easily turning him so he could look at him.

"That depends, do you think getting sick like that might keep you from drinking yourself half to death in the future?" His face had adopted the stern look he'd had in the saloon earlier. "Because if it does than I think I might enjoy that fact quite a bit."

Blinking dizzily at him, hair mussed every which way, and, Josiah grimaced, a splash of throw up on his collar, Ezra still had his pride, "Ah have to say yah are exaggerating, Ah did not-"

"Ezra."

Ezra opened his mouth to continue, had another wave of sickness hit him, and turned hurriedly to the railing again, Josiah grabbing him before he could pitch himself over into his own muck. "Alright…there we go...you're doing just fine." This bout of sickness lasted much longer, and Josiah cringed, knowing intimately how those sort of stomach spasms felt.

"Ah give…yah are correct…this certainly feels like death…" Josiah patted him on the shoulder.

"Think you're done?"

"If being done means Ah can go lay down in mah bed…" Ezra was all but sagging in his grip now and Josiah slowly pulled him up, not wanting to set off another round of puking, when Nathan stepped up besides them. He hadn't even realized the healer had joined them.

"Sorry, but nope. Ain't gonna risk you getting sick in your sleep and chokin'." Nathan's voice was firm and his face set, already anticipating a fight. "You're sleepin' in the clinic tonight, and I don't wanna hear a word about it." Ezra, glaring at him as best he could, didn't disappoint him.

"Mr. Jackson, Ah assure yah-"

"That you're gonna do what I say unless you want me to go tell Chris? He came in the saloon right as Josiah was haulin' your sorry ass out here." The two stubborn men eyed each other, one standing tall with his arms crossed across his broad chest, the other barely able to stay on his feet even with Josiah propping him up, but each just as determined to win this battle. "Gonna be mighty hard to get you up those stairs, without him seeing you anyway. I ain't gonna lie when he asks. Are you, Josiah?"

"No, can't see that that seems to be the wisest course of action." Josiah did not think he'd sleep well himself if Ezra went to his own room, not now that Nathan had put that thought in his head. No wonder Buck spent the worst of Chris's nights sleeping by his bed.

"Ah am fine!" It came out as more of a whine than a proper protest, and Nathan looked away from Ezra, talking to Josiah.

"Think you can take him up to the clinic and help me get him settled?"

"Be happy too. C'mon, Ezra." It was more than easy for the large man to move Ezra so that he was all but carrying him, one arm around his waist, the other pulling his arm over Josiah's shoulders, just as when he'd helped him to the porch, even with the other man being less than cooperative.

"Mr. Sanchez…Ah am not a child!"

Josiah didn't seem to be paying the gambler's words any real mind now, and nodded as he started down the porch steps, teasing him gently with his own words, "'Course not…you're above the age of majority, after all."

Nathan shook his head ruefully from beside them, "By a whole two months."

Ezra groaned slightly from the movement, and then sagged slightly against Josiah, his body making the decision to give in for him. "Fine, Ah will concede to this unnecessary Mothah-henning, but Ah am not happy about it."

"Hell Ezra, don't gotta tell me." Nathan rolled his eyes at that, Ezra was by far the hardest of all to get to the clinic when he needed it.

"I'm not nearly as much of a mother-hen as Buck." Josiah rumbled, amusement clear in his voice. As the three disappeared around the corner, a figure all in black stepped out from the porch doorway, lighting a cheroot as he went. This was…interesting.