satyricon au go go

Indian Summer

They fell against the pile of old hay bales, naked flesh twisted and pressed together, hands scrabbling at skin, hungry mouths gasping breaths as they twisted and struggled against one another.

Vin tore his mouth away with a groan, arching up.

Ezra flashed a grin, moving his fingers again inside Vin and making him rise up and buck like an untamed pony. Vin clung onto his shoulders as Ezra stroked inside him, teasing that special spot that made Vin quiver, pant, moan and roll his head back and come warm and sticky across their bellies.

Ezra leant Vin back gently, wrapped Vin's thighs around his waist and pushed inside him. Vin groaned but Ezra silenced him with a deep, long, smothering kiss. By the time his lips drew away from Vin's he was inside him, and Vin's fingers were no longer digging quite so hard into his flesh. Ezra smiled and held Vin's eyes with his own and began to rock back and forth, slowly at first, and faster and deeper until their low grunts kept time with their beating hearts. Ezra pressed forward and sucked on Vin's mouth again, then drove into him, deeper, several times, and came.

He slumped against Vin and they fell down together, taking the horse blanket with them, landing in a tangle of limbs and straw.

They kissed slowly, softly, then Ezra drew back, leaning on one elbow, watching Vin with a soft look in his eyes, one Vin had rarely seen before.

"What?" Vin asked, but Ezra just shook his head. He plucked a stray strand of straw from the blanket and stroked it slowly down Vin's chest, watching the skin tremble.

"Chris won't mind?" Ezra asked again, glancing around the barn that occupied Chris' land.

"He won't know. He doesn't come out here much, and he's away, whoring."

"You don't mind?" Ezra asked, curious.

Vin shook his head but his eyes said that he did mind.

"He's away so we can play," Ezra teased, dropping to place a light kiss upon Vin's lips. He touched their lips together again and Vin's arms came around him, happy and warm and -

The door to the barn slammed open and there, framed darkly in the doorway, was Chris Larabee: dusty, head to toe in black and thoroughly pissed.

He snarled a furious look at the two lovers then turned and walked away.

Vin stayed perfectly still for a moment, then pulled on his trousers, popped up and ran after Chris, who was already astride his horse.

Chris just gave him another furious look, kicked his heels sharply in his horse's side and galloped off, never once looking back.

Vin just stood and watched as the dust trail faded to nothing. Ezra came to stand beside him, slipping his arm around Vin's bare shoulders.

Vin shrugged him off brutally, turned to collect his things and rode off after Chris.

Ezra watched him go, then went back and slumped down on the blanket alone, fishing out his hip flask and taking a sorry sip.

 

It was well past midnight when Ezra rode back into town, almost falling off his horse at the post.

Buck was there to catch him, having seen the two boys ride out, then Chris ride in, in such a fury, with Vin trailing in after him.

"Look at the state of you," Buck scolded softly, a strong arm around Ezra's waist as he helped him up the stairs.

Below, Vin glanced away, pretending his hand of cards held an ancient secret, but Chris watched every faltering step, wishing he was still the man he had been, the man who'd call Ezra out, right now, and shoot him down before he had a chance to fall down. He threw another coin onto the table and sipped at his sour whisky, tasting only acid in his mouth.

Buck let Ezra flop back onto his bed, letting the young man lie there while he shut the door behind him.

Ezra began to make small coughing noises and Buck managed to get the wash basin there just in time. He held the basin while Ezra was sick, gently rubbing Ezra's back as he retched miserably. He then pressed the now very ill young man back onto the bed, shaking his head softly. He threw the basin's contents out the window and washed it out, then bent to pull off Ezra's boots, Ezra being insensible to the task. Then Buck stood and regarded Ezra fondly.

"Somebody's got to worry about you, boy," he murmured, shaking his head again. It might as well be Buck. He felt a pang of affinity for Ezra, and nobody else seemed to care. Ezra was still young and he gave his heart away foolishly. He deserved to grow old enough to make yet more damn fool mistakes.

Buck had been Ezra's age once. Wild, but no so wild as Chris. Chris was like fire, and no matter how many times Buck got burnt, he could never stay away.

Speak of the devil. Coming down the stairs Buck saw Chris on his way up and caught him by the arm, taking him aside gently.

"Leave him be. He don't mean nothin' by it. They're just kids being curious, like we used to be." Buck reminded.

Chris glowered.

Buck rested his lanky frame on the stair rail. "Look, I know you've been hurt real bad and you've had all the tenderness burnt out of you, but if you want Vin, you tell him or you hold him real close, because somebody else will take him, and it don't have to be Ezra."

Chris bit down on this piece of advice.

Buck turned him around and walked him back down the stairs.

"I'll buy you a drink. We could both use one."

He steered Chris towards the bar, away from Ezra, hoping Ezra took the hint and kept his head down.

 

Ezra was standing before his dresser, carefully removing tie, cufflinks and fob watch, listening to the sounds of the last drunks being thrown out of his saloon below.

He swung on honed instincts, in spite of the amount he'd drunk that night, as his door crashed open and there stood six feet of Chris Larabee, drunk and mean.

Inez hadn't stopped Chris coming up the stairs. Why should she? Chris and Ezra were amigos, after all. The bad blood between them, they'd tried to hide it. Now it was spilling over.

Ezra turned his back to the mirror, unbuttoning his waist coast nimbly with one hand.

"Can I help you there, Mr Larabee?"

Chris leant heavily on Ezra's door jamb. "Stay away from Vin Tanner."

Ezra's gold tooth flashed smugly in the lamp light. "It's a small town, Mr Larabee. We're sure to run into each other, what with Mr Tanner and I being in the same line of business. Why, I would say it would be virtually impossible to avoid the man, especially as he is a patron of my fine establishment."

Chris grabbed Ezra and threw him hard into the wall, face first.

Ezra turned around, stunned and bleeding but still annoyingly cocky.

"You stay away from him!" Chris snarled in Ezra's face.

Ezra rubbed his bleeding nose on the back of his hand, leaving a smear of blood.

"Scared of a little competition?"

Chris' fist slammed into his stomach.

Ezra doubled slightly, then regained his composure and smiled up at him.

"Did you like what you saw, in the barn?"

Chris smacked him hard across the face, sending Ezra sprawling to the floor. Ezra glared up at him, spitting blood.

"You think your fancy ways can turn Vin," Chris accused.

Ezra wiped his mouth delicately. "I didn't turn anyone, least of all Vin."

"He weren't no cocksucker before he met you."

"How the hell do you know," Ezra looked up at Chris with real malevolence. "Unless you tried." That earned him another hard kick from Chris.

Ezra prodded at his bleeding lip. "I didn't turn Vin. He wanted to know what it was like, he wanted to learn, so he could do it with you."

Ezra looked up at Chris, then realised, and laughed. "You mean you haven't? I gave Vin all those lessons and you haven't let him touch you?" he shook his head in disbelief. "You'll like Vin. He's quite the little whore now, and the way he screams and moves that sweet little arse of his when I'm inside him -" Ezra was cut off by Chris' fist in his face again. He pushed himself back up, defiant.

"What are you so afraid of, Chris? That you might like it? That'll you become like me? I thought you and Buck were -" Another silencing blow.

Ezra laughed to himself. "You can hit me all you want but that won't get Vin in your bed. Bet you can't stop thinking of why he can't keep away, why he wants me so bad, what I can do for him." He looked up into Chris' burning eyes. "What I can do for you."

Chris grabbed him by his shirt sleeves and threw him against the bed angrily.

"I was right, you do want it, don't you," Ezra crowed. "All you had to do was ask."

He stood and Chris threw him against the wall, pressing up against him, mad as hell. Ezra just grinned and sank to his knees, dropping Chris' guns to the floor, hands stroking over lean hips, thighs and arse as Chris held Ezra's hair tight in his fist.

Chris' head slammed back as Ezra pulled open his fly and swallowed him whole. He grunted as Ezra worked him, his hand tightening in Ezra's hair, fucking his mouth, then he threw Ezra back sprawling on the floor when he was done, stepping past Ezra and re-buckling his gun belt as he walked out.

Ezra pushed himself up, wiping his mouth with a shaking hand and following it with a stiff long chaser of good whisky, spitting out the taste in his wash basin, then pouring water over his head and face.

He took his nearly empty bottle and curled onto his bed with it, cradling it like a lover, not bothering to undress. His hands were still shaking so he took another drink, and tried very hard to forget what had just happened.

ª

The town was in an uproar. A party of young Yavapai had left the reservation and were clearly out for trouble. Just that morning a ranch hand had been found shot full of arrows and a mob was forming in the town's main street, baying for vengeance.

The seven were lined up out the front of the gaol, trying to impose a sense of order, but not really succeeding. Chris cut an imposing figure, but he was no match for massed fear.

Chris looked to Josiah and Vin on his left.

"We need answers. Ride out to the reservation, see if they'll talk about what's happened. If you can't find anyone there who will talk to you, see if you can pick up the trail of the ones who did this. Vin," He called the dirty blond hunter aside, leaning close. "You've lived with these people..."

Vin met his eyes.

"I don't know what's happened, Chris." He settled into a determined expression. "But I'll find out; and I appreciate you giving me the chance to look into this."

Chris nodded at the rumbling crowd. "You might not have much of a head start," he warned.

Vin tipped his hat. A chance to stop this before it turned into another war was all he could ask for.

Quietly leaning against the wall at the far end, Ezra watched Chris lean in close to Vin, speaking together, then he watched Vin give Chris a mild salute and go.

Chris brought up his shotgun and fired over the heads of the crowd.

"Go back to your homes. We'll bring back the men who did this. You'll have your justice."

There was a lot of muttering and milling about, but no one was about to argue with Chris. Slowly, members of the crowd slipped away until there were just a few bystanders waiting around for something to happen.

"They're frightened," Buck murmured. "They remember the last Indian war." Less than two years ago the Indians had been rounded up and moved onto their reservation. Keeping the young men on the reservation was difficult to enforce. There was a tangible hostility between the tribe and town. The stirring resentment of each other's existence was boiling over.

Ezra was still watching the stragglers, scanning for any sign of troublemakers eager to stir up the townsfolk again.

Turning, Chris caught his eye, gave him a long, heated look and Ezra wished he could sink into the wall, realising he was alone in town with Chris. And yet the moment of searing appraisal, before Chris flicked his eyes away again, it coiled down through Ezra's loins, filling him with heat as much as fear and shame. Chris gave him nothing but pain and self loathing, and he craved it.

He needed Chris to see him. He wanted Chris' respect above all else. Failing that, he'd have Chris' full attention, it didn't matter if it was for all the wrong reasons. He didn't know why he craved Chris' approval, he just knew that he did. His need to be accepted, to be included in the inner circle, to become one of Chris' deputies in spirit, not just in name, it burned inside him.

The more Chris made a point to ignore Ezra, the more Ezra acted outrageously to attract his attention. It was an obsession, a dangerous dance, far more fierce and demanding than his flirtations with Vin Tanner. Ezra demanded that Chris noticed him, he needed Chris to notice him, as though he were invisible, as though he didn't exist unless Chris acknowledged him.

The bitter truth was that he might as well not exist unless Chris paid him mind, because the others all took their cues from Chris. If Chris ignored him, they all did, too. And Ezra could not bear that. He could not bear the ostracism, the silence and the exclusion. He couldn't bear that they still could not trust him, even after all he'd done. He tried so hard, he went against his nature, and it was never enough. He was a joke to them, a fool they suffered and not gladly. He knew if Chris told them to cut him loose, they would.

He needed Chris to notice he was there. He needed Chris to give a damn. When Chris grabbed him and snarled at him, within an inch of putting a bullet in him, Ezra never felt more alive, or scared. His heart was pumping and Chris eyes were on him, burning with cold fire and he wanted that fire.

 

It was very late in the night when Chris finally came to his door, reeking of beer and tobacco. Ezra was in a tight knot of anticipation, knowing this must happen. He didn't know why Chris had to do this, had to use him in ways he'd never, ever use Vin. He was just another whore to Chris, and one Chris didn't feel the need to be nice to.

Chris made this very clear, that he was just paying for sex, by forcing his coins onto Ezra, mocking him, sliding them into his clothes and through his hair.

And Ezra stripped himself of his pride entirely and played along, taking the coin from Chris' fist with his teeth, slipping it into his mouth. Amused, Chris made Ezra take the next coin from his mouth, sliding it across with his tongue, then kissing Ezra hard, the coins still in his mouth, and pushing him down onto the bed.

ª

Up on the reservation after a long hard ride, Vin and Josiah had been greeted nervously, tensions riding high on both sides. Something had happened. There was an atmosphere of fear and misery, and he noticed most of the young men were gone.

At first he and Josiah had thought the Indian agent had been shorting the supplies again, but the truth of the matter proved much more esoteric.

Granted a meeting with the village elders, Vin offered to help in any way he could, an offer that was met with a weary suspicion. Vin knew in no uncertain terms that he was there on sufferance, and one foot wrong would have him dead.

There was a lot of muttering between the elders, and Vin tried as hard as he could to keep track of the conversation. He leant close, not sure that he understood properly.

"The medicine bundle was stolen? How?"

The old chief looked to Josiah in exasperation, then tried to explain to Vin as if to a child.

"We keep them hidden, in a sacred place, because they are very dangerous. When we went to bring them here for a healing, they were gone."

"How do you know a white man took them?"

"Who else would dare to touch such powerful magic without protection?"

Vin bowed his head, an admission of guilt on the part of his people. Who else indeed?

ª

Ezra was playing with a silver dollar, running it across his hand when Chris and Vin showed up in the saloon. Ezra gave Chris a pointed look, flipping the coin up in the air, catching it and slipping it in his pocket.

Chris turned his back to him and ordered a beer.

Vin had ridden in wide circles from the reservation, picking up the trail of the young renegades, following them for a few days, but leaving them be, vastly outnumbered and not willing to stir up any more trouble. They seemed mostly content to be free, hunting and travelling across their land.

Vin and Chris knew though that any challenge would be met with bloody resistance, and the violence would escalate until the tribe's sacred objects were returned. A recent rainstorm had washed away the trail, leaving neither Vin nor the braves able to track the men who had done this, so both white man and red were out hunting the thieves, their paths crossing occasionally. It was going to get nasty.

Chris swallowed his sour mash bitterly. He hated to send Vin out there, but he knew he was the best man for the job.

Vin pushed away from the bar, dusty and exhausted. He'd sleep, then he'd ride out again, trying another direction the thieves might have taken.

Chris caught his arm and a look of understanding passed between them. Be careful, don't come back dead.

ª

It was meant to be a quiet Sunday afternoon when a party of cowboys from a cattle drive pushing up from Mexico rolled into town, whooping, hollering and firing their guns into the air.

The problem was what went up must come down, and Ezra nearly caught a bullet as the lead rained down. So did JD, and that just wouldn't do. Chris pushed himself up off his seat, rested his hand lightly on his gun and tilted his head in a half nod to Buck. And that was it. Seven went into battle matched almost one man for three, but a bunch of drunken amateurs were no match for seven seasoned professionals. After a wild melee the street brawl was over and the gaol was overflowing with semi-conscious cowboys.

Buck was sent out to get the foreman to come and collect his men, with a warning to bypass the town from now on. Ezra didn't mind, the cowboys cost more in damage than they spent on liquor anyway.

 

Vin went looking for Ezra, even though he knew it would only lead to trouble. His friendship with Chris should be enough, and yet, well, he was feeling very obliged to Ezra for winging that cowhand who would have likely shot his damn fool head off if Ezra hadn’t been watching his back.

It was enough to make Vin feel very kindly towards Ezra again. He shook his head fondly, remembering how pleased Ezra had been to have saved Vin’s life, his little whoop of satisfaction, the way he’d beamed upon receiving a small nod of acknowledgment from Vin in return. Ezra had shone like the sun, and Vin felt himself drawn to the scoundrel again.

Ezra was pacing down a back alley, surveying the damage to his property when Vin caught him, bright eyed again after the fight. Damn, Ezra was beginning to think the sooner they got that stupid missing Indian thing back to the reservation the better. The whole town was on edge. Everyone was losing their minds, even Vin.

Vin grabbed him in an embrace, kissing him exuberantly, then kissed him again softly, stroking his face.

Ezra returned the sweet kiss, closing his eyes, tasting everything he ever wanted, then suddenly tensed, pushing away, out of reach from Vin, shaking his head, repeating the word 'no' over and over.

"Ezra?"

"No." Ezra wasn't even looking at him. "I can't. Please, just leave me alone."

"Why?" Vin asked quietly, concerned.

Green eyes flashed at him.

"Because I love you," Ezra pleaded in anguish, then dragged himself away, leaving Vin to stare after him.

Ezra came blindly around the corner, straight into the smirking form of Chris Larabee. Flanked between heaven and hell.

Chris leant in real close so there'd be no mistaking his words.

"Vin ain't yours. Move on."

Ezra was backed up against the wall.

"Please," Ezra murmured.

Chris grabbed Ezra and threw him up against the wooden slats at the back of the saloon, mad as hell.

"I told you to stay away from him."

Ezra, still pinned against the wall, giggled maniacally, teeth flashing.

"Make me."

Chris slammed him into the wall again.

Ezra smiled wilfully.

"That the best you can do, Mr Larabee?" he taunted.

Their eyes seared each other, locked and burned.

Chris flicked away his cigar, grabbed Ezra by his lapels and threw him back up against the wall, twisting their bodies together, his lean powerful length pressed against Ezra, his thigh trapping Ezra's hips, his tongue stabbing deep in his mouth.

Chris' fingers dug hard into his flesh.

"Tell me you don't want this," he drawled.

Ezra's eyes burned into his for a long moment, then he surged up into a savage kiss. He hated Chris with a fiery passion, but passion was still passion.

Vin saw Chris slamming Ezra repeatedly into the wall like a rag doll, bringing down dust and splinters. He made a move to stop Chris, walking several steps towards them when Chris grabbed Ezra close, kissed him hard, then slammed him back up against the wall against, smashing his own body up against Ezra's, and Ezra coiling around Chris, wanting it, almost melting under the fierce kisses, tasting his own blood on his lips.

Vin backed away, swinging around the corner, out of sight, leaning over and dry retching, sick. What the hell was that? Ezra beating beaten up by Chris and getting off on it? He remembered the bruises, that night he'd brought Ezra back to town, and felt sick again. Ezra had a darkness inside him, and Chris was feeding it. He pushed away from the wall, feeling something tear and come away from his heart. All the tenderness, all the affection he'd felt for Ezra, it had burnt away in one dreadful moment.

He just stood and watched, and then quietly left.

Ezra groaned under Chris' assault, surrendering, allowing himself to be led, stumbling into the livery and thrown onto the hay. Chris was inside him, over him and they were on fire, sweating together, fiercely alive. This was the rush after battle, the howling at the moon when their blood was still up.

Then Chris was finished and standing, re-fastening his belts and buttons. He allowed himself a cruel smile and tossed two silver coins onto Ezra's bare chest.

Ezra touched them, then took them, holding hard in his palm after Chris left, then fell back amongst the hay, still holding the dollars, fighting back bitter tears.

Buck found Vin sitting alone in the saloon and did a quick head count. No Chris, no Ezra. And from the look on Vin's face, he knew why.

Buck shook his head and walked past Vin's table, telling himself over and over to stay out of it.

ª

Ezra rolled over in his sleep, Remington pointed at the door. Chris eased the revolver aside, leaning in to give Ezra a hard, whisky filled kiss. Ezra heard the sound of clothing dropping to the floor, then Chris was on top of him, naked and wiry, his skin burning, his beard grazing Ezra's skin as he kissed him again. His hand wrapped around Ezra an Ezra arched up with a low groan. Chris chuckled, enjoying the show, watching Ezra push into his hand and come in hot spurts all over his fingers. Chris rubbed his hand over Ezra's belly and began to part his legs but Ezra recovered his senses enough to scoot down the bed and take Chris in his mouth, satisfied to watch Chris' head roll back, feeling Chris' hands grab at his hair. Ezra slowly brought Chris feverishly to the brink, his lips and tongue working him into a frenzy, his hand sliding down Chris' arse until...

Chris slammed him down hard on the bed, coldly furious, the wildness back in his eyes. Ezra held his breath, thinking for a moment that Chris would kill him, but Chris flipped him over, pressed his head down into the mattress and fucked him savagely, without a word, then left, leaving Ezra breathing hard in his bed, scared and aching, cold sweat and semen drying on his skin.

ª

It was Ezra who'd found out who had stolen the Yavapai's sacred objects, and why, and where the objects were now.

Vin had been ranging all over the countryside hunting the war party and the missing medicine bundles but it was a few stray words, shaken loose by some of Ezra's best Tennessee mash, words that fell into a conversation over a game of cards that finally told the story.

Indian artefacts were sought as curiosities and souvenirs by museums, showmen and academics as far afield as Europe and if the artefacts couldn't be bought or faked they were stolen.

A large landowner out at Bitter Creek had hired a few local men to gather up Indian trinkets by whatever means necessary for sale back east. The trade had mainly been in pots, baskets and German silver. They must have picked up hints on where the Yavapai had hidden their most sacred objects. Alone and unguarded bar powerful taboos, the medicine bundles had just been there for the taking. And, as Ezra had confirmed, the bundles were still in the gentleman's safe, waiting for shipment to New York at the end of the week.

Ezra had suggested stealing the bundles back rather than riding in as a show of force and had thus inadvertently volunteered himself for the job, being their resident thief.

Buck watched Chris walk back into the saloon, wondering what the hell he was playing at, then looked again to the retreating figures of Vin and Ezra riding out of town.

Sure, Vin and Ezra probably were the best men for the job of stealing back the medicine baskets, but surely he was putting the two boys in the path of temptation, and Buck knew how easily Ezra could be seduced by having something he wanted so close he could touch it.

"Young Ezra always wants what he can't have," Josiah spoke quietly, almost to himself, musing aloud upon the very same theme as Buck's worries.

Buck started a little, but Josiah just gave him a smile and an easy shake of his head, not at all chastising Buck for his concerns. He, too, knew Chris was setting up Ezra to fail.

Buck stretched out his long legs, restless. "You'd think Ezra'd know when he was being set up by now." Buck rued, frustrated.

"Oh, he knows, but he's a slave to temptation and avarice." Josiah leant forward slightly, lowering his voice in confidence. "I think in spite of his affectations of wealth and prosperity, Ezra was denied a lot as a child: love and security, if not the material things. I think his need for any sort of attention and affection has been perverted so badly he doesn't see what it is that he really wants. He bought this saloon, at great personal cost, so he could have somewhere he could call home. Now he wants somebody to love him. Only poor Ezra's so twisted up inside he's set his cap at Vin, who will never belong to him, no matter how charming a snake Ezra might be."

Josiah leant back. "Ezra's already set himself up to fall, he doesn't need Chris to help him with that."

"Yeah, well, you remember how Ezra was when he lost the saloon to his mother, how he took all those stupid risks to win it back - I worry about him Josiah. I worry about him a lot."

Josiah shook his head. "With the devil riding his back, Ezra isn't going to listen to sense, nor will he pay attention if you try any stronger methods." Josiah knew bitterly from experience that wilful, self destructive behaviour could not be brutally curbed - it only made it worse.

Buck stood annoyed. "I can't just stand by and watch Ezra destroy himself, chasing after mirages."

"You can't stop him, either. You can't lock him in a cage until he gets some sense, because he won't. Not until he finds someone to love him, the way he needs to be loved."

"He'll never live that long," Buck complained.

Josiah could only shrug. Come what may, Ezra needed to make his own peace. Nobody else could do it for him.

Buck watched the clouds of dust that marked Ezra's progress out of town. Damn it, Ezra was going to get himself burnt, touching things that didn't belong to him.

 

It was a long, hot late summer. The trees were already brown, yet still there was heat in the sun, turning the grass brown and making folks restless.

The heat and dust in the air was bad enough, the Indian situation was causing simmering tensions to boil over into bitter, eruptive fights. Chris and the boys would have their hands full, back in town.

Vin didn't speak to Ezra as they rode out, riding ahead, picking out the trail, and Ezra accepted the silent treatment, used to it by now. It explained Chris' willingness to trust in Vin, that Vin was still so disappointed in him that conversation, let alone anything else, was impossible.

Vin's better nature got the upper hand, however. As constantly annoyed by Ezra as he was, he couldn't maintain the required level of churlishness, it just didn't feel comfortable. It was too draining, too distracting. After several hours of riding he slowed and let Ezra fall in beside him, and they rode now in a more companionable silence. It wasn't long before Vin couldn't help himself and was pointing out rarely seen birds to Ezra, or a hare that would make a good dinner later. Ezra in turn began to joke and make Vin laugh softly, playing the clown and reminding Vin of why he regarded Ezra so fondly, no matter how dreadfully he behaved. Ezra could be so irresistibly and infectiously charming when he wanted to be, with a genuine warmth in his eyes and smile. A smile so inclusive that you always felt so betrayed when he crossed you, as he inevitably did.

Vin had been stripped back to the bone when he'd seen Ezra with Chris. He knew Ezra had probably meant him to see that, to hurt him, to push him away, because as much as Ezra needed to belong to someone, acknowledging that need terrified him just as much, if not more.

Vin couldn't understand Ezra, or forgive him, but he could forget, bathing in the light of Ezra's smile, and as dusk set and the land grew dark and shadowed Vin pondered upon the quixotic behaviour of the two men he seemed drawn to, in spite of his nature.

Vin's attraction to Chris had been instant, total and complete. It came as natural to him as breathing. Chris and Vin fitted together like a matched pair, and let no man split asunder. Nothing needed to be said or done between them. The connection was just there.

Ezra though, he flirted and played and smacked Vin on the shoulder and scampered away like a boy. Courting was a game to him, and Vin had to admit, sometimes he found it tiring.

That’s when he preferred the company of Chris, where they would just sit together, and never a word would need to be spoken.

Ezra never shut up, and a quiet man like Vin sometimes needed his peace.

Loving Ezra was something he had to work at. Sure, Ezra was all charm and smiles and smooth words, gentle and playful touches, but Vin always had to watch Ezra carefully, to see if Ezra really meant it or if he was just playing a game. Ezra was also aggravatingly inconsistent and contrary and seemed to delight in proving himself callous and untrustworthy. He tested people, oddly determined to prove he was unworthy of anyone's trust or love.

Ezra was always pushing them to prove their friendship, and it grew tiring. Even Buck and Josiah would lose their patience with Ezra, and Vin was no saint in that regard either. It was as if Ezra dared anyone to love him, and Vin was never one to back away from a challenge.

Ezra was an enigma, wanting love as much as he spurned it. Vin reckoned that for all his fancy ways, Ezra's life had been a hard one. Vin could barely remember his mother, but he knew that in those few short years she'd loved him more than Maude would ever love Ezra in a lifetime. Her rejection of Ezra had left him bitter and needy. He wasn't an easy man to love, but Vin saw something in Ezra that made him believe that if he ever reached Ezra's true heart, it would be worth it.

 

Sheltering in the woods at the very edge of the property, Ezra had scrambled to the top of the hill, using Vin's spy glass and the last of the fading light to scratch a crude map in his notebook, take note of the habits of the ranch hands and prepare their strategy for the following night.

They settled down for a cold night's camping out, not allowing themselves the comfort of a fire or more than a few hours sleep at a time, taking turns to keep watch.

Ezra was wide awake before dawn, humming with anticipation. The day dragged hard on him, and they spoke little, Vin only urging him not to be seen in that bright green coat of his as he crawled about the edges of the property, spying on people as they came and went, trying to see through the windows into the house.

It wasn't until evening fell again and the lights came on that Ezra could accurately track the number and movements of the household. They lay cold and exposed in a small ditch a good hundred yards or so from the house and outlying buildings. Slowly they waited until one by one the lights went out and even the shouts and music died down from the bunk house.

Ezra pressed Vin's arm, signalling him to follow and they crept out from their cover and darted across the open ground, ducking down along the side of the house. It was a dark quarter moon and for this Ezra was grateful. From under his coat he produced a coiled length of rope and dangling from one end was what looked like a twisted garden trowel. Standing back a small distance, Ezra swung it with an expert's ease. Vin watched it fly up and catch the gutter with the smallest clank and drag as Ezra tested his weight on the rope.

Then Ezra was scurrying up the rope like a circus performer, swinging across gently to catch a window, using his knife slipped between the frame to flip the lock open and easing the window up a few shallow inches to allow him to wriggle inside. He disappeared and then tugged on the rope, to signal Vin to climb up, which Vin did, with far less grace and much more slowly.

Landing on the turkey carpet with a small thump, that earned him a hiss from Ezra, he was motioned to stand guard by the door while Ezra prowled the room, feeling each painting on the wall with searching fingers until his gold tooth flash in what little light there was. The painting Ezra held swung outwards on its hinges, revealing a dark, squat little safe hidden in a niche in the wall behind, its large brass lock defying them to open it.

"Can you open it?" Vin had to ask.

Ezra gave him annoyed, almost patronising look and knelt before the safe, caressing it like a lover, trying to guess its secrets, before he reached into his coat once more and extracted a set of long, needle like tools which Vin knew must be Ezra's lock pick. In all this time, he'd never seen the tools of Ezra's trade, and he felt a thrum of excitement shiver through him, watching Ezra carefully begin his work with the precise skill of a craftsman. He felt the anticipation lick at his nerves and he knew just how addictive this rush, this thrill, the daring cheek to crack open the safe while the occupants of the house slept in the very next room, how it affected him. How Ezra must miss it. In a moment of bittersweet empathy, he had a small taste of what Ezra had given up to join them.

Vin missed hunting his own prey, tracking them, watching them until that moment when they stepped into his sights and he had the power of life and death in his trigger, but it was nothing like crouching in the very den of the enemy and winking at them.

This was a bloodless crime, nothing more than a smack in the face of those who deserved it. This was mischief, a prank, an inconvenience. This was the sort of crime Ezra committed, taking money from people who could afford it or were stupid enough to part with it, believing Ezra's lies of a quick return or that their luck would turn. Ezra had always said he could never cheat an honest man and had implied the victims of his scams had not only consented to be tricked but had deserved their little lesson in greed, taught to them at cost. The house they were robbing now was owned by thieves, thieves who were no better than Ezra, if not worse.

No wonder Ezra chaffed so badly under their hard judgement of him. Nobody had ever died being conned out of their money, at least, not directly, and yet they regarded Ezra's trade as so much shabbier than killing men for money.

Vin shook his head slightly. He could understand Ezra's frustration. There was nothing malicious in his crimes. Arrogance, yes, but Ezra was never cruel. He simply used his gifts as a thief and a cheat to fund his lifestyle, as much as Vin had used his skill with a rifle to earn a living.

Ezra was so clearly enjoying himself, relishing this chance to show off, and Vin found himself abandoning his post and leaning close, watching a master at work.

"I never knew you were a cracksman," Vin enthused.

"You never asked," Ezra dismissed him, trying to concentrate on the job at hand.

"Is it hard to do?"

"It is with you breathing down my neck," Ezra remarked sourly, rubbing his hand down his trousers and trying again as Vin retreated to a corner, sulking slightly at Ezra's rebuff, but fascinated still to watch Ezra at work, studying the light, delicate touch of his skilled hands upon the lock.

Of course Ezra was a thief, and a good one. It went hand in hand with his profession as a con man. Vin was merely surprised Chris hadn't called upon Ezra's obvious expertise in this area more often. Perhaps Chris, like all of them, had been trying to wean Ezra away from his immoral lifestyle, as if two bounty hunters had any right to judge a smooth talking thief.

Ezra listened carefully, his ear to the cold steel of the safe. He stroked and teased at the metal teeth of the lock, gently coaxing them into turning over for him. He listened carefully, threading his long needle shaped tools into the lock, then pulling them out again, much to Vin's frustration. Gauging the tiny hole once more, he slipped his lock pick in once more, feeling for the resistance, applying gentle pressure, and feeling the tiny satisfying click as the lock finally turned and opened for him.

Ezra's smile flashed at the drop of the last pin and he gently eased the door open. Staying Vin with a look he reached inside, so carefully as to not disturb a single paper, and slowly extracted the worn bundles of hide and feathers that had caused so much trouble. He passed it to Vin who concealed the shirt in his coat and quietly pressed the safe closed again.

Vin was beaming at him.

"What?" Ezra was puzzled, still expecting some sort of a sermon for his criminal activity, whether used for the greater good or not.

Vin's eyes were alight, his face slightly flushed, his breathing fast, and Ezra recognised the signs, the buzz, the boyish excitement of pulling off a big job. He also knew how that rush could trip you up, make you careless. He grabbed Vin's hand and pulled him away. Vin pulled back, pressing up against Ezra.

"Not yet," Ezra promised in a whisper, his cheek brushing against Vin's jaw, the infection of excitement, of Vin's proximity, swirling to his groin and making his head light. "Not here," he promised, pulling away and leading Vin out through the cracked open window, closing it carefully behind him.

 

They rode from the big homestead as if the very devil was on their heels, setting off the dogs howling and rousing the dozy workers into action, but they rode so fast there was no chance of following them, not that deep in the night.

Vin galloped his horse down crazy gullies, steep ranges and creek beds that he knew by heart from his solitary hunting, having travelled much further and harder than anyone back in town had credited, and it took all of Ezra's considerable skill as a horseman to keep up with him and not kill either himself or his mount in the process. He knew they were home free because nobody would be insane enough to attempt to follow Vin across country.

In a dry creek bed of stirring leaves and dust Vin finally stopped, dropping down from his heaving and sweating horse with a whoop, which Ezra immediately hissed to silence. Vin knew better but the hunt had a hold of him, he was almost quivering, bright with life, eyes shining, flashing Ezra such boyish and happy smiles that it took his breath away.

Ezra had never seen Vin so alive, so full of wild excitement, so inclusive in his happiness. Ezra walked away to tether his horse, remembering bitterly that this was illusion, that come morning the spell would be broken, but he just wasn't that strong a man. When Vin grabbed him, spun him around and pressed him up against the white and weathered tree Ezra groaned his name as if Vin was his, tasting the salt and stubble of his jaw and throat, feeling the beat of the hunt thrumming beneath Vin's skin, before turning to devour Vin's mouth again in hungry, struggling kisses. Trousers were fiddled open and amid gasps and grunts they held onto each other and leant into each other and surged together until they came in a warm sticky rush.

Later, after Vin had gotten a small dry, smokeless fire going, Ezra recognised this creek bed. He'd been here before, which meant they were no more than a day's hard riding from town. His heart sank into his boots at the thought and the gentle smiles Vin was bestowing upon him hurt more than any physical pain he'd ever endured and he turned his face away, staring into the fire instead.

Vin wasn't to be put off though, crossing the ground between them quietly, rubbing up against Ezra, cajoling him into attending, kissing and petting him into the warm stirrings of arousal. Ezra sank back into the ground, letting Vin cover him, letting Vin have him. He closed his eyes and felt Vin's hands work their way in and under his clothes, carefully unbuttoning Ezra's fine waistcoat and pushing up his shirt, licking at the creamy skin underneath.

It was too much for Ezra, rolling Vin under him with a harsh exhalation of need, pulling away Vin's coat and shirt until Vin lay beneath him, bare chested and dappled in the firelight, eyes burning, just waiting for Ezra to kiss him, long and deep. Ezra cupped Vin's face in his hands and kissed him once, a sweet almost feminine kiss, then he sank down over Vin's body, rubbing and twisting over and against it, feeling Vin's hands on his skin, under his shirt, as they got down to the dirty and sweaty business of wild, haunted sex.

 

Ezra felt his muscles protest the moment he woke. He rolled over, stiff and sore from head to toe. He stretched, satisfied, feeling the burn, remembering what he'd done to get himself in such a state. It would be a slow and painful ride back into town, but that suited him just fine.

He smiled at Vin who lay beside him, still uncharacteristically asleep, and so soundly asleep that Ezra's soft breath across his cheek failed to rouse him. Ezra dipped his tongue to an ear and was rewarded with a sudden start. Ezra sat back laughing as Vin glared at him, gathering up his clothing and dressing himself with a scandalised air.

Vin glanced at the sky. The sun was well up, the dew already dry. How had he slept for so long, how had Ezra let him sleep so late? It just wouldn't do. He pulled himself up from their warm bed of dry leaves and kicked over the fire, making sure the embers were dead, stamping them into the dust.

Ezra, feeling the cold from sudden physical distance between them stood and brushed leaf litter from his person, then checked his saddle while Vin crept up to the top of the rise and made sure they hadn't been followed.

Ezra tried to shake himself free of the night, telling himself it had been just a dream, especially as Vin seemed to want to forget, fussing and fidgeting and being his usual silent self. But Ezra could still feel the warmth of the fire on his skin, feel the burn where Vin had touched him. His mind could shake off the memory but his flesh could not. It remembered with every movement, every touch seared into his skin and Ezra swung himself into the saddle, savouring the pain as a badge well earned.

They rode in silence. There was nothing to say between them. Not because Vin was embarrassed, he was just a man of few words. He and Ezra had shared something, and even under the golden autumn light of the day, it stayed with them, this understanding, this connection, this shared dream where two souls had met and tangled without the need for words and false promises.

Vin had felt that purity of connection with Chris, he'd always felt it, it came easily between them. With Ezra though, they had always been noise and games and flirtation, but never this open appreciation.

This feeling, this quiet contentment lasted between them until they rode into town, and the noise and distractions shocked them back into reality and the last shreds of the dream burnt away like a summer mist.

They looked at each other, not as strangers, as friends, but no longer seeing what they had seen in each other's eyes, riding alone through the brown and yellow countryside.

Vin slid down from his saddle and presented a lounging Chris with the squashed and dusty Yavapai baskets, as thought a knight returning from a quest with a trophy for his lord.

Chris, still leaning back in his chair smoking, long legs resting on the post in front of him, turned the bundles over in his hands, nodded once in acknowledgment for a job well done, then handed the bundles back to Vin to arrange for their safe keeping until they could be returned to their rightful owners.

Josiah rose up to take the objects from Vin's hands, and Vin was happy to turn the baskets over to Josiah's care, fearing the strong medicine was responsible for the bewitchment he'd felt during his night in the woods with Ezra.

His duty done, Vin retired to the saloon and Ezra followed at a short distance, feeling Chris' eyes burn into his back every step until the saloon door swung closed behind him.

Chris knew, but said nothing, rocking back slightly on his chair and smoking his cigar, biding his time.

 

The smell of money always made him happy, and Ezra was moderately cheerful as counted his profits. He wasn't a robber baron yet by any means, but he was finally making a good start towards his dreams.

He glanced up at the sound of spurs, saw the set of the jaw, and quietly folded his money away.

Chris didn't mince words or waste actions. He grabbed Ezra by the lapels and punched him hard, putting his full force into the blow. Ezra went down with a crash behind the bar. Chris walked around the bar, picked Ezra up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him up the stairs, throwing him through the door, onto the floor, standing over Ezra while he undid his gun belts.

Ezra rolled onto his back, facing Chris, frightened at what was to come, yet excited, too.

He should have expected this. Chris had sent him out there with Vin, setting him in temptation's path. Damn Chris for knowing him so well. Damn himself for never being able to keep his hands off things that didn't belong to him.

Ezra grinned up at Chris, taunting him.

"I still have his spunk inside me." He coughed as Chris' boot cracked into his ribs.

Ezra rolled back, blood staining his teeth.

"You want a taste?"

Chris kicked him again and Ezra arched up, groaning.

"Do it," Ezra goaded. Fuck him or kill him, he didn't care much which Chris chose.

Chris was bitter drunk and he kicked Ezra over, not wanting to see his face. Ezra tried to get up but Chris was on top of him, pinning him to the ground. Ezra kicked out, but only succeeded in knocking over his chair.

Chris slammed his head into the floor. "Stop it," he hissed. "You give it up for anyone else easy enough."

With Chris' hand on his neck, pinning him down, Ezra submitted. The darkness in his heart wanted this. If he couldn't have Vin, he'd let Chris pour his hatred into him, destroying him inside and out. He'd let Chris poison him, tasting the fire that bound Vin to Chris, feeling his connection that way.

"Why'd you do it?" Chris demanded, grinding the words through clenched jaw.

Ezra wriggled over onto his back again, defiant.

"Why'd you?" he threw back, earning himself another hard smack across the face.

Chris straddled Ezra, crazy eyed, and slowly drew his gun from his holster, pressing the cold metal between Ezra's brows.

Ezra didn't react and Chris admired him for it, trailing the slim barrel down Ezra's nose, over his cheek and finally tracing his lips before pushing it into his mouth.

"Take it, suck it," he snarled.

His eyes never leaving Chris, Ezra swallowed the barrel deep into his throat, then began to suck on it so hard and so hot that Chris pulled the gun away and gave himself to Ezra, pushing into his face, fucking his mouth hard, and Ezra took it.

With Ezra sprawled naked on the floor Chris made him take his gun again, grinning as Ezra hissed and arched in pain as Chris pushed it deeper and deeper, all the while his finger on the trigger, until he grew bored. Then he rolled Ezra onto his face, held his head down and fucked him hard, sliding easily on Ezra's blood, feeling how tight Ezra's muscles were beneath his skin, biting the back and shoulder muscles that arched and flexed and tried to throw him off.

He left Ezra panting and screaming curses hoarsely, twisting in pain and smeared in his own blood on the floorboards as Chris re-buckled his belt and stepped over him.

Somehow, the bleeding stopped, but nobody saw Ezra that day, or the next. And nobody really cared. They had enough on their hands, trying to reassure the townsfolk that they weren't about to be murdered in their beds.

ª

Ezra spun in the street laughing to himself, bottle clutched limply in one hand as he turned, madly drunk.

"Somebody ought to get him out of the rain," Josiah observed. "Before he gets himself or somebody else killed."

Vin was following Ezra's every move, like a hunter stalking his prey, yet he did nothing. He just continued to sit and study. Perhaps it was the part of his heart that had grown cold, giving him a stillness that even Chris found unnerving.

Perhaps it was superstition, the old wives tales he remembered, the things he'd seen living amongst the Indians, but he felt Ezra was cursed, and was content to leave Ezra to the fates, lest the curse touch him, too.

Vin was sure Ezra had died in his arms after they'd cut him down in that barn, before Nathan had laid him on the table and pulled the bullet out of his gut. Vin was equally sure that Ezra hadn't come back right. Maybe it was the fever, maybe he'd touched darkness, but something haunted Ezra. His increasing madness drew Chris to him, and kept the others away.

Buck glanced at Vin, Josiah and JD, and, realising they were happy to watch the show, sighed and heaved himself up from his chair, stepping down into the road and catching Ezra mid swirl. The bottle smashed and Ezra's face grew as hard as winter.

"You broke it," he accused, outraged. "You broke it," he repeated, distressed, fumbling for his gun.

"Now, now, no need for that." Buck was quicker and tossed the gun to JD. "Come on, that's enough, Ezra. Come inside now," Buck cajoled, getting Ezra to walk up the steps with him, one at a time.

Inez watched them go, but said nothing, her concern as much as her disgust was written clearly on her face.

The remaining boys continued to sit in strained silence, the air shivering like a drum skin drawn tight after the first crack of thunder, waiting for another.

"The boy has some bad demons," Josiah observed at last, and Vin nodded slightly in agreement.

"What's wrong with Ezra?" JD asked, worried, fearing that perhaps the madness was catching.

Josiah stretched back in his seat.

"Ezra is surrounded by people, yet he is alone. He can have anything he wants, except what he wants most of all. He wants to be a good man, but he finds it too hard. He wants a purpose, a quest, yet he knows he is not worthy." Josiah smiled to himself. "Our Lancelot."

Vin did not know or understand the reference, or realise into what role he had been cast, and so said nothing.

JD missed it too, fretting over the dreadful silences and flare ups that were tearing his family apart.

 

Buck threw Ezra down on the bed, not really caring how he fell, or if he was likely to choke on his own vomit or even caring how much he might ruin his clothes. He was tired of this. If Ezra wanted to drink himself to death, Buck was inclined to let him, so long as he did it quickly and spared them all the pain of watching him.

Buck turned to leave and caught sight of the small three quarters empty bottle on the dresser. He'd seen Ezra buy that laudanum that very morning.

"Jesus, boy," he cursed. "What are you trying to do? Kill yourself?"

Then the thought struck him, that that was exactly what Ezra was trying to do. Buck shook his head. The silly young fool. He slipped the bottle in his pocket, meaning to see Nathan, but he never got the chance.

Chris had decided to return the medicine bundles to the Yavapai, right now, unable to shake the feeling of dread they gave him, creeping up and down his spine. He blamed the bundles for what he'd done, his frenzy, and he wanted them off his hands as quickly as possible.

They mounted up and rode off, the hot sun on their backs, dust in their faces. They left Ezra behind, too drunk to move or care, and there wasn't one of them who wasn't glad of it.

 

Inez bustled about, setting the room to rights, then dipped a cloth in water, wiping down Ezra's face as he lay on his bed, very much worse for wear.

He barely reacted to her presence, but Inez wasn't one to be ignored. She threw the cloth down in annoyance.

"I don't understand. You give away yourself, you give away your pride. You drink and drink, you lose at cards. Do you want to lose this place again?"

That brought a reaction, a narrowing of his eyes, an almost involuntary reflex regarding his mother, whom he had been forced to buy out at considerable cost. It had taken several heavy card games to raise the stakes, but he'd done it.

Inez saw the spark of indignation, then saw it fade just as quickly. She stood up and swore, unable to understand the man. If he wanted to die, there was nothing she could do to stop him.

ª

They were deep in the reservation when they were ambushed. Chris felt the bitterness turn in his stomach. He should have expected this. He flicked a glance to Vin, who warned him with a level look to make no sudden moves.

The young men of the tribe swirled in a mob on their horses before them, excitable, demanding vengeance for the unspeakable affront done to them.

The six white men waited in a line on their horses, squinting into the setting sun.

"They don't look happy," Chris observed.

Vin scanned carefully along the restless line of Yavapai who faced them.

"We've handled their medicine bundle. To them, we're no better than the thieves who took it." Vin clicked his tongue and moved his horse forward slowly.

Chris watched him go, then glanced at Josiah, for confirmation that the hairs that were prickling on the back of his neck weren't wrong. There was an air of hostility where there should have been a sense of reconciliation. Chris rested his hand on his gun, not liking this.

As Vin's silhouette eclipsed the setting sun an arrow sped out of nowhere, striking Vin and knocking him from his horse.

Chris, drawing like lightning, fired over the top of Vin's panicking horse.

"Don't!" Vin cried out harshly, trying to pull himself up, reaching into his jacket and throwing the woven baskets towards the stirred up Yavapai in a twisting arc.

Josiah kicked his horse forward, raced in, scooped up Vin with one arm, slung him over his saddle and rode back to his own line in an act that earned him enough respect to spare him an arrow in his back.

The young braves dashed forward, snagging Vin's horse and racing back with it, firing off rifles in the direction of the white men but their shots going wild in their excitement.

The men scattered, taking what meagre cover there was, firing back, not to kill, but to chase off. Chris didn't want a war on his hands. They'd handed back the stolen property but he guessed the young Yavapai were so worked up and angry they wanted to fight anyway. They were probably drunk or out of their minds on something, this being a religious war as much as a territorial one.

Chris glanced back at Vin, who was half lying behind a rotted old tree trunk, grunting and trying not to show how much the damn arrow hurt. Chris raged inwardly and fired off another shot. He could use a marksman now, to fire a near lethal warning at the ring leader, enough to get his attention, enough to show that they meant business, even if they were outnumbered.

"Buck," he yelled towards his tall friend ducking stray bullets from behind a too thin straggle of a tree.

Buck nodded, took his time aiming and managed to slap a bullet deep into the quickly moving rump of the ring leader's horse.

That was enough. With the guns of five angry men trained on the band of Indians were off like a startled flock of birds with whoops, shrieks and gunshots. They swung about, riding into the sun, deeper into reservation, taking Vin's horse and all his gear with them.

That was the last straw and Vin swayed as he stood up, dark blood smeared all down the side of his jacket. Chris caught him and tenderly handed him up to Josiah again.

"Vin?" Chris asked, ashen faced.

"I'll live," Vin insisted between gritted teeth, still skewered by the arrow, held up only by Josiah's arm,.

"We'd better get him back into town," Nathan put in his medical opinion, not liking the look of the arrow struck through Vin's shoulder.

Chris glanced at Josiah, telling him to ride carefully and fast, speaking only with his eyes.

 

The six arrived in a flurry of hooves and dust, with Vin helped down from Josiah to Buck and Nathan who'd already dismounted.

Ezra pushed himself off the post he'd been leaning against and shambled across to the gathering. He saw Vin being carried between Buck and Nathan with a bloody arrow through him and he tried to push through the throng.

Chris grabbed Ezra and threw him back.

"Haven't you done enough? Because of you we were a man short."

"I'm sorry." Ezra cried, anguished.

Chris just gave him a look of disgust and followed the rest of the party up the stairs. Ezra stood alone and gazed up to Nathan's clinic, where the rest of the men were waiting, and knew that he was not welcome.

 

Nathan shooed everyone out of his clinic except for Vin and Chris. He sat Vin down in the nearest chair, directing Chris to hold Vin by the shoulders, tight, so he didn't move.

"This is going to hurt," Nathan warned.

"I know," Vin growled between gritted teeth.

Nathan took a knife and snapped off the end of the arrow above the fletching, letting the feathered end drop to the ground, discarded. He grabbed the shaft firmly, his eyes meeting Vin's. Vin grunted, giving a curt nod to show that he was ready, steeling himself, and Nathan pushed. Vin let up a roar of pain in spite of himself as Nathan thrust the shaft hard through Vin's flesh until it pushed through to the other side, slippery with blood. Chris grabbed the arrow head and pulled it through, then caught Vin as he sagged back in his arms, breathing deep.

"It's over," Chris reassured, rubbing Vin's uninjured shoulder softly.

Together he and Nathan carried Vin over to the bed where Nathan dressed the wound and bound it up, giving Vin a small measure of morphine to dull the pain.

When he was finished Vin tried up out of the bed only to have Nathan push him back down again firmly.

"Where do you think you're going?" teased Chris gruffly, relieved it was over as much as Vin was, if not more so.

"You're staying here tonight, so I can check that dressing in the morning," Nathan concurred, and Vin could see there was going to be no arguing with either of them this time.

ª

Three nights later and Chris came down the steps from Nathan's clinic to find Ezra loitering in the alley below, smoking, keeping a sad and pathetic vigil for Vin.

Chris had just seen Vin, who was sore and chastened, but otherwise fine. They'd sat together for several comfortable hours and the good mood the night had put him in evaporated at the first sight of Ezra.

He bounded down the stairs, mad as hell, pushing Ezra back, hard, away from the clinic.

"It's your fault Vin caught that arrow." The anger burned inside him.

"How - you rode straight into it. Vin should have known better, he was leading you," Ezra countered, too annoyed to be afraid.

"You were drunk. We were a man short." Chris pushed him up against the wall, his forearm pinning Ezra there. "You should have been there, to cover our backs."

"You don't trust me to watch your backs." Ezra countered, and felt Chris' hold tighten.

"Why should I? You lie and you steal and you cheat and you're never there when we need you. You corrupt everyone you touch and you've torn this town apart."

"If I'm good for nothing, then why do you keep me here?" Ezra asked, already knowing the answer.

"Because you're still good for one thing." Chris burned a violent kiss on Ezra, grinding and biting until there was blood. He drew back, eyes wild.

Ezra forgot his fear and dared Chris. Use him like a whore, beat him up, kill him. Ezra didn't much care at this point, and he didn't know why. He only knew the pain of Chris' hand on his skin, the rush and beat of the hearts and breath as they struggled against each other, it was the closest either of them came to feeling alive.

Chris spun him around and slammed his face first into the wall. Ezra struggled briefly but Chris had a hard and heavy hold on him, pinning him.

Chris forced two silver dollars inside Ezra's mouth, his hand holding them in, gagging Ezra as his other hand dropped Ezra's gun belt out of reach and then dropped his pants.

Ezra's face dragged roughly against the weathered wooden boards as Chris pressed down on top of him. He tried to scream, but could only bite down on the metal of blood and silver. Chris tore into him, savage and cruel and utterly soulless, dropping Ezra when he was done and walking away as if nothing had happened.

Ezra rolled on the dirt and spat out his bloodied coins, pushing himself up, wondering where the strength to stand had come from. He picked up his guns, shook the dust off them and strapped them back on. He stared at the coins lying in the dirt again, thought a moment, then stooped to pick them up, rubbing them on his sleeve before slipping them in his pocket. Somehow the notion that Chris had used him for free was even worse than taking his silver.

He adjusted and dusted down his clothing, checking everything was just so, trying to catch his reflection in the window on the main street, barely visible in the dim light from other windows, but unable to look his own reflection in the eye. He fought off the tremors that threatened to engulf him. He'd been bullied, beaten up, and yes, even that, before, but Chris really scared him, because Chris knew him, and he'd known Chris. At least, he'd thought he had.

Vin was forever pining after Chris, seeing a good and kindness in Chris that Ezra could no longer see. Vin wanted Chris, and Chris, Chris was using Ezra as his whipping boy, a repository for all his dark impulses, like a sin eater. Only Ezra was full up with his own sins, he had no room for those of anyone else, least of all Chris.

Ezra paused on the threshold of his saloon, putting his mask very carefully in place. He could do this; he could smile and nod at Chris standing at his bar as if nothing had happened. He felt the small square bulge of the packet of cards in his coat pocket and drew them out, his fingers closing over the cards, itching to sift them through his fingers. His own private rosary.

Buck smiled at Ezra from a table and waved him over. Ezra nodded blandly and sank slowly in his seat, arranging himself as comfortable as he could make it. He knew he was torn up inside. He should be seeing Nathan, but instead he poured himself a large measure from Buck's bottle, then another, and began dealing the cards automatically, keeping track of the numbers in his head - it blocked out all other thought.

ª

Ezra swayed unsteadily down the stairs, his pupils like pin pinpricks from all the laudanum he'd swallowed just to get this far. He'd heard the commotion down the street and managed to drag himself from his bed and dress himself.

Vin shook his head, seeing Ezra drunk again.

"Stay here. You can barely stand."

"I can ride," Ezra insisted, pushing past him.

Vin shrugged and let him pass. He wasn't in the mood to argue, and maybe Ezra would have sobered up a bit by the time they rode out of town.

Word had come that the cowboys were on their way back, and they'd picked up some friends on the way. The seven were riding out to head them off before they got into town.

Ezra struggled into his saddle. Vin gave him another stare, a mix of pity, contempt and regret, then looked away again, never meeting Ezra's eyes. Nobody did.

They all thought he was drunk, and he was, but Ezra would not be left behind again. He could not stand the shame of it.

 

Ezra swayed in his saddle, barely able to hold the reigns or sit up straight. The laudanum he'd swallowed had worn off two hours ago and he was in unspeakable agony, every movement of the horse jolting up his spine.

He could feel the fever twisting through his limbs, making him trembling weak and light headed, the sun over bright. He squinted at it, full in his face, and it wavered in front of him like liquid. He shivered, ice cold water running down his back.

Vin trotted up beside him, annoyed at Ezra's unrepentant drunkeness and meaning to give him a rebuke, but when he saw Ezra's face, grey and sweating, he knew something more than alcohol and bitterness was wrong with Ezra.

"Ezra?"

"Go away," Ezra hissed, not even looking at him.

Defiantly, Vin kept trotting beside him, watching him.

It was too much for Ezra who leant across and slapped Vin's horse hard, spurring it ahead and away from him. He hung his head again, shutting his eyes tight, needing all his strength to endure this.

Nathan, too, was watching Ezra, realising that Ezra was ill, and angry that Ezra had ridden out with them, knowing he was ill. They were already shorthanded with Vin limited to using a small revolver instead of his sawn off Winchester. They'd be no match for the cowboys if they decided to get mean and force their way into town.

Chris would have a fit if he found out, and Nathan decided to hold his tongue, hoping that nothing terrible came of his silence.

ª

The wind burned and it blasted across plain, whipping up dust and dead grass to throw in their faces, plucking at their clothes and biting at their skin.

Chris walked up and down, restless, silhouetted black against the bright orange sunset. A lone figure, keeping watch, eyes squinting into the distance, waiting for a sign. He paused to light a cigarillo and Ezra, waiting amongst the grove of trees a ways back, slowly slipped his Remington from its holster. His palm curved around the cool handle, his fingers caressed the trigger. Slowly he stood, pointing the gun straight down at Chris. At this range, with his aim, Ezra couldn't miss.

The muffled crack of a gun shot caused Chris' head to snap around. Buck was struggling with Ezra, forcing his arm down and trying to knock the gun from his hand. Ezra screamed and fought against Buck as Buck's hand clamped over Ezra's mouth, Chris hissing at Buck to keep that damn drunken fool quiet while he returned to scanning the horizon with narrowed eyes, biting down on his cigarillo so hard he nearly bit it in two.

Ezra was like a bagged wild cat in Buck's arms, and when he bit him, Buck smacked him across the back of the head so hard Ezra slumped instantly in his arms like a rag doll. Ezra's head lolled back as his unconscious body was handed off to Josiah.

"Take him back for me, Josiah. He's no use to us here."

"The boy does have his devils," Josiah agreed, swinging up into his saddle and taking Ezra in his arms.

"And I know just which devil is bothering Ezra," Buck muttered under his breath as he slapped Josiah's horse to spur it on its way.

He made a beeline for Chris and knocked him flat on his arse before Chris could take the cigarillo out of his mouth.

Chris looked up at him, rubbing his jaw.

"What the hell was that for?" he drawled from down in the dust.

Buck stood over Chris, as mad as Vin had ever seen him. "You know damn well what that was for. It stops now. No more or so help me, Chris, I don't care if you are my best friend, I'll kill you."

Chris met his eyes. "Alright." They nodded an understanding and Buck stumped away.

Chris watched Buck go, then picked himself up, dusting himself down.

Vin glanced from Buck's retreating form to Chris, and back again.

"What the hell was that all about?" Vin asked quietly, having observed the entire exchange.

Chris just shrugged. "Hell if I know. You know how crazy Buck can get."

Chris didn't seem overly concerned. Must be old business between him and Buck.

Vin shrugged it off, assuming it was some long past argument that had worked its way to the surface like an old splinter, the way it happened with Buck and Chris. Ezra's behaviour he put down to an over indulgence in the bottle again, and he was half right, Dutch courage having slipped Ezra's gun from its holster.

Buck had already picked up Ezra's shiny silver revolver from the ground and tucked it in his own belt, carrying it as a spare.

Crazy, the way the very loose team would suddenly set upon each other like wild dogs. They were loyal to each other, but they rubbed up against each other just the same, and the waiting before the shooting started, that was the worst time, when fear could make a man mean.

ª

Buck was aching, nursing his arm. They'd been left with five against seventeen, uncomfortable odds, but they'd made it through. Buck had caught a splinter though, sheltering behind a tree. Knocked off by a flying bullet it had stabbed itself deep in his arm. Not his gun hand, thank god, but it hurt, much more than a little piece of wood that wasn't even under his skin any more should.

He was worried. He'd expected to find Ezra back here but Nathan didn't know where Ezra was, either. He thought Josiah might have taken him up to the reservation, claiming Ezra suffered a sickness of the soul.

Nathan was unhappy with the situation, sensing a slight. He, like Vin, thought Ezra's wound must still be troubling him. Ezra had been so weak, so close to death back then. Nathan had operated quickly, perhaps too quickly, under lamplight, and now he was afraid he'd missed something, that he'd botched the operation even though the patient had lived. He attributed Ezra's melancholy to ill humours, not a crisis of faith. Hell, Ezra had no faith other than mammon. And Nathan had yet to believe that a broken heart could be a fatal condition, even though his own eyes had provided him with evidence to the contrary.

ª

Ezra woke coughing and spluttering. He tried to sit up but a warm hand on his bare chest pushed him back down. The fact that he'd lost his clothes somewhere along the line woke him up another degree, but it was so dim and smoky and airless, and head was throbbing and spinning so badly, he could barely figure out which way was up and down.

"Easy now." That was Josiah's voice.

Ezra peered through the cloying darkness again and made out the shape of the lay preacher sitting thankfully fully clothed opposite.

"You, I might have known." Ezra tried to sit up, tried to breathe, and made little success at either. "What have you done to me," he complained. "What are you doing to me?" he whined further in a higher pitch, as thick smoke was blown into his face by someone else, sending him off coughing and crying again.

"Oh, god," he groaned, pushing away from the small puddle of black coloured bile he'd just wretched up. Worse, the rest of the tribal elders, crammed into the sweat lodge, seemed to find the prior contents of his stomach of enormous interest.

"The evil sprits are being driven from your body," Josiah explained, answering Ezra's confusion.

The look Ezra gave him in return didn't need translating.

"You've got the devil in you, boy," Josiah pronounced, quietly and concerned, and as a warning.

"My transgressions may earn me censure and eternal damnation, but I do not believe I deserve to be abducted and subjected to these alarming aboriginal rites."

"He's a difficult patient," Josiah explained to his companions, who all nodded in consensus.

"I am not a patient and I am not ill," Ezra protested, but his protests were silenced as he was held down again and more fetid smoke was blown into his face as the tuneless humming started up again. His barm arm was laid out, a large knife produced and gouged into the skin as Ezra howled and struggled. The oldest man took hold of the waving, blood streaked limb and began to suck at the blood that welled up in the wound, spitting it out onto the ground. He continued until Ezra began to feel dizzy, then he was fed the most foul tasting tea he'd ever tasted again and he world tilted and tipped over entirely.

Josiah watched Ezra thrash and scream as the visions took over once more. They'd only placed half a button of peyote under Ezra's tongue, but it was enough to send the young man twisting and snarling into nightmares. He'd been like this for several days now, though Ezra had no sense of the track of time. He'd wake, curse them, and they'd begin again. He was the most stubborn case the elders had seen in a long while, unrepentant and bitter, the deep unhappiness in Ezra turning him to reckless behaviour and staying the healing from the wounds he'd received. A darkness had a hold on him and it wouldn't let go.

Josiah had seen this madness claim his sister. He wasn't about to lose Ezra to it as well. So he fought for the boy, even though Ezra resisted. He'd drive the darkness from Ezra's soul. He hoped somewhere in those fevered dreams Ezra would find something strong to hold onto, something to carry him through the trials and temptations he had yet to face.

It was the seventh day and Ezra was weeping, exhausted beyond words, beyond the will to fight against them any longer. He wasn't mad or possessed, merely broken hearted, but perhaps it was all one and the same, for his misery had pushed him to antagonise those who would do him harm, because he was too much of a coward to pull the trigger himself.

He lay quietly now, too tired to care what happened to him any more, his desire for anything burnt out of him. He was no longer hungry or thirsty; he was just numb.

The burning fever that had sung Vin Tanner's name in his veins had banked down into a forgotten itch, a callous that rubbed up against his skin, one that he could only feel if he thought hard about it, remembering the pain of the first cut, savouring the taste on his tongue, but a pain that had passed into memory.

Brackish water was forced between his lips as a metal cup grated against his teeth. Josiah's large hand rested under his head, cradling him as he drank.

"Please," Ezra asked quietly with a voice that sounded nothing like his own. "I want to go home."

Josiah could see it in his eyes. The fever had broken, for now. Ezra was too much of a scoundrel to change his ways, and that wasn't what Josiah asked of him, not yet. He simply wanted to bring Ezra some measure of peace.

Ezra tricked everyone, including himself. Ezra liked to play it cool, pretending he needed for nothing and needed no one, but he was lonely, and that kind of loneliness could work on a man like strong liquor, especially a man as proud as Ezra. It was his one weakness: that Ezra wasn't as invulnerable as he liked to think he was. He wanted a home, he wanted love. These things had been denied to him, and the craving for them, now that they were within arm's reach, it had driven him to the brink of insanity.

Josiah soothed him quietly, washing him down with gentle strokes, even though it was women's work. Perhaps, held in his arms at the end of his ordeal, Ezra would understand that he was home, that he was loved. Perhaps Ezra would stop trying to destroy himself and his friendships. Perhaps the moon sickness that had infected him since touching the bundles unprotected had been driven out.

ª

It was the first time they'd seen Ezra in a week. He looked dreadful, worse than anyone had ever seen him. Unshaven, unkempt, slumped over in the saddle. He'd lost his coat and waistcoat, his shirt was untucked and stained with soot and grease.

He slipped off his horse and waved them away as Josiah watched, but then he stumbled, and that's when Buck caught him, wrapping his arms around Ezra tightly and helping him up the stairs to his rooms while the others watched them, helpless to do anything.

Nathan wasn't impressed. "You said you'd make him well."

"I said I'd try and remove some of the demons that were eating him up inside. It takes a lot out of a man."

"Will he be okay?" Vin asked quietly, regret etched in his face.

"That's up to Ezra. The things that have been troubling him have been poisoning him for a long time."

Vin gazed up the steps to Ezra's room, deeply sorry for his part in this.

 

Buck dumped Ezra on the bed and stooped to pull off his boots for him.

Ezra watched absently, still not wholly back in his own skin.

The boots off, Buck washed Ezra's face with a damp cloth then pushed him back into the bed. Ezra suddenly came alive at the hand on his shoulder.

"Why would you - "

"Care? Because I'm probably the only one in this town who doesn't want something from you, so I figure it costs me nothing to be nice to you. And like I said before, somebody's got to worry about you. Might as well be me. I thought JD'd be the one who needed looking after but it's you, ain't it, boy. You sure got yourself in a heap of trouble. I warned you. Chris can be mean. Gets so he doesn't know any better. It doesn't excuse what he did, but - "

"I asked for it."

Buck shook his head. "No, son, you didn't."

Buck sat on the side of the bed.

"You shouldn't have let Chris do what he did. It don't excuse it, but if I know Chris, he's feeling bad about what he did to you. It might mean nothing, but I know he's sorry."

Ezra's eyes went surprisingly cold.

"I know you want to keep the peace, keep us seven together. I'll keep quiet, but it won't ever make things right between Chris and I."

"I know. Just try and stay out of his way."

Buck stood. "Vin wants to see you."

Ezra shook his head. No.

Buck shrugged. It was probably for the best, but it was what had started this whole damn thing in the first place. Damn Ezra for falling for Vin. Damn Chris for taking it so personally.

 

Ezra swallowed the remainder of his bottle of laudanum after Buck left, and fell back into a deep, dreamless sleep.

It was dark when Buck woke him, fussing and brushing down Ezra's coats that he'd managed to get back from Josiah in a small tied bundle.

Ezra blinked at him blearily, unsure of why Buck was here, and why he was still bothering him.

Buck ignored the bland look of annoyance directed his way and lifted the silver lid from a tray laid on the dresser with a flourish.

"Inez thought you might be hungry. When did you last eat, anyway?"

Ezra rubbed at his face, which still felt alarmingly numb and unshaven, searching for an answer but finding none. He shrugged. He couldn't remember.

Buck brought the plate over, and the first sight of the stew made his stomach twist and heave, but Buck forced him to down a few spoonfuls and hunger took over.

"Vin was asking after you," he murmured softly, and the slight improvement in Ezra's colour drained away completely.

He pushed the plate away, no longer hungry and Buck cursed his stupid runaway tongue.

In spite of his ordeal, Ezra wasn't over Vin. Not yet. The fight had been driven out of him, but the desire that had sparked his provocations, that still burned, if weakly. It was enough to cloud his eyes and close off his stomach to any more food.

Buck had seen plenty of love sick fillies in his time, and he saw it in Ezra. The same unswerving adherence to impossible, unattainable love, the same bitter moodiness, the same self harming behaviour. It wouldn't have been quite so bad if Vin and Chris hadn't toyed with Ezra, using him as a no man's land between their own quietly twisted courtship.

Chris wanted Vin, yet he held him at arms reach, still too burnt up inside to do anything about it. Ezra had been caught in the middle, and gotten cut up pretty badly because of it. Ezra should try and stay out of, like Buck did. Let Chris make his own decisions in his own time. To push Chris in any direction was just asking for trouble, as Buck knew only too well.

"I love him," Ezra complained softly, sulkily, like a child refused a favour.

"He's not yours to love and you know that." Buck adopted a paternal air. "You can't have Vin so you're going to have to decide, do you get over it or do you let it keep eating you up inside."

"I have to see him, every day."

"I know." Buck ducked his head, so he could see Ezra's eyes quite plainly. "I know," he reminded quietly.

Silence fell between them. Buck fiddled with the empty shot glasses on Ezra's dresser, needing to say it.

"There's no good reason for a man to turn a gun on himself." He spoke quietly, hesitantly, looking across to meet Ezra's eyes.

Ezra glanced away.

Ezra had stood there, drawing a bead on Chris, but by the time Buck had got there, Ezra had turned the gun on himself.

"Ezra."

"I heard you."

Buck sincerely doubted it.

"Don't let Chris get to you. Don't give him a reason to."

Ezra did meet his eyes then, with eyes that were so sad. There it was. Ezra wanted what Chris had: an unconditional friendship with Vin. He wanted people he cared about to look at him without judgement or disgust. He craved their respect and their love, and he was going entirely the wrong way about it. The more he tried, the harder he failed, and the vicious cycle had finally turned in on itself.

Buck rested his hand gently on Ezra's shoulder, dipping his head, making sure the young man paid him mind.

"No man is worth dying for,"

Ezra flicked him a look.

"Not like that," Buck amended. He squeezed Ezra's shoulder, but what he saw in those green eyes worried him. Damn Ezra and his foolish romantic heart. Damn his own stupid mouth for putting the idea in the boy's head. If Ezra couldn't have Vin, he'd sacrifice himself for him. He'd prove himself worthy, even if he had to die trying.

Buck hoped Vin lived carefully and quietly until Ezra got over it and set his cap at someone else. Vin was a good man, but he wasn't worth Ezra's life. Buck, for one, would miss Ezra if he wasn't around.

"I thought Josiah had talked to you."

"He poisoned me," Ezra was still sour on the experience.

Buck brushed Ezra's cheek softly. "Don't do anything reckless, for me, please," he asked for a promise. Damn, where was Ezra's calculating self interest when you needed it?

Ezra exhaled softly and nodded, making his promise for whatever it was worth. Vin wasn't his, would never be his. Yet the idea of proving himself worthy, it held a dark appeal. The look he saw in Buck's eyes though; Buck actually gave a damn whether Ezra lived or died.

Ezra drew a breath, then picked up the deck of cards that he'd abandoned on his dresser, days ago. "You know what they say, lucky at cards..."

"I know," Buck agreed softly. He felt for Ezra, he really did, and that gave Ezra some comfort. He had friends here, good friends. He wasn't ready to give that up, not yet.

Ezra fanned out the cards with an easy grace and economy of motion that Buck still found awe inspiring.

"Pick a card, tell your fortune?" Ezra offered, but Buck shook his head.

Ezra shrugged and plucked out the Ace of Hearts and offered it to the flame of his lamp, letting it catch alight, watching it burn for a moment, then dropping it to the floor where it shrivelled and burnt up into a cinder. Ezra stamped on it, grinding the ashes into the ground.

Lucky at cards, unlucky in love.

ª

Buck casually leant beside Chris at the bar.

"What the hell has gotten into you, Chris? You go ahead and beat Ezra to death and Vin’ll never forgive you, and you know it. What’d Ezra do to cross you and make you want to hurt him so bad?"

Chris said nothing, just taking a long sip at his sour mash. In all honesty, he couldn’t rightly say. Just the way Ezra smiled at him, like a red rag to a bull. Maybe it was because he saw pieces of himself in Ezra, the pieces that had gotten Sarah and Adam killed. He took another bitter swallow.

"I don’t know what Ezra might have done to make you madder than a hornet with its tail on fire, but you just leave him be. That boy’s got enough of his own troubles without you adding to them. Whatever you have going with Vin, that's your business, but leave Ezra alone."

Chris sipped at his beer, saying nothing.

"You touch that boy again and there'll be hell to pay." Buck spoke quietly, looking straight ahead.

Chris flicked him a glance.

"You heard me. You stay away from that boy. I don't know what he did to piss you off so badly, but enough is enough. Ezra isn't your whore. You lay a hand on him again and I'll tell Vin where Ezra got those bruises and exactly why Ezra was so torn up inside he could barely sit a horse."

Chris arched an eyebrow.

"Is Ezra your business now? What about JD?"

Buck scowled. "Don't you start on that. It's not like that. Somebody needs to look out for Ezra."

"And that's you."

"Right now, yeah."

"Gets under your skin, don't he."

Buck shot him a searing look.

Chris just smiled, unnerving Buck, and went back to his drinking.

Buck pushed away from the bar, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken.

"Just leave him be," he asked of Chris, and let it stand at that.

 

to be continued...

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