Author's Note: I don't think I've mentioned it but I don't have a beta, so
any and all mistakes are my own. I realize the last chapter had more than
it's fair share of these, but we were in the middle of redecorating and I
wanted to get it up before I lost internet access altogether. Also, I think
the story kind of starts to falter here, so I apologize if it seems tedious
or what-have-you. Once again thanks for taking the time to read it, and
even more thanks if you have or will review!
Chapter 4
Stepping into the clinic Chris is immediately enveloped in the scent of Nathan's various herbs mingled with the lye he uses to keep the place sterilized, and beneath that, not so much over powered as masked by the lye, the familiar and comforting scents of the dessert and the stable mix and chase each other around. Two and a half years of acting as a Peacekeeper for this town has made this room and these scents comfortable and reassuring.
After all, this is where they come not to die.
Still, he thinks, through the throbbing of his cheek, it says something that he's as comfortable here as he is out at the cabin, sometimes even more so.
And it says even more to the carefully observant eyes of Ezra P. Standish that Chris is handling the door with such a light and gentle hand. Almost, the gambler thinks, as if to do anything else would break his control, not to mention the door, when, as a result, he ripped it off its hinges.
He doesn't recall if he has ever felt the kind of fury that would require such a delicate, hesitant touch, but he can imagine the force of it just the same, and suppresses a sigh for his own disastrous timing. Still, he can't but marvel at the faint and fading handprint on the gunslinger's cheek. It is difficult to picture his mother resorting to such tactics, yet he does not doubt that she has done so. Maybe his timing is rather perfect and maybe, he thinks with absolutely no guilt, he should've waited a little bit longer and given Chris the time to finish her off.
Which he would've done, when Chris gets like this, and it hasn't happened very often in the time Ezra has known him, he tends to demolish any perceived obstructions, among which Maude Standish almost certainly numbers.
It's both odd and disconcerting to know that Chris is restraining this impulse for his benefit, to know that he worries, that he cares enough to do this thing for him. He finds if difficult to fathom the emotions that stir in kind. He is not accustomed, does not want to be and is more than a little afraid that he will become so, to anyone, let alone a person as inscrutable as Chris Larabee, making any such effort on his behalf.
Not unaware of these things Chris takes a careful look at Ezra, who's lying on the cot, bare to the blankets at his waist but for the bandages and bruising, slightly elevated by the pillows underneath his head, pale and disheveled, with several days' growth of whiskers darkening his face.
Having been there both the day before and earlier that morning while Ezra slept, Chris sees the difference brought on by even a few hours and feels the knot in his gut loosen. There's improvement here, he reassures himself on a mental sigh, and Ezra's as comfortable as we can make him. Though that'll change pretty damn quick once we let him near a mirror, improvement or no.
Formerly black and blue with bruises, the left side of his face is now an ugly yellow-green, and though the swelling is almost gone on that whole side, he'd broken several blood-vessels in that eye with the force of impact and it's still mostly pink and bloodshot. The whole left side of him took a beating, the bruises on his shoulder and side are still darker than those on his face, and Chris knows they continue beneath the bandages wrapping his midsection. His right side, though largely unbruised, is pink and tender to the touch, and, in scattered areas, blistered, his right arm is wrapped in bandages where he was actually burned, and the hair on that side of his head is brittle and noticeably shorter where it singed in the heat.
He'd cracked his ribs and dislocated his shoulder in the landing, though these are the most common and reoccurring of Ezra's injuries and don't worry Chris all that much, the burn on his arm would scar, but Nathan said it wasn't bad, he'll retain full mobility of the arm, and had that been the sum and total of it Chris wouldn't be worried, wouldn't be feeling so utterly helpless, but these aren't the worst, not nearly the worst, of his injuries.
No, the worst of his wounds was hidden beneath the clean white bandages sheathing his middle; a gaping whole courtesy of shrapnel from the explosion. It was that which had become infected, that which kept him bedridden and would for sometime, and that which kept the rest of them tense and worried. Even Nathan couldn't say if he'd done more harm than good in operation, the wound had been deep and the internal bleeding intense, the infection almost immediate, he'd done what he could though and told them all it might not be enough. If Ezra moved the wrong way or maybe even at all, the stitches would come out and he'd start bleeding again. Bluntly he told them, that if that happened Ezra would bleed to death and they'd never know it until it was too late.
Moving forward to straddle the chair at Ezra's side Chris feels his temper cool somewhat at the thought, though he is unable to keep the last snapping bite of it, sharpened by both guilt and worry, from his voice when he demands," What is it?"
The Gambler, who still has difficulty staying awake for more than a couple hours at a time, can barely keep down even the broth Nathan allows him, and is almost too weak to talk, arches an eyebrow at him, with the familiar look of refined contempt he reserves for those whose control is not as superior as his own. Giving the look is automatic, so much so that Ezra is unaware of doing so and Chris thinks no more of it than if the man had blinked. Everything Ezra does is elaborate and it amounts to the same thing.
It's what Chris is seeing beneath that look that gives him pause. Beneath the display of superiority he looks to Chris like he always does when things get serious and the seven of them have to depend on each other. That Ezra, this Ezra, is the man who lived behind the fancy clothes and words, behind the carefully displayed disdain and self-interest. This was the man who'd taken a bullet for Mary when he could've fled with the $10,000 in his pocket instead, the man who'd come back for them at the village, knowing they were outnumbered and unless he freed the rest of them that he was on his own, the man who gave an immigrant girl nearly all his ready cash so she could get back to her family because he wanted to and not because he was guilted or blackmailed into doing so, the man who stayed in this town against his stated better judgment and character, not to mention his mothers wishes, for a lousy thirty-some dollars a month, about which he never hesitated to bitch, the less than forthcoming gratitude of the populace, on which he never failed to comment, and the questionable friendship of six men who didn't always treat him as well as he deserved.
This Ezra has a band of steel in him that even the flashy clothes and incomprehensible speeches can't completely hide, nor the man's own self- loathing diminish. Once upon a time Chris had seen it and given him a second chance on account.
Whatever's about to happen between them, it's not going to be pleasant.
"Are you keeping me from my mother?"
In his mind's eye he sees Maude standing by their table in the Tavern, hears her telling him it was only business, feels the impact of her hand against his cheek . His voice is cool and tight as he answers," Not yet."
"But you will."
It's not a question, but he realizes that he's never stopped to think about it before and doesn't know the answer. Would he keep Ezra from His mother? Would he push the already strained ties between the seven of them and order the others to refuse Maude's entrance?
Yes.
He did and does mean everything he said to the woman, everything he would've said if Ezra hadn't sent J.D. running for him. Whatever game or games she's played with Ezra are gonna stop, and right now while he's still in control of the situation. Later, when Ezra's recovered and he doesn't have any say it might be different, but he likes to be thorough. Later isn't going to be a factor.
Not needing to hear the words Ezra continues as if Chris has spoken aloud, and he might as well have. True, he doesn't wield his insights and observations to the betterment of his companions, as does Josiah, yet he sees as much, if not more, than the ex-preacher. He knows these men as well as he knows himself, which is to say distressingly well, and he would have to retire from the poker table if he couldn't predict something as obvious as Chris's intentions toward his mother. "Don't. If she wants to see me...,"and she will eventually, if only for appearances," don't keep her away Chris. Please."
"Ezra..."
"There is no reason to keep her away, what harm can she accomplish by sitting with me for a few moments in my convalesce? Further, I can think of no reason for you and the others to deal with the force of her temper should you attempt this thing, and even less reason to give the townsfolk further gossip with which to besmirch my character.," Silently he curses himself for saying anything that implies his dependence upon what anyone else might say or think of him. Sometimes he thinks the only reason Nathan even bothers to give him those damn, foul tasting concoctions of his is because they leave him prone to making as great a fool as himself as he can manage in any given situation.
"Whatever sins she's committed in your eyes, she is my mother and when you and the others find I'm no longer worth the effort and we part ways, she'll still be there.," Startled, he keeps back the words that want to spill from his lips, quickly wrapping himself in a cloak of composure. He hadn't meant to say that. Just thinking it leaves him feeling lonely and ill, a feeling he finds no way diminished by giving voice to the thought. Yet he's survived his life by always being one step ahead and realistic in his expectations and has known from the start that an assembly such as their own would never stand the test of time. There have been moments that have come close to altering his opinion on the matter, yet in the end his expectations have always been proven justified. He may not be the only one to leave, though he finds no comfort in this, there are those he cannot imagine staying and those who have quite firmly established themselves in this community; regardless, there is now no doubt that he will be the first. He seeks comfort by reminding himself that he never spoke any formal words of promise to Chris, that he can leave whenever he wants and free of guilt. Whatever crime he'd almost committed in that village is more than paid for.
It doesn't work, such tactics rarely do anymore, and already he can hear Nathan's words when they find that this time he truly has absconded. Nathan, after all, will not be surprised.
His stomach roils and he can feel the bile rising in his throat when he realizes that this time he will leave, that he has to leave before he gets himself killed. These men will never trust him, probably they cannot, and though there is very little, quite possibly nothing, that he would not do to earn their trust, there is also very little short of death left for him to try.
He's not the only one who's been surprised by his words, Chris's eyes have widened slightly and he's watching him with that careful scrutiny Ezra finds both comforting and disconcerting. Chris sees to much sometimes and not enough at others and he truly does not wish to deal with either occurrence today.
Selfishly he unchecks the throbbing behind his burning eyes, only slightly dulled by Nathan's potions, truly considering letting the continual ache in his body become the overwhelming tide it's been threatening from the beginning. Right now it would be easier, preferable even, to deal with his physical pain instead of Chris, though he'd called the man to him for a purpose. God, but he wishes he could close his eyes and sleep these things away, wishes he could just give in to the urging of those damn potions that want him to do just that. More, he wishes he were anywhere else, anywhere so long as he was no longer stretched so precariously between the elementally opposed forces of Maude Standish and Chris Larabee, the final trump card in their separate bids for control.
Fully conscious of the fact that no relations between his mother and Chris will ever end well, he suppress a sigh. He isn't anywhere else and if he doesn't negotiate some form of truce between them they'll quite likely tear the town down around them in their cold little war. It would've been so much easier if the fever had taken him, he thinks, And too simple, really, to tear his stitches and bleed out.
* * *
Sitting on the boardwalk outside the Jail, Buck gazes down Main Street, thinking about the two riders he'd seen heading out of town while Chris was still up with Ezra. He hadn't said anything to the man, word spread fast and gossip spread faster and he'd dealt with Chris's temper often enough to know whatever the appearance the gunslinger was doing far more than simply sitting there, smoking and brooding, but he was going to have to.
Sometimes it was better to confess than get caught.
Besides, he thinks, three hours ought to be head start enough.
Sitting on the far side of Chris, booted feet propped up on the railing, Vin tips his hat back on his head and before he's even opened his mouth Buck hears his words coming out of the Tracker.
"Mrs. Travis and Ezra's Ma took off 'bout three hours ago. They were headin southwest, on horseback if ya can imagine Maude agreeing to it."
"Wouldn't think the woman could ride, what with always havin them fancy carriages to take her everywhere." Buck mutters.
"'Course she can ride Bucklin, they have them fancy ridin' competitions back east, an' Ez say's it was all the rage down south 'fore the war."
"What's that got to with Maude?"
Vin's smirk might've been a sneer on another person. "Gotta keep up appearances ya know. 'Sides you need a quick get away ain't much better'n a horse."
He snorts, easily imagining Made needing to make as hasty an exit as possible. Too easily he can see a much younger Ezra dragged along in her wake.
For the first time since leaving the clinic Chris speaks, exhaling his words on a cloud of smoke, "What's to the southwest that Maude or Mary might want?"
Because he's been thinking the same thing since watching them leave, and figures Vin has as well, without coming up with anything, Buck shares a look and a shrug with the younger man, offering to answer if he doesn't want to.
Imperceptibly he shakes his head and answers for himself, "Hard to say. There's quite a bit out there, but Maude knew we were watchin, they could've changed direction soon as they were outta sight."
"Yeah.," The tip of Chris's cheroot glows as he takes a deep drag.
He sees Vin's gaze shift to the Church, where the sound of Josiah's hammer is ringing in a steady rhythm, and rolls his eyes in anticipation. For someone who usually understands Chris so well, Vin sure as hell seems to be missing the signs.
"I know you don't wanna but you ought to be tallkin' to Josiah. He's better at these sortta things than we are."
"Better.," Buck snorts derisively .
Because Chris knows him better than anyone alive or dead it's easy for him to predict the tirade that's about to ensue, though if any of them have the right to be righteous in Ezra's defense it's probably Buck and they all know it. Preemptively he cuts him off, "I think he's a little busy chasing after Maude's skirts."
With an uncharacteristic show of temper the tracker glowers at the both of them, snapping, " Not right now he ain't!"
"Give it up Junior," he can see that Chris doesn't want to deal with anymore stupid shit outta of anyone, Vin and himself included, and eases off a bit. It's not Vin he's mad at anyway, though his exasperation with him comes through plain enough," he don't wanna hear it and frankly I'm getting a bit tired of it myself."
The younger man returns to watching the traffic.
"Where's Nathan?"
He gestures toward the livery, wondering at Chris's sudden shift to action as the man throws the butt of his cheroot into the street and straightens in his seat," Seein to some patients, just like every Wednesday ."
"J.D. went back up to Ezra?"
He shakes his head, "He rode Casey back out to Nettie's spread. Should be heading back about now."
He never said anything about it but the kid was finding more and more reasons to drift outta town, no doubt to escape the building tensions between the seven of them, and it was obvious he'd gone with Casey to escape any of Chris's wrath spilling over onto him.
"Ezra's alone?"
You didn't have to have been friends with someone for over a decade to hear the concern in the carefully distant tone of Chris's voice, he obviously doesn' like the idea and Buck can well imagine the internal debate raging within him at the moment. They all know how slippery Ezra can be, especially when he's injured, and Buck no more likes the idea of leaving him alone than Chris. , "Billy went up with his lunch and a deck of cards a while back."
Chris nods, once, and shifts his gaze to Vin. The look he gives him is first speculative and then decisive," You're right, someone ought to go talk with Josiah."
"Someone, cowboy?"
"So long as it's not me."
Sighing the Texan rises to his feet, taking time to stretch every muscle on his way, "I'm gonna do the rounds, maybe stop in at the church, see if our Preacher man might need a little help.," He tips his hat to them as he starts to move down the street, "I'll see you boys later."
They watch him meander down the street, saying nothing to each other for several seconds. Buck waits, comfortable enough to let Chris work his way around to it.
"Why didn't I trust him with the money Buck?"
He's wondered when they'd come to that. They both know it's no less important than what the others did with Maude and the Tavern, and might even be more so. After all, it's Chris the man's been trying to prove himself to. ,"Ten thousand dollars cash...it was a lotta money Chris."
"Didn't stop me from giving it to Josiah."
No it hadn't and what had the ex-preacher done but throw it at the gambler like the worst kind of challenge., "Why didn't you trust him with it?"
Unsurprisingly Chris repeats his words back to him. Unsurprising because it's a good answer and part of the problem, "It was a lot of money Buck."
"You gave it to Josiah."
"Josiah didn't run away at the village."
Ah. He'd wondered about that right up until the man had come back for them, at which point, in his mind, the question became moot. He says as much now, "He came back Chris. He didn't have to and you know how that boy rides, long as it took him, he was far enough away to be safe when he turned back."
He refrains from saying that Ezra hasn't run since, has actually made a practice of being in the thick of any conflict. It doesn't need to be said, if it did they wouldn't be having this discussion.
In a gesture he hasn't seen in years the blond man runs his hand through his hair, curling his fingers halfway through, and yanking with enough visible force to make Buck want to flinch. It's a familiar and telling gesture, one of the few non-aggressive displays of frustration and turmoil in the man's arsenal, "Maybe I was trying to spare him the temptation."
"Maybe you shoulda given him the benefit of the doubt. , "He rises to his feet towering over the still reclining Chris.
"He ran with it didn't he?," If he's bothered by Buck's position of dominance he gives no sign of it.
"Because you never gave him the chance to prove you wrong! All you did Larabee was give him the chance to prove you right. If that's what we think of him why shouldn't he have taken the money and run? ," Angry now he steps into the street, tossing over his shoulder, "Which, I might add, he didn't do."
Before he's three steps away Chris calls out, "Buck..."
"Job's already saddled, you go ride out to J.D., Cowboy, and I'll talk to Nathan."
"Buck!," There's a warning in the tone now, a dangerous undercurrent that in no way surprises him. Chris hates being walked away from.
Halfway across the street now he stops, turns to face his oldest friend once again," You know if he was the kinda man you seem to wanna think he is Mary'd be dead and buried with a sniper's bullet between her eyes."
Turning on his heel he stalks away.
Chapter 4
Stepping into the clinic Chris is immediately enveloped in the scent of Nathan's various herbs mingled with the lye he uses to keep the place sterilized, and beneath that, not so much over powered as masked by the lye, the familiar and comforting scents of the dessert and the stable mix and chase each other around. Two and a half years of acting as a Peacekeeper for this town has made this room and these scents comfortable and reassuring.
After all, this is where they come not to die.
Still, he thinks, through the throbbing of his cheek, it says something that he's as comfortable here as he is out at the cabin, sometimes even more so.
And it says even more to the carefully observant eyes of Ezra P. Standish that Chris is handling the door with such a light and gentle hand. Almost, the gambler thinks, as if to do anything else would break his control, not to mention the door, when, as a result, he ripped it off its hinges.
He doesn't recall if he has ever felt the kind of fury that would require such a delicate, hesitant touch, but he can imagine the force of it just the same, and suppresses a sigh for his own disastrous timing. Still, he can't but marvel at the faint and fading handprint on the gunslinger's cheek. It is difficult to picture his mother resorting to such tactics, yet he does not doubt that she has done so. Maybe his timing is rather perfect and maybe, he thinks with absolutely no guilt, he should've waited a little bit longer and given Chris the time to finish her off.
Which he would've done, when Chris gets like this, and it hasn't happened very often in the time Ezra has known him, he tends to demolish any perceived obstructions, among which Maude Standish almost certainly numbers.
It's both odd and disconcerting to know that Chris is restraining this impulse for his benefit, to know that he worries, that he cares enough to do this thing for him. He finds if difficult to fathom the emotions that stir in kind. He is not accustomed, does not want to be and is more than a little afraid that he will become so, to anyone, let alone a person as inscrutable as Chris Larabee, making any such effort on his behalf.
Not unaware of these things Chris takes a careful look at Ezra, who's lying on the cot, bare to the blankets at his waist but for the bandages and bruising, slightly elevated by the pillows underneath his head, pale and disheveled, with several days' growth of whiskers darkening his face.
Having been there both the day before and earlier that morning while Ezra slept, Chris sees the difference brought on by even a few hours and feels the knot in his gut loosen. There's improvement here, he reassures himself on a mental sigh, and Ezra's as comfortable as we can make him. Though that'll change pretty damn quick once we let him near a mirror, improvement or no.
Formerly black and blue with bruises, the left side of his face is now an ugly yellow-green, and though the swelling is almost gone on that whole side, he'd broken several blood-vessels in that eye with the force of impact and it's still mostly pink and bloodshot. The whole left side of him took a beating, the bruises on his shoulder and side are still darker than those on his face, and Chris knows they continue beneath the bandages wrapping his midsection. His right side, though largely unbruised, is pink and tender to the touch, and, in scattered areas, blistered, his right arm is wrapped in bandages where he was actually burned, and the hair on that side of his head is brittle and noticeably shorter where it singed in the heat.
He'd cracked his ribs and dislocated his shoulder in the landing, though these are the most common and reoccurring of Ezra's injuries and don't worry Chris all that much, the burn on his arm would scar, but Nathan said it wasn't bad, he'll retain full mobility of the arm, and had that been the sum and total of it Chris wouldn't be worried, wouldn't be feeling so utterly helpless, but these aren't the worst, not nearly the worst, of his injuries.
No, the worst of his wounds was hidden beneath the clean white bandages sheathing his middle; a gaping whole courtesy of shrapnel from the explosion. It was that which had become infected, that which kept him bedridden and would for sometime, and that which kept the rest of them tense and worried. Even Nathan couldn't say if he'd done more harm than good in operation, the wound had been deep and the internal bleeding intense, the infection almost immediate, he'd done what he could though and told them all it might not be enough. If Ezra moved the wrong way or maybe even at all, the stitches would come out and he'd start bleeding again. Bluntly he told them, that if that happened Ezra would bleed to death and they'd never know it until it was too late.
Moving forward to straddle the chair at Ezra's side Chris feels his temper cool somewhat at the thought, though he is unable to keep the last snapping bite of it, sharpened by both guilt and worry, from his voice when he demands," What is it?"
The Gambler, who still has difficulty staying awake for more than a couple hours at a time, can barely keep down even the broth Nathan allows him, and is almost too weak to talk, arches an eyebrow at him, with the familiar look of refined contempt he reserves for those whose control is not as superior as his own. Giving the look is automatic, so much so that Ezra is unaware of doing so and Chris thinks no more of it than if the man had blinked. Everything Ezra does is elaborate and it amounts to the same thing.
It's what Chris is seeing beneath that look that gives him pause. Beneath the display of superiority he looks to Chris like he always does when things get serious and the seven of them have to depend on each other. That Ezra, this Ezra, is the man who lived behind the fancy clothes and words, behind the carefully displayed disdain and self-interest. This was the man who'd taken a bullet for Mary when he could've fled with the $10,000 in his pocket instead, the man who'd come back for them at the village, knowing they were outnumbered and unless he freed the rest of them that he was on his own, the man who gave an immigrant girl nearly all his ready cash so she could get back to her family because he wanted to and not because he was guilted or blackmailed into doing so, the man who stayed in this town against his stated better judgment and character, not to mention his mothers wishes, for a lousy thirty-some dollars a month, about which he never hesitated to bitch, the less than forthcoming gratitude of the populace, on which he never failed to comment, and the questionable friendship of six men who didn't always treat him as well as he deserved.
This Ezra has a band of steel in him that even the flashy clothes and incomprehensible speeches can't completely hide, nor the man's own self- loathing diminish. Once upon a time Chris had seen it and given him a second chance on account.
Whatever's about to happen between them, it's not going to be pleasant.
"Are you keeping me from my mother?"
In his mind's eye he sees Maude standing by their table in the Tavern, hears her telling him it was only business, feels the impact of her hand against his cheek . His voice is cool and tight as he answers," Not yet."
"But you will."
It's not a question, but he realizes that he's never stopped to think about it before and doesn't know the answer. Would he keep Ezra from His mother? Would he push the already strained ties between the seven of them and order the others to refuse Maude's entrance?
Yes.
He did and does mean everything he said to the woman, everything he would've said if Ezra hadn't sent J.D. running for him. Whatever game or games she's played with Ezra are gonna stop, and right now while he's still in control of the situation. Later, when Ezra's recovered and he doesn't have any say it might be different, but he likes to be thorough. Later isn't going to be a factor.
Not needing to hear the words Ezra continues as if Chris has spoken aloud, and he might as well have. True, he doesn't wield his insights and observations to the betterment of his companions, as does Josiah, yet he sees as much, if not more, than the ex-preacher. He knows these men as well as he knows himself, which is to say distressingly well, and he would have to retire from the poker table if he couldn't predict something as obvious as Chris's intentions toward his mother. "Don't. If she wants to see me...,"and she will eventually, if only for appearances," don't keep her away Chris. Please."
"Ezra..."
"There is no reason to keep her away, what harm can she accomplish by sitting with me for a few moments in my convalesce? Further, I can think of no reason for you and the others to deal with the force of her temper should you attempt this thing, and even less reason to give the townsfolk further gossip with which to besmirch my character.," Silently he curses himself for saying anything that implies his dependence upon what anyone else might say or think of him. Sometimes he thinks the only reason Nathan even bothers to give him those damn, foul tasting concoctions of his is because they leave him prone to making as great a fool as himself as he can manage in any given situation.
"Whatever sins she's committed in your eyes, she is my mother and when you and the others find I'm no longer worth the effort and we part ways, she'll still be there.," Startled, he keeps back the words that want to spill from his lips, quickly wrapping himself in a cloak of composure. He hadn't meant to say that. Just thinking it leaves him feeling lonely and ill, a feeling he finds no way diminished by giving voice to the thought. Yet he's survived his life by always being one step ahead and realistic in his expectations and has known from the start that an assembly such as their own would never stand the test of time. There have been moments that have come close to altering his opinion on the matter, yet in the end his expectations have always been proven justified. He may not be the only one to leave, though he finds no comfort in this, there are those he cannot imagine staying and those who have quite firmly established themselves in this community; regardless, there is now no doubt that he will be the first. He seeks comfort by reminding himself that he never spoke any formal words of promise to Chris, that he can leave whenever he wants and free of guilt. Whatever crime he'd almost committed in that village is more than paid for.
It doesn't work, such tactics rarely do anymore, and already he can hear Nathan's words when they find that this time he truly has absconded. Nathan, after all, will not be surprised.
His stomach roils and he can feel the bile rising in his throat when he realizes that this time he will leave, that he has to leave before he gets himself killed. These men will never trust him, probably they cannot, and though there is very little, quite possibly nothing, that he would not do to earn their trust, there is also very little short of death left for him to try.
He's not the only one who's been surprised by his words, Chris's eyes have widened slightly and he's watching him with that careful scrutiny Ezra finds both comforting and disconcerting. Chris sees to much sometimes and not enough at others and he truly does not wish to deal with either occurrence today.
Selfishly he unchecks the throbbing behind his burning eyes, only slightly dulled by Nathan's potions, truly considering letting the continual ache in his body become the overwhelming tide it's been threatening from the beginning. Right now it would be easier, preferable even, to deal with his physical pain instead of Chris, though he'd called the man to him for a purpose. God, but he wishes he could close his eyes and sleep these things away, wishes he could just give in to the urging of those damn potions that want him to do just that. More, he wishes he were anywhere else, anywhere so long as he was no longer stretched so precariously between the elementally opposed forces of Maude Standish and Chris Larabee, the final trump card in their separate bids for control.
Fully conscious of the fact that no relations between his mother and Chris will ever end well, he suppress a sigh. He isn't anywhere else and if he doesn't negotiate some form of truce between them they'll quite likely tear the town down around them in their cold little war. It would've been so much easier if the fever had taken him, he thinks, And too simple, really, to tear his stitches and bleed out.
* * *
Sitting on the boardwalk outside the Jail, Buck gazes down Main Street, thinking about the two riders he'd seen heading out of town while Chris was still up with Ezra. He hadn't said anything to the man, word spread fast and gossip spread faster and he'd dealt with Chris's temper often enough to know whatever the appearance the gunslinger was doing far more than simply sitting there, smoking and brooding, but he was going to have to.
Sometimes it was better to confess than get caught.
Besides, he thinks, three hours ought to be head start enough.
Sitting on the far side of Chris, booted feet propped up on the railing, Vin tips his hat back on his head and before he's even opened his mouth Buck hears his words coming out of the Tracker.
"Mrs. Travis and Ezra's Ma took off 'bout three hours ago. They were headin southwest, on horseback if ya can imagine Maude agreeing to it."
"Wouldn't think the woman could ride, what with always havin them fancy carriages to take her everywhere." Buck mutters.
"'Course she can ride Bucklin, they have them fancy ridin' competitions back east, an' Ez say's it was all the rage down south 'fore the war."
"What's that got to with Maude?"
Vin's smirk might've been a sneer on another person. "Gotta keep up appearances ya know. 'Sides you need a quick get away ain't much better'n a horse."
He snorts, easily imagining Made needing to make as hasty an exit as possible. Too easily he can see a much younger Ezra dragged along in her wake.
For the first time since leaving the clinic Chris speaks, exhaling his words on a cloud of smoke, "What's to the southwest that Maude or Mary might want?"
Because he's been thinking the same thing since watching them leave, and figures Vin has as well, without coming up with anything, Buck shares a look and a shrug with the younger man, offering to answer if he doesn't want to.
Imperceptibly he shakes his head and answers for himself, "Hard to say. There's quite a bit out there, but Maude knew we were watchin, they could've changed direction soon as they were outta sight."
"Yeah.," The tip of Chris's cheroot glows as he takes a deep drag.
He sees Vin's gaze shift to the Church, where the sound of Josiah's hammer is ringing in a steady rhythm, and rolls his eyes in anticipation. For someone who usually understands Chris so well, Vin sure as hell seems to be missing the signs.
"I know you don't wanna but you ought to be tallkin' to Josiah. He's better at these sortta things than we are."
"Better.," Buck snorts derisively .
Because Chris knows him better than anyone alive or dead it's easy for him to predict the tirade that's about to ensue, though if any of them have the right to be righteous in Ezra's defense it's probably Buck and they all know it. Preemptively he cuts him off, "I think he's a little busy chasing after Maude's skirts."
With an uncharacteristic show of temper the tracker glowers at the both of them, snapping, " Not right now he ain't!"
"Give it up Junior," he can see that Chris doesn't want to deal with anymore stupid shit outta of anyone, Vin and himself included, and eases off a bit. It's not Vin he's mad at anyway, though his exasperation with him comes through plain enough," he don't wanna hear it and frankly I'm getting a bit tired of it myself."
The younger man returns to watching the traffic.
"Where's Nathan?"
He gestures toward the livery, wondering at Chris's sudden shift to action as the man throws the butt of his cheroot into the street and straightens in his seat," Seein to some patients, just like every Wednesday ."
"J.D. went back up to Ezra?"
He shakes his head, "He rode Casey back out to Nettie's spread. Should be heading back about now."
He never said anything about it but the kid was finding more and more reasons to drift outta town, no doubt to escape the building tensions between the seven of them, and it was obvious he'd gone with Casey to escape any of Chris's wrath spilling over onto him.
"Ezra's alone?"
You didn't have to have been friends with someone for over a decade to hear the concern in the carefully distant tone of Chris's voice, he obviously doesn' like the idea and Buck can well imagine the internal debate raging within him at the moment. They all know how slippery Ezra can be, especially when he's injured, and Buck no more likes the idea of leaving him alone than Chris. , "Billy went up with his lunch and a deck of cards a while back."
Chris nods, once, and shifts his gaze to Vin. The look he gives him is first speculative and then decisive," You're right, someone ought to go talk with Josiah."
"Someone, cowboy?"
"So long as it's not me."
Sighing the Texan rises to his feet, taking time to stretch every muscle on his way, "I'm gonna do the rounds, maybe stop in at the church, see if our Preacher man might need a little help.," He tips his hat to them as he starts to move down the street, "I'll see you boys later."
They watch him meander down the street, saying nothing to each other for several seconds. Buck waits, comfortable enough to let Chris work his way around to it.
"Why didn't I trust him with the money Buck?"
He's wondered when they'd come to that. They both know it's no less important than what the others did with Maude and the Tavern, and might even be more so. After all, it's Chris the man's been trying to prove himself to. ,"Ten thousand dollars cash...it was a lotta money Chris."
"Didn't stop me from giving it to Josiah."
No it hadn't and what had the ex-preacher done but throw it at the gambler like the worst kind of challenge., "Why didn't you trust him with it?"
Unsurprisingly Chris repeats his words back to him. Unsurprising because it's a good answer and part of the problem, "It was a lot of money Buck."
"You gave it to Josiah."
"Josiah didn't run away at the village."
Ah. He'd wondered about that right up until the man had come back for them, at which point, in his mind, the question became moot. He says as much now, "He came back Chris. He didn't have to and you know how that boy rides, long as it took him, he was far enough away to be safe when he turned back."
He refrains from saying that Ezra hasn't run since, has actually made a practice of being in the thick of any conflict. It doesn't need to be said, if it did they wouldn't be having this discussion.
In a gesture he hasn't seen in years the blond man runs his hand through his hair, curling his fingers halfway through, and yanking with enough visible force to make Buck want to flinch. It's a familiar and telling gesture, one of the few non-aggressive displays of frustration and turmoil in the man's arsenal, "Maybe I was trying to spare him the temptation."
"Maybe you shoulda given him the benefit of the doubt. , "He rises to his feet towering over the still reclining Chris.
"He ran with it didn't he?," If he's bothered by Buck's position of dominance he gives no sign of it.
"Because you never gave him the chance to prove you wrong! All you did Larabee was give him the chance to prove you right. If that's what we think of him why shouldn't he have taken the money and run? ," Angry now he steps into the street, tossing over his shoulder, "Which, I might add, he didn't do."
Before he's three steps away Chris calls out, "Buck..."
"Job's already saddled, you go ride out to J.D., Cowboy, and I'll talk to Nathan."
"Buck!," There's a warning in the tone now, a dangerous undercurrent that in no way surprises him. Chris hates being walked away from.
Halfway across the street now he stops, turns to face his oldest friend once again," You know if he was the kinda man you seem to wanna think he is Mary'd be dead and buried with a sniper's bullet between her eyes."
Turning on his heel he stalks away.