BEFORE:

The Ponderosa's ranch yard was littered with buggies and buckboards, obedient lines of singular horses were tied to the hitching posts. The overflow of activities taking place inside of the house filled the evening air, a mixture of guests' exuberant chatter and the resounding jubilant music a small group of Virginia City's musically endowed had gathered to play for the festive occasion. In these parts, Ben Cartwright was a man of importance, his birthday a day to be celebrated and recognized rather than ignored. Even so, Adam would have thought that eventually his father would have believed himself too old to participate in such grandiose displays. Apparently, he had not.

Standing in front of the door of the home he had once shared with his father and brothers, Adam hesitated to open it. Although Roy Coffee had advised his attendance was expected at this party, he could not help wondering by whom. There had once been a time that when anticipating the return of one of his sons, Ben Cartwright would await their arrival upon a chair in front of the table just outside of the house. He would sit there for hours sometimes, sipping coffee, casually reading, or calmly overlooking all he had achieved. This was a habit his sons had grown accustomed to and mirrored themselves. No matter the hour, or circumstance, rarely did a member of the Cartwright family return home without being received by someone.

Standing alone, Adam could not help feeling that neither his father nor brothers were expecting him. Of course, he had been gone a very long time, he was quick to remind himself, and it wasn't as though his arrival had been conducive for a proper acknowledgement or greeting. He hadn't contacted anyone in his family to let them know he was coming. No, he had allowed Roy Coffee to handle that part of it—that was if the man actually handled it at all—and he had not taken the most direct route to the place where he now stood.

Avoiding Virginia City, he had come by way of Carson. Arriving on the stage, he rented a horse and directed the unfamiliar animal toward a backroad trail which eventually led him to a secluded stretch of Ponderosa land. He traveled his family's property uneasily, unable to calm the anxious questions which sprung a little too quickly to mind. When finally reunited with his father and brothers what would he say to them? How would he excuse his absence? How would he explain his return? There would be no evading these questions. One way or another, they would have to be properly addressed. If his father's assumed anger did not demand answers, then his brothers' curiosity certainly would. Or maybe they would be angry, too. After all, it wasn't just his father he had walked out on; he had abandoned his brothers as well. In the six years he had been gone, he hadn't bothered sending them a letter or telegraph to explain the situation or himself. He could have, but he had not. And with as much time as they spent in San Francisco themselves, for business endeavors or otherwise, neither Ben, nor Hoss, nor Little Joe had ever shown up on Adam's doorstep. They could have, but they had not.

It was not as though Adam had ever been terribly difficult to locate. Roy Coffee had found him; the elder man had discovered all manner of things about Adam's family from the San Francisco locals. Had Pa, Hoss, or Joe ever found themselves in those parts and summoned the courage to ask about Lillian Manfred, Peggy Dayton, or Adam Cartwright, they would have discovered all manner of things, too. Maybe they had, Adam thought tensely. Maybe they knew the truth about his family and his profession, and instead of seeking him out, they had decided to disregard him entirely. Adam couldn't help wondering which situation he was walking into, which was better or worse. Would it be easier to walk into his father's home if Pa knew nothing about his life in San Francisco or everything?

Well, maybe not everything, he silently amended. There were still details about his life that were not easy to come by. Like the fact that he and Eddie were unwed when they brought their sons into the world, or that he had spent so much time first following and then chasing Will. Pa didn't know the vile things Will had done, or the abhorrent burden Adam now carried because of them. Ben Cartwright might think he knew what had driven his oldest son to leave but he didn't know the things that had kept him away. He didn't know the burden of the secret he carried now. What would happen if he did? With all the time that had passed, would Pa still feel the pull of loyalty toward his oldest son? Or, like before, would he choose Will's side and condemn him instead?

Adam looked between the door and the evening's ever darkening sky. Maybe Roy Coffee was wrong, he thought nervously. The evening of his father's gregarious birthday celebration was not the correct time to reappear. The house was full of townsfolk, a gaggle of people who had no business bearing witness to a reunion—especially given the things they had once said about him, Laura, and Will. Fueled by the distasteful passing around of Laura's diary, it was their insatiable gossip which had laid the groundwork for the disaccord between he and Pa. There was no predicting how he would be received. He wanted to think he would be strong enough to withstand the whispers of people who bore him no relation. He wanted to believe his brothers would be welcoming. But he was as unsure of his father's reaction as he was of his own.

If only their last interaction had not ended so badly. If only his father would have listened rather than accused. If only Adam had risen above his anger and frustration, forcing himself to remain in place long enough for a civil conversation and proper farewell. If only he had written to his family while he had been gone. If only his father would have looked for him after he had left. Then maybe things would be different than they were. Adam might have felt confident–perhaps even excited–to set foot in his father's house. As it was, he was slightly terrified, a sentiment, that as a grown man, he was not accustomed to. Though he had suffered from his fair share of quiet uncertainties and silent anxieties, especially as of late, he had not been overcome by abject terror since the day he had bloodied his fists and his cousin's face on a span of land that was a little too close to where he currently stood. It was that day which had led Roy Coffee to him, and then it was Roy Coffee who had led Adam here today. The elder man had said Pa was aware of Adam's homecoming, but if that was true then why did the assurance feel like a lie?

Why did everything about this moment feel so decidedly wrong?

Adam would have blamed Roy Coffee for convincing him to return, had he been the one who had truly done so. Coffee had only planted the seed for such a thing; it was Lilian Manfred who had tended to it, encouraging it to grow. Following Coffee's unexpected visit, it was her comments that had led Adam to think about the notion of reuniting with the family he had left behind. It was her question about the kind of life he wanted for his remaining son that prompted him to truly consider it. It was Noah, Adam's precious toddler who had been born without a voice with which to defend himself and had lost the older brother who would have shepherded him through life, who had ultimately left his father without any other choice. It was Adam's desire for his mute son to grow up protected by the ferocity and love of his grandfather and uncles that forced his return, and it was fear that was demanding he question the decision now.

How would he explain the existence of one son whilst ignoring the painful loss of another? How would he introduce Noah to his family without confiding the whereabouts of the boy's mother?

How would he ever summon the desire to speak of these things? How would he summon the courage to open a door that remained closed for so long?

He stared at the doorknob, absently lifting, and then lowering his hand. If he finally decided to enter this house, should he open the door himself or knock? Which action would be better perceived? Would he still be considered a member of the family, an interloper, or some maddening combination of both? He didn't want to think Pa was the kind of man who would hold a grudge, but the past had taught him that such a thing was possible. Over the years, he had watched his father exhibit extraordinary kindness and acts of forgiveness, and he had witnessed moments when neither behavior had been easily forthcoming—or, in some cases, it never came at all. There were just some things in life that Ben Cartwright considered unworthy of his grace and contrition. If Adam were to believe Roy Coffee, then he would have been led to think he was not one of those things. Yet, something about the elder man's quick words still rung hollow—no matter how much Adam wanted to believe them.

Coffee had said his arrival at the party was expected. He had said Ben knew Adam had been acting as a Marshal and that he supported his son's potential appointment as Sheriff of Virginia City. While Adam had cautiously accepted the declarations when they had been uttered, now they seemed downright implausible. Ben Cartwright had never supported any of his sons living by a gun. He had never looked upon the scarce instances when any of his boys had been forced to don a temporary badge with anything other than trepidation. He had raised his sons to be strong, to look upon the violence of others as something that could be stopped. He had taught them to defend themselves and others when necessary. He had not taught them to go looking for trouble, to seek out dangerous people and situations, all requirements of a lawman's job. How could he possibly support his oldest son's choice in career or his endeavor to become a sheriff now? Adam knew Pa couldn't. But he, himself, could turn around and leave. He could return to Lil and his children and send Coffee a telegraph stating he'd changed his mind. Coffee would have no choice but to accept the decision, though Adam knew neither he nor Lil ever would. He had to come back here, if not for himself then for his son. He would endure anything to ensure Noah was given a better life than the one he currently had. But what kind of life would the boy have here? Without his brother, mother, and sister? With a father who was barely present as he harbored secrets that would destroy what was left of him?

Looking at the closed door before him, Adam wondered what would happen once it was opened again. What would truly be gained by coming back? What would be relinquished? What unforeseeable things would the future see fit to deny him because he dared return to a place Ed Payson had warned him to leave well enough alone?

There are just some things that can't be fixed or changed. Ed Payson's words echoed in his head, rising from his memory to compound his doubt. You're a lot like me, Adam; of course, you're a lot different, too. The people in that town didn't care what really happened between me and Will Cass's boy. They had their story, their truth about me, and now they have theirs about you, too.

What kind of stories would folks tell about him now? Would his father choose to believe rumor over truth this time around? Had the passing years made Ben Cartwright a wiser man, or, like his oldest son, had they rendered him stupefied and foolish?

My name was written on a bullet the moment I walked back into Virginia City, Payson's words resounded in his mind. You ever find yourself thinking that maybe you oughta go back there, then you might find there'll be a bullet with your name on it, too.

Adam wondered who it would be, this unknown person in possession of a gun loaded with the fatal bullet which bore his name. Who carried the gun, the bullet, and enough hatred to want him dead? When he finally found himself in a clear state of mind, Will might have the hatred, but he wouldn't have a gun. No, this would be somebody else. Someone who knew Adam way back when or someone who only recognized his name from the scurrilous stories folks once told.

Did he come back here just to die? The sudden question was troublesome enough to invite a shiver to travel down his spine. He certainly hadn't come back to live, so what exactly was it he intended to do? Forcing a deep, calming breath, he closed his eyes in an effort to quiet the vicious, impetuous thought. No, don't think like that, he scolded himself. Think about the things which brought you here, not what you might find. Think of Noah. Think of what a life out here could mean to him. What it could do for him as he grows older. Brotherless, motherless, and possibly fatherless, too.

"You're not doing this for yourself," Adam whispered, eyeing the doorknob again. "For once in your life, stop acting like a spoiled son and be a good father instead."

Even if Pa chose to be bitter and foolish, even if he rejected Adam's potential appointment as sheriff and decided to hold his absence against him, he would never reject a grandson, certainly not one as needful as Noah. No, Pa would love Noah. He would care for and protect him. He would provide things for that little boy that Adam was uncertain he could provide himself. Not with Charlie and Eddie gone. Not with the incommodious burden of Will. Not with the noxious game he had unknowingly engaged himself in. Governed by the keeping of vile secrets, the rules of the game were ever-changing; there was just no predicting what it would demand from a man, or what it would do to him when it ended. It wasn't supposed to be like this; things never should have been allowed to go this far. Even so, acknowledging such dismal facts did nothing to change what actually was. It didn't change what Adam knew he had to do.

He knocked on the door before he had a chance to rethink the action. He stood immobile, his stomach turning and heart pounding as he waited. When the door was finally thrust open, he stood face-to-face with a duo he had not seen in years.

"I'll be dad-burned!" Hoss exclaimed.

Joe was the first to pull Adam into a tight embrace. "I can't believe it," he whispered fervently into his older brother's ear as he finally found his voice. Pulling back, he held Adam's upper arms, rooting him in place as he appraised him, his green eyes sparkling with excitement and awe. "I just can't believe it."

Before he could reply, Adam was wrapped up again and held in a hug so warm and tight that he was sure it would suffocate him. "I'm so happy you're here," Hoss whispered, his voice laden with emotion. "Adam, it isso good to finally see you again."

Throat constricting, Adam was without words. There was something about the steady strength of Hoss's arms that always had a way of inviting such things. Something about his pleasant, true-hearted demeanor that would always make his older brother feel on safe and stable ground. When the embrace finally ended, Adam's apprehension was quick to return as Pa approached him. He wondered what his father would say, what he himself would say in return. There was so much to talk about and nowhere to properly begin.

Walking briskly past him, Ben Cartwright's terse expression said more than his words ever could—or would. A thunderous mixture of anger and contempt, the look hurt more than it ever should have been allowed to. Adam had to shift his weight upon his feet to keep his legs from shaking; he elongated his spine and squared his shoulders to ensure he remained standing tall. Where are you going, Pa? He thought almost brokenly. Can't you see I'm only here because I need you? As soon as the silent plea entered his mind, he chastised himself and pushed it away. Think as a father, he reminded himself. Not as a son. The prompt may have been enough to soothe his pain, but it did nothing to calm the anger which rose inside of him. It didn't prevent him from silently cursing foolish old men who had been wrong.

In the east, Adam's grandfather had advised that becoming privy to his father's tumorous childhood and past would allow him to better understand his behavior. Watching his father walk away, Adam realized he did not understand him at all. As a son he was hurt, but as a father himself, he couldn't abide such infantile behavior—from a grown man of Pa's age, no less. It was despicable, reprehensible even. Didn't Pa understand what a gift it was to see him again?

If by some grace Charlie had been allowed to grow old enough for he and Adam to experience a falling out, if they had been separated by years—their cold, cruel words festering in their minds and hearts—only to be suddenly brought back together again, Adam knew he would not have walked away from his son. No matter what had taken place between them, he would have the wisdom to put the past aside. He would have greeted his son properly. He would have said something. He would have pulled him into his arms, held him tightly, and never let him go. He would have smothered that boy with so much love that neither of them would have been capable of reasonable thought.

Oh, god, what he would not give to hold his boy again. But Charlie was dead, and Adam was alive, standing in his father's home, and Ben should have been acting much different than he was because goddamn it dead was so much different than gone. Dead was done forever; gone meant you could go back. Adam had returned and Pa couldn't even look at him? Couldn't bear to remain in the same room—in the same house—as him?

"Goddamn coward," Adam mumbled, a deleterious accusation that went unheard and ignored by those around him. He had finally summoned the courage to see his father, and it was Pa who couldn't summon the courage to see him.

Making his way to Adam's side, Roy Coffee smiled, and handed him a celebratory glass of whiskey. "Don't you pay your pa no mind," he quietly said. "Give him a little time, and he'll come 'roud."

Standing in front of the man who had led him back to this place, Adam felt like an open wound, raw, sensitive, and inflamed. "You said he knew," he accused quietly, tersely. "You said you spoke to him. You manipulative, conniving, old—"

Coffee's smile did not falter. "Careful, Adam," he warned as he eyed the collection of people scattered around the room. "There's lots of folks in here, a lot of 'em don't know you the way I do, and some don't know you at all. I'm sure you don't want the first thing they witness you doin' is verbally accosting the sheriff." He nodded at the drink he had forced into Adam's hand. "Go on now, drink that down and you'll feel better."

Struggling to regain his equilibrium after his father's rejection—or lack thereof—Adam was wary of the suggestion. He looked at the whiskey, then at each of his brothers. If either Joe or Hoss had found his interaction with Coffee odd, they gave no indication. In fact, if they found his sudden reappearance strange or confounding, they didn't show it. They stood next to him with as much confidence and ease as they had six years ago. With them, it seemed as though he had never left. He could not help but be grateful for the enduring love and understanding silently shared among brothers. He couldn't help but think of Noah then and how his remaining son would grow up unknowing of such things. It could have been different. It should have been different, but it was not, and now his son had to live with the way things were, rather than how they could have been.

Think as a father, he reminded himself, not as a son. A son who was standing, slighted and chastised, in his father's home for the first time in years. A home that he had helped his father plan for and build. A home that he had once considered his own. But it wasn't. Not anymore. Think as a father, not as a son, he chastised himself as his thoughts threatened to take a disconsolate turn.

Desperate for a distraction, he looked at the glass of whiskey in his hand only to realize he could not stomach the thought of imbibing. "Here," he said, handing Joe the drink. He didn't want the alcohol to embolden his temper, heighten his grief, or dull his sense of time, lest he lose track of it completely and be forced to endure Pa's silent wrath once more.

"I thought you liked whiskey," Hoss mused.

"Yeah, me too," Joe said as he accepted the drink. "It used to be your favorite."

"It still is," Adam said. "I just don't feel much like drinking tonight."

"Hmm." Shoving his thumbs between his belt and the waist of his pants, Hoss nodded as though he understood. "Probably smart, given…." He tilted his head at the now closed door. "You know Pa didn't really…" He began then trailed off weakly. "I mean, don't you worry about what just happened. You know how he is, how knee-jerk he can sometimes be. He just wasn't expectin' you, that's all. He'll take a long walk and let some of that… shock ebb and then he'll come back and greet you proper."

"No," Adam said hotly. "I don't reckon he will. Even if he decides he has something to say, I don't believe I'll be sticking around to hear it."

Hoss and Joe traded a troubled glance.

"You're not leaving again," Hoss said. "You just walked in the door."

"There's so much to catch up on," Joe said.

"Oh, there'll be plenty of time for that," Coffee assured. He looked at Adam. "Where you stayin' for the night?"

"What do you mean where is he staying?" Joe scoffed. "This is his home; he's staying right here."

But it wasn't his home, Adam thought. Not anymore. He may have finally returned but he could never go home, because home was a place that didn't exist anymore. It couldn't. Not in the wake of Eddie's absence. Not after Charlie's death. Not harboring his secret about Will. Not with the way Pa looked at him. Not with all the things he knew neither of them had the courage to say. He couldn't stay in his house or place. Not tonight. Perhaps, not ever if his father's reaction was any indication of things to come.

"I took the stage to Carson," Adam said, holding Coffee's observant stare. "Rented a horse. I suppose that means I'm headed that way again."

"But you'll be back, right?" Joe pressed. "You're coming back. You didn't show your face only to disappear again."

"Don't you worry none," Coffee said. "He didn't come back with the intention of leaving. Pretty soon the three of you will be seeing so much of each other that you'll grow downright weary of one another."

Though he appreciated the assurance, Adam prayed Coffee's assessment was wrong. As angry as his father was, he couldn't bear becoming the focus of his brothers' frustration too. Maybe at one time he could have endured it, responding to their aggravation with some of his own. Now he neither had the desire nor energy to engage in unnecessary conflict, disagreements that could be circumvented by avoiding the topics altogether. If he were in a better frame of mind, then he may have been able to see this shift in disposition for what it actually was: an unseemly defense mechanism that would only serve to harm him further. For now, he couldn't begin to consider it, not with so many things demanding vigilance. And he couldn't withstand the thought of enduring his father's disappointment or fury again, so he cast Hoss and Joe a regretful gaze and quietly took his leave.

Half full bottle of whiskey in hand, Roy Coffee walked him out, then convinced him to take a moonlit ride which took both men to the outskirts of Virginia City and ended in the sheriff's office. Adam didn't return to Carson City until the next morning, the night slipping away a bit too quickly with vague, furtive discussions about attending to loose ends in San Francisco before returning to Virginia City once again, this time to stand in front of a town council who would either allow him to become the sheriff of the town or would not. Shortly after wearily boarding the stage to San Francisco, he fell into a troubled sleep. When he dreamed he saw visions of an ethereal bar, glasses that magically filled themselves with whiskey, and Ed Payson standing behind the bar-top.

"What are you doing,?" Payson sadly asked. "Don't you understand that town means to kill you? If you go back there, you're going to end up dead."

TBC

Thanks for the reviews! : )