Herewith follows my disclaimer: You all know the drill... I fully realize that these characters with the exception of the villains I created are the property of Trilogy and MGM. Yadda, yadda, yadda. What this really means is that I've managed to write another story! This story was something I started a long time ago but somewhere along the way, I lost my muse and it was never finished. (I've got a lot of those hanging around.) Then suddenly things came together through no fault of my own and violia here it is. Hope you enjoy the story.

WARNING: This is a sappy story. I don't write them often but when the opportunity beckons, it's hard to miss the call. As always, feedback is most welcome. (Unbeta-ed, so please forgive any glaring errors.)

NOTE: This is an old story that was written long ago during the show's heyday but I've decided to archive here to keep all my works together in one spot.

CREATURES OF HABIT

by Susan Zell

Chapter One

Ezra Standish dealt the crisp cards to all those present around the green felt table. Each of them eyed their new prospects with stoic expressions. This was the hand that would make or break the game. The four men sat in imperturbable silence, each weighing their limited options.

Buck was the first to break, the white brilliance of his smile creeping out from under his bushy mustache. He sat to the left of Ezra who had just won his fourth pot of the evening. "I've got you now, you smug dandy." Buck pushed the rest of his money into the center of the table. "I'm betting it all!"

Ezra smiled, his blue eyes feigning innocence. "Is that so, Mr. Wilmington?" The gambler glanced at his own hand but there was no change in his expression.

"Yes, indeedy. It's all over but the crying." Buck leaned back in his chair coveting his cards in his huge protective hands.

JD Dunne raised only a shocked expression at the amount of money now on the table. He regarded his own hand dubiously. "My pockets are already sobbin'. I fold," he muttered in frustration. There was no way he had enough to stay in the game now. Most of his money was long gone and the rest of it was well out of his reach to stay.

Josiah Sanchez and Nathan Jackson sat at the table next to them, drinking coffee and smiling at their own good fortune at having sat out this particular game.

"I tried to warn you, JD," Josiah commented.

The young kid scowled at the preacher. "I thought it was just going to be a friendly game," he admitted, tossing his cards on the table.

Nathan laughed. "When Ezra's involved, ain't no such thing as friendly."

Ezra shot the two men to his left a scalding glance then refocused his attention on the final member of the game. "How about you, Mr. Tanner?" The tall, silent bounty hunter opposite him kept his dark eyes rooted to the cards in his hands, his face so expressionless that for a moment Ezra had a sudden flash of panic. Not that it would ever be witnessed by the public. His mother had taught him well. Still Tanner's dispassionate manner unnerved the gambler. One could never be too sure what the bounty hunter was thinking. The only one capable of knowing such things was Chris Larabee and the gunfighter was not present at the moment.

Vin Tanner neatly collected his cards and then pushed the remainder of his cash into the center of the table. "I'll call," he spoke softly.

Ezra paused a moment before following suit. His hand was too good to fold under now.

Soon there was more money sitting on the table than most of them had seen in a month. Buck glanced Ezra's way and moistened his lips nervously. Then he grinned, leaning forward eagerly to reveal his winning hand. With a flourish Ezra was almost proud of, Buck presented his cards face up on the table. Nathan gave a low whistle.

Three aces.

"Pretty impressive, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra admitted.

"My luck has finally come home," Buck sang loudly reaching for the prize.

"However," Ezra interrupted, "lady luck seems to still be residing with me." He laid his own cards down.

A straight.

Buck stared for a second, his hands frozen above the bounty he thought was his. Ezra smirked at him and slipped his own hands around the money until his attention was caught by a low cough. He raised his eyes towards Vin who sat stone faced. Ezra lifted his eyebrow warily.

A matchstick was eased ever so slowly over to the other side of the bounty hunter's mouth and then Vin spread his own cards fan like in front of the gambler. "Hands off my winnings, Ezra." His voice was so low and menacing that Ezra looked like a startled rabbit.

Vin displayed a royal flush.

JD burst out in laughter which was soon joined by the only other two people with nothing to lose, Nathan and Josiah. Ezra winced and eased back as Vin finally cracked a smile.

"That's it!" Buck exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm not playing with either of you two again." He slugged back the rest of his beer and wished suddenly it was whiskey. "When the hell does Chris get back? I need to borrow some money."

JD wiped the corners of his eyes on his sleeve, finally getting his laughter under control. "Uhh.... he said tomorrow morning." The young kid snickered again. "Though I doubt even he can help you now, Buck."

Buck glared at JD and stood up to get more drinks but not before he had slapped JD's bowler hat askew on the kid's head.

* * *

The night was peaceful and that made it acceptable to Chris Larabee. He settled his weighty saddle next to the crackling fire which was roaring gently, capped with his meager dinner and a pot of hot coffee. Still standing, his gaze tracked to the distant south where the soft glow of Four Corners beckoned. He was only a few hours from town but Chris decided to stay out for the night.

He wasn't in the mood for companionship, conversation, or horseplay. Tonight, he just wanted to be alone, truly alone. He usually enjoyed lively towns, drawn to them for a variety of reasons, some good but mostly bad. It certainly wasn't for the companionship. He never liked being around people. Chris Larabee was one of the few people who could be alone in a town full of inhabitants.

The truth being, he was never one to much enjoy sleeping in the open. There was a vulnerability out here that made it difficult to relax, that made the spot between his shoulders itch. In town he could put his back to something, keep an eye on what was in front of him, safe in the knowledge that little could creep up on him unexpectedly from behind.

But tonight it was different. It was more important to be alone, to keep his thoughts to himself, to avoid any possible discussions, and to think only about things to come. There were critical decisions to be made tonight. For that, he'd forgo a warm bed and solid walls.

He spread his bed roll on the ground and laid his serape down to be used as a blanket later. Using the excess material from his long, black duster, he grasped the hot pot and poured himself a cup of coffee, then fixed himself a plate of food. Settling himself down on the cool earth he leaned back into saddle and ate beneath the open sky, listening to the trees creak in the gentle wind, watching the drifting shadows fall across the full face of the moon.

He found himself relishing the moment. He needed this time to himself. The sounds of the insects and frogs screamed into the night but Chris found it strangely comforting. The swollen blue moon blazed above him making it almost as bright as day. He closed his eyes against it futilely. He wasn't going to fall asleep easily tonight and he knew it. Not that he had expected to anyway.

There was a sudden rustle of leaves to his left and with a blur of motion Chris dropped his plate and drew his sidearm. The rustling noise ceased immediately but Chris' nerves remained taunt as a string, the barrel of his pistol never wavering. He stared intensely into the low brush trying to see beyond it's dark interior. Suddenly, he caught sight of two large, luminous eyes staring back at him, low to the ground and narrowly spaced apart.

Chris relaxed slightly and eased the hammer back. Whatever it was, it wasn't human nor large enough to worry him. He eased his pistol back into it's leather holster with a frown. He picked up his plate again though occasionally eyed the bush which was still silent. Minutes went by and finally the slight rustle started again. This time, Chris didn't react but only drifted his gaze over to the area once more. He glimpsed a small, white form slowly emerge from within the branches.

The gunfighter almost laughed. It was a cat and a pathetic creature at that. The feline slunked towards the fire, it's glowing eyes never leaving Chris who placidly continued eating. It's body hung low to the ground as it crept fearfully forward aiming for the delicious smell that surrounded the camp.

Chris suspected it was slowly starving as he could count the ribs along its side. Its fur was matted and ragged as if it didn't know how to survive out here in the wilderness. It was probably some kid's lost pet. Chris sighed. Just what he needed, another lost cause. He certainly had seen enough of those these past few weeks. He glanced again at the cat which had settled itself by the warm fire but was unable to get closer to the leftover pot. Chris pursed his lips knowing exactly what the cat wanted.

He shouldn't do this. It's bad enough he had placated JD in the Indian village. Now he was stuck with him. The cat stared at him and Chris felt a faint emotional tug for the animal.

He rolled his eyes in frustration. Good lord, what was with him lately! He continually fell for the weak and the pathetic causes. There had been a time when he would have chased them all off with a hail of bullets. Now he seemed doomed to take up their colors and lead the way into battle. He was the king of lost causes, lost hope, lost faith lost love. He closed his eyes, feeling the grit and burn of the constant strain at holding the past at bay. Unsuccessfully. He had never been very good at extricating himself from his own thoughts and it was bound to get him killed sooner or later.

As the sense of melancholy crept in, Chris let his fork drop down onto the plate, his appetite gone. Maybe that's what he was after all along, he mused. Maybe a part of him wanted it to be all over. Maybe it was time to be with Sarah and Adam. His jaw clenched as a wave of fresh pain washed over him. It was always strong, no matter how many years passed, no matter how many times he thought of them, the pain never got easier to bear.

Letting loose a strained lengthy breath, Chris found himself watching the cat again. With a small groan, he tossed the plate over towards the cat, the remainder of his meal still piled high. Since Chris had lost his hunger, the pathetic wretch was welcome to it. There was more than enough left to fill its belly. However, the cat hissed and sped back under the cover of the brush.

Draining the last of his coffee, Chris prepared for bed. He spread the serape over his long legs and leaned back into the notch of the saddle, watching the sky above him, silent and infinite. The stars hung like bright lanterns over the mountains. The night was stark and clear, the black ridges of the distant peaks sharply cut against the faintly lighter sky. It was a long time before Chris drifted off to sleep, listening instead to the cry of the wilderness, to the angry voice in his head, and to the steady scraping of a cat's rough tongue on a tin plate.

* * *

Chris opened a bleary eye as the sun cracked her own. Squinting into her glare as she peeked over the distant ridge, he debated rising. For the first time in a long while his head didn't pound with the tell tale sign of a hangover. He sighed deeply, pulling the thin serape up further over his shoulders. It was chillier than he had anticipated this morning and his eyes glanced towards the now defunct fire. It was then he noticed his visitor.

The white cat was curled up tight beside the stones encircling the embers, trying to draw the last possible warmth from them. The tin plate that Chris had tossed its way last night was scraped clean.

Chris scowled at the creature's presence but then after a moment smiled ever so slightly as the cat opened an eye to stare warily at him. It watched him carefully, ready to flee at a moment's notice. Chris could see the ripple of muscle easily beneath its thin flesh.

Chris just watched it for a while until the call of nature became pressing. He hesitated since he didn't really want to disturb the cat. His scowl suddenly returned. *Godamn, it's just a cat!*

He rose abruptly and the terrified cat fled into the brush. A pang of guilt tried to find its way into Chris but he beat it away with a curse. Shaking his head, he realized he was getting much too soft.

A half hour later, breakfast done and the small camp dismantled, Chris saddled his mount to return to Four Corners. The cat had not returned and Chris tried not to admit to himself that he was concerned.

Because he wasn't!

He pulled the cinch tight making his horse grunt. Then he swung up into the saddle and turned towards town, his horse's hooves brushed past the pile of leftover meal of grits and biscuits set on a flat rock near the circle of stones.

* * *

The sun had risen hours earlier when Vin noticed the lone black horse led by its one time rider at the far end of town. It finally settled the nagging apprehension that had been rising in him since Chris had left. The tracker frowned at his steadily increasing concern over his new friend. It had been a long time since he had experienced such feelings. He used to make sure that such boundaries which he had taken such care and precision to erect could never be breached. Yet here he had let someone in. He had grown to care about Chris Larabee as a friend which was dangerous in its own right since Chris had a self destructive streak that threatened to envelope anyone in the vicinity.

Vin headed for Chris, indicating the black with a nod of his head. "What happened?"

"Threw a shoe," Chris answered with a trace of annoyance. He had been walking for miles and he was beat. He wasn't much for walking and now he was dusty and parched.

Vin took the reins from the gunslinger. "Go get yourself a drink. I'll take him to the blacksmith."

Chris balked. He didn't want to put Vin out but then he realized the bounty hunter did little he didn't want to do. It was just that it had been a long time since Chris had allowed himself to rely on someone else. After a moment, he nodded gratefully. "Thanks. I could use a drink." Vin merely grinned. Chris scanned the seemingly peaceful town. "Anything happen while I was away?"

"Nope. It's been quiet exceptin' that Buck now owes me five dollars and he's hopin' to borrow it from someone."

Chris raised a speculating eyebrow, knowing exactly to whom Vin was referring. "He'll have a long wait," Chris said. "I still have to pay my bar tab."

Chuckling, Vin led Chris' horse to the stable. "I reckon he'll be waiting a good bit then."

Fighting a smile, Chris stomped up on the boardwalk, dust rising from the film that covered his boots. It felt as if he was covered in the stuff. A glance in the mercantile window verified that fact. He looked downright pathetic, kind of scraggly much like that poor feline out on the trail.

It had been one month since Jericho but he still hadn't regained all the weight he had lost during his incarceration much to the dismay of Mrs. Mary Travis and the rest of the seven.

If Mrs. Travis brought over one more plate of steak and potatoes he was gonna...

Chris sighed. He was going request politely that she desist before futilely taking the plate from her as he always did. He just wished they'd all forget about what happened and get back to normal. That's all Chris wanted, why couldn't they understand that.

It was the guilt, he knew. Buck worst of all. His old friend had hung around like a damn mother hen in the beginning, apologizing every few moments until Chris wanted to haul off and slug him.

Mary on the other hand had nothing to feel guilty about though she acted as if she did. According to Vin, she had led the crusade to find him, not believing Buck's story of just wanting to cut loose. She had conducted her own investigation into his disappearance and uncovered the discrepancies that the Warden and the Sheriff of Jericho had failed to cover up. If it hadn't been for her, spurring the others on, he would have died in that prison. He may have killed the Warden and the Sheriff on his own but there was no possible way he could have gotten past all the guards. They would have hanged him for sure for what he done that night.

Mary Travis had certainly saved his life as much as if she had ridden in with the gang herself. And for that reason alone, Chris found it hard to refuse her home cooked meals and pies when she brought them. Though truth be told, Buck ate most of them. Chris would eat some of it but his hunger had never been enough to finish the entire meal. His appetite had never been that good in the first place and the slow starvation over the three weeks in the prison had all but made that disappear.

Scowling, he brushed himself off as best he could with his hat and escaping the cloud of dust that ensued, he darted into the saloon eager to wet his whistle with a belt of whiskey.

* * *

The mouth of the alley was dark and the three men who stood just inside its shadow liked it that way. The narrow set of eyes on the heavy set man swept the open street before him with a suspicious glare. He spoke over his shoulder to the two men behind him without looking at them.

"Doody, go get the rest of the boys. We'll meet at the saloon."

"Okay, Zeke." Doody left quickly going to the horses at the other end of the alley.

The remaining man removed his hat and flicked off some speck of dirt. "You think we'll have much trouble in this town, Zeke?"

A disturbing smile spread slowly over the big man's face. "I certainly hope so."

* * *