satyricon au go go

The Boy With The Thorn In His Side

"For we all make many mistakes, and if any one makes no mistakes in what he says is a perfect man, able to bridle the whole body also."

The voice read the words in halting steps, paused, sighed with a heart worn weariness, then closed the old battered bible with work roughened hands and laid it carefully on the dresser. Carefully he turned down the guttering lamp, then he left as quietly as he'd arrived, with only the curtains stirring in the breeze to mark his passage.

ª

The lone rider and his black gelding trotted along the road into town as the sun had started to turn brown and slide dark shadows along the land. Both rider and horse were drooping with a weariness weeks spent on the road, covered in dust, yet not enough to disguise the rider. Not on that horse with its fancy Spanish rig.

JD had spotted him, loitering atop the windmill that pumped water to the town, watching the main street and surrounds spread out below him, though he'd spent more time lost in his own thoughts and watching the wispy, wraith likes clouds creep across the dark blue sky.

He rolled over, squinted down at the black clad figure and knew, just by the way the man sat his horse, who it was. He scrambled down, dropping the last several feet into a run.

The tall rider swung down from his horse, shaking off dust about him, and helped himself to a ladle of sun warmed water that waited in a pail fetched from the well for thirsty travellers. He'd been riding a long time, a long way, and now he was here. Eyes narrowed against the sun tracked JD as he scurried into town, warning them of the rider's approach.

He regarded the town, noting the minor and major changes, wondering at the kind of reception he'd receive. In a few minutes they would all know as JD raised the alarm. Chris Larabee was back in town.

 

Buck strode out of the saloon, flanked by JD and Josiah, barring the way as the man dropped from his horse, standing at last to face them.

"You're not welcome here," Buck put it on the line, his face set cold and hard.

Chris just gave him an impatient look, as surly and arrogant as ever.

"I've been riding for days, and I need a drink. This is still a free town, ain't it?"

Buck's hand rested on his gun, a subtle move, one that Chris didn't miss.

"Yeah, but a lot of things have changed. If you're coming in, there's someone I want you to meet."

He led the way inside, to the very back of the saloon, turning to face Chris again as he reached the far corner, bitterness still burning in his eyes.

"Look, I've brought you a visitor," he announced sarcastically to the person hidden behind him.

Buck moved aside and Chris saw Ezra. He was alive, but he wasn't alive, not really. Ezra was seated listlessly in a wicker wheelchair, unmoving, unresponsive as Nathan carefully and gently shaved him. He'd lost a terrible amount of weight. The last time Chris had seen a man look more dead than alive like that had been in the war.

"What happened?"

"You know damn well what happened. You let him get hung."

Chris turned his bitterest look on Buck, the sort of look that used to make Buck flinch. "He was going to hang himself anyway, he thought he might as well make it count for something."

"You let him." Buck ground out the words, barely restraining the urge to knock Chris into the street outside. "You bastard, you let him." Buck broke off, upset. He took a moment to suck in air and continue.

"The rope was weighted for Vin, who's just that bit taller. When Ezra started strangling and kicking about on the end of the rope, we realised what had happened, but we weren't quick enough. He was dying when we cut him down. I don't know why he didn't die. Sometimes I wish he had."

"What's wrong with him?" Chris asked, wanting to know, in spite of himself.

"Aside from a hanging? Nathan says he's seen men like this, back in the war. Ezra should be getting stronger, but his mind has gone. He has no heart for this world any more."

Nathan finished shaving Ezra, wiped his face tenderly with a towel, then moved back, no longer blocking Ezra's view.

Chris sized Ezra up in one long uncompromising once over and Ezra's left hand began to twitch, softly at first, then quite sharply and suddenly. He'd seen Chris.

"Guess he still knows you," Buck taunted as Nathan wheeled an increasingly agitated Ezra away. He turned his full attention on Chris. "What are you doing back here? Haven't you done enough?"

Chris didn't answer. He just gave Buck another one of those withering looks and pushed past him towards the bar, a gap opening up for Chris as he approached, his reputation preceding him.

Oh yeah, Chris Larabee was back in town, that was for certain.

ª

My fond affection thou hast seen,
Then judge of my regret
To think more happy thou hadst been
If we had never met.

Thomas Haynes Bayly (1797-1839)

ª

The curtains swayed gently in the sudden breeze, causing the lamp to flicker and throw large and alarming shadows across the walls.

A hand placed the book softly back down upon the dresser, turning down the light to a dim glow, lengthening the dark places in the room. He kissed Ezra once upon the brow, lightly, a tender kiss of remorse, and he left again through the window as silently as he had arrived.

Downstairs in the saloon Buck was smoking and drinking and shuffling cards back and forth between himself and Nathan. Neither was much in the mood for playing, nor for talking about the return of Chris Larabee into their lives.

Josiah had left their company early, returning to his church for the peace and quiet, there to offer comfort should any of his friends need it, but hoping they would leave him be this one night. He felt it as much as anyone did, the return of crackling tension to the town, like a heavy summer afternoon before a storm, itching at the skin.

Chris himself was nowhere to be seen, having slouched off with a bottle for company. He was probably getting blind drunk by himself in the empty gaol, and good luck to him.

Nathan didn't even bother to look at his cards, studying Buck instead, seeing the lines that had deepened in Buck's face, knowing how hard this must be for Buck, knowing all the things Buck wanted to say to Chris, but never would.

"You knew he might come back." Nathan offered.

Buck fiddled with the surface of the table, picking at it.

"Yeah, but I'd hoped it would be later."

"After Ezra was gone."

Buck drew in a breath, covering his eyes with his hand, not wanting to face that truth.

Nathan nodded. It would have been easier. It would have spared Ezra and it would have spared Chris. Neither man could see the other without pain. Something had happened, something even more terrible than the hanging, but Nathan knew Buck would never speak of it.

There was a dreadful crash upstairs and Buck was on his feet in an instant, taking the stairs two at a time to Ezra's room.

Buck crunched over debris as he pushed open the door, scanning the room in the dim lamplight. Somehow the decanter, glasses and the bric a brac that had sat on Ezra's dresser had been swept onto the floor. Siting in the middle, oblivious to the wreckage, was Ezra, looking wan and rocking back and forth slightly in his chair in a nervous fashion.

Buck gathered him in his arms, holding him as delicately as a piece of fine bone china, trying to still the tremors that he felt shiver through Ezra's body. Something had spooked him.

Nathan stopped at the door, appalled at the mess.

"What happened?"

"Don't know. Maybe a cat got in the window." Buck nodded to where the curtains stirred gently in the night air.

Nathan scowled, sure he'd closed that window before. He and Buck lifted Ezra from his chair into his bed, trying to settle him for the night.

"Damn," Nathan remarked, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking Ezra's pulse. He could feel every muscle tensed under Ezra's skin, and he looked so distressed, distressed enough for both Nathan and Buck to wonder if Ezra himself hadn't lashed out suddenly. He was certainly more agitated and alive tonight than he had ever been before. He was responding to the outside world at last, but Nathan wasn't happy with this new development.

"What's got into you tonight?" he asked of Ezra, not at all expecting an answer and none was forthcoming, just that unblinking stare that seemed so much more angry and hurt this night.

"Chris has got him all riled up. Has to be," Buck decided. Ezra's pain seemed to increase at the very mention of the name.

"Was he bothering Ezra?" Nathan wanted to know, furious, releasing Ezra's hand from his own and standing up off the bed.

"No, but you saw how twitchy Ezra got when he saw Chris."

"Why would just seeing Chris bother him so much?" Nathan glanced from Buck to Ezra, brow wrinkling and knowing he was missing something. Something important.

Buck hesitated, carefully censoring the truth. What could he say? That he was pretty sure Chris had done some shocking things to Ezra?

"Chris and Ezra came to blows over Vin," he admitted, and Nathan nodded, accepting that truth. He'd seen the bruises Ezra had sported and had suspected as much. No wonder the sight of Chris had shaken Ezra up so badly. All the pain and hurt, all the misery that had driven him to conspire to die in Vin's place, it had all been stirred up.

Nathan had hoped that Ezra had been spared those memories, that in his present state he'd found a peace. Now Nathan knew how horribly he'd been wrong. Ezra wasn't at peace, he was trapped in a nightmare.

Nathan soothed Ezra's damp hair caringly and prepared a syringe of morphine, just to settle him down for the night. He gently unfolded Ezra's pale arm, found a vein and pushed the needle home. He and Buck stayed until Ezra finally passed into sleep, sweeping up the broken glass and turning down the lamp.

They looked at each other, but neither said a word. The time for words had long since passed. What was done was done and they all had to live with the consequences. They'd let Ezra slip through their fingers, and he haunted them like a ghost.

ª

"And then she took that egg and you'll never believe what she did with it next..."

Chris could hear Buck's voice carry through from the back of the saloon. He followed the sound of soft laughter and emerged into sunshine, shielding his eyes.

Buck was on the back porch having an animated one way conversation with himself as he tenderly fed Ezra mouthfuls of broth.

"It would have been better if he'd been left to hang," Chris drawled bitterly.

Buck threw down the spoon and rose angrily.

Chris backed up a little. "You know I'm right. Look at him."

Buck couldn't. He stared at the small table beside Ezra instead.

"Nathan says there's a chance he'll get better. Even if he doesn't, he's our friend. We can't just leave him. We'll look after him."

Chris ran his eyes over Ezra. Yeah, Ezra looked like he had about three months left in him at the very most. No long term commitment there.

Ezra stared back at him with unblinking eyes.

"Buck," Chris asked of his former friend, tilting his head back towards the saloon.

Buck nodded. He understood. Chris was uncomfortable around Ezra. At least it meant Chris still had a conscience, no matter how hard he tried to hide it under layers of surliness.

Buck fed Ezra another two spoonfuls of the lukewarm soup, wiped Ezra's mouth carefully on the serviette then arranged his chair and blankets for him.

"I've got to go and talk business now," he murmured to his charge. "You just sit tight and enjoy your garden."

Chris surveyed the stunted bed of roses, one shrivelled young lemon tree and a threadbare bush of lavender, plus a handful of more robust looking weeds.

Buck caught his look.

"JD read a book that said invalids need a lot of fresh air, so we made him a garden to sit in." He shrugged. It was no great garden by any means, but it was well intentioned.

Buck squeezed Ezra's shoulder lightly, then left him alone in his garden, following Chris back inside.

"You know where Vin is at?" Buck had to ask.

Chris shook his head.

"No. We parted ways a while back, thought it best he wasn't seen with me."

Buck nodded again, saying nothing. He gave Chris another appraising look, growing entirely serious. He knew what Chris wanted, why he was back in town. Buck had held the team together these last few months in spite of everything, but now Chris had returned to reclaim his crown.

"You've been gone a while, Chris," Buck protested quietly. "Things have changed."

"Ezra's dying and Vin is gone, that's all."

Buck shook his head. "You always could be a cold son of a bitch."

Chris' eyes flashed a challenge but Buck was too tired to care.

"You want back in, fine. Just leave Ezra be. He's suffered enough as it is."

"I've got no business with Ezra."

No, Buck supposed. Not any more."

They stepped out onto the saloon's veranda and JD ran up, handing a telegram straight to Chris. And that was it. Chris had resumed his leadership of the team in a fait accompli. Et tu, JD. There was nothing more to be said. Buck shrugged and let it go.

Chris was scowling.

"What?"

"Judge wants us to go pick up a prisoner in Rio Hondo."

"Welcome back, Chris," Buck murmured sarcastically, moving past him to go and get his gear together for the ride.

ª

They’d been riding into the storm for a long time now. There was now way around it, and Chris was never one for drawn out detours anyway. The quickest way, he reckoned, was to push right through and get out on the other side of it.

It sat dark and low on the horizon for a long time, then, as if sensing its prey, it had suddenly begun crossing the plains towards them at alarming speed.

Buck twisted in his saddle, watching the dark violet clouds boil up into the sky as the first rain squall hit them.

"Don't worry, he'll be fine," Nathan reassured, knowing where Buck's thoughts were turned. "Somebody will stay with him."

Buck nodded, water sloshing from the brim of his hat and he kicked his horse forward, trotting to catch up with Chris, fanning out to his left, riding in silence.

 

Bent against the rain the still youngish man swept Ezra up in his arms. Bowing his head under the force of the heavy drops he sloshed forward through the mud, carrying Ezra to the only person he trusted in town.

He kicked the back door down and forced his way through.

Mary turned, startled, then she recognised Ezra's limp form, soaked through with rain.

"They left him outside," he accused bitterly.

Mary nodded, understanding his anger. "Can you carry him upstairs?"

He nodded. He let Mary lead and followed her up the wooden stairs, dripping puddles on the carpet as he went.

"There," she indicated an empty room. "It's Billy's room," she explained, her son exiled to an extended stay with his grandparents once more.

He laid Ezra down carefully on the bare mattress.

"I'll get some blankets and make a fire." She offered, needing to be busy.

"Thank you." He turned to her, sincere in his gratitude.

It was only then that Mary's eyes widened with recognition.

"Vin?" she barely mouthed.

He'd cut his hair short, and was clad in a sagging grey wool suit that had seen better years. He looked like a bank clerk who'd been out west too long.

"The blankets, Mary," Vin prompted gently. "I'll build the fire."

 

Vin warmed himself by the fire, crouching with his hands held out to it, his hair drying in odd short tufts that curled up slightly.

He stood and returned to Ezra's side, taking a hand gently between his own, rubbing it. Ezra's hand was as cold as ice against his skin.

"He'll catch a chill," he worried out loud.

"Shall I get more blankets?" Mary asked anxiously, having brought one bundle to Ezra’s bed already.

"No." Vin shrugged off his coat and began to unbutton his waistcoat.

"What are you doing?" Mary almost screeched in a panic.

"I need to warm him up - fast. The only way I know how is by holding him, warming him up with my own heat."

"Oh - oh." Her eyes widened again and she turned around, listening to the sounds of Vin stripping himself and Ezra and she stayed turned around until she heard Vin slip under the blankets.

When she looked again Vin was naked, strong sun browned shoulders cradling an equally naked but thin and pale Ezra in his arms like a lover.

Flushed, Mary just left, letting Vin be, promising to send up more blankets later.

Vin settled down into the bed, wrapping his body around Ezra and holding him tight. Ezra was so bitterly cold and thin. The ugly rope burn around his neck made Vin physically wince when he saw it. In a horrified curiosity he began to trace it but Ezra twitched, so he stopped. He just held him tight and hoped Ezra didn't get a fever.

 

Vin shifted in a dream, finding Ezra's body in his arms, fitting together as though destined to be joined, finding Ezra's mouth on his, exchanging soft gentle kisses. He sighed as lips touched eyes, noses, ears and then mouths again. He felt so at peace, so softly aroused. The kisses grew warmer, just brushing skin and tongues. He felt himself rise and crested on a wave of pleasure, before sinking into a sated, deeper sleep, the first night he'd allowed himself to dream in a long, long while.

 

Vin woke, snuggled against Ezra, his naked skin soft and warm. Vin nuzzled the pale skin fondly. Then he realised nearly all the warmth in the bed came from Ezra, as though he stolen all of Vin's during the night. Ezra was too warm, and when Vin touched his brow he knew the awful truth: Ezra had a fever.

Vin sank down in the bed, defeated, certain that Ezra lacked the strength to fight off the chill he'd been inflicted with. Ezra was going to die and there was nothing he could do.

He climbed from the bed and dressed morosely, and one look at his face that morning told Mary their worst fears had been realised.

 

Vin fiddled with the fine bone china cup, nervous to handle such a fancy and delicate piece, nervous to be here. Mary was serving him tea but he had no appetite for anything, his thoughts solely occupied by the man who lay upstairs in a fever.

Mary was still staring at him, still trying to take in his clerkish, clean shaven appearance.

He glanced down at himself, understanding her confusion.

"Ezra slipped a couple of diamond rings into my pocket. I never even noticed. I found them later. I needed money so I cashed one. I kept the other." He answered the look he thought was an accusation, as if Mary didn't know what it had cost him to sell that ring of Ezra's. "I bought a new suit and an old brown suitcase. I cut my hair, just so I looked different. Chris didn't even recognise me, so I know it worked."

He did look so very different. There was a sadness in his eyes now, a world weariness that had never been there to that extent before.

Mary covered his hand with her own.

"It must be hard, being on the run."

"It's not that so much," he shifted his shoulders uneasily. "I was mourning," he admitted softly. "Ezra got himself hanged because of me. I thought he was dead. Seeing him like this, I'm not sure -" he shook his head and Mary squeezed his hand.

"He'll get better," she promised hollowly.

Vin ducked his head, the weight of it all pressing him down. "I love him. I know I love him now, and it's too late. He'll never know it."

"He knew it. His eyes used to light up whenever you walked into the room. They always did."

"I did this to him."

Mary shook her head. "Ezra made his choice."

Vin pulled his hand away, clasping it nervously.

"What about Chris?" she had to ask.

Vin shook his head. "Chris and I stopped riding together. A lot of ghosts between us. It's been hard to forgive him, for his part in this."

Mary bit her lip, unsure or not if she should tell him Chris had been here, in town, just yesterday. She held her peace, feeling that Vin didn't need to deal with Chris, as well. Not yet.

 

Ezra shivered and sweated in Billy's bed for a day and a night. Vin kept an almost constant vigil by Ezra's side, tending him with every homemade remedy he could think of, there being no doctor in town with Nathan away.

Damn, he'd lost his mother this way, and now he was going to lose Ezra. It made Vin fight harder, begging Ezra to fight with him. He'd sat up all night sponging Ezra down with poultices when he was hot and tucking the blankets around him when he grew cold. He read to him, he held him and it broke Mary's heart to see Vin labour over Ezra in bitter earnest.

Vin was hunched over in the high backed wooden chair when the crisis came in the darkest hours of the night. The clock kept up a steady beat, marking out two am as Ezra's pulse raced and his breath rattled in his throat. Vin buried his face in his hands, unable to watch as Ezra lay there nearly lifeless, his grey skin cast a faint yellow in the lamp light.

The clock ticked on, marking out the seconds, and then it was over. Vin raised his head slowly, seeing Ezra resting peacefully at last. He reached out and took Ezra's hand between his own, then kissed it. It was over at last. Ezra had passed the crisis and his fever had broken. He was sleeping, bathed in the lamp light like a sleeping angel.

 

Mary found Vin dozing in his chair that morning, and Ezra sleeping still in the bed, his skin cool to the touch, his thin arm, scoured with cuts from the blood letting, folded neatly across the sheets. She tucked the bare arm under the blankets, stroked the damp chestnut coloured hair fondly, then accidentally woke Vin as her skirts brushed against him.

"The fever broke," she acknowledged, and Vin beamed proudly.

She cupped Vin's stubbled chin in her hand lovingly, her thumb rubbing his cheek. He'd fought so hard, and she could see the toll of the battle in his eyes.

"I've made you breakfast," she spoke softly.

Vin's stomach leapt at the word.

"That sounds perfect." His smile lit up his whole face like the morning sun as he rose to follow her.

Vin placed a gentle kiss upon Ezra's brow and then made to leave. He got as far as the doorway.

"Stay."

Vin heard the plea, so soft he wasn't sure he'd even heard it at all. He turned back and there was Ezra, sitting up in bed, watching him, begging him to stay.

Mary covered her mouth, unable to speak.

Vin threw off Mary’s hand, dove through the door and landed on the bed, hugging Ezra tight enough to bruise him.

"I'm here, I'm here," he promised, covering Ezra in frantic kisses. "I'm never going to leave you again, I promise. Ezra," Vin just lost himself, burrowing his face against Ezra.

Mary stood in the door, wiping away tears, though whether she was weeping for the recovery of Ezra, or the loss of Vin, not even she could answer.

ª

They spoke softly behind him, but loud enough for Ezra to hear, as though he wasn’t in the drawing room with them, watching the traffic pass on the main street down below from the window.

It was habit, he assumed, Mary still unused to his awake and alert state, and almost resentful, he suspected. It was as though she only suffered Ezra to be here because it kept Vin close by, and Ezra suspected he was right.

Now he was scrubbed clean and looking almost civilised, Mary was looking at Vin with new eyes, though Ezra doubted Vin was fully aware of it. For a man who could tell you what a horse had had for breakfast two days ago, he could be surprisingly clueless about some things.

Like now. Like Ezra’s part as a prop in Mary’s attempted wooing of Vin, sharing their duties of nursing Ezra, nursing him in a manner Ezra was increasingly finding intrusive and insulting. He was awake now, and still in possession of most of his faculties, if in a weakened state. His body might be distressingly feeble but his mind was returning to him with a clarity that he found most gratifying.

Mary still treated him as if he were simple, though. He leant closer to the window, trying to catch the last of the morning sun, and let their words wash over him.

"Do you think he remembers anything?" Mary was asking.

Vin, balancing tea cup and saucer with the charming awkwardness of a backwoods boy shook his head.

"No, not all of it. He says the last thing he remembers is our kiss goodbye," Vin paused over letting that little revelation slip, seeing the shock pass across Mary’s face for a moment before she composed herself. "If he remembers any more, he’s not saying. I think he does remember, bits and pieces at least, but he doesn’t want to."

Ezra’s hand was digging into the wood of the chair he’d been swaddled in, forcing away the unwelcome memories. Vin was right, he did remember snatches, and he tried to push them away as much as possible. It was a long, long fever dream of half aware sounds and sensations and he wanted to consign them all to the dark corners were the rest of his nightmares lived.

It was over now. He’d woken to Vin’s soft voice and touch like Sleeping Beauty. Vin was all he cared about, his north star, sent to guide him, something to hold himself steady to. He clung to Vin, emotionally if not physically, needing their friendship to buoy him, to keep him from slipping back into the darkness.

ª

Vin proudly wheeled Ezra to a stop inside his little garden.

It was the first time Ezra had been outside since his recovery, and the first time he had really seen his garden, that he could remember. It was a sad and shrivelled affair, and to think of the gardens he remembered, it made him want to laugh, but it had been planted and tended by friends who cared for him, friends who had refused to desert him, even though he had turned his back on them, again.

A tear escaped and Vin was by his side instantly, brushing it away, asking him in a panic what was wrong. Was the sun too bright, the garden too ugly, the wind too cold?

No, Ezra reassured, everything was as good as he could hope it would be. He was still alive, his saloon was still his in name at least and Vin was crouching beside him, holding his hand, his sole attention focused on Ezra.

The breeze played softly in his hair and the sun was warm on his skin. He flexed his fingers experimentally, feeling the muscles and bone move beneath his skin, watching his fingers move, as though seeing them for the first time, testing the limits of his dexterity. He could smell the leaves of the lemon tree, the sprigs of Inez's herb garden that they'd accidentally crushed underfoot, the smell of horses, dirty straw from the livery and the ripe smells of stale beer, cigar smoke and the sweat of his clientele wafting aromatically from his saloon. He could smell wood fires and coal fires and lunch that was being prepared at the hotel down the street for their patrons.

He could feel the powdery grit of the dust that hung in the air, and the soot from the stoves, and he could feel the warmth of Vin's hand, still holding his own.

"I like it here," he announced quietly, and felt Vin relax, dropping his hand for a moment to fetch a chair so he could sit beside Ezra, just enjoying each other's company, basking in the dappled light under the sparse leaves of Ezra's lemon tree.

ª

"I am not of that feather, to shake off my friend when he must need me"
Tim of Ath, Act i, Sc.1

ª

A body flew through the flapping doors of the saloon and Buck rose from the wall he'd been slouching against, weary beyond words.

Somebody had pissed off Chris again.

Their fearless leader had been in a filthy mood since they'd arrived in this cow town, little more than a central gathering point for the local ranchers, finding their prisoner but no judge to hear the trial and the man's friends and accusers prowling about and clashing in ugly games of push and shove. If that wasn't bad enough, a rambling cattle drive had decided to pull into town, letting the hands have their head, and things were rapidly coming to a boil.

This one post office town wasn't Abilene by any stretch of the imagination, but it had all of that town's troubles, all concentrated in a few square feet of main street.

Chris' burning desire to throw himself into the middle of every drunken brawl and heated squabble, if not causing them outright, hadn't helped matters. JD and Nathan were vaguely horrified and terrified by Chris’ behaviour, they'd never really seen him like this before. Neither had Josiah but his complete lack of surprise anything Chris did make Buck wonder just how much Josiah had cut lose when he'd left the strict confines of his father's church.

JD and Nathan kept to themselves, out of the way, biding their time, which was all well and good. Josiah guarded their prisoner and Buck, poor Buck was left to the job of keeping peace in the town. His best friend was hell bent on destroying that peace, and himself, and it was all Buck could do to stop the punch ups and gunfights before they drew more than first blood. His only good fortune was the fact that when Chris was drunk it made him slow and careless, but it also made him quick to draw.

Buck was thinking of solving all his problems by locking Chris up with their prisoner - and it wouldn't be the first time - when he'd seen the cowboy fly out of that saloon and he knew there was trouble again. He walked over, hand on his gun, when a posse of trail hands burst out of the stinking saloon, scattering like rats, Chris striding out behind them, gun ready, the old crazy light in his eyes.

The mad, bad, fucked up son of a bitch. Buck loved him dearly, but when he got like this Buck feared one day he'd have to shoot Chris down like a dog, because Chris didn't know when to stop.

Buck thought about winging him but he just couldn't, and he so had no choice but to set off after Chris who shot off down a side alley, hunting down the nearest cowboy, firing wildly in the young idiot's general direction.

God only knew what had started this latest disagreement, but like hell was Buck going to see his best friend hanged right beside their prisoner for murder. He caught up with Chris by the livery. Chris could move fast when he wanted, and he wasn't at all winded as he stood over the boy, peacemaker drawn, mouth in a thin, tight snarl, mad fire in his eyes.

"Hey, mister," the young pup of a cowboy attempted to surrender, holding his hands out to show he held no gun, nor would he reach for one.

Chris just smiled. A cold, shit eating smile. "I know what you're thinking: did he fire six shots or only five. You know, in all the excitement, I kind of lost count myself."

He raised his silver colt and aimed straight down the barrel.

"Hey, mister, we were just letting off steam," the lad quailed.

"Chris!" Buck called him off.

Chris grinned, holstered his peacemaker and walked off, letting the boy wilt against the stall.

Buck caught the kid by the shoulder, making sure he paid him mind.

"Stay out of his way, you hear me? Better yet, stay out of town." Buck let the boy go, considering him sufficiently warned.

Buck glanced after Chris and shook his head. God only knew what Chris had been up to during his months in the wilderness. None of it good by the look of it. He was as wild as Buck had ever seen him, spoiling for a fight. Damn these cowboys for giving him one.

Buck resolved to have a quiet word with the trail boss about keeping his men out of town while Chris waited impatiently for the Judge to arrive, hot tempered and quick to draw. It wasn't fair but it was the way it was. An outrider was already being held for murdering a hand from another ranch and tensions in the tiny town were running hot. Bringing Chris here was like pouring kerosene on the fire.

He nodded to Josiah, guarding the gaol like the Rock of Gibraltar, tall, silent and immoveable. He was polishing his gun, having drawn but never fired.

"Chris is looking for someone to punish," Josiah observed candidly, still polishing.

"This is about Ezra, isn't it," Buck realised, several days too late.

"Probably," Josiah agreed. "Only Chris knows how he feels about Ezra still being alive. I'm guessing it isn't good." He holstered his gun.

"He found no place of repentance, though he sought it carefully with tears." Josiah quoted softly.

"You think he's sorry?" Buck sincerely doubted it.

Josiah merely shrugged. "You know the man best," was all he would say on the matter.

Buck shook his head, trying to reconcile Chris' boozing and brawling with genuine regret. Yeah, come to think of it, the son of a bitch must be all churned up with blame. Buck had seen it all before.

Buck sighed, forever his brother's keeper, and trudged after Chris, making sure the wiry bastard didn't menace any more hapless trail hands before the night was done.

ª

Ezra's hand shook uncontrollably as he lifted the card causing him to drop it. It fluttered down onto the table face up. The Four of Spades. He swept the whole pile of cards away angrily onto the floor, then tried to light his cigar with trembling fingers.

Vin knelt and collected up the scattered cards, shuffling them back into a nice neat pack, which he laid down on the table, then he lit Ezra's cigar for him, but Ezra had lost his taste for it, stubbing it out. He reached for the nearby bottle of whisky, but Vin moved it slightly out of reach.

"I never asked you to be my nursemaid," Ezra snarled at him.

"No, but I'm your friend, and you don't need that."

"The hell I don't."

"Ezra, you've been ill a long time, you need to give yourself time to heal."

"What use is a gambler who can't hold a pack of cards, or even deal one. That should have been the ten of hearts." He gave a short laugh.

Vin sat down beside him, leaning close in confidence.

"Ez, you can barely walk. Give it time. You're out of practice, that's all."

Ezra looked at him, the fear all too clear in his eyes. What if he'd lost it, and lost it for good. What use was he if he couldn't cheat or swindle or hold a gun. He sunk further into his seat, defeated.

"Why did you come back? Why didn't you let me go?" he pleaded, too much a coward to finish the job he'd started.

Vin couldn't answer to the invisible strings that had pulled him back here, in spite of everything. He had simply been unable to be anywhere else, unable to live anywhere else, knowing he was living on time he'd stolen from Ezra.

"What if they catch you?" Ezra pushed anxiously, his sacrifice all for nothing.

"It's my life," Vin reminded gently but firmly. "Why did you do it?"

Ezra looked away, not really knowing the answer himself.

"It seemed like a good idea at the time. I wanted to prove myself...useful."

"Ezra,"

Ezra shook his head. "You had no use for me, Chris had no use for me. My mother had just sold me like a head of cattle. If my life was worth nothing, yours was. It seemed a bargain, my life for yours."

"Ezra, no." Vin twisted away, upset. "Don't you talk like that, don't you ever talk like that. How dare you - I never asked you to, I never wanted you to."

"It was my gift to give."

"No. You threw your life away." He stood, angry. "You've dragged everyone through hell. I've had to live with what you did, Nathan and Buck have had to tend you, everyday. How could you?"

"Be so selfish? I thought I was being selfless. You know what they say: no good deed goes unpunished. I should know." Ezra tipped a card over from the top of the pack, unconsciously playing with them as Vin's words struck him to the bone. The Jack of Clubs. He sank back, so obviously tired and ill that Vin stopped his words, smothered by guilt again.

He'd done this, he'd pushed Ezra away and made him feel worthless, and now he'd spurned his gift, thrown it back in Ezra's face.

"I'm sorry," Vin began.

Ezra held up his hand to stop him. He'd had enough. "I'd like to go outside, please," Ezra asked of him, and Vin had no choice but to obey, wheeling Ezra in his wicker chair back out to his garden, parking him quietly under the stunted lemon tree and leaving him alone to think and brood and finally doze in the dappled sunlight, warming to a late spring.

ª

Mrs Potter wanted to say how pleased she was to see Ezra up and about at long last, but the poor boy didn't look like he'd be on his feet for very much longer. He was leaning on the counter heavily, breathing hard and sweating and he was so very, very grey.

He nodded to her and took his small bottle in its twist of brown paper, slipping it into his pocket. He was hobbling out of the small store when he ran into Mary who took one look at him and immediately began to prop him up.

"Ezra, you shouldn't be out here, you're still so weak."

Ezra bridled and was about to object to his invalid status, pulling away, when Mary spied Vin and waved him over, handing Ezra onto him.

"I feel like a leper," Ezra sulked as Mary left them, as though his illness were contagious.

"You're not, but you shouldn't be walking about."

"It was just across the street," Ezra complained as Vin slowly negotiated them back towards the saloon step by step. He was trembling again and Vin could feel it.

"Damn, it shouldn't be this hard."

"Ezra, you were dead to the world for a long time. You can't expect to have your life back the way it was right away."

"I didn't ask for this," Ezra hissed, angry at everyone, the world and himself, ashamed at his obvious weakness.

"I didn't ask you to do this," Vin pushed back quietly, just as annoyed, exhausted by the guilt he felt every time he looked at Ezra.

"I didn't do it just for you -" Ezra snapped, near breaking point. "I did it for Chris. I wanted to prove I was a man. I wanted him to be able to look me in the eye."

Vin's grip on Ezra tightened. He had been so busy torturing himself with his own memories of Ezra he'd forgotten about Chris - now the memory rose up with full force and struck him as hard as a physical blow. Ezra and Chris, pressed up against that wall, tangled in each other, mouths clashing violently.

He pulled away from Ezra but Ezra tottered, forcing him back by his side, uncomfortably close as they continued their slow march back to the saloon.

Ezra was really working hard now, his breathing coming in laboured gasps, sweating profusely and now he hunched forward and began to weep, just unable to bear it for another moment.

"Sssh," Vin embraced him, meaning it, his bitterness forgotten. "It's over, it's done. Come on, let's keep moving. Not far now," he cajoled and managed to get Ezra moving forward. One step at a time and the saloon grew closer and Ezra seemed to take comfort in that, growing stronger, walking straighter. He managed to walk through the swinging doors, leaning heavily upon Vin but standing on his own two feet. He made it as far as the back room, then collapsed onto the lounge Buck had moved in there while in residence, his ordeal overwhelming him at last. He closed his eyes, asleep almost instantly. Vin stretched out on an old wooden chair beside him, worried, not wanting to leave him alone. Ezra looked so pale and grey and as fragile as an eggshell.

Stupid, crazy Ezra, wandering off like that. Vin shook his head. Some things never change.

ª

Ezra had become a regular sight around town once more, leaning on his gold handled cane. It gave him the air of an even more decadent Southern gentleman.

The town had grown used to his resurrection by the time the five riders returned. Buck had slid straight off his horse and stumbled up the steps into the saloon. He made it halfway to the bar when he stopped dead in his tracks, turning slowly. The scene had been so familiar, so ingrained that it had taken several moments for it to register. Ezra was sitting up at his usual table playing cards with a handsome young gentleman. A second later that young gentleman registered as Vin.

Holy Hannah.

For a moment they seemed like ghosts from another age, but they were real. Ezra glanced up at Buck and smiled wanly. He was still very frail, Buck could see that, but to see Ezra alive and kicking - now Buck really needed a drink.

He'd just sat down at the table with them, not even touching his beer to his lips when it happened. He'd barely nodded to Ezra when Chris walked in and Vin had whipped around and regarded Chris with rapt attention. And Buck swore he could have heard Ezra's brittle heart snap in two from where he sat. All the life went out of the lad's face as he drooped forward, no longer interested in his cards, his game or his friends.

"Boys," Chris nodded as if nothing had changed, strutting over to the bar, every eye in the place upon him, including Ezra's.

Then Nathan and JD had tumbled into the saloon, saw Ezra and Vin, and a wall of babbling noise went up between Ezra and Vin, and Chris, leaning against the bar. Ezra just sat there and let himself be fussed over, neither interested nor caring, slipping back into silence until Chris came over to their table and it was all too much. The glances between Vin and Chris were more than he could bear, a searing pain lanced across his heart. He reached for his glass, but his hand trembled. He started to crumble like a house of cards.

"Nathan, please, I'm tired." Ezra pulled himself shakily to his feet. Nathan was at his side instantly and protectively, understanding. It was all too much, especially seeing Chris and Vin, together, again. He slipped an arm around Ezra, glared at them, and walked his patient out of the saloon.

Ezra was too tired and off balance to talk about his miraculous recovery. He just wanted to beg for some morphine so he could sleep, and Nathan was inclined to give him what he wanted.

Ezra rebuffed Nathan's help in undressing, no longer an invalid, but Nathan checked on him an hour later, watching him sleep, worried.

ª

Nathan bent to listen to his heart one more time and Ezra swatted him away, annoyed at Nathan's constant fussing.

"Leave me be, I'm quite recovered, thankyou," Ezra insisted, reaching for his shirt, hung untidily off the back of the chair.

"Like hell you are." Nathan stood, annoyed, and flicked up the cloth that covered his table, revealing a pinewood box. "This here is your coffin. We bought it because we were damn sure we were going to have to use it." He dropped the cloth, hiding the coffin again. "Now Vin said you caught a chill."

"A fever, no more. It broke and I woke up." Ezra was still staring at the cloth covered box, confronted with his own mortality, unsettled. He allowed Nathan to poke and prod him some more.

Nathan needed to know how this medical miracle had occurred, not wanting to attribute Ezra's wakening to the arrival of Vin, but at a loss for a more prosaic explanation. As for ascribing Ezra's current state of well being to a miracle, well, perhaps it was right that God seemed to be more forgiving of Ezra than Nathan found within himself to be at times.

He rested a dark, callused hand on Ezra's shoulder, knowing Ezra still had a lot of healing to do, in spite of his insistence otherwise.

"You need to rest much more than you have been, Ezra. You keep tiring yourself out, you'll never get well. You still got that laudanum I gave you?"

Ezra nodded.

"What about the shaking, the shortness of breath?"

"Gone," Ezra lied.

Nathan straightened. "Alright." He knew Ezra was lying to him, it was written in Ezra's face, in his pallor, in the dark circles under his eyes.

"No smoking, no drinking and no gambling," Nathan ordered.

Ezra gave him a shrewish look. "I might as well be dead," he sulked, putting on his shirt at last, having no intention of minding Nathan's advice.

"Ezra," Nathan warned, knowing his erstwhile friend too well, "Don't make me have to use this box."

Ezra nodded. Maybe just one or two drinks a day, for medicinal purposes, surely Nathan couldn't object to that. He pulled his coat on and stood, wavering a moment, faint enough for Nathan to see it and catch him.

"See? What did I tell you?" Nathan scolded.

"I just stood up too fast, that's all."

"You came back from the dead. You need to give yourself time to heal, Ezra."

"I'm tired of waiting," Ezra murmured, unhappy, impatient.

"I know," Nathan sympathised. "You've been given a second chance. Don't spoil it by killing yourself too quickly this time."

"I don't want to spend the rest of my life relying on people," Ezra admitted his fear, and Nathan realised it was a deep fear. Ezra's illness had robbed him of his independence, the skills that earned him his livelihood. Ezra feared going through life as half the man he had been more than death itself.

"You will get better," Nathan reassured. "Just give it time."

Ezra's eyes asked the unspoken question: what if he didn't? He looked like a trapped animal, willing to gnaw his own leg off.

"You have friends here, a home. We'll look after you, don't you worry about that."

Ezra gave him an intent look.

"We've looked after you so far, haven't we?" Nathan reminded. They weren't about to abandon Ezra now, even though Ezra feared it, deep down. Dear lord, but the boy had his troubles.

"Go on, go get some sleep," Nathan advised, letting Ezra go at the door to his clinic. "You'll feel better in the morning," he promised.

Ezra managed his old expression of disgust at the very idea of mornings and it made Nathan smile.

"I sincerely doubt it, Mr Jackson," Ezra complained, and took his leave.

Nathan stood and watched his patient walk slowly down the stairs. Ezra had miles to go until he was whole again, but he was alive, and that was more than Nathan had ever dared to hope for.

ª

Chris and Vin were watching the town go by, sprawled in chairs in front of the gaol, enjoying an easy silence between them, their friendship picked up where it had left off without anything needing to be said.

Ezra appeared in the doorway of his saloon, making his way outside with a still struggling gait. Vin was out of his chair and across the road, helping Ezra from the door to his seat most solicitously.

Chris just leant back, tilting his hat forward and pretending to be completely uncaring of the spectacle. There was no way he could compete with Ezra right now, and he wasn’t even going to try. There was something about the idea that was just too mean, and he knew it wouldn’t earn him any respect. No, he’d wait until Ezra was on his own two feet again before he began to challenge him for Vin’s attention again.

Not that Vin seemed in any mood to wait in making his choice, guilt binding him to Ezra’s side as tight as any marriage vow. Ezra had already won, as far as Chris has concerned, though he wasn’t sure that Ezra knew it or that Ezra would appreciate his easy victory.

ª

Ezra was parked in front of his saloon watching the word go by when a jangle of bridles made him glance up, to be treated to the sight of Vin, dashing and golden and freshly bathed atop the gleaming buggy he'd borrowed from Mrs Meadows.

Ezra breathed out a thin plume of cigar smoke, amused and impressed by the spectacle.

"And, what, pray tell, are you up to, Mr Tanner?" he drawled lazily, light in his eyes. Vin looked for all the world like he was courting some young lady, a wicker picnic basket parked prominently on the front seat of the buggy.

Vin hopped down and strode up the steps, making an elegant leg as he approached Ezra.

"May I have the honour of your company," Vin declared, all flourish and boyish charm.

Ezra glanced around to make sure there was no one else Vin could possibly be speaking to.

"Me?" he all but squeaked.

Vin straightened, returning to his old self in spite of his new apparel and painstakingly groomed appearance. "You see anyone else here, Ezra?" he teased.

"I asked Nathan and he said it was okay. You need to get some fresh air and sunshine so I'm taking you down to the creek."

"Are you abducting me?" Ezra matched his teasing tone.

"No, I'm courting you, Mr Standish," Vin beamed.

Ezra was shocked into silence, allowing himself to be helped by Vin into the back seat of the buggy, rugged up like an elderly lady and nestled deep into the leather seats that smelt deliciously of oil and wax as Vin hopped up on the driver's seat, flicked the reigns and proceeded to drive them through town, uncaring of the looks and stares they attracted.

 

The creek was shaded in late morning light, looking very much like some idyllic landscape painted by an overly romantic artist. The hobbled horses were cropping at the grass down by the creek bed, birdsong filtered through the trees. Ezra was reclined along the blanket that Vin had spread like a Roman citizen, picking at the meat and bread Vin had packed as part of their picnic, his appetite still not fully restored.

Vin returned with a dripping bottle he'd been cooling in the creek, uncorking a thin bitter wine that was the best he could do in his circumstances. He clinked glasses with Ezra, sipped at the wine and decided it was better if swallowed quickly, the alcohol going straight to his head in a warm buzz. He settled beside Ezra, their faces close enough to feel each other's breath, their hands touching in a loose clasp. He'd dreamt of this moment over and over. He'd never imagined it would come to be.

"I've missed you," Vin murmured, his voice creaking, strained in the quietness between them. "I've dreamt of you and I've prayed for you. Ezra," grey eyes held green in earnest embrace. "I love you. I have, for a long while now."

Cautiously, he plunged in closer and brushed his lips against Ezra's, and feeling no resistance, applied a little pressure, licking at Ezra's lips until Ezra opened and let him in, sliding into his soft velvet mouth.

Encouraged, Vin's fingertips caressed the nape of Ezra's neck as he kissed him, long slow and sweet like honey, tasting the wine on his lips.

Ezra suddenly made a soft moan, drawing back, twisting his face away.

"Ezra?" Vin's face betrayed his worry.

"No, please, I can't," Ezra pleaded. "I can't do this."

Vin was confused.

"Do what? Do you want me to take you back to town?" asked Vin, mistaking his meaning.

Ezra shook his head, looking so sad. "I can't give my heart to you, not again. I can't," he whispered, distraught. "It hurts too much."

"But I'm yours now," Vin insisted.

Ezra gave him a sad and gentle version of his 'I know you're bluffing' face. "No, and you never will be. I know that now."

"Ezra," Vin rested his hands on Ezra's shoulders, but Ezra pulled away.

"Don't."

"But I love you," Vin pleaded.

"No, please." Ezra, already as brittle as glass, began to crack. He pressed back into the tree that held him there, trapped. "Just go," he begged of Vin. "Go. Just leave me here and go."

Vin stood, not sure what to do. He wasn't leaving Ezra here, alone.

"Go away!" Ezra screamed at him, getting to his feet. "Get out of here! Go!" His voice tore out of him so hard he expected to see blood.

Vin backed away, unbelieving, then, seeing the resolve on Ezra's face, the pain in Ezra's eyes, the suffering he'd put there, he twisted away and walked coldly, automatically, unhitching the horse, angry at himself, angry at Ezra. He swung himself up into the saddle and kicked his horse hard, tearing off in a gallop.

Ezra sank back against the tree, sobbing, his heart in shreds.

Buck saw Vin ride in alone and was on his feet instantly. He grabbed Vin, shook him, mad enough to kill him, then let him go.

"You left him out there? Alone? God damn you!" And then Buck was lost for words, white hot in anger. He pushed Vin out of his way and ran off to the stables to mount up and ride out to the creek.

Chris watched Buck ride off in a flurry of dust, then kicked himself forward out of the chair he'd been leaning back in, basking in front of the gaol, slinking across the road to go and see where Vin had gotten himself too. Chris was too damn curious not to want to know why Vin had ridden in alone after he'd made such a show of courting Ezra this morning.

Buck rode hard, leaning close in the saddle, pushing his poor horse past its limits, arriving down by the creek in a swirl of dust. He leapt down, unable to see, seeing nothing.

"Ezra? Ezra!" He cast about frantically. Even as the dust settled, he could see nothing. "Ezra!" He checked anxiously along the tree line and creek bank. "Ezra!"

"Here." Ezra appeared standing by an old bent over tree, smoking quietly, an air of fragile dignity about him that struck Buck deep in his guts. Ezra's eyes were bright, his face flushed. He'd wept, but he was trying so very hard to remain composed now. Buck felt that kick again.

"You okay?"

Ezra almost smiled, shaking his head softly. He flicked the butt of his cigar away, no longer finding comfort in the tobacco.

He looked up at Buck. "I..."

"I know," Buck murmured softly.

"I let him go," Ezra managed quietly after a breath, admitting it to himself as much as to Buck.

"I know," Buck moved close, offering comfort just by being there. "You did the right thing."

Ezra gave a short strangled little laugh. "For once in my life," he rejoined with a sting of bitterness in his voice.

"Don't be like that," Buck chided, still so very gentle with Ezra. "You are a good man."

"Really? Then why..." Ezra broke off, unable to finish.

"Why do you keep getting your heart broke? Because you've got a heart to break, Ezra. It's nothing to be ashamed of."

Ezra's eyes burned into him. "How do you stand it?"

Buck knew what he meant.

"Because I have to. It'll hurt less, you'll see. Then it'll sneak up and bite you on the arse again when you least expect it. A smile, a word, and you'll remember how it used to be between you, how it could have been. But you'll brush it aside and hope for something, someone to come your way."

"Do they?" Ezra asked, not believing.

Buck regarded him tenderly. "Oh yes, they do, when you least expect it," he murmured.

ª

"Damn, boy!" Buck roared again, shaking his head as the wagon bounded along. Buck twisted in the seat and gave Ezra, curled comfortably in the body of the buggy another look of deep appreciation. "Damn!"

It was all Buck had exclaimed on the way back. It was all he could say. Buck had had his cock sucked before, and sucked by professionals, but he'd never been done by Ezra before. Buck had screamed; he'd never come so hard in his life before, and Ezra, who'd been all tender and seductive as a little minx, had sat back and giggled, laughed at Buck like he was a virgin. And Buck didn't care. His heart was still pumping too fast. Damn. No wonder Vin couldn't stay away. Damn.

Ezra chuckled now. "That was nothing," he assured. "Wait until I'm in full possession of all my faculties," he promised.

Buck gave him another quick glance. "Now you take it easy, Ezra. I don't want to be responsible for tiring you out, any more than I already have. You were more dead than alive for a long while. There wasn't a minute these last few months that I haven't thought we were going to lose you. Nathan said it would take a while to get back on your feet properly, so you mind him."

Ezra settled down, quiet. The shakes, the clumsiness, that was lessening as he grew stronger, but Nathan had quietly warned him that he may never get it back, that flash way with the cards that he had prided himself on so much. Ezra didn't like to think about it, except in the quiet, dark moments in the middle of the night, when he practiced shuffling the cards, and he dropped them all over the floor. In those moments he wanted to stick his Remington in his mouth and pull the trigger. Only the thought of what it would do to Buck and Nathan, to find his body, stayed his hand. They'd grieved over him more than was necessary already.

He fished out his flask and took another long pull, the whisky going straight to his head, the way that it did these days. He appreciated the warm and happy buzz it gave him. He appreciated feeling numb right now. He gazed up at Buck, driving the wagon, and fell something warm and comfortable coil in his stomach. He appreciated Buck. Buck had never asked anything of Ezra, he just took Ezra as he was, and Ezra was beginning to love him for that.

He settled back, closing his eyes against the sun and let the wagon rock him to sleep.

Buck checked on Ezra again and slowed the wagon when he saw Ezra had fallen asleep. He eased on at a steady pace, careful not to jar the buggy too much. It was better this way, now that Ezra had finally let Vin go. All that hurt had been eating him up inside. He'd get better now, Buck just knew it. Everything would be better now.

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