Opiates and Predatory Nurses
AN: Another little bur that wouldn't leave me alone until I put it to paper.
Slowly getting back into writing. It's been a long, slow process but I'm making progress.
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The first thing Billy was aware of was a loud snore to his right. Deep, rattling, neverending, in a repeating pattern that would drive a person insane. The kind of snore that would suck curtains off a window. He groaned, throwing off the last vestiges of sleep, mumbling obscenities in his native language, and tried to rub his eyes to get the sleep out.
And promptly doubled his cursing.
Spitting words that would have had his momma wash his mouth out with soap, he winced, clutching his left shoulder.
"Stop moving. You'll rip your stitches," came a familiar voice on his left.
Billy's gaze focused on Josh Faraday, who was sitting up in his own bed a couple feet away. He was reaching for a water glass on the small table between their beds. By the winces he made, he had quite a few stitches himself.
"How…?" Billy started but his words were cut off when two women swept into the room, skirts billowing about their legs as one tittered to Faraday, the other hurrying to Billy. He narrowed his eyes at the strange woman smiling at him. Her smile was… disconcerting.
"Who are you?" he blurted gruffly, hackles rising immediately.
"Maribelle Withers," she beamed, showing a bright smile of crooked teeth. "I've been looking after ya since you won the battle of Rose Creek."
Billy's gaze narrowed. He couldn't remember the battle. Barely remembered getting shot. There were flashes of light, pain, and then his world turned upside down. Details were fuzzy. As was his head. He was going to vomit from the pounding in his skull. He had his fair share of hangovers, (every one of them Goodnight's fault,) but none of them compared to his current situation, cotton in mouth, acid eating his throat, a drum beating inside his skull, and suffocating pressure around his chest.
"Shush now, darling," Maribelle said, bolding sitting on the edge of his bed. (The nerve!) She withdrew a small bottle of clear liquid and a spoon from a hidden pocket on her skirt. Measuring a dose, she explained, "You need another dose of medicine."
"Medi.." Billy tried to ask, but she slipped the spoon in his mouth before he could stop her. He gulped, gagging on the vile liquid burning its way down his throat. Choking and sputtering, he attempted to swat at her, but pain drew him up short. By the time he caught his breath, she was delicately caressing his brow. He intended to tell her off, the words percolating in his mind and bubbling to his tongue, but when he spoke, his vocal cords offered only a few broken syllables.
"Couple more days and you'll be right as rain, darling," she said, voice becoming distant and tinny.
Billy frowned, wondering what the hell she was talking about, but darkness rose up in his vision. His last thought before unconsciousness claimed him was she had knocked him out with her 'medicine.'
His vow of retribution followed him into oblivion.
-o-
When Billy awoke some time later, it was to find Faraday sitting nearby on the edge of his bed, blue eyes wide and skittish, staring expectantly at Billy.
"Pssst!" Faraday hissed, eyes darting to the door, then back to Billy. "Wake up already!"
"'m wake," Billy muttered, wondering who put an entire cotton field in his mouth. He was so dry, he was sure he would cough out a desert. Groggily, he lulled his head, searching for something to drink.
Faraday grunted as he got up, took a couple steps toward Billy, nearly stumbled on top of the assassin, and hissed curse words as he sat heavily on Billy's bed. With great effort he took the small glass of water on the bed side table and offered to Billy, helping him to drink, though most of the water ended up on the pillow and bed.
As Billy drank, Faraday gave a running commentary on their situation.
Battle was won. (Hooray!)
Town was saved. (Another Hooray!)
Over a dozen local casualties. (Sad, but not entirely unexpected, but a lot better than their original estimation.)
Bogue and his men were dead and deposited in a ravine, stripped and left for the animals and birds to dine on. (Billy hummed in approval around a mouthful of water.)
Sam, Red, and Vasquez escaped serious injury and had ridden out immediately after Bogue was dead, (shot by Emma Cullen herself,) (Billy approved of that as well,) as Sam was eager to alert local law enforcement of the battle at Rose Creek. Sam guessed there was some sort of paperwork that had to be done, mostly because Bogue was a rich man with extensive reach and deep pockets, and Sam wanted to make sure Rose Creek didn't suffer the vengeance of fools.
Jack was injured but recovering, his animal hide clothing and thick skin saving him from what could have been a fatal wound. He had taken a shine to Leni, the widow who ran the local grocery store, and was convalescing in her home above the store.
Faraday sustained two bullet wounds in the final moments of battle as he ran (quite heroically) to the hidden plunger at the base of the windmill. According to Faraday's recollection, as his consciousness faded, his heroic will to save the town and its people gave him the strength to depress the plunger and blow the single string of dynamite along the ridge, thus destroying the gatling gun and most of the men beside it. His last memory was draping himself (dramatically) over the plunger, ensuring his weight would depress the bar and end the threat, thus giving the townsfolk a chance to survive.
A handful of men by the gatling gun survived, but they were quickly dealt with while Faraday was taken to the hospital as a celebrated hero and given the doctor's full attention and best medical care.
Billy rolled his eyes. Honestly, Faraday could rival Goody when it came to spinning a yarn or patting themselves on the back.
Then there was Goodnight. Taking two bullets in the leg, one in the shoulder, which knocked him off kilter and slammed his face into the church bell, (Faraday swore he heard the voice of God thundering when Goody's head bounced off the bell with a resounding bong,) thus knocking him cold for the rest of the battle.
Goodnight was currently sleeping in a bed on Billy's right. Billy grimaced as he partially rolled over, confirming his best friend still lived.
"You need to help me get Goody up," Faraday said, setting aside the water glass and hovering over Billy with look of what Billy could only describe as pure terror. "The sooner we get out of Rose Creek, the better!"
"What? Why? What's going on?" Billy asked, stomach lurching with the thought of the townsfolk turning on the heroes because of their prejudices.
Wouldn't be the first time Billy had to hastily escape the ignorance of locals. Billy glanced to the motionless (and thankfully no longer snoring) Goodnight. With their injuries, they were vulnerable. Despite being so welcomed at the beginning, Billy's fears roared to life. When one was accustomed to experiencing the worst in humanity, vigilance was second nature. He had let down his guard, enjoying the camaraderie and acceptance of those around him. He should have known it wouldn't last. Soon as people got what they wanted, their true nature resurfaced.
Well, if the town wanted Billy gone, he couldn't (and wouldn't) leave Goody behind. It may not be safe to travel, but if the townsfolk were anything like past experiences, he and Goody would have to risk it.
Billy tried to move but stopped short, groaning and clutching his bandaged shoulder. Faraday grasped Billy's good arm, and began tugging on him in an attempt to get him upright. Billy glowered, gritting his teeth through the pain as his damaged shoulder was jostled.
"Hurry up!" Faraday hissed. "We have to get away from the women!"
Billy paused, thinking he misheard. Get away from the women? What? Why would the women be a threat? If the town wasn't rioting with their prejudices, what was the real threat? And why was Faraday only concerned with women?
"What?" Billy asked, as Faraday helped him into a sitting position.
He was in too much pain to put up with Faraday's foolishness. If Faraday did something to piss off the women in Rose Creek, well, he was on his own. Billy was only loyal to Goody.
All Billy wanted to do was rest and recover. He hated being injured and helpless. Bullet wounds were the worst. Namely because it was hard to find a doctor to render assistance to a 'foreigner.' Apparently, compassion was measured by skin color.
Food and sleep were what Billy needed. Not Faraday's paranoia. (And afraid of women, at that!) Goodnight was bad enough. Add Faraday and it was a recipe for one unhappy, volatile assassin with a gimpy throwing arm.
"Our 'nurses,'" Faraday clarified, wild eyes darting to the doorway as if expecting the devil to march through it. "They're crazy!"
"They aren't the only ones," Billy added, grunting from Faraday's manhandling. Billy wanted to hit the crazy gambler (he'd be a good match for a crazy woman) but his injury prevented him from warding off Faraday's antics.
"Stop!" Billy growled. When Faraday gave a forceful tug on Billy's good arm, causing Billy's stitches to smart, he repeated himself. "STOP!"
"Shhhh!" Faraday admonished, hand going over Billy's mouth to muffle his voice. "Don't draw their attention."
Billy's dark eyes became reflections of the abyss. His hand twitched, itching for one of his knives. He felt naked and defenseless without his knives. They were a part of him. Just like a limb. A sharp limb, forged of steel. Their current location was a mystery, but he had faith they weren't far away. No one would be dumb enough to steal the assassins' weapons.
Faraday's hand fell away. He leaned toward Billy, ignoring the danger mirroring his reflection, and whispered, "If your big mouth gets them up here, I'll smother you in your sleep!"
Wow. Ballsy.
Billy's eyes went wide in disbelief. Took a lot of guts (and no brains) to speak to him like that. Might as well sign your own death warrant.
Faraday cocked his head, obviously listening for sounds of approaching steps. Hearing nothing, he gestured to Goodnight. "We need to get Goody up. Convince him to escape."
Curiosity peaked, as Billy didn't perceive a real threat by the townsfolk, he asked, "Why?"
"These women," Faraday shook his head, "they think we're heroes."
"We are," Billy confirmed. He may not remember much of the battle, but since the seven gunslingers survived and all their enemies were dead, rotting in a ravine, Billy called that a win. Heroic even. Faraday's own recollection of the battle even confirmed the testament.
"You don't understand," Faraday whined, breath hot and stale in Billy's face. "They're a little too happy to nurse us to health."
"Meaning?" Billy asked, turning his head to get fresher air, as Faraday's breath could put down a skunk.
"With a lot of their menfolk dead and the rest cowards, the women are focusing on us," Faraday said. When he saw the blank stare of a clueless assassin, he explained, "Lot of single women. Needing a husband. Wanting a strong man to look out for them. And here we are. Heroes. Unattached. Proving ourselves strong and courageous."
Understanding lit up Billy's features.
"Fuck," he breathed.
Faraday would have winced at the word, but merely nodded. "Exactly! And the 'nurses' here aren't really nursing us to health." Faraday gestured to Billy's body. "They staked their claim, getting first dibs on the heroes!"
Billy scoffed, using his good hand to wave off Faraday's declaration. "Please! White women don't like me."
"Oh, these do!" Faraday corrected instantly. "Don't believe me," he nodded to Billy's torso, "take a peek under your blanket."
Frowning, Billy did as suggested, and instantly wished he hadn't!
He thought he was naked and vulnerable without his knives! Well, now he knew why he felt that way. When he lifted the blanket, he wasn't wearing a stitch of clothing. Oh, the horror! The violation! The…twisted, sickness of it all!
Dropping the blanket over his nakedness, he stared wildly at Faraday. "We have to get out of here!"
"That's what I've been trying to tell ya!" Faraday huffed. "They dosed us with Laudanum and pampered us, but what they're really doing is getting us ready for the altar! Like fattening up a turkey before Christmas dinner! Only, they want us healthy and ready to marry them to show our appreciation!"
Billy sputtered, flabbergasted beyond words, in Joseon or English.
Wanting to drive his point home, and make Billy aware exactly how invasive these 'nurses' had been, he added, "Your nurse bathes you every day."
Billy was beyond incensed.
There came the delicate steps of a lady, but as soon as she appeared in the doorway, Billy's temper flared. Oh, it was… Mary… Mary something. She was the one that shoved 'medicine' down his throat every time he woke up. He growled and swore, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain, and grasped the water glass, hurling it across the room. It smashed on the wall near the woman's head. She shrieked, clutching her bosom, which was boldly displayed with a low cut shirt, and skittered back the way she came.
Billy's words thundered after her, but they were in Joseon and she wasn't fluent. She got the gist though. There was a chance her skirt was on fire from the sermon he preached. He swore never to hurt a woman, but there was only so much a man could take.
Billy's yelling roused Goodnight, who moaned, extracting a hand to wave airily.
"Quiet down, Billy," Goodnight muttered sleepily. "I'm still sleeping."
"Goody!" Faraday said, hurrying to Goodnight. "Get your ass up, man! We gotta get outta here!"
"Mffppt! Stop yelling. You're giving me a headache." Goodnight mumbled, blinking slowly at the Faraday sized glob in his vision.
"I'll give you more than that if you don't get your worthless bones out of that bed!" Faraday barked. His bravado was returning. Billy's unadulterated tirade bolstered the gamblers resolve. "Me and Billy's getting outta here!"
Goodnight huffed, put out with the abrupt wake up call and the lack of respect of his comrades. He tried to get up but barked in pain as his stitched shoulder and leg protested mobility.
"Feels like I tangled with a gator!" he groused, doubling his hissing as Faraday got a hold under his good arm and roughly yanked him into a sitting position. "Please tell me there is good reason for waking a wounded man who deserves his rest with caterwauling to raise the dead?"
"We're leaving!" Billy said, finally able to balance himself on the edge of his bed. It took great effort. And swearing. And strong fortitude to keep from succumbing to the lingering after affects of injury compounded with laudanum. But he was determined!
Goodnight nearly vomited. The world was spinning. He had cotton in his mouth. He was wrapped in gator teeth and nettles, every inch of his shoulder and leg biting and stinging, and daggers piercing his head, distorting his vision. He just wanted to lie down and enjoy his recovery. He earned it. Right? Nothing could persuade him to leave his sick bed and deal with the foolishness of his two friends. With Faraday, he expected nothing less with the flighty, egotistical, loudmouth gambler. But Billy? He thought him better than joining in Faraday's lunacy.
Goodnight's drug clouded mind cleared, giving him the chance to take in his surroundings more fully. Faraday was wearing plain linen, dingy breeches, more like an undergarment than actual pants. His upper body was mummified in bandages, two reddish marks indicating his battle wounds.
A glance to Billy's bandaged left shoulder confirmed Goodnight's assumptions. Judging by the bandage around Goodnight's right shoulder, and head, they were recovering from injury, possibly in a physician's clinic, given their surroundings.
"What fool notion has the two of you so worked up?" Goodnight asked, pain and hunger making him grumpy. His stomach was practically eating through his skin! He felt like he hadn't eaten in weeks! He patted his midsection, hand slowly discovering the extent of his injuries and, to his utter horror, his total nakedness. "Da hell?!"
"That's why we're getting outta here!" Faraday said, nodding emphatically. He kept his gaze on Goodnight's forehead while the other man had lifted his covers to discover exactly how naked he was. "The nurses have been keeping us drugged, plying us with laudanum, acting all sweet and nurturing. But what they're really doing is prepping us for a walk down the aisle!"
Goodnight paused, wondering if he understood correctly. He sighed heavily, the action making his chest and head hurt. "My dear, Joshua, what on Earth has convinced you of such absurdity?! We are suffering from serious injury. Barely survived a God forsaken battle! Recovering our strength and health. We're hardly in a position to fend for ourselves while in this weakened, broken state!"
To reiterate his point, Goodnight bemoaned, playing up his pain and suffering.
"I'm telling you, Goodnight, these women intend on making us healthy so they can marry us!" Faraday snapped, eyes wilder than a spooked horse.
"Poppycock," Goodnight chastised. Pins and needles were dancing the waltz on his bruised body.
Billy got up, clutching his bandaged shoulder, naked as the day he was born. The air was full of danger as he dragged himself across the room to the single dresser standing next to the door. He opened the drawers, spewing a brittle poetry of Joseon and English.
Goodnight, though in obvious discomfort, couldn't pass up the opportunity to jibe his best friend.
"Billy, you look like a plucked chicken searching for its feathers!"
A venomous gust of, 'Fuck you,' filtered through the room as a breeze while Billy searched.
"They ain't here," Faraday said, pinching his tatty breeches and adding, "When I put these on yesterday, they took the rest of the clothes."
Billy turned slowly, death cloaking him.
Faraday visibly shivered. His voice was thin. Tiny. His bravado fled, hiding somewhere near his balls. He motioned to the door that still bore the watery scar from Billy's tantrum.
"I think they took them across the hall," Faraday said tentatively.
Billy swept from the room, storming boldly into the hall, not caring he was stark naked. If any of the 'nurses' happened to see him, he had a few more words to say them, and projectiles he could lay hands on. Any sense of chivalry was gone the moment Billy realized he had been so readily drugged and molested against his will.
Goodnight tightly tucked the bedding around his lap, silently praying Billy return with their clothing. Goodnight may want to convalesce awhile longer, but he wanted to do so dressed. He was a gentleman, not a saloon whore. It was very uncomfortable realizing he had been so naked. While unconscious. With strange women. Who apparently had attended his every need while he slept, especially dosing him (and Billy and Joshua) with laudanum. At least that was what Faraday explained, in detail, during the duration of Billy's absence. The more Faraday talked, the angrier Goodnight became, and agreed with the spooked gambler.
They needed to get out of Rose Creek!
When Billy returned, wearing pants and knives gleaming on slender hips, Goodnight Robicheaux could have wept, for tucked under Billy's good arm was a wad of clothing, a fleur de lei prominent upon a crumpled lapel.
"Hallelujah!" Goodnight exclaimed, accepting his clothes.
There was also a pair of pants belonging to Josh, who hurriedly dressed, amidst cursing, fumbling, grumbling, and pain filled moans. Billy and Goodnight chorused in as they redressed as proper gentlemen. Well, as best they could, given Billy's left arm was in a sling and even the slightest motion made him hiss and curse, Joshua gingering slipping on a shirt over his linen wrapped midsection, and Goodnight dealing with not only a bad shoulder, but a bum leg that threatened to send the pale Cajun crashing to the floor.
But at least, nothing was swinging in the wind.
Without communication they finished dressing, shirts hanging loosely and lopsided to accommodate injury, and faced each other, properly set as gentlemen. Goodnight's tie was draped under his collar like a scarf, gun belt hanging from his good arm.
Billy took the heavy belt and with gritted teeth, looped around the wider man's middle and held it in place while Goodnight fastened it. Faraday wisely kept any quips to himself, as he soon suffered the same fate. He waited until the familiar weight of Ethel and Maria hugged his hips before nodding gratefully.
"Come on! Let's get out of here," Faraday said, moving gingerly toward the door.
Billy and Goody used each other as a crutch, Goody offering a string of French belches that Billy embroidered with Joseon.
Sadly, the trio barely made it over the threshold when there was a blockade of women waiting at the end of the hall. All heads turned to the sound of wounded bachelors making a run for it.
Billy leaned Goody onto Josh, who offered a single nod of confirmation, silently telling the Asian he had his back. Billy's hand rested on his favorite knife, eyes veiled by danger as he stalked forward unafraid, expecting the tittering women to scatter. Goody leaned a little heavier on Faraday. For silent support. And protection.
Though it was hard to tell who was more anxious, Josh or Goody. They shared the rattling of bones, neither sure of the source of fear.
As they neared the women, Goody understood Faraday's assumptions. The skittish gunslinger was indeed correct. The women immediately flushed prettily, inhaling sharply, displaying lush, full bosoms in low blouses, dainty lace hankies placed at the dewy gathering of their womanly assets. Faces expectant, eyes alight and bright, cheeks shiny, painted lips slightly parted in invitation, the women waited with bated bosom, hoping their gentleman of choice acknowledged their painstaking attention and make a declaration of admiration, or as Faraday surmised, a marriage proposal.
Two even batted their lashes at Billy!
Goodnight knew this town was trouble!
Billy was not to be deterred. A face of stone, a steadfast gait, and a flash of silver. A knife buried itself in the wall next to the exit. The only warning Billy would give.
The women squealed and scattered, granting the three men freedom.
"Come on!" Faraday said, holding Goody tighter and forcing the ex-gray into a frenzied shuffle. "Let's make a run for it!"
Goody grumbled and cursed, struggled and whined, but put every ounce of energy into Faraday's plan. He thought they were clear when they gained the porch, but a voice stopped them.
"Just where do you three think you're going?"
Goody's glacial gaze fell upon Sam Chisolm, flanked by silent Red Harvest and snickering Vasquez, sitting atop their horses as they observed the three escapees on the threshold of the doctor's clinic.
"We're getting out of here!" Faraday explained without breaking stride.
"I can see that," Chisolm said, mirth tugging the corners of his mouth. "Considering the three of you were hovering on death's door when we left a week ago, I would like to know what is so important that it would justify leaving your sick bed to stage a foolhardy escape."
"Don't pretend you don't know!" Goody snapped. His face was creased with pain that was borderline unbearable. He didn't know how much longer he could continue with Faraday's pace.
Chisolm didn't dismount. He was enjoying seeing the trio drag their broken, bleeding, half dressed bodies along. To where, he didn't know. None of them were in any condition to be out of bed, lest of all traipsing down the stairs of the clinic and out into the street. Considering they could barely walk, he doubted they possessed the ability to saddle their horses, let alone mount and ride.
"These women are crazy!" Faraday explained helpfully, grip tightening on Goody's waist as he directed their gimpy party toward the stable.
Vasquez snickered, "All women are crazy, guero." He opened his mouth to elaborate further, but several women appeared on the porch of the clinic. As a gentleman, he smiled and tipped his hat respectively.
Eyes zeroed in on the escaping men, but quickly alighted to the newcomers. Also heroes. And unattached. Sure they may be a little different, but so wasn't the oriental man hissing at the two gimpy white men to 'hurry their pale asses up.'
Several bosoms heaved, hands delicately ghosting along hankies tucked in cleavages. Lashes were fanned and batted, lips pursed and coyly smiling.
Red Harvest glanced to Chisolm, confusion etched all over his tanned face. Not understanding the true danger of flashing smiles, dainty waves, and open appraisal, he focused on Sam Chisolm to take lead in such situation.
"No Buena," Vasquez muttered, adverting his eyes when a lady locked his gaze and smiled seductively. Even his horse was alarmed, as the stallion took a couple steps back from the flirty women on the porch.
"Begging your pardon, ladies," Chisolm said with a courteous tip of his hat. "But there is urgent business for my men, so if you will excuse us, we will have to make haste and ride out immediately."
The air fell with the subtly of dynamite. Hopeful eyes darkened in disappointment. Creases of anger pursed painted lips. Breasts deflated, stomachs bulged, hips widened, nostrils flared at the disruption in plans to entice a potential husband. Frustration and disappointment rolled into town, choking down the dust and weighing on townsfolk. Many slumped along, wondering what had changed the atmosphere of the town so quickly.
Chisolm added, "If there are no setbacks, we could return by the end of the month."
Eyes lit back up. Smiles broadened. Hope was restored to the single women of Rose Creek. Oh, Sam Chisolm was indeed an intelligent, diplomatic man.
With a last polite nod, Chisolm directed his horse to follow his men, who had made it to the stable and were attempting to wrangle their malcontent horses. Red and Vasquez quickly dismounted to assist in saddling horses, but it was no use. The injured were in no condition to ride and the horses were in no mood to be ridden. Thankfully, a grateful farmer offered his small wagon, which Goodnight and Billy's horses were quickly haltered in, and the three injured men hoisted on the seat, Goodnight sweating profusely and Billy adding colorful syllables to match vulgar French.
Vasquez crossed himself out of habit.
Faraday clutched Vasquez's shoulder as he pulled himself up into the wagon on his own, determination darkening his features. He didn't acknowledge Vasquez's Spanish vitriol as he snapped the reins and got the horses moving. His own horse, Jack, was tethered to the back of the wagon, moping along with his head down in resolution.
Vasquez hurried to mount, Red Harvest handing over his reins in complete innocence to the situation. Vasquez made a mental note to later explain to the young Comanche the dark cloud of matrimony hovering over Rose Creek, and why the men were making a strategic retreat.
Faraday snapped the reins, encouraging the horses to quicken their pace. Goodnight and Billy moaned as they were jostled around in the back of the wagon, Goodnight offering a litany of descriptive punishments he planned on inflicting to Faraday in retribution for the bumpy exodus.
"Slow down, guero," Vasquez warned, not liking the paleness of the three injured men bouncing around the wagon.
"Not until Rose Creek is far behind us," Faraday answered, face grim and set in determination as he urged the horses into a quicker trot.
Chisolm snickered, remembering his initial misgivings about Faraday. He believed the gambler was capable of anything. After all, the man had two bullets in him and raced out of a church, sought shelter behind a few slabs of wooden planks of a windmill, and selflessly draped his broken, bleeding body across a plunger to save a town full of strangers.
Faraday boasted about being fearless, his gallantry proven during the ferocious battle of Rose Creek.
However, Chisolm figured out what truly terrified the drunken card shark.
Two simple words.
I do.
And Faraday clearly, did NOT.
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