Distant Horizon

He stood, dazed, trying to take in the chaos around him: clouds of dust kicking in the street as bullets barely missed him; horses wheeling and fighting their riders in protest; his sudden remembered panic at trying to locate Vin; Chris' mouth moving in slow motion as he yelled something – none of which penetrated Ezra's muddled brain, for he found he could not hear a single thing.

There was a distinct pain in his head that seemed to pierce though his ears right into his brain. He staggered some, trying to find steady footing as he made his way towards cover. After what seemed an eternity he finally fell behind a water trough, noticing with detached interest it was filled with many pieces of flotsam turning in lazy circles.

Something in him nudged and he remembered Vin, remembered something behind him happening where he knew the sharpshooter had taken position. Something which had filled him with great anxiety for the safety of his friend. He surged to his feet, thinking to make his way to the last place he'd seen the Texan.

Another stab of pain overtook him, crippling him entirely, his body collapsing onto itself as he fell to his knees, his hands moving up to cover his ears. They were ringing mercilessly, the stabbing pain only worsening. He feared he wouldn't be able to withstand the pressure, the intense silence that was almost a noise, thinking perhaps he was on the verge of unexplainable insanity.

He stood again, determined to find the sharpshooter. Ezra swerved, lurching forward heavily onto his right boot. His balance would not hold and he ended up crumpling into the ground in a listless pile, his ears now roaring where before there had been only the strange silence. The gambler closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the pain, striving to keep his breathing deep and even.

He had a vision of branding irons, long, sharp, and almost blue with heat, being shoved in to pierce the delicate inner caverns of his ears. He felt hot and cold by turns, his head thrumming as if he were the victim of multiple hangovers at once. His hands rose to cover his ears, and his concentration spread to keep the contents of his stomach from forcibly expelling.

+ + + + + + +

Buck's alarm grew when he saw the southerner drop, and he looked at JD and nodded once, taking off across the dusty street to his fallen comrade. He knew the younger man could handle the two would-be robbers they had subdued, thankful the firing had come to an end so he could be in the clear to see what had taken the gambler down.

"Ezra! Ez?" the mustached man bellowed as he made his way. "Dammit Ez, can you answer me?"

Apprehension washed over him as there was no answer, not even the barest indication he was heard. Buck reached the conman's side and knelt down, relieved to see him moving, chest rising as he took in slow, steady breaths. He made the best inventory he could of the southerner, checking for broken bones, blood.

There was a large splinter of wood lodged in his flesh near his left shoulder blade, but even Buck's untrained eye could tell it was nothing that could threaten the other man's life. Least there's nothing ta that…damn. Something's gotta be wrong though…a man don't act like this and be fine…got ta be more than jus' something pokin' at him. The gambler's hands were pressed firmly against his ears, and Buck worked to pry them free.

"Ez? C'mon now. You're doing a good job of worrying ole Buck here…let me help you, okay?" He kept his voice soft, working not to upset the other man any further. He eased his own long hands around Ezra's upper arms just above the elbow and applied pressure. "Just move your hands now, lemme have a look. Gotta see what's making you so crazy here. C'mon, Pard," he urged, "c'mon. Need to help oua."

There was still no response, just a further compression of the already thin line that was the gambler's lips and a hitch in his rhythmic breathing.

A final tug and Buck felt the hands give, the shift forcing the lanky man to fall forward some, brushing against Ezra's head slightly with a hand as it spread to catch him on the hard earth. The unnatural silence of the gambler changed suddenly, violently, at this action.

A piercing cry split the air that became almost a howl. Feet kicked out at the disturber, landing firmly at Buck's center. The tall man grunted as he fell over onto his backside. He watched Ezra's head move from side to side, a tight grimace pulling the normally controlled features into a contorted version of itself.

The gambler's chest moved in and out at double its regular pace, the labored sound of breathing rasping in and out the southerner's nose. The mouth became even more tightly clenched, until a trickle of blood made it past the barrier and ran along a smooth jaw to puddle on the white shirtfront. Buck leaned forward again to try and help the conman, for all the world having no idea what to do. Nathan. Where the hell is Nathan gaddammit.

"Ez? Ez?" Stop that. Stop It."

The stream of blood hadn't ceased, the conman for whatever reason unwilling to open his mouth and just suck in air like Buck could tell he needed to. Buck took his friend by each shoulder, lifting him some off the gound and giving him a good shake, yelling as he did so.

"Ez! You gotta stop it. You're hurting yourself, dammit. Ez, you hear me?"

Lids fluttered and for a moment blue eyes met green, and Buck felt like he'd been punched in the gut from the hollow, conflicting look in those orbs: pain, confusion, despair, resolute determination. The lids dropped again and the connection was severed, then the gambler was tipping forward and retching violently. Buck didn't even pause to pay attention.

It was more bile than anything, Ezra never eating much at a given time to make his being sick of any consequence. And taking care of Larabee for all those years had taught him a thing or two about being able to just keep on forward despite whatever was thrown at him. After a couple of wracking dry heaves the southerner's body went limp, the man almost taking a header into the ground in front of him before Buck was able to catch him.

Buck knew without a doubt Ezra was now unconscious. He let out a breath and pulled the smaller form into him, cradling the body against his own.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph."

+ + + + + + +

Chris left the jail and walked determinedly towards the clinic, leaving JD to watch over the surviving robbers with assurances he'd send word as soon as he could about Ezra. His mouth twisted down, the images of before flashing again in his mind. Ezra in the middle of the street, as usual paying little heed to his own safety as he worked to dispatch 'miscreants.'

Damn fool. Know he does it ta protect us, that he's making sure we all get out alive even if he don't. Goddamn fool. This time was worse, though. There were more of them, coming faster then I think even he expected. Hate ta have this talk, again, but it seems 'Mr Standish' needs a refresher on our agreement he not get his fool head blown off while he's acting in a way that's 'only necessary considering the circumstance.' Drive home the idea that we really do need him, preferably alive. Goddamn sonofabitch fool.

The images got worse. It wasn't just the conman in the street, guns blazing. It was all the bullets slamming into the wooden boardwalk and street all around him, the riders that just seemed to keep appearing from nowhere, each drawn like a magnet to the easy target presented before them. It was the sudden, violent explosion as the wagon behind the southerner erupted in a great wall of fire. It was the compact form reeling forward, knocked from its axis, rolling in strange summersaults further into the street. It was the increased danger, as now the felons had clear lines from horseback, coming to him slower now, stalking, choosing their shots. It was knowing with unexplainable yet sickening clarity that the man, his man, was not okay.

Chris shook his head again, grasping the banister and tugged himself up the stairs, three treads at a time.

He paused long enough on the threshold so as not to barge into the sickroom, then sucked in a breath and continued forward. After Buck had run to Ezra's side, he hadn't waited for anyone else. Instead he had shot to his feet, carrying the smaller man against him in a hampered run to the clinic, taking the stairs with surprising efficiency.

Buck man had reappeared on the decking above the street, leaning out and yelling for Nathan until the healer popped out from the saloon where he was tending to some of those caught in the crossfire. The dark-skinned man didn't question, sensing the urgency, and had joined Buck in his rooms. They had been up there ever since, no word traveling back down to the street, the saloon, anywhere, about the gambler's condition.

Chris stood just inside, letting his eyes adjust to the darkened interior. Buck was sitting, shirtless, next to the bed, holding a cloth and gently wiping the sweat that beaded along the southerner's upper lip and brow. Ezra's lips were gleaming with a thick layer of something, and Chris figured they were smeared with some sort of balm.

Nathan was leaning against the wall, head in hands, posture one of exhaustion and defeat. The worry that had lodged in the gunslinger's heart from the onset of this whole mess reared with new life, squirming about and gaining strength until it was almost more than he could stand. He glanced from the two at the bed then to Nathan, and back again.

His lips pursed and finally he was able to whisper harshly. "Nathan?"

The healer moved a little, raising his head and meeting the concerned gaze of his leader. He shook his head, opening his arms. "Don't know. I just don't know." At the man in black's swift intake of breath he stepped forward, wanting to reassure. "He ain't gonna die. That much I do know. Nothing so wrong with him like that."

Chris nodded, relief pouring through him, making him feel a little giddy. The vivid stain on the gambler's shirtfront worried him.

He reined in his emotions to ask, "What about the blood?"

The healer turned, seeking what Chris was asking about.

He nodded. "It's nothing really. Landed there from a cut in his lip. Buck says that happened in the street. Says Ez was biting his lip something awful, figures it was to keep himself from retching if he could." He shook his head. "Man has more self control than I can understand most days."

Chris bobbed his head in agreement.

Nathan continued. "My best guess is he's in some sorta shock. After being kicked like he was by that explosion, it ain't surprising. Aside from that he's got a small wound in his back where a flying bit of wood got him, but it's nothing to worry after. I probably won't even make him wear the 'dreaded' sling."

At his words the blond's mouth twisted just barely, amused over the name Ezra had graced the bit of cloth with.

"He ain't responding to anything right now – not me or Buck. Only time he quieted was when Buck actually touched him, cooling him with a cloth." The former slave looked askance at the pair. "He's been doing that now for awhile." He shrugged, expression bewildered. "Wish I knew what to tell ya, Chris. I really do. I just don't know. We'll have to wait and see."

Chris nodded again, reaching up and giving the healer's shoulder a quick squeeze, walking around the bed as he spoke. "That's good enough for now, Nathan. I know you're doing your best by him. If that's all we get for awhile, well, I can think of much worse situations to be in."

Nathan healer bobbed his head and turned back to Ezra, walking over to the bedside so he could check on the gambler's condition. He looked up and shook his head – no change. Chris sank down into the armchair in the corner of the room, settling himself to wait the other man out.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra stifled a groan and for a moment lay perfectly still as he tried to place himself. Scratchy blanket. Hard bed. Slightly tangy smell of herbs. Not very bright – no light pushing in under my lids. No outstanding sounds however…I'd say, though, without a doubt this is the clinic. Lord. Whatever did I do this time to end up here? A memory from what happened in the street, the piercing pain and disorientation flared in him. Ah. That.

The gambler squirmed discreetly, trying to find a more comfortable position. After he settled back in he paused a moment, taking stock of his condition. Well, whatever Nathan crammed down into me while I was unconscious certainly was powerful. I believe I am still feeling its effects.

The gambler couldn't hear anything, his mind buzzing a little. He felt distant, unfocused. He let his head tilt to the side and opened one eye in a bare slit, wanting to survey the room before announcing his return. The door to the clinic was open, revealing the world beyond to be shrouded in darkness. That meant he had been out for at least an entire day, considering the attempted robbery occurred just past dawn.

Ezra had not yet retired for the evening, and was able to be the first to run out into the street at the sounds caused by the disturbance. He had planned to be quite annoyed at whomever it was that decided to interrupt his intention to finally call it a night. With that timeline in mind he grimaced, realizing his clothing was now almost two days old.

Vin was leaning against the wall next to the door; the tracker's head turned some as he stared out into the night. He felt great relief at seeing the Texan, a weight in his mind lifting at the sight. He remembered his earlier near panic in the street, feeling sure Vin had been in danger. He was heartened to see it had not been so.

A light breeze lifted the ends of the lean man's hair a little, the sienna locks twirling against his shoulder. Normally Ezra could hear the wind as it made its way through the town, the whistling sound made as it funneled into the few knotholes in the walls of Nathan's clinic. Wind must be too inconsequential to cause that. Still, it would be comforting to hear those familiar strains. It is always somewhat balancing to be reminded of the mundane while lying here.

He let his eye roam, finding Buck right next to his bed, the normally bright blue eyes dim with worry and fatigue. A shirt was thrown around the lanky man's shoulders, only the lower buttons fastened. Ezra wondered if it had been unseasonably hot that day.

JD was sitting next to Buck, and the gambler could tell the youth was doing his best to stay focused on the novella on his lap but wasn't able to. The only time the southerner had ever seen the sheriff still was when he read. Right now he was shifting forward and side to side in the chair – a clear indication there was no actual 'reading' going on. Josiah was in the back corner of the clinic in the large armchair, head bent in meditation.

Ezra let his gaze wander back to the other side of the room.

Chris and Nathan were standing next to the dresser the healer used as a work surface, heads close together. Ezra could see their lips moving but couldn't make out what was being said. Must be due to how low their tones are…the sounds probably just don't carry to me clear enough to be heard. Both men looked preoccupied.

His eyes traveled back to Vin, and as he watched the sharpshooter's head snapped around towards the middle of the room, just to Ezra's right. Alarm spread up into the gambler's chest at the action. He opened his other eye to look. JD was standing back up, lips moving as he righted the chair. Buck was holding him by a shoulder, supporting the smaller man as he moved and sat back down.

The southerner felt a heaviness in his chest that was quickly followed by a burst of pure panic. A cold sweat shivered up his spine and settled in under his hairline. He knew.

If he were honest with himself, it was something he had known without really knowing the moment he had awoken. Everything about lying here in the utter stillness had whispered to his mind what he now knew was the truth. I am deaf. For whatever reason, by whatever cause, I can no longer hear. Miserable saints be damned.

He must have made some sort of exclamation, for the occupants of the room's attention turned from JD to his prone figure. Nathan came over and knelt down, the gambler automatically 'answering' the questions he knew would be asked.

He turned his head, making certain to focus on the healer's mouth as it moved. Ezra was relatively adept at reading lips. It was a skill he had taught himself over the years, one he had found invaluable time and again: observing a potential mark across a crowded room, finding out tidbits they had spoken in confidence to their companion. Watching from afar as a potential threat to Four Corners discussed their plans, weaponry, details of the other men with them.

Once again his dedication to making certain he mastered what others may never think to learn proved its worth. He wasn't able to catch the full nuance of every word that was uttered, but it was certainly enough for his sharp mind to divine the gist of what was being communicated. Nathan's mouth was moving still, and Ezra kept most of his concentration there, but another, deeper part was busy as well.

He was deaf, and that change meant change for them all – and certainly not change for the better. His mind worked in double time, quickly planning and fitting together hasty ideas for his escape. He could do something which would cause them initial harm, but that in the end would be best. Steal from the bank perhaps, or wait for one of the deposit stages to come through town and make away with that.

It wasn't the money that mattered – rather it was needing something which would make them feel he'd finally given in and succumbed to his lesser nature, something that Larabee would scowl about and categorize as 'running out.' That way he could have a clean break, for his actions would ensure his comrades would have no desire to ever find him again.

Ezra would not be responsible for bringing any of them harm because he was unable to fulfill his duties to the highest measure. The most likely prevention of such an event was if he left without a trace or reason for the others to seek him out. He tried to ignore his heart, the ache that settled there at his thoughts.

The stubborn ache wouldn't budge, and under that pressure another plan came to light. Perhaps he could con his comrades, get them to believe he could still hear, buy some time until his hearing was restored. And if it is never restored, what then? And how long can you truly maintain such an effort…especially when it is these men who you must con.

Ezra sighed, angry with himself for having become the type of person who now more often saw the benefit in being direct and truthful than scheming his way around an obstacle. No, I still scheme…I still revel in running a flawless con. There is no questioning that. But what I also do not do is see…my friends…as an obstacle. They deserve the truth. They deserve it now. He held up a hand, stilling Nathan's stream of queries and shook his head.

"Mr Jackson, you will forgive my interruption. If you could kindly listen only, I will answer what you must be asking the best I am able. There is no bone I feel that could be broken, fractured, bruised. My left shoulder hurts some, it feels like something punctured my flesh. My lungs feel fine, as does my midsection and all its parts. I don't believe I have a fever, and though I am still somewhat queasy, I don't think this shall have any lingering effects to my appetite."

He paused, looking around him. All six men had clustered around the bed, and were looking at him with brows furrowed. Yes, I do suppose this is odd. I usually do my level best to endure the briefest of proddings from our fine healer, and I certainly never use this sort of detail when answering his questions.

Ezra did his best to ignore them and continued.

"What does hurt is my head. It has subsided a bit from what it was before, but it certainly isn't what I would call pleasant. During the robbery, something happened, though I'm not sure what. I remember coming to, lying in the street. My head was pounding worse than I have ever experienced, as if I were standing right next to a bell in the tower as someone announced the hour." Ezra grimaced. "I also believe I was sick.

His gaze wandered to Buck, head bobbing once in satisfaction. Explains the state of his attire. He smiled, the gesture small, wan.

"My sincere apologies, Mr Wilmington." He kept his gaze on Buck, making certain nothing was said that required a response beyond another head bob. There was none. "After the ringing there was nothing. That is when I succumbed for the final time before waking now."

The dark-skinned man leaned in close, eyes searching. "What do you mean by nothing, Ezra?"

The gambler shut his eyes, wishing what was true could be undone, wanting so desperately not to have to make his terrible announcement. "Just as that, Mr Jackson – nothing. As it is still."

Nathan shook his head, but Ezra could see the understanding that dawned in the dark eyes. "No, Ez. Must be the shock, something like that. We should wait to see until after you've rested some."

The gambler shook his head. "I fear that my instincts tell me that no amount of rest will bring restoration to my condition." The healer's features fell, and the southerner hastened to add, "There is nothing, was nothing, you could have done. I don't know fully the events of this morning, but I would surmise whatever caused this happened then, not from lack of action on your part. Agreed?" He paused, waiting for the other man to affirm his sentiment.

"You could be right, Ezra. When you were in the street, the wagon that gang rode in with exploded and it wasn't no small matter either. Threw you nearly half across the street. You were the only one close to it, probably too close. Explains the pain you mentioned in your back too. I had to pull a pretty big hunk of that wagon out of you earlier and patch it up." Nathan paused, then the eyes were questioning, focused on the gambler. "If there's nothing, like you say, how come we're having this conversation?"

For the first time since he had woken up, Ezra felt a modicum of pleasure. He lifted a hand and tapped Nathan's chin just under his lips. "When they move, I hear." He answered simply.

A movement to his right had him looking at Buck. He could see the confusion and worry in the man's eyes, and knew it was mirrored in the others present.

Damn. I should not have excluded them for so long. Remarkable the amount of concentration it requires to speak without hearing one's own words, how quickly you can forget that others are about when you cannot hear them.

Buck's mouth was moving, but it was too late for Ezra to catch the beginning. All he saw was, 'what's…moving, what's…hearing?' He swiveled back to face Nathan, their eyes meeting. Ezra nodded.

"What I mean, Mr Wilmington, is that I am able to read lips. It is a skill I acquired some time ago. I have never been more grateful of that fact before today."

Buck's blue eyes narrowed. "What does your reading lips got to do with anything? Are you okay or not? Won't one of you just answer me?"

Ezra could hear without hearing the words, could sense the way the ladies man's voice would sound wrapped around his sentences, could feel the inflections, the quality. It was oddly disconcerting yet comforting at the same time.

"Reading lips has suddenly become tantamount to hearing for me I am afraid." The gambler's mouth pursed when he realized what he'd said had not been understood. Well, best to be blunt then.

"Mr Jackson explained there was an explosion, and I was near it?" Buck nodded. "The unfortunate reality of my proximity to that calamity was that I am now without the ability to hear. I cannot perceive a sound, Mr Wilmington, so my being able to answer you and Mr Jackson come only from my skill in reading lips. I am deaf."

Blue eyes widened, the mouth under a bushy moustache gaping. The rogue shook his head. "No way, Ez. Nathan just said, maybe it's the shock. That you need your rest, when after you've taken it easy for a time you'll be all good as new again." He looked up, blue eyes fierce. "Ain't that right, Nathan? Ain't that what you said?"

Ezra turned to look at the healer. Nathan only nodded.

Ezra quickly returned his attentions to Buck.

"See?" The handsome face was determined. "We just need to make sure you ain't doing anything at all for a week or so, get you on the mend. You aren't deaf, Ez. I know you aren't. This is just something temporary, like a bruise or something." Buck straightened in his chair, onto an idea that his mind was now working over. "Yeah, that's it. Just a big bruise to your head. Always figured it was too hard to hurt permanent anyway, so that's gotta be good. Once it heals, you'll be all fine."

Eyes crinkled just a little when Buck smiled softly. "Thought it was weird, you talking a little slower than normal, your words all flat sounding without your usual silver tongue, you looking at each of us so hard when we talked. Plus you didn't answer anyone's questions. Well, you never answer anyone's questions, but you always get annoyed with us for asking."

Ezra didn't have the heart to correct his friend, and a small part of him clung to the words, wishing fervently for them to be the truth. He thought about what Buck said and realized he hadn't made any contact with the rest of his waiting, and most likely anxious, teammates.

He looked at each of them in turn, holding their gazes for a long moment before moving on. Only Vin returned the stare in his usual manner, the others clouded with their anxieties, guilt, and on Larabee's part the all-consuming glare he used to mask all other emotions.

Ezra was glad Vin was able to extend his calm acceptance to encompass this as well. He would need it in the days to come. The thought of what to do next overwhelmed him suddenly, eclipsing all else, draining him of the last of his strength. Ezra felt his eyes droop, then a gentle hand was patting his left shoulder. He looked up into Nathan's face.

"You're falling back to sleep, Ez. Don't fight it. You just rest now, okay? We'll figure this all out, I promise."

Ezra nodded even as he faded, the world closing as if shuttered behind an iris, then he was asleep.

+ + + + + + +

The next few days saw Ezra drifting in and out of awareness. Each time he would shift or sigh, someone was there with a comforting gesture, a sip of water, a reassuring glance. The wound in his back was healing as nicely and easily as Nathan had predicted, though there was no change to alter his deafness.

Four Corners itself had settled back down after the robbery attempt and events following, the people once again finding their confidence in their seven hired guns was more than just. It had been agreed upon that no one outside the seven should know yet about the gambler's condition, the rest believing that in time his hearing would be restored and it would be easier on him if the whole town weren't apprised. For his part Ezra had offered no opinions about how to proceed, so the other six had made the decision for him.

The problem was, Ezra had offered no opinions on anything. He hadn't complained about still being in the clinic, hadn't made his usual great show of suffering through Nathan's attentions and teas. It had the others worried, and the worry grew as each day they felt him slip further and further away. Josiah looked down the main street from his position on the top step of the church, then sighed and stood, deciding to climb his way up yet again to go and check on his favorite son.

It really was troubling, not knowing how to proceed, not knowing how to get a response from the gambler, now that it was clear he had decided to close himself off. If we don't figure out something fast, we're going to lose him. God help me if we do…God help us all. His brow was knitted together as he entered the clinic, deep in thought as his mind worked to find something to pique the southerner's interest. He grinned a little, hoping he had hit upon the right thing.

"Nathan, good afternoon brother."

The healer nodded then turned back to his dresser. The dark-skinned man was loading supplies into a bag.

"A mission of mercy that you must attend?" Josiah questioned.

"Yeah, Mrs. Foster took a spill and I'm going to make sure there ain't nothing I should be patching up on her. Shouldn't be anything difficult. You stay with Ez long as you like."

The big man nodded slowly. "I've an idea, Nathan. If it works, it would mean brother Ezra would no longer be staying in the clinic. Would that be acceptable?"

Nathan stilled his actions, hands hovering over the last of his equipment. He turned and studied his friend. "Don't see that it'd be a bad thing. He just needs rest – can get that just as easily in his room as here. Probably better. When I asked him this morning if he was ready to go back, he actually made a positive non-committal noise instead of the outright non-committal sounds he's been using lately." He shrugged.

"Be a good thing if you can get him to react, restore his interest in something. Maybe getting him to his room, back to his own things is the way to go." Nathan bobbed his head once and scooped up the bag. "I'll leave you to it." He made his way to the door, pausing to lean back in and look the ex-preacher up and down, "and Josiah, good luck."

The older man nodded, his eyes expressing his thanks. He stood for a moment thinking, then shook his head to clear the cobwebs. Josiah turned towards the bed and the neat pile of things on the small table next to it.

They had bathed and changed Ezra a few days ago, but had left his personal items there, not wanting to disturb them, or the man's room to return them. Josiah started looking through them now, poking about for something specific. After awhile he finally got what he was hoping for.

"My dear Mr Sanchez, whatever do you think you are doing?"

The big man grinned, turning enough to the side for the other man to see him but not ceasing his actions. "Looking for something, brother Ezra."

An annoyed sigh huffed next to him. "That I could ascertain, Sir. My question, to rephrase, would be: what exactly are you seeking to find within my belongings?"

Josiah made a sound of satisfaction and closed his hand around the small object. His grin grew, and he turned to Ezra. "This!" he said, and opened his hand, letting the key on the small chain fall loose so it dangled.

Green eyes widened slightly, but to Josiah it may as well have been the gambler jumping out of bed to demand an answer. So far, so good

"Had this quote in my mind for the past few days now, niggling at me so it won't go away. It's something I'd like to see in the actual print instead of just thinking it again and again. That and I do believe I am remembering it incorrectly, and I'd like to be sure."

The southerner raised a brow. "And the key will assist you, how?.."

The big hand snatched the key close again. "Figured I'd get to your room, rummage around a little. Know you have this book there, thought it offered a good solution. I get to see my quote, and no one is bothered." He shrugged a little, doing his best not to show his satisfaction.

The effect was just as he had hoped. Ezra greatly disliked anyone 'rummaging' though his things, but to invade the sanctity of his room in search of something…that could well be a declaration of war on the other individual's part.

Ezra sat up a little more. "Perhaps if you were to tell me what it is you can't quite remember I could refresh your sensibilities – I am quite able to recite most anything in my personal library verbatim."

Josiah shook his head. "No, I'd like to borrow the book I think. That's the whole idea anyway. I pretty much know what was said, but sometimes there's just no substitute to holding the actual volume in your hands, being able to study the words for a long as you like, reread if you choose. Thanks all the same."

He smiled, then paused, feigning puzzlement. "You don't mind, of course? I do apologize, Ezra. I never would have assumed permission if I thought my idea was out of line."

The green eyes sparkled some, and Josiah's heart felt lightened at the sight. He could just hear the arguments, the next offer, whatever else – he didn't care – as long as it was something to engage the man. You see, we do know you now, better than you would like to admit…

"I had tentatively brought up the subject with our fine healer this morning that I be allowed to return to my room. He had no argument with the idea. Which is most opportune in my thinking as this could be of great benefit to us both." Ezra waved a hand in a vague gesture. "I will require some assistance in returning all of my things to my quarters, and you will be able to borrow the book. With much more ease, I might add, as you will not have to search for it. I'd be happy for you to take it for as long as you like."

The big man nodded and started gathering Era's things, shoving this here and that there, filling his pockets with the man's odds and ends. After that task was completed he turned to the bed and helped the southerner gain his feet, remaining in place as the smaller man steadied himself.

Green eyes looked up, expression rueful. "It seems I have overindulged in relaxation. And to think, this was something I believed impossible."

Josiah didn't say anything, instead moving so he and the gambler were hip to hip, wrapping a strong arm around the other man and walked them with patience towards the door. They continued on that way, taking the stairs with Josiah leading and Ezra following, his hands on the bigger man's shoulders as they slowly descended. They walked to the saloon, Josiah answering the well wishers and questions encountered along the way. They were at the stairs inside the saloon when Ezra paused.

"A moment please, if you will."

The big man complied easily, drawing a chair close for Ezra to rest back into. JD and Buck had already gathered around, grinning at the sight of the gambler returning to the saloon, looking more interested and alert then they had seen since the explosion.

JD smiled at Josiah. "Need any help getting him the rest of the way?" The big man shook his head.

"Hey, Ez. Good to see you up and about." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Once you get up there, holler down if you need anything, okay?"

Ezra smiled a little. "It is indeed a pleasure to be up and about, Mr Dunne. And thank you for the offer. I shall keep it under advisement. For now, however, I do believe I am ready to simply return to my room and rest. Mr Sanchez, if you are amenable, we can go to retrieve that book which has your mind so arrested."

Josiah grinned, his amazing display of teeth flashing with the gesture. JD stood and hopped off the stair, moving to the side so the pair could pass. He and Buck shared a smile, and the two watched as their friends ascended the stairs. They could just hear Ezra's voice float down before the door was shut.

"Of course my copy of Dante's Inferno is in the original latin verse. However else would you read it?"

+ + + + + + +

So this is my sentence: silence, utter and complete. Ezra sighed again, annoyed he couldn't hear the sound. He was without the aid of any of Nathan's concoctions brewed to soothe and eventually knock out. There was no one around to sit beside the bed, and though he would never admit it he missed that, missed the security it provided. After Josiah had taken the book and left, Ezra had fully intended to lie down and rest, but found it difficult to do so.

Instead he has put all his things away, straightened the tidy room, flicked imaginary dust from all the surfaces. He had undressed with care, washing in the porcelain basin before finally giving in to his fatigue and falling into the bed. At least when he was moving about, hands and mind busy with activity, his attention wasn't drawn only to his new state. Now, however, in the dark of night, it was the only thing he could think about.

There were no external sounds, the usual tics that normally he would complain about but were a comfort all the same: noises that filtered to him from the saloon; different creatures and their songs; the weather conditions heralding themselves outside his room. This, however, he could learn to do without. There were many times on the trail when he'd been very thankful for the 'silence' he found there, a bare wind and the occasional animal noise his only company. But missing those sounds wasn't the worst of it. The deafness had stolen everything, so that even he was gone to himself, the damnable silence so all-encompassing as to rob him of even that.

There was no heartbeat, no rhythm of his steady breathing, no faint shiftings as his body moved of its own accord. He had lain for quite some time, curled tight on his side, concentrating on the effect caused by the position of being able to feel his pulse beating through his shoulders and neck, tangible proof he was indeed existing and alive. The cramped position had finally gotten the better of him, and he'd rolled onto his back, one hand coming to rest on his sternum just below his throat, thumb pressing lightly into the hollow to maintain contact with his pumping heart.

It was many hours before he had given up trying to sleep, and was working on convincing himself that maybe just relaxing would be enough to see him through tomorrow. But even being able to settle evaded him. He lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, mind unwilling to allow its person to give into the overwhelming fatigue it was suffering.

Every defense that automatically kicked in when he would succumb was unavailable to him now, making sleep seem dangerous, unwanted. He sighed and moved restlessly, then froze. The barest movement of light shifted outside his door, and he sucked in a breath, then expelled it, cursing internally. Makes no difference if you breathe…not like it will impede how well you hear.

He waited, the air around him feeling still and stifling. Without his wanting to, his mind strained to hear the noise that must have been accompanying the movement outside of his room. There was too much ingrained habit in that to have been able to resist so soon after his loss.

The flickering light around the door grew, and Ezra knew it was being opened. He rolled back into the bed, reaching without err to grasp his Remington, and brought it to point at the intruder. His heart was accelerated to a pace much greater than he usually encountered in this situation, the danger seeming tenfold to his impaired mind.

A familiar form became silhouetted in his doorframe and Ezra relaxed, letting the gun fall, but he didn't relinquish the weapon completely. Vin nodded once, then shut the door behind him firmly and locked it again. He turned back into the room and raised his hand, the instrument he'd used to pick the lock glinting in the bare light.

The tracker walked around the bed and set the low-burning lamp down, then turned and wrapped a booted foot around one of the legs of the rocker. He dragged it close to the bed and settled himself into it, grabbing a folded blanket from the foot of the bed as he sat. Ezra had reholstered his weapon and was half-sitting against the headboard, question ready in his green eyes. The sharpshooter took a few more minutes to get comfortable, then turned and met the gaze steadily.

"Heard ya were missin' that feather bed of yours. Well, that and Josiah giving ya quite the fright suggesting he come up here and poke around unattended." Blue eyes smirked, then softened. "Wondered if ya might not be having trouble letting go enough ta sleep. Figured I'd come ta check. After what all you've been through, Ez, I know ya need some. Seems I was right."

Azure eyes remained focused, mouth moving just a bit slower, a bit more pronounced than usual, allowing the gambler to follow the words as they were uttered. The southerner nodded in understanding.

Vin reached out and patted the bed, indicating that Ezra should lie back down. "Ya jus get yerself settled and go ahead and sleep. I'll be here making sure nobody bothers ya. Okay?"

Instead of trying to answer, Ezra just let out the tension in his body and slid down into his bed, moving some to gain a comfortable position. He ended up curled on his right side, but not so tight as before, facing the quiet tracker. He closed his eyes and felt for, then found his pulse with his left hand, and let out his breath. He was suddenly aware that this was the first time he was actually at ease since coming to his room for the night.

Ezra opened his eyes a little, watching Vin turn the lamp down, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could see his friend again. He reached his right hand out, letting it rest on the bed, and it was taken without hesitation.

"Thank you, Mr Tanner."

He didn't say more, not even aware that sleep had already come to him, taking him in its grasp away from the room and his company. The tracker nodded, rocking slowly, making sure to keep his hand lightly clasped around the gambler's.

"Anytime, Ez. Anytime."

+ + + + + + +

JD entered the saloon, eyes instantly roaming the interior for signs of Ezra. This was the only place outside of his room and Chaucer's stall to find the gambler anymore, though it was the rare occasion he was actually seen gambling.

It had been four days since the southerner had returned to his room, and during that time communication between the injured man and his companions had slowed to a near stop, the others watching with helpless anxiety as he drew inexorably further and further away from them. The only steady contact the conman had shared with anyone was when Vin sat with him each night to help him sleep, but even that had changed, as last night he had calmly but firmly asked the tracker remain in the saloon when he had retired for the evening. The Texan hadn't argued, but after Ezra left he hadn't said anything else either, and soon he was mumbling an excuse and pushing out of the room with uncharacteristic haste.

The rest had just sat in pained silence, wondering where this would all end, searching their minds for something, anything to do. From JD's observation, it wasn't that Ezra was necessarily depressed, or that he was angry with any one of them specifically – rather it was more like that keen brain was working away at something with the gambler's usual thoroughness, something that required his absolute attention. JD hoped in time his friend would come back to them.

A slow, almost mournful song threaded its way through the saloon, meeting JD's ears, crimping his heart with its plaintive chords. Without knowing why he was suddenly fighting tears, and he pushed them back, shaking his head a little before resuming his search for Ezra. The saloon was almost deserted. Inez leaned on a hand, the other idly flipping in the air to prevent the circling flies from landing. A man lay, head down, on one of the tables opposite the room from the piano. The piano. Thinking of the instrument the young sheriff turned, chest constricting at the sight. He'd found him.

The gambler was playing the upright, bench pulled tight so his legs were under the keyboard almost to his hips, hands moving with the gambler's typical grace over the keys. His head was turned at an acute angle, features in profile facing JD where he stood in the middle of the room. One of his ears was pressed against the wood panel that covered the hammers and strings inside the instrument's cavity.

JD stood, openmouthed with amazement. Ez plays piano? His brow crinkled with confusion. Ez is playing the piano, now? A thought occurred to him, something about the posture of his friend triggering his memory.

He remembered being in the big house as a child, flitting into the music room where he wasn't allowed, thinking no one was around, thus giving him opportunity to explore and admire the wonders of that forbidden place. The shuffling of feet set his heart racing, his movements becoming a flurry of panic as he searched for a place to hide. The gleaming black grand piano was his only hope.

It was pushed into the corner of the room at an angle, the generous curves bowing out into the room, proudly presenting its keyboard to whomever happened by, tempting fingers to caress. The frightened boy had scurried under the big instrument and pressed himself against the corner where the two walls met. He waited, breathless, praying fervently the intruder would leave.

Measured footsteps drew nearer and nearer his position, and to his horror the supple, black leather upholstered bench was pulled out from under the piano, scraping quietly on the gleaming wood floor. He was certain he had been discovered, his mind working frantically to devise an excuse for being present. He waited, eyes screwed shut, breath sucked in, certain now he had been discovered. It was then the music began.

He felt it rumble though his entire person, each cord a vibration in his body. The song resonated from the belly of the grand and echoed through the walls, making him feel possessed by the notes as they artfully emanated around him, through him. It seemed even his bones hummed along.

JD's eyes softened, realizing now what his friend was doing. He stepped forward slowly, making his way towards the concentrating man with care. He pulled a chair away from the nearest table and sat so he was facing the wall more than Ezra, waiting for the song to conclude. He wondered what the song was, wondered if it was written in such a way that it always sounded this sad, or if Ezra's playing made it such.

His attention wandered, the music soothing him as it washed around him, until the last note was fading. JD turned, not at all surprised to see alert green eyes pinning him in place. He smiled a little. To his amazement Ezra looked almost embarrassed, and the young sheriff wanted to take that away. He held up a hand.

"Sounded real good, Ez. You're one hell of a piano player." he said simply, taking care to speak a little slower so the gambler could keep up.

The southerner just nodded, standing abruptly. JD was disappointed – he would have requested Ezra play more, would have been proud for the man to allow the moment to be extended, to share this with him. He was also worried, thinking about the last week and the rapidly diminishing interaction between Ezra and everyone else. Worse than when we first knew Ez. Walls probably twice as thick right now. Wonder if we'll ever make it back through again. Wonder too if I can blame him if we don't.

He watched as Ezra straightened his clothes, turning slightly to face him fully, one hand then the other tugging once at white cuffs to position them 'just so.' He answered the question hovering in the younger man's mind.

"That is my favorite piece," Ezra said simply, eyes washing over with a sad, wistful gleam that tore at JD's heart.

Just that quickly the shutters returned, the emerald eyes impassive. Ezra bowed slightly before turning sharply on a heel and headed for the stairs.

Without thinking JD yelled after him. "What's it called, Ez? It's real nice."

Brown eyes widened then clamped shut, and JD could feel his face burning. After a breathless moment he eased one eye open, daring to peek, and was relieved to see no trace of the gambler. Good. Probably didn't even notice my mistake. Hate for that to cause him embarrassment, or hurt of some kind.

JD thought a bit. Wish he'd stayed. Haven't really talked to him since…since all this happened. Want to know how he is, make sure he's really okay. He shook his head. Another time, I guess. Didn't mean to disturb a private moment like that…no reason for Ez to be upset I found him doing that though. Hope he knows it.

JD made for the bar, smiling when a glass of water appeared without his asking. He drank it in two full gulps, letting the container fall through his grip to land back on the wood surface.

He bobbed his head once. "Inez," he said, then made his way back out to the street.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra sat on the peak of the roof, looking down onto the main street of the dusty little burg that had somehow come to represent home to him. He cursed himself for giving into the want to play that damn song, for leaving himself so vulnerable. It was one of the few things he could 'hear' anymore, the different vibrations making up the familiar piece discernable to him even now that he was deaf, giving him the feeling of listening to it.

During the moments he played he felt almost restored. At least it could have been indulged after closing, when the threat of discovery would be greatly reduced or even eliminated. He was working not to resent the understanding he'd seen in JD's eyes, the damnable understanding. A sharp bark of laughter erupted from his chest.

Understanding was the last thing he wanted to admit he needed, the last thing he was capable of being faced with. The unnecessary raising of their voices, the talking in front of him as if he were not present, the guilty faces he saw when they thought he wasn't paying attention. That he could withstand, that he had the tools to fight against. But not a pair of soulful brown eyes, warm and open, looking at him with that cursed understanding.

Ezra had always been willing to give the young sheriff credit when and where no others would. He regretted right then that he was correct the credit was most often due. God knows what state I will crumble into if I allow this seizing terror in me to erupt, all because JD comprehended how I could 'hear' the piano, that he sat there in acceptance of what I was doing, ready to matter of factly accept more. Too bad he did not look at me cross-eyed. That would have been much easier to confront.

As it was Ezra felt he'd behaved poorly, taking his leave abruptly, unable to express his gratitude that it was JD who had found him, that the brown eyes did only reflect patience and willingness to help. And understanding. His hasty retreat had been the only action within his ability.

The encounter, however, further brought into overwhelming clarity the rightness of his decision to leave Four Corners without a trace. He could not take existing within their tender concerns, feel his impairment all the more pointedly as his friends worked harder and harder to overcome it, to show that it didn't matter. Too much of an independent cuss for that…and besides, it does matter.

Beyond that he could not, would not, let himself be relied upon only to fail them because his condition brought them all to harm. The gambler had craved their brotherhood for a long time now, and recently had begun to allow himself the pleased indulgence in what it felt like to belong to them, with them. But their pity, their willingness to aid, their fucking understanding – that would be his downfall.

Life truly must find me an agile student, for it tests me greatly at every turn. Interesting that now that I've finally fallen into the fullest measure of comfort I've ever experienced, that I should be forced to turn from it. More interesting still that the turning will come from me, not from the others, when that is what I have been secretly expecting…fearing…for so long. Perhaps for this I should be thankful…that in the end they were willing…

Ezra wondered when he left where exactly he could go. He wondered how long he could maintain the charade of being able to hear until he was found out and had to leave town after town. He would still be able to gamble – he was well beyond needing to hear to be able to read other people, gauge their reactions, predict their moves. He could survive well enough with the funds he could make that way.

Bile rose in his throat at the thought and he adamantly swallowed it back down. He was of no help this way, and he could not bear staying, fading ever and ever more into obscurity as his usefulness was steadily eclipsed by his impairment. No, better to leave now while he still had a modicum of his dignity. The others were still mostly preoccupied with trying to figure out how to relate to him, working to get past their shock at his condition. They were too involved with attempting to help him to realize his intentions.

Well, all except for Vin. Ezra was certain the tracker had noticed what could only be subtle changes in his demeanor that would indicate his decision to leave. For the first time he was glad he couldn't hear. It would make ignoring Vin as he attempted to sway him that much easier.

With a sigh Ezra stood, arms flying out to help his balance. He still wasn't as steady on his feet as he'd like, but it really wasn't that bad as long as he let other parts of his anatomy help in keeping him upright.

It would be tonight that he left – well after everyone else had settled in, the cover of darkness helping him to escape undetected. He squinted into the fading sun as he walked along the roof just under the peak until he got to the eaves. He laid down on his belly and gripped the overhang, then flipped his body over, lowering himself easily over the second story balcony before letting go, feet making sound contact as he dropped the short distance remaining. He straightened his clothes and took the stairs down to the alley, then turned onto the main street. He sighed internally when he saw a familiar, leaning figure in front of his destination. It was almost as if the sharpshooter were waiting him out.

He pushed past Vin, making his way to the batwing doors with determination. The longhaired man just moved with him, once again putting his body between the gambler and the saloon. Ezra tilted his head away and lifted a shoulder, intent on getting by his friend. A strong hand shot out and clamped around his upper arm, wrenching his so he was face to face with the lean man. Vin's blue eyes were intense, the indigo depths pinning Ezra more effectively than any physical hold could.

The Texan shook his head. "Ya ain't leaving, Ez. Got no need ta. Don't intend ta stand around and let ya think ya should either."

For his part the Ezra worked to achieve the performance of his life. "I assure you, Mr Tanner, my intention is only to achieve the saloon, get a drink, then retire to my room. I find I am quite…fatigued."

He was determined to keep his eyes from wavering, using all his talent to convince the sharp attentions of the man preventing his passage of his sincerity. Blue eyes narrowed, and Ezra could barely discern a flutter of concern pass through them. So, he is working hard to con me as well. So be it. Normally I would be flattered…for now I simply must attain my objective. A long moment stretched between them.

"Long as that's all that's wrong, Ez."

Ezra lifted his hand and moved it so Vin's was pushed away, freeing himself from the determined grasp. He blinked, conscience screaming as he outright lied to one of the few friends he had ever acquired in his life.

"I do not think it is anything to raise concern. It is doubtless caused by the strain of trying to adjust to my condition."

Vin's lips pursed, but finally the sharpshooter nodded. "Okay, Ez. But ya find ya need anything, ya let me know. Understand? Ya need ta understand too I'm pretty sure where that mind of yours has gotten ya over these past few days, and that place ain't a necessary one ta be in. Consider yerself duly warned."

The flutter passed through the azure orbs again, extinguished before the gambler could get a clear read of it. Ezra just nodded in return, working to quell the relief that welled in his belly. At least the Texan seemed pacified by his explanation.

Vin stepped to the side, gesturing for the southerner to precede him into the saloon. The conman saluted and walked briskly forward, making his way to the bar and getting a drink before escaping to his room. There was much to prepare before his intended departure that night.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra sighed and dismounted, walking to Chaucer's head, stroking the velvet nose while he crooned a little before leading his mount to a large rock. He tied his horse to it, then deftly unsaddled the animal before giving him a rubdown. That completed he went about the business of setting up camp for the night.

Dusk was upon them, and though the gambler wanted to put as much distance between himself and Four Corners as was possible, he couldn't risk traveling though unfamiliar terrain in darkness. Once the small, smokeless fire looked like it would sustain itself, he headed down to the bare trickle of a stream nearby to get water.

He filled his coffee pot and a large bowl with the cold, clear liquid, and set them aside, cupping the water in his hands and washing his face and neck. He patted his face dry with a handkerchief, then stopped, hands falling forward, handkerchief forgotten. The gambler stared at the dancing water, weak tears threatening as a hand reached out to skim the smooth, unbroken surface of the running thread. His mind replayed for itself the remembered sound of splashing water, and all at once the intense longing to hear welled up inside, almost overwhelming him.

Ezra shook his head abruptly, snorting in self-derision. He slammed a fist into the water before standing in a jerking motion, grabbing up his things before turning his back on the taunting stream. He made coffee and a little dinner, then rested against a rock, doing his best to ignore the storm of emotions he had been pushing deeper and deeper inside ever since he'd been stricken with this affliction.

He had been sitting for a long time, watching as night came upon him, enjoying the rise of the nearly full moon as it loomed above the flat desert plain. Ezra's senses prickled, the hairs on the back of his neck standing. He held in his breath for an instant, automatically quieting his body's involuntary functions, though it would serve no actual purpose.

His own instincts and a quick glance at Chaucer made him certain he was no longer alone. The gambler stood, bringing his Remington with him, movements slow and purposeful as he worked not to make any unnecessary noise. He cursed inwardly not being able to hear what was happening around him, trying to compensate by turning in a slow circle, squinting over each distant horizon for some sign of whatever had alerted him.

When he came back around he yelped, hand squeezing a little at his gun before recognition clicked in and he quickly released pressure on the trigger.

Vin inclined his head. "Told ya I wasn't figuring ta let ya leave."

Ezra sighed heavily and shook his head, working to ignore how he felt warmed from inside out that Vin had bothered to track him, that at least one of his former associates had made the effort to find him. A tap on his shoulder had his attention back on the Texan's face.

"Besides, I've learned by now not ta argue when I'm given a direct order by a real determined Larabee."

Ezra's brow rose in question. Vin just relaxed into a small smile, then bobbed his head forward a little. The gambler spun on a heel, regretting that he'd done so. Ever since his hearing loss his balance was not what it once was. A hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, preventing him from spinning further or toppling over. His surprise knew no bounds when he realized that hand belonged to a certain dark-clad gunslinger.

"Ez, what'd I tell you about running out on me?" Hazel eyes were serious, concerned, but not angry.

Ezra shook his head, mumbling, "Not running…better like this. No use for you now. Thought this would be best." He tried to shake away from the hand but wasn't able to, his face becoming an impassive mask as he continued, voice growing stronger but more neutral. "I do believe I was quite clear in my letter of resignation as to why I was leaving."

The anger that he'd feared flared to life in Larabee's gaze. The other hand reached out and grasped his free shoulder, and the southerner was on the receiving end of a none too gentle shake.

"Goddammit, Ez. We've been going crazy looking for you, worrying after where you may have ended up. Couldn't you have thought of that? I don't give two shits what you wrote in that letter anyway. I have to accept it to make it so. And I ain't accepting anything."

When the Ezra didn't answer Chris pursed his lips, easing his grip but not letting go. "You ain't useless. And it ain't better you're going. Like it or not, we need you."

Green eyes widened, for once clear and easy for the blond to read. They were filled with disbelief. "Need me for what, Mr Larabee?"

Then Ezra fall back on comfortable habits, his scathing tone making the two men with him grimace some.

"Perhaps I can sit and stare at the safe, making certain it doesn't open on accident. Think of it: I would finally be able to withstand the loathsome duty of keeping watch at the jail, for I would not be able to hear all that the moronic felons we were currently housing had to say. Or I could wait in the saloon to test all new arrivals – you and the townsfolk could wager on how long I could fool visitors into believing I can hear." The last three words were emphasized, an unspoken 'not' hanging in the air between them.

Chris just shook his head, the anger in no way subsiding from Ezra's self-depreciating commentary. "You may have a nicer way of saying things, Ez, but I'm just as damn stubborn and determined as you have ever been. And I've determined ta be stubborn on this. Yer not leaving."

For a moment the gambler flirted with the idea of going back, sidled against the comfort of what it meant for them to have tracked him down, dogged that he should return to the fold. It was a passing fancy; one he knew could never come to fruition. All the same he held it close to his heart, securing it there for a time later on when he would need a warm reminder of the fact that at some time, someone had cared.

He squared his shoulders and stepped away from his friends. "I must disabuse you of that notion, Mr Larabee. There is no way I will be returning with you to Four Corners. It is simply inconceivable." He stepped back, shaking his shoulders from the grip of his one-time leader.

The other man wasn't dissuaded so easily, and simply gave pursuit, face resolute. "Where are you gonna go, Ez? How far and long do you think you'll hafta travel before you outrun the fact that you're deaf?"

Green eyes widened a little at the comment, but Chris continued.

"Who's gonna watch your back when you need it? And you do need it, Ez. We'd never have gotten the drop on you so easily if you had been able to hear us coming. Who's gonna take care of you?"

The last statement shook the gambler a little – it was something he hadn't considered would ever occur to the other man to be concerned about. He straightened his frame, closing off the part of him that was urging he listen and let them take him back to safety, to home.

"Why, I should think that quite obvious, Mr Larabee. I will, as usual. It is hardly a unique position to find myself in. I assure you, I will quite be able to manage."

The hazel-green eyes narrowed. "Ezra. You ain't running."

The southerner could almost hear the barked words, the warning that would be laced within the menacing tone.

He smiled, a small brittle line. "Hmm? I'm sorry," he said, tone flip. "I didn't hear you."

The words may have been a little too far to push things, but he was past caring. All he wanted was to get away before his resolve crumbled, and if this was how he achieved it, well, it would have to be so. Chris' upper lip pulled into a sneer, eyes flashing dangerously. A split second later the tall gunslinger was reaching out for the other man, but the gambler was able to move that much faster. To all of their shock he now stood, a few steps further back from Larabee and Tanner, gun drawn and raised. All of them were rooted in place, not quite believing he had pulled on them, all a little afraid as to what would come next.

"Ez," the Texan began, then waved a hand up and down to draw the man's attention.

It was focused on Chris with frightening intensity. He moved his hand around a little more, and when that failed he just stepped between them.

"Ez, ya don't have ta do it this way. We're only here ta help, we only want ya back because we miss ya. It ain't about pity, it ain't about any of that goddamn crap ya have filling yer head. And Chris is right, ya won't be useless."

Vin ignored Ezra's short, humorless laugh.

"It's true. Yer able ta read people faster than anyone else, and it don't take hearing ta do that. We've always relied on ya being able ta do that fer us, and you've always been dead on too. And you've got so much smarts in that brain I don't think we'd ever figure out how ta run ya dry of it. Hell, more times than I can count it's been yer cock-a-mamey ideas that's gotten us outta scrapes. We still need those ideas."

He took another measured step forward, noticing as Ezra's left hand tossed something, but not really paying close attention to it, more focused on the gun and trying to rescue his friend before the whole situation turned to shit.

"But more'n that Ez. Mostly we'll jus' miss ya. I'll miss ya. Damn, ain't nobody else got the guts ta gang up on Chris with me but you. Ain't nobody else who's gonna teach me ta read in latin soon as I figure out all there is ta know about English. Ain't nobody else gonna be you, Ez. Can't nobody else be my friend like you are."

Ezra closed his eyes for a minute, effectively shutting out means of communication. Chris had stepped forward and was now standing shoulder to shoulder with Vin, arms crossed over his chest as he listened. Together they provided a most formidable show of force, one that the southerner was near capitulating to.

"Mr Tanner," he said, voice cold, detached. "Perhaps it is time you finally decided to show proper respect to authority and quit badgering our illustrious leader outright. Mr Sanchez is familiar with Latin. I'm sure he would be happy to show you what he knows. And as for missing me, well, that is something that will no doubt fade in time. And to the other – we never really were friends. Merely working acquaintances."

Blue eyes flashed angrily in the bright moonlight. Vin stepped forward. "Dammit all ta hell Ez!"

He was cut off when the gambler raised his hand. "It is too late, Mr Tanner. I have already done so."

Confusion showed in the two faces of the men before him, then he saw the flare to his left, indicating his plan of escape had been set into motion. Ezra turned away from the fire, half crouching, half running to Chaucer's side. He wasted no time gathering his supplies from the campsite, but paused only long enough to grab up his saddle before untying his mount and jumping up bareback.

He leaned down, giving his mount his head, kicking into the tender flanks, urging the animal to go faster and faster. Speed was all he was looking for now, and speed Chaucer gave him.

"I am sorry," he whispered as they tore into the night.

+ + + + + + +

Chris and Vin stood back up, each looking at each other, needing only a nod to confirm they were both unharmed. Chris was already cursing, wiping ash and dirt from his face, glowering into the distance.

Vin laughed a little, drawing a dark glare from his companion. He shrugged unapologetically. "Shoulda known the little bugger would have a trick or two up his sleeve. Damn." He walked to the fire and poked at it with his knife. "Saw him throw something but wasn't really concerned about it. Seemed too small ta make much difference." He threw a crooked grin over his shoulder. "Guess I should pay better attention."

Chris nodded his agreement. "Guess we both should have. But damn if he doesn't know just how to get under my skin and rile me so that I don't remember how anymore. All the way here something was telling me that finding him this time had been too easy. Looks like I was right. He'll be more careful now, harder to trace." He looked at his friend, eyes serious. "Vin, he didn't mean what he said. At one time I might have thought different, but I know now, even if he thinks I don't."

The tracker nodded his head. "Yeah, I know. Probably why I'm more impressed at his tryin' ta blow us up than angry. I sure hate that his whole life was nothin' but crap ta make him think alla this is necessary. Be a lot easier iffen he'd jus' give up and come on home." He shook his head. "Don't worry about it Chris. I learned a while ago not ta take him too serious when he's in one o' his moods. I'd hafta say this definitely counts as that."

A bare smile quirked on the handsome face then faded. "Thing is, knowin' Ez well as I do now, only thing I worry about with him saying what he did is how bad he'll let himself feel over it. Me? I'm pretty well over it already cause I know it only came out as a defense, but he'll probably stew in it fer days." Vin had gathered the fire back together, and worked on getting it lit again.

Chris walked around, picking up this and that which had been flung away from the small explosion.

"What now?" Vin asked.

The blond stopped, looking out into the night. "Camp here, might as well. Don't think Ez will get too far, and even so not like we'll have an easy time finding him until light anyway. We'll start after him again in the morning."

Vin didn't comment, but instead retrieved a few things from Peso and Pony, bringing the animals to Chris to take care of. He went towards the sound of running water, finding the small brook not too far away. When he returned Chris had their bedrolls out and ready, both horses grazing on the meager scrub amongst the rocks they had been tied to. He sat down and started a pot of coffee.

A long silence fell between the two men, until Chris finally asked, "You really gonna learn latin?"

Vin nodded. "Yup."

Brows knitted together over hazel-green eyes. "I didn't know that."

Vin nodded again. "Yup."

The man in black sighed, exasperated. "I was asking you a question, you damn ornery Texan."

"You were? Hunh. Sorry. Musta missed it."

Chris clicked his tongue. "You and Ez really do spend too much time together." As soon as the words were out, he curled his lips into a grimace, regretting them. He hadn't missed the reaction from the tracker either, though the other man had tried to hide it. "Damn, Vin, I'm sorry. Didn't mean…" He didn't finish, as the other man cut him off.

"I know, Cowboy, I know. Something that'll happen anyway iffen we don't find him and drag his sorry southern butt back with us, so might as well get used ta it." He sighed. "One day Ez was reading a book, and I asked what it was. Said it was poetry. When I looked at it I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Ez just laughed a little and apologized, tellin' me it was in latin, that all the first of the great poets wrote that way." He shrugged.

"Told me he'd teach me latin too if I wanted ta know, saying that since I was a poet myself it might be a nice way fer me ta decide ta 'court the muse' from time ta time. I told him I'd like that. We decided it'd be best ta wait until I had all my English good and figured first, though. No use confusing me in the middle with something else."

Chris was nodding, an unconscious smile gracing his lips. "Thought you nearly had reading and writing beat?"

Blue eyes smiled with him. "Yeah, well, I do. Course, that's ta my standards. Askin' Ez is something else entirely."

The blond pursed his lips. "Usually is, Pard. Usually is."

The Texan bobbed his head and turned back to the fire, gazing into it thoughtfully. Not too long after they both agreed to call it a night, but neither found sleep easily, both too caught up in anxious worry over their fleeing friend.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra sighed, thinking again about the events of the night before. After he had fled his camp he had spent the entire night and the better part of the next morning using every trick he knew to cover his tracks, throw someone following him off the trail. And he would need all of them with Vin on his heels. They had ridden in a wide zigzag, sometimes when they crossed back over the middle their path being only a few feet from the one they had made just before. When he had finally spotted a town in the distance it was nearly noon, and both he and Chaucer were exhausted.

The gambler had ridden into the burg, noting that it was smaller than Four Corners, having only one saloon that doubled as the hotel. After taking proper care of his animal and murmuring unending apologies, he'd secured a room, washed himself thoroughly, then collapsed on the bed. An hour ago now he'd come down into the saloon for dinner and a drink.

He had made the small incendiary devises for his protection in case anyone was able to sneak up on him. He never imagined he'd be using them against his friends. They were simple in construction really, inert when left alone and therefore safer and easier to transport than dynamite. Simple bombs that were stuffed with pungent stinkweed that would sting the eyes as it smoked out, the explosion enough to supply a distraction but not nearly so to cause great harm if not thrown at anyone directly.

His hand had closed about the two he'd kept in his pocket automatically when he'd sensed danger, the plan for getting away from his pursuers hatching itself in his brain as they tried to sway him. Tossing them into the nearby fire had been quite effective, giving him the ability to count off the time between his throw and when they would likely blow. He deeply regretted acting against them in such a way, but had felt he'd had no choice. It was certainly not the correct manner to treat one's former comrades and friends, but he allowed that the situation was more desperate than mere cordiality would permit. He would have eventually regretted more allowing them to stay, perhaps being convinced to return with them.

Ezra raised a brow when the people in his line of sight suddenly jumped then dove for cover. His thoughts took him instantly to one conclusion: a gunshot. Very slowly he stood then turned, hoping not to become a target as he moved. Behind him stood a very large man who appeared to have at one time in his life had a nasty breakup with soap, and it was evident reconciliation had never occurred. His nose wrinkled slightly. The man laughed and nodded, then raised the gun and held it a few inches from the gambler's forehead.

"You deaf or somethin' mister? Ain't never seen nobody react like ya jus' did." Dirty hazel eyes appraised him levelly.

"Well Sir, I am able to maintain control over my faculties." He surveyed the room coldly. "Unlike yourself it seems."

Ezra could discern no sign of a struggle, and the saloon had been fairly empty as it was. He was running under the assumption that the odorous man had simply fired off a round to rile everyone up, or just because he was an ignoramus. Dumb bastard would be more fitting…no matter. Just to extricate myself as neatly as possible from the present situation. Ezra's gaze focused back on his questioner, who looked mildly amused but mostly smug about his comment. The gambler chose not to say more.

The dull eyes under bushy brown narrowed. "Don't I know you? Think maybe I've seen you somewheres before." He leaned out a little to look past Ezra, yelling at a companion who stood behind the southerner. "He look familiar Mutt? Swear I seen him 'fore."

Ezra waited patiently for the man to get his answer, patently ignoring the twinge of apprehension the words elicited. Just watching the rough face told him what he needed to know. Relief bubbled up, but he stifled the reaction easily. As soon as the portly individual in front of him had said he looked familiar it had sparked a vision in Ezra – that of him on horseback, wheeling above the gambler's fallen form, laughing. This man was part of the attempted robbery of the Four Corners bank that had rendered him deaf.

"Ya sure?" he asked the other, yet unseen man, then shook his head. He held up the hand not training the weapon at Ezra's head. "Fine, I believe ya. Never was good with names and faces anyhow."

He looked back at the waiting conman. Ezra did not like the wicked gleam that sparked in his gaze.

"So, yer good at controlling yer…what wus it?" His head snapped to the side and he frowned. "Dammit Mutt! I woulda gotten there fer chrissakes. Dammit!"

He spit to the side then his lips curled and fluttered – the gambler ascertained he had snorted. Then those blank eyes were pinning him in place again.

"Anyway, like I wus saying, ya say yer good at handlin' yer faculties. I'd like ta test that."

Ezra watched, suddenly aware the man was going to fire again. After losing his hearing, physical details had become even sharper to him, even easier to spot and track. Everything the man was doing now indicated his gun would dispatch another bullet in seconds. He watched the forearm muscles tense, then the hand clench. He watched the hammer as it pulled back. He was about to move but the beefy hand did instead, and Ezra felt the bullet whiz by his right ear. He allowed his eyes to close for the briefest of moments, then was looking calmly at his interrogator, a single brow raised. He hadn't even flinched. The large man grinned and slapped his knee, then reholstered his weapon.

"Well hot damn ta hell! Ya sure do have yerself some fine faculties there." He studied the southerner, eyes widening as something occurred to him. "I bet yer a gambler, mister. Ya gotta be with nerves like that." A crooked grin split the face, revealing an uneven row of decaying teeth. "Bet yer a damn good one too. I like gambling. Like it a lot." He scowled to the mystery man at Ezra's back. "Shut yer trap, Mutt. We's gots a little time. I can play a few hands a cards iffen I want. Sides," he said, lip curling in a sneer, "you likes it much as I do. Probably standin' over there jus' itchin' ta lose yer money."

There was a long pause where the man who had 'tested' Ezra didn't speak. The gambler became aware that he was being looked at expectantly, and realized the man behind him must have asked a question. A flush of heat washed over his chest and he searched his mind for a reason that he hadn't answered. Instead of saying anything at all he just tilted his head, and raised both brows.

The full lips of the man in front of him pursed then pouted out, the expelled breath carrying spittle with it. "Shoot mister, ain't ya gonna answer Mutt?"

Ezra said calmly, "I only address those gentleman who are in my presence, Sir, not loutish oafs who would bellow their questions across a room at my back."

Another grin cracked the puffy face. "Damn right, damn right! See Mutt, I knew you were a loutish." His brow furrowed and Ezra wondered if he had been corrected on his use of the word.

The big man shuffled, and Ezra shuffled with him, the pair opening up like a clamshell. The southerner watched from the corner of his eye as the gun was finally replaced in its holster. He faced forward again, the man who had until now been a complete mystery revealed.

Mutt was almost everything the other man wasn't – all except for the distressing absence of soap in their shared lives. He was slight and very lean, arms looking unnaturally long, tapering to bony hands. His hair was in a poor excuse for a comb-over, and he sported a thin moustache that curled at the ends. His eyes were a watery blue, looking more like a puddle than the ocean or sky. Ezra disliked him on sight, almost as much as he had the man's companion.

Mutt scuffled forward. "Well, what do ya say mister? Ya gonna deal us a few games here, like Duke asks?"

Ezra thought about it, weighing the possible pros and cons of accepting, or rejecting the offer. These are the men who robbed Four Corners. Correction: these are the men who attempted to rob Four Corners. There were causalities after that fracas, causalities than may birth retribution. Perhaps it would be of interest to learn what more, if anything, they and others in their miserable group have planned for the place I had finally found a home in.

Ezra nodded, his mind made up. "Certainly, Sir. A game of chance would be a most welcome diversion indeed." He waved a hand towards the table he had been occupying before. "Shall we?"

He sat back down without waiting, studying the batwing doors, the bar, the room as a whole. No telling what had happened while he was engaged with them, and a quick survey of the saloon was only prudent. Satisfied there was nothing more to worry after he nodded once, then gathered the cards and shuffled.

Ezra grinned as he dealt. "One-eyed jacks and we shall leave it at that. May the best man prevail."

+ + + + + + +

A few hours later and not much richer Ezra sat back, studying the two men he was with. He had taken his time with them, playing well enough not to lose, but not so well that he overwhelmed them, driving them from the table before he was able to learn all he could from the pair. He took the conversation this way and that, getting details of the men they rode with, plans they had implemented before, habits they kept to.

All this was done with exacting care, making his companions feel the conversation was completely natural, that they were actually the ones in full control of what was being discussed, that the gambler was truly interested in the dull recounting of their exploits. Tomorrow afternoon they were planning to travel to Clearwater and meet with the remaining members of the gang that had survived the robbery and escaped. Beyond knowing that they were useless.

The southerner was already working to make his exit from the game, laying hints here and there. Unfortunately, neither man was acute enough of sensibility to pick up on those hints. After another few hands Ezra finally decided to simply call it a night.

"Gentleman, I do thank you for this most stimulating evening of cards, but I fear there is somewhere I must be quite early tomorrow. You will forgive me for retiring so soon."

Duke and Mutt were criminals, to be sure, and neither man had what could be described as a genial disposition. But all the same they were fairly unambitious, not overly concerned one way or another about how things went on around them. Mostly they were just dumb. It was something that definitely worked in the gambler's favor. Mutt had been near silent for the entire evening, Duke more than making up for his companion, mouth yapping nonstop. The slight man just shrugged, gathering his money. Duke argued a little, but Ezra neatly sidestepped the attempts.

Finally Duke gave in. "Sure, mister. No problem. Mutt 'n me should probably get us some shuteye too. Got someplace ta be ourselves," he said, looking dim and smug over his being able to brag about having a purpose.

Ezra smiled, gold tooth flashing as he stood. "Well, the gentleman, I wish you luck in your future endeavors. Good evening." He bowed curtly, then turned and made his way without hurry to his rented room above.

 

Duke called the barmaid over and ordered a drink, flashing the small wad of bills with exaggerated flourish. While he waited for the bottle to be delivered he rubbed his chin with a finger.

"Peculiar sort, that gambler. Kinda liked him though." He shrugged. "Weren't too good at poker, though."

Mutt mumbled something incomprehensible, then the whiskey was delivered.

Duke raised his shot glass. "Either that or I'm gettin' better, likes I told ya I was."

Mutt grumbled darkly again but raised his glass all the same.

+ + + + + + +

Buck watched as Chris and Vin rode into town looking tired, almost defeated. He didn't like the sight at all. They had been gone for several days now, and from the looks of it had traveled nonstop from wherever they gave up the chase to get back home. He walked over to them, keeping pace as they headed towards the livery.

"Ya able ta catch up to him?"

Vin nodded and looked away.

Chris answered. "Sure did. Found him that night, just after sunset."

Blue eyes clouded. "I take it he wasn't too keen on the idea of coming back?"

Hazel-green eyes closed as the blond sighed. "You take it right. Ez managed ta get away," he pinned his oldest friend with a look that ordered 'don't ask' before continuing. "We've been looking for his trail ever since. Finally gave up and came back – running out of supplies, coming no closer ta finding him, wondering how the town was faring." He shrugged, suddenly looking every one of his years. "Seemed best just ta head on back, start fresh in a little while."

The lanky man nodded, moving to the front and between the horses, taking the reins as the other men dismounted. "Ya both go and get a drink. Inez jus' got finished with lunch. I'm sure she's got plenty left ta give ya some. I'll take care of the animals."

Buck looked at Vin, worry in his blue eyes. The tracker was quieter than usual, the spark of mischief he carried with him extinguished. He moved his eyes towards the Texan. He gonna be okay?

Chris pursed his lips and raised a brow. Don't know. Can't tell yet.

Buck nodded once. "Next time we send out a party to collect Ez, I'll go. Figure by then it'll be time to be checking towns and such. He'll have to make some money at some point, and gambling is our best bet. 'Sides that, he never was one to live on the trail for that long a spell."

"Yeah, think you're right Buck." Chris turned to the Vin, tapping him lightly.

The younger man tilted his head, looking askance at his friend over his shoulder, but didn't respond otherwise.

Chris barely sighed. "C'mon, Vin. Let's go get something to eat. Nothing we can fix out here."

Vin just nodded once and walked towards the saloon, head down, lost in thought. Chris trailed after him a step.

Buck watched them until they disappeared inside, then set about taking care of their mounts, giving Peso a stern warning that he'd best behave or there would be trouble. As he worked he did his best to contain the heaviness in his chest that was trying to spread throughout his whole being. Don't ya give up on us now Ez, cause we sure as hell ain't gonna give up on you. We'll find ya…and we'll get ya ta see that comin' back is the best thing for ya. That's a promise.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra made his way down the back stairs quickly, stealing into the alley behind the saloon and headed for the livery. Once he had gotten away from Mutt and Duke, he had gone right to his room and packed his things, left a few coins on the bed and turned right back out again. He saddled Chaucer efficiently, also depositing a few coins on top of the feed bin. He led the animal out of the building and they walked together several paces until they were well out of the buildings, then Ezra mounted and they began a hard ride towards Clearwater.

They were just on the outskirts of town by dawn, the gambler astride his mount, ambling down the main street casually, making for the livery. Luckily the stablehand was already up and about, and the conman had no trouble depositing his trusty steed there for a much needed rest. He tipped his hat to the younger man and walked determinedly back down the street. As he went he scanned the buildings, mentally fixing a map of the place in his mind just in case such knowledge would be needed.

Things would be more difficult from here on out, that he knew, for he wouldn't be granted the luxury of one-on-one conversations with anyone else who had been involved with the robbery. It would be too risky to attempt, so he would be relying entirely on his power of outside observation. As he neared the mercantile he slowed, entering the small store, smiling at the older woman behind the counter. He kept his eyes on her for a moment longer, making sure he was able to answer any greeting she called. He asked where coats and such would be kept, and she pointed to the back of the room. He inclined his head and went to where she indicated.

Nimble hands flipped through the hanging garments efficiently, stilling when he saw what he was looking for. He took the coat off the hanger and brought it to the counter.

"This if you please, Madame."

She smiled. "That'll be five dollars."

Ezra didn't even hesitate, just brought forth a small packet of bills and counted out the proper amount, handing it over to her with thanks.

The plump woman nodded. "You have a nice day now. And enjoy your stay here in Clearwater."

Ezra lifted a few fingers to touch the brim of his hat. "Much obliged, Madame. I wish you the same." He smiled and exited, leaving her completely charmed.

The gambler stood on the boardwalk and looked up and down the main street, deciding which establishment to stay in. There were three hotels and two saloons, but there was no way of telling which would host those individuals he had ridden to this place to find. A stroke of good fortune made the decision for him. Across the street a tall form stepped out of batwing doors, the man taking his time to light a cigarette and survey the street. Ezra's eyes narrowed, recognizing the man. He'd been in the saloon a day before the robbery attempt in Four Corners.

Ezra waited until the man had turned away from the building and was walking down the street before crossing over and entering the saloon. He headed straight for the bar, enquired about and secured a room, then headed up to get a little rest and then change. He settled himself with his usual care and efficiency, taking his Remington to bed with him, resting it on the pillow next to the one he laid down on. Tired green eyes closed, and soon the southerner had fallen into an exhausted slumber.

+ + + + + + +

A few hours later found a somewhat refreshed and much different looking Ezra Standish sitting by himself in the saloon, nursing a bottle of cheap whiskey. He had taken off his red wool jacket, waistcoat and tie, leaving them all carefully tucked inside the dresser in his room. The white silk shirt he replaced with a simpler one of cotton. He hadn't shaved since the morning prior, but it served his purpose, so he ignored his discomfort over having the scratchy whiskers peppering his face.

He donned the long black duster he had acquired that morning, pleased with the overall effect. It was by no means a foolproof disguise, but it would serve in a pinch. Now he sat at a back table facing the door, face shadowed by his hat brim, looking nothing like a dandy gambler in search of a game. He looked rather more like a certain dangerous gunslinger he had come to call friend.

He had ordered a simple lunch and eaten that with care. After lunch was over he simply sat and waited, easily finding the patience to do so. The southerner had great reserves to call upon at such times, facing what others would find to be maddening lengths of time where no action occurred with surprising alacrity. He was also very determined in his cause.

Ezra required information, information that only those he was waiting for had. If sitting in one place for an entire day was what it took to gain his ends, he was more than prepared to do so. It was lucky the boarding the men he was after had chosen to stay in was here. It was the most rundown of the five potential establishments, the other saloon not even offering rooms to rent. That meant people like he was passing himself off as came through often, wanting no questions, only a dry bed and wet drinks.

Each new arrival he studied carefully, watching where they went, whom they talked to, what was said. Most were doing as he was – ordering a little food and a lot of drink, then distancing themselves from anyone else. The only exception was the three men sitting at the table near the center of the room. He had come to determine these were the people he was seeking. One of them had his back turned to the alert gambler, but the other two were sitting so he could see their faces.

Ezra was doing a careful job of watching them intently without drawing attention to himself. The one he couldn't see he had caught the name of, Jones, the other two he simply referred to in his mind as Shorty and Ugly. Not much had been said, but he had been able to catch certain things that pointed to them as being his suspects. It was unlikely another pair of men named Mutt and Duke who had also just been in Four Corners were coincidently meeting here.

The batwing doors were pushed open, and the man Ezra had observed in the street that morning walked in. The others stiffened, their posture straightening as he entered. Ah, so we have established who the brains of this little operation is. He sat with the others, almost directly across the room from Ezra.

Without him having made a gesture the bartender appeared to the new arrival's side with a bottle and a beer. The man took a shot and set the bottle aside, bringing the beer with him as he eased back in the seat. He looked around, eyes mere slits under the brim of his dirty black hat. One of the others referred to him as 'Boss.' Ezra followed their words, a strange conversation forming in his mind as he 'listened.'

"Mutt, Duke…where?"

"Not…seen…" Ugly answered, glancing nervously to the doors and back to Boss.

His leader scowled. "Meet here…soon…better not…late."

"Don't…worry…get here."

Boss sat forward, slamming his half-empty glass on the table. He glowered at Shorty. "Not…job…tell me…get it?"

Shorty just nodded, head turning to the side to avoid further eye contact. Boss nodded and snatched his drink up again before leaning back in the chair. He pointed at Jones.

"Get me…food."

Jones stood and walked to the bar, but Ezra could not split his attention to watch him. He kept his focus solely on Boss and the others at the table. So, Boss rules by intimidation and force. Certainly doesn't have any charisma to speak of. Nothing was said, just an uncomfortable silence as they waited for Jones to return with the meal. Once he did Boss sat up and began eating, effectively ignoring the others as he dined. He had almost finished when Mutt and Duke sauntered in.

Duke grinned at the others, and Mutt just scurried around the table and took a seat. He looked worried. Duke started talking right away, Ezra seeing him enough to 'hear' that he was telling them about their gambling game, telling the group about him. The southerner smiled a little to himself. Duke's card abilities had improved considerably since he had seen him last.

Boss set his silverware on the plate and shoved it to the center of the table, then took the last long draught of his beer. He sat back, and for a long time it seemed he wouldn't speak. Suddenly he lashed out, bringing a fist in an uppercut to Duke's chin. The larger man's head snapped back, and when it was righted again Ezra noted there was a small trail of blood seeping from his freshly cut lip. Boss' mouth curled.

"You're late…why?"

Duke blubbered something unintelligible, fear and the rapidly swelling lips making it hard for the gambler to discern what had been said. It really didn't matter. What the southerner was interested in was what they planned to do in relation to Four Corners. He could care less about the oaf's excuses. The punch had knocked Duke's hat off, and Boss had grabbed him by the long, greasy hair above his forehead.

He pulled on it, smacking the larger man's head into the table. "Never…again."

Duke just sat back up, nodding and looking like he was apologizing. He accepted the drink offered to him from Mutt, grimacing as the liquid poured over his wound. Boss pinned Mutt with his dark glare, and Ezra thought the man may expire on the spot, but the leader decided to leave it at that.

He turned to Shorty. "You get…I asked for?"

"Sure Boss…was easy."

Boss nodded. "Good…listen idiots…go tonight…Four Corners…two days."

Ugly dared to speak. "Don't know…good idea…too soon."

Boss pointed at him, eyes flashing. "Can't wait…rest in jail…trial soon…gotta be when I say…you have problem with that?"

Ugly reared back a little, face blanching. He shook his head adamantly. Boss continued.

"Good…plan…same as before…wagon…explosives…positions each end main street…Larabee killed Jeb…ain't leaving without brother's body…or if Larabee's alive…he's mine."

A flutter of apprehension shook Ezra at the words. Boss swept his hand over the table.

"Leave in an hour…be ready everything." Shorty raised his had a little. "What?"

"Sorry Boss…need to know…my job."

Boss sneered, yellowed teeth flashing. "I'll tell you all…jobs…when need to know…now get going."

Boss looked away from the table, gesturing to the working girl sitting at the bar. The others got up and hastily departed the saloon, each going into the town headed in different directions.

The woman had walked over and Boss grabbed her so that she fell roughly into his lap. "You might…last…half hour."

Ezra looked away with distaste when Boss ground his lips against the woman's. When he glanced back up they were all gone.

He sat for a while longer, slowing drinking the cheap whiskey. It would do him no good to go anywhere. He would have to trail after them on the journey to Four Corners, not liking the risk he'd be taking if he tried to outrun them there. He would have to tail them close enough to be able to act in time, but not so close that they would detect his presence. It would require his actions to be finely calculated.

A part of him was elated and relieved to finally have something outside of his deafness to focus on, and he resolutely ignored the other part that was humming happily at the prospect of retuning home. After he was certain that Boss was well ensconced with the unfortunate woman he'd disappeared with, Ezra stood and returned to his room. He gathered and packed the few things he had brought in with him and put them next to the door.

Ezra left out the book he had selected and went to the bed, sitting on it in a recline against the headboard. He glanced once at his watch to be certain of the time, reminding himself that in two hours he would need to leave. Steady fingers flicked through the pages until they found the correct spot, and Ezra's attention was absorbed by the words written there.

+ + + + + + +

Two days and too many miles later found Ezra exactly where he had started: Four Corners. He had done as planned, following the aggressive line the gang cut as they made their way across the country towards their common destination. Last night he had ridden hard through the darkness, coming ahead of Boss and his gang to arrive at his former home before they did, overtaking them as they camped.

Dawn was just breaking over the horizon as he carefully approached, icy blue threads of light spearing the starry sky above. There wouldn't be much time to prepare, as this was just about the time they had struck for the abortive robbery, and Boss had said they would stick to the same plan. Their main objective this time, however, was a prison break, though no doubt the bank would also be hit in another attempt. Boss did not seem the type of person to be precise and surgical to gain a specific end – more likely than not he'd figure as long as they were in town, why not make the most of it.

Ezra decided to strike at their targets before they could, throw them off balance best he could with what was available to him. He dismounted Chaucer behind the hotel, leaving the horse untethered. He might need the animal again, and the horse would come when he called, but for now his mount needed a moment to rest. It had been several days since last he'd been here. He wondered if Jeb's body had already been buried. It would all depend on what else the undertaker had to attend during that time.

Unclaimed bodies most often found themselves in the ground within a day or two. But on occasion they sat for days, closed within a pine box behind the small building that acted as a morgue, waiting to be buried while Sam was elsewhere in the county. If they were lucky, the small chamber that was meant for storage would have a fresh supply of ice and the remains would be kept there. As Jeb was part of a robbery against the town of Four Corners, there was no telling what Larabee and the others may have decided about the corpse. Many a foolish miscreant had been captured sneaking into town, intent on retrieving the remains of their kin who had fallen at the hands of the town's law.

The gambler totted towards the undertaker's building, running low and close to the buildings. As he neared his eyes narrowed, taking in the sight of two closed caskets. Ezra stopped in front of them, looking them over speculatively. He grimaced and got out his handkerchief, tying it around his nose and mouth. A cursory search provided a pry bar, and with it he loosened the top from one of the coffins. He stood to the side, facing away and popped the lid the rest of the way off. It was unlikely the desiccating remains were anyone other than Jeb. Even in this state it was a near match to Boss. Ezra let the lid close, walking a few paces away to breathe in several long pulls of fresh air. Now for the grim part.

He picked the lock and entered the building from the back, scanning the room quickly. There were several heavy canvas bags that Sam used to transport bodies when coffins were unavailable. He found them, rolled up and tucked under the long counter along the east wall. The gambler pulled one loose and held it at two corners, snapping the rest away from him to unfurl the sturdy cloth. Even as meticulous a cleaner as Sam was, the stench of death clung to the sack, billowing up and encasing the southerner. He pursed his lips, ignoring everything but the determined plan he had to follow to help save his friends.

Before he could give it further thought he exited the morgue, laying the bag alongside the coffin. He lifted the lid, sliding it to the side, then walked around the box. The gambler lifted it, tipping the body out into the bag. With haste he closed the bag up, nimbly doing up the many ties to secure it. He grabbed the large loop of leather at the top and drug the body several yards into some scrub beyond the town. As he walked back he broke up the line in the dirt, then filled the empty coffin with stones and replaced the lid.

Ezra finally let out his breath, very glad that portion of his duties was complete. Next he skirted the buildings at the rear, following their slight curve, around the back of the church, on until he was behind the buildings on the other side of the street. He looked around carefully, waiting with the required patience to make certain that no one had been alerted to his activities.

The gambler walked along the side of the jail, keeping his body close to the rough wood. He turned the corner and in two paces was in front of the door. He turned the handle and entered, barely opening the door to allow his passage, shutting it quickly behind him. He looked up to see the barrel of Vin's mare's leg pointed steadily at him. The southerner raised his hands and dared a few sidesteps into the room, watching the tracker for a glimmer of recognition. The weapon wavered a little, Vin's head tilting to the side, blue eyes intense.

"Ez?"

The conman put a finger to his lips, bobbing his head once. The mare's leg dropped, the tracker coming around the desk to stand in front of his friend, but Ezra was already in motion. He went in the opposite direction as Vin, making his way around the desk, scooped the keys into a hand and walked to the locked cell. It held three of Boss' men, just now stirring from the disturbance. He unlocked it, jerking with his head they should get out. They all stood, but only one of them took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded.

The southerner rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Jones is dead. I am his replacement. Now get moving. Or," he added, raising a brow, "you can wait and explain to the Boss why you're still in here."

All three men jumped, the mere threat of Boss' retribution enough to spur them into action.

Ezra motioned to the side of the jail. "Wait there."

They did so without question.

The southerner turned, Remington now drawn, trained on the sharpshooter standing behind him. He gestured at the cell with his gun. "You, in here."

Vin scowled and took a single step.

"Uh-uh. Leave that," he looked pointedly at the mare's leg, "on the desk."

The tracker complied, having no choice with the prisoners now free, weapon pointed at him. He stalked into the cell and turned to stare at the gambler, blue eyes blazing. Ezra tried to say everything he could without the benefit of words. Please, Vin. No time. Please.

Ezra shifted his body so that his shoulder holster was easily accessible, glancing down at it then back to the lean man he'd just locked up.

He reached out and grabbed Vin's collar, pulling him with false roughness into the bars. "No trouble out of you now, hear me?"

The tracker sneered, spitting into the gambler's face. Ezra pushed him back, and Tanner stumbled a little.

The southerner turned away from him, wiping a hand across his cheek as he did so. "Get moving. We only have so much time."

They went out the front and followed the circuitous route back to the morgue that Ezra had followed to get to the jail. His lips curled in a small grin. His shoulder holster was empty. When they arrived at the small building he went to the door and opened it easily, not having locked it from breaking in a few moments ago. The three followed him. The southerner walked calmly to the storage cube and opened the thick oak door. He turned to the men who had followed him, Remington raised.

"Gentleman, I do thank you for your easy compliance. You have made things much smoother indeed. Now," green eyes narrowed to dangerous slits, "in you go."

The largest of the three started for the cube, but Ezra could tell from his body language that he intended to strike. The left leg planted at a slight angle, hips turning towards the gambler as the man shifted his weight. He raised his arm, crude knife glinting in the bare light clutched in his hand. The other two stood back, watching, waiting to see what transpired. Without hesitation the southerner fired. The would be attacker yelped, cradling his arm with the other hand.

"I will ask one more time. Get in."

This time all three went readily. Ezra closed the heavy door and clipped the toggles into place to secure it. Two down.

+ + + + + + +

Chris spit the mouthful of coffee he'd just drunk back out, slamming the cup down without concern on the table, black liquid sloshing, soaking his breakfast. He grabbed his gun and ran for the window, cursing at the sound of running hooves and gunfire.

"JD? You see them?"

The young sheriff had done nearly the same thing as Chris when he'd heard the first weapon report echoing down the street. He was already on the other end of the saloon as Chris, and was better able to get a view down the street where the attackers were riding in from.

"Got 'em, Chris. Four riders. Big wagon up behind. Damn. Wouldn't doubt it's the same boys who were here just last week."

Chris grimaced. Shit. Should have known. A loud thump followed by cursing had the gunslinger turning swiftly, only to find Buck fastening his trousers with one hand while he pulled on his boot with the other. His hair was a muss, shirt half on, but his gunbelt was on securely, full of bullets. Chris smiled a little. At least the man has priorities. The ladies man approached, coming up behind Chris.

"We know why these fools think I should be outta bed at this hour?" Buck stood tucking in his shirt, slightly breathless but looking ready and alert.

Chris jerked his chin at the window. "JD and I figure it's the same bunch who hit the bank last week. Still have some of their men in the jail, plus a couple bodies. Probably here to finish the job."

"Yeah," Buck agreed. "Finish that job and take care of some housecleaning while they're here."

The man in black pursed his lips, nodding. Just then the window directly in front of JD shattered, the young man ducking just in time.

JD grinned, looking over at the other men across the saloon and winked. "Guess they're close enough to shoot at now." Without another word he stood, breaking the rest of the ruined window out and started firing one of his colts into the cluster of men riding by.

Chris and Buck duck-walked towards the batwings doors.

"You keep them busy, JD. Buck and I will go on out, get on their butts after they've gone by."

The sheriff didn't turn but yelled his understanding instead.

Chris lead the way, the ladies man right at his back. Two of the horses were already standing outside of the jail, riderless. Two distinct shots could be heard from inside. The blond cursed darkly.

Buck murmured, "Shoot, don't worry about Vin. He can handle himself. We got bigger problems if they're fixing ta do with that wagon what they did before."

The wagon hadn't moved further into town yet, hanging back to become distraction and cover when the time for the gang to ride out in escape came.

Chris narrowed his eyes, looking across the dusty street. Two men had come from behind the undertaker's place, dragging a coffin with them. They brought it alongside black horse, astride it a wiry man on a in a dirty black hat and long coat. The man dismounted and knelt next to the casket. He reached into his boot and pulled out a long knife and used it to pry the lid off. He stood, throwing his head back and yelling with pure wrath.

"Musta been his brother," Buck whispered.

Chris nodded. Both men were to stand corrected, however, when they watched as the enraged man upended the coffin, revealing it to be filled with rocks. Both men looked at each other and shrugged.

"Now, when exactly did that start happenin' to corpses around here?" Buck queried.

Chris had no answer. The man was yelling now, his body contorting in furious gestures as he reached out and punched one of his men to the ground. He stalked off, heading through the narrow alley to get behind the small morgue and look for himself.

Chris was busy scanning the street, a movement on a roof across the way catching his attention. He pointed. "Who's that?"

They both watched as a man's figure appeared over the peak, running easily in a diagonal line down the sharp descend. A long black duster billowed out behind him, face in shadow. This time it was the mustached man who had no answer. Chris steadied his gun against his wrist and took aim, firing a single shot at the stranger – it barely missed, only doing so because at that same instant the man had leapt off the gutter and launched himself at the wagon.

"Damn," Buck muttered.

There was a short struggle before the stranger gained the upper hand, during which the wagon lurched into action, jerking sideways before finding enough pull to move forward. A single kick had the motionless form of the original driver landing facedown in the dirt as the wagon pulled away. A solid hand rapped against Buck's shoulder.

"C'mon." Chris was off and running down the boardwalk, and for a second Buck just crouched there, head cocked as he watched the strange progress of the wagon.

Suddenly JD was beside him, grabbing at an arm. "Geez, Buck. C'mon!"

Chris had gained a good twenty yards on them, drawing fire from the two men who had handled the decoy coffin. The blond ducked behind a solid post at one of the rail corners, leaning out to return fire at intervals. It wasn't long before one of the men had been knocked flat, dead instantly, a Larabee bullet lodged in his brain.

The wagon had been steadied and was now moving at a breakneck pace towards the remaining man. JD had run several strides past Chris, making himself a pointed distraction so Buck and the gunslinger could find better cover. The youth stuck out a foot, sliding neatly onto his backside along the smooth boards, twisting left as he did so. The other man fell as two well-aimed shots from the blazing colts punched their way into his chest.

A sudden flash at the jail had Chris nearing blowing away one of his friends, but he took the time to really look, relieved to see Vin in a low crouch just inside the doorframe, mare's leg aimed to fire. The Texan hadn't even noticed he was in the gunslinger's sights, as he was so focused on the wagon and its driver. The wagon was now almost even with their position, making its way at a slower pace down the rutted street. A black form darted in front of the vehicle, and the horses leading it reared and protested.

The remaining man had come from behind the buildings on his horse, weapon ready. The driver of the buckboard stood, tossing the reins and pulling his gun in one steady motion. Before the wiry man could shoot he toppled backwards, an echoing shot ringing up and down the street from the gun in the stranger's hand. The figure in black let the gun spin downwards so it was no longer in a lethal position and started turning slowly towards the jail. It was an action, however, that could not be seen from Chris' position, and he did what came natural – he took his shot.

The compact frame was thrown off the wagon from the impact of the bullet, heels flying up over his head before he landed with a sickening crunch, head kicking against the first stair to the boardwalk before joining the rest of his body in a heap on the ground. The horses, already spooked beyond measure decided they'd had enough. In moments the wagon was gone, rumbling the rest of the way out of town at a fair clip.

The blond nodded and stood, reholstering his weapon. He looked up when he heard Vin yelling, watching with confusion as the Texan tore away from his hide and ran across the street. Buck and Chris shared a baffled look, then a wash of dread passed over the gunslinger. There was something definitely familiar about that figure now that he thought it over. Running down the side of a rooftop with surprising agility; small yet compact of build; cool under pressure; and finally that awful summersault, a vision he had just witnessed not more than a week ago.

The blond croaked weakly, "Oh Jesus…Ezra."

JD had come over to join them, a little out of breath but none the worse for the wear. "What do you mean, 'oh Jesus Ezra?'"

The blond's mouth crimped into a grim line. He shook his head, unable to answer. Instead he ran across the street to the fallen form, coming up on Vin, fearing what would be found.

Something occurred to him and he yelled over a shoulder, "JD, ride out to the Foster's place and do it now! Bring back Nathan and Josiah quick, I don't care what shape that woman thinks she's in. You hear me?"

The sheriff didn't bother to answer, just ran the opposite direction to the livery, carrying out his orders to a tee. Chris came to an abrupt stop just in front of the fallen form, looking down with a mix of terror, worry and guilt. Vin had Ezra's head cradled in his lap, the tracker's handkerchief pressed into the gambler's side, already soaked with blood. Chris backed away a few paces, but was prevented from fleeing entirely.

"Hold on there now, Pard. Ain't exactly yer fault here."

Hazel-green eyes flashed furiously at the man speaking.

"I know it ain't easy to hear, and not what you think you should believe, but it's the truth all the same. Won't do Ez any good for you to lose yourself in guilt right now anyway. You, me and Vin gotta do whatever we can for him before JD comes back with Nathan, even if all that we can do is make him comfortable before he goes." Buck's blue eyes were serious, almost threatening.

"No way he'll be comfortable either iffen you bring this into that sickroom with us. Got it?" Buck didn't even wait for an answer. He leaned down and lifted the bleeding man into his arms, staggering a moment with the weight but determination won out. Soon he was striding towards the clinic. "Go on ahead, Vin. I'll need someone to open the door for me."

Chris watched them walk away towards Nathan's clinic, ears roaring, feeling nauseous and dizzy. He closed his eyes and sucked in a determined breath then set his jaw, clenching his fists as he began striding to follow.

+ + + + + + +

The next night was the longest that Chris Larabee could remember. All the other potential long nights he had washed away with drink, but something about his oldest friend's words kept him from doing so now. He sat at the side of the bed, chin resting on his hands, elbows propped on his thighs. The blond had been there ever since he'd followed Buck up the stairs and laid the unconscious form of the gambler down. It had seemed an eternity before JD had returned, Nathan leading the way, an anxious Josiah on their heels.

Ntahan had looked Ezra over, able to get to work straight away as his patient had been stripped of all the clothes that would have been in the way, instruments laid out and ready, two pots of water just under a boil on the stove. They had also bathed Ezra as best they could, and shaved the few days worth of beard from the still face, wanting to make him as comfortable as possible. Once Nathan had begun work the others had gone to wait outside, but Chris had remained, holding kicking legs down as the healer worked, determined not to leave the room or his friend's side. It was the only thing he could think of to do at the moment to begin to make amends.

The gambler had been lucky – insofar as gunshot wounds go. The bullet had passed through cleanly, just missing his heart but clipping the lung. Nathan worked nearly two hours repairing the damage, and when he had stepped away for the last time, concerned brown eyes had looked down at the preoccupied leader of their group.

"He's gonna make it, Chris. I'd say that about anyone considering his condition now that I've patched him up, but with Ezra you can almost count on it. Too stubborn to let a little hole in his chest kill him. Understand me? He ain't gonna die."

It felt to Chris like he'd breathed and shut his eyes for the first time since shooting his man after hearing Nathan's softly spoken words. He nodded soundlessly, not able to work past the lump in his throat.

Nathan didn't press for more. "I'm gonna go get cleaned up, then get myself something to eat. I'd advise you to do the same, but I know how far that'll get me so I'll save my breath. I will have your promise, though, that you'll eat whatever I send Buck up with. Got it?"

Chris had agreed without argument, knowing he'd have to have nourishment eventually, just glad he wasn't being pushed to leave. Throughout his vigil he dutifully wiped the pale brow and upper lip with a cool cloth, working to take down the slight fever that had settled in after Nathan had finished with the wound.

That entire afternoon and evening the others had come and gone, staying as long as they could before patrol or other duties called them away. JD had the least amount of time to spare, having the mess of the day's dawn activities to clean up.

They had not come to check on Ezra only, but also had words of encouragement and forgiveness for their leader, assuring the blond that he hadn't intentionally harmed the other man, that his actions had been completely reasonable, gently reminding that he didn't kill his friend. Each time he was told that Ezra wasn't dead he was relieved all over again, but the guilt didn't completely abate. He knew that would take some time, but he was willing to endure it if that meant his incorrigible cuss of a gambler would be able to remain with them.

+ + + + + + +

Chris stirred, the sensation of being watched drawing him to wakefulness. He opened an eye, peering out, events of the day before rushing back to him. He sat up abruptly in the chair out of the severe recline his sleeping body had relaxed into. When he stilled again, worried eyes scanned the form lying in front of him, finally resting on a pair of open and relatively alert green eyes. He heard a pained sigh.

"Good lord, I am here again?"

Chris couldn't help but grin. "Yup," he answered, single syllable rounded over happily.

He heard a snort behind him as Josiah roused himself, then Vin and Buck were creeping into the room from their perch on the bench just outside. Nathan and JD were both getting some much needed shuteye in the adjoining room, the healer on his bed, the sheriff curled on one of the spare cots.

The gambler made a very ungentlemanly noise. "My dear Mr Larabee, must you sound so gleeful about my present condition? I find it quite insulting that you are such." The southerner winced when Buck gave an enthusiastic yelp. "Mr Wilmington, I beg you refrain from any further emanations at such a volume. I am quite unable to bear…that…" he trailed off, and then was suddenly sitting upright in the bed. He groaned, regretting the hasty action instantly.

Chris reached out to support him, helping him lie back down. "Easy, there, Ez. Easy."

The blond was still grinning, figuring what had finally occurred to the muddled conman as soon as he'd heard Ezra's sharp tongue answer him. Vin had ducked in to poke Nathan and JD awake, the healer pushing his way in between Buck and Josiah so he could ask his patient a few questions. Ezra answered them all, complaining only that his head hurt quite badly and that all noises, no matter how quiet, roared like cannon fire in his delicate ears.

Nathan was finally satisfied, which was a good thing as the gambler had already fallen back asleep, but this time it was a deep and healing sleep of one on the mend. Nobody was willing to leave, wanting to share the moment of realization for as long as they could that not only would Ezra make it, but he was also going to pull through, hearing restored. They had gone back to where they had settled before the southerner had awoken, but this time they waited for the next time he returned with lightened hearts.

+ + + + + + + ~two weeks later~

Ezra sat in the saloon, happier than he could ever remember being. He'd just finished lunch, Inez insisting she stuff him with twice his normal quantity of food. He didn't argue, instead accepted readily, allowing himself to enjoy the attention and pampering. It had been explained to the town that after Ezra's injury from the initial robbery he had gone away for some rest, serendipity leading him to the very place the survivors had crawled off to so he had been able to foil their plan for another attempt at the town. No one had been surprised by this news. All seven were gathered around the table, finally whole again, enjoying the first lunch Ezra had been able to sit though.

After the gambler had woken up that first time, he had endured two solid days of a blistering headache, unable to withstand light or noise of any kind. The plus side of that condition was if any sound bothered him, that meant his hearing was restored. Nathan's best guess was that the ears were never permanently damaged to begin with, though JD offered his own theory. It was the solid knock to the gambler's head against the stair had jarred everything back into place so that it all worked correctly again.

After the headache had passed he had stayed another five days resting in the clinic, spending time with each of his comrades as they passed in and out almost without cease. Chris was nearly omnipresent, but it was something the southerner hadn't questioned, taking comfort in the man being there.

Ezra had talked with each of them, explaining his reasons for leaving, doing his best to accept their equally sound reasons why they believed he should have stayed. He wasn't used to being wanted, and he certainly hadn't expected the want to extend once he had been crippled, so the lack of belief wasn't treated too harshly by anyone.

Day by day the rift was mended, the bond between them drawing them all tighter together as it healed. Buck had told him quietly that Vin had taken his absence very hard, that he'd seen it as a great failure towards the gambler that he'd been unable to track and help him when he needed it. Ezra had taken extra pains to see that the damage he'd done to the tracker was repaired, delighted when their easy banter and unique rapport balanced itself after a few long talks. The night before he was to return to his room above the saloon he'd finally asked the question that he had been turning over in his mind.

"Who was it that shot me?" He was sitting up against the headboard, sipping at a mug of Nathan's good tea.

JD was sprawled on the end of the bed. Josiah and Nathan were playing a game of chess in the corner. Buck was straddling a chair to the right of the bed, and Vin was in his ubiquitous lean, enjoying the breeze that filtered in through the open door. He looked to his left, worry clouding his eyes at how peaked Chris suddenly looked.

Buck cleared his throat. "Jus' one of the unfortunate bastards Vin had surprised in the jail. Nothing to it really." He had shrugged, looking meaningfully at the blond for a long minute.

Vin's drawl threaded over to him. "Had figured jus' winging the guy would be enough. Seems I figured wrong. Awful sorry about that, Ez."

The gambler raised a hand, waving it in a dismissive gesture. "No matter. It is an event that no one can foresee during such a heated exchange. I do not hold you accountable, Mr Tanner."

Vin had taken it with his usual acceptance, bobbing his head once. A comfortable silence fell over the group, resting for a time before it was broken by a deep baritone rumble.

"You know, brother Ezra, you were completely deaf until just a few days ago."

The gambler raised a brow, face impassive. "Indeed, Mr Sanchez. I am well aware what my condition was in the very recent past."

The ex-preacher stood, walking to the side of the bed, huge grin splitting his face. "I don't think you understand what my point is, Son."

Ezra grimaced at the familiarity. It didn't perturb the big man in the least.

"You managed to achieve all of what you did while still deaf. It was not your hearing that put together who those men were, and that they would come back here for retribution. It certainly wasn't your hearing that devised the plans that got you here before them, ready to strike. Your deafness didn't prevent you from laying enough traps and fighting hard enough to overcome five men nearly on your own." The grizzled head tilted to the side. "I'm just saying, it's something you should consider the next time you happen to go deaf before you decide how useless you've become because of it and think you should head for the hills."

The others grinned, ducking their faces away to hide the expressions.

"Mr Sanchez, you may rest easy knowing your advice has been well noted," the southerner said dryly, but there was no mistaking the undercurrents of complimented surprise and satisfied contentment lacing his tone.

Ezra blinked a few times, focusing back on the saloon and his friends. JD had stood, announcing he had business to get to. Buck followed, knocking the younger man's hat off and teasing, asking just what was so important the town needed him to do for it. They tumbled out of the saloon, laughter trailing behind them as they exited.

Chris shook his head at their antics before standing as well, reminding the gambler that even if Ezra hadn't come across the plan which had led him back home, they would have eventually found him and dragged his ass back, like it or not. Ezra agreed with surprising demure.

Nathan made his excuses and pushed back from the table, muttering about Mrs. Foster and her upset stomach. He'd asked Josiah to accompany him and wait a few yards from the house, and if the healer was inside for more than twenty minutes, the big man was instructed to come and rescue him.

Ezra waved as they went, a small smile gracing his countenance. He looked at Vin, waiting for the blue eyes to meet his gaze. When they did, his smile broadened.

"I do believe, Mr Tanner, that you are more than adequately prepared to begin your tutelage in the incomparable idiom that is latin."

The Texan's lips pulled in a half smile. "Do ya now, Ez."

The gambler nodded his head. "Oh, most certainly. You are definitely ready."

The lanky man bobbed his head once. "Good. Been waiting for ya ta finally get around ta admitting that. Got a few things I wanna say, and I think only latin will do."

Green eyes sparkled. "As often is the case, amicus, as is often the case indeed." He reached into his vest pocket, producing as small and well-worn book. "Shall we, then, Mr Tanner?"

The sharpshooter pulled his chair closer, blue eyes flashing with humor and happiness. "Indeed we shall, Mr Standish, indeed we shall."

The End