The hot shower did wonders. Ezra closed his eyes in bliss, felt his muscles unlock, a shiver running through him. He was so very glad that the generators were running, that water was heated and electricity was functional. The water sluiced off him, taking with it the smell of antibiotics and the basic cleaning products he had had to use in the ERSS. He could finally shave with his own razor, not a cheap replacement, and he felt so much better afterwards.
Clean, shaven, hair washed and dried, and fitting clothes he had selected himself. He had thrown on casual clothes, not his usual outfit, though. While even his casual clothes cost more than anyone else's whole outfit was secondary. It was simply Ezra. He liked dressing well. The clothes were also something of an armor, a way to distract from everything else, even if they sometimes drew attention.
Leaving his room, nodding a greeting at the citizens of Four Corners busily cleaning up their town, he headed over to the ruin of the ancient chapel just outside town, looking for the elusive seventh pack member. As he stepped onto the property, Ezra took in the neglected building that had been erected by one of the first brave settlers. It had fallen into decline when those people had left, the Territory too unforgiving, too unpredictable, their hopes crumbling like the walls of this little chapel, until nothing had remained but jagged teeth and wooden beams that were still rotting away.
It looked almost picturesque, strangely aesthetic, with its missing roof, the elegant archway that allowed entrance into the former building, and the afternoon sun coming through the only window still in existence, though the glass panes had broken and fallen out long ago.
The back had a single chamber that Josiah used to sleep in when he didn't want to return to town, but it was more than simplistic. An ancient garden lay next to the chapel, a few crippled trees all that remained of what must have been an orchard once. Everything was overgrown, a tangled mess of weeds and what might have been berry bushes.
Ezra wouldn't last a day out here if he didn't have to, without the amenities of modern civilization. Running water, power, access to warmth and food… No, he didn't like roughing it if he didn't have to. Ezra had been raised in the big cities, away from the Territories that were neither wilderness nor civilization. They were a frontier, a place where technology met nature, where Man was on his own, where people tried to make a new life. Maude had always eyed the Territories with disgust, seeing riper pickings in the cities. When Ezra had finally managed to separate himself from Maude Standish, he had chosen the one direction she might never follow.
She had tried.
Once.
Running into the immovable object that was Chris Larabee, who had had no tolerance for the con woman and her trickeries. It had been almost refreshing to see her off-balance for a while.
So here he was, stuck between two very different worlds, and very much at home. He wouldn't leave this Territory ever again. As long as the pack was here, as long as Chris was here, so would Ezra. And the pack needed to be together, whole and healthy. That meant Josiah, too.
"Mr. Sanchez?" he now called out, senses picking up tiny noises, barely perceptible shifts in the dark of the room.
He knew the man was here. Pack instinct told him. It also told him he was an idiot to confront the man out here, that it could turn out the same way as last time, but Ezra didn't plan on letting Chris get to Sanchez first.
It had been a mistake.
They had all made mistakes in the past, some less violent, some with a lot more consequences for the rest of them.
Squelching old guilt that he would always carry, he knew, Ezra settled down on the only wooden bench in the ruin.
"I'm not leaving," he said conversationally, aware that Josiah would be able to hear him.
"You should," came a rumble from the back chamber. "Go away."
There was no heat to it. Ezra heard only the pain and the guilt. Self-flagellation. He sighed.
"I don't hate you, Mr. Sanchez." He stopped. "Josiah," he corrected himself. "I made a mistake following you, aware you were inebriated. You were hardly the master of your own faculties."
"I attacked pack."
"You lashed out at whatever you saw that moment. I hardly think you wanted to hurt me." Ezra tilted his head, looking into the darkness in the back, seeing a shape move. "While I know I bring out the worst in many, I fail to believe you would resort to such violence. You are a man of words, Josiah, not claws."
"You don't know me, Ezra."
"I believe I do. We all know each other. We are pack. As much as it would have shocked me two years ago, maybe even have severely upset me a year later, I can't refute the evidence." Ezra smiled slightly. "I was overrun by this… sense of belonging, Mr. Sanchez. Being pack is something I… I'm not used to."
Josiah moved slowly into the light, the large figure hunched over. He was a pale shadow of himself, disheveled, eyes brimming with self-hatred.
"It means acceptance," Ezra went on. "Of ever member. As they are. Caring." He almost laughed bitterly. "Not something I was used to either. You made me see that it isn't bad."
"Pack doesn't attack pack."
He inclined his head. "That much is true. Pack also doesn't turn away from pack." Ezra swallowed back a surge of his own doubt. He had yet to meet the others under less dire circumstances. The others who now knew. Who might just do that; turn away.
"The alpha won't see it that way."
"He will. He might already do. We… talked. About a lot."
Josiah gazed at him, blinking almost owlishly. For someone who could be a menacing, hulking giant of a bear, he now looked more like a beaten stray about to lose his only home. It pained Ezra to see the otherwise so strong and sure man like that. He knew what making mistakes meant, to fear abandonment. It was something he had always been afraid when working with his mother: to disappoint her, to lose her respect, her love. It had only come later that the crossbreed had realized that whatever Maude felt for him, it wasn't love.
He pushed those particular thoughts away.
"The whole mess brought some… things to light that I had wanted to keep from all of you. I might have managed to do so for a little longer, but it came out now, at a most inopportune time."
The other man looked confused.
"One might say it revealed an obfuscation. Not a lie."
Josiah's eyes sharpened a little and he seemed to straighten more. "You never lie to Chris," was the calm statement.
"Yes. Like I never would lie to any single one of you outright. So you know that I do not lie when I say I won't press charges. There will be no consequences."
"Ezra…"
A raised hand stopped him. "I have kept things from you. We all do from each other, personal, private, intimate things. They tend to come out at times, under strenuous circumstances. About who one is." He inhaled deeply, ignoring the sore muscles still twinging a little. "Some people might see your attack on my person as… justified, knowing what I am, Mr. Sanchez."
"Wha…?"
He again raised a hand and silenced the bigger man. Drawing a deep breath, Ezra steadied his nerves.
"I am a crossbreed," he finally said, voice even, green eyes meeting blue ones. "The shifter form you know me isn't my first form either, nor my color. That's what I hid."
Josiah exhaled sharply. "The winged fox!" he managed, sitting down on a pile of rubble and sand like the shock had cut the strings that had kept him upright. "I didn't imagine it! It wasn't the alcohol!"
"No, my dear sir, it wasn't." Ezra looked at his clenched hands. "It was me. All me. My first and very much true form. It was my first shift, my true self. Wings on a land mammal. An aberration and abnormal."
"You are not an aberration!" Josiah pushed himself up, staggering over to him. "You have a gift! We all share a gift! You are Larabee pack!"
Ezra laughed a little. "My upbringing begs to differ."
It got him a very bear-like growl and Sanchez towered before him. Their eyes met and Ezra saw more clarity in them than before, an understanding, coupled with still-present guilt and shame, but also fierce protectiveness.
"You are not evil, son. You never were. You have an incredible gift."
"A curse."
"No," was the steady reply. "No curse. Nothing what we are is a cursed existence. People fear what is different. There is nothing to fear. You're not abnormal, Ezra."
"I didn't think acceptance was what I could expect."
Josiah studied him, then the unshaven features cracked into a knowing smile. "Forgiveness was something I couldn't expect."
Ezra looked at him, saw old pain, from far in the past and still so vivid and present even now. He held out a hand.
It was taken and he was suddenly pulled into a hug. A bear hug, so to speak. It didn't last long and his still sore side wasn't all too aggravated, but it cleared something important between them.
A sudden powerful surge had Ezra whirl around, placing himself almost unconsciously between Josiah and the alpha who was leaning against the empty archway.
Then again, maybe it wasn't such an unconscious move.
Chris, dressed in his habitual black, watched them from sharp eyes.
Wolf eyes.
Very yellow wolf eyes.
There were no imminent signs of attack, no aggression, nothing at all. He was as neutral as could be and still, it had Ezra on his toes and ready to intervene. He felt the wildness as sharply as he had back in the shelter. He could almost touch that energy, the Fenris, who was on the prowl.
Good lord, ran through his head as realization hit him. He's posturing. Posturing!
Green eyes narrowed dangerously as part of him took offense and decided to take charge to diffuse the situation before it could get ugly. He really didn't want to see a Fenris go at a bear of Josiah's size. Sanchez probably wouldn't shift anyway, not even to defend himself. The man was a close to twelve feet tall bear, but right now he looked barely his human size.
Ezra held the wolfish eyes, hands clenched at his side, shoulders squared. Facing off against the leader of the pack was never a wise move, but Ezra didn't give a damn about that right now. He had told Chris he would be Josiah's advocate and defense. He wouldn't let anyone judge the man on his drunken actions. He had been the one hurt; he would be the one to pass his own judgement, which he already had.
No, he wasn't Vin. He was very clear on his position, that he wasn't second to Chris, wasn't someone to sway the alpha from his course of action, but he would damn well make sure that nothing happened here today.
Josiah rose behind him, radiating no threat and no aggression. "Alpha," he rumbled before Ezra could get a word out.
Chris studied him. No muscle in his face moved. Then his eyes rested on the man in front of the bear shifter and his eyebrows rose a fraction. Ezra stared back defiantly, a stubborn set to his jaw, posture stiff and unyielding.
Not aggressive. Not submissive. Just… unyielding.
Silence stretched between them, the tension thick enough for even a non-shifter and non-pack to feel or almost see. Ezra refused to back down, holding his own against the Fenris, as he had done so often in the past years.
"Never again, Josiah," the pack leader finally said, voice gravelly, eyes still shifted.
"Never again," Sanchez promised hoarsely. It was like a solemn oath.
There was another long silence where Chris studied the other man. No judgement in his eyes, still not a muscle moving.
"You didn't recognize your own pack mate."
Josiah gave a soft groan. "I didn't." It was a broken-sounding confession, the guilt heavy in each word.
"Whatever demons you fought, they better be exorcized." There was a silent threat there, laced with a dark promise.
"They are."
Ezra was frozen to his spot, ready to launch into a long, harsh argument for Josiah, be the advocate and voice of reason for is alpha to understand, but finally Chris exhaled.
Josiah's tense frame relaxed and Ezra found himself mirroring it. A large hand squeezed the narrow shoulder of the crossbreed, relaying more than words, then Sanchez walked out into his unruly wilderness of a garden.
Ezra watched him, torn between following and leaving the man to decide for himself when it was time to rejoin the pack, partake in a few rounds of a game of cards, share something non-alcoholic for a while.
Josiah had made a mistake that had nearly killed one of their own. Ezra had forgiven him. He would make sure the others would, too. And that Josiah would be able to forgive himself in time.
Finally he left the ruin.
Outside, Chris was waiting.
A silent, lean, black figure, eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat.
Larabee fell in step beside him as Ezra headed back toward the town, toward where the rest of the pack was waiting.
"I had to do it," Ezra broke the silence between them as the only noise had been their boots on the hard-packed ground.
Chris said nothing.
"He exorcised a demon and found another one hovering right at his door step. He is pack, Chris."
"Wasn't your job."
"I beg to differ."
It got him a hard, penetrating look. "I'm still alpha."
Ezra stopped and met the shaded eyes, posture stiff. "And I would never challenge you for the position."
"Good."
"My decision had nothing to do with my perceived position within this pack," Ezra went on, voice slightly clipped, eyes harder. "I told you I would speak for Josiah if necessary. I simply decided to speak to him first. The man was tearing himself apart over this and it serves no purpose to let him suffer. As our illustrious leader you also wouldn't have done that, yes. But I'm not afraid of him now, nor will I ever be."
Chris studied him, face unreadable, then closed the distance between them, expression intense, serious.
"Your perceived position, Ezra?" he repeated slowly, each word measured.
Of all the things the man heard... Standish glared at him.
"You position is clear," Larabee went on, voice even.
"Not your second," he agreed coolly.
"Exactly."
Not his second-in-command. Something else. Something… someone else. The unspoken word hung between them and Ezra felt the powerful presence grow even more intense. A lot was said at the moment, just not in any words.
Not Chris Larabee's second-in-command, but someone equally important. With a different kind of power of command. Not that Ezra was trying to get any kind of leadership responsibilities.
"You also told him you are a crossbreed."
Ezra stood ramrod straight, jaws clenched. "Had to be done. Everyone else knows." The very words, out of his own mouth, sent a shiver through him.
Everyone else knew. And he would see those last two men he hadn't faced with that knowledge soon.
Ezra squared his shoulders unconsciously.
Chris met the determined gaze, a small smile forming on his lips. "You're not going to your own execution, Ezra."
"Feels like it."
"No one judges you."
"They always do," was the automatic, knee-jerk reply.
The blond shook his head with a low, kind of frustrated noise, then leaned in and angled his head enough to allow a brief brush of lips against lips.
Ezra blinked, slightly stunned by the very open display of affection again. Despite the past year, all the intimacy exchanged, they had never done anything publically. Not even in front of the pack. There had always been professional distance. The other five knew, but Chris had never seemed comfortable… and Ezra had seen no necessity to give anyone an insight into his personal life.
"Uhm," he managed.
"Something wrong?"
"Uhm. No. Not at all." Great. He was losing all ability to string real words into full sentences.
"C'mon," Chris coaxed and gave him a little shove. "They are your friends. Pack."
And he went. To face the curious looks and questions.
tbc...
