Title: A Bottle of Southern Comfort
Author: Kleine Snowdrop
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: None of the magnificent Seven are mine.
Summary: Ezra and Vin reminisce about a common past. Takes place after the Ghosts of the Confederacy and One Day Out West.
A Bottle of Southern Comfort
Ezra Standish climbed up into the hayloft with a bottle of whiskey and a plate of food. He just agreed to spend a month in this town as a peacekeeper in order to clear the charges against him as a bail jumper. They hadn't been back from the Seminole village long and Ezra hadn't really given the experience much of a thought, until now.
He set his plate down and pulled out of his pocket the tattered piece of the confederate flag that Vin Tanner had given him. He set it down right in front of him as he sat down. Just as he opened the whiskey bottle a head popped up nearly startling him.
"Mind if I join ya, Ezra," drawled Vin Tanner.
"By all means," came Ezra's gracious reply. Vin set his plate next to Ezra's and pulled up onto the loft to sit across from the Georgian. Vin glanced around the hideout, and his eyes landed on the torn flag.
"Hard to swallow, ain't it?"
"Yes, it was Mr. Tanner," Ezra replied honestly, "if anyone had ever told me that I would fire a cannon upon the stars and bars, I'd have bet against them. But sir, it would seem that I was destined to lose."
"Real glad you decided to stay, Ezra," Vin said taking a drink of the whiskey. He passed it back to the other man.
"And why might that be, Mr. Tanner?"
"Can ya least call me Vin, ain't nobody ever called me, Mister Tanner before."
"Very well, then, why Vin, are you glad that I stayed, most people I have found are not fond of a 'cheat' in their midst."
"Glad yer here, case we southern boys got ta stick together," grinned Vin, "too many Yanks around."
The two southerners found that night that they had much in common. Their ages were only months apart. Ezra being the older one, his birthday was mid November of 1846, and Vin's was May 1, 1847. Both men had joined the confederate army as boys, just barely old enough to be considered men.
Neither were naïve enough to believe in many of the reasons and justifications of the war, they had fought for their homes and very lives. Both men having fought in some rather terrible battles and losing close friends in the war. The commiserated their losses and recounted battles long into the night.
They spent much of the night, drinking and reminiscing about earlier days. The air in the stables was maudlin, and neither wanted to take their morose moods elsewhere. They stayed where they were swapping war stories, and the more they drank, tales of other remarkable feats from both of their pasts.
Sometime during the night, they had polished of a nearly full bottle, and managed to fall asleep. Neither arrived for breakfast the next morning, so Chris headed to go find his wayward men. He had seen Vin head to the stables last night, and decided to look for his two southerners there. He noticed the fine red jacket and a buckskin coat hanging from the ladder and climbed the first few rungs.
He smirked, there, like two little boys, were Vin and Ezra. Curled up together, with an empty bottle of whiskey, two plates, and the tattered bit of a confederate flag between them. He decided to let them lay there. He didn't really want to disturb them, but he would tell the others where they were. He didn't want anyone to startle them. Both were crack shots and tensions still ran high about the war, especially since he, Buck and Nathan had all fought against the younger two men. The last thing he needed was more conflict in his diverse group of peacekeepers.
The End