A/N: Hey,y'all. For some reason this chapter was a beast to write but after many rewrites I finally have chapter 3 ready for you. Hope you enjoy and a big "Thank You" to Deana for her proofreading services.
Bret felt a wave of guilt wash over him as he locked eyes with his father. "Pappy," he said, chuckling nervously.
Without a word Beau pushed off the door-frame and slowly went over to the bed. He didn't ask any questions; he didn't have to. It was obvious that Bart wasn't well, and given the fact that both boys smelled of liquor and vomit, there was little question as to why that was. "Bart?" he asked softly, kneeling beside Bret.
Bart slowly lifted his head and peered at his father through watery, red-rimmed eyes. He mumbled something unintelligible before dropping his head again, this time on Beau's shoulder.
Beau sighed. "What were you thinking, boy?"
Bret watched the exchange in silence, unable to shake his guilty feeling. He knew that Bart had made his own decisions about tonight, but he couldn't help but feel that he had somehow failed to take care of his little brother. He felt like he needed to say, well, something. "Pappy, I…."
Beau cut him off with a shake of his head, motioning for the pot when Bart gagged again. Bart was soon hanging over it, retching once more. Bret couldn't help but wince at the sound, it was almost as if Bart's guts were trying to work their way loose, and by the time he was done, he was trembling and sweat had broken out across his face.
Beau set the pot on the floor and gave Bart a moment to rest before he gently pushed him up. "Sit up, son. You need to get out of those clothes."
Bart tried to sit up, but he was still very unsteady in his inebriated state and it took Bret having to hold him up before Beau could get anything done. Once he was supported by Bret, Beau was able to slip off first Bart's jacket, then his shirt. Finding his Henley damp with sweat, Beau started to remove that as well.
"I'm sorry about all this," Bret said quietly, unable to stand the silence any longer.
Beau paused and met his older son's eyes. "Did you buy him the drinks?"
"No, Sir."
"Did you make him drink them?"
"No,"
"Then it's not your fault. He made his choice and now he's paying for it."
Bret smiled slightly. He knew it wasn't his fault, but it was still a relief to know that Pappy didn't blame him; especially since he'd been told his whole life that he was supposed to look out for Bart.
When they had finished getting Bart undressed, Beau let him lie down. As soon as he was down Bart curled up on his side. Judging by his soft groan, his stomach was still cramping, and for several moments he lay with his arms around his middle. When he did relax however, he seemed more at ease than he had since the whole ordeal had started.
Beau shook his head and ran a hand through his graying hair before turning to Bret with a wan smile. "I bet you had a fun ride home."
Bret rolled his eyes. "I won't complain if I don't have to do it again."
"I see you didn't escape unscathed either," Beau said, with a pointed look at Bret's trousers.
Bret looked down at his pants and scoffed. Being wrapped up in taking care of Bart, he'd almost forgotten that he needed to change as well. "It's been an eventful evening," he said.
Beau chuckled. "Go get cleaned up. I can take care of him."
Bret was surprised that Pappy didn't sound nearly as upset as he had first anticipated him being. As a matter of fact, given that Bart was so drunk that he could barely keep himself upright, Pappy seemed remarkably calm. And if Pappy was volunteering to nurse Bart through his vomiting and cramps, then Bret wasn't going to fight him for the job. Feeling confident that Pappy wouldn't kill Bart while he was gone, Bret left to change.
Bret was on his way to his room when he remembered the horses. Before changing, he made a detour outside to see to them. Stripping off their saddles, he gave both animals a quick rubdown and turned them out into the small corral. His responsibility to the mounts taken care of, he was finally able to clean himself up. He took his time changing and washing, but as soon as he was done, he found himself going to check on Bart again.
When he got back to Bart's room, Bret paused at the door, surprised by what he saw. During his absence, Bart had made his way from the bed to the floor, and was now lying with his head in Pappy's lap while Pappy absentmindedly ran his fingers through his younger son's hair. The intimacy of the scene was unusual and Bret couldn't help but smile. Bret didn't doubt his father's love, but Pappy wasn't a man that could easily express that love. The only times that Bart had seen the kind of affection that he was witnessing now, had been in the days immediately following Mama's death and when he and Bart had been sick as children. Seeing one of his boys ill had often brought out gentleness that few would guess Beau Maverick of being capable of. Bret found it oddly comforting to know that Pappy would still give them that gentle care if need be.
"Is he asleep?" Bret asked, coming in and settling down on the floor beside his father.
"Well, he's not quite awake. I'm afraid it won't last long though."
"But he's all right?" Bret was pretty sure that Bart wasn't suffering from anything more than the beginnings of a classic hangover, but it was unsettling to see his little brother like this nonetheless.
Beau breathed a laugh, understanding where Bret was coming from. "He's not going through anything a million fools before him haven't faced. He's in for a rough night, but he'll live." Being one of the aforementioned fools himself, Beau knew what he was talking about.
Bart stirred then. Groaning, he pushed himself up on one elbow, looking decidedly pale.
Beau pulled the porcelain pot over closer to them, knowing what was about to happen. "Bart?" he asked quietly.
"Pa – Pappy, I don't …" Bart trailed off with a pitiful moan. What little color he had left suddenly drained from his face, and Bart made a lunge for the pot as his heaving starting once more. Finishing, again sweaty and shaking, Bart fell back on his father. Grabbing a fistful of Pappy's shirt, Bart turned his face into his father's stomach with what could only be described as a whimper. "Pappy, stop it."
Beau knew that for Bart to make a plea like that, he either had to feel like he was dying, or he didn't know what he was saying. Either way it was hard for him to hear. "I'm sorry, son. I can't do anything," Beau said, rubbing gentle circles on Bart's bare back. Not receiving an answer, Beau wasn't sure if Bart had heard his words or not.
"He's miserable, isn't he?" Bret asked.
Sighing, Beau pushed Bart's sweat dampened hair off his forehead. He hated seeing his son like this. He hated him being sick, hated knowing that he was hurting; hated that Bart had brought this on himself. "Unfortunately, yes," he said in reply to Bret's question. Maybe Bart would remember some of this misery next time he was tempted to get a drink…or five or six or however many Bart had actually downed.
"Is this the first time, Bret?" Beau asked. He was hoping that Bart had merely decided to try something new and gotten carried away. He knew only too well how easy it was to do that.
Bret shook his head. "As far as I know. I don't see him every night but when we did meet up he's always seemed fine, he's certainly never been like this before."
"Well, I'm guessing you weren't playing at the Golden Dove tonight."
Bret gave his father an incredulous look. "If the day ever comes that I pick a place like that to play in, I'll just quit and get an honest job."
"I'm glad there's somebody here that listens to me. But you shouldn't even joke about honest work."
Another groan pulled their attention back to Bart. Beau felt Bart tense up, and the fist still gripping his shirt tightened. Beau's hand moved toward the pot just in case in was needed, but it wasn't long before Bart relaxed again. Apparently it had only been a cramp. "Well," he turned to Bret. "As you like to be a bit more civilized in your work, how'd you find him tonight?"
"Williams told me about him. I saw him on the way home."
"Abner?"
"Yeah. He suggested I look in on him. He said that Bart might need some help."
Beau looked down at Bart, who was once again dozing. He'd have to thank the blacksmith the next time he saw him. Or maybe he wouldn't bring it up. Either way he was grateful that the man had taken the incentive to look after Bart tonight.
Bret sighed and leaned his head back on the bed. "I sure would like to know what he's been thinking lately."
"So would I. And I intend to get some answers tomorrow."
"Sounds serious," Bret said, with a smirk. He knew how much Pappy disliked anything being too serious.
Beau matched his son's smirk. "I suppose so." Looking back to Bart, he blew out a breath. "Bret, I want you to do me a favor. Find something to do in the morning, something to get you out of the house. I want to talk to him, and I'd like it to just be the two of us." Bret had been correct; whatever happened come morning would be serious, much more serious than Beau cared for, and he couldn't help but think that it would be a lot easier if he only had to talk to one of them.
"Yes, sir," Bret answered with a grim smile. He knew both the look in Pappy's eye and the tone of his voice. He didn't envy Bart the talk that he was going to get.
"Why don't you go on to bed?" Beau said, lighting his tone, trying to shake off the somberness that had settled over the room. "There's nothing else you can do. He's pretty quiet now anyway."
"All right." Bret wasn't sure if Pappy was hinting at him to leave or merely making a suggestion, but he agreed anyway. "Night," he said, getting to his feet.
"G'night, Son."
Sometime after Bret left, Bart finally fell asleep. Not the restless dozing that he'd done in between his meetings with the chamber pot, but actual sleep. On the one hand, Beau was relieved that Bart was getting some actual rest; on the other, they were still in the floor. He didn't particularly like the thought of having to wake Bart up, but his back was starting to remind him that he wasn't as young as he had once been, and he didn't want to spend any more time than he had to in his current position.
Reluctantly, he gave Bart's shoulder a gentle shake. "Bart?"
"Mmm."
"Let's go to bed." Bart mumbled something in reply. "Bart." Beau shook him a little harder.
"Wha?"
Beau smiled. "Get in the bed."
Bart groggily pushed himself up. With his father's help he literally crawled into the bed and was asleep again almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
Beau straightened with a grunt, stretching the muscles in his back. For a moment he just stood over Bart, watching him.
Beau had never admitted it to anyone, but he'd been scared to death when he'd been windowed. The thought of being left alone to try to raise two young boys had been one that had shaken him to his very core. He knew that he'd made his mistakes, a few of the less agreeable women in town had on occasion taken it upon themselves to tell him all about them, but he'd honestly done the best he could. Granted, their upbringing had been a little unconventional and perhaps he'd been a bit lax with discipline, but he was proud of his boys. Personally, he'd thought that they'd both grown into fine young men, and while they both possessed a strong Maverick personality, they were as different as night and day.
Beau was well aware of the fact that Bret was just like him; at times he was too much like him. Like himself, Bret was in no way a fighter. He would fight when there was no other choice, but it was always a last resort, and even then he did his best to keep things from getting overly physical. Mostly he was satisfied to take the path of least resistance. Even as a child, Bret hadn't been one that questioned much, instead, he'd accepted almost everything at face value. Bart was different. While Bart would just as soon sit back and mind his own business as well, he was more likely to question, more likely to resist, and more likely push back than either him or Bret.
Sighing heavily, Beau rubbed his hands over his face. He was dreading the conversation that the morning would bring. He'd always hoped that it was a talk that he would never have to have, although part of him had known sooner or later that it would come up, and he'd always known that when it did come up; it would be because of Bart.
Leaning down, he brushed Bart's hair back. "Why didn't you just listen to me, son?" he mumbled, knowing full well that Bart couldn't hear him.
He didn't anticipate Bart waking again till morning. His sleep would likely be restless, but he would be fine. Fine enough that Beau couldn't think of one good reason why he shouldn't go to his own room and try to get some sleep of his own, but he didn't go. Instead, he retrieved a straight-backed chair from the other side of the room and set it by the bed. Maybe it was seeing Bart so miserable before, or maybe it was his son's pitiful plea earlier, but whatever it was, Beau just wasn't ready to leave him alone yet.
Stretching his legs out in front of him and crossing his arms, Beau settled in for the night.
