When We Fall

The dust was settling and the seven watched as Sheriff Stains and his cohorts from Eagle Bend rode out angrily. They weren't men who took defeat easily, and none of the seven doubted that they might come back.

But not today.

Chris Larabee glanced up at Obediah Jackson standing on the landing. Their eyes met, hard, sad and weary. Chris nodded. After a moment, Obediah relaxed his stance and returned the rifle to its place against the wall. Shakily, the old man resumed his seat.

Buck stepped up behind Chris and slapped him hard on the back, his adrenalin still surging from the brawl. "Damn! We showed 'em!"

Chris hunched over and took a step forward, a sharp stab of pain erupting from the blow. Buck, already distracted by JD off to his left, missed it and moved away. Chris straightened carefully, his hand darting to support his ribs.

During the fight, the Sheriff's first sucker punch had sprawled Chris into the dirt. The son-of-a-bitch followed up with a swift hard kick to the ribs and there had been no time to block it. Chris had felt the bones give and knew he was in trouble.

Every breath was like pieces of decimated wood rolling around in his lungs. Darkness had moved in and its stars had danced before his eyes as the Sheriff had pinned him against the wagon, its edge pressing hard into the broken bone. It was why Stains had gotten the upper hand so fast.

Chris had been dimly aware of his gun being lifted from its holster. Instinct had been the only thing that had made him turn his body around and grab the Sheriff's arm, preventing the man from turning the gun on Chris. If it hadn't been for Nathan, Chris would most likely be dead right now. Nathan's headlong rush into Stains had practically taken them all down, but at least it had given Chris the time he needed to recover. His anger at being taken unawares fueled him to continue the rest of the fight till Nathan's father had brought it grinding to a halt in an effort to save his son from more of Stains' treachery.

Back in the present, Chris' eyes still lingered on Obediah. Nathan had gone up and joined his father again, and now they were sitting, talking quietly. Dragging his gaze away, Chris distractedly wiped away the blood still dripping from his nose.

His feelings at the trial were conflicting. Judge Travis' verdict had shocked him. There had been no doubt in Chris' mind that Obediah Jackson would be exonerated. Guilty but with reason. The overseer, Jonah Catchings, had all but deserved his fate in Chris' opinion, and yet the Judge still had found Nathan's father guilty and sentenced the man to hang. The law hadn't considered all that had happened in the past. It was a concept Chris had trouble coming to terms with. Chris walked slowly to the saloon, his mind consumed with the recent events.

Chris' silent passing did not go unnoticed however. The slim bounty hunter watched his friend drift past him like a dark fog. Vin absently brushed the dirt from his wide-brimmed hat and placed it once again on his head, yet his eyes never left Chris. There was something wrong. He could feel it. Chris was walking stiffly, but then they all were going to be a little sore after this dust up.

He hadn't seen Chris during the fight since he had had his hands full himself with Stains' cohorts. Had Chris been hurt? It hadn't appeared so since Chris had come back up swinging after Stains had caught the gunfighter with that first blow. Yet, now that Vin thought of it, that fact disturbed him. Chris had been distracted during this whole trial. So much so that he had underestimated the likes of a foolish braggart like Sheriff Stains.

No, whatever had started the nagging itch in the bounty hunter had come from Chris' eyes. He had seen it as Chris walked past him towards the saloon. A new pain had taken up residence there, one that had come upon Chris so quietly during the trial that everyone had missed it.

Almost everyone.

Vin also headed for the saloon at a slow leisurely pace, keeping Chris just in sight, watching his every move. He could tell by the way Chris walked that the man didn't want company. The gunfighter kept his bearing ramrod straight, but that wasn't all that unusual for the man. It wasn't until Chris stepped slowly up onto the boardwalk, almost gathering himself before doing it, that Vin realized that maybe the gunslinger had been hurt. That set the alarms going off in Vin's head even more.

By the time Vin entered the saloon, Chris had already taken his usual seat against the back wall. A glass of whiskey lay untouched before him. His eyes were dark and motionless, centered on something only he could see. If he noted Vin's entrance, he didn't give a sign.

Vin half expected to see anger in Chris Larabee's eyes, the same outrage that had gripped Vin at the Judge's decision in the courtroom. But it wasn't there. Instead only something akin to despair and defeat showed. To see it in a man such as Chris Larabee disturbed Vin to no end.

It wasn't until Vin scraped back a chair and sat down did Chris blink and recognize the bounty hunter. He didn't say anything but just sat there. Vin didn't give him a chance to wander off once more in his own thoughts.

"Nathan's father's dyin' of consumption. I'm sure the Judge knew that," Vin said. Nathan had mentioned his father's health to Vin during the recess. It was Vin's hope now to ease whatever demon had taken up residence in Chris. Guilt was an arduous burden and his friend tended to shoulder way too much of it. This was one that should be out of his hands.

Chris was silent for a time, his eyes still staring into some unknown place. Finally he said, "I'm not mad at the Judge."

The quiet way it came out made Vin believe him, but that only raised more questions. Then what the hell was bothering the man? They had won, hadn't they? Judge Travis had seen to it that Obediah Jackson would pay for his crime, just not in the way the folks of Eagle Bend wanted. Which was fine with Vin. The folks at that town had always been nothing but trouble. In a way, that town was ten times worse off than Four Corners and only a hair's breadth away from the likes of Purgatory.

Vin looked Chris over carefully. Now that he was still, Chris seemed more steady. There was no grimace that heralded pain. A clot of blood still resided under his nose, but that was nothing dangerous. Yet, there was something. The trouble being it wasn't something obvious, and Chris wasn't going to open up about it either. Whatever it was, Chris was holding it close to his soul, where he held all his pain.

Buck and JD entered the establishment, heading straight for the bar. Once their poison of choice was procured, they came over and sat with Vin and Chris. Buck took a moment to scrutinize the dark gunslinger, gauging his mood. He glanced queryingly at Vin, as if he couldn't decide the current state of his friend, but Vin gave him no clue in that regard.

Chris didn't look angry though in Buck's opinion he should be. Buck was furious at the Judge. He shouldn't have given those bastards from Eagle Bend any satisfaction at all. It still caused his stomach to churn. Buck downed his beer and realized that the alcohol wasn't going to make him feel any better about the situation. His thoughts spilled out into conversation.

"What the hell's the matter with the Judge? I can't believe he convicted Nathan's father like that!"

JD was thinking along similar lines. "Me neither. I thought he liked us."

"The Judge has to uphold the law," Vin offered.

"The Judge shouldn't hang Nathan's father! He had every right to avenge the death of his wife!" JD burst out.

There was a sharp intake of breath to Vin's left and his eyes darted to Chris. The gunfighter sat straight in his chair, his face as rigid as stone. Vin could tell he was going to speak and when he did, it sent shivers up and down his spine to hear it, cold and flat.

"Obediah Jackson is a murderer, and the Judge had every right to sentence him the way he did."

Everybody stared at Chris. Both JD and Buck's jaws dropped open.

"Geezus, Chris! What kind of attitude is that?" Buck retorted, anger swiftly taking the place of his shock.

Chris said nothing but scraped back his chair and stood ever so slowly, his muscles taut with the effort, his features revealing nothing. He walked away, craving solitude. He'd be damned to find it here.

Buck shook his head and called after the gunfighter, "Hell, if you felt that way maybe you should have fought on the side of Stains."

Chris paused in midstep and Vin caught the wince of pain, but the bounty hunter couldn't determine whether the pain came from something physical or from Buck's barbed comment. Not that it mattered, both stung. Steeling himself, Chris walked stiffly outside.

JD stared after. "What's wrong with him?"

"Damned if I know," Buck snarled and swallowed the remaining dregs of his drink, slamming the empty glass on the table. The concussion shook everything on it. Chris' callousness was damned infuriating at times.

Vin stood and JD's face turned toward him expectantly. Surely he knew what was going on with Chris. But Vin had no comforting words to offer. Chris' actions and words were a mystery to him as well, but it was one Vin swore he'd get to the bottom of.

He headed outside and found Chris settled into his usual spot beside the checkerboard. The poor board had been shot to pieces when the Nichols' family had attempted retribution for their kin's murder. There certainly seemed to be a lot of that lately, Vin mused.

Vin noted that the second chair at the board was nowhere to be seen. But Vin knew for a fact that it had been there when he had passed by earlier on the way to the saloon. It wasn't until he walked past the alley that he saw it lying in the dust. Apparently, Chris didn't want company. Vin obliged him. Instead, he headed straight for Nathan's.

Vin climbed the stairs to the healer's room. Obediah still sat outside, sipping quietly from a cup held in gnarled hands, a blanket wrapped around his thin shoulders. Nathan wasn't in sight, but Vin suspected that he hadn't gone far.

The elder Jackson regarded Vin as he approached. "If you're lookin' for my son, he's inside."

Vin nodded and stepped past.

"I want to thank you for all you've done for me durin' my time here," Obediah said in his soft, gruff voice before Vin moved out of earshot. "And all you've done for my son," he added.

Vin paused and took in the old man whose pride had finally been restored. "Nathan's a good friend."

Obediah smiled. "A man needs friends. Nathan's found some fine ones."

Vin reached out a hand to the old man. "It's been an honor to meet you, sir."

Obediah's mouth grew stiff for a moment as if struggling for control. Then he took Vin's hand. "Thank you. I am forever indebted to you and your friends."

Vin nodded, then asked, "Wouldn't you be warmer inside?"

Obediah grinned. "I'm enjoying some o' this good clean air."

"It's nuthin' but dust and smoke."

Obediah's response was laughter, deep and genuine. "It's the sweetest air I ever breathed."

Vin joined in the man's revelry, taking in a deep breath of the air himself as he turned the latch on the door, finding it indeed sweeter than only moments before. "I know what you mean, sir. I know what you mean."

Disappearing into Nathan's room, he found the healer at his desk pouring over a medical textbook.

Nathan looked up at Vin's approach. "Vin. What can I do for you? Something wrong?"

"It's Chris."

Nathan immediately closed the book, concern filling his face. "Is he hurt?"

Vin shrugged. "Not exactly sure. Could be."

"Well, where is he?" He looked beyond the bounty hunter but didn't see the gunfighter.

"You know Chris."

Nathan sighed. "What are his symptoms?" It wasn't like Vin to be this vague.

"He's quiet. Moody."

"Hell, Vin. That sounds like Chris on a normal day."

"He's also walking real careful like he's favoring something."

"Well, that's something at least." He pinned Vin with a hard stare. "Is there more?"

The bounty hunter shrugged and then shook his head. "I don't know, Nathan. There's something going on inside him. I can feel it."

If it had been anybody else claiming such things, Nathan might have dismissed the matter, but Vin and Chris shared something that the healer couldn't quite understand. From the moment they had met there was something unspoken between them. It was as if these two men, so silent in every way, had no choice but to find another way to communicate. Amazingly, it worked well for them. They had yet to read the other man wrong. And that was good enough for Nathan. He reached for his bag but Vin stopped him.

"You know he won't tolerate it."

"You got a better idea?"

Vin nodded. "You need to talk to him."

Nathan's face skewed with confusion. "I do?"

"Yup. I'll go get him for you." Tipping his hat with a wink, Vin walked to the door.

Nathan grinned with sudden comprehension. "Ahh. You know, Vin, you are one sneaky bastard."

Vin smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment." He went to deliver his message.

Nathan stared after him. The thought of one of the seven injured in the defense of his father struck him deeply. The shock of the trial still hadn't faded. He didn't expect it to for a long, long time. His mind was full of conflicting emotions still. Hatred, anger, fear -- and understanding. As a son, he was all the former; as a man who upheld the law, he was the last.

The Judge had had little choice in the matter, and in his defense, the Judge had given his father a bit more time than Stains was willing to allow for. Nathan was grateful for that. But still he was afraid to find out what came next. He hadn't gotten the courage yet to speak to the Judge and ask him just how much time was he willing to concede on behalf of his father. But he knew sooner or later he would have to find out and the cold hand that gripped his soul at the thought of it made him shiver in the dimly lit room.

+ + + + + + +

Chris walked slowly up Nathan's stairs. They seemed a hell of a lot longer than usual. Vin had mentioned that Nathan needed to speak with him, probably with questions as to what Nathan should do with his father. In Chris' mind, Obediah could stay in Nathan's room ... till the time came. He didn't expect either of them to run.

He felt eyes upon him and he looked up to see Nathan's father watching him, tired, old eyes that missed nothing, but yet kept everything to himself. Chris shifted his glance aside, unnerved slightly by the old man's scrutiny.

He finally made the top landing, his breath sharp and pained, his arm braced against his ribs. He stood there a moment, catching his breath and preparing his mask of stone. Only when he was absolutely sure it was set did he intend to confront the healer.

Obediah took a sip of his herbal tea that tasted like ground up dirt. He grimaced and then set the cup shakily on his knee. He regarded the quiet gunfighter and nodded.

Chris returned the nod and moved to step by him, anxious suddenly to get away from the man who seemed to look right into his very soul.

Obediah moved his foot out of Chris' path and went back to drinking his tea. The man in black didn't say much, he observed. Obediah, in his limited time in Four Corners, had not heard this man utter more than just a few words now and again, and yet the man's enigmatic presence was hard to deny. You could tell he was around without even looking. Voices quieted and angels hung their heads when he walked past. There was something about the tall man that cried out in pain. It wasn't in the hunch of his shoulders, because there was none. It wasn't in the tremor of his lips, because they didn't.

No. It was in his eyes. What most people saw as cold, hard steel, Obediah saw as wave upon wave of agony pushing at a barrier trying to get out. Only they never would.

After being a slave for so long, Obediah Jackson had learned to read people at a glance. He could tell from just a look in his master's eyes which way the whip would fall. He had spent most of his life learning that particular skill and he wasn't proud of it.

It came at too high a price, so he normally kept it to himself. His gaze however did not leave Chris Larabee's back until the gunfighter had disappeared into Nathan's room. After all, it was hard to ignore a man in pain.

+ + + + + + +

Chris closed the door quietly behind him. "You wanted to see me, Nathan?"

Nathan looked up from grinding a mixture of dried herbs in his pestle. "Yeah." He stood, watching Chris the whole time, searching for a glimmer of abnormality in the man's stance or expression. Of course, as expected, there was only the usual stoic face and rigid posture. Almost too rigid.

Nathan moved about the room, trying to force Chris to move with him. "I want my father to stay here with me. That jail cell is too cold and damp." His tone was short and clipped as he moved to the other side of the bed, picking up a box of supplies. He watched Chris as the gunfighter shifted to let him by in the confined room and just barely caught the low hiss that the small move elicited.

Chris bit his lower lip for a moment and steadied the pain blossoming within him. The walk up the stairs had drained him. When the ache finally quieted, he nodded. "I agree. I'll talk to the Judge."

Nathan stood in front of Chris, his face locked with fierce pride, chin lifted, jaw tight. "You tell him we won't run."

Chris held Nathan's gaze. "I know," he said quietly. Nathan and his father deserved to have their dignity. Regardless of what the Judge would decree, Nathan's father would not spend his last few days in the Four Corners' jail. Obediah Jackson was a noble man, and, despite his crime of passion, Chris would not speed him on his way by making him spend his remaining life rotting in a dank cell.

Chris couldn't quite understand his sudden fierce devotion to Nathan's father. He had only known the man a few days, but now Chris felt the overwhelming need to protect him. If he was a man who gave in to his irrational side, he would spirit Nathan and Obediah away from Four Corners as fast as he could. But he knew that neither of them would go, Obediah in particular. The old man had a fatalistic side to him and an unending well of pride and constitutionality. Chris couldn't fight that and neither could Nathan.

Nathan nodded at Chris' support, swallowing the lump in his throat which seemed to be there for days now. It was something that he couldn't get rid of and it almost gagged him at times. He dragged in a deep breath and pushed aside his own worries, concentrating instead on why he had wanted Chris here in the first place. He felt bad at his next move, but it was the only way to determine what he suspected was true. He pushed the box into Chris' arms. "Here, hold this a minute."

Chris gasped as the edge of the wooden box pressed against his damaged side. His face paled and broke out into a sweat. A tidal wave of agony enveloped him and his arms felt like the box weighed a ton instead of weighing the few pounds it actually did. It tipped towards the floor. Chris couldn't hold the box; there was no strength in his arms, no breath in his lungs. It fell toward the floor as a feeble groan slipped past his lips.

Nathan was right there to grab it, but he let it drop to the floor, catching Chris instead as he sagged to the floor. He eased Chris onto the bed, feeling the weak tremors course through his friend as he sat on the mattress.

"You're hurt," he stated.

Chris shook his head, sucking in small, gulping breaths. It hurt too much to draw in more than that. "No. Just caught me ... by surprise."

"Bullshit."

Chris glanced quickly up at Nathan and then almost grinned, except it hurt too damn much. He conceded, suddenly weary. The healer had found him out. "I just bruised my ribs."

Nathan frowned, knowing full well Chris was sugarcoating the tale. "Uh-huh. Take off your shirt," he ordered.

"It will be fine, Nathan. Just worry about your father."

Nathan got angrier. "I'll decide who I need to be worryin' about at the moment! My father wouldn't want me to ignore someone in need just to take care of him. He's fine right where he is. Now shut up and let me take a look at your side!"

Chris blinked in surprise. He had rarely seen Nathan this angry. But he supposed he had every right. It had been a long terrible day. Chris gave in, realizing that there was no way to get out of the situation now without bumping up against some serious temper. He reached to pull his coat off but even that simple act cost him. He moaned against the stab of agony that filled his chest.

"Here, let me." Nathan gently shoved aside Chris' hand and eased the coat off. Putting it aside, he pulled up Chris' dark gray shirt with great care. The immense bruise covering Chris' left side was already gruesome. Nathan pressed his fingers against the ribs and immediately felt the tell-tale break.

Chris cried out and tried to pull back. Nathan withdrew his hand and steadied Chris whose face had gone as pale as he had ever seen it.

The fury in Nathan intensified. "Stains did this?"

Chris nodded shakily. "Sucker-punched me...went down...never saw the kick comin'."

The flow of colorful cursing that erupted from the man squatting in front of him took Chris unawares. Not that he hadn't wanted to call Stains half of what Nathan was presently calling the Sheriff, but that it came from such a quiet man as Nathan Jackson surprised Chris.

He laid a hand on the black man's shoulder. "Nathan. It's alright. Should've known the bastard wouldn't fight fair. I just wasn't th--"

But Nathan wouldn't be quieted so easily. "Stop shouldering the blame! It's Stains' fault, not yours! Damn him! Not only does he have to go after my father but he hurt others as well! What kind of man is he?"

"Not the kind you need to waste this much time on. It's over." Chris' voice remained calm. "Let it go."

Nathan struggled to control his anger. For days now, it had bubbled just below the surface, and now he felt it was going to explode right out of him. It wasn't only anger at Stains-he was angry at everything and everyone and he wanted to scream! It was all so unfair! To find his father after all this time only to lose him again. It was more than he could endure. The weight of a hundred lashes sank on him and he felt his back bend. "Oh God, Chris, I can't." His head dropped down to his knees and gasped out a single plea, "Why?"

Chris lightly placed a hand atop Nathan's bowed head. "It just is." Chris' eyes were someplace else, seeing someone else, but then he returned to the present. He knew what he was witnessing here was not an issue between Nathan and Stains. It had to do with much more than that. Today was a day no son should have to endure.

"You found your father, Nathan. After all this time, he's here with you. Don't squander what you have left."

Nathan's head rose, his dark eyes wet and racked with grief. "But to lose him this way ... I don't think I can bear it. I can't watch him hang."

"The Judge left your father his dignity. I'll make sure he keeps it. Your father won't hang, Nathan." Chris' tone implied there would be no asking of the Judge for his opinion.

Nathan roughly wiped his eyes, embarrassed slightly for breaking down, but he saw no recrimination in Chris' face, only a strength which he latched onto desperately. He drew himself straight again, nodding harshly. "I know. Thank you." He placed a hand on Chris' knee. "Thank you for defending my father through all this."

"He's a man deserving of respect. I'm glad to have met him. There's a lot of the father inside the son."

Nathan smiled, letting his pride seep in to replace the anger and grief. "Thanks." He exhaled heavily. "Let's get those ribs bound tight. It'll make it easier for you."

Soon, Chris' chest was swathed in bandages so tight he could barely move much less breath. "Damn, Nathan," he commented, laying a cautious hand on his ribs, his face still abnormally pale. "Don't you think you're cutting off my blood supply?"

Nathan eyed him critically. "I was gonna let you go to your own room to recuperate, but if you keep on complaining, you can stay right here."

Chris' head jerked up at the recrimination and then his eyebrow rose subtly. "In that case, everything's just fine." He took several shallow breaths, testing his ability to do so, and stood carefully.

Nathan came up to him, pausing him with a light touch of his hand. "Don't go anywhere yet. I'm making you something to take with you. I want you take it. I mean it. It will help with the pain."

The fight was gone completely from Chris, and he lifted a weak hand against Nathan's determination. "Fine. You're the doctor."

That brought a huge grin to Nathan's face. He was almost tempted to make his usual retort about being called something he wasn't, but today he decided against it. He had made a decision, one that he was going to tell his father as soon as he was done here. He was going to become a doctor. A real doctor. Go to medical school and everything. He wanted to make his father proud.

For now, he regarded Chris shyly. "Not today maybe, but someday."

Chris stared at him in surprise for a moment but then nodded, letting the barest of smiles lift his mouth. But the emotion only flitted for a moment across his face before fading.

It couldn't quite slip past the sadness in those eyes, Nathan noted. The hard edge of steel Chris usually possessed there seemed different. Chris looked downright weary--defeated almost. Not that the injury wasn't the cause of it, but this was Chris Larabee they were talking about. Vin was right. Something else was wrong but Nathan wasn't sure how to proceed, so he opted to think on it while he collected some ingredients for his next prescription.

"I'll be right back. I have to get some herbs from outside."

He left the room and Chris sank gingerly down again onto the bed, picking up his shirt and laying it across his knees. He didn't think he could get it on without Nathan's help anyway. He heard a creak on the landing outside and shifted his gaze to the door. He was surprised to see it open again so soon. But it wasn't Nathan who entered but Obediah Jackson.

They nodded to each other as the old man came in and looked about the small room, taking in the tomes and vials with wonderment and admiration. Obediah wandered around it, and then on shaky legs, he finally sat down on the other end of Nathan's bed.

He turned to Chris and his ancient eyes began to scrutinize the gunfighter again. Chris shifted uncomfortably, knowing for a fact the man was reading him like a novel. When Obediah spoke, however, it was of something else entirely.

"Hard to imagine understanding what it is that makes a human being work." Obediah smiled. "But my son does. It sure do me good to know that." He still cradled the empty tin cup that Nathan had brought him earlier, as if he was reluctant to let it go since it was something of his son's.

"A man's body is a mystery," he continued. "What makes him tick? What makes him move? What makes his heart keep on beatin' when there's nothing left?"

Chris winced though it had little to do with his bound ribs. He glanced at the door, debating whether or not he should just leave. Nathan could find him later.

Obediah gestured to the thick volumes in the wooden case. "I suppose the answer lies in these books here."

Chris remained silent, listening, afraid of drawing attention to himself, but in the end it did no good as Obediah grew bored of ambiguity.

"I been tryin' to figure something out for quite a while now, Mr. Larabee. I been watchin' you and seein' something familiar. I can feel it at times. It's in the way you look at me, as if you can't bear it." The old man shifted slightly. "At first, you see, I thought maybe I was an abomination to you, that you were ashamed at what I done." A wracking cough gripped Obediah and it took a moment to let it pass. Afterwards, Chris was about to reassure Obediah but the older man stopped him quickly with the rise of his hand, gathering his breath to continue.

"I finally realized what it was that struck me so every time. You see, I saw you clappin' your hardest in my defense when Josiah finished his speakin'. But I also remember seeing something in your eye when Josiah spoke of family and the loss of them." Obediah knew he had hit his mark as Chris reared back slightly, his jaw clenching. Obediah nodded. "I seen that look before, seen it whenever I would look in the mirror and see a man that lost what he loved most." His voice was a painful whisper. "My reflection was a horrible thing to behold."

Almost panicked, using the chair beside him for support, Chris gained his feet and moved away. He didn't want to hear this.

Nathan's father watched the desperate war waging inside the gunfighter. The man was a runner, Obediah noted. Not from physical battles. No, the gunslinger bore too many scars on his body for Obediah to believe that. But sometimes a man couldn't face his own demons and the grief that spawned them. Chris Larabee had not one ounce of strength on that front. Obediah recognized the signs immediately. He was surprised then when Chris hesitated just before the door. The old man didn't know whether it was Chris' irresolution or an attempt to hold his ground. But Obediah was proud of him regardless. The man didn't bolt like Obediah had expected him to.

Obediah lay back against the wrought-iron headboard, figuring that maybe it showed that the gunfighter was willing to listen to an old man's opinion. He continued softly. "Grief changes a man. Changes him from one kind of man to another. Most times it weakens us so that life just slips out from under us till we don't care no more. But then, sometimes, there's something keepin' us goin' even though we don't want to. With me, it was taking care of my children." He looked up at Chris. "What is it for you?"

The silence that permeated the room was deafening. Time staggered to a halt as Chris desperately tried to lend voice to the pain inside him today. Seconds dragged by and finally Chris ground it out between his teeth. "Revenge."

Obediah gave a nod. Everything slipped quietly into place. He understood now and his heart went out to Chris Larabee. He labored to stand and walk over to Chris, placing a trembling hand on his shoulder.

"And you see my fate as one that is waitin' for you, am I right?" There was no affirmation and there was no need for one either. Obediah knew he was right. He let his hand fall away. "Revenge," he whispered, his mind already remembering wielding his own share. "There ain't a man alive that can bury a loved one and not feel the burn of that sin. Whether it be anger at God, anger at Fate, or anger at a man; there ain't no difference.

"There were times I thought I had given up my hatred for that man that kilt my wife. Thought that if I could just let go of it that I'd be alright. I just wanted to find my children. Make sure they were okay, then I could go off to die. But when I saw Catchings again after all these years, it came floodin' back like the Red Sea falling in on itself. I don't rightly remember what I was thinkin' then or even what my body was doin'. The rage just came upon me. I don't remember much 'til it was all over.

"I thought my wife was strong in the family. She was always the one who took charge of the decisions, always the one who stood up in defiance of wrongs. I suppose that was what attracted Catchings' attention. She was a striking woman, my Hattie." He tried not to falter but even after all this time, the pain was bright and fresh. "But after...after everything that happened, she was ashamed. I didn't realize how frail she was until it was too late. I reckon that's what was the worst. I didn't see how much pain she was in until it was too late." He covered his mouth as he coughed again, a terrible wrenching cough, but it soon settled.

Chris turned to Obediah and met him with a steady gaze. "It wasn't your fault what happened."

Obediah wiped his mouth with the handkerchief he held, and then said. "Can you tell yourself the same thing?"

Chris exhaled heavily as his own shortcomings were thrust up before him. "I don't know how much Nathan's related to you about my past."

"He told me nothin'. A man in pain can see a kindred soul a mile away."

Chris could feel a heavy exhaustion grip him, as if the resolve he had held for over three years was threatening to wane. He felt almost powerless to keep the barrier in place. He found himself telling Obediah the story of that night, the horrible night that left his soul in ruins and cast him out to wander the world alone. For the first time he had understood what it meant to be alone, truly alone, and it had almost driven him mad.

Chris told Obediah things that not even Buck knew. It did not feel good to speak of them, but it did feel right and that was almost all that was necessary. Obediah had bared his soul in front of strangers in a court room, and Chris felt he owed the old man at least that from himself. Nathan's father remained silent through it all, his dark eyes silently filling with tears, and unashamedly letting them fall in plain sight.

Chris turned away. At the end, he said. "I will find the man who's responsible and I will kill him." He took as deep a breath as he could, quickly feeling the sharp bite of pain and embracing it as a means to retain control of his emotions. His eyes returned to Obediah. "And what happens to me afterward won't matter."

"That's what you saw today wasn't it? Your own fate."

Chris shrugged ever so slightly. "I hadn't thought about it before. I guess I figured that killing a murderer was doing the world a favor. I never thought that the law would find it wrong." His face grew harder. "It doesn't mean I still won't kill him. Even if I can't find the evidence necessary in the law's eyes, I will avenge my wife and son."

Obediah nodded. "No one can ask a man to go through something like that and not expect him to hold onto that hate." He took a moment to swallow with difficulty. Chris couldn't tell if it was from the consumption or from something else. The elder man moved slowly away and sat once more on the bed. "My old legs ain't strong enough no more," he commented before continuing.

He scrubbed at his bristled cheek. "Lord knows, I hung onto my hate. Ain't no reason to believe that you wouldn't walk down that same path. I believed in the law. Still do. Only now I realize that the law doesn't see the pain from the past. It only sees the act done in the present." Obediah shrugged. "Don't matter none really. I had my day in court. What's done is done." He lifted his ash-dusted head toward Chris. "But you...."

Chris stood rigid, waiting for his fate to be read. Obediah Jackson was like a soothsayer. He had such an old soul that there was little he couldn't read in another's. Obediah turned the tin cup in his gnarled hands, gazing into the grounds that lined the bottom. Chris suppressed a slight shudder, feeling the pain that went with it, knowing what was coming and dreading it.

Obediah sighed with the weight of ages. "I wonder sometimes if I would have acted differently if I had still had my health. I had thought my children all gone, scattered to the four corners of the earth, most likely dead or oppressed. I didn't think I'd find anyone in the short time I had left, so when I found that murderer instead, I took it as a sign. I didn't have anything else to live for. I avenged my wife." He rubbed his face as if to clear away an image. "But you see, I acted rashly. I did have something to live for. My boy, my Nathan, was still alive--and so close. These old bones might not have much more time, but if they did, and if I had known Nathan was so near, I might not have done what I did." He nodded, believing his own words emphatically. Then his eyes found Chris again. "If you take the law into your own hands, like I did, the law will hang you for it."

"There's nothing left for me here," Chris stated flatly.

"You're wrong!" Obediah insisted fervently. "You may not know it, but you have everything to live for. You're still young and healthy. You have friends that care for you. If you murder that man that took your family now, then you are throwing all that away." The old man's eyes misted, looking into his own past. "I'd give anything to have that chance again," he whispered after a moment.

"I don't know what's gonna happen when I find the party responsible for Sarah and Adam's deaths," Chris honestly told Obediah, his voice tight with strain. "I can't promise anything."

"Son, I'm not asking for your word. I'm just telling you to live for the now and know what you have in your hand before you throw it all away on an act that won't change nuthin'." Obediah smiled tiredly, holding in a cough. "I figured you might already know that, but sometimes things just seem clearer when it's brought out into the light." His chest seized suddenly and he was bent over with its force, coughing till his lungs burned.

Chris came to him quickly, ignoring his own aching chest to support the old man till the bout passed. He steadied him against the rage of the illness, wishing that there was something more he could do for the father of a friend. He knew Obediah was right. Everything he had said was the truth. In his wisdom, he had laid Chris' paths before him. He had always known that the path he walked presently was one of no return. A few months ago, it hadn't mattered. Damn the repercussions, forget what the future might hold. Only now he was torn. For so long he had held his vengeance close with every intention of letting it loose one day to wreak its havoc. A day he longed for. He only wanted justice for Sarah and Adam.

But now Obediah warned him to stay his hand, that there was more at stake-- men he could call friends; a woman and her son he could protect and perhaps love; a town he could call home, if only he would let it. It was habit alone that kept him turning to vengeance. Perhaps Chris could trust the law to prosecute the killer properly once Chris found him. Maybe there could still be justice without hurting those now around him.

Obediah finally straightened under Chris and the gunfighter eased him upright. The old man nodded his thanks and cast his clear eyes on Chris, expectant and hopeful.

"I'll consider it," Chris said softly, wanting to somehow ease this man's burden.

Obediah's grizzled face broke out in a smile and he patted Chris' hand, content.

The door opened and Nathan came in with a bundle of herbs. Concern filled him when he saw Chris supporting his father. "What's wrong? You alright, Daddy?"

Obediah nodded his head and held out his tin cup. "Just need some more of that muddy water o' yours."

Despite his father's comment, Nathan grinned. The more he could get his father to drink of the mixture, the easier they'd both breathe. He went to the stove and brought over the kettle. While filling the cup, he eyed Chris and his father, sensing something had happened between them, but the healer said nothing. What had been said was between them alone. Nathan trusted Chris to tell him if the conversation pertained to his father's future.

Nathan marveled at his father, at the serenity and calm that followed the storm. The elder Jackson wasn't afraid and he wasn't angry, but nor was he obliging to his fate as Nathan had once accused him. Justice had been served in Obediah Jackson's eyes and he was satisfied. Nathan held that image tightly in his mind.

Nathan no longer saw his father as the weak-willed man he had believed for so long. He had been angry at his father, remembering only what a child had seen and misunderstood. As a child, barely 7 years old, Nathan had only been consumed with the loss of his mother.

He had been angry for so many years, he had forgotten how much he had loved his father. Now faced with the prospect of another loss, he struggled to come to terms with the revelations and consequences of the last few days. He tried desperately to be content with the remaining time he had left with his father. They needed each other more than ever.

Chris straightened away from Obediah, covering the pain from remaining hunched over with a steely scowl. He pinned Nathan with a mild stare. "Is my medicine gonna be better or worse than his?" He bobbed his head at Nathan's father who was choking down another swallow from the tin cup.

Nathan allowed a devious smirk. "Worse."

Chris frowned and raised an eyebrow at Obediah. "It's easy to see who he likes best."

Obediah nodded his head and grinned. "Yup." It was so wide and sincere that immediately Chris saw where Nathan got his broad trademark.

Obediah raised his cup to Chris. "If it's worse than this here, then I truly feel sorry for you, Mr. Larabee."

Chris snorted. "I've had worse."

Ignoring the both of them, Nathan moved to his desk and began the process of grinding up the leaves he had brought in with him. In a matter of seconds he was done and poured a portion of the mixture into a cup of hot water to steep. The rest he placed onto some brown paper which he folded carefully closed. He walked over determinedly to Chris with instructions, the cup in one hand and the paper in the other. "I want you to drink this right now." He shoved the cup into Chris' hand.

Chris' nose wrinkled at the bitter scent wafting up from the tea. "What is it?"

Exasperated at the man's suspicious nature when it came to medicine, Nathan remarked gruffly, "It'll help with the pain." Chris opened his mouth to protest but the healer snapped out quickly, "And don't tell me you're fine! Drink it and then go rest quietly in your own room."

Chris growled. "It's gonna knock me out?" He hated not being in control.

"It will only relax you some. Make it easier for you to take a breath." He handed the parcel to Chris. "This is more of it. You can steep your own for later tonight. It'll help you get a good night's sleep."

Chris hesitated for a second more, and then took an experimental sip, grimacing immediately at the foul taste that was definitely worse than the smell. He glanced over the rim of the cup at Nathan who seemed ready to fight him on this issue. Deciding he'd rather wrestle a hairless wolverine, Chris drained the cup and handed it back, fighting to keep his expression neutral though the experience. Damn, it was nasty stuff.

Satisfied, Nathan said nothing more about it, merely helped Chris don his shirt, laying the thick, wool coat over the man's lean shoulders. Stepping aside, Chris tipped his head in farewell at both of them, his eyes lingering a moment on Obediah. Obediah nodded at him, a ghost of smile painting his face. Chris nodded back. Feeling the weight of his despondency lift slightly, he walked towards the door. He was just beginning to understand that maybe there was some sort of future waiting for him, and maybe it was okay to want to see it for himself.

Nathan hurried after him, calling over his shoulder to his father. "I'll be right back. I just want to see him down the stairs."

Chris immediately began to bristle, but then realized that maybe Nathan wanted to talk to him some more about his father. He was grateful though in the end because it was just as hard going down the steps as it had been going up. He appreciated Nathan's steadying hand at his elbow.

Nathan eyed Chris, searching one last time for that change Vin had been so worried about. When Chris had first entered, Nathan had seen something, almost a quiet acceptance to something the shootist could no longer fight, a weariness almost. But that was understandable thanks to his injury. Now, however, even that seemed to have passed. It was as if the mantle of pain had eased in him somewhat.

When they reached the ground, Chris thanked the healer. Nathan shrugged it aside. "It's little enough for everything you all done for me and my father."

Chris' eyes scanned the darkening, azure sky. Living suddenly didn't seem so desolate. His pain was once again what it should be--subdued, controlled, tolerable. He looked over at the healer. "Don't be too sure of that, Nathan. You're just as much a cornerstone in this group as the rest of us. We owe you our lives too many times over." He turned to the healer. "We'll never forget that. Come what may, we'll always stand by you." His eyes tracked further to Nathan's alcove. "And by your family." He squeezed the healer's shoulder. "Sleep well tonight, Nathan."

Nathan's eyes watered, proud to be counted amongst these men. An overwhelming sense of relief washed over him. "I think I will," he said softly as if afraid to trust his voice. "I think I will."

The End