Ezra bathed quickly and efficiently, thankful to find the bath house empty of any other patrons. He didn't think he could feel any more vulnerable than he already did and the idea of bathing in front of anyone right now made him cringe. It wasn't an option.

He tried to convince himself that there was no way he could have actually seen Tom Wyler again. What the hell was going on?

The nightmares, as disturbing and painful as they were could at least be understood. The memories were still too fresh in his mind…but the flashbacks hitting him squarely during the day…those he didn't comprehend, nor the 'sightings' of Wyler.

He was falling apart.

Ezra dressed carefully, thankful for a clean change of clothes. He dressed plainly, donning his simple brown jacket. He didn't want to stand out right now. The last thing he needed was to draw more attention to himself.

His leg throbbed painfully with every move. As stiff and sore as it'd been following this afternoon's ride, his fall and scramble in the mud afterwards had wrenched the healing muscle. He briefly considered getting out the cane that Jackson had insisted he use for the first three weeks after his injury, but that would just be yet another sign of weakness.

He didn't know what to expect from Chris and the others now and it worried him. Larabee had seemed to actually understand what had been happening earlier in the street, but how long would he allow Ezra to continue on with his duties in town?

Gathering his dirty clothing, Ezra folded them carefully to avoid getting mud all over himself again. His mind raced with questions.

Just what was he going to do if Chris told him he could no longer be one of the seven peacekeepers? Was it finally time to pull up stakes and move on?

The idea of riding out on the trail by himself almost sent Ezra into renewed panic. He'd been alone when he'd been ambushed. He couldn't face riding alone again right now.

He didn't know what he was going to do. The weight of his hopelessness and confusion intensified as he put on his hat and headed out of the bathhouse.

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Chuck Miller was pleased with himself as he rode out of Four Corners. He'd see what his brief glance at Standish had done. The results of his plan were turning out so much better than he'd expected. Standish was obviously on the edge of a full breakdown. Chuck smiled and reconsidered a moment- did he want to actually kill Standish or drive him so far into insanity the man would be institutionalized by his friends and family? As satisfying as it would be to see the fancy man wallowing in the filth of an asylum- no, the man needed to die.

Chuck kept his horse on the road until he was nearing his destination, then carefully, he slipped into the woods. He was thankful the sun had come out and dried up the land so thoroughly after the storm. If the weather stayed dry enough, he knew, his fires would do the job that he and Tom had started. They'd chase the new settlers off the land for good.

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Chris, Vin and Buck sat at a table in the corner of the saloon sipping bad whiskey in silence. They'd watch Ezra head to the bathhouse, limping severely but refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

"What are we going to do?" Buck broke the silence first. When no one answered, he went on. "I've never seen Ezra look like that before. What's going on with him?"

Chris twisted his glass between his fingers. "It's the attack."

"What about it?"

"He's reliving it," Vin answered.

"What, like he's remembering it?" Buck shoved his drink away from him a bit as if he was finished with it. "Don't expect him to forget anytime soon."

"It's more than that," Chris sipped his drink before continuing. "Seen it in soldiers after the war."

Vin nodded. "Not just remembering…reliving," he emphasized the last word.

"Like he's back there during the attack again?" Buck got it. "Feeling the same fear, pain and everything just keeps happening all over again?"

"Yup." Chris glanced toward the bar seeing Josiah as the preacher got a drink and headed toward them.

"Well…shit." Buck sat back in his chair, obviously trying to wrap his mind around the whole idea. "What do we do?"

Vin and Chris shrugged together as Josiah pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Why the deep contemplation?" he asked before taking a long drink. He wiped the back of his hand over his mustache. "Why so glum?"

"Ezra," Chris answered simply.

"Is our brother in need of some counsel?" Sanchez grinned but the smile gradually faded as he listened to Chris recount what had happened in the street.

"Can you fix him?" Buck blurted when Chris finished.

Josiah shook his head, his eyes sad and worried. "I'm not sure it's a matter of 'fixing' our brother so much as it's about making him feel safe enough to move past what happened."

"How exactly do we do that?" Chris demanded.

Josiah smiled again, a little sadly. "We watch his back, look out for him and be there for him when he needs to talk."

Buck grabbed his drink again, almost spilling it. "But Ezra don't like to open up or talk much about what happened. He clams up if'n you ask."

"Then we just need to be ready and remember no matter how hard he tries to push us away- we don't let him."

"Why would he push us away?" Vin asked.

"He's feeling real vulnerable right now. What would you do?"

Josiah's question left them sitting in silence again.

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Wanting to avoid any further attention, Ezra slowly made his way around to the back of the saloon. It was a task to climb the stairs yet again but by going up the back way he could take his time and lean heavily against the wall for support.

He was breathless and frustrated by the time he reached his room.

Dinner hour was approaching. but he wasn't about to face the others yet. He knew they were talking about him by now.

'What do we do about Ezra?'

Exasperated, Ezra grabbed the bottle of whiskey Nathan had left on his dresser for 'medicinal' purposes. Due to Nathan's caution, the bottle was still three quarters of the way full.

Staring at the amber liquid, Ezra decided it would do nicely for his evening meal. He sat in his rocking chair, moving only to raise the bottle and drink deeply. He knew he should be rubbing liniment into his aches and going to bed. He should be drinking some of the soothing tea that Jackson had left for him, but none of it mattered anymore.

He was so tired of being exhausted. Tired of being afraid. Ezra took another long swig, enjoying the burning warmth of the drink. He grasped onto the feeling, pushing the fear into the corners of his mind and letting the alcohol fuel the fire of anger that was just beginning to ignite within him.

Ezra held onto the anger and let it grow.

Why had he been on the trail to Bainbridge by himself anyway? Why were none of the other six there to back him up? Hadn't Judge Travis recognized that he would have been in danger once he had the deeds in his possession? If not, why not? The man was supposed to be wise after all, wasn't he?

Why had Chris insisted that Ezra be the one to go anyway? Why? Because Nathan had taken it upon himself to lash out at Ezra at every turn that week. So Ezra was sent away as if he was the problem, unprotected, into a dangerous situation. Then, after he was attacked, no one bothered to come for him. He'd been left there for three whole days, dying.

The emotions churned within, crushing logic and fact, twisting and morphing both into blame and bitterness. The bitterness warmed him, quashing the fear and giving him something to cling to.

No one had even bothered to thank him for saving the stupid land deeds, he thought, tipping the bottle back again. He should have let his attackers have the damn things the first time they'd asked. Oh, and they'd asked quite politely first. It wasn't until he'd denied knowing what they were talking about that Tom Wyler had simply said, "Have it your way," and shot him in the leg.

He should have just ridden away and washed his hands of the whole matter and the whole town of Four Corners once and for all.

That's what he'd do, he decided, the alcohol dimming his memory to his earlier fear of being alone again. He'd get well enough and then he'd get the hell out of this town.

TBC...