Title: "In Full"
Status: OneShot
Fandom: 03:10 To Yuma
Characters/Pairing: Ben Wade, Charlie Prince, Grayson Butterfield
Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended.
Rating: K
Genre: Alternative Universe – Canon Divergence, post-canon, friendship
Warnings: none
Summary: Ben Wade would not stand for his stay in Yuma Prison going to waste. Thousand dollars had been promised, and the Evans family would get them...
AN: Prompt fill for Round 14 of the smallfandomfest on LJ.
In Full
Ben Wade brought his horse to a halt in the sparse shadow of a wind-twisted cypress. The gently rolling hill overlooked the Evans ranch, but was far enough away to lent both riders the guise of indistinct features in the heat haze's flicker, should the boys or their mother spot them.
The farmland lay fallow, the only thing growing tough weeds, and the riverbed was dry, the mud cracked under the unforgiving glare of the sun. The rain over Bisbee had come and gone, leaving insurmountable hardships for a family that had lost its bread-winner, father and husband.
Down in the valley dust rose to the clear blue sky with each of Will's steps as he moved to tend to the cows, skinny animals pestered by flies, their cries mournful, corralled right beside the blackened ruin of the barn. Mark struggled to bring him a bucket, his shoulders quaking in a coughing fit that made the water spill over the rim.
Ben frowned at the sight, though Butterfield not making good of his promise hardly came as a surprise. He had expected it, taken the agent's measure the moment they met, all bluster and bark, lacking bite and conviction. The kind to back down without a fight when the company he represented denied any accountability for his given word.
Ben, however, wouldn't stand for his little holiday in Yuma Prison going to waste because of one man's cowardice. Dan Evans had been a decent man, a good father, a stubborn fool with a dark streak of madness disguised as honor that Ben had admired, the few times it had reared its head.
It had been enough. Starting with amusement and fascination it had ended with a tenuous sort of friendship. The kind that was only possible between two men from their walks of life with death as an expected outcome down the road.
His horse shifted its stance with a soft nicker, growing restless, and the knee brushing his roused Ben from his thoughts. Ever since their meeting up in the outskirts of Yuma county Charlie had taken to following him like a shadow... well, worse so than usual.
Ben preferred to ignore the feelings he was keenly aware Charlie had for him, that inspired devotion to the point of obsession. It kept him ruthless and useful and until it became a problem, Ben was content to use them to his advantage. - Of course that hadn't stopped Charlie from radiating disapproval.
"Go ahead," Ben said softly. "Speak your mind."
"Why?"
Not a man of many words, Charlie was hardly in the habit of questioning Ben's decisions, but while he was quite adapt at anticipating his boss' needs it didn't mean that he understood any better what went on in Ben's mind than anyone else in the outfit. Ben liked to keep it that way.
He turned to look at him, took in the lines of tension around his vibrant green eyes and the restlessness that clung to him like the dust did to his chaps, and gave him the hint of a smile.
"He was a good man, Charlie."
The silence between them seemed ripe with possibilities, the kind where guns were drawn, the quicker man winning. But, as always, that sense of foreboding simmered down to nothing, decision made with a silent nod; loyal as any dog rescued from the gutter, Charlie followed him, leaving the Evans' farm behind.
XXX
Soon after, Mr. Grayson Butterfield, agent for the Southern Pacific Railroad, living with his wife, two sons and a daughter in a nice and cozy house at the outskirts of Contention, was beginning to feel haunted.
His conscience, its voice eerily close to Dan Evans, raised its ugly head, had slipped out of his memories and intruded on his waking world, currently occupied with paperwork rather than Pinkerton business. Best to stay out of sight, lest the newspaper vultures be reminded of his involvement with the Ben Wade disaster, or so had been the plan.
But now, everywhere he turned he spotted bone-white leather, gone when he turned and craned his neck, or the shape of a black stetson the like he would never forget, and the glint of the Hand of God.
In all honesty, he would have preferred to take his chances with ghosts.
XXX
Ben watched Butterfield walk down the street. His head ducked between his shoulders, hooded gaze firmly on his feet, the Pinkerton seemed oblivious to the curious gazes his haste attracted. A week of lost sleep would have done that to greater man than he.
Charlie came up beside him, the Bible in hand that he had kindly agreed to liberate from a certain hotel, one finger wedged between the pages, smudging lines of graphite. He leaned closer, shadow stretched thin on the sidewalk, reeking of sweat and leather and churlish unhappiness.
"Here, boss."
"Thank you, Charlie." Ben took the offered book, giving his drawing of Dan Evans only a passing glance, before he tucked it away in the pocket of his waistcoat. A good memory that, of companionable silence, no matter how doomed. "Anything wrong?"
"I don't like this."
Ben hid his grin behind the brim of his hat. No blood, no violence, no gain, of course he wouldn't.
"I don't want to make a fuss. We won't need to waste a single bullet, Charlie. He'll do all the work for us, and gladly. Nothing better to work with than a man with a conscience as bad as Butterfield's."
Charlie said nothing. His patience worn thin, he nodded and left, missing a very one-sided conversation that followed as Ben stepped right into the agent's path an hour later.
"I see you're a man of many words, Mr. Butterfield," Ben said by way of greeting, shutting the Bible he had flipped through to stave off boredom. He looked up to see Butterfield swallowing nervously, stance drooping like a man who was resigned to his fate. "Just not too good at keeping them."
XXX
Later that day, spine stiff and head raised high, a certain Pinkerton marched into the Southern Pacific branch like a man on a mission.
When he came out, though no one passing him by would have known, he carried a grand with him, the deserved prize for a duty well done.
The End
R&R