Sorry for the delay. Life has been all consuming lately and my muse ran screaming for the forest, trailing ink tears and despair behind her. I had to get Vin to track her for me and then have Ezra coax her back. Thanks, boys.

Chris was dreaming of his home in Indiana, nose twitching as he ran barefoot over the lawn to the back door of their homestead and bursting into the warm kitchen, the air redolent with the smells of roasting meat and baked goods. His grandfather sat in the corner smoking his pipe and reading the paper, with his ancient dog, Rusty, sleeping at his feet; the dog uttering little yips and jerking his paws as he dreamed happy doggy dreams. Chris' little sister, Mabel, was lying in her crib near his grandfather, gurgling happily and waving her moist, little fists in the air as she kicked her feet gaily. His mother was removing a tray of oatmeal cookies from the oven and turned to him when he entered, smiling and calling his name.

"Christopher. Christopher dear, wake up now," urged Margaret, patting her son's chest with one hand and raking the fingers of the other through his flaxen hair. Fondly gazing at the sweet smile on Chris' face, she marvelled at how he could still look like a little boy – her little boy - even after all this time; the tragedies and harshness of his life stripped away by sleep.

Unwilling to be dragged from his pleasant dream, Chris frowned and pouted a little before mumbling querulously, still half asleep, "Momma?"

Chuckling at the face Chris had pulled, which reminded her of times past when she'd had to wake her son for school, Margaret smoothed out the wrinkled brow with her thumb and ordered, "Yes, it's me, CJ. Now wake up for Momma. It's time to eat."

Buck and JD stopped and stared agape at the tender interaction between their usually grumpy friend and his formidable mother. The spoon loaded with rich beef broth that JD had been in the process of moving to Buck's mouth dripped onto the cloth under the older man's chin unnoticed.

Vin's one functioning eye – the other was swollen shut from where his head had impacted with the frozen ground when he fell from his horse – blinked rapidly, as his mind filled with his few memories of his own mother. Swallowing hard, he smiled gratefully at Ezra when the gambler distracted him with another one of Adelia's light, fluffy biscuits, which Ezra had buttered and topped with some of Ms Nettie's delectable peach preserves.

Josiah had left earlier to check on the town and Nathan in particular, sensing that the healer could do with a little company who wasn't sick or wanting to discuss the sick. Besides, he'd missed the younger man and was looking forward to one of their regular nights of chess and debate. He'd promised Ezra that he would suggest Nathan take a trip out to the Seminole Village the next day, staying overnight before returning. He'd blushed a little at Ezra's knowing smile, when the gambler had asked the ex-preacher to see Mrs Potter about collecting the supplies they used in barter with the villagers, for the healing plants they collected and dried. The costs of the supplies were covered by the gambler, of course, and he always ensured that there were more than enough for the exchange. Any surplus was always left with the excuse that it was easier to leave it than haul it back to town. Kojay just smiled knowingly at Nathan and asked him to pass on his thanks to the squirrelly gambler.

After running back and forth to make sure that the men had all the hot food that they could possibly want, Adelia had huffed with satisfaction before hugging an unsuspecting Ezra tightly to her bosom for a few moments, before gathering up a basket of dirty linens whilst announcing that she was going to take it to the laundry. Those left alert and observing chuckled to themselves as they watched a flustered, red-faced Ezra try to straighten his hair and catch his breath after nearly suffocating in his old friend's ample cleavage.

Nose twitching again at the smell of real food, Chris awoke reluctantly, opened his eyes and saw his mother smiling back at him from where she was leaning on the side of his bed. Taking in the new lines and wrinkles on her face and the grey in her hair, he decided that his mother was aging well. Tentatively meeting her eyes, expecting to see disapproval and disappointment, Chris was amazed and relieved to find only love and acceptance shining from the achingly familiar eyes. Chest tight from emotion, rather than illness, his own eyes filled with tears and he was overcome with the need to hug his Mom. Struggling to sit up, he gratefully accepted his mother's help and then surrendered to her warm embrace, wrapping his own long arms around her fiercely. Burying his face in his Mom's shoulder, he breathed in as deeply as he could; inhaling the long remembered scent that had always meant safety and love.

Seeing Chris feebly trying to sit up, Margaret hastened to help him and was surprised when her grown son burrowed into her arms as though he were still a child. Once she had her arms around him though, it seemed only natural to clasp him to her chest and hold him tight, regardless of the fact that he was an adult now. Motherly love bloomed in her heart, as memories of all the times she'd held her boy over the course of his life flooded through her mind. She held him close for all the times in the past that she'd wanted to hold him and protect him from a cruel world, but couldn't due to the distance and circumstances. Holding his head to her shoulder, she stroked his hair tenderly before pressing a kiss to his blond locks and laying her cheek there.

Buck had come to his senses and nudged JD to indicate that the kid should give the Larabees some semblance of privacy by resuming the spoon-feeding and stop gawping at the reunion beside them. As much as Buck hated being fed like a helpless child, he had acknowledged quite quickly that his shaking hands weren't going to get much soup into his mouth and he was hungry for the first time in a week. Watching JD avidly, he waited for the next mouthful of the delicious broth left by Miss Adelia. If this sat well, Ezra had promised him one of the light, fluffy biscuits.

"I am so sorry about Sarah and Adam, CJ. So very sorry. I felt like I knew them from Sarah's letters and the photograph she sent and when we got Buck's letter telling us…" whispered Margaret, pausing to swallow her tears and hold her boy just that little bit tighter, determined to say what she had wanted to say years ago. "When I read Buck's letter, my heart was torn apart. I wanted to come to you then, but you'd moved and no-one knew where you'd gone. I'm sorry I couldn't be with you when you needed me the most. But you've always been in my heart and my thoughts though, my son. Always in my prayers."

The old grief rose up in Chris at his mother's words but, unlike before his cathartic breakdown in the jail with Ezra, he didn't mask it with anger. Tears fell as he nodded against his mother's shoulder and one; broken word was wrenched from his constricted throat.

"Mom!"

Everyone present heard the underlying meanings contained within that tiny word, issued plaintively by a bereft son to the first woman to capture his heart and hold it forever.

Mom – it hurts.

Mom – make it better.

Mom – help me.

Mom – don't let me go.

Mom – please.

Heart breaking at the plea from her son, Margaret started rocking with Chris still in her arms, murmuring nonsense words as she tried to wrap herself around him protectively. Chris had always been such a strong child, in both will and deed. She couldn't remember a time when he'd cried in her arms like this; not since he was a toddler and his grandfather's old dog had died. Her husband had found them, as they sat cuddled together on the old swing seat on the porch, and told her sternly not to coddle the boy. Margaret still remembered how her sweet son had stiffened in her arms, drawing away from her as James had lectured her against turning the boy into a sissy. How Chris had wiped his eyes roughly on his sleeves, when he'd heard James ranting about how men don't cry. How her baby boy had slid off her lap and stood tall in front of his father, distracting the man from his diatribe with a childish version of the now infamous Larabee glare. At the grand old age of four years old, Christopher had moved from babyhood to childhood and learned to repress his emotions, but not to protect himself. No, her baby boy had learned to hide his own pain in an effort to prevent hers.

Vin and Ezra sat on the other side of the room, watching their older brother connect with his mother with hearts full of sympathy and a touch of envy. Memories of times when his mothers, both birth and adoptive, would rock him to soothe away tears flooded back to Vin. Sniffling as his eyes prickled, he turned to Ezra with glistening blue eyes, finding that the gambler was looking just as wistful as he felt.

Sensing Vin's observation, the Southerner turned to find Vin's soulful, sky blue eyes staring at him imploringly. Correctly interpreting Vin's look, Ezra helped his stiff and sore brother turn onto his side, propping pillows in here and there to help his battered body lie more comfortable. Making sure that Vin was warm enough by adding another blanket to the pile of blankets and quilts already over his thin-blooded brother, Ezra then resumed his seat beside the bed and reached for the book that he'd been reading.

Having finished the broth and had his chin mopped, Buck had promptly snuggled back down in the comfortable bed and fallen asleep thinking how much nicer recuperation was at the new clinic. The old clinic's bed had sagged and there had been a peculiar odour about it that had never gone away, despite changing the mattress stuffing and washing the cover repeatedly. Of course, it was warmer in the new clinic too, with no drafts blowing through walls and floorboards and the heat flowing from the stove in the corner. The bedding was laundered regularly and dried in the open air with bunches of lavender, giving them a sweet smell. Yessir, as unpleasant as being ill was, it made a man feel much better to be cuddled up in a nice bed. Smirking, Buck's mind drifted to other nice beds he'd experienced and the bedmates associated with them.

JD sat in the very comfortable chair next to Buck's slumbering form, watching the big man's moustache twitch with undoubtedly salacious thoughts and drowsily listened to the dulcet tones of the Southerner as he read to Vin. Careful not to be obvious, he darted his eyes towards Chris and his mother who remained locked in each other's arms, reconnecting and renewing the mother/son bond. Unable to hear actual words, he could hear Margaret Larabee's whispers and Chris' occasional rumbling responses. Sniffing back tears as memories of his own Mama came to mind, JD tried to focus on the story.

Turning his face to the side, Chris coughed and mumbled, "I'm sorry, Mom."

Rubbing her son's broad back, Margaret nodded her thanks to Ezra who had appeared with a small blanket to wrap around Chris as he continued to lean into her. At his faint apology, she frowned a little and asked softly, "Sorry for what, son?"

Bracing himself to be chastised and possibly rejected, the sick man took a breath and whispered, "I ain't exactly been a man to be proud of the last few years, Mom. I… I been drunk more'n I've been sober n' I'm a mean drunk. I've k-killed more'n my share of men. Some I was hired to kill, some called me out, but some… some just got in the way of my next drink or looked at me wrong when I was hungover. I'd see men with their wives and sons and j… just saw red. Why did they get to keep their families when I'd had mine taken away? I was angry, Mom. I was real angry for a long while. I hurt Buck, Mom. With my fists and my words. I…"

Tears welled in Margaret's eyes as her boy confessed his sins to her. The rumours of the gunslinger Chris Larabee were obviously true, or at least based on fact. Anger swelled in her chest as she thought of her husband's hurtful lesson to the boy and how Chris had been denied the tools of coping with his grief by the same lesson. If only he had felt free to rage and cry, purging the grief at the time of his loss, he may not have so many souls on his conscience. When Chris choked to a stop and lay against her in silence, trembling violently, she realised he was waiting for her to condemn him.

"CJ, I can't say that I'm not disappointed by your actions," started Margaret, gathering Chris into a tighter embrace when he started to pull away from her, "But I'm your Momma. Nothing you do or say will ever make me love you less. I just thank the Lord that you've found your way through and ended up here, safe and whole in my arms. For a lot of years, I thought you may have joined Sarah and Adam."

"I wanted to. God, how I wanted to. But Buck was always there to stop me doing something too stupid. He wouldn't let me go, Mom. I'd have been dead a hundred times over if it weren't for Buck."

Gazing over at the sleeping form of Buck Wilmington, Margaret sent up a fervent prayer of thanks to God and Buck's Ma for the big man's presence in her son's life.

"I always knew there was a good heart beating under that rascal's hairy chest," chuckled Margaret, dropping a kiss on Chris' head. Overwhelmed at the thought of how close she'd come to never having him in her arms again, she crooned, "My boy. My precious boy."

More tears fell at his mother's words, soaking into the already drenched shawl beneath Chris' cheek.