Ezra lay perfectly still, listening for any indication of others in the room. He knew from the uncomfortable bed, the unpleasant aromas and the almost unbearable pain in his lower back exactly where he was. Waking up in Nathan's clinic was an all too familiar sensation. A habit he would dearly love to end.

After a moment, he was certain there was no other sound in the immediate area. No one was moving around, and unless they were unnaturally quiet, there wasn't even anyone breathing in the room. He shifted slightly, settling in to the peace of solitude, before his eyes shot open. There should be someone else here. Breathing. Chris had been shot. Ezra looked around the room frantically, ignoring the effect the sudden movement was having on his head and on the pain he'd been feeling a moment earlier. He was in the bed near the door. Nothing to his right but an empty chair. Fearing – dreading – what he would see to his left, he nevertheless shifted and sat up enough to allow himself a proper look. The bed was empty. Clean sheets were on it, with a blanket folded at the foot and an old quilt draped over the end. There had been a patient there, Ezra was certain. One who was no longer with him. With them.

Choking back his emotions, Ezra dropped his head back on the pillow. He no longer cared about the spinning room or the warmth at his back telling him he had opened the wound. Nathan would be angry about that. Of course, that was the least of his concerns. They would all be angry at him, and with more than just cause. It wasn't enough that once again the nightmares of his past had come to haunt him. This time, they had destroyed something that could not be restored. Chris's death – there, he'd allowed himself to form the thought – was a tragic loss on its own. But it represented so much more.

He was the underpinning of the group. The man who had pulled them together and still kept them focused. Ezra could easily see the team dissolving in the face of this loss. Buck would not want to stay, and JD would likely follow his mentor to the ends of the earth. This would be the opening for Nathan to move out to the village and settle down with Raine. Vin would likely head on as well, back to his wandering ways. Josiah might remain, working away at finishing the church, but even that was uncertain. He knew he'd leave. There was no choice. He couldn't stay and face the townsfolk, knowing his family had been the catalyst for this heartbreak.

The sound of approaching footsteps brought Ezra's mind back to the present. He closed his eyes, hoping whoever was there would simply look in and leave. He was in no mindset to deal with anyone at the moment. The door opened but did not close quickly. Not only was he no longer alone, he was about to have to face the music.

"Ezra, open your eyes. I can tell you're awake and that you've been moving."

Reluctantly, he followed orders, opening one eye. "My apologies Mr. Jackson, but I do not feel up to dealing with anyone at this time."

"Good to hear that voice again. Been a couple days of silence, and that just ain't natural from you." Nathan went to pull the sheet back to look and was surprised at how tightly Ezra clenched it in his hand. "Not like you to be shy Ezra. Loosen up some. I just want to check on the bandages." He gently untangled Ezra's fingers from the sheet and pulled it back. "Damn it Ezra, what did you do? How can you mess yourself up so bad, so fast?" He peeled of the bloody bandage and took a cloth to the wound. "Pulled out a few of stitches. Not as bad as it looked, but I'm gonna have to fix it up. I'll get you some tea for the pain."

"Don't bother."

The lost and dejected tone startled Nathan. "What do you mean don't bother? It's gonna hurt, you'll need it."

"Don't bother fixing it. The patient is not worth the effort."

"You're talking foolishness Ezra. I know this hurts and I know you've had a hell of a week, but if you think I'm gonna let you just lie there and bleed, then I'm gonna have to check you for a head injury as well."

"His death is my fault. I should have been the one who died." It was said so softly that Nathan wasn't entirely sure he'd heard correctly. What worried him more was the calm detachment.

"That's not right Ezra. Nobody is holding you to blame on this."

The words were meant to be comforting but came no where close to achieving their goal. "How could they not? How could anyone fail to see my full culpability?" He sunk deeper into the bed, trying to pull away from the healing efforts. He wanted no care or compassion.

"Ezra, you are not responsible. The man brought it on himself."

It was lucky for all concerned that the Nathan hadn't begun restitching, as Ezra pulled away sharply, spinning on the bed to face him angrily. "If you portend that by foolishly electing to come to the defense of someone unworthy of the effort, then I concede your point, but it is a vile condemnation to make."

Nathan stared, his mouth agape. It was several seconds before he found his voice. "Ezra – what the hell are you talking about?" There was no response as Ezra slumped back weakly on his bed, casting another forlorn gaze at the empty bed before closing his eyes and turning away. "Oh Shit. Ezra. Chris is fine. He ain't the one who's dead."

Ezra's eyes snapped open. "He was shot. Grievously injured."

"Wasn't hurt half as bad as you were, and he was complaining so loud about being in here I figured you would never get the rest you need."

The intensity of Ezra's stare matched any scrutiny he'd ever been subjected to. "You are not simply trying to appease me? You swear to me Mr. Larabee is recovering?"

"It was a deep graze Ezra. And he hurt his – pride – when he fell. You let me get you stitched up, and get some rest, and I'll have him come over next time you wake up."

"But I do not understand. If not Mr. Larabee, then which of our number has fallen?"

"Ezra, the only one who died in that shoot out was Jessop. I'm sorry to tell you like that."

The memory flooded back. His attention had been so focused on what he believed had happened, he hadn't given thought to what actually did. Now, he could clearly see the last flicker of life disappear from the disapproving eyes of his father. He tried to summon an emotion – any emotion – but was left only with numbness. "It was at my hand?"

"Does that matter to you?"

He had to consider the question. "No, I suppose not. What you must think of me for not being able to demonstrate, or even feign, so much as a modicum of grief over the death of a parent."

"I think the man didn't deserve you and doesn't deserve your grief. Now, lie still and let me get you patched up."

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"Hear you've been asking about me."

"Rarely have I been able to say with any honesty that I was relieved to hear your voice Mr. Larabee, but today is the exception to that rule."

"If I understood that right – then back at ya. You took a mighty long nap Ezra, even for you."

"Hardly the first time you have leveled such an accusation in my direction. I trust Mr. Jackson did not falsify his claims on the state of your health." Ezra focused his gaze on the sling Chris was wearing.

The quiet man shrugged with his good shoulder, impressively leaving the other perfectly still. "Won't say it was just a scratch, but I've survived a lot worse. I know you likely don't want to hear this, but I'm sorry about your father Ezra."

Not wanting to speak on the matter, Ezra offered a shrug of his own, knowing the action was unlikely to close the discussion. He was right.

"Sometimes we're better men because of our parents. Sometimes we are in spite of them." Chris doubted Ezra would accept the sentiment but wanted to plant the idea just the same.

"And sometimes the 'better' nature does not appear."

"Yeah, sometimes. Can't say I know anyone where that is the case though."

Given that he was now, literally, painfully aware of the fact another shrug would be the wrong response, Ezra gave a small nod instead. "I presume his remains have been dealt with. Please inform Mr. Colby I will settle the bill when I have been released from Mr. Jackson's clutches."

"Been paid Ezra. Whatever else he was, Jessop had been a sheriff, and that means the territory pays to bury him."

"An unwarranted honour."

"Likely, but there it is. You shouldn't be paying for it either."

Knowing there was no answer that would be suitable, Ezra chose to evade responding by spinning the conversation. "Perhaps, but there are other matters in which there is recompense, or at the very least, amends to be made."

"Hold that thought a minute." Chris went to the window and looked down from the second story vantage point, waving his hand has a signal. He crossed the room again, pulling the chair over to the bed before turning it around and straddled the seat, resting his good arm on the back. "You're right, and we've been talking about that."

Immediate acquiescence was not the response Ezra had been expecting. It had become common for him to have to argue with at least some of the men when he tried to accept his role in most of the fiascos that seemed to befall the group. The fights were generally futile, as he usually ended by making the claim that he accepted their interpretation of events. He suspected they knew he remained unconvinced of their clemency, but neither side elected to dwell on the facts. To now have Chris concede the point so readily caused him more concern than he had anticipated.

"There is no justification for what happened, so I see no point in attempting to offer one."

"We know," Vin offered as he entered the room, followed by the rest of the team, "and we couldn't ask you accept any lame excuses."

Ezra's planned response was cut off in mid-thought. "For me to accept?"

"A blind man could see Jessop had it in for you, and we were just damned stupid to be taken in by him. Poor excuse for lawmen." Buck's usual lighthearted tone was totally absent.

"You, all of you, presume to take the blame not anticipating the insanity that would allow a man to enter a town in full view of those who had threatened him with arrest? You further blame yourselves for not foretelling his intent to kill his own flesh and blood, despite those same threats, and your presence on the street? A presence, I might add, that came perilously close to getting one of you killed."

"We knew he was no good, and we knew he was likely still be hanging around."

Chris nodded his agreement with Vin. "We could have locked him up for the threats he made but figured you wouldn't want him around."

"An accurate assumption. Gentlemen, it is unfathomable to me that you would consider yourselves at fault for the actions of my family. I can assure you I hold none of you remotely responsible. It is I who was, or should have been, aware of the depths to which he might sink."

"He was a sick man Ezra. Dying man. That can change the way a man thinks. The way he does things." Nathan doubted the words would provide much comfort.

"It is ludicrous enough that you are all seeking to make excuses for your own actions, but I will not tolerate the thought that you seek to provide him with any rationalizations for the mayhem he created."

"Not excuses Ezra. Just saying that maybe things were out of his control is all."

Ezra exhaled heavily, suddenly feeling warn down by everything that had happened. "I dare say, Mr. Sanchez, that your words may have a ring of truth in some cases, but not this one. Jessop was a son of a bitch when he impregnated mother, a son of a bitch when he abandoned her and continued to hold that designation through every encounter since then. His distain for her, and disgust at my mere existence are all the proof that is needed to confirm that his impending death served only to provide him the opportunity to act upon a life long desire. He is – was – a man without a single noticeable redeeming quality."

"And you're worried the apple doesn't roll far from the tree." Chris finished for him.

"Again, there is evidence to support that conjecture."

"Tell me something Ezra. You think Jessop was capable of feeling bad about what he did? I mean, ignoring the fact he was sick and all, you think he felt any kind of guilt about all of this?"

Vin waited for Ezra's answer, knowing he'd probably already figured out where the discussion was headed. "No Mr. Tanner. He has always believed his path was the high moral and legal ground, and any action he took was the sole valid option. And, in anticipation of your supplemental query, while he may have felt shame and anger over the way I choose to live my life, he would never consider taking any responsibility for my actions."

"While you feel all that, and more, about what he did. You can't seriously doubt you're a far better man than he could ever hope to be Ezra?" Josiah watched closely to see if his words were having the desired effect. The fact the Ezra had defended himself to his father did nothing to convince Josiah and the others that the gambler actually believed what he was saying. They had all watched him deny the emergence of his better self over the past months and had deep and real fears that this episode was hurting him in ways he would never acknowledge.

"I think," Ezra began slowly, "that I will not be permitted to slide down that path again. I dare to believe, to hope, that there will be six sets of hands reaching out to rescue me from such a fall."

Chris allowed himself a small chortle. "Well, not sure that exactly answered the question, but I guess it's the best we're gonna get for now."

Taking a look at his increasingly drowsy patient, Nathan walked over and opened the door. "OK, with that done, and everybody as happy as we seem to get around here, I want you all out. He needs the rest, and it wouldn't hurt the rest of you to catch up on that too."

"You need to practise as you preach Brother." Josiah grinned as he glanced back at the bed before leaving. These matters were not settled, and he had the feeling with Ezra they might never be, but as long as both sides were trying, things would be alright.

"Need anything before I take my own advice Ezra?"

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson, however as I believe I just indicated, I have all that I require." Ezra closed his eyes and drifted off with a small but satisfied smile on his face.

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The End