Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven is the property of MGM, Mirisch, and Trilogy. No profit is being made from this fanwork and no copyright infringment is intended.
Author's Notes: This is a completed one-shot with a deliberately ambiguous/open ending. Feedback is treasured. Thanks for reading.
A Son's Need
J.D. paused outside the door of Nathan's clinic, listening. It was quiet, thank God. When he'd last been here Ezra's cries could've been heard across town. J.D. had never heard any man scream like that before and never wanted to again. He'd not slept the last few nights, the noises his comrade made echoing in his mind. He wondered how the others were keeping their cool so damn well.
Lingering as his fingers brushed against the doorknob, J.D. paused further. What if Ezra was dead now and that was the reason for the quiet? He didn't want to walk in and be greeted by a corpse.
He took a deep breath and pulled himself together. He was being cowardly, selfish. As far as J.D. knew Ezra was still alive and needed him, hence Nathan calling J.D. over. That was enough to give J.D. the push he needed to open the door and go inside already.
"There you are," muttered Nathan, who was drying his hands on a towel as J.D. walked in. The clinic still reeked of blood, the stench overpowering in the small, closed quarters on a hot summer's day. J.D. avoided looking toward the bed, didn't want to see in case…
"Is he, uh…?"
Nathan's impatient expression softened as he got a sense of J.D.'s nerves.
"He's alive, but it's not looking good. Got a nasty infection and that bullet was so deep I near had to give up trying to get it out, but I did get it."
J.D. swallowed, his mouth dry and not wanting to work all of a sudden but he forced himself to look at Ezra.
The gambler was unconscious and naked beneath bedclothes pulled around him. It was so hot it looked wrong to see anyone bundled up in sheets and blankets like that but J.D. knew it had to be, to fight the fever an infection carried with it. J.D. thought about what Nathan said about the bullet, wondered if that had been what had made Ezra scream like that. He remembered his own encounter with a gut wound and shuddered as he always did when he thought of Maddie and the way she'd pulled her gun on him so cruelly.
"Need you to run an errand for me," Nathan said, his voice bringing J.D. back to the present.
"Sure, Nathan," replied J.D. and hoped it would be something to distract from all of this. It had been nearly three days since Ezra was shot and time had gone by so slowly everyone had gotten real restless when they weren't taking a turn helping Nathan or out patrolling the town.
"I think we need to send for Ezra's mother. He might not be long for this world."
Nathan's voice was steady, that of a man for whom death was routine. Even the death of a friend. It left J.D. cold. He had never gotten used to death, never would. How Nathan could be so emotionless like Ezra meant nothing made J.D. momentarily angry, but then he happened to flicker his gaze up into Nathan's eyes and saw the exhaustion there, the sadness and the hopelessness. Nathan had done all he could and it still wasn't enough, probably. That had to hurt and J.D. wanted to say something, anything, but he didn't have the words.
Ezra would, if Ezra could speak. Ezra always knew exactly what to say and how to make it sound so damn gracious, too.
"Has Ezra asked for her?" J.D. asked, making himself focus on the task at hand. Nothing else was helpful so maybe if he could do this one thing…
"Not outright. He's been talking here and there when he's come to but mainly gibberish. Still, it seems like the right thing to do. Far as I know they're all each other has."
J.D. nodded.
He'd never been able to wrap his head around Ezra's relationship with Maude, it being unlike any other mother-son relationship J.D. had ever known including how it had been between he and his own ma back east.
"Think she'll come?" asked J.D., letting his gaze fall upon Ezra and wondering if the wounded man could hear them. He wondered if Ezra would even be comforted by a visit from Maude. Half the time when she popped up Ezra didn't seem to want her around at all, but then she would kiss him goodbye and leave town and there would be an undeniably melancholy in Ezra for at least a few days after.
It had taken J.D. a while to pick up on things like that but the longer he spent around Ezra, around all of the others, he learned the various little tells most folk would never see. It made him feel a part of the group of peacekeepers more than anything else. They were open around him and to him, as he was to and around them. Even Ezra who was a closed book almost all of the time had tells if you cared to look close enough. Josiah had taught J.D. that it was a true sign of friendship he could read Ezra like that, that Ezra had come to value J.D. and all of them and so had let them in without even meaning to. Real friendship, said Josiah, was rarer than most would think, and so could sneak up on a person, even someone as guarded as Ezra.
"Who knows," replied Nathan, bringing J.D. back to the situation at hand. "Last time Ezra said anything about her she was in Oklahoma but I think we're gonna have to check his mail for an address and hope she's still there."
"You want me to go through his things?" J.D. frowned.
He took another look at the dying man in the bed. Ezra would hate the idea of anyone touching his things in the slightest much less rifling through them and being privy to all the personal information they had no business knowing. J.D didn't understand men like Ezra who tried to keep everything secret but J.D. knew if Ezra were well enough to know this was happening he would object angrily and firmly. Except Ezra was so sick he wouldn't know what was best for him right now so that had to make it different, didn't it?
Nathan must've caught onto his bewilderment at the request.
"A mother should be with her son at a time like this," Nathan insisted. "And I think, if he were real truthful about it to himself, Ezra would want her here too."
In the bed, Ezra slept on oblivious to the conversation and J.D. sighed, nodding.
"Alright. I'll go to his room and if I find an address I'll let you know," J.D. said, still watching Ezra nervously as though the gambler would suddenly leap up and protest furiously at him. There was no movement. Ezra was deep in unconsciousness, his breathing rattled as he shivered now beneath the sheets. J.D. hoped being asleep meant Ezra at least didn't feel pain for the while but when J.D. had been shot by Maddie all he could remember about it was pain. Even asleep he'd been fitful and scared, wishing his dearly departed mother was there. If not for Buck and Casey willing him to fight through all that J.D. knew he might not have survived.
His understanding of Nathan's wish to do this thing grew, then. He pushed his personal discomfort aside as he left Nathan's clinic and headed for the hotel, hoping more than anything he'd find out where Maude was. It was weeks since Ezra had mentioned Oklahoma; she could be anywhere now.
Just let it be some place close enough, J.D. prayed.
Unlocking the door to Ezra's living quaters above the saloon, J.D. coughed as he went inside. Light streamed through the window, the open drapes welcoming the bright sun.
Ezra had been languishing in Nathan's clinic for three days but his room was every bit as tidy as J.D. had expected. He looked around, realising he'd never been right inside before. He wasn't sure any of them had until now. Guilt rose up again but he forced it down. He wasn't here to be nosy, he was here to help. Ezra would want to see his mother one last time, wouldn't he? J.D. would have given anything to see his when he was hurt or even just today, and with that resolve he walked in and made for the small writing desk, the most likely place someone might keep their mail and any other important documents.
He carefully opened each draw and went through them, feeling every inch the unwanted intruder he was. The drawers did contain papers but a quick browse through told J.D. it was all to do with banking and other such things, nothing truly personal.
The dresser was J.D.'s next thought but the drawers there only housed neatly folded undergarments, a selection of cravats, pins, and cufflinks, a few boxes of cigarillos, some matches, an unopened deck of cards…no surprises of any kind. There was nothing of importance upon the dresser either. Just some bottles of various things; oils and aftershaves, shaving cream, and that silly pomade Ezra put in his hair.
J.D. frowned. Of course Ezra wouldn't keep his letters where most others would. But then, where?
The nightstand, maybe. Atop which there was a lamp and a book but nothing else. It was the drawer in the nightstand J.D. was driving at and he opened it but again, no letters.
Dammit, where were they! J.D. knew Ezra wrote to his mother regularly enough and received replies here and there, although he had a feeling Maude's letters were not as frequent as Ezra would have ideally liked. Still, Ezra had to have kept something from her, and it had to be here someplace. There'd been nothing on his person save for his guns, cards, room key, and a flask of whiskey when Nathan had undressed him to operate and those were still at the clinic.
He was about to give up and trail back to Nathan pleading failure when he had a thought. The closet! Could it be? Going over to it, he opened the doors and coughed again as he was assaulted by more dust.
Ezra's clothes were hanged orderly and J.D. marvelled at them. He'd never known a man who had as many clothes as Ezra and such expensive ones too. Ezra dressed fancier than many of the local women, with his silk cravats and sleeve ruffles. J.D. remembered men from back east and their impressively tailored suits but none of them had been even half as colorful or interesting as Ezra's. Most had been like stuffy old bankers or something.
J.D. pushed the clothes out of the way so he could stick his head inside and see the floor of the closet. He felt around aimlessly, the light from the windows not reaching over enough to aide him. There was nothing…nothing…aha! J.D. tugged on what felt like leather and found himself pulling out a simple black bag that was like a large pouch. He set it down on the floor and sat on his behind, reaching inside.
Papers!
They were carefully bundled and secured with a red ribbon. J.D. was so relieved at maybe finding what he was looking for he unlaced the ribbon like a child unwrapping a Christmas gift and pushed it aside. He unfolded the small pile of papers and – yes! There they were. Letters from Maude Standish herself, written in a delicate script not too dissimilar to Ezra's. Most of the letters were fairly brief, cheerfully talking of Maude's latest business ventures or the new and exciting and charming men she had met in her travels. It was hard to tell when any of them were written so J.D. picked out the letter at the top of the pile and hoped he was on the right track. Still mindful of Ezra's privacy he tried not to take in what he read, scanning the letter only for any mention of Maude's whereabouts or a date. He felt relief flood him when, there near the end of the communication, she dropped in a mention of Denver, Colorado and how she hoped to see Ezra again soon. Best yet, she'd included a full address.
By the time J.D. had gotten Ezra's room back into shape and returned to the clinic it was late afternoon. He showed Nathan what he'd found but hovered warily when he saw Ezra was conscious, mumbling nonsense.
It was a shock to see the gambler so weak. Ezra was more animated than most folk J.D. had ever met but now he looked like the dying man he was, his skin so pasty and sickly, his eyes hollow and his hair matted with sweat.
"Still bad, huh?" J.D. asked.
"Hard to tell. Sometimes I think he might actually be getting better but then he fevers again. He can't eat and when I make him drink anything he does his damndest to avoid it like I'm trying to poison him. Did you find anything at his place?"
J.D. held out the letter. Nathan looked hopeful as he quickly studied it.
"Worth a try," decided Nathan. "Better get on the wire right now. Ezra…Ezra, can you hear me?"
Nathan went to lean over his patient, holding the letter like Ezra might know what it was if he showed him.
"We're going to wire you're Ma, Ezra. Do you know where she might be?"
Glassy eyes stared out into the room and J.D. wanted to look away. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing people die, and when it was a friend it was that much harder.
"My…mother…" Ezra's voice was slurred and rough. He sounded like how someone with a case of laryngitis might, probably from not drinking enough despite Nathan's best efforts. "I don't…is she here?"
"That's what we're trying to do," Nathan explained soothingly, like he was talking to a small, frightened child. "This letter says she's in Denver. Think she's still there?"
Ezra looked like he was thinking long and hard, and J.D. could only imagine the effort it was taking.
"I don't…" Ezra said again. "Never stay in one place too long. I think she told me that…good advice, if I say so…"
J.D. cringed. Ezra was delirious and didn't seem to even know where he was, or what day it was.
"Yes, Ezra, but what about Denver," Nathan pushed. "Is that where her last letter to you was from?"
But Ezra was unconscious again.
"Looks like the letter's all we have to go on," Nathan bristled, but he smoothed the hair back from Ezra's forehead with what could only be described as fondness. "Might as well try the wire and hope for the best," the healer decided.
J.D. couldn't get out of the clinic fast enough, and made his way hurriedly to the telegraph office.
Author's Notes: I do not currently have a beta reader so any mistakes are my own. Please feel free to let me know if you spot any.