Follows on directly from Brotherly Glue. Don't own, don't profit, don't sue. Thanks to all for the kind reviews on all previous work, I do appreciate them and the warm, fuzzy feelings they provide.
"Ez?"
Pausing mid-shuffle, Ezra Standish turned to the blanket covered form of his friend, Chris Larabee. The stark misery in the man's voice prompted the gambler to push to his feet and hurry to the gunslinger's side, easing down to sit on the cot beside him. Bloodshot hazel eyes, still brimming with tears and anguish, peered up at him from beneath a mop of blond hair. Reaching out a gentle hand, Ezra smoothed his friend's hair back and then brushed the tear tracks from the pale cheeks. There was no point in asking if Chris was alright, since he very clearly wasn't. So Ezra sat quietly and waited for Chris to speak, rubbing slow circles lightly over the fragile man's blanket covered back. Funny how he'd never thought of Chris as fragile before now. Dark rage and grief always made him appear invincible.
It felt good to let someone be strong for him for a change, Chris decided as he lay curled up on the jail cot, letting Ezra soothe him. Buck had tried, Lord knows that he'd tried, but Chris hadn't been ready to let go of the anger then. Or maybe it was because the lanky Lothario couldn't empathise in quite the same way as the gambler could, having never mourned a wife or child. Whatever the reason, Chris now found he had neither the strength nor the will to fight back the overwhelming pain. He'd just had the same nightmare he'd been having since coming back to find his family and home destroyed by fire. Despite not actually being there when the tragedy occured, his mind mixed what he'd been told with other life experiences, until he could hear Sarah and Adam's death cries, smell their burning flesh, see the red glow and feel the intense heat of the flames. He shuddered and moaned as he clutched tighter to the blanket, curling up further until his forehead rested against the side of Ezra's leg.
Slightly alarmed at this unprecedented need for comfort from the now sober gunslinger, Ezra wondered if perhaps Chris was physically ill or injured. The abrupt meeting with the floor and then the punch to the jaw could have left him with a mild concussion, or he may have done more serious damage to his leg than he thought. It was unusual for the stalwart leader to allow anyone this close, let alone the odd man of the group. Using his free hand to push back the stubborn fringe, Ezra looked for bruising and felt for fever, but found neither to his relief. Deciding that the hurting was related to either the pain of a hangover or remnants of their early morning conversation, or possibly both, he murmured, "There now, Chris. Do you need me to get Nathan?"
Panic seized the distraught man at the thought of being left alone with his memories and his hand shot out with lightning speed to latch onto his brother and stop him from leaving.
"No! Stay!"
Grimacing at the pain of the vicelike grip Chris had taken on his wrist, Ezra crooned, "Alright, alright. I'm not going anywhere. I'm here, Chris. You're not alone."
Sucking in a quick breath and releasing it in a ragged sob, Chris loosened his hold on the slender wrist slightly and mumbled, "Sorry, Ez."
"No need, Chris. Believe me, I understand perfectly," assured the gambler sadly, memories flooding through him as he realised exactly what was happening with the man beside him. Finally, Chris was allowing himself to mourn and feel his pain, rather than pushing it away with alcohol and rage. Sliding his hand back, he clasped the calloused hand of his older brother and held on.
"God Ez, I miss them s-so much," gasped the tormented man, pulling Ezra's hand to his chest and holding it tightly with both of his own, he tucked his face into the space between the mattress and the gambler's leg and sobbed out years of pain.
"I know, I know. Let it out. I'm here. I've got you," soothed Ezra, leaning over his distraught friend and whispering meaningless words in an attempt to help the man feel less alone. He remembered exactly how this felt and was determined to provide whatever his brother needed. Due to his own experience, he knew that words would provide little comfort, but the warmth of human touch was essential. Leaning his chest along Chris' side, he rested his cheek on the back of his brother's head and started humming an old tune he'd heard in his childhood. Hot tears forced themselves from between tightly closed lids to fall into the blond hair cushioning his cheek.
Eventually the storm of grief passed and the Chris' sobbing eased to exhausted weeping, before petering out to hiccoughing gasps for air. Chris slowly became aware of the solid warmth of his friend as Ezra covered him and relished it, along with the low, melodious humming that permeated the air beside his ear. Reluctant to disturb and therefore risk losing the contact, but nonetheless needing to gain access to fresh air, he turned his head.
At the movement, Ezra lifted his own head but stayed in the same position otherwise. His free hand had come to rest on the back of Chris' neck and he started to massage the tense muscles.
Loosing a soft sigh, the blond closed his burning eyes again and sniffed. His head hurt, his nose was blocked, his eyes and throat felt scratchy and burned, yet he still felt better than he had in a long time. The tight band around his heart, that had so often made his throat close up and caused his breathing to hitch, had released it's hold. Taking comfort in the nearness of someone he trusted, he pressed Ezra's hand closer to his chest and squeezed it gratefully. A rueful smile blossomed as he realised just how much he'd come to value the flambouyant gambler's friendship.
Wondering why Ezra went to such lengths to hide this caring side of himself, Chris realised that he was now a recipient of the same affection and attention as Vin. In truth, he realised that the southerner had been offering it for quite some time, but he'd been too blinded by his own dark sorrow to see it. Drawing in a lungful of air that smelled of whisky, smoke, soap and cologne, he understood why the tracker had been so upset at the thought of losing the fondness and nurturing. Somewhat shocked by the thought, he knew he now felt the same way. Damn gambler! Shifting a little self-consciously, Chris cleared his throat and asked hoarsely, "Where's Vin?"
"Jist came back offa patrol," drawled the tracker from where he'd been waiting for ten minutes, slouched near the door, unwilling to disturb the healing taking place in the cell. "How yer feelin', cowboy?"
"Tired," breathed Chris, eyes still closed and trusting the two men to keep danger and gawkers at bay. "Thirsty."
Ezra straightened up at the tone of his younger brother's voice and scanned the returned man intently, taking in the slouch and the slight pinch around the vivid blue eyes. Recognising the set of Vin's shoulders and the pronounced leaning as sure signs that the tracker was in a great deal of pain, Ezra immediately started his plans for the evening. Raising an eyebrow, he casually queried, "I assume that the frigid winds of our bitter winter continue to torment anyone with the temerity to stray too far from a warm hearth."
"Iffun ya meant ter ask if it's still colder'n a witch's left teat, then yup, 'tis," answered the lean, young man, peeling himself away from the wall and moving stiffly towards the cell. Feeling like a mouse under the watchful green-eyed gaze of a cat, he mumbled, "Might be needin' some doctorin' tanight, Ez. Cold's got me a mite stove up."
"I can see than, Vin. Everything quiet on patrol?"
"Quieter'n the tomb," confirmed Vin, bracing himself on Ezra's leg as he carefully lowered himself with a grunt of pain to kneel beside the cot at Chris' side. Leaning across the gambler's lap, he whispered temptingly, "Ya too tired fer some o' Miz Nettie's pie, cowboy? Reckon ole Ez here won't want his slice."
Perking up, suddenly distracted from his worried assessment of his younger brother's pain, Ezra chirped, "Pie?"
Looking up with one of his cheeky grins, Vin nodded and confirmed, "Yup. Stopped in ta check on 'em and Miz Nettie 'n Casey was bakin' up a storm. Seemed only neighbourly ta stop fer a slice 'r two. Miz Nettie sent some fer yer too."
Sniffing again, Chris rolled over onto his back, releasing his hold of Ezra's hand and trying to ignore the headache and nausea that were a result of his indulgences of the night before.
Eyebrows raised in surprise, the gambler blurted, "Me? Specifically for me. Surely you jest. The wizened old crone can't stand me, believing that I'm an evil influence on you, yet you say she specifically sent me pie. Is it from the same pie you were eating? She didn't doctor it with anything, did she?"
"Now Ez, ya know she loves ya really," chided Vin, slapping Ezra's calf lightly. Pulling the bandana from his throat, Vin leaned over to the water bucket and dipped the cloth into the cold water after first dipping up a mug full. Handing the mug to Ezra, he waited until the gambler had helped Chris to drink the whole lot and lowered him back onto the pillow, before he started wiping away the evidence of grief from the blond man's face.
Chris allowed the two younger men to tend to him, listening with a lightening heart to their conversation without feeling a need to participate.
"Vin, she calls me Fancy Man and all but sneers at me whenever I come into her line of sight," argued Ezra, ignoring the chuckles emanating from the now supine older brother, secretly pleased to see a spark of life in the man again. Patting his older brother's chest, he then started absentmindedly rubbing circles over Chris' gurgling stomach. A few more minutes and he'd leave his two brothers to go in search of sustenance for them all. Vin didn't look like he was in much shape to go, nor did Chris.
"Aw, Ez. Ya call her a crone even though ya like her really, so her calling ya Fancy Man is the same. The two of ya jist like sparring, is all," dismissed Vin, resoaking the bandana, he folded it and rested the cold cloth over Chris's eyes. Grinning at the gunslinger's heartfelt sigh of relief, he reached into the voluminous pocket of his coat for another bandana, this one bundled around something lumpy. Spreading it out on the pin striped knees in front of him, he revealed a slice of pie looking very much the worse for having been transported in the manner it had. "Now, ya wantcher pie or not? 'Cos I promised Miz Nettie that I wouldn't eat it, so you got ta or I got ter give it to Chris afore I fold ta temptation."
Warned by the sudden quiet, Chris lifted a trembling hand to move the blessedly cool cloth from his eyes in order to see what had caused the silence. Gazing first at the smashed up pie, then up at the face of the gambler which was vacillating between horrified revulsion and mortified temptation, before looking at the mischievous twinkle in the tracker's blue eyes, Chris burst into laughter.
Smiling fondly at the faked hurt and bewildered expression on Vin's face, Ezra plucked a large piece of the broken up treat and popped it into his mouth. Savouring the morsel, he tried not to contemplate whether the bandana had been clean prior to being pressed into service as a conveyance for the pastry. After swallowing, he patted Vin on the shoulder and offered, "You may eat the rest, Vin. I'm sure that Mrs Wells wouldn't object."
Grinning broadly with child-like glee, the tracker crowed, "Well, iffun ya insist. Be rude not ter."
Chuckling at the sight of Vin sitting cross legged on the floor, inhaling the pie and then looking as though he were debating whether or not to suck the bandana for any residual filling, Ezra announced, "I'm going to the restuarant to procure us something warm and filling. Any requests?"
The tracker's head shot up and he grimaced at the pain that shot through him at the sudden movement.
"Uh uh," scolded Ezra, moving over to hoist Vin to his feet and guiding him to the other cot in the cell. Normally there was only one cot in each of the cells, but due to having a surplus of miscreants recently, they'd had to double up and hadn't yet dismantled the extra beds. With the speed and efficiency of familiarity, he swiftly undid the buttons on the sturdy winter over coat that he'd gifted to the tracker, the worn buckskin coat, a vest and two shirts.
"Ez! I can undo ma own fixin's. Leave it... aw, dammit, have it yer own way," grumbled the tracker, swiping ineffectually at the quick hands of the gambler before giving up.
Smirking, Ezra turned the younger man around and eased him down onto his belly on the bed. Sitting beside him, hip to hip, Ezra pulled a small jar of unguent out of his pocket. Since discovering Vin had a bad back, he'd taken to carrying the small pot of muscle relaxing goo for just such an emergency. Flipping the coat up, he yanked the vest up and then pulled the tails of the two shirts and undershirt out of the Texan's pants. Thankful that he'd found the winter underwear that came in two pieces - long drawers and a separate shirt – he slid his hand up under the clothing to ghost over the warmed flesh, ascertaining which were the cramped muscles. This method had made applying the salve far easier and much warmer when they were on the trail, as Vin no longer had to take off his many layers of shirts and coats to unbutton and remove the top half of a union suit.
Chris rolled back onto his side in order to watch the other two, smiling at the small huffs of indignation and half-hearted fight that Vin gave at being manhandled by the gambler. Any trace of annoyance soon melted from the younger man's face though as Ezra inserted his hands, now liberally smeared with warmed salve, under the shirts and started a slow massage. The familiar smell of horse liniment that seemed to cling to the Texan at all times lately rose strongly into the air. All was quiet except for the rustle of fabric and the occasional soft moan of relief from Vin.
Feeling the tight muscles relax, Ezra continue to lightly rub Vin's back, knowing that his younger brother found it soothing on both an emotional and physical level. The reticent tracker allowed very few people to touch him and usually it was only pats to a clad shoulder, not skin to skin contact. Ezra had found that human touch was essential to the emotional well being of his patients when he worked at the hospital. Men who had visitors to sit and hold their hands, or smooth their brows tended to recover faster and more completely. There'd been a more than a few soldiers who'd had no family and seemed to languish and linger in their illnesses, until he and Etienne had started to sit with them each day and massage their hands as they chatted to them. Most of them had seemed to improve overnight and had soon left the wards.
Marvelling at the relationship that had formed between his two lone wolves, Chris smiled softly at the blissful look on Vin's face. He could tell that the young Texan's cramped muscles had relaxed a while back and he was now soaking up the attention. Sucking his lower lip between his teeth, Chris wondered if he could convince the gambler to give him a back rub sometime. Judging by the look on Vin's face, the southerner hands were good for more than shuffling cards.
After a few more minutes, Ezra withdrew his hands and pulled down all the clothing before patting Vin lightly and saying, "Now you just lie there and rest your back like that until I return. I'll bring us all some lunch."
"Cookies, Ez! Mrs Potter was makin' cookies. I smelt 'em as I was comin' here. Ya know she always keeps some fer ya. I shared ma pie..." pleaded Vin, without moving an inch. The southerner's massages always reduced him to mush and he had no desire to move.
One corner of his mouth lifted as Ezra fought the smile inspired by the childlike bargaining and the limpid blue eyes that were imploring him from under the shaggy hair. Wiping any residual unguent off on his handkerchief, Ezra then carded his fingers through the Texan's unruly curls and mused, "That is true. Perhaps I should borrow your bandana in order that the cookies may arrive in the same condition as my pie?"
Hiding his face a little in the pillow, Vin pouted causing both Chris and Ezra to chuckle warmly.