For those who do not remember the episode, a synopsis of 'Between Heaven and Earth'.

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Twenty-three year old Joe Cartwright's sleep has been disturbed by nightmares. In them, he is on the top of a ridge, clinging on for dear life. He loses his grip and falls and wakes – and can't remember what it is he's dreamed. One day he is out hunting a mountain cat with his friend, Mitch Devlin, and decides to climb up the ridge known as Eagle's Nest to get a better look-out on the land, hoping to spot the cat. Instead, he is overcome by an irrational fear of falling off the cliff edge. Terrified, he backs down, leaving his favorite rifle at the top. Over the next few days he tries to retrieve the rifle, but is unable to do so due to his fear. Joe begins to doubt his manhood because of this and reacts out of anger and frustration with himself, becoming hostile to his friends and reckless to the point where he endangers his and Hoss' lives. Finally, his father follows him and finds Joe on the rocks, frozen in place, just below the rifle. It is at that point where Ben explains that, when Joe was five years old, he climbed up Eagles Nest and couldn't come back down on his own. This does nothing to allay Joe's anger and fear. He has no memory of the incident. Finally, Ben has to trick him into going for the rifle by pretending to fall. Joe scrambles up without thinking in order to take hold of the gun, to use it to reach down to Ben where he is precariously perched. At the end of the episode, it seems Joe has come to terms with his fear, but still has no memory of his own of the incident.

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ONE

It was a beautiful day and all was right with the world.

Or, it would have been if he hadn't been left in charge of a certain diminutive and determined five-year-old force of nature that went by the name of Joseph Francis Cartwright.

Adam Cartwright, the boy's seventeen-year-old brother, ran a hand over his face and then glanced at the barn pole where his little brother wiggled and giggled, trying to break free of the rope he had used to tie him to it. Adam's hand moved to the bandana tied around his head that he had anchored a hawk feather in. At the moment, Little Joe was in little boy heaven, but playing cowboys and Indians was only going to buy him so much time. Sooner or later it was going to dawn on Joe that he'd been had. He wasn't a stupid kid. He was just, well...

A kid.

Adam glanced at his brother again. Pa, was gonna kill him.

He'd gagged him too.

"Mmrrumph...mrrph!" Joe mumbled into the cloth, telling him – no doubt, in his five-year-old mind – to give up and come along peaceably. Well, he would, in about five minutes. The stable was clean, the tack attended to, and the horses bedded down for the night. He just needed to tidy a couple of things up and everything would be as it should, which was an accomplishment of Biblical proportions considering that he had had this little squirt tailing after him for the last few hours. Pa'd come home just after supper in one of his dark humors, handed Buck over with a scowl, and gone immediately inside; the older man's footsteps taking him – with little doubt – toward the liquor cabinet where he would both drown his sorrows and numb his loneliness. Adam glanced at Little Joe again. It really wasn't fair. It would have been better if the kid had never known his mother like him, or lost her so young that her death would have had little impact on his life like Hoss. Little Joe had a great big hole in his heart and the one person who could fill it – their father – was just about as absent as if he was present in his own grave.

Adam's lips curled slightly with a sad sort of smile as he shook his head. Becoming a parent at seventeen was not something he would have ever considered – though a certain young lady he was seeing at the moment could have made it tempting. He looked at Little Joe again, determinedly fighting against ropes he could not hope to break. With Maddie Macintosh's lively personality and fiery temper, he might just end up with a little scamp like Joe.

His brother snorted and made a disgusted noise as he wriggled. Joe wasn't angry yet, but those big green eyes of his were starting to ignite.

Adam walked and knelt down in front of him. Placing his hand on his heart, he waited a moment and then held it out, palm down. "Chief Adam hears the white man's plea," he said solemnly. "He must seek wisdom from the Great Spirit before he can free his captive."

His little brother blinked, caught smack-dab between his growing discomfort and the magic of pretend.

In reality, he hated to leave Joe tied up, but he needed to check out what was going on in the house before he took the kid inside. Everything depended on just how far down the memories – and the alcohol intended to dull them – had taken their father. Usually, Pa just slept it off in the big red chair by the fire, but every once in a while he would find the older man pacing the floor like a caged cat, ready to spring on whoever stepped through the door. And even though he had done all his chores and taken care of giving the men their orders and watched over that little bundle of energy all day since Hoss was down sick in bed and Hop Sing was busy taking care of him, it didn't mean much. Pa could still explode without warning.

Little Joe didn't need to see that.

With a smile at his brother who was now scowling and doing a fair impression of their father at his worse temper-wise, Adam headed for the ranch house. As he neared the front door, he circumnavigated the porch and went around to the side; his destination, the dining room window. He'd learned it was wise to peer in to see what their father was doing before entering. Tonight, he was in luck. Pa was on his feet in front of the fire, but he wasn't pacing. He was reading a piece of paper that he held in his hand.

Everything looked safe enough.

When he returned to the barn, Adam couldn't help but grin. From the daggers his little brother was shooting at him, Little Joe had finally figured it out. Well, that was the last time for cowboys and Indians. He'd have to come up with a new way to keep the kid occupied when he needed to get work done.

Maybe next time he'd suggest he tie him to the mainmast in the midst of a gale.

As he bent down and removed the kid's gag, Little Joe spit out what he considered his worst threat.

"I'm gonna tell Pa!"

Adam hid his smile. "And just what are you going to tell Pa?" he asked.

His brother's lower lip trembled. "That you were mean and tied me up!"

The older boy shrugged. "You asked me to."

Little Joe had been ready to spit fire. That gave him pause. He thought a minute and then said – a little less convincingly – "Well, then, I'll tell that you put that cloth in my mouth!"

'Through it, not in it', the black-haired youth silently corrected, but said, "As any self-respecting Indian would do so that the cowboy could not yell for help. Now I couldn't have you shouting and alerting your pals, could I?"

The kid was thinking it through. Sharp mind there. Still, Little Joe was only five years old. When he couldn't come up with anything better, he resorted to his initial threat.

"I'm still gonna tell Pa," he muttered.

When he'd finished undoing Joe's play bonds, Adam caught him under the arms and helped him to his feet. As Joe's fingers found his, Adam looked down and sucked in a sharp breath. Sometimes, the kid's resemblance to Marie was startling – and a knife stab to the heart.

Marie.

She'd been his mother as well. The only one he had ever known.

"So, let me get this straight," he said. "You are going to tell Pa that you asked me to play cowboys and Indians and I did, and that you wanted the Indians to capture you and tie you up and gag you, and I did, and that I was mean to you. Is that right?"

The wheels were turning behind those wide, expressive eyes. Little Joe knew he had been had – he just wasn't old enough to know exactly how.

His baby brother continued to glare at him for a moment and then asked, "Do you think Hop Sing has any chocolate cookies left?"

Ah, had it only been that simple to avert all wars.

Adam laughed as he reached down and lifted Joe from the floor of the barn. As he expected, the little boy instantly began to squirm.

"Let me down! I can walk on my own!"

'No, you can't, Little Joe', he thought. You only know how to run.

With solemn dignity, Adam said, "Chief Adam must make recompense. He must carry the cowboy on his shoulders to the land of plenty and make sure his tummy is full before he goes to bed."

As Joe bounced on his shoulders, trying to get comfortable, he echoed, "Recom...what?"

"Recompense. Repay." He snorted. "Indian must carry cowboy into kitchen and make sure he gets three cookies instead of two for being so good."

Boy, did those green eyes light at that!

As he settled Joe on his shoulders, the little boy took the bandana band with its disreputable feather off his head and placed it on his own.

"Next time I get to be the Indian," Joe said as they started to move.

Next time, Adam thought, the cowboys will win.

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Ben Cartwright stirred at the sound of approaching footsteps. As he placed the paper he held on the table beside his chair, his eyes lingered on the brandy bottle and the near empty glass beside it. He could only hope it was enough to steel him for what he was about to see.

The door opened and Adam entered with Little Joe on his shoulders, careful to duck so as not to let the little boy's head hit the door frame. Adam was a long, lanky drink of water, nearly six feet tall, while his little brother was small for his age and as cherubic as any child God ever fashioned. Little Joe was barely over five and still had his baby fat.

Little Joe was still a baby.

A baby without a mother.

Ben ran a trembling hand over his stubbled chin. It happened every time. He couldn't look at his youngest son without his thoughts turning instantly to the boy's mother; to the woman he had loved so deeply and lost too soon.

"Too soon," he breathed aloud.

His eldest son watched him for a moment, his look appraising, and then reached up and took hold of Joseph's hands and swung the small boy to the floor. At his brother's expectant look, Adam nodded.

"Go find Hop Sing. Tell him I told you that you were so good you could have three cookies." Adam paused and a smile lit his tired face. "And tell him that I will be there in a minute to make sure he believes you."

Little Joe nodded, then he turned his way. Ben saw something pass through his youngest's expressive eyes – a longing, all too quickly followed by something akin to fear.

"Go ahead, son," he said. "If Adam says you deserve three cookies, you must have been very good boy indeed."

Joe remained still for a moment, considering, and then grinned from ear to ear and skipped away.

Skipped.

How could the boy skip when his mother was dead?

"Pa? Are you all right?"

Ben started guiltily, as if caught with his hand in Hop Sing's cookie jar.

He looked again at Adam – really looked this time. There were great dark circles cradling the boy's hazel eyes and he was far too thin. They were by no means beggars, but lately – since Marie's death – he'd been so distracted that things hadn't gotten done. Contracts had been neglected and, at times, gone unfulfilled. They were hurting for cash. Lately, he'd seen Adam forgo seconds – and sometimes firsts – at the table so his little brothers could eat their fill. The boy was pulling far more than his fair share with Hoss sick and him...

Well, he didn't know what he was.

Lost?

"I'm fine, son," he said at last. "How are you?"

"Fine as frog hair, Pa," Adam replied, using one of his middle brother's favorite expressions.

Ben hesitated, but it needed to be said. "You look tired, son."

Adam studied him a moment. Then he said softly, "So do you, Pa." After a moment of awkward silence, the boy added, "How is Hoss doing?"

"He's better thanks to Hop Sing's constant care." For the moment Inger's boy was quarantined to his bedroom. Doctor Paul Martin – still a relatively new physician in Eagle Station – thought it was just a severe cold, but there was always the threat that it might turn out to be measles or something worse. Ben's eyes strayed to the kitchen area. "He's missing Little Joe."

"Those two are thicker than thieves," Adam said with a smile. "It's been hard on Joe too. He doesn't understand."

No, the boy didn't understand. He was only five. How could he understand that something could come along that would take his middle brother away from them just as quickly and unexpectedly as that damn horse had claimed his mother?

Ben went the side table and picked up his brandy glass and looked at the amber liquid in it, contemplating finishing it off. "So long as there are no complications," he added, "Doctor Martin thinks Hoss should be up and around in a day or so."

"That's good to hear." There was another awkward silence. At the end of it, Adam sighed. "Well, I better go see what mischief that little scamp is up to. Hop Sing –"

At that moment the owner of that name appeared as if out of a puff of smoke, standing by the dining table with Little Joe in hand. His youngest's face was grimy. His hands had been wiped clean – on Hop Sing's apron, he imagined. In one he gripped a large dark brown cookie.

"Little boy say he velly good today. Get three cookies."

The Chinese man said it as if someone was out of their mind.

"That's right, Hop Sing," Adam agreed as he loped over. Ruffling Joe's curls with his fingers, the boy added, "Little brother here was real good for me. He let me clean up the barn, finish the tack room, and take care of the horses."

Silently, Ben wondered what price his eldest had paid to accomplish that miracle.

"Mister Ben say it all right little boy have three cookies?"

Three was a bit of an extravagance, especially considering the price of chocolate and their current circumstances, but he knew Adam had his reasons.

"Yes, it's fine."

"See I told you!" Joe thrust out his lower lip in a pout and then instantly thought better of it. The little boy's gaze shot to him.

Did he see him tremble?

"Sorry, Pa," Little Joe said, hanging his head.

Ben pursed his lips. He was more tolerant with Marie's boy than he had been with his older sons. He knew that. Permissive even. But there were lines, and disrespect was one he would not allow the child to cross.

"Apology accepted, son," he said a little stiffly.

The five-year-old looked up at him. "Does that mean number three son can have number three cookie now?" Joe asked, eying the one that remained.

Ben met Hop Sing's eyes and saw the smile in them. "Yes, number three son may have cookie number three – and a glass of milk – and then it's off to bed."

Little Joe began to pull Hop Sing toward the kitchen, to get that glass of milk, only to stop and turn back before they got to the hall that led there.

"Can I see Hoss yet?" he asked, his tone forlorn.

"Maybe tomorrow," Ben replied. The threat of contagion seemed to be past.

Still...

Little Joe considered his reply carefully before saying, as solemnly as only a very small child could, "Then I'll eat this cookie and drink that milk fast so's I can get to sleep and wake up and it'll be morning and I can see Hoss."

While that was not exactly what he'd said, getting Joseph to bed without protest was worth the argument the morning would bring.

Marie would have told him he was an old fool for arguing with a five-year-old.

He was so lost without her.

As Little Joe and Hop Sing disappeared around the corner, Adam shifted nervously on his feet. "Er, Pa?"

"Yes, son?" he asked, turning back.

"I know it's not a good time, but would it be okay if I went into the settlement for the dance tomorrow night?"

Not a good time. When was it ever a good time anymore?

Ben considered his teenage son. It didn't seem all that long ago that Adam had been Joseph's age. He had wanted so much for his first child – happiness, stability, a life of ease and plenty. What he'd given him instead was a life of deprivation and a burden of responsibility that would have bent the shoulders of a man of thirty.

Adam deserved a night off.

"Go with my blessing son." As the black-haired youth's eyes lit with surprise and thanks, Ben added, "and be sure to tell Miss McIntosh 'hello' for me."

The boy blushed. Adam ducked his head in that way Elizabeth had, and then resurfaced with a smile. "I will." With that, the teenager turned his feet toward the kitchen. "I'll see if Little Joe is done. Would you like me to take him to bed?"

"I'll do it. Why don't you –"

Ben halted at the knock on the door. It was late.

Whatever it was, it couldn't be good.

Adam shot him a look, asking if he should get it, but he shook his head. "See Joseph to bed and tell him I will be up later, and then come back down. Oh, and please check in on Hoss for me before you do."

His eldest shot a curious look at the door and then his eyes returned to him. There had been a second rap. More insistent this time.

"Sure thing, Pa," he said and then was gone.