NOW:

Standing in the center of the sheriff's office, Ben appraised his surroundings.

Born from sheer necessity, this was a trip he had not wanted to make. He had instructed Jamie to keep away from Adam and now he needed to tell Adam he expected him to do the same. It was a task that was proving to be difficult.

Although the front door of the building had been left unlocked, the office was empty. Ben grunted cynically. Surely Adam knew better than to leave the door unlocked when he was not present to look after what lay inside. If he didn't, then it was almost certainly wisdom Roy Coffee had extended when handing over the keys to the building and the silver star that he once so prominently wore. These small details were odd and smarting to think about while he stood, casting his gaze upon an office that had once belonged to his oldest friend and now belonged to his oldest son.

The front door opened suddenly, revealing Adam as he walked into the building. Eyes setting immediately upon his father, he stopped in place, his expression contorting with quick exasperation.

"Ah, shit," he whispered, the words nearly lost among the deep exhale he expelled from his chest. "I'm not going to speak to you if you're going to yell at me again," he added quickly, his voice much louder as he punctuated his even words with an extended index finger and a nod.

"I came to talk," Ben said. If his son could not be bothered to voice a proper greeting—maybe a curt "good morning", or even a singular "hello"—then neither could he. And really, what use did the two of them have for pleasantries now?

"About?"

"Jamie, and you."

"Jamie," Adam repeated flatly. "And me."

Pushing the door closed behind him, he approached the small cast iron stove in the corner. Pointing at the coffee pot which sat steaming on top of it, he nodded at his father, a silent offering of a cup of coffee that was quickly declined. Pouring himself a cup, he settled into the chair behind the desk and waited for his father to take residence in the opposite seat.

Ben tried not to think about how foreign it was to see his son behind a desk that had been reserved for someone else for so long; he tried to look at anything other than the silver star pinned prominently to Adam's vest; and he tried to ignore the cluster of feelings gathering in the pit of his stomach: sadness for Roy Coffee whose usefulness had come to an end, nervousness for the man who now sat in his place, frustration for how the past had unfolded, and anger for how the future seemed destined to be tumultuous at best.

"You want to talk about Jamie and me," Adam repeated. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected, given that he and I have already crossed paths. What could not be expected, at least by you, is that by coming here, you've saved me a trip."

Ben frowned. "What do you mean?"

"There's been a complaint lodged against you."

"By whom?"

"Your boy."

"Jamie?"

"Jamie," Adam verified coolly. "He came to see me this morning, a visit that left him a mite late for school, something which he did not seem too worried about and struck me as odd. We visited for a bit and then I walked him to the schoolhouse. He was particularly apprehensive during the walk, and Mrs. Edwards was considerably taken aback to see him. She told me you wrote her a letter, excusing that boy for the rest of the year. You must be getting old; I don't recall you so easily hoodwinked in my younger years, or those of Hoss or Joe, for that matter."

Ben's frown deepened, carving deep lines of displeasure into his face. "I will not take kindly to judgment of my abilities where rearing my son is concerned," he warned.

"There's no harm in hearing other people's criticisms of your behavior. Sometimes they're right. You taught me that, shame it's a lesson you seem to think applies to everyone but yourself."

"Boy, if you don't want me to yell then you better change your tone and pick your words more wisely."

Adam's brows furrowed. "I'm not your boy," he said calmly. "Not anymore. I do believe it is you who needs to mind his words and change his tone. I figure, on your land and in your house, you can speak to me however you like. But you can't do that here." He nodded at the door. "Or out there. This is my town now. I don't expect you to like it, but you do have to respect my presence."

"Do others?" Ben asked sharply.

"Most do. The rest will, given time."

"How much time?"

"However much it takes."

"Where was that determination years ago? How is it you can suddenly reappear able to withstand what you could not back then?"

"Time has passed. People move on, their attention wanes, and their memories fade. A lot of folks don't remember a single word of what was being said back then. Of course, there will be whispers, speculation and doubt. You yourself are proof of that. Most people don't remember what was being thought about me back then, but I suppose it's a perplexing comfort to know that you always will. And to think, you were the one who always told me there was no negative emotion a man could feel that time could not soothe."

Ben did not reply. There was no purpose in continuing the conversation and allowing it to devolve further. Yelling at each other would not change either of their opinions; if time had not allowed them to speak calmly, easily, and respectfully, then what would? They stared at each other, their conversation ending abruptly.

"Why are you here?" It was Adam's question that finally broke their extended silence, his expression and tone shifting, softening somehow. "Why must you always make things more difficult for me than they should be?"

"I told you," Ben quietly said. He had not meant to make things difficult, though he could not deny he had. If he had not begun their initial reunion by wordlessly walking out the door, if he would have put his feelings aside, and gathered his son in his arms instead, then what would the tone of this conversation had been? How would the others have unfolded? The past did not matter, he reminded himself; it was the future they needed to focus on.

"You want to talk about Jamie," Adam said.

"And you."

Taking a sip of his coffee, Adam looked at his father warily. "What do you want to know?"

Ben thought about the question; it was obvious the intention with which it had been posed. He was meant to probe about Jamie's past, not Adam's. But with Jamie's prior accusations and insinuations swirling in the forefront of his mind, he suddenly found there was only one question he wanted answered.

"Who are you?"

Adam was visibly taken aback. "What?" he chuckled.

"Jamie said I don't know who you are and what you've done. He also called you a hero. So, tell me, who are you?"

Adam leaned back in his chair, the rigidity of his shoulders relaxing as his expression shifted once more. For a moment, he looked confused, then sad, then both emotions were gone, replaced by a forced indifferent mask. "You sit on the town council," he said. "You were given all the information that was presented to your peers, and you really don't know?"

"I…" Ben struggled for the correct words. "I was preoccupied," he admitted. Better to just be forthcoming with the truth, lest he never say it at all. "I missed the discussion regarding your qualifications."

"Still, Roy said he told you what I'd been doing. He said you and he spoke at length about what was to happen when I came back."

"He did not. We did not. He never told me you were returning. I did not know until I saw you myself. I asked him about it after, he told me any disclosure of what you had been doing was your choice."

Adam's lips curled into a small smile. "That conniving old pirate," he said, the musing no more than a whisper of breath. "You don't know," he repeated, his voice becoming louder. "You think it was nepotism that made me sheriff of this town. That Roy just happened to track me down and bring me back here because he was fond of me." He shook his head. "Je-sus, no wonder you're so mad about the whole thing."

"I never said I was mad."

"Oh, you may not have said anything, but your anger is abundantly clear. Even if you hadn't been acting so hostile, I'd still know you were mad. Time may have passed, but I still know you well. It's a shame that you don't…" Crossing his arms, Adam closed his mouth, silencing whatever lament he had come a little too close to disclosing as he looked upon the room. "You really don't know," he eventually continued, his attention shifting to his father once more. "That's just as well, I suppose. I thought you were angry because you knew, and once you do you will be, seeing as you are so upset by the notion that I could ever be trusted with a badge of any authority."

"I suppose, I assumed you were serving as sheriff someplace else."

"No. I've never been a sheriff before."

"I thought you said it was not nepotism that—"

"I'm a U.S. Marshal."

"A U.S. Marshal," Ben repeated dumbly.

A marshal was worse than a sheriff; it was worse than most anything he could have imagined. It meant not guarding a population of people from the nefarious, rather going out of one's way to track the latter down.

During the sparse occasions he had allowed himself to imagine his son, existing in the world, he had pictured him lost among the masses in a bustling city, or on a ship in an ocean spanning continents. He had never thought of him serving in a position which promised he would guard or travel landscapes that were not dissimilar to those which his family owned. He always thought Adam would have been in search of terrain he could not have found near his home, a life that was vastly different than the one he had left behind.

"How?" Ben whispered. "How does someone like you become something like that?" He hadn't meant for the question to sound judgmental, but he could not deny that it had.

It grieved him to think of Adam alone all this time, chasing danger and death. It was frightening to think his son had not had a home, something—someone—to hang on to outside of his anger and frustration. Instead, he had chased criminals, murderous and savage, without the end intent of returning to a place he called home. That perhaps, he had not planned on returning from these trips at all. That he was, in fact, just lost, traveling road after road with little care for the moment other than the one he was living in.

Clearing his throat, Adam's eyes sparkled with indignation as he dismissed his father's question with a shake of his head.

Ben tried again. "That isn't the job of a family man," he said, the statement inadvertently verifying the answer of a question he would not dare ask.

Adam stared at him momentarily, his face hardening as a hint of sadness flickered briefly in his eyes. "No, it is not," he said, his tone soft but even. "It's not a job for a man who likes to remain in one place. There's no telling where a trail will lead you any given day, let alone where you'll find yourself in a week or even a month's time. A man doesn't experience a lot of predictability or permanence, but he gets to see a lot of the country. He meets all kinds of people; some he could never imagine existed. I happened upon Jamie Hunter and his father years back. Jamie knows who I am, the job I hold. That is why he holds me in such high esteem, something that doesn't bode well for me, or you, I'm afraid. He knew me for the briefest of times, but the things that happened during it aren't the kind that are easily forgotten, especially by a young boy."

"You're a hero in his eyes."

Ben wondered with how many others this opinion was shared. How many people had Adam saved? How many lives had he taken? How many criminals had he tracked before enough had finally become enough? What had he really been searching for when he had spent his time looking for someone else? And how many miles did he have to travel until he either found this elusive thing or realized he never would? What had happened to make him finally willing to come back here?

Except for he had not really come back, Ben thought. Adam had left and he returned, but he had not really come home, and with the way he was speaking and looking at him, it was obvious he did not intend to. He had his own life now. He was his own man. Separated from his father and brothers fully, he had not needed any of them to become what he had. Ben wanted to be angry; he wanted to return to the argument that had been left festering between them for so long. He longed for the distraction it promised. Instead, he found himself without words, a deep sadness overcoming him instead.

It was not easy for Adam to come back to Virginia City. Was that not what everyone around him had said? But if that was the case then what was the alternative? What had he done? Who or what had he finally found?

"A boy Jamie's age is prone to hero worship," Adam said dismissively. "Especially given the roughness of the life he's led. Speaking of which, we still need to talk about his complaint. He's mad because you hit him."

"He said I hit him?"

"He did."

"I didn't. Well, I did," Ben amended quickly. "But not in an abusive way."

Adam was skeptical. "You're sure about that?"

"Yes. The boy became insolent, so I tanned him."

"And that was it?"

"Of course, that was it," Ben said tersely. Why was Adam asking so many questions? Their tensions aside, did he not know what kind of man his father was? There was nothing to investigate or defend. Jamie had acted poorly and he had corrected him. Why was this a topic of conversation while there were still so many other things to discuss?

"Okay," Adam said. It was obvious the acceptance had not come easily. "I believe you. Although, I don't know if I should. Despite our differences, I suppose I don't want to think you've become the type of man who lets his emotions dictate impulsive reactions, and I don't want to be forced to stand between you and that boy if you have." He cast Ben a serious gaze. "But if I have to, I will," he warned. "I'm bound by duty to protect people at any cost, it doesn't really matter from whom."

"Adam, I am not an abusive man. You of all people must know that."

"I know Jamie can be belligerent and mouthy; he has a way of drawing attention to other people's faults while ignoring his own. Still, sixteen is a little too old for that kind of punishment, don't you think? Especially for a boy that hasn't belonged to you for very long."

"Fifteen," Ben corrected. "Jamie is fifteen."

Adam shrugged as though there was little distinction between the two ages. "I'm not going to tell you how to deal with him. That's your choice. I do think you owe him an apology. You tell him to talk to you and then you get angry about the things he has to say. That's not fair. You can't press him to speak and then immediately beat him back into prolonged silence."

"I warned him to change his words and his tone. He chose not to. I certainly did not beat him."

"You may as well have. The result was the same. Given my experience with the boy, he's not the type to respond positively to such corrections. His complaint to me is a testament to that."

"What does that mean?"

"Has he ever talked about his father?" Adam asked, ignoring his father's question in favor of his own.

"No."

"What do you know about him?"

"What do you?" Ben countered.

Adam smiled, all teeth. "Nope," he said. "You don't really expect it to be that easy, do you? You want to know more about Jamie's father, then you're going to have to speak to him yourself."

"Do the three of you have some kind of pact?"

"What?"

"You, Roy, and Jamie. It's like the three of you sat down with each other and decided upon the things you would and would not share outside of yourselves."

"Of course not."

"Then why won't you speak further on the subject?"

"Because it isn't my information to share. He was not my father."

Seemingly serving as a covert comparison between the two men, the statement smarted more than it should have. His anger returning quickly, Ben pushed back his chair, and stood; then he immediately wondered why he had done such a thing. This was not an interaction he was going to abandon like the others. He had no intention of taking his leave, not with so many things left to say.

Looking up at Ben, Adam cast him an inquisitive gaze, seemingly unaffected by their sudden height discrepancy. "I won't tell you more about Jamie's father," he said. "But I will say this, you cannot take a kid like that, who has grown so accustomed to taking care of himself, and expect him to take instruction from you just because you believe he should. That boy has been expected to act grown for the better part of his life, and now you're asking him not to."

"If he can act grown then why doesn't he?"

"He's a teenager. I'm not saying he's not emotional, or impulsive."

"What are you saying?"

"I'm advising you to tread lightly. It'll get you much further with him than anything you've tried before."

"I don't take kindly to anyone telling me how to deal with my son."

"I know. Listen, that's not what I'm trying to do."

"No, you listen," Ben said, his building frustration demanding he correct the son in front of him as he shifted the topic of conversation completely and reverted back to his disagreement with Jamie. "With everything you think you're right about, there is one thing you remain very wrong about. It's not my home, or my land. It's our home, our land. Despite our differences, I would never withhold from you something you earned. The Ponderosa still belongs to you, too."

Come home, Ben thought, the sudden desire taking him by surprise. Turn your back on whatever you've done. Whatever it is you've become. Let's put the past behind us now. Just apologize and I'll forgive you, and then you can come back and be who you once were.

It was a silent plea that was destined to remain unsaid, because too much had changed to allow things to be any other way than how they currently were. Adam had left, and he had found a specific way of life. He had become a marshal and now he was a sheriff; he was used to holding positions of power that his father could not begin to rival.

Adam was seemingly unphased by the turn of conversation. "No," he said evenly. "It doesn't. You and I both know it never really did. From the beginning, I was always destined to leave, turn my back on what you built, and you were always destined to never understand or accept my reasons why."

"I never said that. As a man I always understood why you did what you did. But as your father I can't help but mourn that the things I wanted for you were never what you wanted for yourself. I suppose, I always thought of you as stronger than you turned out to be."

"So that's the truth according to you, huh?" Adam asked quietly. "You think it was weakness that made me leave everyone and everything I knew and set out on a path that was all my own. That's a shame, because most people would say it was the opposite."

"It's not the fact that you left, Adam. It's how."

"You're not that different than me, you know. You think you are, but you're not. After all, here you are, at your age, taking responsibility for a teenage boy that has nothing to do with you."

"I never ran away from my family, forsaking them only to travel a road that promised heartache, challenge and danger."

"Did you not?"The question was quiet, simple, and benign; it was the answer that promised to be malignant, causing more harm than good. "Don't you ever wonder, Pa, what kinds of things your family had to say about you when you took your infant son and headed west all those years ago?"

"No," Ben said. "It did not matter what they had to say. I knew what I was doing, even if they did not want to understand it."

Adam nodded. "Like I said, we're not that different, and because of that, the past is something you and I are never going to see eye to eye on. I think it's best if we don't talk about it anymore. You have your opinion of me and I have mine of you, and I don't see either of them changing anytime soon. We may be in the same place, but I don't believe things can ever be truly peaceful between us. Not after everything that's happened. Not with the way we both feel. I'll tell you what, I'll make things easier on both of us and give you wide berth."

"That's not what I came here to say."

"I know. You did not come to tell me to stay away from you. You want me to stay away from someone else. I won't keep away from Jamie, I'm afraid. I wish I could, but I can't, not now that I know he's here."

Adam's words were the same ones Jamie had spoken with regards to him. Ben would have been astonished had he not been quite so flustered. The apparent bond between the two was so inexplicable and beyond understanding given the scarce information at Ben's disposal. What was this connection his two sons shared? What did it mean? And what would it do?

"Fine," Ben said. It was a word he knew he would look back upon with regret. Their conversation had ebbed and flowed, endlessly weaving, and finally leaving them where they had been when it began. There was nothing anything else to do or say. Not at this moment, at least.

Ben took his leave with a curt nod.

"And apologize to that boy," Adam added as his father opened the front door. "Even you have to admit, what happened between the two of you the other morning at the top of that particular trailhead was wrong."

Stepping out in the thoroughfare, Ben squinted into the afternoon sun and prayed that the warmth would be enough to relieve his lingering frustration and building tension. Adam knew about his ride with Jamie the morning before. What else had been spoken about? What else did Adam know? What did Jamie? And how much time would pass before Ben was allotted access to the secrets of either?

They will not tell you anything if you keep acting like you do, he thought, silently chastising himself. They aren't going to confide in a silly old man who spends his time stomping around, demanding access to confidences he hasn't earned.

Turning around, he looked at the closed door of the office from which he had just come. What was wrong with him? How could someone once so full of patience and wisdom devolve to become… this? Was his ascending age aggrieving him, making him bitter and senile, only willing to recall the worst of times rather than the best?

It could not go on like this. Adam would not allow it to. His parting statements had been the drawing of a deep, figurative line meant to permanently separate them. Having already weighed and considered the pros and cons of continuing to interact with his father, he was giving up, seemingly deciding there was nothing left to fight for where their relationship was concerned, finally acknowledging what Ben had known from the beginning. Nothing would ever be enough to truly repair the damage that had been done. There was too much anger, too much frustration, too much pain lurking in the past. It was better they did not discuss it, better yet if they never recalled it in the first place.

"Heya, Ben."

A voice came from behind, and Ben turned to find Roy Coffee appraising him from a few steps away.

"Did you have a good conversation with your boy?" Coffee asked.

Though the question was asked innocently enough, Ben wondered if there was more to it than could be easily discerned. "No," he said gruffly.

"Ah, well, that's to be expected, I suppose, given how things have unfolded as of late. But think of it this way, you both have said the unkind things to each other that have been festering inside of you for all these years. Now y'all just have to give it a little time. Things will fall into place, just you wait and see." Coffee grinned. "The stage is rolling in ten days. I wonder what it'll bring?"

"What do you mean by that? You conniving old man, what else do you know that I don't?"

Winking in a conspiratorial manner, Coffee turned and walked away without another word.

TBC