A tag for the episode Achilles
"Buck, this was all your fault."
"My fault? How'dya figure that, Ez?" Buck Wilmington challenged, followed by a long draught from his mug of beer.
"Encouragin' Banks to replay that hand … "
"It was the only fair thing to do!" Buck interrupted in his defense.
"Not when mah opponent was clearly cheating. He cheated, Buck," Ezra Standish insisted as he leaned against the bar with his friend. "And he ultimately admitted as such once his prosthetic leg was found out," Ezra said as he counted his evening's winnings. They had returned with the stagecoach – and the dead driver and guard – earlier in the day. The young ladies J.D. Dunne had joined on the stage, along with Big Lester Banks, had been forced to stay over for the next stagecoach scheduled for the following day, which gave Ezra the chance for an honest rematch. He'd handily put the big man in his place, and won back all the money he'd previously lost, and more, as well as his clothes and the ring for the future Mrs. Standish.
"And you sure put 'im in 'is place tonight, hoss," Buck said, nearly slurring his words. The town's famed ladies' man had been holding up the bar for some time now.
"You are missin' the point," Ezra said, deciding against downing the next shot that the tall gunman had poured for him. "When Ah said he cheated, you could have taken mah side. Ah … Ah … " Ezra's eyes drifted beyond Buck's shoulder and then came back. He shook his head, seeing that he was not making any headway here, and didn't finish his thought as he stepped away from the bar and out the batwing doors of the saloon.
"Ezra!" Buck called, surprised by the sudden exit of his drinking companion. He pondered what the conman just said and realized how wrong he'd been in suggesting the re-play of the card game. Why hadn't he seen it then? Why did it take seeing the hurt in those impassioned green eyes to get it? "Damn," Buck said as he grabbed the shot of whiskey that Ezra had left and downed it in one quick gulp.
Down the main street of Four Corners, Ezra caught up to the man he'd seen walking past the drinking establishment as he spoke with Buck inside. The man ambled steadily, head lowered, seemingly in deep thought on his way to his wagon. "Mistah Tanner!" he called for the second time. The tracker finally slowed his pace and then stopped, but he didn't turn around. Ezra walked ahead of Vin and turned to look at him.
"Ez," Vin said as he lifted wary blue eyes up to equally disturbed green ones.
"Mistah Tanner, Ah was hopin' for a moment of your time."
"Got a moment," Vin murmured softly, fixing his eyes squarely on Ezra's. If the man from Texas was attempting intimidation with Ezra Standish, well … he was succeeding.
"Ah wished to offer you mah sincerest apologies for the other night. Ah recognize that it does not serve as a suitable excuse, but Ah was, sadly, dreadfully inebriated when Ah … "
"I know, Ez."
"You … You do?"
"Dontcha remember our conversation?" Vin asked. "I asked you to help me when you were sober."
"Well, yes, Ah do recall somethin' … " Ezra answered, squinting his eyes in confusion, but not clear on why Vin was bringing that up, continuing, "but that is beside the point. What Ah said … "
"Figure you were just showin' off."
"Showin' off?" Ezra asked, now more perplexed than before.
"That whole 'Homer walks among us' you were babblin' on about?"
"Ah do not babble, Mistah Tanner."
Vin shrugged. "Figure you knew nobody would even know who Homer was, 'cept you," Vin said, a twinkle in his eye. Finally. Ezra let loose a deep, relieved internal sigh. Outwardly he smiled, first at the familiar glimmer of amusement from the tracker, and then at the crooked grin that was offered. He'd obviously been forgiven. That knowledge felt good, but he sure would feel a lot better if he knew how Vin had gotten to this point. What Ezra knew for sure was that Vin now had knowledge that he hadn't owned at that fateful moment when the gambler had been so rude about the plain-spoken man's attempt at poetry.
"And how have you come upon your understanding of the great poet?"
"Asked Josiah." Ezra nodded his head. "He told me about Achilles and the Trojan War and his heel." Ezra blinked at hearing TheIliad reduced to a few simple words, but he kept his mouth shut. Lesson learned.
"You have been busy," Ezra noted. It seemed that Vin had spent his time in a far more fruitful manner these last twenty-four hours than had the gambler.
"Studied on what Josiah said, figure we all got our Achilles' heel in life." He never took his eyes from Ezra's. The conman wondered what Vin perceived as his own Achilles' heel. He wasn't about to ask … he didn't want to be forced to reciprocate, but Vin offered an answer anyway. "I can't read ner write."
Ezra's eyes grew wide at the admission, but it was not news to the observant man. "Ah assure you that you are likely not in the minority in these parts, Vin. Ah appreciate your tellin' me, your confidence."
"Don't know 'bout confidence," Vin said, not taking the word as it was intended.
"Ah would, with pleasure, help you to learn," Ezra said. "It is the least that Ah can do."
"Mary said she'd help."
"Oh. Ah see. Well, if it's not too late, Ah can write that poem down for you," Ezra offered.
"Mary did it for me." Shame swept across the gambler's face. How could he have acted so badly to such a kind and thoughtful man? He blinked rapidly and looked away. "Ezra, it's all right."
"No, Mistah Tanner, it is not even remotely all right. What Ah did was wrong and … mean … and has brought shame to me. Ah would never … "
"I know, Ezra. That's why I shoulda waited until the next mornin' ta ask ya."
"Ah would have said yes," Ezra noted softly as he lowered his head.
"I know." Vin watched as Ezra kept his head down, scuffing his boot slowly against the dusty avenue. "Ez," he said quietly, but loud enough to get Ezra's attention, who looked up. "I told ya it's fine. Don't want ya frettin' on somethin' that's over and done with."
"Mister Tanner," the southerner said as he rubbed his thumb nervously over his bottom lip, and lowered his head to save himself from embarrassment as he blinked furiously once more to stave off the threatening tears, "you are a fine man, and possibly far too forgiving," he continued, raising his head to look at Vin once more, "but Ah accept what you are sayin'," Ezra added, grateful that what he'd said so hastily, so thoughtlessly as he drank away his sorrows that night hadn't placed a wall up between the two men that could no longer be scaled. "Ah trust that you know that Ah would make mahself available to you whenever you required mah fine handwriting skills," he added with his own playful grin. "And Ah insist that you seek me out as you are goin' through your studies with Missus Travis."
Vin smiled and nodded his acceptance of the offer. He started walking back toward the saloon. "All this talkin's makin me thirsty."
"A libation would most assuredly be appreciated."
"You do that on purpose, dontcha?"
"Do what?" Ezra asked, looking honestly confused.
No, Vin thought. No he didn't. This was Ezra, warts – and lots of big words that the tracker could use a dictionary for … if he could read – and all.
"Hey, hoss, yer back!" Buck shouted. In two long strides he was in front of Ezra, then his big hand was pushing against the southerner's back and he was being ushered over to a table. "Thought about what ya said," he paused for a moment to call to the bartender, "two more glasses," and then addressed Ezra once more, "and I figure I owe ya an apology."
"'s catchin'," Vin mumbled with a grin as he eased into his seat.
"Indeed," Ezra agreed with Vin quietly and for the tracker's ears only as he raised his eyebrow at the intense whiff of cheap whiskey he received as Buck moved in, too close, like someone who'd been drinking too much might.
"Think yer right. I shoulda listened to you. Yer my friend and friends stick together."
"Yes, well … " Ezra started as he tried to lean back a little.
"Ez, yer back!" J.D. shouted, far too loud even for the noisy saloon. The boy had obviously just come back from relieving himself as he continued adjusted his clothing while walking up to the table. "Buck said he chased you away." The gambler frowned, looking confused. "Buck!" J.D. said as he caught the look Ezra sent him. He turned to his 'big brother'. "You said Ez got mad at you and stormed out."
"Ah did not," Ezra challenged, shaking his head faintly and frowning at Buck.
"Well, ya did," Buck insisted. "But I understand. And I am sorry, for not backin' ya. That was wrong."
"Ah appreciate the apology, Buck, and Ah accept it, but Ah did not storm out of here angry with you. How much have you had to drink?" Ezra thought back to earlier. Anger was not the right word. Hurt. Disappointed. Confused. They all fit better how he felt about what had transpired.
"A lot," J.D. admitted. "We been celebratin' me stayin', and liftin' a drink in honor of Miss Annie."
"Just one?" Ezra asked, bemused as his glass was filled. "May the dear lady rest in peace," he continued as he lifted his glass, as did Vin, Buck and J.D. "To Miss Annie," Ezra said.
"To Miss Annie," the boys added. They all downed their shots, and Buck filled their glasses once more.
"Glad yer stayin', kid," Vin said.
J.D. shrugged. "Buck and Chris and me talked. They convinced me that I can still do the job. I want to. I know I got a lot to make up for."
"We all make mistakes, son," Josiah said as he stepped up to the table. "Room for another?"
"Gen'lemen, it has been a long day. Ah b'lieve Ah shall retire," Ezra said. "Take mah seat, Josiah." The last couple of days had been stressful for the gambler; he wasn't used to losing, not like that, not so publicly. He'd rarely felt so naked, and that was before he'd lost his shirt – and other clothing – to the traveling gambler.
"You sure you don't want to hang around for a while? Chris and Nathan are due any minute. Could have yourself a go at cleanin' us all out, not just your new friend Lester," Buck joked.
"He is no friend of mine, Mistah Wilmington. However temptin' it is to take your money, the embarrassment of riches bestowed upon me by Monsieur Banks dictates that I must bow out. Good night, gen'lemen." A chorus of Goodnight, Ezras was heard as he stood and stepped down to the main floor and headed for the stairs. He was quickly followed by Buck, who scurried in front and took the first step up the staircase ahead of the more leisurely-moving conman.
"Hey," he said as he leaned over and down to look Ezra in the face, almost tipping completely over save for the last-minute grab of the railing. "Yer not leavin' because yer still mad, are ya?"
Buck was definitely drunk. It didn't happen often, but the possibility of J.D. leaving seemed to have hit the big man hard. Ezra himself held an ache in his heart as he watched J.D. make his goodbyes earlier that day. But for Buck Wilmington it must have hurt so much more. They all joked about how the two dark-haired men were brothers long-separated, finally reunited. Their relationship was humorous, aggravating and heartwarming, all at the same time. But even with this knowledge, Ezra was having a hard time not laughing right in Buck's face. The earnest, big brother tendencies were showered on people other than just J.D. when Buck overindulged. It warmed Ezra's heart to know that he was the recipient of such feelings from the tough-yet-compassionate gunman, and that was exactly why he would refrain from laughing as Buck's moustache hovered in front of his eyes like sentient tumbleweed.
"Buck," Ezra started as he leaned back and away from the whiskey fumes and lip fur that seemed suddenly to have a life of its own, "as Ah said before, Ah was not then nor am Ah now angry with you."
"Yer sure?"
"Yes."
"'Cause I would hate it if I did anything to mess us up," Buck said in a conspiratorial tone as he moved in closer once more. Ezra looked over to the table with pleading eyes, hopeful that one of his comrades might come to his aid; all he received in return was an amused smile here and a raised glass there. He looked to the door and saw Chris Larabee and Nathan Jackson entering.
Saved by the jingle of spurs.
"Mistah Larabee!" Ezra called. That was all it took to move Buck's attention away to other thoughts.
"Hey, old dog, howya doin'?" Buck asked as he stumbled down the step and took Chris into a sloppy embrace. The look Chris sent Ezra was all it took to convince the gambler that it was, without doubt, time to call it a night.
Ezra smiled, and then hurried up the first flight of stairs. He turned to look down at his friends. For all that he loathed people being too close, he was finding that allowing these men in was not as uncomfortable as it might have been. When he was younger and his mother had instilled in him not to allow anyone too near, that emotions could get the better of him and ruin even a well-played con, he'd occasionally questioned her reasoning. Wasn't it better to have more people rather than fewer people who cared for you? As he grew older, he understood her point much better, finding not only the truth in the success such isolation played in a winning con, but also in avoiding getting hurt when one got too close. It was far too easy to be burned when you left yourself open like that. But maybe, just maybe, he had finally found a reason to allow some people close, to open up his life to these men who were so different, so imperfect. Just like him. Maybe the point of his being in this dusty town at this particular time was to learn new lessons, lessons not taught by a mother who was always looking for something in return, but lessons learned by knowing that you had men who cared about you and would watch your back.
Ezra Standish decided that this was, indeed, a point well taken.
The End.