This is another story that people have mentioned they had trouble finding. Thanks again to Chris for supplying the copy. I lost most of these when my computer died a few years back.
PERSPECTIVE
"You got somethin' to say to me?" Chris Larabee challenged as he planted himself in Buck Wilmington's path and stayed there.
"Nope," Wilmington replied with a habitual smile. The smile lasted only until he realized the other man wasn't going let it drop at that.
They stood for a moment, examining one another, unable to exclude twelve years of knowing each other from how they anticipated this conversation to proceed.
Buck had just pushed through the batwing doors of the saloon to greet the day. He'd enjoyed breakfast with three of the other men who shared peacekeeper duties in Four Corners. He still wore a grin on his face over Ezra Standish bemoaning the early hour and the stifling early July temperatures. Despite being a southerner, he had muttered something about how much respect he had for the British and their good sense that fateful year of 1776, to grant America her independence, leaving the Yankees to their unholy heats, so they, themselves, could go home and get out of the sweltering weather.
Now Buck allowed the doors to swing shut as if that would give the conversation, that seemed inescapable, some privacy.
"You've been dodgin' me for three days now," Larabee finally broke the silence.
"I'd think that meant I don't have anything to say to you." Buck's tone of voice grated on the infamous gunslinger.
"What crawled up your ass and died?" Larabee demanded.
JD Dunne was taking a short cut up the alley to meet his friends for breakfast when he heard Chris's angry question. The young man stopped short. His first thought was that he was surprised that Chris would notice if someone was avoiding him, much less care. His second thought was that he really didn't want to be around his hero when that temper was flaring. He didn't want to find himself a target. 'Not much chance of that,' popped into the young man's head. There weren't many people Larabee cared about enough to show this protective-edged anger. There was an icy element when that anger was directed at Ezra. But there was always Vin and …
"Okay, Larabee," he heard Buck purr. It was a tone Larabee hated, "I got a question for you. You gonna turn your back on the rest of us fast as you did JD?"
'… Buck,' JD thought. Chris and Buck were fighting again. And did JD hear right? Were they fighting about him? He knew he shouldn't eavesdrop, but he couldn't help himself.
Larabee, meeting his friend's eyes, knew the query referenced back to his recent willingness to let their young sheriff leave town after the accidental shooting of Annie Nechaus.
"People gotta know the law can stand up to whatever comes their way."
"Oh, so this isn't about an innocent woman dying, it's about the Kid having a heart and caring that it happened. It's about "Larabee's Law", - you gotta be snake mean to keep the peace?"
"Helpin' people and protectin' 'em are two different things," Larabee bit out the words as if this weren't the first time he'd said them to the other man and he was tired of repeating himself.
"Are you talking about me or JD?" Wilmington asked softly. JD could imagine the superficial smile solidly in place. The young man was surprised to hear so much emotion in the voices coming from both men. He was certain there was more being said than the mere words implied. What the undercurrent said could only have been fleshed out by the shared history of Chris Larabee and Buck Wilmington.
"Me and the Kid are okay. Why don't you let that be enough?" left unsaid was that Larabee believed that Wilmington was personalizing the event.
"Hell, he'd lick your boots to stay in good with you!"
JD's face burned with embarrassment when he heard those words.
"You said it yourself, he killed an innocent woman," Larabee hissed. How could Wilmington not see that demanded repercussions? And why would he never understand that those repercussions weren't as important as if – and how – one survived those repercussions.
Out of sight, JD reeled at the words. Did Chris Larabee think he should be punished? Did Chris wish he had left, despite what he had said? The young easterner was far from forgiving himself for that event. What forgiveness he had found for himself was based on the belief that the others had forgiven him.
Wilmington had met Larabee's eyes after that last statement. "Damn you," was, finally, all he could say. Those two words spoke volumes. And what the intensity told the three older men listening from inside the saloon was that it had more to do with something from Chris and Buck's shared past than any recent events in Four Corners.
Larabee knew his friend well enough to know there was an internal struggle going on in that head and there was more he wanted to say, but, ultimately, the words would go unspoken. Buck didn't like confrontation with his friends. In the heat of action, danger or unjust accusations, he would tell you, in no uncertain terms, how the cow ate the cabbage. But Buck's upbringing and, unfortunately, his years riding with Chris, had taught him, all too well, that angry words couldn't be taken back. So, although he might let them fester, he rarely gave them voice after the fact. This trait had him holding his tongue now. Larabee hoped this quick exchange had allowed Buck to vent enough that things would get back to normal. Usually, if Buck realized that it was he, himself, who wouldn't take the confrontation to the next level, he would let it go. Both Buck's anger and his role as Chris's conscience would have been appeased.
"At least it was an accident." The voice was soft, but loud and clear. It surprised Larabee who had been turning to walk away. It surprised JD, spying out of sight. It sounded like the speaker had surprised himself as well with the challenge in the words.
Inside the bar, at the table nearest the door, Josiah Sanchez, Nathan Jackson and Ezra Standish met each others' eyes. It was unusual for those two to have such a rather extended confrontation loud and in public.
"What's that supposed to mean?" Larabee defied him to answer.
"I mean he didn't gun some kid down in the street because he was feelin' mean drunk that day the kid called him out."
"No, he killed an innocent person because the gunfight had started events he couldn't stop. He was young. He was green. It was an accident." Was Larabee trying to explain JD's actions? Or absolve either Buck or himself of an event in their history?
"And it was strangers who started the fight – bank robbers. Not a friend. I know the difference," Buck responded.
The difference? 'What difference?' JD thought to himself from his place of concealment.
Again the more experienced men inside the bar caught each other's eyes. On the surface it was hard to grasp the meaning of the words wafting through the swinging doors. But the tone and emotion behind them spoke volumes.
Larabee walked back slowly, "You think your way will work?"
"I'm not talkin' about me," Buck demanded defensively.
Larabee met him with cold, unrelenting eyes, "You haven't changed at all." Buck was always defending the underdog or a friend.
"It hurts to see how much you have changed," Buck threw back.
"Which one of us will get ourselves killed first? Or someone else?" Chris offered in Wilmington style – with a low voice and a sad smile.
Wilmington went silent and still and met Larabee's eyes with a painful depth of what was being said beyond the words that were spoken.
Larabee knew it was a low blow, but he was never able to control the things that came from his lips when he was angry. Besides, Buck needed to be reminded that a good heart could be taken advantage of. Buck stepped back, the smile faltered and he nodded sadly to himself.
Larabee shouldered past the taller man and moved down the boardwalk.
Buck slammed back into the bar and plopped down in the chair he had so recently vacated, "Tell me," the tall man blustered, "You tell me why being friendly-like and easy to get along with should be a sign of weakness in a man or mean that he can't do the tough jobs?"
His friends, toying with the remnants of breakfast, would have been totally confused at the outburst, had they not overheard the recent argument outside. And still none of them knew what to say. They sensed this had very little to do with JD or his competency level.
The question itself was loaded and had no easy answer. The truth was that Chris Larabee did give off a dangerous aura. While, given first impressions, few would see the gangly, good-timin' lady chaser as a threat.
It was only their shared experiences since coming to this restless frontier town that had shown Josiah and the others the deadly, almost manic gunfighter who replaced the likeable rogue when he was pushed too far. It was an image of this stone-faced, frightening side of Buck Wilmington that came to the others' minds when they thought to assure him no one doubted his ability.
It was Josiah who realized that, to answer the surface question, they would have to say 'yes, too much of the time men do try to take advantage of an easy-going personality.' But below the surface, that was obviously and defiantly, not the answer needed here.
"I have often found it to my advantage to be under estimated," Ezra offered over a sip of coffee.
"By your friends, Ezra?" Dark blue eyes drilled into the conman and demanded self-examination, "You like bein' underestimated by your friends?"
Standish was more than taken aback by the emotions that the question drew to the surface. It was only years of habit that allowed him to hide the reaction behind a façade of calm indifference.
He was saved from having to answer by a black on black wraith as it raced by the window of the bar.
"Is that Mr. Larabee leaving town?" Ezra had to admit he was a bit surprised and concerned that the confrontation that the two just had would lead to the exodus.
"Yep," Buck replied. The satisfaction in that one word didn't come because he was glad Larabee was leaving, just some acknowledgement that he knew his friend so well, "You tell me if runnin' from any feelin' that ain't anger isn't the real weakness." Buck didn't expect an answer to that, probably didn't even know he'd spoken out loud. But he got up and walked out the doors as if he'd forgotten there were three other men sitting at the table with him.
Silence threatened to consume the table until Nathan finally spoke, "You think it's serious?"
"I believe those two have been at this point in their relationship many times, at least in the last few years," Josiah surmised.
"Think that's why they weren't riding together when they reached Four Corners?" Nathan wondered out loud. Could so few, enigmatic words cause them to split again? Nathan had to admit that he felt a certain level of security when their leader was around. Perhaps it was because he and Vin had saved his life that first meeting; perhaps it was because, when it came to a showdown, Larabee was willing to be out front when the killing started. Or, maybe, Nathan was as guilty as the next man in seeing a good heart as a sign a man couldn't do this job as well. That included his doubts about himself. He'd killed men, no doubt would again. But there was often that hesitation when he knew he was about to take a life. That hit-and-miss moment of
"I suspect it is the reason they were drifting back together." Ezra hoped it was true, "The events at the Seminole village were merely a convenient catalyst so that neither had to admit such a fact."
"He'll be back," Josiah observed, referring to Larabee and his quick departure with more confidence than he felt. He wasn't sure what was holding each of them to this small dusty town or what, one day, would cause them to finally leave.