So lately, Been wonderin
Who will be there to take my place
When I'm gone, you'll need love
To light the shadows on your face
~1876~
An eerie silence hung over the town of Four Corners, somewhat
unnatural after the sound of gunshots had rung in the air just
moments before. The fight had lasted longer than most, and each of
the eight would-be bank robbers now lay motionless in the dusty
street.
Chris Larabee, leader of the seven gunslingers hired to protect the
town, stood grimfaced as he surveyed the damage. The outlaws never
made it to the bank, and instead were confronted by all of the town's
lawmen.
Hazel eyes expertly scanned each man that was standing or getting to
his feet, answering his call for a check-in. Young JD Dunne offered
a small smile as Buck Wilmington slapped him on the back,
congratulating him for not losing his head. Formidable ex-preacher
Josiah Sanchez, crouched low, his face uplifted to the sky in silent
prayer. Nathan Jackson, resident healer as well as gunslinger, wiped
the blood off of one of his throwing knives, a sad look upon his dark
features. Any life lost was a life that at one time could have been
saved.
Chris' brow furrowed and his hands clenched as he recounted the
number of his men before him. Five.
Only five.
Heart pounding furiously, he turned his head, desperately scanning
the street for the two missing protectors. A hand inched towards
his holstered gun, in search of the familiar comfort it offered. The
movement stilled as an anxious shout tore through the air.
"NATHAN!!!"
Four other heads shot up at the familiar voice and for a moment eight
eyes; dark blue, cobalt, mahogany, and chocolate; met hazel and in
that a brief instant no one breathed. A wave of chilling fear ran
through the group. No one wanted to admit it though, for the
consequences it held were too much to bear. So, as one, they ran
around to the back of the bank, clinging onto every thread of hope
they could grasp.
Chris stopped in his tracks at the sight before him and only vaguely
felt Nathan brush past him. A soft gasp escaped JD's lips and Chris
felt his insides turn cold.
Kneeling in the bloodied dirt was sharpshooter Vin Tanner. His hair
was windblown and he appeared physically unscathed, but it was to the
precious cargo in his arms that everyone's gazes fell to. Rocking
back and forth with his head slightly bowed, Vin clutched the still
form of southerner, Ezra Standish, protectively to his chest.
Vin held the body close to him, caressing the pale cheek and
whispering soft reassurances. As Nathan approached the pair, the
Texan lifted his face and Chris's heart broke at the despair that
seemed trapped in those sky blue orbs.
Even before Nathan stepped back a moment later, even before the
healer shook his head at the blonde leader and stood with shoulders
slumped, it was in the second that Vin had locked gazes with him that
Chris knew there was nothing any of them could do. They were about
to lose one of their own and were helpless to stop it. Blood seeped
from no less than four gunshot wounds embedded in the southerner.
The dark liquid mingled with Ezra's crimson jacket, until it was
impossible to tell where one stopped and the other began. His
breaths came in short, painful gasps, but the pale grasp on Vin's
hand was surprisingly strong.
Stepping forward, the other five silently surrounded the pair and
offered what little support they could. Sensing the change in the
air around him, Ezra's eyes fluttered open, and a Texan drawl floated
into his muddled mind.
"Hang on Ez, just hang on. Don't ya go anywhere, don't you dare die
on me now."
Ezra blinked painfully, trying to focus his green eyes. After what
felt like a lifetime, his vision cleared and revealed the features of
his friend, the handsome face marred by worry. With profound effort,
Ezra raised a hand and touched Vin's cheek softly, feeling its
unusual dampness. Meeting the sorrowful blue gaze, he realized
exactly what was happening, what the dull ache he felt inside
actually meant. But he was not afraid, nor should this man be.
Inhaling a shuddering breath, Ezra tried to speak. Vin sensed what
he was attempting to do and shook his own head stubbornly, wavy locks
shifting at the movement.
"No Ezra, it's okay, don't talk. Ya gotta save your strength, pard."
The southerner ignored him, still stroking the young face, "Tears?
Oh dear Mister Tann...er, I assure you there is....no need for
such....sadness." A cough racked his body and Vin held him even
closer, whispering into the brown hair so that only the weakened body
would hear,
"God Ezra, you can't do this. You can't leave us…can't leave me."
The voice was desperate, laced with an unfamiliar fear.
Ezra lowered his shaking hand to Vin's chest, pushing him back gently
so that he could look up into the anguished face. He felt his
weakened heart skip a much-needed beat at the raw pain and loss that
he saw there, and something else…something Ezra was not sure was
healthy for a dying man to hope for.
"Gentlemen" Ezra started, his eyes never leaving the tanned features
in front of him, "it was truly…an honour. I shall be…waiting…on…the
other side, preparing…inhabitants of the afterlife….for the rest of
you trouble…some lot." Each word sent a searing pain through his
body, but he had to say it, had to let these men know how much they
meant to him. "And I trust…. will not…be encountering…any of you…for
many …years to…come."
The others could say nothing, each of their voices caught in their
throat. Somehow this whole thing seemed horribly surreal,
unbelievable. After all this time, after all they had been through
together, to lose one...it just seemed unfair and outright wrong.
Josiah knelt down and pressed a large hand against Ezra's cool cheek,
whispering for them all, "Sleep well, Ezra. You were always one of us,
Son, in everyway that truly counted." The others nodded their
agreement, knowing no further words were necessary, though JD did
mumble an "Oh God, no" and was quickly enveloped in Buck's warm and
brotherly embrace.
Ezra turned his head slightly to smile at Josiah in thanks. The
older man laid a kiss to the gambler's brow and stood up quickly,
containing his fierce rage. Later, he could take his anger out on
the world, later he would grieve. For now though, he would be silent
and strong, if only for Ezra. Josiah's eyes wandered down to the
Texan who gripped Ezra firmly, as though his hold alone could keep
the other man in their world a little longer. Josiah's eyes closed
sadly. Yes, he would be strong for Ezra, but also for the man who
would mourn his loss the most, and he would be there to pick up the
pieces when they fell. He owed Standish that much.
The southerner was glad to see that the others had accepted his
words, his truth. There was still one more matter that had to be
taken care of though, "Mister Lara…bee…Chris." Ezra called out
gently, his strength waning. The blonde crouched down in Josiah's
earlier place and laid a hand atop the chestnut head. Ezra motioned
for him to come closer. As Chris leaned in, Ezra whispered a soft
request, "Take care…of him…Chris. …Trusting you to watch….over for…
me." Larabee looked confused for a moment, uncomprehending, but then
the hazel eyes fell upon the intertwined hands and he understood.
Chris squeezed Ezra's shoulder gently, ensuring the smaller hand his
last wish would be honoured.
Finally, Ezra could feel the fight leaving his body, could feel
himself fading, and could feel Vin's suppressed sobs as he too
realized the end was drawing nearer. With a last bout of strength,
Ezra once again raised a smooth hand to Vin's face and wiped a single
tear away.
"No more….tears, Vin…please? We shall…meet again…friend…promise you."
And with those parting words, Ezra P. Standish closed his eyes, his
last vision of an anguished blue-eyed tracker, quietly crying in a
hushed street.
And maybe, I'll find out
The way to make it back someday
To watch you, to guide you
Through the darkest of your days
If a great wave should fall/It would fall upon us all
Well I hope there's someone out there
Who can bring me back to you
~Present Day~
ATF Team Seven of Denver, Colorado sat around the large conference
table of their office, waiting for their last, apparently tardy,
teammate to arrive. The team leader eyed the clock, quietly growling
with the realization that this new agent would probably be giving him
an ulcer on his first day. The explosives and computer experts were
throwing a Koosh ball at each other, while the EMT and profiler sat
and quietly discussed the benefits of herbal medicine. At the very
back of the room stood the team's sniper. He leaned against the
wall, a grin gracing his young face as he watched the proceedings
with mild amusement.
Quietly, the door to the room opened, revealing a chestnut-haired man
dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit. He held a briefcase in one
hand and a steaming Starbuck's Styrofoam cup in the other. His gaze
roamed around the now silent room, quietly taking stock of all the
agents, before looking up and across the room.
Emerald met sky-blue, and a long ago promise was fulfilled.
The End
Sequel: Visions from the Past
