So sooo sorry about the delay in the update, my health has made writing next to impossible. I appreciate every one of y'all that stick around despite the delays and long stretches between chapters. I swear I'm doing as much as I can to get these out, so please don't hate me...

Anyway, without further ado, here's the newest chapter!

Samuel paced from one end of the house to the other. His bare feet slapped against the cold wood, and it was the only sound throughout the whole house. For the first time since his return from the battlefield, he had the entire house to himself. Despite the chill in the air, he wore no shirt, nor had he been able to put one on comfortably since his flogging. His bandages needed changing yet again. He had been fighting to keep infection out for quite a while, but he could never manage to keep his wounds on a steady course toward healing. Healing was slow and agonizing in its coming, in part because of how the war was going, but also because of his own mind.

He spoke to none of the states anymore. He kept to himself and avoided all contact with anyone if he could help it, but he did hang around some choice plantation slaves. Marion made attempts at polite conversation at least once a day. However, all that she could drag out of him was a sad look, like a kicked puppy, that is if she could get anything out of him at all. Most of the time, he sat in the study either reading or writing letters that never were sent. If he wasn't there, he was out sitting and talking with some of the slaves as they worked outside.

The states all could clearly see Samuel's spiral down the drain, and they all tried to get him out of his "funk" in their own ways.

Alabama offered to take him hunting on his own land, which he never did for anyone. Samuel declined in favor of helping himself to the liquor cabinet.

Virginia dragged him into town to go shopping. He held her bags like the gentleman that he was and quietly nodded to which fabric he thought would look better as a new dress. He never said a word during that entire outing.

Texas even brought back prostitutes from town for him on multiple occasions, as Samuel's sexual appetite was somewhat a thing of local legend. Every time the girls showed up at the door however, Samuel gently declined their services, paid them for their trouble, and had a slave take them back to town. He even offered them food if they were hungry.

His new demeanor was an epiphany to everyone, but most notably to Texas. He simply could not fathom how Samuel could turn down a willing girl.

"The kid will screw anything with legs!" Samuel heard Texas whisper-yell down the hall one day to Arkansas, who had become like Texas' shadow over the past few months. "I can't tell you how many times he's been around the block with every skirt within fifty miles, and he gets disciplined once and all of a sudden he's celebant? Who does he think he's kidding? And I pay good money for those whores, too. But hey, his loss and my gain, am I right? But seriously, what's stuck in his craw?"

Samuel had wanted to say a lot of choice things to Texas in that moment, but truth be told, he had simply lost the motivation to do much of anything. He was cut off from the world, the war, his guys in the field.

He spent hours trying to figure out how had he fallen from being in the heat of battle to spending all of his time in a darkened study, poring over dusty books whose authors were long since dead and gone.

Where had his passion gone? What had happened to the fire in his heart that burned unceasingly?

How had he sunk to pacing the length of Virginia's cold and empty plantation house, with a barely smoldering and forgotten cigarette in one hand and a half-drunk glass of bourbon in the other?

He was just going to reflect on the fact that it took exactly fifty-three steps to get from one end of the house to the other when a young slave stepped into the hallway. She saw him down the hall in the darkened corner, smiled at him, and called out his name. "Sammy!"

Samuel's head jerked up at the sound. The slave girl had startled him, but when he paired the light and airy voice with the girl's face, he smiled. It was a real smile, one that was reserved only for the slaves who worked the plantation and house. He was really the only one who treated them fairly and kindly, and it was obvious when he spent time with them that he saw them all as his equals. As the personification of the Confederacy, this was highly frowned upon by the states, and his time with the plantation slaves had been limited to only necessary run-ins. However, being alone in the house, this was a rare opportunity to spend some time with one of his favorite little girls who took care of the house.

"Annabel! how wonderful to see you," he said, his silky smooth voice reflecting how truly glad he was to see her. Now that he was standing in front of her, suddenly he became extremely conscious of his bare chest. "Oh my goodness–!" As hastily as his painful body could, he set down his glass on the floor by his feet, snatched up a sheet from a basket of clean laundry that was set against the wall, and wrapped himself up in it in a makeshift shawl. He could feel his face heat up and turn red, which made both him and the little girl in front of him giggle. Samuel's sense of modesty only ever made an appearance when he was around someone he truly respected, which narrowed down the pool of applicable people to the house slaves. When they had both quelled their laughter, Samuel gingerly knelt on the floor in front of Annabel, who had drawn close.

"So to what may I attribute this wonderful opportunity to see you?"

"I've got a letter for you, sir," she said with a bashful smile. She held out a small envelope with Samuel's name sloppily written on it in ink.

"You know better than to call me sir–" Samuel paused in the middle of his thought and furrowed his brow. "Hold on," he said, "no one else has seen this yet, have they?"

Annabel shook her head and grinned, her pearly white teeth stunning and stark contrast to her ebony skin. Something about that smile dug up a memory from deep inside Samuel's brain. A memory of a slave named Eli…

Samuel quickly refocused back to the situation at hand. He was surprised. Not by the fact that he had a letter, but the fact that this letter had come before anyone else had a chance to read it ahead of him. The states had taken to absconding with his mail and reading it first to make sure there was nothing strange in it that could give Samuel any rebellious ideas.

Annabel knew all about how the states were trying to keep Samuel under their thumbs, as she was his go-to girl when he had the urge to subtly buck the system.

"Alrighty then, let's see who this is from." Samuel smiled as he took the envelope from Annabel's tiny hand. She laced her fingers in his, and he gave her hand a cheerful squeeze. As he ripped open the envelope, he stuck his cigarette between his teeth despite the fact that it was nearly out.

The paper that was stuffed in the envelope was creased in every direction, smudged with ink, and it even had strange stains on a couple of the corners. It looks as if this letter has been to Hell and back, Samuel thought, but who am I to judge, I probably don't look much better either.

He withdrew the paper, unfolded it, and started to read. The further into the letter he got, the more his smile faded into a concentrated and concerned look. By the end of the letter, he had lost all semblance of happiness. He quickly folded the letter up and stuffed it into his pants pocket. He took ahold of both of Annabel's hands and looked her in the eyes to keep her attention.

"Annabel, I'm going to need you to do me a huge favor."

The girl's expression sobered and she nodded her head.

"Would you put some food together for me? It seems I need to go away for a bit."

Annabel frowned. "Wait, where? For how long?"

"Only a few days, not to worry. I'll be back before you know it, I promise."

After a few seconds of terse silence, "Okay…" was her half-hearted reply.

"You mustn't tell a soul that I've left. This is extremely important. Please. This isn't like the other times we've done silly little things to mess with the others. I could get in a lot of trouble if I got caught."

Annabel knew the consequences for the both of them if this plan of Samuel leaving were to make it back around to the states, and she was rightfully scared. The very last thing that Samuel wanted was to get her into trouble, but he knew that he physically needed the help.

"Just… Can you trust me? The less you know, the safer we both are."

It was obvious that Annabel wasn't on board with all of these secrets, but she agreed nonetheless.

"Sammy," the little girl said, her normally chipper voice small and shaky.

"What is it, my girl?"

Annabel took a breath before saying, "Whatever it is you have to do, be safe. I don't want you to get hurt again."

Samuel gave her a small and encouraging smile. "I'll be alright. Promise." He kissed her on the cheek and thanked her before she quickly turned and headed to the pantry.

I had better get going before someone catches me and locks me up again, he thought. I've got someone waiting on me in Washington, and this is a meeting that I cannot afford to miss.

He slowly pushed himself back to his feet, putting his hand out against the wall for support and picking up his glass of liquid courage along the way.

Who knows, the outcome of the war itself may very well depend on if I make it in time.

Samuel threw the rest of the bourbon back in one gulp and strode down the hall. For the first time since the incident with Alfred, something was stirring inside of him.

Something along the lines of determination.

-x-x-x-

The second Texas opened the door of the plantation house, he knew something was off. The house was always quiet these days, but this… This was entirely too quiet. No, quiet wasn't the right word. The house was silent as a grave. It was the ugly kind of silence, the kind that fell heavy over the ears and settled uncomfortably over everything within arms reach.

He could practically smell that something was very wrong.

"Samuel!"

His voice boomed through the halls. It bounced off the mirrors, careened up the stairs, tripped around every piece of furniture in the house and then finally out the back door.

He heard no response. There was no one to give one. The house was deserted.

He sighed and shifted his feet. The floor of the foyer creaked under his weight. The sound was louder than it had any right to be.

After a minute or so, a song made its way to Texas' ears. A song sung by empty rooms and lonely walls, accompanied by the crisp winter air. Its verse was mournful, the chorus wispy.

This song, a song so quiet, screamed to Texas that Samuel had fled.

"It was only a matter of time," Texas said to himself under his breath, "before you flew the coop." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Don't worry kid, when I find you, I'll clip those wings of yours."

He turned and walked back out the front door of the house. He didn't bother to close the door. Across the porch he went, down the steps, into the brown grass that crunched under his foot.

He fished his flask out from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, lifted it to his lips.

"I'll crush that rebellious spirit under my heel until there's nothing left but dust to be tossed by the wind."

He sealed his words with a swig of burning amber.

The house took the words into itself and harbored them within its walls.

This was no empty threat.

This was a promise, and Texas had yet to leave a promise unfulfilled.

-x-x-x-

Alfred sat at the bar, anxiously sipping his third beer of the evening. He had been waiting, sitting patiently at the same stool, for a couple of hours now. It was getting late, and he really needed to get back home soon. This was the fourth night he had come to the bar and hung around from when they opened their doors until closing time. He was biding his time, waiting. A voice wondered in the back of his mind if all of his waiting was in vain, but he quickly shoved the notion aside.

He is going to come.

He will be here.

It's only a matter of time.

A matter of time and patience, and I have more than enough time to spare.

Alfred sipped from his mug again. Waiting had never been Alfred's strongsuit. He was about the most impatient man he knew, but he didn't exactly have much of a choice right now.

He absentmindedly drew a smiley face in the water on the side of his sweating glass. The lopsided mouth made the face look almost depraved. Alfred smiled back half-heartedly at his creation before sighing and wiping it away with his thumb before taking a long drink.

A moment later, Alfred sensed someone standing over his shoulder. He slowly lowered his mug to the bar, but he didn't look to see who it was that stood behind him. He kept his gaze even with the wall of liquor bottles shelved across from him.

The person behind him stepped forward and eased themselves into the barstool next to Alfred and called the bartender over.

"What can I get for you?" the bartender asked.

A tired, rough, but undeniably suave Southern drawl replied, "You got any Old Crow?"

The bartender nodded and poured his new customer a glass of the whiskey. He slid it forward to the man beside Alfred.

"Thanks," the man replied as he lifted the glass to his lips and took a sip. He set the glass back down on the bar and rubbed his finger along the rim.

For a long time, neither him nor Alfred said anything to each other. Both of them were trying to ignore the massive elephant in the room that sat directly between them. The two men sipped their drinks and drilled the back wall with their stares.

Alfred tried not to wrinkle his nose at the man to his left. He smelled as if he hadn't showered in at least a week, if not longer, but there was something else there. It took a moment for Alfred to place it, but once he did, he couldn't deny that distinctive smell.

The smell of soiled bandages, with a hint of untamed infection.

"You're in rough shape, kid," Alfred finally said. He turned to face the shell of a man beside of him.

He had never seen Samuel in this bad of shape. His clothes were filthy, his hands and face smeared with dirt, sweat, and what looked very reminiscent of dried blood. His unkempt hair was greasy, tangled, and askew, and it hung loose around his face. What looked like a little over two weeks worth of sandy blond beard peppered his jaw. His face was drawn, his normally fiery green eyes were exhausted, and angry red blisters covered his palms. A gun belt holding a revolver in its holster hung lazily against his hip.

"Yeah," Samuel sighed. "You could say I've seen better days."

"I couldn't agree with you more."

A silence fell between the two once again. Alfred let it sit for a moment before he spoke.

"I'm glad you could come."

Samuel took a gulp from his glass, grimaced, then nodded. "I'm glad I could too." He turned to face Alfred. "Something like this is long overdue."

Alfred gave Samuel a once-over, then let a pained expression come over his face. "You really look awful, can I…" He paused to think about what he was going to ask before he spoke. Something inside of him told him to go ahead and ask. It's what you should do.

"Can I maybe… Offer you a place to stay for a few days? Somewhere to get cleaned up, a real meal, some rest?"

Samuel's eyes softened. He looked like he was trying to smile, but it stopped just short of his lips. He hesitated before he answered. It looked as though he were fighting with himself over what to say. When he did answer, his voice was soft, vulnerable, emotional. Never before had Alfred heard Samuel give off any hint of weakness or of needing anything from anyone.

"Yes. That would be very kind of you."

Alfred wasn't entirely sure what he was doing, but he hoped to God that he hadn't made a wrong decision that would come back to haunt him later.

-x-x-x-

Alfred paid for their drinks and offered to shoulder Samuel's pack for him. He denied the help at first, settling instead for dragging the small bag out behind him as they walked out of the bar together, but out of concern Alfred swept the bag out of Samuel's hands and carried it for him. As they left, Alfred watched how Samuel moved. His movements were jerky and guarded, as if every step and every breath was hurting him. Once they made it outside into the cold and clear night air, Alfred could tell that the smell of infection was most definitely coming from Samuel. He really wanted to ask what on earth had he gotten himself into, but he kept his mouth shut as they walked slowly toward their horses.

Alfred frowned as he watched Samuel attempt to hide his struggle to climb into the saddle, but neither of them spoke until they had mounted up and set off. What little talk there was between them was of little significance, as it was only to fill the empty and awkwardly quiet air.

Both men were glad that their journey was short, less than a half hour. They were both exhausted and ready to fall into bed, but there were still important things to get done. Namely, getting Samuel acquainted with a bath. That most certainly could not wait until the morning.

That and also getting Samuel into the White House without him being shot. That would be a little bit tricky. Tricky, but not impossible. Alfred had a plan.

Well, by 'plan' he meant something along the lines of 'flying by the seat of his pants'. To be honest he hadn't exactly thought this part of his plan out at all.

"Wait here," he said to Samuel when they drew close to the gates and the guards who stood ready to receive them. "Let me talk to them."

Samuel nodded and halted his horse while Alfred dismounted and went forward to greet the guards. They recognized him immediately and chatted easily with him for a few minutes. Gradually the conversation turned toward the stranger in the dark, and Alfred eventually came back to Samuel's horse's side.

"They agreed to let you go in if you hand over any weapons you have to me."

Samuel nodded. "I expected as much." He slowly reached down and removed the rifle that he had brought along with him that was hung on his saddle in a leather scabbard. Alfred took it and slung it on his own saddle. Samuel hesitated before he slowly unbuckled the gun belt around his waist and untied the leg string.

"Just be careful with this. It's my personal one."

Alfred nodded and took it, admittedly a little uneasy, then looped the belt around the horn of his saddle. "That's it, right?"

"I think so–hang on, I forgot about my hunting knife." Samuel stiffly reached down and slipped a long knife and its sheath out from the inside of one of his boots. He tossed it to Alfred, ran a quick inventory of his things over in his head, then said, "Yeah, that's everything now."

Alfred nodded, gave the guards a thumb's up, and mounted his horse again. "Now let's get inside, I'm about to freeze to death out here."

-x-x-x-

He was really taking a chance by doing this, but he also couldn't afford to not do it. If he gave Samuel a different room, he wouldn't be able to keep as close an eye on him as he would like. If he gave him the small couch in his room, then he would be trying to sleep in the same room as the man that had made his life a living hell for the past two years, but most specifically over the past month or so.

Everything about this felt wrong, so wrong, but he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling in his gut that maybe the tides between him and Samuel could be shifting. He was here, wasn't he? That had to count for something right?

Alfred knocked on the door to the washroom that was connected to his room, a stack of clean clothes in one arm for Samuel. He hadn't brought a change of clothes in his small bag of supplies, so Alfred agreed to let him borrow some of his, as they wore about the same size.

"Hey, I've got those clothes for you. I'm just going to set them on the sink for you if that's ok."

"Yeah sure," came the voice from inside.

Alfred opened the door and stepped into the washroom, but stopped when he looked up. What he saw nearly made him gasp aloud.

Samuel stood with his back to the door and in front of the mirror that hung on the wall. His shirt was in a ball on the floor, along with a pile of nasty bandages. His shoulders were hunched forward, his hands rested on the table in front of him. His shaggy blond head stuck up between his shoulders, but it wasn't held aloft with the same cockiness that Alfred had grown used to.

Samuel's entire back, from the base of his neck to the waistband of his pants, was covered in oozing red, half-healed stripes.

Alfred froze. He didn't know what to do. His eyes just drank in the scene before him.

Samuel didn't move. He knew exactly what was happening. He figured it was about time for Alfred to know anyway.

Neither of them spoke for about a half of a minute. Alfred finally cleared his throat, then asked in a quiet voice, "What… What happened?" He knew what it was that had made those wounds, but he hadn't the faintest idea why.

Samuel waited a moment before he answered. "My states weren't too keen on the stunt I pulled with you." He raised his head and locked eyes with Alfred's reflection, which was hard as granite except for a small silver glint in his eyes. "Helping you and letting you go."

When they looked into each other's eyes through that mirror, there was no need for words. Words couldn't convey the depth of the sadness that each of them were feeling.

Samuel managed to crack a small smile at Alfred. It was a real smile, genuine and heartfelt, that sang to Alfred that he held not a single ounce of regret in his heart for what he had endured because of his actions.

Alfred's heart was being pulled in a hundred different directions. How could this man, whom he had spent an entire two years hating with everything that he had in him, have flipped and transformed into this self-sacrificial stranger?

Maybe, Alfred thought, this is the man that has been kept hidden from my sight this whole time.

It took him a minute, but when Alfred returned the smile, he meant it.

In that one moment, the entire world shifted on its axis.

AND SO THE BALANCE SHIFTS

Again, both Amanda and I truly appreciate your patience.

Also there's a poll on my profile where you can vote for the next story that we write! We have a boatload of things fleshed out and just begging to be put down on paper, so WE NEED YOUR HELP CHOOSING WHICH ONE COMES NEXT! Pick the two choices that appeal to you the most, and when both this story and Always Yours are wrapped up, we will move forward with the idea that gets the most votes! Seriously, we are so torn because we love every one of these plots so much but can't decide where to direct our focus to when we get some free space after these two stories conclude.

So if you would be so kind as to cast your vote and make your voice heard, we would be ecstatic.

Reviews also make us super duper happy and help us out immensely. Besides, who doesn't love getting feedback? We most certainly do.

Let me slap a big red bow on this note and draw it to a close with a huge THANK YOU FOR YOUR PATIENCE and an even bigger MERRY CHRISTMAS from our overjoyed hearts, overdecorated homes, and overexcited families to yours.

So much love,

Harley and Amanda