Setting: Old West
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
It seemed he'd just eased his weary body onto the bunk, when a hand shook him. He blinked in the near darkness, until his eyes adjusted to the light. He licked his dry lips, sat up and yawned, shaking the heavy traces of sleep from his body.
"Here, Chris."
The voice was followed by a cold cloth pressed to his hand. He wiped his face and neck, before taking the second item. After draining the cold water, he took the mug across the room, spotting a coffee pot. He poured a shot of whiskey in the mug, before filling it with the steaming, bitter liquid. Sipping carefully, he made his way between the two occupied beds. His pale eyes flicked in relief to Buck Wilmington, who was breathing almost normally.
"Seems better," he commented, turning his eyes to the weary profile of Miles Smith.
"He is, his congestion finally is breaking up."
"What time is it?" Larabee asked, sipping his coffee and moving closer to where Vin Tanner's slim body trembled.
"Almost one a.m."
"You should have woken me sooner," he rested the cup on the narrow wooden table.
"You needed the rest," the doctor paused, looking closely at the blond man, "You look much better." He paused, as once again, the patient's blue eyes hot open. The confused gaze didn't linger on anything. The pale lips parted and he mumbled, moving his body weakly and crying out.
"When'd this start?" Chris asked, leaning over and frowning as Vin continued to mutter and twist.
"The last ten minutes, he began coming around," the doctor replied. "The heat of his body is fighting with the packed ice. With any luck, we'll be able to chase his fever by daybreak."
"But..." the keen green eyes didn't miss the pause in the doctor's actions.
"But, that is only one small victory in what may be a long battle. Fighting a fever this high, in a weakened condition..."
"He'll pull through," Chris interrupted, lifting Vin's wet head. His voice cut through the delirium. The body ceased trembling and the rigid muscles relaxed under his touch. The eyes cracked open and the pale lips moved.
"...heno..." Vin croaked, trying to see the blurry face. Why were they under water? It was too cold to swim today and he felt so very sick. "...gizhaa...Gai...Gai..." he pleaded, fighting weakly against the strong hands.
"I know you're sick," Chris replied, hauling Vin up higher and nudging the slack lips. "Open up, I got some water for you." The muddled eyes narrowed and the lips opened, accepting the liquid.
"...aisheN..." Sated, the injured man rested.
"There's some soup on the stove, you better eat," the physican noted, "It's going to be a long night."
And long it was, with both men fighting side by side, until the fire died. Battling the thrashing limbs, harsh cries of delusional anger and heated confrontations with hallucinatory figures took it's toll, especially on the worried blond. It was his voice alone that cut through the lost world Vin was trapped in. By the time Dawn made her presence known, a ravishing figure in rose and gold, the two men were exhausted.
"Thanks," Miles nodded to the two hands from the livery, who'd toted the last of the burlap sacks away. Vin was now resting in a dry bed, with clean sheets above and below his bruised body. He still had a mild fever, but the worst of it was over. "He's exhausted, he'll sleep for most of the day."
"I almost envy him," Chris quipped with a weary smile. "Listen, Doc, you went the extra mile for Vin, I'm beholdin'."
"You're quite welcome." He smiled back, stretching and rubbing his back. "It's quite a powerful feeling, when you see someone so very ill, turn the corner. I can tell you, honestly, I never tire of it."
"You got balls, Doc," Chris complimented, shaking his head. He was still sitting next to Vin, surprised that an indentation from the wooden bed frame wasn't permantly marking his backside. "I saw what you did on that train. Not many men have courage like that..." he noted of the amputation of limbs, in order to free trapped passengers. "..or skill. You're a helluva surgeon."
"Thank you, Chris," Miles spoke, then turned as the door opened.
"Good Morning, Doctor Smith," J.D. burst into the room. "Hey, Chris! You're up. I stopped by a few times earlier last night, but you were out cold. How's Vin? The Judge wants to see you if you're up, Chris, but if you're not, I can tell him..."
"Kid?" Chris winced, holding both hands up defensively against the bullet like precision of the spillage of words.
"Sorry," the youth headed for the spot between Buck and Vin. "Hey, Buck's not making any noise, that's good right?"
"He's much better," the doctor noted, "But caution will be taken...his lungs are still weak." He saw the young man's hazel eyes turn to his other friend.
"He don't look so good..."
"Neither would you if you kicked the shit out of the devil all night." Chris defended of his pale friend, who rested almost too still.
"I didn't mean..."
"His fever broke a little while ago. We bathed him and changed him, he should sleep all day. He's very weak and not nearly out of the woods, but I feel he's turned the corner," Smith predicted. "Speaking of which, I think I'll get some breakfast. I'm in room fourteen at the hotel, if you need me."
"Get some sleep, Doc, you earned it. We got it covered," Chris stood, shook the man's hand and clapped his back. "Thank you."
"You did," he returned with a strong grip, "and it's my pleasure. J.D., he won't rouse for hours. When he does, get liquids in him, hot and cold."
"Okay, Buck too?"
"I'm still waitin' for a three inch thick steak with all the trimmings..." a voice croaked, "...you don't start pleasin' your customers, you're gonna lose that job."
"Hey Buck!" Dunne greeted warmly, helping his friend to sit up. "You look almost human. You're wheezin' so bad. The doctor says you gotta stay put, that means you gotta listen to me."
"You're dreamin', Kid," Wilmington winced, rubbing his leg. He watched the youth slip out of the door, to get the morning meal. "Hey Doc, thanks..." he extended his hand, shaking the others. "If I keep this leg still, in this brace, can I..."
"No, you stay in that bed," the physician iterrupted. "I'm sending a nurse over to bath you, help you change. Coupled with a full breakfast, you should begin to feel stronger. But your lungs are still weak and if you push to much, you'll end up back to square one. Understood?
"A nurse?" the injured man grinned, with a wink to Larabee, who rolled his eyes.
"Selective hearing," Chris muttered, handing Buck a cup of coffee.
"You know, I do feel real weak," he feigned in a timid voice.
"You're impossible, Buck," the blond chaffed, cuffing Wilmington's good leg. It was good to see that old spirit rising again.
"I see the Wilmington charm is finally returning to standard," a new voice saluted.
"Hey Judge," Buck nodded as Orrin Travis entered the room.
"Chris, the President is having a breakfast meeting, he'd like to speak with you." Travis noted.
The doctor departed, slipping by the pensive territorial lawkeeper. J.D. hauled a huge tray of food from the boarding house. Eggs, hotcakes, sausages, ham and biscuits were on the table. Josiah followed him inside, pausing by Buck's bed.
"You're lookin' better," he noted, frowning as he saw Vin's corpse-like pose. "How's Brother Vin?"
"Fever broke," Chris said, adjusting Vin's blanket. "but he's got a long way to go. "
"Chris?" Travis repeated, waiting.
"That man survived the worst war in United States history and got himself elected to the highest office in the land," Larabee paused, sitting between Buck and Vin, making his stand clear. "Seems to me he ought to be able to figure out how to cross a street."
The Judge absorbed the words slowly, digesting them carefully as he kept his eyes trained on the stormy green ones.
"I think you should reconsider, the General is preparing the final report. They'd like your input," Travis made his position clear.
"Talk sense, Orrin," Chris shot back, "They don't give a rat's ass what I think. I gave my 'imput' at that meeting back in town before we left. I was being honest," he paused, barely controlling the livid rage in his eyes, "They lied and it damn near cost me three of my men." He huffed in anger, "no, make that four, I got a man missing, a damn good man, driven out of town by nightmares no human being should suffer with. That's what the fuckin' army did for me." He turned his back then, every muscle rippling through the shirt in vexed anger.
"Very well," he sighed, nodding to the others and departing.
For a few moments, no one spoke, until Buck's warm voice broke the silence.
"You know, this could get interesting," Wilmington cocked his head, peeking mischievously at his oldest friend. "We never pissed off the White House before."
The soft chuckling was followed by the leader addressing the eldest, "Eat up, Josiah. I want to get moving. I want to be here when Vin wakes up."
"No sign of Nate?" Buck didn't hide his concern, nodding to J.D., when the youth sat a wooden tray with small legs over his lap. It held a hearty plate of food and a small jug of juice. "Thanks, Kid."
"No," Josiah slumped, toying with his hotcakes.
"You'll find him, Josiah, I know you will." J.D. predicted, then frowned, "What are we gonna say to him? How do we fix that kind of pain?"
"You got two hands, don't you," Buck said to the youth, in an annoyed tone. He saw the hazel eyes scowl and continued. "Seems to me that man has given his heart and soul to each of us, 'bout time he got paid back. We'll handle it, no matter what it takes."
Chris turned his head then, noting how easily the words, and more importantly, the conviction behind them, slid from Buck's heart, courtesy of his lips. Their eyes met, the dark blue ones softened a bit, when the blond lifted his cup in a sign of salute. They exchanged a pair of weary smiles and continued to eat.
"Where will you look?" J.D. asked meekly.
"I got a good idea where he is," Chris said, reluctantly leaving Vin's side. "Come Josiah, let's ride."
Voices drifted around him, interrupting his deep sleep. Reluntantly, he fought through the blanket of slumber, as he felt his body probed. He recognized the deeper voice, it was Doctor Smith, the fine surgeon who tended to Buck.
"After the bath, a full massage of heated herbal therapy. Then we'll see if we can't get him up and moving later."
"...b...b...ath..." Ezra sighed, feeling the sheet pulled down. The hot soapy water was laid to his flesh with firm, gentle strokes. The talented fingers worked their way up his legs, across his middle and over his chest and neck. Delicate movement on his face, before a warm cloth took the soap away. Then he was carefully dried off and two sets of strong hands, rolled him over onto his belly.
"...di...dn't... feel... a... th..thing..." he muttered, his heavy eyes still not opening.
"That's because you are full of laudenum." Smith smiled down at his groggy patient. He gave the bare shoulder a light tug, "I'll leave you in the good hands of your nurse. I'll be back later, Mister Standish."
"I am... fore...ver... in... your... debt... sir..." Ezra managed, groaning in pleausre as the ministrations continued. After the bathing action was repeated, with precise movements up the back of his torso to his neck, a hot balm was worked into his back.
"Heavenly..." He murmured, then a vision appeared in his mind's eye. A beautiful nurse who so adeptly tended to him the day before. A woman he intended to share a meal and some expensive wine with. "I am sorry for... breaking... our engagment... last evening..."
"I think you have me confused with someone else." The strange voice replied.
"Excuse me?" Ezra's muddled mind began to clear a little and he opened his eyes. He was flat on a blanketed board over the bed. His eyes widened when the hand he saw, full of ointment, was wrinkled with age. "Abby?" He questioned of the missing angel, suddenly feeling his nakedness a little too clearly.
"No, I'm Cornelia Hoffendacken," the nurse replied, "You may address me as Miss Hoffendacken," she assessed, always a professional. "If you are referring to Miss Bauer, she is tending to a friend of yours, a Mister Wilmington. It seems he's very weak and fevered, he needs a thorough bath and changing."
"Hoff...en... who..." Ezra panicked, as the words settled in. "Buck..." he hissed, "was born just to torment me, I'd wager on it..." His heart sank as the wizened up face appeared before his pained eyes, complete with jowls boasting hairy warts. "Good Lord, you've escaped the Brothers Grimm !" he blurted without thinking, of the authors who crafted witches in fairy tales.
"...and your manners could use a thorough scrubbing as well," she huffed, gathering up some of the woodsy scented lotion from the bottom of the hot pot. It's heat simmering in her right hand. She eyed his exposed backside and clapped her free hand on the rosy left cheek, causing him to yelp and jump.
"That's not... part... of the... treatment... my back..." Ezra sputtered, his face flaming as the hot ointment was unmercifully applied to his buttocks. "That's much too... hot!" He yelped.
"You're behaving like a spoiled child," She pushed his thighs apart and gathered up more hot balm. "The doctor said to apply this liberally," She worked both hands up to the interior of his thighs. "Doctor knows best."
"You're doing this on purpose... I intend to make sure the prop..." He hissed as her fingers roamed north. "..er... authorities are made aware of..." He snarled then, "Unhand me... that's not part of..."
"As soon as the ointment works and your muscles relax," she cut his protest off, wiping her hands, and pulling the sheet up to his waist. "We'll take care of your other business," she moved the elongated metal container used to aid immobilized patients when they needed to urinate. She made sure he could see it clearly and enjoyed the look of horror on his face. "You were given liquids, hot and cold, all night. What goes in, must come out," she paused, picked up her newspaper and smilled evilly, causing Ezra's hair to stand up more defiantely that the one's sprouting from her moles. "...one way or the other..." she snuck a glance to his covered backside.
"I'd sooner burst," he hissed, his anger rising as his humiliation did, "Buck you'll die for this...I'll see to it..." he groaned as the pressure in his bladder started to build.
The herbal tea that accompanied his breakfast left his snoozing peacefully. He shivered and furrowed his brows, when the sheet was pulled back and cold air roamed over his naked chest.
"What are you doing, Kid? I..." he peeled an eye open and nearly melted. "...think I died and went to heaven. Darlin' if I knew that angels looked that fine, I'd have given myself over long ago. Buck Wilmington, at your service," he offered with a killer smile.
"I'm Abigail Bauer," she smiled, "Abby. Doctor Smith said you needed a good bath and some clean clothes. I've got the water just right," she eyed the handsome man and smiled, pulling the sheet down. "hot and sudsy..." she purred picking a cloth up and wringing it out. "I've been told I have very good hands." She sat on the edge of the bed and slid her hand behind his neck raising him up.
"I can see..." Buck sighed as the cloth wiped his face and neck. "...feel that. You know I have always admired nurses. Angels of mercy, that's what your are, unselfishly giving of yourself, using your special talents to comfort the weak."
"Are you weak, Mister Wilmington?" She laid him back down, working the suds into the senstive areas of his chest.
"...as a newborn babe..." Buck groaned as the wonderful bath continued. "You can call me Buck." He paused, his breath coming in pants. "..hell...you can call me anything you want."
"Your breathing is labored," she wrung out a clean cloth, her slim hand on his calf. "Once I get you rinsed off and dried properly, maybe I'll give you an herbal lung treament." She turned him carefully then, cleansing his back.
"I love... lung... treatments." Buck groaned, then grinned rakishly, "I have some treatments of my own I could share."
"Really?" Abby paused, lifting him up and helping him to bend forward.
"Lip therapy," the rogue offered, "My expertise is well known."
"Not to me," she pouted, lathering up his hair and running her fingers through it.
"Well now, we'll have to remedy that," Buck offered, lifting her free hand and kissing the fingers, before nuzzling his lips into the palm.
"You always this shy?" She teased, feeling her face flush as his mustache tickled her skin. She used a cup to rinse his hair, then dried his head and back. "Now, let's get you dressed."
"Seems that would be a waste of time," Buck grinned devilishly, gaining a laugh.
"Oh, I like you, Buck Wilmington!" She exuded, standing and drying her hands. It was then she noticed his face change. The bold scoundrel look was gone, in it's place a face full of concern and warmth, almost deep affection. She pursed her brows and turned, as he spoke.
"Hey, Vin!" Buck sat up, leaning over his bed. "You sure gave us a scare. The doctor chased your fever away." He saw the blue eyes widened and stare at the nurse. "Oh, this here is Abby, the doctor sent her over."
"Hello, Vin," she smiled, moving to get a cup of water of him. She approached the bed, only to have him shrink back, trying to push through the bottom of the mattress.
"Gai... gai..." Vin gasped, wide eyes roaming the room. "Teheno... Teheno..." he called out, the empty echo chilling him. "Buck...lin..." he whispered. "hagani naakwa?" What happened to his brother?
"Aw, hell," Buck grimaced, pained by Vin's frightened face. "Vin, look at me, she won't hurt you. She's a friend, understand. She's just gonna give you a drink of water. Teheno is... uh... getting something to eat." Buck offered and saw the clever tracker's mind working. The solemn face went from his own to Abby's. He could tell the nurse didn't know what to make of Vin, but she wasn't frightened.
"I'm Abby, Vin," she moved closer, recalling in her notes a head injury and high fever. "I'd like to be your friend, okay?"
Vin scowled and eyed the woman. He lifted his nose and sniffed, she smelled good. He stared at her eyes and decided he liked her. He turned to Buck who was nodding to him.
"It's okay, Vin," the older man reassured, and sighed, when Vin relaxed and lost the deathgrip he had on the sheet.
"Can I give you some water?" Abby asked, not wanting to push.
"Maiku," Vin nodded, trembling a bit as the soft hands held his neck. She smelled like flowers in the springtime. "AisheN..." he panted, his heart hammering. He smiled up at her then, feeling safe.
"How about some chicken broth?" Abby inquired, watching the blue eyes widen. She felt him trembling and saw him flush, when she wiped the fever from his face.
"Vin sure does blush pretty, don't he?" Buck grinned, knowing that this thirteen year old boy lost in a man's body was responding to a female touch.
"Yes, he does," she complimented, easing the hair from his face. "He's very sweet."
"Sweet?" Buck laughed, shaking his head. "Yeah, he'd love that..." he laughed again. He watched for several minutes as she talked softly to Vin, spooning the broth in his mouth and then stroking his face until he fell asleep. She pulled the sheet up, before turning back to her other patient.
"Now where were we?" She frowned, sitting on the edge of the bed.
"Right here," Buck leaned in, tipping her face and kissing her. "You are special, Lady. He's lost right now, hurt bad, confused. He's got a whole lot of pain inside, and you helped take some of that away. Thank you."
"I don't think I heard you," she leaned in to accept another kiss, which sent a ripple of pleasure up her spine. She sighed then, pulling back and cupping his face. "I think," she decided, pushing him back and pulling the sheet up. "we'll have to investigate all your hidden talents."
"I like the way you think," Buck yawned, "Any of that soup left?" He sat up and leaned back into the pillows, smiling at the beautiful face over the steaming liquid. As she spooned the tasty soup into his mouth, he wondered if Ezra was enjoying the Red Cross as much as he was.
While Dawn shed her cape and the full effect of her golden gown became known, the two riders found what they sought. The sun was high in the sky. The campfire was smoldering, the figure sleeping beside it was more ashen than the cinders scattered about. They secured the horses, Chris got additional wood and stoked the fire. Josiah went towards Nathan, seeking to take the pained expression away. Even in sleep, the healer's features were troubled. A hand caught his good arm, halting him.
"Looks like Vin wasn't the only one wrestling with the devil last night," Chris commented, painfully taking in the ashen, creased face of Nathan Jackson. "Let him sleep a little more. We'll get some lunch started, he needs to eat."
"It might not stay put," the preacher replied, picking up the empty liquor bottle.
"Eggs and biscuits ought to stay down," the leader unpacked the burlap bag tied to his pommel. "J.D. took care of everything. I'll start some coffee, you sit down and rest that shoulder."
There were no more nightmares or perhaps even in his subconscious state, he'd become immune to the pitchforks. He had no desire to leave the gray, murky world he lingered in. There was no pain here, no bloody lips screaming at him, no severed limbs tripping his feet. There was nothing here...nothing at all. A loud rumble interrupted his painless void. It was accompained by the smell of meat. He inhaled, turned in his sleep and tried to find the gray place. The smells increased, eggs and coffee joined the mix and the pungent aroma of onions. The rumble was inside, his stomach was churning. It rose up and he jerked, curling his body up and getting to his knees.
"Ahhhh!" He cried out, trying to manuever through the cobwebs on the pounding anvils in his head. His jangled limbs couldn't function on the spinning, twirling terrain. Two arms lifted him and shoved him ahead towards the river. They stayed with him as he tossed up the bile and liquor on the bank. One hand was clamped on his shoulder the whole time. Then as he ducked his hot face under the cold water, another hand joined in, holding onto him. As he rinsed and then swallowed a good part of the water, his eyes cleared, the world righted again and he saw black pants and boots, his eyes locked onto the silver spurs. Gasping he sat back on the bank, drawing his knees up. He rested his face on his crossed arms, panting and coughing heavily. Finally, he lifted his head, trying to see through the wall of fire behind his eyes. Water dripped from his face and chin and he took the cloth offered. As he wiped his face, he wished he could go deeper wiping the shame from his soul. He opened his mouth, looked up at the man, his own eyes full of solace. This was the stranger who saved his life on a dusty street and turned into more than a friend. Yet, he couldn't utter one word. He extended his arms, watching the uncontrollable trembling and fisted his hands in despair.
"I'm sorry," he offered, despair falling from his eyes and lips.
"Hell, Nathan, you haven't even tasted it yet."
He sighed, shook his head and saw the hand appear in front of his dark, eyes, rimmed with red. It bore no glove, the trademark black leather was not evident. It was a pink palm, full of calouses and hope. Hope. He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. Then he took a deeper one, breathing in the sweet air that drifted off the churning water. Was this the answer he'd asked for? Was God's reply contained in the lines on the peach-tinted fingers inches from his torment? He studied the hand hard for several minutes, it never wavered. The gauntlet was dangled in front of him; he felt the full weight on his shoulders. If he accepted, he couldn't turn back. He'd have to purge his soul and bare it before them. He took a huge gulp of air, hoping to calm his jangled nerves and he latched onto that hand. He held on for all it was worth, tears burned in his dark eyes as he felt the power of pink on brown. It shot through him, like a lightning bolt and before he could protest, he was hauled to his feet.
"Chris... I... I..." He was gulping air again, dizzy from the after effects of the alcohol and breathless from the power of the man who stood before him. His legs buckled and he felt faint. He didn't protest the brief embrace, he let out a single sob and let himself be led back to the fire.
Chris's own feelings were shaken to the core. He was a very physical man. His whole persona screamed of corporeal power; a well-honed, menacing, muscled sirocco. Solving problems to him meant using all of his senses; the smell of gunpowder, the feel of the leather holster riding his slim hips, the taste of blood leaving his lip, the grit in his eyes when he faced down an advesary and the sound of thundering hooves in his ears. Harder, something he couldn't touch or hold onto with his hands, was the fragile soul of the man before him. How do heal a shattered heart and find a lost soul? He knew only one way. He sat the broken man next to the preacher, gave one final tug to the downcast shoulders and moved away.
While he poured two cups of coffee and one peppermint tea, he heard Josiah speaking. He lingered, letting the older man have a few minutes alone. Nathan and Josiah were good friends and seeing the ex-slave this broken, was hard on him.
"It's good to see you, Brother," Josiah broke the uncomfortable silence. Like Chris, he saw such pain and torment in the man before him, it hurt him deeply.
"Is it?" Nate replied, pulling his knees up and encircling them with his arms. "...ain't a very pretty picture."
"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," Sanchez chided lightly, "and from where I'm sitting, I'm looking at clear eyes that don't see the color of a man's skin. There's a proud heart without corruption and gentle soul whose cleansing spirit inspires me every day, despite the awful cross the body has been forced to bear at times." He gripped the back of Nathan's neck and his voice tightened, "...and that, brother, is a b-e-a-u-t-i-f-u-l thing," he complimented, watching the other man fight for composure. "Go on and let it out, you're with family."
"Hell," Nathan choked, unable to breathe over the lump that Josiah's words caused, "I ain't been this worked up since my Grandmother passed."
"Was she as pretty as us?" The preacher said with a straight face, that earned a smile and a glimmer of hope.
"She was beautiful," Nathan shot back.
"Guess you don't look much like her, huh?" Chris offered with a smile and a cup of tea. "It should help your stomach. When you're up to it, there's ham, eggs, and biscuits."
"Thanks," the humbled man muttered, sipping the medicinal tea. Then he frowned and eyed Chris Larabee sharply. "Where's yuh sling?"
"In the trash where it belongs," the man in black remarked, sitting on a log. "I'm fine... well... better anyhow."
"Vin?" the healer choked, washing his face with his free hand. "God... I should have asked right off..."
"He's holding his own," Josiah said, "Fever broke last night. Buck's lungs are improving and Ezra's on the mend too." He saw the other man's face darken in shame as he tried to turn away. "Get your head up, Nathan Jackson!" he boomed, his voice like raging thunder.
"Yuh weren't there... yuh don't know what I done t'him..."
"You were having a nightmare and he tried to help. It was an accident," Chris commented, sipping his coffee. "That's how Ezra told it, he's worried about you. We all are."
"I don't know how... where... t'start..." he whispered, rocking slightly and staring at the fire.
"From the beginning," Chris laid out, "You take all the time you need. We not going anywhere."
"At first they was just dreams...bad ones...started a few days after the accident." Nate recalled, sipping his tea and glad for Josiah's hand on his neck. "Then they came t'life...like I was awake on the street and I saw... them..."
"Saw what?" Chris pushed, "Spill it Nathan, all of it, every gory detail."
"Legs, arms, blood, I can't walk there's so many of 'em," he pained, wrapping his arms around his chest and rocking again. His eyes went over the river to where the twisted metal winked at him boldly. They're grabbin' at my legs, pleadin' for help. Some of...of..." he faltered, his eyes filling with burning absolution, "...they got no eyes...just sockets...hands reachin' up...mockin' me..." He shoved off then, needing to move. He paced the camp, running his hand over his hair and down his neck. His hot body trembled and icy fingers pricked at his tender skin, right through to this soul. "...I can't... help... any... I tried... they... don't... listen... they're dead... not dead... dyin'... I can't do... a... a... damn... thing... Sweet Jesus, I can smell them burnin'..." He choked, eyes full.
Josiah started to stand, to go to this broken brother, but Chris stopped him with one strong hand and a shake of his blond head.
"Not yet," he whispered.
"I... I'm... seein'... 'em... when I'm ... awake..." he faltered, "they... won't leave... me... alone... grabbin' at m'legs... blood pourin' from they're mouth... right in the street..." He punched the air with both fists, raging now, angry and hot. "I seen how them folks in town looked at me... like I'm crazy... hell, maybe I am."
"If you're crazy, Nathan, then there's not much hope for the rest of us," Josiah sighed.
"All of it, Nathan, it's been festering since the war," Chris offered, playing a trump card dangerously.
"The war?" the stunned ex-medic turned sharply to the gunslinger, who eased to his feet. "This ain't about the war!" He hissed angrily, baring his teeth. "That's a long time passed, none of yuh'r goddamn business."
"Is it?" Chris shook his head, moving closer. "I was with you when we hit that wreckage, Nathan. There wasn't anybody tugging on your pants or calling for help. Not in this battlefield anyway." He moved closer yet, just a half a foot behind the tense, angry muscles rippling through brown cloth. "You had to leave them behind, didn't you? You were taught to pick up the ones who you could save. There wasn't time to stop for the poor bastards whose guts were sliding through their fingers..."
"Shut up!" Nathan roared, spinning and sending a right hook that leveled the man who touched the flame inside. He lunged at Josiah then, needing to strike out... to vent the uncontrollable anger that roared to life.
"I only got one arm," the preacher protested, staring at the heaving chest and eyes shooting fire. "...but I can hurt you, Nathan." He eyed the blond man, who was rolling over. "You okay, Chris?"
"Will... be..." the leader coughed out a wad of blood, "...as soon as these fuckin' stars stop twirlin' in front of my eyes. Dammit..." he shook his head, trying to clear it. He stood on shaky legs, swiped the blood running from his lip and staggered over to where Nathan stood. "If that's what it takes," he offered of the purging, "let's go..." he shoved the angry man's shoulder, prepared to fight.
"Stay the hell outta my head!" Nathan swung, narrowly missing Chris's wounded side. "It ain't none of yuh business."
"The hell it isn't!" Chris snarled, in one deft move, snagging both the combatant's arms from behind and pinning him to a tree. He held on, despite the power the taller man held and the shots of pain it caused his healing shoulder and side. "It became my business the day those fuckers tried to lynch you. "
"It became our business...when we rode out to that Indian Village and it's been our business every day since." Josiah finished, walking behind Chris and resting a hand on the rippling muscles in Jackon's back.
"Let go..." Nathan struggled.
"No!" Chris shot back. "You can't shake me, Nathan. Sunshine or stormy skies, we're in this together. One hurts, we all hurt. Now spit it out..." he hissed, baring his teeth. "You left them dying in those bloody fields, men and boys, blood and broken..."
"Dyin' souls reaching out for help...someone to take the agony away..." Josiah continued, feeling the tension letting up.
"You took the wounded you could save on a stretcher through the pile of arms and legs, some of them grabbing on to your legs." Chris pushed, watching the anger in the dark-skinned face melt into desperate agony.
"Yes! I left 'em t' die alone! Is that what yuh want t'hear?" the tormented soul roared, shoving both of his purgers away. He only made it a few feet and stopped, his limbs tingling and numb. "I left... 'em... they were dyin'... no man wants... t'die alone... some of 'em were boys... twelve... fourteen... cryin' for their mama... God... them eyes were on me... blood comin' from 'em... pleadin' me t'help. Sometimes, they was all blown apart..." He sobbed, "I had to kick some of 'em... to get... past... God what have I done..." He sank to his knees and wept, tears full of bittersweet rage poured forth, stronger for the wait. They encircled him then, holding on to him, wrapping him in warmth and showering him with brotherhood. Finally, he stopped, there was nothing left. His shoulders were heaving, his lungs worn out, his eyes flooded and yet their was a lightness inside. It was something powerful that he couldn't identify; it went hand in hand with the strong emotions he felt at this moment for these two men, these two brothers, that saved him from himself. He raised his head and relaxed, letting them hold his weight. It felt good...damn good.
"You're flesh and blood, Nathan Jackon." Larabee spoke slowly, "mortal. You're not God. He gave you a gift of healing. You've saved hundreds of lives. There's men who were ridin' them stretchers that went home from that war. The got married, had babies. You helped get them there. There's people on that train who are walking around today, because of you. Children who will grow up." He paused, gripping hard, "Listen for those voices... hear them."
"Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, the one will lift up his fellow, but woe to him that is alone when he falls, for he has not another to help him up." Josiah soothed quietly of Ecclesiastes words of friendship.
He wiped his face on his sleeves, managed to stand and staggered to the river.
Chris and Josiah remained behind, recognizing the need of Nathan to gather himself up again. The worst of it was out. The yellow-green infectious muck that had been plagueing him for years, now was puddled at their feet. Would it be enough? They watched the tall man hunched form by the river, held onto hope and waited.
"Eureka!"
"Ezra?" J.D. backed up, the volume and unusual high-pitch in the Southerner's voice surprised him. Then he saw the woman who glared at him menacingly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Ma'am...I can come back."
"If you leave now, Mister Dunne, you shall suffer grievous consequences!" the suffering man spat out, leaving a string of saliva. "Get your Yankee ass inside this instant. Madame!" He issued through clenched teeth, "and I do use that term with reservation, You are dismissed. Take your ample body from this room and do not return." He shook with rage, "God help all those misbegotten souls you have yet to torture. Or the small children you no doubt feast on at dinner."
"Well, I never!" She huffed, gathering up her things and heading for the door.
"...yes... I can see that," he said with dripping sarcasm, "...that, Madame, is half your problem."
"Huh?" J.D. frowned, then understood and smiled, "Hey, that's good Ezra, I gotta remember that one." He paused and tipped his hat at the unsightly nurse squeezed by. "Ughh!" He shivered, "I wouldn't want to wake up with her hovering over me... damn..."
"Thank you!" Ezra spat back, "Where the hell have you been? That woman has been torturing me for hours. There is not one inch of my flesh those claws didn't bruise or mar. Places that they didn't belong..."
"Gee, I'm sorry, Ezra, but I was busy with Buck and Vin." he moved into the room, "How you feeling?"
"Violated!" He clenched, lashing an arm out, "Get me up this instant!"
"Okay, hold your pants on," Dunne paused, eyeing the naked body, "Well, let me rephrase that..."
"Your attempt at humor pains me," the gambler grunted, digging his fingers into the younger man's shoulder.
"OW!" J.D. yelped. "Hold on a minute." He rolled Ezra onto his back and then lifted him easily from behind. "better?"
"Yes..." he panted, curious as the pain fled. "Whatever potion that toad-breathed crone used worked. Sore...but managable. Thank you," he issued, standing with caution. He was able to straigthen up, with only a residue of pain in his back.
"Hey I got you a present, hold on..." Dunne bounded from the room, returning with a chair.
"A chair," Ezra drolled, "How touching, I am overwhelmed."
"It's not a chair," the sheriff exuded, flipping the seat up. "See...it's got a chamber pot inside. So you can sit down and... well... you know."
"I think I can figure it out, no map is necessary," He moved stiffly across the room, the pain in his back coupled with the excruciating pressure on his bladder, nearly sent him to his knees. He eyed the fixture and nodded.
"See the arms are really strong, so you won't hurt your back getting up or down. Of course if you want, I can get the flower vase..."
"Good Lord," Ezra shuddered, "a dark moment that I don't wish to revisit. The concierge has my clothes, they were being cleaned. If could see to it, I'll break in this fine chair..."
"The who?" J.D. wrinkled his nose.
"The conci..." he rolled his eyes. "the man at the front desk, his name is George. I gave him a hefty tip in advance, don't pay him another cent."
"Hey, wait until you see Buck's nurse!" J.D. boomed, heading for the door, 'Her name's Abby and she's prettier than...well you ought to see her."
"Abby Bauer!" He raged, dropping onto the chair.
"Yeah, she gave him a slow bath and massage..."
"His days are numbered," Standish swore as the door slammed.
He stood for some time, watching the swirling water race past. He looked at the wreckage across the river and took a deep breath. He thought about the victims he'd helped. He had another vision than, a sweet one. New voices tickled his ear, the calls of 'thank you' that rained down the dawn after. Why hadn't he heard them before? The child who hugged him, tears in her eyes when he took the pain from her burns. The grateful mother who couldn't say a word, holding his hand and crying. So many more voices rose up, swelling to a joyful crescendo. Lives saved, pain removed, bodies healed. Children who would grow and marry, having families of their own. He sighed, scratched his chin and wondered on the good outweighing the bad. Why didn't he dream of those? Because Chris was right; the wounds from the war that possessed his soul were dripping with puss. Because Josiah was right; when there is no hand to pull you up when you're down, you are truly alone. Because deep down inside, these six men he rode with, were his family. He bowed his head then, rested his fist over his heart and prayed. He thanked God for bringing them into his life. He thanked him for bringing him to this river. But mostly, he thanked God for carrying him all these years, when he thought he was alone. Then he took his face to the sun. The sky seemed so much bluer; the air was sweet again and he felt that wonderful warmth bake his face. He took a deep breath and turned, keeping the smile of salvation on his face.
"Now that's a pretty face," Josiah teased, Chris chuckled and gave Nathan a clap on the back.
"Welcome back," the gunslinger said softly, squeezing the healer's neck.
"Amen!" Josiah beamed, gripping Nathan's shoulder.
"I want yuh both t'know..." he struggled, emotions riding high. "How grateful...what yuh done...Damn, sometimes 'Thank You' seems like two puny words."
"Not today," Chris eased, smiling at the healing light pouring from Nathan's eyes. "Not today, Nathan. Let's get some food in you and go home."
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