Xx

Breakfast was a quiet affair.

Even with Adam's silence, this was not often the case. There were always things to discuss about the ranch, plans to be deliberated, chores and tasks to be assigned—the details of which on good days were easily accepted and on others could dissolve any polite conversation into a debate, the battle of wills amongst sons. A steady stream of banter, good or bad, between the brothers was a given. As of late, it had fallen to Joe and Hoss to continue such a thing, which they did with no hesitation and little thought. However, this morning Joe's absence from the table was glaring, serving to somehow highlight how quiet Adam had really become.

Sitting at the head of the table, Ben sipped his coffee and looked thoughtfully between his two present sons. Engaged in the meal before him, Hoss paid his father's attention no heed as his knife and fork scratched sporadically against his plate. It was a common noise to accompany eating, certainly not one which was unique to his middle son; it did not bother Ben in the slightest. Adam, on the other hand, seemed to become more and more troubled each time it was repeated. Teeth clenched, he flinched each time his brother's cutlery touched the plate.

Attention focused on the meal before him, Hoss was either oblivious to his brother's discomfort or he was ignoring it outright. The second option was more likely than the first, as Hoss had become quite apt at silently accepting whatever odd behavior Adam presented. It was something Ben was grateful for most of the time; not drawing attention to his older brother's seemingly uncontrollable reactions was an incredibly kind hearted—albeit difficult—thing to do. It was not something Ben or Joe had quite mastered yet.

When Adam did something uncharacteristic, Joe's expression often gave him away as his face contorted with surprise, sadness, or sometimes a combination of the two; tearing his gaze away from his eldest brother, he would do everything he could not to look at him again. This was another form of ignoring his oldest brother's behavior for Adam's assumed benefit, Ben knew, but if only Joe could master some control over his expression prior to focusing his attention elsewhere.

Ben struggled to ignore Adam's startling behavior too. He was often taken aback, deeply saddened to see his eldest begin to display palpable discomfort or an inappropriate facial expression that was more fitting of a young boy than a man. He struggled with disapproval over such things; as Adam's father, he agonized over ignoring and silently accepting, or drawing attention to in order to soothe or correct disagreeable manners. There was always a bit of fear when deciding to correct behavior, apprehension about how instructions would be received and what kind of reaction they would prompt from Adam.

"You headin' to town today, Pa?" Hoss asked, finally taking control over their extended silence.

"I was planning on it," Ben said. "Why do you ask?"

"I was thinking of heading over to join Joe at the timber camp. I wanted to make sure he was fairing okay with those men. We got more than a few rowdy ones on the payroll; I want to make sure Joe's handling 'em okay."

"I'm sure he's doing just fine," Ben assured. "If he wasn't, we would have heard something by now."

Hoss shook his head. "I don't know, Pa. Joe's stubborn. He ain't never been one to ask for help until it's almost too late. If it's just the same to you, I'd like to go anyway. I wasn't planning to stay long, maybe just a few hours or so, just long enough to check up on Joe without him getting suspicious and thinkin' that I came to check up on him."

Smiling, Ben nodded. Joe wouldn't like it, but there was little point in disagreeing and no reason to stop Hoss from following through on what he intended.

Clearing his plate, Hoss set his attention on his coffee. The edge of the mug had only just left his lips as both he and Ben watched Adam push Hoss's empty plate towards the center of the table, replacing it with his untouched one.

Adam forcing his food upon Hoss was an ongoing habit, one which bothered Ben and Hop Sing to no end. Worry over Adam's weight and health were the underlying motivation for their respective concern, though neither man cited their true reasons for being bothered by such a thing. Hop Sing would readily declare self-deprecating statements about his food not being good. Ben had come to rely on a directive he had last used when Joe was a youth.

"Clean your plate," he often found himself saying. Firm and direct, it was an order that felt foreign and incredibly wrong directed at his oldest son; they were both much too old for such instruction to be uttered over meals even though it was never obeyed. Sometimes Adam ignored the command completely; others he set his attention on Ben, his eyes narrowing stubbornly, glistening defiantly with a supposed question: What are you going to do if I don't?

And in response to this, Ben would do nothing, because the few times that he had done something hadn't ended well. When asked to do most things, Adam was companionable and compliant, but if firmly directed to do something he didn't want to do he would become disorderly, erratic, anxious and furious, or worse despondent.

The first time Ben had directed Adam to eat, Adam had responded by pushing his plate on the floor. Hoss and Joe had looked between their father and older brother and Ben had seen his own emotions etched on both of their faces, shock, alarm, and horror. Adam, on the other hand, had been displaying an emotion so powerful it had left Ben speechless. Potent and thunderous, hatred shone in his hazel eyes, the level of which Ben had never seen his son direct at anyone, much less himself. It frightened him in a way he couldn't explain. There was a palpable threat lingering behind in the darkness of Adam's expression that made Ben think of things better left alone.

It reminded him of the way Adam had looked at the doctor in Eastgate and that led him to think about the Eastgate Sheriff's disinterest about whether his son had killed Peter Kane or not. The Sheriff had said that if Adam had killed Kane, then Kane had probably deserved it. Ben didn't believe his son was capable of such a thing but something about Adam's menacing stare awakened other long buried memories and gave birth to a tiny horrifying sliver of doubt.

The pushing of the plate off the table was the first occasion Ben became properly acquainted with his eldest son's fervent need to be in control and this awakened recollection of how the Eastgate doctor had spoken to his son. He had talked to Adam in a manner that suggested he was in complete control and when that hadn't worked, he had made the swift decision to put Adam to sleep. The doctor had known quickly he wasn't going to get anywhere favorable with Adam; he had known exactly how to approach the situation from the very beginning. Now, Ben wondered what else the doctor had known and why he couldn't have shared the knowledge.

Unnerved by Adam's anger, Ben had done nothing in response to his son's childish behavior the first time or the second; by the third time, his own anger over his son's blatant insolence had reached a tipping point. He had ordered Adam to his room; it was the gravest punishment he could think of for a man who didn't like being alone.

Shepherding Adam to his bedroom, Ben had ushered him inside, told him to think about what he'd done, then ordered him not to emerge until he could hold himself to a higher standard of behavior. Though he couldn't have known it at the time, this was another decision he would come to look back on with abounding grief and deep regret.

He had thought he was doing the right thing. Finally drawing firm lines between what was appropriate and intolerable. He had thought he was doing what was best. And when Adam had remained in his bedroom, quiet and alone, for nearly two hours, Ben had taken that as a good sign too. Perhaps this was the firm push Adam had needed to begin his journey in the right direction.

It was creeping up on the third hour of isolation when he decided to check on his son. What he found left him as horrified as he had been when they found Adam wandering the desert.

Adam had removed his clothes, discarding them in a haphazard trail which began at the door and led around the opposite side of his bed. Ben followed boot after boot, sock after sock, shirt, belt, and pants before he found Adam. The very state of his son took his breath away.

The chest of drawers had been pushed away from the corner to make room for Adam, who sat naked and trembling, body shoved between the side of the dresser and the wall. He had rubbed both his wrists and ankles raw; red, angry, and close to bleeding, they reminded Ben of other wounds he had once seen marring his son's body; they reminded him of his foolish instructions.

Think about what you did, that was what Ben had ordered Adam to do.

Legs bent, his hands placed limply on his knees, Adam stared aimlessly out the bedroom window and appeared to be incapable of thinking about anything. He had thought about something, Ben was certain of that. During the three hours he had forced his son to sit alone, Adam had had thoughts. Thoughts that had implored him to take off his clothes; thoughts that had forced him to hurt himself; thoughts that had made him crawl into the smallest safe space he could find.

Oh, dear Lord. What happened in the desert? What had he ordered his son to think about?

The memory of the rest of that day had become a blur, and the memory of the few days after were a blur too. Still, Ben recalled a few things. Like how Adam hadn't fought as he pulled him from the corner and into his arms; how his body had felt heavy, limp, and cold. He remembered bellowing for someone to fetch Doc Martin and he remembered Martin's diagnosis of Adam's condition. An interesting sort of psychosis, that was what the doctor had said, and Ben remembered thinking interesting wasn't the word he would have chosen. Terrifying, gut-wrenching maybe, never interesting.

Staring absently, Adam was catatonic; it took four days and three nights for his condition to change and during this time Ben was forced to care for his son as he had in the boarding house in Eastgate.

Rising in the early hours on the fifth day to check on him, Ben found Adam's bed empty, and panic engulfed him. It was an all-encompassing feeling, fear of not knowing where his son was coupled mixed with deep dread of what he would find; throughout these overpowering emotions a new question emerged, one which he would become achingly familiar with. What has Adam done to himself now?

He found Adam when he burst into Hoss's bedroom, intent on rallying him for a search.

"Pa!" Hoss had hissed. Laying on his back, he held finger to his lips and glanced at Adam who lay still, sleeping behind him in the bed. "He just fell asleep," he mouthed, looking at his father once more.

Ben was flabbergasted. Emerging from his psychosis as quickly as he had sunken into it, that became the first occasion Adam slept in Hoss's bed. Ben had wanted to say something; he had wanted to tell Hoss not to allow it. But his guilt and his fear over Adam returning to his previous unresponsive state prevented him from saying a word.

Looking at Adam now, sitting next to him at the table, Ben sighed as the lackluster order fell from his mouth, "Clean your plate, Adam."

Adam neglected the direction, but it was Hoss who had other plans. "No, sir," he said as he pushed the plate back in front of Adam. "Not today. Eat up, older brother; you're gonna need it."

Adam frowned. Hoss ignored his brother's physical objection, just as Ben knew he would. While Hoss was the best at weathering Adam's capricious behavior, he was also the most successful at gently molding his defiance into compliance. Ben wasn't completely certain why this would be, but he had his theories, the most convincing of which was their closeness in age. Adam was older than Hoss and had never been in a position to take orders from him. Hoss had never had any authority over Adam, therefore there was no reason to react negatively to any of his wishes. Even from Ben's point of view, Hoss's directions to Adam were more wishes than demands.

"Don't scowl at me," Hoss said as he held his brother's gaze. "It's the truth. It ain't my fault there's been a choice set before you today, one you haven't had to make in quite a while."

Forehead wrinkling, Adam's brows furrowed, a clear indication he wasn't following Hoss's train of thought.

"You're gonna need to eat breakfast on a day like today, what with me heading to see Joe at the timber camp and Pa going to town."

Looking between Ben and Hoss, Adam shrugged indifferently. What does that matter? His expression seemed to ask.

Absently, Ben found himself wondering the same thing.

"Seeing as how we don't like thinkin' of you at home all alone, it seems to me that you have a choice to make," Hoss continued. "You can either join Pa in town, or you can head over to the timber camp with me and either way you're gonna need good meal inside your belly."

Adam looked at Ben with wide eyes. Any displeasure he had been feeling had been chased away by apprehension. Mouth hanging slightly agape, he shook his head in an overwhelmed manner, his eyes pleading for Ben to dismiss the choice Hoss was presenting. The choice itself was another firm push of sorts in a positive direction, but the past had left Ben wary of pushes and directions that seemed right at certain times.

Papa, please.

Ben saw the silent plea glistening in his son's eyes, reawakening a clear memory of Adam's words. Last spoken months ago now, they often reasserted themselves in moments like this, occasions when he knew he should expect more from Adam than Adam seemed willing or able to give. Right now, they reminded him of Adam's third option—the one which Hoss had conveniently forgotten to offer.

"Or," Ben began.

"Pa," Hoss objected.

"...you can stay home with Hop Sing."

Ben felt a sting of regret as Adam's face fell; a deep pool of guilt settled in the pit of his stomach as he watched his son shift nervously in his seat. He's not the same, Ben imagined him saying. He's not like Hoss or you.

This was a glaring fact. Though Hop Sing loved Adam—he cared about his health and wellbeing as much as the rest of them—he couldn't offer the kind of physical protection, strength, and support that either Hoss or Ben could provide. Ben knew—as he was sure Hoss did—Adam wouldn't choose remaining at the ranch house with Hop Sing. Perhaps that was why Hoss hadn't suggested it. The decision was difficult enough without adding a third option, one that would only serve to highlight Adam's fear of being left alone in the wrong company. Still, as far as choices went, the one Hoss had presented seemed insurmountable. A trip to either town or the timber camp both promised unpredictably and encounters with strangers; they both would take Adam away from the carefully cultivated comfort and safety of home.

Looking at Adam, noting his anxiety and fear, Ben struggled with enforcing the choice. He didn't really need to go to town today, did he? Perhaps he could postpone it for another day. Or maybe he and Hoss could stagger their respective trips, allowing Adam to remain home with one of them at a time.

"Pa," Hoss prompted, casting his father a serious look, imploring him to stand by what had been said.

It was with this that Ben knew why the trip had been suggested and what needed to be done. Hoss wasn't worried about Joe, he was concerned about Adam; the proposed visit to the timber camp was merely ceremonial, a carefully constructed ruse meant to force Adam to choose one uncomfortable option over another. But at least Hoss had given Adam the choice, control over how the day would unfold.

Looking at Adam again, Ben found himself assaulted by his son's palpable unease.

Papa, please.

The plea emerged once more, bringing other memories with it. The image of what had happened the last time he had forced Adam to do something he hadn't wanted to do. He had found him conscious and unresponsive in his bedroom; his psychosis had lasted for days. Could that happen again if pushed too far? If required to make a decision he wasn't prepared to follow through on?

Doc Martin had seemed to believe it could. "If it happened once, it is likely it will happen again," he had said. "If that's reason enough not to expect him to ever do anything he doesn't want to is for you to decide. Adam might just be a changed man. What he experienced might have been horrible enough that he may never recover from it. There's a possibility he may never be who he once was, and if that is the case then it begs the question of who he is going to be now. If he never changes from how he currently is, then the question becomes how he fits into your life and how you fit into his."

At the time, Ben hadn't looked upon Martin's words favorably. He didn't like what the man was suggesting, about his son, himself, or his other sons. If Adam was irrevocably changed by what he had experienced, if he was destined to spend the rest of his life silent and afraid, clinging to Hoss and the predictability that only his immediate surroundings could offer, of course he would still fit into their lives. Expectations would be adjusted, allotments with odd behaviors would be made, Ben would love and take care of Adam for the remainder of his life and after, when he was gone and buried and no longer able, he was certain that Hoss and Joe would do the same. It wasn't a question of how any of them fit into the lives of one another. They were family; their love for one another was never something to be questioned.

But the real questions were these: If the Adam they knew was gone, how would they ever know what this Adam was capable of if they never tried to push him to do things he was uncomfortable with? Was he going to exist like this forever? Or was he going to regain some of the independence the desert had stolen from him? How far could they push him in what he perceived as frightening directions? How would they ever know if they didn't try?

Despite his apprehension, the fear born from past experiences, Ben knew they had to try.

He smiled encouragingly at his eldest son. "Those seem to be the options today, Adam," he said gently. "If you don't want to stay behind with Hop Sing, then that only leaves two other choices. Hoss is heading to the timber camp and I'm going to town. You're going to have to accompany one of us."

Shaking his head vigorously, Adam pursed his lips with such force that they slowly turned white.

"No ain't an option, brother," Hoss said softly. "Not today. Think about which of us you'd rather go with while you eat and after you can decide what you want to do. Take your time; me and Pa'll wait.

Staring stubbornly at the plate of food before him, Adam made no effort to commence eating. His hands remained at his sides, his fork and knife untouched on the table as he shook his head again.

Ben didn't know what Adam was refusing, eating the food, making the choice, or perhaps both. He found himself holding his breath, anxiously waiting for Adam to finally make a move. A few minutes passed with all three of them locked in some strange stalemate, Adam staring at the food before him as Ben and Hoss looked on.

Chewing his bottom lip, Adam seemed to be thinking about something; Ben hoped he wasn't gearing up for another violent tantrum. He prayed for the strength to remain steadfast in enforcing choice and that Adam's response both before and after being forced to venture outside the safety of the immediate ranch yard would be a positive one.

"Adam," Ben said softly as he willed the correct words to come to mind. "Son… Only you can decide what to do today, but I don't want you to forget you have a choice. It is your decision to leave or stay, and no matter what you choose—no matter what you decide—you aren't alone. You are never alone. I'm here, and Hoss and Joe, they're here too. We're all here beside you and we're not going to let anything bad happen to you, no matter what you choose."

Reaching over, he picked up Adam's fork and extended it, a silent offering for his son to summon enough courage to take a first step. Adam stared at the utensil for a moment, his eyes clouding over with some emotion Ben couldn't decipher. It wasn't anger or fear, hesitance, or repudiation or any of the other emotions he had become accustomed to seeing. This was different; new, stubborn, strange but dark and a bit unnerving, he couldn't begin to define it. Then as quickly as it appeared it was gone, replaced by something else, a familiar abiding glint that allowed Ben a momentary glimpse of the old Adam. It served as the beacon of hope Ben had been waiting for. It gave birth to a tiny spark of optimism, a feeling that only grew as Adam finally nodded and took the fork from his hand.

"There's a great big world out there, you know," Hoss said softly as Adam began to push the food around his plate. "It's been missing you. It's high time you started finding your place in it again."

Eating at a glacial pace, Adam didn't come close to clearing his plate. He didn't eat nearly as much as Ben wanted or hoped but at least he tried. His effort was appreciated, the difficulty of such a thing understood. He had gone so long without eating in the morning, his stomach simply wasn't accustomed to it anymore.

Adam chose to accompany Hoss. The decision itself wasn't a surprise, but Ben's immediate disappointment was. He didn't realize he was hoping Adam would choose town, and his company over that of his middle son. Though he knew Adam was in good hands, he still harbored unease. He would have liked to have been present should any complications arise.

The weather was turning, as were the colors of the landscape surrounding them. There was a chill in the air. Blistery and biting, it promised to linger the remainder of the day. Fall had come and winter was well on its way. The change in temperature wasn't new, however, it had gone unnoticed by Adam today. Ben had to remind his son to put on his coat and his hat, something that did nothing to ease his building apprehension over his sons' impending trip. Adam's waist remained unadorned by a gun belt—another thing that added to Ben's unease. Neither he nor Hoss had believed handing a pistol to Adam was a good idea. This wasn't something that had been discussed rather silently decided upon and accepted. They didn't need to explain to one another why such a thing would be worrisome; Adam had been known to hurt himself before.

Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Ben watched Adam and Hoss prepare their horses from a distance. Having completed saddling Sport, Adam stood beside the animal, his right hand extended, his fingers burrowed in-between the hair on the horse's neck. He looked uncertain and afraid, his tightening grip on Sport's coat slight proof of the overbearing emotions he was struggling to contain.

Moving to stand beside him, Ben wanted to hug Adam; but he forced himself to refrain. If physical displays of affection had been verboten before Adam's time in the desert, then they were downright criminal now—that was unless, of course, Adam initiated the action. Adam neither moved nor showed any indication that a hug or touch was needed or would be well-received. Ben stayed inches away as his son refused to look him in the eye. He wondered if this was due to anger and resentment over the trip, or fear of losing the sliver of nerve Adam had somehow managed to produce.

Ben wanted to tell him that it was going to be okay. He wanted to say that a trip to the timber camp wasn't anything to be concerned about. It didn't warrant this much worry and apprehension. It was commonplace. Adam had been numerous times before and now he was going again. And besides that, Hoss was going too. Mighty, unfailing jovial Hoss. Adam couldn't have picked a better man to accompany him if he tried. The only other person who could possibly defend and shield him better was his father—and perhaps Little Joe.

Adam's troubled gaze was locked on the brown wood of the barn wall and Ben felt a rush of guilt over what he was asking him to do. He wanted to say something—anything—to ease his son's trepidation—and his own—but he wasn't allotted the chance.

Grabbing Ben's arm, Hoss pulled him toward the barn door. "Pa, please don't fuss," he requested, his voice a low hiss. "Adam's already nervous. You'll only make it harder on him if you start acting worried-like."

Looking over Hoss's shoulder, Ben cast Adam a worried look. He hadn't moved; he didn't show any interest in what his brother and father were discussing as he remained in place, his hand burrowed in Sport's hair, his eyes, wide and vacant, frozen on the wall.

He's not ready for this, Ben thought, somehow already knowing the trip was destined to fail.

What was going to happen to Adam when the day went south? When what should have been an easy excursion catapulted them further and further into this nightmare that had become their life? What then? What would Adam do? And would Ben say to justify forcing him to make the decision that led to his downfall?

"I don't think this is a good idea," Ben whispered. "Son, I think that—"

"Pa," Hoss whispered seriously. "He's gotta try some time, you know that as well I do."

"Maybe now is too soon. It's cold today. Maybe we should wait for the weather to improve."

"That ain't going to happen any day soon. It's only going to get colder from here on out; it'll be spring before the weather turns nice again."

Ben knew Hoss was right though the knowledge did nothing to ease the feeling of overwhelming wrongness that was overtaking him as he was reminded of what Adam had said months ago when making the argument to travel to Eastgate.

Spring goes awfully fast around here, you know. Summer and Fall pass by a man before he even knows they've truly arrived. It'll be winter soon, and when the snow begins to fall there won't be any opportunity to go anywhere at all. I need to get out while I still can.

And even now, despite all the changes they had endured, Ben knew—as Hoss did too—Adam's words rang true. If they didn't try now, if they didn't take advantage of the last few weeks of fall weather, then they would be waiting months before any of them would feel comfortable trying again. And what would happen to Adam in the interim? His fear and avoidance would probably intensify, consuming him and rendering the very idea of venturing outside of his comfort zone impossible forever.

Despite all of this, the sad irony of their current predicament wasn't lost on Ben. There was a time when it seemed as though he wouldn't be able to keep Adam home, and now he struggled to encourage him enough to ever leave. Oh, lord how that hurt; it cut deeper than he could have ever imagined having his son's determined adventurous flame snuffed out so suddenly only to be replaced by such overpowering uncertainty and distress.

Adam had been born a wanderer; it didn't seem right to accept him any other way. Ben would—of course, he would—still his acceptance of such things seemed wrong somehow. Though there was a time when he would have rejoiced the day Adam decided to stay home permanently, he didn't rejoice in this. He couldn't and he wouldn't. He would love his son unconditionally however he appeared before him, but he would forever mourn the determined, efficacious, and independent man that had been lost.

"It's gonna be okay, Pa," Hoss said, unknowingly voicing the reassurance father had longed to say to Adam. "He'll be fine. I'll take care of him; I'll bring him home safe and sound, I promise."

Though he didn't want to, Ben found himself nodding in return. "Keep him close."

"I will."

"Watch him carefully."

"I will."

"And stay away from cliffs."

"Cliffs?" Hoss asked, his nose scrunched with confusion.

"Promise me," Ben urged.

Hoss shrugged, still not understanding why such a vow needed to be made. "I promise," he said easily.

Ben prayed it wasn't another oath destined to be broken.