Calmly Ezra deals the hand, ignoring the cry of pain he hears from the
stable below, as well as Billy's wide-eyed observation of his actions. This
requires less control than might be assumed; he's been overlooking and
ignoring such comments as have carried through the floorboards for the
grater part of his life, and an even greater part of his time in residence
here. Nothing of Buck and Nathan's conversation comes as a revelation to
him; it has caused no greater harm than any repetitious recitation of
facts, save, perhaps, to reinforce his latest conviction.
But it hurts.
He can be honest with himself about that as he could be with no other, has in fact found it a necessary habit of his existence to be so, and acknowledges the pain evoked by Nathan's words by far surpasses the physical hurts he has suffered and continues to suffer with little enough trouble. If Billy didn't happen to be sitting with him, to have overheard his friends as clearly as he himself has, he might well be giving in to that pain. Might simply close his eyes and let it consume him, let it drown him, at long last bringing this farce to its much expected end.
Could have, would have, should have; all amounted to naught as Billy is there beside him, and can not but have been subjected to Nathan's estimation of him.
He cannot give in to these inclinations of his, no matter their power or appeal, to do so would only further Billy's distress and become, perhaps, the most unforgivably selfish act he has perpetrated in many a year.
For his own part Billy doesn't think he could be more troubled, not even if he tried. He'd been upset and hurt and terrified after his dad's death and all those things had been bad, as bad as he thought it might ever get, but here now was something at once different and the same, and maybe just as bad in it's own way.
If Mister Jackson's words have made HIM feel bad, have hurt HIS feeling, what have they done to Mister Ezra? Mister Ezra who's already sick and tired and hurting, and who knows all about Chris and his Ma fighting? Young as he is Billy knows the dark side of life, the shadowed angry rooms of a persons mind that harbor all the negative emotions, better than most men who've lived their life in full. He knows what hate is, has experienced the full depth and breadth of it toward the men who killed his father, and he comes very close to directing that overpowering thing toward Nathan as he watches Mister Ezra try to pretend as if nothing has happened.
He's still young and used to the insensitive, thoughtless remarks slung about by his peers, it's a cold truth that children have but little sympathy for one another's defects, but in that moment, never expecting to hear anything of the sort from an adult, and one he generally looks up to, the possible horror of such things is brought home to him. For the first time he understand the lie in the school yard rhyme, and knows that words can hurt worse than any broken bones.
"I believe this bet is yours to make, Master Travis."
But Billy doesn't react to Mister Ezra's words, which he somehow knows are meant only to distract him, and he doesn't go for the cards lying face down on the bed. Instead, he reaches out and places his hand on the bare skin of the man's bicep, and with every ounce of honesty he can muster pronounces," I care if you stay."
Oh GOD. Here is the test of his will, in this boy's earnest and caring gesture; here is the thing that will, finally, break him.
Repressing the shudder that wants to wrack his body, ruthlessly dampening the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, he smiles, in gratitude, and maybe even in love. No one in this town, his own mother included, would recognize the look; it is the first completely uncontrived expression he has ever given, and no wonder. If any other person has accepted him as readily, as fully, as simply as this boy who has seen far too much for his tender years, been made to age far beyond those years in many, though not all, ways, he was and is ignorant of the fact. It comes to him then how it will break his heart to leave Billy behind, even more so than the leaving of his friends. For with this simple act of unthinking kindness the boy has eased Ezra's greatly abused soul, in much the same way aloe sooths a burn, as those self-same friends never have.
Just as Billy has just come to see the power of words, Ezra is suddenly aware of what truth, what idea, what understanding it is that he has been grasping at for nearly two and a half years. It's simple really, and might have been obvious to any other, yet its expression is, to Ezra, earth shattering. Friendship, for, as the purest expression of the act, that is what he interprets this to be, is everything, and that which he has believed to be his life's pursuit, that which he as sought to acquire in nearly all his endeavors, is nothing.
Compared to friendship, wealth, gold, is dirt.
And friendship, that intangible, incomparable connection to another human being, is what he's been looking for all along.
Furthermore he sees the similarities between what Billy is giving him and what Chris has given him; understands that neither cares more or less about him than the other. Billy is young and, despite the horrors he's been witness to, open and hopeful. Chris is a man grown, and additionally, one who has experienced more loss and tragedy than many men would be able to survive; he no more wishes to open himself to disappointment or further pain than Ezra himself. It is far, far better to believe the worst and be surprised, than it is to expect the best and bear the pain of disappointment.
It hurts less with this understanding, the acceptance of his upcoming departure, and he thinks it will be easier, in the years to come, to look back on these years and not feel so damaged and bitterly disappointed as he might have otherwise. Easier to accept that this is no failing on his part, that the flaw, if a flaw there be, is not his alone. Maybe it never had been." That is the most welcome, most appreciated phrase in any language Billy. Thank you."
And he means it.
***
Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long to get this out, my only excuse is that I was unexpectedly abducted into the X-Files universe, and my muse, something other than amused with this seeming abandonment, decided this would be a nifty time for a vacation. In any case, we've reconciled and, though I'm still on probation, she consented to help me produce this latest chapter. I also want to state that I'm no longer sure exactly where this story is going, further punishment, I think, for my little jaunt with Mulder and Scully, and I'm not as sure of this chapter as I was of the previous ones. Perhaps it's just that the writing of it seemed to be so much of a struggle while chapters 1-5 seemingly came without the least of efforts. At any rate, I'd like to thank you for reading it. Especially if, like myself, you feel that this latest installment is not at all up to par. Last, but not least, I'll again express my thanks to my reviewer's, I hope you know how much your thoughts and comments truly are appreciated! Again, constructive criticism is more than welcome, how else will I learn?, and I'll do my best to calm down on the sap. I'm afraid though the next chapter might have more than it's fair share of it. I myself happen to think a person can only take so much of the stuff, but my Muse and I rarely agree and, let's face it, this is her show I'm running here.
Oh, and just to cover all the bases, I don't own anything, not even my car, and most especially I hold no claims on the Magnificent Seven; not the movies, the show, the characters , the actors, or anything else associated therein. God knows if I did the show would still be running and Michael Biehn would be tied to my bed whenever the filming schedule allowed. (
Did I mention any and all mistakes, I know they're there, are and always will be mine?
But it hurts.
He can be honest with himself about that as he could be with no other, has in fact found it a necessary habit of his existence to be so, and acknowledges the pain evoked by Nathan's words by far surpasses the physical hurts he has suffered and continues to suffer with little enough trouble. If Billy didn't happen to be sitting with him, to have overheard his friends as clearly as he himself has, he might well be giving in to that pain. Might simply close his eyes and let it consume him, let it drown him, at long last bringing this farce to its much expected end.
Could have, would have, should have; all amounted to naught as Billy is there beside him, and can not but have been subjected to Nathan's estimation of him.
He cannot give in to these inclinations of his, no matter their power or appeal, to do so would only further Billy's distress and become, perhaps, the most unforgivably selfish act he has perpetrated in many a year.
For his own part Billy doesn't think he could be more troubled, not even if he tried. He'd been upset and hurt and terrified after his dad's death and all those things had been bad, as bad as he thought it might ever get, but here now was something at once different and the same, and maybe just as bad in it's own way.
If Mister Jackson's words have made HIM feel bad, have hurt HIS feeling, what have they done to Mister Ezra? Mister Ezra who's already sick and tired and hurting, and who knows all about Chris and his Ma fighting? Young as he is Billy knows the dark side of life, the shadowed angry rooms of a persons mind that harbor all the negative emotions, better than most men who've lived their life in full. He knows what hate is, has experienced the full depth and breadth of it toward the men who killed his father, and he comes very close to directing that overpowering thing toward Nathan as he watches Mister Ezra try to pretend as if nothing has happened.
He's still young and used to the insensitive, thoughtless remarks slung about by his peers, it's a cold truth that children have but little sympathy for one another's defects, but in that moment, never expecting to hear anything of the sort from an adult, and one he generally looks up to, the possible horror of such things is brought home to him. For the first time he understand the lie in the school yard rhyme, and knows that words can hurt worse than any broken bones.
"I believe this bet is yours to make, Master Travis."
But Billy doesn't react to Mister Ezra's words, which he somehow knows are meant only to distract him, and he doesn't go for the cards lying face down on the bed. Instead, he reaches out and places his hand on the bare skin of the man's bicep, and with every ounce of honesty he can muster pronounces," I care if you stay."
Oh GOD. Here is the test of his will, in this boy's earnest and caring gesture; here is the thing that will, finally, break him.
Repressing the shudder that wants to wrack his body, ruthlessly dampening the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, he smiles, in gratitude, and maybe even in love. No one in this town, his own mother included, would recognize the look; it is the first completely uncontrived expression he has ever given, and no wonder. If any other person has accepted him as readily, as fully, as simply as this boy who has seen far too much for his tender years, been made to age far beyond those years in many, though not all, ways, he was and is ignorant of the fact. It comes to him then how it will break his heart to leave Billy behind, even more so than the leaving of his friends. For with this simple act of unthinking kindness the boy has eased Ezra's greatly abused soul, in much the same way aloe sooths a burn, as those self-same friends never have.
Just as Billy has just come to see the power of words, Ezra is suddenly aware of what truth, what idea, what understanding it is that he has been grasping at for nearly two and a half years. It's simple really, and might have been obvious to any other, yet its expression is, to Ezra, earth shattering. Friendship, for, as the purest expression of the act, that is what he interprets this to be, is everything, and that which he has believed to be his life's pursuit, that which he as sought to acquire in nearly all his endeavors, is nothing.
Compared to friendship, wealth, gold, is dirt.
And friendship, that intangible, incomparable connection to another human being, is what he's been looking for all along.
Furthermore he sees the similarities between what Billy is giving him and what Chris has given him; understands that neither cares more or less about him than the other. Billy is young and, despite the horrors he's been witness to, open and hopeful. Chris is a man grown, and additionally, one who has experienced more loss and tragedy than many men would be able to survive; he no more wishes to open himself to disappointment or further pain than Ezra himself. It is far, far better to believe the worst and be surprised, than it is to expect the best and bear the pain of disappointment.
It hurts less with this understanding, the acceptance of his upcoming departure, and he thinks it will be easier, in the years to come, to look back on these years and not feel so damaged and bitterly disappointed as he might have otherwise. Easier to accept that this is no failing on his part, that the flaw, if a flaw there be, is not his alone. Maybe it never had been." That is the most welcome, most appreciated phrase in any language Billy. Thank you."
And he means it.
***
Author's Note: I apologize for taking so long to get this out, my only excuse is that I was unexpectedly abducted into the X-Files universe, and my muse, something other than amused with this seeming abandonment, decided this would be a nifty time for a vacation. In any case, we've reconciled and, though I'm still on probation, she consented to help me produce this latest chapter. I also want to state that I'm no longer sure exactly where this story is going, further punishment, I think, for my little jaunt with Mulder and Scully, and I'm not as sure of this chapter as I was of the previous ones. Perhaps it's just that the writing of it seemed to be so much of a struggle while chapters 1-5 seemingly came without the least of efforts. At any rate, I'd like to thank you for reading it. Especially if, like myself, you feel that this latest installment is not at all up to par. Last, but not least, I'll again express my thanks to my reviewer's, I hope you know how much your thoughts and comments truly are appreciated! Again, constructive criticism is more than welcome, how else will I learn?, and I'll do my best to calm down on the sap. I'm afraid though the next chapter might have more than it's fair share of it. I myself happen to think a person can only take so much of the stuff, but my Muse and I rarely agree and, let's face it, this is her show I'm running here.
Oh, and just to cover all the bases, I don't own anything, not even my car, and most especially I hold no claims on the Magnificent Seven; not the movies, the show, the characters , the actors, or anything else associated therein. God knows if I did the show would still be running and Michael Biehn would be tied to my bed whenever the filming schedule allowed. (
Did I mention any and all mistakes, I know they're there, are and always will be mine?