Price of Revenge

PART 1

Buck knew he was in trouble the minute he arrived at the old lady’s farm. Chris had sent him here after the widow Anderson came riding into town like a gray-haired whirlwind screaming and crying about her place being picked clean by bandits. He and Chris both figured anyone would be long gone before he got there, even if the widow wasn’t hollering about something no more harmful than a wayward raccoon.

He tried to get J.D. to go along, but the kid had already had his fill of the widow Anderson’s exaggerated cries and flatly refused to be humiliated again. Buck couldn’t really blame him, the last time the paranoid matron came into town like this, J.D. and Vin had rushed to get the intruder out of her hen house and found themselves face to butt with an irritated skunk. It took a week of scrubbing and soaking just to be able to stand downwind of either of them and they were still enduring the teasing.

Buck figured he was in for more of the same and told Chris to stay with the panicked woman while he checked out her latest catastrophe. Of course, now, as he watched the seemingly endless stream of men emerge from the tiny farmhouse, he dearly wished he’d taken Chris up on the offer to come along. Fear hadn’t yet found its way to his heart, but caution and experience told him he should have never ridden into the unknown without someone to watch his back.

Eight. Buck counted to himself, aware of the odds stacked against him, but determined not to show it. He grinned at the gang and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol.

"Howdy, boys. You fellas friends of Mrs. Anderson?"

The first man cackled, almost dropping the chunk of bread clutched in his thick fingers. Damn idiots were stuffing their faces as if they’d been invited to Sunday dinner.

"Well, she didn’t stick around long enough to be polite, so we figured she didn’t mind if we just took what we needed, eh, boys?" The fat man narrowed his eyes and took a few steps forward. Buck’s horse sidestepped nervously and tossed his head, mirroring his rider’s growing unease.

Buck felt icy fingers of dread scamper up his back as he recognized the ringleader. Ethan Foxx. Wilmington quickly pulled the pistol from its holster, just as the rest of the gang surrounded him. The men were either blindly stupid or just didn’t care if they got shot because none showed any signs of backing down.

"Now gentlemen…" Buck started but never got to finish his sentence. One of them grabbed at his leg and instinctively Wilmington drew back and kicked the outlaw in the face and he opened fire. Two men fell away, the dust rising as their bodies hit the dry earth, but it wasn’t enough.

Like a pack of wild dogs, the men sensed their prey was distracted and off balance and attacked with blinding speed and ferocity. Buck felt himself pulled from his saddle, then the pressure of arms and legs as they pinned him to the ground and ripped the gun from his hand. He fought furiously, an occasional punch or kick hitting its mark, but that only seemed to infuriate them more. Buck didn’t care. If he was going to die, he was going to do his best to take a few of them with him.

Blows like hammers struck his gut, his groin, his face, his chest and everywhere in-between. Fists met flesh, mostly their fists on his flesh, but he continued to fight. Blood filled his mouth and he gagged, vaguely hearing the triumphant whoops as his body weakened and refused to follow his brain’s urgent cries to keep trying. God he hurt.

Abruptly the men were gone, and he forced himself to roll over enough to spit out the still flowing gore before he choked. Suddenly, he was jerked forward on his back and a new agony washed over him. He could feel the pressure of a rope pulling at his ankle and the deafening roar of hooves too close to his ear and realized he was being dragged. Sharp rocks dug into his back, shredding his shirt and tearing at the tender flesh underneath. He tried to keep his free leg up and out of the way, but he was weakening quickly and helplessly gave in to exhaustion. The second his heel touched the moving earth, he heard the sickening crack of bone. Buck tried to scream, but it only bounced harmlessly inside his skull. He was going to die. If his neck didn’t snap on another sharp turn, then he’d simply die of the pain he was unable to escape.

He felt the horse slow down and finally stop. Buck didn’t have the energy to do anything but lie there, and hope they thought they’d already killed him. Lord knows it sure as hell felt like it. Bright sparks of light played on his closed eyelids as he drew in shallow breaths. He welcomed the numbness spreading through his body that replaced the agony he prayed he would never feel the likes of again.

The end of the rope dropped near his head, but he kept his eyes shut. A sharp toe of a boot in his side made him groan in spite of himself, but then there was nothing. Darkness arrived to claim him and he went willingly, his final thought was how damn thankful he was that J.D. had refused to come with him.

+ + + + + + +

Chris felt an icy rage wash over him, as he listened silently to Mary Travis telling him what had happened. He waited until she had finished and strode angrily out of the saloon and toward Nathan’s.

The four grim-faced men waiting below the clinic stepped aside to let their leader pass. Chris couldn’t control the queasiness that settled in the pit of his belly at the hopeless looks on their faces. J.D.’s pale and terrified expression sparked a flood of emotion, but Chris refused to acknowledge anyone’s fears until he saw Buck for himself.

He disappeared inside the clinic and shut the door securely behind him, stopping as Nathan held up a warning hand before he reached the bed.

"How bad is it?" Chris’s voice sounded strong, but he knew better.

"Real bad."

Nathan's words hit home as Chris looked at his friend. Buck lay on his stomach, his face turned toward the door. Bandages swathed his forehead and covered his back, blood turning the formerly white linens rusty brown. Rage and guilt twisted inside Chris’s heart as he realized his mistake.

"I already had Ezra wire Dr. Matthews over in Bentonville." Nathan said quietly. "His leg’s broke too bad for me to try and fix."

"How…?" He choked on the word, unable to finish the question.

"Nearest I can figure they dragged him behind a horse. From the looks of that leg and the cuts and bruises all over, they beat on him a while first." Nathan's voice trailed, but Chris picked up a trace of fury in the healer’s tone.

Chris sat down gingerly on the cot next to Buck and put a gentle hand on his friend's battered back, careful to avoid the yellowish/purple contusions that seemed to be everywhere. He looked helplessly at Nathan, his eyes asking the question his voice could not.

"I don't know, Chris. He ain't woke up yet and it's been two hours since Vin and Ezra found him. No tellin' how long he was left out there."

"J.D. seen 'im?" Chris returned his gaze to Buck's still form, knowing he hadn't and wishing he could think of some way to spare J.D. of the sight.

"Naw. Figured I'd wait 'til you got here."

Chris said nothing, just hung his head and got up off the bed and stepped back outside. Four anxious faces looked to him, all worried, all wanting an explanation, but his eyes fell on J.D.

The young man stepped in front of him and Chris wondered what he could say to wipe the stricken and terrified look off the kid's features. He didn't have time to think long. J.D.'s punch apparently matched his draw and Chris only saw a blur as J.D. hit him hard in the face.

Chris staggered backwards, stunned and lifted one hand to his bleeding nose. Josiah quickly grabbed the kid's arms and pulled him aside, preventing him from any further altercations, and probably for J.D.'s own safety. Yet, Chris wasn't mad. In fact he even felt like he deserved it.

"There was a whole gang of 'em, Chris!" J.D. yelled, struggling hard against the preacher's grip. "You sent him into an ambush!" Chris watched helplessly as the kid tried to hold it together, but his quavering voice gave him away.

"Quit it," Nathan interjected, staring at J.D. "You ain't gonna do Buck any good fightin' each other!"

"I didn't know, J.D. I'm sorry."

Josiah cautiously released J.D. and Chris met his gaze as the young man stepped forward, staring straight through to his soul. Chris noticed J.D. was shaking, whether from anger or fear he couldn't tell, but he understood the pain and the kid's own guilt reflected in those confused and bloodshot eyes. The weary gunslinger put his hand on J.D.'s neck and pulled him to his chest, holding on for dear life.

"God knows I never meant for anything to happen to him." Chris spoke softly into J.D.’s ear. "But what matters is that you know."

J.D. gently pushed away from the embrace, the mask of defiance and bravery he had tried so valiantly to keep in place began to slip and tears rolled silently from his eyes. "I shoulda gone. He wanted me to go with him, but I told him I had better things to do."

"Not your fault. And I know Buck's glad you didn't go, son." Chris gripped J.D.’s shoulders and forced him to look at him. "We all are."

Chris held on to him a moment longer, giving the kid time to compose himself before facing his friend. "Come on, let's go see Buck."

J.D. nodded and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Chris."

"It's ok…this time. Just don't ever try that again." His voice was soft, but still held enough venom to make his point. He placed a supportive hand on J.D.’s back and followed him inside.

+ + + + + + +

J.D. blanched at the sight on the bed and it took all the courage he could muster to keep from running right back out. Instead he knelt on one knee and tentatively laid his hand on Buck’s neck.

"Oh, God," he gasped as he saw the bruises and blood soaked bandages. J.D. quickly tried to pull himself together.

A mournful groan and a slight movement beneath his hand signaled that Buck was waking up. He glanced up at Chris, the excitement of Buck regaining consciousness quickly turning to fear. J.D. knew all too well what it felt like to wake up in excruciating agony.

"Hang on, Buck. We’ll get Nathan for you, ok?" J.D. gently patted the older man’s sweat-slick hair, not at all sure how to do this comforting thing.

He heard Larabee open the door and whisper to Nathan as Buck let out another muffled cry. J.D. tensed, his heart pounding a deafening rhythm in his ears and he stepped back to let Nathan and Chris take over. He desperately wished he had the ability to take care of his friend, but he hadn’t had much experience at being the one sitting *beside* the bed. He always seemed to be on the receiving end of this sort of thing. Buck just naturally seemed to know the right thing to do that would help him endure even the worst pain; knew exactly what to say to let him know it was okay to be afraid, even when J.D. would rather die than admit anything of the sort. Hell, Buck could even make it seem okay to cry.

Buck turned his head into the pillow, his screams muffled as Nathan began to pull away the ties to the splint. Chris sat next to him, his hand on Buck’s shoulder as he held him to the bed. J.D. could tell Buck was holding back, trying not to let them know just how badly he hurt. The same thing he scolded J.D. for constantly. It’s ok, Buck, just let it out. That’s what you’re always tellin’ me.

J.D. felt his cheeks burn as guilt washed over him, bringing with it the suffocating knowledge that he wasn’t sure if he could return the favor. Buck’s soft moans as Nathan readjusted the splint made his stomach lurch and sweat bead along his hairline, tearing his heart into tattered pieces.

What he wanted and what his body told him he could handle didn’t mesh. He wasn’t any good at watching people suffer, especially not his best friend. He wanted to run, get on his horse and ride until this pain ripping at his soul dissolved into the hot summer wind.

Nathan carefully unwrapped the bandages, revealing the bruised and swollen flesh underneath. J.D. couldn’t control the gasp that escaped from his throat, yet still couldn’t take his eyes off the misshapen limb. Fear groped at him. Pulled the breath from his lungs and held it just out of reach as memories floated from deep within the locked recesses of his mind. He remembered the stable boys on the estate, his friends, that had gotten thrown or stepped on, their arms or legs broken and deformed. Some had gotten better, then again, some hadn’t. Some never rode again, hell, some never got well enough to walk at all. J.D. shook his head to dislodge the thought. No. No. Buck would heal and be just like he was before. He had to be.

At Nathan’s touch, Buck screamed, his back arching off the cot in agony. Chris leaned over and whispered something to him, but Buck continued to struggle, trying to turn over. J.D. tried to go to him, tried to make his feet move forward, but they refused to go anywhere but backwards, nearer the door. Agony shone through his friend’s dark blue eyes and J.D. locked gazes with Buck.

"Get out!" Buck yelled as he struggled to get up. "Go!"

He’s talking to me. It took J.D. a few seconds to absorb the words. He knew fever and pain fueled the words, yet it still hurt that Buck knew he couldn’t handle this. That Buck thought he wasn’t anywhere near being man enough to help. He was right. Buck was always right.

"Keep ‘im still!" Nathan shouted as he held onto Buck’s good leg and pushed it into the mattress.

Josiah and Vin pushed open the door and brushed past J.D. to help with their struggling friend.

"J.D., get the hell outta here!" Larabee commanded without looking up. Buck whipped his head from side to side on the pillow, as four pairs of hands held the rest of his body immobile.

J.D. had been fighting the urge to flee and now he seemed rooted to the floor. Now that he had to leave, he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Buck like this.

"Get ‘im out!" Buck bellowed again and J.D. flinched.

"NOW!" Chris’s tone left no more room for argument or self-searching.

J.D. finally found control of his limbs and backed steadily toward the door, his eyes riveted on the scene in front of him. Run. His brain shouted at him, but his legs shook too badly to obey. The outline of his friends grew fuzzy as if they were on the other side of a rain-splattered window and he stumbled out onto the landing. Black clouds danced in his vision and he gripped the railing with both hands before sinking to his knees on the wood planks. Hands clutched his shoulders and eased him around to sit instead and he leaned his head against the railing, trying to stop the deafening roar inside his own skull.

"Are you all right, son?"

Ezra’s flowing tone finally reached his brain and he tried to nod. Tried to say something, but he wasn’t sure anything came out. J.D. fought to pull himself together, to calm down his expanding fear and act like a grown man instead of a terrified child. He had to. Buck needed him to be strong.

J.D. rose to his feet, using the railing against his back for support and praying his own tottering limbs would hold once he got there.

"I need a drink." He heard the words tumble from his mouth, but for the life of him couldn’t figure out why he’d said them. He didn’t need whiskey, didn’t even like it much, truth be told. He needed to stay here, close to Buck, just in case. In case what, J.D.? In case he dies?

His own thoughts taunted him and added to his confusion. Who was he trying to fool? He had no earthly idea what the hell he should do. Buck didn’t want him here, yet he couldn’t just leave. He tried to focus on Ezra, he’d know what he should do. Except once again he felt his body mock his brain’s will and he felt himself running.

He could hear Ezra calling after him, but he lacked the will to answer. J.D. didn’t remember navigating the steep stairs that led away from Nathan’s, nor did he realize where he was going. Right now that didn’t matter.

Nothing mattered except Buck.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan knew Buck was suffering, but his first priority was to keep him still. His leg was badly broken and one wrong move might be the difference between saving or losing the limb. The healer held Buck’s good leg pinned to the mattress, releasing his hold on the splint and waiting for Buck to either calm down or wear himself out. He should have given him something for the pain before he even tried; then again, he’d given him a dose of morphine barely an hour ago. Buck had to be in severe agony for that to have worn off so quickly.

Nathan motioned for Vin to take his place and quickly drew up another syringe. He didn’t want to overmedicate the man, but he didn’t dare try to re-splint the leg without making sure he wouldn’t wake up thrashing again.

Larabee grimaced in sympathy as Nathan injected the painkiller, even though Buck barely flinched.

Nathan waited a few moments as Buck slipped into a restless unconsciousness, before repositioning the bones again. The leg looked deformed, swollen much more than Nathan had anticipated and he wasn’t even sure he was setting it right.

"How soon ‘fore that doctor friend of yours can get here?" Chris didn’t bother to disguise his worry.

"If he leaves in the morning, he still won’t get here ‘til evenin’. I’m not sure I got enough morphine to last that long with as much pain as he’s in, though." Nathan bit down on his bottom lip so hard he almost brought blood as he focused on replacing the splint on Buck’s distended leg. He ignored the nagging worry in his gut, choosing to hold on to the belief that the doctor who’d once saved J.D.’s life would be able to do the same for Buck. Dr. Matthews would come, even if Jackson had to ride all the way to Bentonville and bring him back.

+ + + + + + +

The church stood like a beacon in the haze of moonlight, drawing J.D. in. The sanctuary was empty, a lone candle burning at the altar the only sign that someone had been here at all. Josiah’s prayer for Buck. J.D. could feel the pressure of sorrow building in his chest until he was sure he would burst. He told himself he needed to be alone, but he knew that was a lie. He’d hoped Josiah would appear behind him, put his arm on his shoulder and tell him things would be ok.

Stupid kid notions, J.D. Damn well time he grew up and faced the truth that wishing it so don’t mean it would be. Unshed tears obscured his vision as he made his way up the aisle and toward the brightly-burning light. Guilt streaked through him when he realized the only times he tended to seek comfort from God’s house was when he didn’t know where else to turn. Like now.

J.D. slowly dropped to his knees. He focused on the glowing flame and tried to push aside the horrible sight of his best friend, broken and bleeding in Nathan’s room. It wasn’t like he’d never seen people hurt before; not like he had been sheltered from hardships or suffering. Even before his momma died, he’d learned that death could be a cruel master not just to the weak and the sick, but that even the strong and seemingly invincible could be made unwilling servants.

People like Buck.

Tears rolled silently off his cheeks; his heart hollow from the thought of losing the closest thing he’d ever had to a brother. What would he do if Buck died? Sure, life would go on, he might stick around, might finally go and join the Rangers. Damn, he didn’t want to think about this, but his thoughts rushed at him like bugs to a lamppost and he futilely swatted at them. He wasn’t ready for things to change. Not again. Not when he was just getting used to having a family again.

He’d come out west for a lot of reasons, one of which *had* been adventure; Buck had been right about that part anyway. J.D. had also left to escape the familiar, oppressive bonds of who he had been. A poor child of a chambermaid, forced by necessity into long hours of back-breaking work, occasional whippings and more responsibilities than any eight-year-old should be made to shoulder. God, he hadn’t thought about that in a long time. Those memories had long been pushed back into the basement of his mind and he could have sworn he’d bolted that door tight.

Yet, he’d been luckier than most of his friends. J.D. might have never known his father, but he had been blessed with an exceptional mother; a fiercely loyal and devoted woman who had loved him more than she had loved life itself. She taught him to be strong and independent, but at the same time managed to instill in him an unwavering trust and adoration for friends and family. No matter how small that circle happened to be.

He’d been damn lucky to have his momma, even if it hadn’t been long enough. He’d also been lucky to meet up with these men. Anybody else would have sent him packing, probably with a few splinters in his backside, but here he felt accepted. Like one of them.

Especially with Buck. The man could be such a pain in the ass sometimes. Always telling him what to do, what not to do, that his hat was stupid and his aim was off. Still, J.D. knew Buck loved him with the devotion that his mother had. J.D. had a brother. Another family. And that he wouldn’t trade for all the fame and glory he’d thought he’d wanted his whole life.

J.D. smiled sadly and wiped his face with his sleeve. Of course he might not have anything to trade anyway. Buck could be dying for all he knew and he knelt here thinking about what used to be. No. J.D. shook his head in denial. Buck wouldn’t die, damnit! He just couldn’t.

A wave of desperation washed over him, bringing with it the realization that he had no control over the situation. No matter what he or Nathan or Chris or anybody did, none of them had a say in Buck’s fate. That rested with something he couldn’t see or hear or touch. He could do nothing except wait and pray while strangers who might have taken everything from him went on living without remorse and not giving a damn that they might have ruined his life. J.D. closed his eyes and tried to block out Buck’s distorted leg and the pain-laced shouts for him to get out.

Another memory. This one fresh enough to make him gasp. The Nichols brothers. The darkness of the church sent a chill down his back and he could almost see the siblings in front of him. He remembered all too well the sinking feeling of being outnumbered, the quickening thump of his heart and the roar in his skull when he realized their exact intentions. He could feel the first blow low in his belly as it blossomed into blinding pain all over his body. The futility as he fought back, the helplessness as he grew weaker and the fear that he’d die in agony on the dusty ground.

Just like Buck must have felt.

Rage swelled to replace the grief in his heart and he trembled with weakness. Buck had taken care of him then. Helped him upstairs, out of harm’s way, trying to reinforce Chris’s orders to take care of Casey. J.D. knew it was all a ruse, but he hadn’t had the strength to argue. Even after he’d been shot himself, Buck had been more worried about J.D.’s bruises and sore ribs than his own injury. Now Buck was hurt bad and all J.D. could do was run and cry. He hated himself for not being strong enough, tough enough to handle what Buck seemed to do with ease. How could Buck stand to watch someone he cared about in pain? J.D. certainly proved he couldn’t do it.

Another memory ripped through his head. ‘Gun ‘em down if you have to.’

Blazing pain in his stomach had distorted most of what had happened the day Mattie Stokes shot him, but he remembered that. The malice in Buck’s words reverberated in J.D.’s ears, but didn’t hide his unmistakable concern. Concern for him. Hatred manifesting itself out of fear of losing something dear to him. J.D. had always believed that and now he knew it was true, because he felt that same wrath now gnawing a jagged trail through his insides.

Revelation soothed the confusion in his mind, but not the fire in his soul. J.D. knew what he could do. What he had to do. He might not have the fortitude to sit at Buck’s bedside, but he sure as hell had the guts to find the bastards who put him there and gun them down the first chance he got. Buck’s destiny might be in God’s hands; but J.D. would make damn sure he’d have a say in the fate of every last one of those men responsible for hurting his best friend. If it took him his whole life, he’d get them all.

An icy chill ran through his body as he stood up and retraced his steps up the aisle. His earlier defeated shuffle had grown into a determined stride spurred on by a purpose that filled him to overflowing. Deep down he knew this wasn’t right and he didn’t belong in God’s house with these feelings of hatred and revenge. Yet, he couldn’t, or didn’t want to, control his empowering anger or his craving for justice that gave him hope when nothing else seemed to.

He’d leave tonight, while the frenzied hunger in his soul demanded to be fed and before anyone could stop him. This was something he had to do to prove his loyalty and his place with his friends…and his love for his family. His heart ached at the thought of leaving Buck, but J.D. didn’t plan to be gone any longer than it took to make sure none of the outlaws that tried to take his brother from him would see another minute’s peace.

+ + + + + + +

Ezra stood on the middle steps, torn as to which obligations took precedence in this case. He had wanted to follow J.D. The young man looked so distraught and scared, yet he thought J.D. might fare better if he didn’t meddle or try to comfort him. Ezra felt a stab of panic, hoping that J.D.’s behavior wasn’t due to their friend’s death. Of all the men he’d come to think of as friends, Buck had always seemed the most accepting of him and the gambler cringed at the thought of Buck’s infectious laughter and good-natured banter being absent from his daily routine.

It would take a miracle for Buck to still be alive. He had assumed the man was dead when they’d seen him lying in the dirt, his clothes shredded and bloody, his face the color of fresh milk. Ezra wouldn’t have laid odds on him surviving the ride back into town, but he had. Thank God Vin had been with him. Ezra knew what a travois was, but suspected his attempts to make one on his own would have either taken too much time or resulted in finishing Buck off.

He heard the door creak open above him and made up his mind. He had to know first, then he’d go after J.D. Ezra climbed the stairs slowly, every bone in his body aching with dread as the men trailed dejectedly out of the shack.

"Where’s J.D.?" Chris’s words were solemn and Ezra froze on the steps, merely shaking his head in answer.

"Is he…?" Ezra heard the tremble in his voice, but right now he didn’t care.

"He’s sleepin’." Nathan motioned for Ezra to join them. "I’ve got Dr. Matthews comin’ in tomorrow, leastways I hope so. Buck’s leg’s broke too bad and I just don’t have enough doctorin’ skills to fix it."

"He gonna be able to walk when it heals up?" Vin asked the question that loomed on the tip of Ezra’s tongue and he flinched inwardly. He wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer just yet.

"I dunno. Right now I’m just hopin’ he don’t lose it all together."

Nathan’s eyes glistened as he spoke and Ezra could feel the lump in his throat growing into the size of a cannonball. This could not be happening. Not to someone as vibrant and full of life as Buck Wilmington. It just couldn’t.

He turned to stare at the somnolent town, attending to its business as usual, as if nothing had happened. Ezra didn’t blame the townspeople really. Heaven knows he knew too well how easy it was to cast aside pain when it wasn’t your own. Except now, it felt like it was his too.

+ + + + + + +

J.D. led his bay into the far stall, hoping to hide his intentions from anyone who might stumble into the livery. He finished stuffing his saddlebags with enough essentials to get him through the next few days. Jerky, water, Buck’s rifle that he’d retrieved from the gunslinger’s room, and bullets. Lots of bullets.

J.D. wanted to do this on his own. Well, didn’t necessarily want to, but he knew with the others along he’d be prevented from doing what he had to do. Besides, he didn’t want to share his revenge. Not this time. This was his responsibility. Nothing short of what Buck would do for him.

He knew who they were. He even had their wanted posters tucked inside his coat pocket. Ethan Foxx and his gang. Buck had told Vin and Ezra one of the times he woke up on the way back. J.D. had never heard of them before. Vin had though. He said they were a clan of brothers, cousins and in-laws who saw no need in obeying the law or having an ounce of respect for anyone who wasn’t one of them. They’d fled to Mexico a few years back after murdering a couple of Pinkerton agents; apparently the group wasn’t bright enough to figure out they’d still be wanted. Or they didn’t give a damn. Vin said they were heading back across the border, obviously not in a hurry and believing no one would be crazy enough to follow them.

Fear prickled the fine hairs along the back of J.D.’s neck, but his rage fueled his determination as he pulled the cinch tight. He tried to take comfort in the fact that at least they wouldn’t be expecting him to find them. Oh, but he would. He’d sketched Ethan Foxx's grizzly, murdering face to memory, and he’d find him first, follow him to the edge of hell if that’s what it took.

He'd kill Ethan Foxx and as many of his worthless kin as he could - one way or another.

PART 2

The morning sun pulled its way over the horizon and shed its bright rays through the open window of Nathan's room. The healer squinted at the light and pulled the curtain closed; it was hard enough to keep his eyes open after staying awake more than half the night. He wrung out another cloth with cool water and handed it to Larabee.

Chris drew the cloth over Buck's forehead slowly, soaking up the sweat that rolled from the man's hairline and dropped onto the sheets. Nathan would have never figured him for the hovering type, but something about the condition of his old friend had turned the hardened gunslinger into an unusual nursemaid. He had helped Nathan change bandages, kept Buck calm in the midst of fever-induced nightmares and talked to their friend through pain he was just too weak to hide.

"Infection's settin' in." Nathan spoke softly as he lay his hand across Buck's neck and felt the heat spread into his palm. Buck jerked awake, shivering from the touch as the healer pulled the quilt higher. "Shhh, just go back to sleep."

"Chris?" Buck's voice scratched out the name as he struggled to turn over.

"I'm here." Larabee leaned in close to his face, still keeping a restraining hand on Buck's shoulder. "What is it?"

"Tell J.D. … tell him…I'm sorry." Buck looked up at Chris, his eyes shining with fever, but his thoughts obviously clear.

"He knows you didn't mean to yell at him."

"Don't let him go." Buck reached with trembling fingers and latched onto Chris's sleeve in desperation.

Chris glanced up at Nathan, his face twisted in confusion. "Don't let him go where, Buck?"

"Make him stay here." Buck's hand dropped heavily onto the cot and his eyelids drifted shut.

"What's he talkin' about?" Nathan knew Buck needed to communicate with them, but he had no idea what muddled notions swirled in the sick man's head.

Chris stared at his sleeping friend for a moment, a look of realization crossing his features. "He don't want J.D. goin' with us after Ethan Foxx."

Nathan nodded, wondering how Chris had surmised all that from just a few words. Then again, those two had known one another so long they understood a lot more about each other than either of them would admit. A silent code that remained a mystery to everyone else.

"I'll keep J.D. here, I'll prob'ly need the help, but..." A sudden fear jabbed at Nathan's heart. He stood and motioned for Larabee to follow him outside. Buck probably had enough morphine and fever in his veins to prevent any understanding, but Nathan didn't want to take a chance.

Nathan waited until Chris shut the door softly behind them and turned to face him. The man had a look of grief and worry that ripped at the healer's already fragile heart. Knowing what he was about to say and the effect it would have only added to his pain.

"I don't want J.D. ridin' after Foxx anymore 'n you do, but I can't promise Buck's gonna pull through. Even if he does, he might lose that leg and I ain't sure J.D.'s gonna be able to handle either one."

Larabee sighed heavily, looking into the bright sky as if it held the answer he so desperately needed. "I gotta respect Buck's wishes, he knows J.D. better 'n anybody, knows the kinda anger and grief he's carryin' around'll make him careless."

Nathan nodded, knowing Chris was right, yet still dreaded having to burden J.D. with the powerlessness of staying put and waiting.

"He's a tough kid, he'll figure out a way to deal with whatever happens. Besides, I need somebody to look after the town 'til we get back." The fierce set of Chris's jaw and the bitterness in his eyes bore silent testament to the anger brewing deep within. "I expect the others are waitin' on me."

"Prob'ly." Nathan knew what Larabee and the others had in store for the Foxx gang, and for a weak moment he wished he could be a part of it. His body ached with the need to quench his thirst for vengeance instead of helplessly watching his friend suffer.

He slipped back inside and made his way into the chair Chris had just vacated. His thoughts turned prayerful as he continued to bathe Buck's neck and shoulders with the cool cloth. Please let 'im be all right and let Chris kill the bastards that did this.

The irony of praying for healing on one hand and wishing another of God's creations irrefutable harm on the other made Nathan laugh sadly. He despised the overpowering draw of retribution, the ease with which he could slip back into such hatred, but men like Foxx didn't deserve to breathe the same air as decent folks. That was the undeniable truth.

+ + + + + + +

Vin met Chris at the bottom of the clinic stairs, a mixture of concern and downright anger pinching his features. Great, what else is wrong?

"Vin." The name rang out both as a greeting and a question and Tanner nodded.

"You seen J.D.?"

Chris shook his head, a creeping sliver of dread invading his bones.

"His horse's gone, his bed ain't been slept in and nobody's seen 'im since last night. I figure he got antsy waitin' on us."

"Hell." The sliver had suddenly become a dagger and Chris knew Vin's assumption had to be right. "Any idea which direction he took off in?"

"Probably toward Purgatory, the same place we need to be headin'."

"How would he know where to start lookin' or who he was even lookin' for?"

Vin dipped his head sheepishly. "I mighta mentioned both them things last night while we was outside Nathan's. Never figured the kid'd take off on his own."

"Never figured he'd leave Buck, but sometimes that gnawin' in your belly is stronger than good sense." Chris adjusted his hat, his mind reeling beneath it. Buck sure knew that damn kid, then again, Chris should have anticipated this too. He'd just have to make sure he found J.D. before Ethan Foxx did, before this all got even more out of hand. "Ever'body ready?"

Chris strode toward the front of the livery, Tanner moving in step behind him. "Yup. Just waitin' on you."

+ + + + + + +

J.D. reluctantly unfolded himself from the warmth of his bedroll and stepped into the crisp morning air. He hadn't intended to stop. He'd wanted to get as much of a head start as he could, but after nearly falling asleep and slipping off his horse twice he'd figured he'd better start fresh in the morning or risk waking up face down in a cactus patch. Buck always told him traveling at night was dangerous enough, but deadly if you were tired or distracted. And J.D. couldn't deny having been both.

He hoped he'd have a plan figured out by the time he woke up, but the exact logic to his actions still eluded him. Hell, maybe he should show a little good sense and wait for the guys to catch up to him. Maybe…if pride and vengeance weren't such a powerful duo. He certainly couldn't just be expected to sit here and wait for them to come to his rescue.

He quickly gathered his gear, kicking dirt into the dying embers of the fire. The sun had been up for a good hour or so and he knew Chris and the others would quickly catch up to him if he stuck around much longer. He'd already wasted enough time on his journey by stopping at Mrs. Anderson's farm last night. He couldn't explain it, but he'd had to see where Buck was attacked. That urgent need to stoke the inferno of rage within his soul to keep his courage up and keep him focused on his mission.

Nothing more than an open door and a busted hitching rail had been visible in the dim moonlight, but it had been enough. The suffocating stench of fear and pain had overwhelmed him as much as if he'd seen the dried blood he knew encrusted the ground he'd walked on.

'Get movin' boy, you're burnin' daylight!' J.D. could hear Buck's jovial words goading him about oversleeping and a flood of emotions pushed to the surface, along with the frightening revelation that he might never actually hear Buck's voice again. He'd probably left his best friend to die without even telling him good-bye.

J.D.'s chest tightened with renewed grief and he choked back the sobs that threatened to bubble from his throat. He didn't have time for this. He couldn't change what had happened to Buck, but he damn sure planned to make those bastards suffer for it. His hands fumbled with the cinch, his limbs shaking more from sentiment than from the chilly air. A part of him knew he was being irrational. That he had to be a complete and total fool for going after these men alone. Hell, he knew Chris would have let him come along. They'd never left him out of a fight before and J.D. knew for damn sure he wouldn't have been excluded from this one. Never.

Then again that wasn't the real reason he'd took off in the cover of night, alone and without letting his friends in on his plans. The truth had burned in his gut until he finally acknowledged it; he was more scared of what lay broken and bleeding back in Four Corners than anything that he might face in Purgatory.

His own death he could confront, but not Buck's.

+ + + + + + +

Larabee was vaguely aware of the other men as their mounts kept pace behind him, yet he felt engulfed by solitude. The open desert merely added to his isolation. As much as he wished he could be mad at J.D.'s impulsive and dangerous behavior, deep down Chris couldn't deny feeling the same way. A few short years ago he would have done the same thing.

Only a life's worth of dues paid, time and time again it seemed, kept him in town last night. Maturity had taught him his presence belonged with those that mattered; justice would wait, because his responsibility now extended beyond personal desires. Making sure Buck remained safe and that none of the residents of his town would become another casualty had to take priority over the revenge he wanted as badly as J.D.

Chris understood the boy's need to keep to himself, even respected his desire to sort things out on his own. J.D. had grown up a lot since he first jumped off that stage. He'd turned out to be a hell of a fighter, a loyal friend and a valued and equal member of their circle of misfits. And as much as Larabee knew J.D. had to learn things the hard way, a part of him would always see their youngest as 'the kid' and forever feel an obligation to make sure J.D. stayed on a straighter path than Chris had chosen for himself. He sure as hell didn't want the kid to follow in his wayward footsteps. J.D.'s heart remained too pure, too open and honest to be corrupted with that kind of hatred.

Despite the harshness he realized J.D. had grown up in, despite the never-ending barrage of the evil side of mankind the kid bore witness to since joining the likes of them, J.D. still refused to give up his optimism and his unquenchable thirst for life's adventures. It remained one of the things he most admired about the young man. In spite of all J.D. had seen, all he'd been through, he still had trust, faith and honor enough for a thousand men. Larabee couldn't sit back and watch J.D. throw that away on something as wasteful as vengeance.

Of course, that might be the least of his worries. Chris couldn't quell the gnawing dread that J.D.'s hastiness could land him smack dab in the middle of something that none of them would be able to handle, let alone one cocky kid with a heavy heart. At the very least his naive bravery might give Foxx's gang just enough warning that the rest of them would be following close behind. Larabee spurred his horse faster, desperate to get to Purgatory before J.D. got himself killed or, maybe worse, lost his own soul.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan peered out the curtain and down at the quiet street for what had to be the hundredth time since his friends had disappeared down that dirt trail. Right now he only wanted to see the stage pull up and one man climbing the steep stairs to his humble excuse for a home. Nathan knew he and Dr. Matthews might have started out on the wrong foot, but they'd both learned a lot from each other. The healer ran rough fingers across the expensive leather binding of the book the man's daughter had given him. Sadly, all the cures in the world didn't mean a thing without skill. Skills he didn't have.

A soft click of the door almost made him jump and he let the dusty curtain fall back into place. Inez quietly appeared, her eyes dark with worry and her hands laden with a basket emanating with scents of bacon and warm biscuits.

"I thought you might be hungry." Her voice remained steady, but Nathan noticed the subtle tremor in her hands as she set the food on the edge of the desk and turned her attention toward Buck. "How is he?"

"He's holdin' on." Nathan moved to the edge of the bed. "Ain't never seen nobody fight harder."

Inez smiled sadly and gently threaded her fingers through Buck's wet hair. "When is the doctor coming?"

"Soon…I hope." Nathan moved to the window again, his heart fluttering with impatience as the arriving stage stopped in a cloud of gritty smoke. If Dr. Matthews didn't get his message, then Nathan would be on his own and Buck's life would rest solely in his hands. And that terrified him. But one way or another, he had to know.

"Stay with 'im, I'll be right back."

Nathan left quickly, his boots thumped heavily down the steep stairs, his mind spurring his body onward in its need of truth. His eyes searched the passengers as they waited for their luggage, but Dr. Matthews was not among them. A rush of panic swelled inside his chest as he pressed closer, scanning each face for some flicker of recognition, yet only strangers' stares greeted him.

"Excuse me, Hollis." Jackson called up to the driver, his desperation evident in his quaking voice. "I's expectin' a doctor on this run - Dr. Matthews?"

The grizzly man shook his head. "Naw, doc. Just a woman and three young 'uns on their way to Californ. Ain't seen no doctor."

Blood rushed through Nathan's ears in a deafening cadence and fear blurred his vision. He felt himself sway and quickly steadied himself long enough to assemble his composure. Dr. Matthews wasn't coming. Whether Buck lived or died now rested completely on his shoulders.

Nathan pulled in a deep breath and made his way back to the clinic, praying he'd know what to do when he got there.

+ + + + + + +

The afternoon sun drew deep shadows along the wall that surrounded Purgatory; the town Buck fondly referred to as 'hell in a bucket.' J.D. adjusted his hat, grateful for the scarce shade it provided. He'd really rather have been able to ride in under the cover, and not to mention relative coolness, of night. He wiped at the rivulet of sweat that trickled from his hairline, knowing he would be sweating bullets even if he'd been standing hip-deep in an icy creek.

He tried to push away his fears, tell himself he'd been here lots of times. Hell, he'd watched Chris and Buck often enough to know how to make them think he belonged. No big deal. He just had to act like one of them and they'd leave him alone. He could ask around, find out where Ethan and his boys were holed up and make his plans from there. No problem. Now if he could just stop his hands from shaking and keep his eyes from reflecting the uncertainty his heart felt.

J.D. ran his hand over his rough stubble-covered chin and urged his mount forward. He figured he looked plenty uncivilized enough with his week's growth of beard, and the dark circles he imagined framing his blood-shot eyes gave him a menacing air. He'd ride through like he'd just as soon shoot 'em all as look at 'em and they'd keep their distance.

He pulled back his shoulders and rested his hands casually on the horse's withers as he rode; his head cocked slightly to one side as he moved in rhythm with his mount. He prayed nothing about his outward appearance would give away the fear fluttering in his otherwise empty belly. J.D. studied each face quickly, trying his best not to draw unnecessary attention as he searched for any hint of familiarity to the ink drawings lining his coat pocket.

"Hola, bebé muchacho."

J.D. sucked in a sharp breath, but refused to turn around. He wasn't sure what the words meant, but the menacing tone left no room for doubt. Now he could only hope they weren't talking to him.

Another man stepped into his path and roughly grabbed the reins from his lax hands, grinning as the animal arched its neck and sidestepped. "Extraño sombrero."

The man motioned to his hat and smirked before turning to his companions, laughing heartily as they encouraged him with shouts and jeers. J.D.'s face burned with embarrassment and overwhelming dread. He was such an idiot. He might as well have sauntered right in the middle of a pack of hungry wolves with a bleeding sheep tied to his back. It would've probably been safer.

J.D. jerked the leather lead from the man's hands, the cold hatred J.D. projected through his eyes the only real part of his threatening guise.

The man and his friends roared with more laughter as J.D. shoved the older man back with the toe of his boot and continued toward the saloon.

"Valiente tonto." He shouted, but J.D. never looked back. He hoped like hell that they hadn't seen his hands twitching. Ok, so this game was proving harder than he'd thought, but he couldn't back down now or they'd know for sure he didn't belong.

J.D. swung his leg carefully over the saddle, using his horse to steady himself as his limbs wobbled. Good J.D., fall on your face now, that'd just be icin' on the cake. He paused to gather his courage, then slowly strode through the batwing doors of the saloon and pulled up the first empty stool next to the bar.

"Beer." He fumbled in his pants' pocket just long enough to draw attention to himself before finally clasping sweaty fingers on the coin. Frustrated and tired he slapped the money loudly on the bar. "I said, get me a beer."

The bartender shook his head in amusement, but filled a mug and slid it into J.D.'s hands.

"First time?"

J.D. shot the barkeep a hostile glance and took a long swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "I've had my share of whiskey, mister."

"I meant visitin' our fair establishment, kid."

"Oh." J.D. let out a frustrated sigh as the man laughed and turned to his other customers. This didn't seem to be going as he'd hoped or everyone wouldn't be looking at him like he'd wandered away from his momma. Maybe he just needed to work on another approach.

"Hey, mister." J.D. called him back and leaned over the bar. "Where would a fella go for some fun in this town?"

The man's jovial demeanor changed into a mask of annoyance as his eyes swept up and down J.D. "Boy, do you know where the hell you are?"

"Supposed to meet up with some kin here. Name Foxx ring a bell?" Several men at the opposite end of the bar turned to stare at him and J.D. realized too late that he should have been a little less obvious with his questions.

"Maybe you'd best run along home now 'fore you get your fool ass shot for being too damn nosey." The bartender hissed the words through clenched teeth, but a glint of pure fear shone in his eyes as he scanned the room warily.

With his confidence shaken, J.D. finished off his beer silently, feeling the scrutinizing gaze of each man in the saloon on his vulnerable back. Panic swirled in his gut as he waited for another plan to present itself before he ended up getting fitted for a coffin. At this moment the only thing on his mind involved surviving long enough for the others to catch up. No denying there'd be safety in numbers and it'd certainly feel mighty good knowing a friend had your back. For now that meant getting out of sight and staying alive until he thought of something better.

He pushed away from the bar, his eyes cutting from side to side as he warily made his way to the exit. He felt trapped, overwhelmed and an urgent need to shuck all dignity and run like hell. Muggy air and burning sunshine greeted him as he stepped into daylight, but his relief was short-lived. The bullies who'd greeted him on his way through town stood looming along the shade of the boardwalk and all four of them wore smiles like ravenous wolves.

"Hola, poco hombre." The first man whispered in J.D.'s ear as the others slowly closed in around him. J.D. felt a trickle of sweat slide down his back and he nearly gagged on the sour taste of beer lingering in his dry mouth. His heart thumped heavily against his ribs, the vivid recollection of Buck's beating, as well as his own, seemed to turn his bones to liquid and threatened to melt his body into the planks under his feet.

J.D. clutched his pistols. If he had to die, he'd make sure he took a few of his tormentors with him. After all that Buck had taught him about staying alive, J.D. couldn't help but feel ashamed he'd let his best friend down…again. Strong hands from both sides grabbed his wrists and jerked each weapon from his grip.

"Little hombres shouldn't play with big guns." The man waved his finger in front of J.D.'s face as if reprimanding a wanton child. J.D. didn't have time to react before an agonizing blow to his lower back sent him crashing to his knees. Numbing pain spread up his spine and around his ribs as he landed, and he fought to catch his breath. Another whack across his shoulders landed him sprawling face down on the grimy boardwalk and he realized he was a dead man. The only thing he could pray for now is that they'd kill him quick enough that he wouldn't have a chance to linger on regrets or pain or fear.

+ + + + + + +

Buck could feel bone grating against bone as he tried to roll onto his back and knew he'd discovered hell. Agony raced from his toes to the top of his head and he figured this had to be what it'd feel like to be struck by lightning, over and over and over. He wanted to stop the cries that originated from deep in his chest, but that kind of control took too much energy and he couldn't stop the ragged screams that tore from his throat.

"Lie still, it's ok, it's ok." The sweet voice held a hint of panic and he turned his focus from his own pain to the woman he felt hovering close. God, she sounded so achingly familiar and he opened his lids with a tremendous effort and stared into the face of an angel. Wait, did they have angels in hell? Maybe the Almighty had cut him a break after all.

An overwhelming wave of dizziness forced him to shut his eyes again as the pain retraced its path along his body. Maybe not. All this was too strange to be heaven, and surely not even hell could hurt this much. He cried out again, his moans becoming weaker until he didn't have the strength to even whimper. The angel smoothed his hair, her words soft and full of concern as she bent close and he felt her warm breath on his ear. Ok, so at least she was real. Maybe.

Her words soothed him and he let his thoughts ride on the timbre of her melodic voice and his suffering diminished into a draining ache. Memories of his mother invaded his feverish mind and his heart flipped at the realization. She had come back to him when he needed her most. Momma was his angel.

Buck could remember being this sick only one other time in his whole life. He had been seven years old, but to this moment he could still feel his mother's tender hands wiping the moisture from his face as she rocked him in her lap, his coltish legs hanging off the arm of the chair as she lovingly held onto his fever-wracked body. He could even still feel the warmth of her skin and savor the aroma of lavender as she cradled him, prayed over him and willed the life back into him.

God, he'd forgotten how much he missed her. How much he still needed her.

Grief washed over him unrestrained and he longed for the comfort of her compassionate voice, her wisdom, most of all he needed her unconditional love. He pushed aside the pain in his body and in his heart, grasping onto the beautiful image he'd almost forgotten he carried inside his battered skull. Long, dark curls framed her flushed cheeks as she appeared before him and he wanted to cup her face in his palm, but his hand refused to move.

"Momma." He called out to her and she smiled, stroking his hair before planting a soft kiss on his heated forehead. "I miss you, Momma."

Her image turned to leave and Buck grabbed her hand. "No!"

He'd been without her for so long he hadn't realized how much he needed to have her with him again. "Let me go with you." Buck couldn't swear he'd said the words, but he could tell from the squeeze of her hand on his that she understood his meaning. He'd always hoped when his time came he'd die fast, with no time to think about suffering or being scared. He never wanted to die like this, but now, the thought actually calmed him instead. His momma would guide him and there would be no fear. Buck gave in and followed her toward that beautiful light looming behind his mother's form.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan could hear Inez yelling as he reached the first step. Some indiscernible Spanish intermingled with her terrified English and Nathan knew something had gone wrong.

He flung open the door and rushed in, wedging himself between Inez and the unconscious man on the bed.

"I think he stopped breathing." Inez whispered, as if she couldn't believe her own words.

Nathan placed trembling fingers on his friend's neck, his mind swirling faster as he tried to think of something, anything, he could do to bring him back if she was right. The healer couldn't feel anything but his own blood rushing through his fingertips, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.

"Damn it, Buck, don't you leave us!" Nathan shook Buck's shoulder roughly, and slapped his cheek hard enough to get his attention, but the wounded man didn't respond. "J.D. needs ya, Buck, we all do, but J.D.'d be lost without someb'dy to ride tail on 'im. So don't you go makin' me tell him ya died and left 'im."

Nathan could hear Inez's soft sobs behind him, and he pressed harder into Buck's neck. A weak pulsing under his touch almost made him yell in triumph, but he hadn't won yet. If Buck didn't want to fight, not him, not any fancy doctor in this territory could save him. He just had to make Buck want to live, even if it was only long enough to get back the strength to choke Nathan's neck.

"Ain't nobody ever gonna watch that boy's back the way you do, Buck, so if you want to save that cocky lit'l brat from a worlda hurt, you'd best stick around. The rest of us ain't gonna put up with his stupid hide, so if you desert 'im, so do we. Chris'll send him and his guns packin', and who knows what kinda slick outlaws would welcome a trigger happy runt tryin' to be a hero. Course, they'd prob'ly shoot the pain-in-the ass kid the first day anyway."

Nathan hated to talk about J.D. this way, but nothing got Buck's ire lit quicker than picking on his kid. The healer knew, and Buck surely did too, that no matter what happened, they'd always have a soft spot for the young man. Not a one of them that wouldn't throw themselves in front of a bullet to keep him safe. That much Nathan outright lied about.

The part about J.D. being lost without Buck though. That was the kind of truth that would bring a man back from the grave. Exactly the goal Nathan was aiming for.

+ + + + + + +

"J.D.'d be lost…"

Buck stopped and his mother's fingers slipped from his grasp, the moment shattered. How could he have forgotten about J.D.? Just when he thought he'd had this dying thing figured out.

"Ain't nobody ever gonna watch that boy's back the way you do…"

Oh, God. He'd like to believe J.D. would be just fine without him, but what if he was wrong? Lord knows that boy could use a few more years of Buck's teachings, yet J.D. was smart and strong - he'd survive. Wouldn't he?

"…you desert 'im, so do we."

Buck stared at his mother, his face mirroring the bewilderment and the conflict he felt tearing at his heart. "I didn't desert him!" Buck shouted to no one in particular, as he searched her face for confirmation. "I'd never desert J.D."

"…slick outlaws would welcome a trigger happy runt tryin' to be a hero."

Hell, no they won't! Buck silently apologized to his mother for the curse, but it would take more than heaven had to offer for him to let that happen to J.D. If that meant giving up this incredibly blissful and pain-free feeling, then so be it. If it meant he couldn't be with his mother right now, then he'd just have to wait a little longer.

Buck swallowed hard and stared at his mother's caring face. Her image had already begun to fade into the light he'd been destined for moments ago, but he witnessed the loving smile that crossed her lips and he knew he'd made the right choice.

"Thank you, Momma." Buck shut his eyes and willingly let the pain only the living shared reclaim his body. He hoped J.D. would appreciate his sacrifice, then again, Buck would make sure he never forgot it.

+ + + + + + +

He felt Buck twitch under his palm and a low moan rattle in his chest. Nathan glanced up at Inez and smiled. "That's it, come on, tell me to keep my trap shut."

Buck didn't speak, nor open his eyes, but Nathan could feel and hear the increased rhythm of his breathing as he slipped into a quiet slumber. The healer sat back in the hard chair, and let out the breath it'd seemed he'd been holding since he'd rushed in.

A firm knock at the door drew his attention and he almost felt like crying from relief when he saw Dr. Matthews step inside.

"Mr. Jackson." The older man nodded toward Inez, then immediately crossed the room and addressed Nathan. "I left as soon as I got your telegram."

Nathan grinned and stood up, fighting the urge to draw the doctor into an embrace, instead, he settled for a handshake. "Glad ya could make it, doctor."

"Pardon the delay, but I thought a few hours head start on the stage would get me here sooner. Of course, I'm not as proficient at repairing a loose buggy wheel as I am a poor soul's dislocated shoulder, so I underestimated my travel time."

"Just grateful you're here now." Nathan knew those mere words couldn't begin to describe his gratitude and Buck didn't have the time to let him try. He pointed at the bed and Dr. Matthews quickly removed his hat and opened his medical bag as Nathan pulled back the sheet from Buck's mangled leg.

"I'll need some clean bandages, hot water and two firm splint boards, ma'am," Dr. Matthews requested. Inez wiped the tears from her cheeks and nodded resolutely before hurrying to her mission.

Nathan watched as Dr. Matthews examined Buck. The physician's worried expression grew more serious as he peeled off the bandages covering Buck's injured leg. "I can't make any promises, Mr. Jackson, but I'll do my best."

"That's all I can ask, doctor. It's all anybody can ask."

PART 3

Larabee let his horse slow to a walk as he scanned the faces of the filthy patrons along the street just like he'd done a hundred times before. Hell, his mount could probably take him straight to the rickety stall and the stale hay that kept him occupied when Chris sought out the noncommittal solace of one of the town's resident working girls. Except now, his eyes only searched for J.D. Dunne. Hopefully the kid would still be standing upright and under his own power.

A commotion in the direction of the saloon drew a muffled groan from Ezra. Chris looked in time to catch a glimpse of a familiar brown suit coat and a brace of pistols being ripped from its owner as the group dragged their hapless victim into the shadow of the alley. One of the outlaws yelled and dropped to one knee.

Apparently J.D. still had some fight left.

Chris let out a frustrated sigh. Damn kid. All balls, no brains sometimes. He dismounted and strode toward the fight. He fought the urge to run as he heard J.D. groan and the sound of fists on flesh rang in his ears. He couldn't let on how eager he was to pull J.D. out of harm's way.

"Why don't you boys pick on somebody your own size?" Chris kept his voice steady, even added a hint of amusement in his tone to hopefully keep them guessing.

The outlaws released their hold and J.D. dropped unmercifully into the dust with an unsettling thud. One man stepped in front of the others, his chest puffed out like a banty rooster, J.D.'s guns casually hanging from his shoulder as he sized up Larabee and the men who stood behind him.

"You want to die for a pequeños pescados?" The man laughed and glanced over his shoulder at his friends as he took a step closer.

Larabee didn't flinch, instead he leaned into the outlaw's face, his eyes never wavering, and hissed through clenched teeth, "Do you?"

The sound of readying guns behind him enforced his words and Chris almost smiled as fear clouded the Mexican's dark eyes. The outlaw's friends moved deeper into the alley, clearly unwilling to be a part of their leader's impending fight. The man must have known he no longer had a following and laughed nervously as he backed away and let J.D.'s gunbelt drop at his feet. "Regalo, a gift, señor."

Chris stood his ground, the steady rise and fall of his chest his only movement as the Mexican quickly disappeared around the corner of the weathered building. He could feel the unfriendly stares behind him and said a silent thank you to the men he knew were watching his back

J.D. moaned loudly, rolling himself to his knees and clutching his side with one arm as he attempted to stand. Chris's stomach twisted in empathy as the kid failed miserably, ending up doubled over with his head almost touching the ground.

"Josiah, Ezra, get J.D. and let's get out of here." Larabee spoke with urgency, knowing the immediate danger might have passed, but in this town there was no such thing as safety.

J.D. cried out weakly as his friends lifted his limp form and balanced him upright between them. Chris stepped forward and picked up J.D.'s guns, then gently lifted the boy's chin so he could get a look at his face. "How bad you hurt?"

"I'm fine." J.D. whispered weakly as he pulled his arm from Ezra's grasp and wiped at the blood and dust caked on his cheek. A look of stubborn pride crossed his face as he straightened his stance, but his will couldn't compete with battered limbs. His knees buckled and embarrassment burned on his cheeks as his body slumped against Josiah's side.

"Son, I do hope you can ride better than you can walk, because I do not plan to carry you much farther than your horse." Ezra shook his head in mock disgust as he flung J.D.'s arm around his neck and helped Josiah carry him out of the alley.

Only a hint of sympathy and understanding, not to mention the gathering they'd picked up after the altercation, kept him from grabbing J.D. by the collar and shaking him like an errant puppy. The boy's recklessness nearly cost him more than the bruises he'd carry in a few hours. And it might have cost them all a chance to find Buck's attackers and settle the score. Something Larabee knew he still needed to finish as much as J.D. did.

Chris turned to leave, whispering clearly in Vin's ear. "Ask around, somebody's bound to know somethin'."

Vin nodded as he slapped his mare's leg against his palm. "I think I can make 'em start jawin'."

"We'll meet you on the bluff. Watch your back."

+ + + + + + +

The four men settled under the shade of a tree overlooking the entrance to Purgatory, their tension easing when no one appeared to be following. One good thing about that town, nobody poked their nose in your business for more than a few minutes. Well, at least never any longer than it took to rob a person blind and then move on.

Josiah kept watch over the bluff and Chris eased himself onto the ground, his mind trying to figure out a plan for getting Foxx and heading out for Four Corners with his men still intact. He watched as Ezra soaked a handkerchief with water from his canteen and wiped at J.D.'s bloodied face. J.D. flinched, but his gaze remained locked with Larabee. The young man sniffed and swallowed hard, licking his lips as if trying to make the right words form. All the hurt and disappointment and the one question Chris knew the kid was gathering courage to ask were reflected in his dark eyes.

"He was alive when we left." Chris didn't want to force J.D. to ask about Buck, wanted to ease his mind enough to let him know that there was something still left to fight for.

Tears threatened to spill down the young man's cheeks, but a faint sparkle of hope ignited in J.D.'s haunted eyes.

"And I'm certain Mr. Wilmington will remain so." Ezra looked up at Chris briefly before turning back to J.D. and forcing a smile that probably would have looked genuine to anyone who didn't know him. Larabee figured Standish didn't have any intention of letting J.D. give up either. And right now, Chris knew that Buck still being among the living was probably the only thing holding the young man together.

The kid stood up, reaching for the guns still slung over Chris's saddle and began to buckle them around his hips.

"Are you sure…" Ezra lay a steadying hand on J.D.'s back as the boy swayed unsteadily on his feet.

J.D. nodded, grim determination set in his youthful features. "I'll be ready."

J.D. sat down gingerly, supporting his sore ribs with one arm as he dropped onto a smooth outcropping of rock and began checking first one gun then the other. Larabee knew damn well what kept him moving; what made a man ignore pain and fatigue and common sense even. He knew because he'd been driven by the same forces. Now he believed he was witnessing J.D. turning toward the same unsatisfying demons that had been such a powerful lure to him. Chris glanced at Josiah and Ezra, then moved to stand behind J.D.

"Looking for revenge ain't no way to spend your life, son." Chris hoped J.D. realized the truth of his words instead of the hypocrisy he felt in saying them.

J.D. snapped the barrel of his pistol in place and shoved it back into its holster without looking up. "You're one to be talkin'."

"Figure I got more of a right to preach about it than anybody."

"I reckon I got that right now too." Anger radiated from the young gunslinger's back and Chris felt his heart sink at the cold hatred he witnessed rising to the surface.

"I know that."

"And I don't need no lectures about what I should or shouldn't feel. I expected you'd be wantin' justice as much as me."

"There's a big differ'nce between justice and vengeance, J.D. And right now you're too blind with hate to see it."

J.D. rose quickly, wincing as he whirled around to face Larabee. "Right now I don't see a dime's wortha difference."

"You ain't the only one's got a stake in finding 'em. I wanna see those men pay for what they did as much as you do." Chris spat the words in J.D.'s face, but the kid didn't flinch from his stare.

"Ain't stoppin' you, long as you don't try and stop me. I ain't no kid and I ain't no coward." J.D.'s young face looked drawn and tired as he tried to keep control of his swirling emotions. "I've killed men before, ain't no big deal."

Repressed rage bubbled uncontrollably to the surface and Chris felt as if a bolt of lighting had struck dead center of his skull. He knew J.D.'s tone held no conviction, yet he still couldn't help his own reaction to the words. Chris lashed out like a coiled rattler, grabbing the lapels of J.D.'s coat and shoving the kid hard against the tree that shaded them.

"Mr. Larabee." Ezra's concerned voice and J.D.'s uncontrolled grunt of pain seeped through the pounding in his head, but he ignored everything except keeping J.D.'s attention.

"I hope to hell you didn't mean that. That you never mean that."

J.D. remained silent. His eyes defiant and fearless, successfully masking the terror his pounding heart could not. Chris felt a twinge of guilt as the boy's heart vibrated hard against his fist.

"Takin' a life ain't like taking shots at tin cans. It don't matter what a man did or how much they deserve to die - don't ever let yourself enjoy it." Chris let go, shoving J.D. with enough force that the kid had to struggle to keep his balance.

"You talk awful big for somebody who never seemed to mind gunnin' another man down." Chris could see in J.D.'s narrowed eyes that he expected to be hit for speaking the truth.

Larabee almost obliged him, flexing his fist as it itched to teach this wet-behind-the-ears kid some respect. Instead he softened his words to a whisper, hoping they would seep through the young man's hardening shell.

"Killing takes a part of the killer with it, son. Justified or not, don't make no difference. Listen to yourself. You think Buck would want you talkin' that way?"

"You think Buck would let somebody beat me half to death and let it go? You think he wouldn't be doin' exactly the same thing?" J.D. stepped forward, stretching his body as far as it would go in order to look Chris straight in the face.

"No. He'd be more worried 'bout you than about curin' the bitterness eatin' at his soul. He'd have stayed right by your side and to hell with everythin' else."

The words obviously cut deep. J.D. backed down and turned his head away, but he wasn't quick enough to hide the shame and grief filling his eyes. Chris immediately questioned the wisdom of speaking such truth, but he could think of no other way. Maybe this would at least cut through the shell of bravado J.D. masked his compassion behind; make the kid think, make him feel something besides hatred.

"I guess that's where me and him's different." J.D.'s words were quiet, somber and so defeated that Chris ached with him.

Larabee shook his head. "You two are more alike than anything I've ever seen. Even more 'n me 'n him used to be." Before I became somebody else, before I pushed him and everything else I loved aside to make room for the hate that devoured every inch of whatever heart I had left. "Don't let hate get a foothold, J.D., it might not ever let go."

Chris resisted the urge to simply cold cock the stubborn fool and keep him safely oblivious until after Foxx and his men were securely in their custody. As much as he wished it could be that simple, J.D. needed to figure this out for himself. He had done all he could do for the boy and now he'd have to trust him to make his own decisions and just hope to hell they would be ones he could live with.

A steady thud of hooves drew Chris's attention and he quickly looked at Josiah, assuring himself his friend hadn't been distracted by the confrontation. The big man smiled, indicating the rider had been seen and recognized.

"Any trouble?" Chris asked as the tracker pulled his mount up and dropped off its back in one smooth motion.

"Nah. Followed their trail almost to the river, figure that's where they set up camp. Barkeep said one of 'em got gut shot in town this mornin' tryin' to rob somebody. Said they wouldn't go too far and none of 'em won't go home 'til their brother got better or died."

"Without somebody that knows what they're doing, I suspect he won't last past noon." Josiah's baritone voice echoed Chris' thoughts and he knew they had to move now.

"They pick up any more men?" Chris said softly as he looked at his own small band of exhausted friends.

"Maybe, two or three, he didn't rightly know for sure."

Chris nodded, then his eyes fell to J.D. The kid not only physically looked like hell, but he had the added weight of guilt mixed with blind rage sitting squarely on his shoulders too. Unless the young man could keep his emotions in check he might just be more of a liability than any of Foxx's men. And from the concerned looks plastered on each of his friends' faces, he knew they realized it too. Which meant they'd all be distracted.

Suddenly the odds didn't seem so even anymore. Then again, it wasn't like they had any choice. Chris really didn't need to tell them of the urgency now stemming from the fact that their intentions were probably being whispered in that rundown saloon as soon as Tanner had left. Especially if any man in town dared hope they might form an alliance with Ethan Foxx by warning him of an enemy's arrival.

"We bring 'em in alive if we can, and nobody goes runnin' off on their own." Chris locked stares with J.D. before he finished his statement. "We stick together and what I say goes, no arguments." He made sure they all heard his words, but he wanted J.D. to realize they were specifically for him. From the defiant expression clouding J.D.'s face, he knew he'd succeeded on that point.

Chris broke his gaze from the kid and turned it toward the three men to his right. "We ride in five minutes."

"Dare I inquire as to your plan, Mr. Larabee?" Ezra nonchalantly brushed the dust from his trousers, but his gaze remained focused on Chris.

"I'll let you know as soon as I do."

+ + + + + + +

J.D. kept his horse at a slow walk as he silently trailed after his friends. Exhaustion, pain and the harsh reality of what lay ahead drained the fire from his soul. He realized giving in to such frailties might get him or his friends killed, but he'd find the needed strength when the time came. He'd use his worry for Buck to feed his courage and the memory of Buck's pain to spur his rage.

He watched as Vin rode point, mentioning the easy trail Foxx didn't bother to hide. The sheer cockiness of their attitude began to ignite the glowing embers of hate that hadn't completely left J.D.'s heart. Why should they care who followed? They could murder and maim their way across the territory and nobody would have the guts to stop them. Of course it could have been they'd been too concerned for the wounded man to cover their tracks, but J.D. quickly dismissed that or any other idea that smothered his building fury.

His mind swam with confusion that mixed with the misery of his aching joints and the bitterness roiling in his gut to form a nauseating brew. Things were supposed to get easier as you got older. Decisions more straightforward; right and wrong clearly defined until no questions remained. He'd had so many expectations, so many questions he thought age and wisdom would answer, but Life seemed to only loop and spin into more uncertainty.

He thought that once he could make his own choices he'd be able to prove to himself and anyone who'd never thought he'd have the courage to leave the only home he'd ever known, that J.D. Dunne could now be called a man. A man of honor and courage and enough fortitude to tackle his doubts head-on and live to tell about it.

Although, right now the doubts were winning.

J.D. shifted in the saddle trying to relieve the sharp pain clutching at his ribs with each lumbering step his gelding took. Even surrounded by his friends, the knowledge that Buck wasn't among them made J.D. feel helplessly alone. He missed Buck's contagious laughter and reassuring grin that made even the most tense of situations seem all right. Hell, J.D. even missed the older man's teasing and hovering that J.D. tried to pretend he didn't want or most certainly didn't need. He'd give anything to have his big brother riding herd over him now; Buck's wise and gentle words soothing the doubt that crashed into his temples like a tumultuous sea.

J.D. felt the sting of tears well in his eyes and quickly brushed them away. God, please be alive, Buck.

Vin signaled the men to stop. J.D. sat up straight in the saddle and tried to focus his attention on Chris rather than the intoxicating rush of adrenaline that always flowed through his veins when faced with this kind of confrontation. He pulled in a deep breath to calm himself and collect the thoughts that bounced inside his over-active mind. After all, this is what he'd wanted since Buck had come home on a stretcher. Call it revenge or call it justice, it didn't much matter now. Either concept would suit his purpose just fine, as long as Ethan Foxx and his gang lay rotting in the afternoon sun when the smoke cleared.

PART 4

Nathan's hands shook as he placed the sterilized instruments in a neat row on the clean tray. He glanced at Dr. Matthews, hoping to gain strength from the man's greater knowledge. The doctor averted his eyes and Nathan's earlier fear of being forced to set Buck's leg on his own now gave way to the terrifying fact that Wilmington's fate might not be in either of their hands.

Jackson cleared the nightstand, arranging the supplies without looking at their patient…no, his friend. Oh, God.

Nathan had treated many men in his time. He'd seen too many gunshot wounds, severed limbs, even bellies split open like overripe melons. He'd had men die in his arms, some went quietly, some screamed until their bodies gave out before their minds did. Still, nothing ever got to him as much as seeing a friend on the healing end of his knife. He truly believed every life meant something and he fought for each one just the same; yet, his hands never shook when a stranger lay in front of him. And they certainly shook now.

"I'm ready." Dr. Matthews's words garnered his attention and Nathan slowly reached for the chloroform. Silent litanies ran through the healer's mind and he realized his eyes were shut tight against the sight in front of him. He prayed for Buck and for himself. That he would be strong enough to do what had to be done.

"Nath…an?"

Nathan jerked at the weak whisper. Wilmington's glazed eyes revealed the agony wracking his body, yet he appeared fully aware of what he now faced.

"Hush, now. We're gonna take good care of ya." Nathan squeezed Buck's shoulder reassuringly, hovering close to make sure his friend stayed calm and still. Nathan and Dr. Matthews had carefully prepared the bed, piling the sides with soft blankets to keep Buck's lacerated back off the mattress and his leg accessible for surgery. Despite its brevity, the move had proven to be a harrowing ordeal for all three of them.

"Gotta talk…to J.D." Buck clutched at Nathan's sleeve, his fingers slipping along the soft fabric until Nathan took Buck's hand in his own.

"Later, when you're feelin' more up to it." Nathan smiled. The words coated Nathan's tongue with the bitter taste of deceit, but he wouldn't let Buck's hopes die now. He knew telling him that J.D. had rode off on his own to avenge Buck, well, that wouldn't exactly do the man a hell of a lot of good right now.

"I gotta know…" Buck's eyes glistened with emotion and suffering, but his stubbornness didn't seem any the worse for wear. "…he's all right."

Nathan felt his heart pounding an unnatural rhythm in his ears as he struggled for something, anything, to hide the harsh truth.

"He's dealin' with this best he can, Buck. I don't wanna make it no harder with you scarin' him into thinkin' you're makin' some deathbed confession…'cause you ain't dyin'." Nathan couldn't seem to stop himself. The need to protect Buck replacing the honesty he held so dear.

A weak laugh escaped Buck's lips and he shut his eyes tight. A wet trail of tears began their descent from each corner of his lids and he swallowed hard before forcing himself to speak. "Tell 'im, I ain't goin' nowhere. Least not 'til he gets a decent hat."

Nathan grinned, yet his bottom lip trembled as he soaked the cloth with the anesthetic and gently laid it across Buck's nose. "You best get ready to be around a while then." He felt the injured man stiffen and gasp briefly before relaxing and succumbing to the drug.

Jackson gave the nod to Dr. Matthews, knowing despite the surgeon's skill and the silent prayers he found himself repeating, Buck's life truly rested in God's hands.

+ + + + + + +

Josiah and Vin disposed of the lookouts without incident. The sight of their unconscious faces and tied limbs sent a twinge of regret through J.D.

He'd hoped to see their throats slit.

The silent confession took him by surprise and J.D. felt the heat of embarrassment rush to his cheeks. He'd never realized how deep the hatred had settled inside his soul and his own thoughts suddenly terrified him as much as what lay beyond the clump of trees. Still, his anger consumed him, held him hostage to its will and he promised himself it would pass once this was over. Once he could step back and look at the situation with fresh eyes and an unburdened heart. Once he could talk it over with Buck, things would be like they used to be. Right now though, he had something to finish.

His friends dispersed, silently surrounding the camp and waiting for Chris's signal. J.D. could make out a couple of men smoking cigars near the line of horses, two more pretending to be on patrol, but more interested in fighting over the remnants of a whiskey bottle than any danger beyond the trees. Another relaxed lazily near the fire. And the last one. A huge, mangy bear of a man still squatted near their dying kin.

Ethan Foxx.

J.D.'s eyes riveted to the source of his obsession of the past 20 or so hours and he took aim at the man's vulnerable head. When the shooting started, J.D. wanted to make sure he got what he came for.

Chris stepped out from the trees and a full three seconds ticked by before the stunned outlaws reacted. J.D. followed his friends and broke into the clearing, all with guns drawn, and probably all with the same murderous intent clearly readable in their eyes.

Larabee fired a warning shot, shattering the guards' precious bottle and sending shards of glass and whiskey flying into the men's faces. Despite the impending chaos around him, J.D. kept his gaze on the eldest Foxx, waiting, praying the man would pull his pistol so he could blow his damn head off.

Ethan smiled and stood slowly, raising his hands slightly, appearing to comply. At the last moment, he drew his pistol from underneath his coat. Reflex took over where rationale didn't. J.D. fired twice, unsure where the bullets landed, but satisfaction settled in his soul for a brief moment as Foxx dropped next to his unmoving relative.

Ethan's men reached for their guns, scrambling to find cover in the shower of bullets raining from both sides. Frightened whinnies squealed over the sound of gunfire as the two men nearest the horses quickly swung themselves onto their mounts and fled.

"J.D.! Get down!"

J.D. stumbled backwards and dropped to his knees at Ezra's warning, feeling a slight breeze as an outlaw's bullet split the air above his head. He flattened his body against the rocky ground and crawled under the cover of a fallen tree. That was close. Too damn close.

He risked a guarded look through the twisted limbs sprouting from his hiding place, steadying his Colt against the rough husk as he peered toward the camp. A large body loomed within spitting distance, coming straight for him. J.D. pulled the trigger, barely hearing the boom of his pistol over the heavy thudding in his chest. The man staggered backwards a few steps, firing his own weapon haphazardly in the air.

A rush of satisfaction swelled inside J.D.'s heart as the man crumbled to the ground and lay still and the young gunslinger turned to see if Ezra had witnessed the exchange. J.D.'s elation dropped as he spotted the gambler lying in the blazing sunlight.

"Chris!" J.D. scrambled toward Ezra and pulled him into the shaded safety of the dead tree. "C'mon Ezra, you're gonna be just fine, ok?" J.D. tried to stay calm as he scoured the camp for signs of more attackers. He quickly checked Ezra's body for the wound, grimacing when his fingers brushed across the sticky wetness soaking the fabric of Standish's shirt.

J.D. suddenly became aware of his own breaths coming in nervous gulps as he desperately tried to decide what he should do. A crackling of brush behind him forced him into action and he aimed his Colt at the sound, instinctively putting himself between Ezra and the possible danger.

J.D. exhaled with relief when he recognized the black-clad figure and every bone in his body seemed to melt and drain away. He let his gun drop to his side, the weight of the metal in his hand suddenly too much to bear.

Chris dropped to one knee and lay his hand on Ezra's chest. "I'm goin' to find Vin and Josiah, you stay with him."

J.D. nodded. It was over. At least it was for him. He had no doubt that Chris, Vin and Josiah would round up the fleeing outlaws and they'd stand trial. It wasn't exactly the justice he'd wished for, but it'd have to do. Besides, right now, not much mattered except all his friends getting home alive.

He couldn't control the tremor in his hands as he ripped off a piece of Ezra's mangled shirt and wadded it into the open wound. Standish moaned loudly as J.D. pressed harder, but he had to stop the bleeding. If he'd learned nothing at all from Nathan, it was that blood wouldn't do any good if it wasn't inside. Blood soaked through the thin cloth quickly and J.D. pulled off his vest and used it too. Ezra's legs thrashed weakly in an effort to escape the pain, and J.D. tried to ignore the weak gasps his friend made with each inhalation.

"I'm sorry, Ezra, really, I'm sorry I got you guys into this, just take it easy." J.D. kept talking to the semi-conscious gambler, as much to comfort himself as Ezra.

Ezra coughed and almost choked and J.D. realized his canteen remained attached to his saddle. "I'll get you some water, ok, I'll be right back."

J.D. nervously bit at the inside of his jaw, his eyes scanning the eerily quiet camp littered with fresh corpses. He didn't relish scrounging over dead men looking for water, but he certainly wasn't willing to leave Ezra defenseless while he traipsed back through the woods to find his horse.

The stench of gunpowder and hot blood assaulted his already frayed senses as he wide-stepped around bodies to get to the supplies piled near the dying fire. He grabbed a couple of canteens and turned to go back. He couldn't help a brief look down at the face of the injured man that had slowed Foxx's gang down; the man's features now lifeless and his lips frozen in an eternal grimace. J.D. felt nauseous and swallowed the urge to vomit. Not because of the man's death, but because right now he couldn't seem to make himself care.

A movement from the corner of his eye made J.D. drop the canteens and draw the still-loaded Colt from his left hip. He fought to focus as his eyes rested on Ethan Foxx. The man lay on his side, his hand closing around his weapon that lay just within reach. A savage smile crept across Foxx's face. "Looks like it's just you and me, boy."

Adrenaline propelled J.D. forward and he kicked the man's gun into the bushes. He motioned with his own pistol for Ethan to get to his feet. Foxx pulled himself up slowly, his eyes narrowing into slits and a half smile creeping across his face as he stared at his captor. J.D. pulled his shoulders back and stood straighter as the outlaw sized him up. J.D. motioned him toward a stout sapling. "Now hug that damn tree like your life depends on it."

Foxx meandered toward the tree, stopping short before he spit into the dirt and tipped his head toward Ezra. "Your friend there looks mighty bad off." The outlaw taunted, his voice mocking and J.D. fought the urge to just go ahead and shoot. Instead he kept his eyes riveted to his prisoner, his trembling fingers untying the tethering line from one of the horses.

Warily J.D. holstered his Colt and began to loop the rope around the man's wrists, choosing to ignore the fact his command had been disregarded altogether. Gunfire in the distance shattered his focus for only a split second, but that proved to be too long. Foxx yanked him into his grasp, twisting J.D.'s lighter form around in one fluid motion, bringing the rope over JD's head and twisting it hard against his throat.

Panic squeezed at J.D.'s heart and he brought one hand up to clutch the rough twine as the other weakly fumbled for his gun. He gasped as the pressure on his windpipe increased and knew he couldn't last much longer. He gathered what strength he had left and whipped his head back into Ethan's face, feeling the crack of the outlaw's nose before he heard him bellow. The rope slackened and he slipped out of its hold.

Ethan recovered quickly, his wrists now free from their bonds and swinging unchecked at J.D.'s face. J.D. felt the crushing sting of bare knuckles veer off his cheekbone and land squarely in his left eye. Tears welled, blurring his vision, all thoughts of retribution or fair play abandoned him as he focused solely on staying alive.

J.D. charged, kneeing Foxx hard in the groin. Ethan cried out in pain and rage, grabbing J.D.'s hair and shoving the side of his head into the trunk of the sapling. Splashes of colorful agony fired inside his skull and J.D. fought the dizziness that threatened to end their struggle. His limbs felt as rooted and numb as the tree he clutched, yet he knew if he gave up he'd die. Already bruised ribs seared with a renewed fire as he sucked in a deep breath and swung again. This time his fist connected solidly with Foxx's tender throat.

The man let out a soft gasp, his hands immediately moving to protect his windpipe. J.D. stepped back out of reach and yanked his gun free, both hands clutched around the pistol as he turned it on Foxx. His arms trembled with pain and weakness, but his aim remained true.

The outlaw rubbed his throat once more before he smiled, his dark eyes staring through to J.D.'s soul. "Better look out behind ya, squirt, us Foxxes is ever'where." Ethan whispered and J.D. felt his heart squeeze tight with dread. He had been so focused, that thought had yet to weigh on his mind, but he couldn't let fear overwhelm him. He knew the man's family had long took off like cowards into the trees, but J.D. couldn't help wishing his own friends would show up about now.

J.D. kicked the fallen rope toward Foxx. "Pick it up."

Foxx stepped forward, but he didn't reach for the rope. He stood his ground and J.D. could almost see the thoughts running through his mind, thinking how easy it would be to get the jump on him again. J.D. shook his head and gritted his teeth. Ain't gonna be that easy again, old man.

"Pick it up." J.D. aimed his pistol at Foxx's face, his tone dripping with the hate he felt bursting in his heart. Ezra moaned behind him, adding to his urgency. He had to take care of the gambler and this piece of scum was the only thing standing in his way.

"Now!" Throbbing agony pulsed inside his head as he yelled and he fought off another wave of dizziness.

"Why don't you put him outta his misery?" Ethan took another small step forward and J.D. tensed and braced his stance.

J.D. shivered, but his voice remained strong. "Maybe I should put *you* outta ever'body's misery."

Foxx laughed. A deep, throaty explosion indicating someone who'd given in to insanity a long, long time ago. "Yeah, why don't cha?"

J.D. could hear Ezra's labored breathing almost as loud as his own as he stared down Ethan Foxx. How was it this murdering demon deserved to live when Ezra suffered instead? And Buck, oh, God, Buck still suffered too, unless he was already dead. His index finger flexed against the smoothness of the trigger; the realization that he had Buck's tormentor in his sights stealing away more layers of his willpower.

"Your other friends is prob'ly dead too, hell, I got more men less 'n a day's ride from here, who'll bust me outta any jail you got, sonny boy. Your laws don't mean nuthin' to us." Ethan smiled again, his mouth wide and toothless.

J.D. shuddered.

"You'll hang." His words had conviction his heart did not. What if they did manage to spring him? What if Foxx's gang jumped them on the way back to town and yet another one of his friends ended up hurt or dead?

"Ain't no lawman in the territory got the guts. Last time anybody tried, my boys tore that whole town apart. Weren't enough to clean up, much less bury. That pretty much put the fear of God in anyone who ever dared mess with the likes of us."

"I ain't never heard of you." J.D. shivered in spite of himself. He might not have heard of them, but those cold dead eyes peering at him told him there was no doubt that what Ethan said was the gospel truth. No doubt at all.

Ethan stepped closer and J.D. caught himself before he physically flinched. "Sure ya have…didn't your momma warn you about the devil, boy? If she did, then you've heard a me."

J.D. tried to keep calm, tried to hold onto his composure, but he couldn't control the agony that inched closer to taking over his senses. Raw pain flowed through his ribs with each breath, his face ached, his throat burned, and his left eye had already swollen completely shut. Panic seized him as he realized his vulnerability to the threat in front of him.

"Pick up that rope before I blow your damn head off, mister!"

Ethan didn't budge, didn't make any move to pick up the rope. Rage and panic bubbled inside J.D.'s gut and he fervently wished Chris would appear. Such intense emotions weakened him, balled up inside him until he felt nauseous and light-headed. Yet Foxx continued his verbal onslaught.

"Hell, I used to shoot little boys like you. Tie 'em up first, then make 'em watch while their mommas spread their legs for me." Ethan winked and smiled again. Black spots began to form in J.D.'s line of vision as fury consumed him.

"Ah, but my favorites, boy, ah, my favorites were the babies. Heard they got some mighty fine lookin' little girls in Texas…" Foxx stepped closer.

J.D. felt detached, like his mind had floated away from his body. He watched himself pull the hammer back on his pistol. Watched himself aim it at a beast disguising himself as a man. Watched himself fight a battle between morality and duty. Josiah's words rushed back to him the day he tried to leave Four Corners.

A hero is someone willing to sacrifice for the greater good.

Getting rid of Ethan Foxx for all eternity would certainly fall into that category. Even if J.D. had to sacrifice a little part of his own soul and honor in the process. Even if he had to go against everything he'd ever been taught or believed in. Ethan Foxx had to die. For the greater good.

"I wouldn't mind splittin' open a couple of them purty ones, you know what I mean, boy?"

This monster had tortured Buck, killed lawmen without remorse, and God knows how many innocents he'd destroyed along the way. J.D.'s grip on the trigger of his pistol tightened, the war between right and wrong waging itself inside his muddled mind. Images swirled inside his brain and his vision tunneled - little girls with torn dresses and bloody faces, mothers screaming, Buck writhing in agony on Nathan's cot.

J.D. jumped involuntarily as an explosion of gunfire invaded his ears and he watched Foxx drop to the ground. His Colt kicked against his palm, over and over again, and J.D. looked on in calm detachment as the outlaw's body jerked in a macabre rhythm in the dirt.

The lingering echo of gunshots continued to ring in J.D.'s ears as his thoughts pushed through the haze to where Ethan Foxx's corpse lay in a bloody heap. A grisly reminder this nightmare had been all too real. Except, it was over now. He should feel good. At the very least satisfied. Yet J.D. felt nothing at all. The hate he'd used to fuel his battered body had drained away and left him empty.

J.D. sank to his knees. The pistol slipped from his sweaty fingers, hitting the earth in a quiet thud. His vision mixed with the mirages dancing in the blistering sun as the darkness he'd fought for so long finally lay claim to him and he allowed his wounded soul to rest.

PART 5

Chris caught up to Josiah and Vin as they reached the base of a series of hills. The fleeing outlaws were nowhere in sight and Chris figured they'd taken the obvious route into the rocky terrain. He fired a warning shot to get their attention and motioned his friends back. He knew Vin would want to keep tracking until he found them, but Ezra had been shot and Chris had no idea how badly. Besides, they already had what they'd come for.

"Let 'em go. Ezra's hurt."

Josiah's eyes narrowed in concern. "Bad?"

Chris shook his head. "Don't know, he was hit high in the side. Figure we need to get him back to town by nightfall."

"What about Foxx?" Vin said, his eyes still scanning the hills above them.

"He's dead. J.D. got 'im."

Chris didn't let any emotion creep into his voice, but truth be told he was damn proud of the boy. He'd shot the outlaw in defense of himself and his friends, not out of hatred that would tear him apart later.

A burst of gunfire from the direction of the Foxx's camp turned his blood cold and he immediately spurred his mount into a run. Chris silently cursed himself for not making sure those bodies weren't still breathing, for making sure there wasn't a straggler left hiding in the brush. He'd checked, accounted for all the men he'd seen, but in his haste he'd obviously let himself be fooled. He should have told J.D. to keep a look out, something he'd taken for granted that the young man would always do. Except J.D. wasn't exactly thinking clearly at the moment. Pain and fatigue would rear its ugly head as soon as the rush of battle wore off. Chris should have reminded him to keep his guard up. Should have done a lot of things he hadn't, and now he might have left Ezra and J.D. behind to be slaughtered.

Chris pulled his horse up short and dismounted quickly when he reached the campsite. Ezra lay in the shade where he'd been dragged, his glazed eyes wide and vacant as he absently cupped his bloody hand against his side. Josiah dropped to his knees beside the gambler and peeled back his shirt.

The dread that had been building dropped like an anvil as he caught a glimpse of J.D.'s still form curled on his side in the dirt. Ethan Foxx lay a few feet away, fresh bullet wounds draining away any life the outlaw might have had left. Chris made his way to J.D., praying furiously that the boy was still alive.

He knelt beside the young man, rolling him onto his back and exhaling a deep sigh of relief at the steady pulse beneath his fingers. Sweat and blood formed a sticky paste in J.D.'s dark hair and Chris carefully moved it away from the kid's swollen eye to get a better look at the damage beneath. J.D. gasped and tried to pull away.

"It's all right." Chris whispered as he continued to gently probe the gash around J.D.'s temple.

"Chris?"

Larabee looked into Vin's questioning face as the tracker finished nudging Foxx's limp body with the toe of his boot.

"I don't know, help me get him in the shade." Chris moved behind J.D., gripping his shoulders while Vin hooked a hand under each knee and they lifted him off the ground. J.D. moaned loudly and began to struggle against their hold.

"We got ya, kid. You ain't gonna fall," Vin said as he held on firmly to his friend's thrashing legs.

"Just take it easy, J.D." Chris pulled him tighter against his chest, wanting J.D. to know that he didn't have to fight anymore. The message either got through or the kid ran out of energy and Larabee felt him relax. "That's it, you're all right."

An uneasy feeling replaced his earlier panic and he suddenly wanted to be far away from this place. He helped Vin lower J.D. to the ground near Ezra and glanced at Josiah. "How's he doin'?"

Josiah's head rolled up to look at Chris, his eyes forming his own questions when he saw J.D. "Don't look too bad. The bullet went clean through."

Nodding, Chris stood, his eyes scanning the tree line before falling on Vin's steely gaze.

"Find the horses and keep your eyes open." Chris told him.

"I always do." The sharpshooter cradled his gun in both hands and walked back toward Foxx's body.

That Chris never doubted. Tanner didn't assume anything, unlike himself. He knew he'd been running on precious little sleep and a hell of a lot of guilt since yesterday. He'd let his feelings interfere with his judgment. Of course he wouldn't dare admit that to anyone. Hell, Buck was the one he talked to anyway, the one who knew all the secrets he tried so desperately to hide from the rest of the world. Buck would forgive him, but Larabee knew he could never forgive himself. Especially if Buck died.

And now his lack of insight had almost gotten J.D. killed too. The only thing that his old friend would never pardon him for and the one thing he wasn't sure Buck would be able to recover from.

Josiah finished tying off the bandage around Ezra's wound, still soothing him quietly.

"He gonna be able to ride?" Chris nodded toward the gambler as he untied his own bandana and soaked it with water from the canteen Josiah handed to him.

"I think so. He should be all right once we get him back to Nathan."

"You, sir…are not…the one spilling your life's…blood onto expensive silk." Ezra spoke haltingly through clenched teeth, his eyes finally opening to see J.D.'s battered form. "Good Lord…what happened?"

"Not sure, but it looks like Ethan Foxx wasn't so dead after all." Chris pushed the wet cloth against the gash on J.D.'s head. He let out a short yelp and raised his fists to strike.

"Whoa, hold on, son." Josiah grabbed the kid's swinging hands and pushed them against his chest. "Settle down."

J.D. regained his composure quickly and struggled to get up, shaking off Josiah's hold and stiffly sitting upright. He looked momentarily confused before his expression turned to panic. "Ezra?"

Standish grimaced as he raised up to look at J.D. He teetered unsteadily for a few seconds, the effort making beads of sweat pop out on his upper lip and his face turn sallow. "I'm quite all right, J.D."

"Rest easy, Ezra." Josiah said softly as he pushed him back onto the ground. "What happened, J.D.?"

Chris held onto J.D.'s shoulder, afraid the kid would topple over if he let go. At least Josiah had finally asked the question screaming in his mind.

J.D. hesitated, then wiped gingerly at his wounded eye. "I let him get the jump on me." His words were barely audible, but the grief and disappointment behind them spoke so loud and clear that Chris flinched.

"No, I should have made sure…" the words died on Chris' lips. He didn't want to take over the blame that J.D. shouldered, didn't want to trivialize the young man's pain. There'd be time to explain when he was ready to listen. "It wasn't your fault, J.D. Trust me."

+ + + + + + +

J.D. didn't have an inkling what Chris was talking about. Then again, why should anything make sense anymore? Chaos and pain had been his bosom buddies lately. Everything meshed together in his swirling brain until it made him nauseous. The haunting sound of gunfire still rang in his ears and the persistent throbbing in his head made it impossible to make sense of his thoughts. Except for one.

Buck.

And the overwhelming need to get back to him.

Agony throbbed through every inch of his body as he struggled to his feet, allowing his friends to help him up.

"J.D." Josiah's voice carried a concerned warning as he continued to support J.D.'s arm while the young gunslinger concentrated on controlling his wobbly limbs.

J.D. ignored the disapproving looks and scooped his hat from the dirt. "I gotta get back." He heard the tremor in his voice, but he lacked the strength to control it. Dizziness almost overwhelmed him and he staggered a few steps before Chris broke his fall.

"Just sit down. As soon as we get Ezra ready to travel, we'll all go."

Urgency shook J.D. from the inside out. A persistent voice inside his head screamed at him, told him he didn't have time to wait. Despite his exhaustion, despite the protest of his aching body, he had to get back on his horse and ride home. Before it was too late.

J.D. turned to Ezra, silently begging his friend for his blessing to leave. Standish apparently understood the plea in J.D.'s eyes and smiled faintly. "J.D., I insist you ride ahead. Perhaps you could arrange to have my room ready and a bottle of good brandy waiting when I arrive?"

J.D. felt the weight of guilt lift from his chest and he released the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Sure, Ezra. Thank you."

"Josiah, you and Vin get him into town as soon as you can. I'll ride with J.D."

Josiah nodded quietly. Despite his condition, J.D. started to protest that he didn't need company, but he quickly changed his mind. Not only was the idea appealing, but he also had no right to stop Chris, either. Just in case.

Fear rose in his throat again as he thought of losing Buck. To have known someone such a short time, the man had already impacted J.D.'s life forever. He wanted to believe Buck already knew, but J.D. still needed to tell him. Needed to let Buck know how much he meant to him, how much he'd learned from him…and how much he loved him.

J.D. made his way to the horses Vin had gathered, and gingerly mounted his bay. His physical pain overshadowed by the growing grief in his heart. He couldn't lose Buck. Not when he'd found the older brother, father and best friend he'd craved his whole life in one remarkable man. Tears blurred his vision as he urged his gelding onward, unaware if Larabee was ready or not. It didn't matter. He'd catch up, but J.D. couldn't sit still another minute when that minute might mean the difference between seeing Buck one last time or being forever too late.

Fear quivered in his belly and he dug his heels into his horse's flank until the animal ran like the hounds of hell were on his tail. One goal. One purpose. No time.

+ + + + + + +

Chris hurriedly shouted out a few instructions to Josiah before spurring his horse after J.D. The kid was turning into a blurry shadow in front of him and he knew the damn fool would exhaust his horse before he reached the halfway mark if he kept it up. He understood J.D.'s motivation, because it burned deep inside of him too. A need to make things right with the best friend he'd ever had. A need to ask his forgiveness and to thank Buck for all the times the good-hearted gunslinger should have put a bullet in his stubborn backside instead of coming to his defense.

He could see J.D. a few yards ahead and the thought crossed his mind to pull out his gun and take a wide shot at the contrary little runt to get his attention. Instead he hunkered down in the saddle and raced closer. If J.D. had been in top form Chris knew there would have been no chance on earth of catching up with him, but with bruised ribs and an open wound on his skull, the kid was already slowing down.

"J.D.! Pull up!" Chris shouted over the thundering of hooves.

Apparently the kid finally heard him and he eased to a steady walk. Both horses snorting and heaving from the unexpected gallop.

"What were you trying to do? Kill your horse because you're in a such a damn hurry?" Chris couldn't stop the frustration straining his voice.

J.D. didn't answer or look up. He kept his chin tucked into his chest as he held one arm protectively around his damaged ribs. Larabee could see the rivulets of sweat matting the dark hair to the young man's neck and worried that J.D. might just drop right out of the saddle.

"You need to slow down. For everybody's sake." His tone grew softer.

Chris didn't want to tell him that it might already be too late. That one more minute, one more hour or one more day wouldn't make a bit of difference. But he couldn't take away J.D.'s hope. Not when it was the only thing keeping him going right now.

J.D. nodded and urged his gelding forward into a fast walk. Chris rode beside him. Guilt and shame radiated from the boy's slumped shoulders until Chris could hold his tongue no longer.

"You did good back there, J.D. Ain't no shame in defending yourself or your friends."

Chris could see the young man's muscles tense through the thin fabric of his shirt and wondered if there were a few things J.D. had neglected to tell him.

"I guess." J.D. straightened up slightly, but his frame remained rigid.

"Killing ain't never the same close up. Even when you have to."

"Didn't have to." J.D. whispered, still staring straight between his horse's ears. " I wanted to."

A chill ran down the gunslinger's back. No words formed in his mind to counter J.D.'s confession and the air hung heavy with silence.

J.D. turned to look at Chris, his eyes clouded with worry and exhaustion. "I thought it would feel good. Shooting the man who hurt Buck seemed like the only thing I wanted, the only thing that would take away this hole eating through my gut. Now that hole's just bigger."

"No sense regrettin' something that needed to be done. And if ridding the world of a cold-blooded killer is the worst thing you ever do in life, J.D., nobody'll think any less of you."

"I don't regret it. I'd rather feel like this the rest of my life than know he'd hurt one more person because I didn't kill him when I had the chance." J.D. paused and looked away again. "I don't care what nobody else thinks. I just don't want…I don't want Buck to be ashamed of me."

J.D.'s fragile voice tore through the uncomfortable quiet and settled in Chris' heart.

"I've known Buck a long time, since we were both just wet behind the ears boys who made every mistake there was to make at least once. Sometimes twice in one day." Chris grinned slightly at the memories. "Ain't nothing you did back there that would make him ashamed of you. I can guarantee you that."

"No, he'll just tell me what a bone-headed, idiotic stunt I pulled and then kick my butt clear to Texas if I ever think of doing something that stupid ever again." J.D. let out a defeated chuckle.

"Prob'ly. Course he used to ride me like a new saddle too. Until he figured out I wasn't listening no more. Guess he thinks he still has a chance to make a difference with you."

J.D. stopped and stared at him. Larabee felt a stab of dread at what he'd begun. He never had any trouble speaking his mind, but rarely did he speak his heart. He didn't really want to start now, except he could tell that J.D. needed him to talk, needed his reassurance to help lift the burden he carried squarely on his shoulders.

"It ain't no secret how he feels about you, J.D. I ain't never seen him so attached to anybody, not even Adam…" Chris let his words trail as he fought back the emotion swelling in his throat. "Buck's always loyal to a fault, always been more than willing to jump in a fight when he thinks somebody's being taken advantage of or hurt. Especially if he calls you a friend. But you're more than that, J.D. You're his family. That's why he rides you so hard, tries to protect you, even when you don't think you need protecting."

"I stopped needing a nursemaid a long time ago. I ain't nearly so young and innocent as you guys want to think." J.D. whispered, turning away from Chris and kicking his horse forward.

Chris reached out and grabbed the reins of J.D.'s bay, his voice growing stern. "You're right. You're not innocent, J.D. You're not a child anymore, but you do still believe in right over wrong, in dreams and loyalty and friendship…even love. Beliefs most men out here never make it through the first part of their lives keeping a firm grip on."

J.D. leaned toward Larabee, his eyes swimming with anger and confusion as he jerked the leather out of Chris' grip. "I'm not sure I believe in anything anymore."

"I hope that's not true, son. Because as terrified as Buck is of losing you to a bullet or to your own stupidity, he's even more afraid of you losing your soul to hatred. He might never admit it, but he's scared. Scared you'll turn into…into me."

PART 6

Nathan leaned on the railing outside his clinic, sipping lukewarm coffee and watching the town below. To anyone passing by he seemed to be just enjoying the evening breeze, getting away from the stuffy confines of his room, but he knew better. Now that Buck seemed to be out of immediate danger, Nathan let his worry switch back to his other friends. His eyes searched every rider, hoping to see all five figures returning in one piece.

Nathan had sent Dr. Matthews to the hotel for a meal and a quiet room with a soft bed. Lord knows nobody ever got any sleep around here unless they were doped up on laudanum and the aftereffects of morphine. He cast an eye through the open door to make sure Buck hadn't proven him wrong. Nathan yawned, not even the strong brew in his mug capable of curing his exhaustion.

Two familiar riders emerged from the shadows, their horses blowing hard as they stopped at the livery below. Nathan's heart beat wildly in his chest as he recognized the pair.

+ + + + + + +

Fear hammered in J.D.'s temples as he dropped from the saddle, his legs so weak he doubted their ability to even hold him upright. The truth that he'd ridden so hard to find out was about to be thrown in his face and he didn't know if he had the courage to confront it. He just wanted to know that Buck was all right. That his best friend would still have all his limbs and his sense of humor and the sparkle in his eyes again. He wanted to hear that so bad, because if Buck were dead, then no amount of denial or wishing would ever bring him back. Not knowing was the only thing that had keep his hopes alive. He held back slightly, watching as Larabee dismounted and started toward the staircase. The older man paused, looking at him. Through him and into his very soul it seemed. For the first time he realized Chris was afraid too.

J.D. took in a deep breath, forcing his body to move. His boots felt as if they were lined with lead shot as he dragged them up each step, but Chris's presence behind him urged him on.

Nathan appeared at the top of the landing, his face creased with worry that changed to utter shock. J.D. stopped, trying to read the healer's expression before he heard the words. No. Please God, no. Please don't tell me he's dead. Please, Nathan. His heart seemed to catch in the confines of his throat and he felt his knees try to buckle. He wanted to turn around. Just leave before reality shattered his illusions, but he refused to give in to his fears. Buck wouldn't leave him and by damn he wouldn't run out on his best friend again. Not ever.

+ + + + + + +

Nathan met the men halfway down the stairs, relief quickly being replaced with concern as took in J.D.'s battered appearance. The kid gingerly hugged his side with one arm as he held a death-grip on the railing with the other, his left eye appeared swollen nearly shut and his face shone sallow underneath the dark bruises and dried blood. Nathan grabbed him under the arm before he sunk to his knees, letting his free hand brush gently around the kid's injured cheek.

"Oh, God, please, he can't be..." J.D. whispered as a dusty trail of tears streaked his face.

Nathan glanced at Chris, the same look of dread in the older man's eyes and he realized they'd both misunderstood his concern. "No, oh no, J.D., Buck's alive."

J.D. let out a relieved cry as the words spilled off his tongue. "I gotta see him, Nathan. Please."

The kid didn't look a whole lot better than Buck right now, but he couldn't deny him this chance to see his best friend. Anyway, he needed to get J.D. checked out before the stubborn fool keeled over and the sooner he appeased him the sooner he could get him into a bed of his own. Nathan shook his head in resignation as he helped J.D. stumble up the last few steps. Chris remained silent, not moving to offer physical support, but Nathan noticed the man stuck close and watched, prepared to catch the boy if he faltered again.

Once inside Chris slid the wooden chair at Buck's side behind J.D. as Nathan guided him into the seat. J.D. seemed oblivious to everything else as he leaned forward and lay a shaky palm over Buck's hand. "Can he hear me?"

"I suspect he knows you're here." The question threatened to break Nathan's heart and he swallowed back his own surfacing emotions and determinedly poured water into a shallow basin and soaked a clean rag from the nightstand. He leaned down in front of J.D., and began to wipe away the dried grime.

"Not now, Nathan." J.D. said sharply as he pushed away his hand.

Nathan considered letting it go, but he just couldn't. "Yes, now. I don't want Buck wakin' up and seeing you lookin' like death warmed over."

J.D. stared at him with weary eyes and acquiesced either from agreement or because he was just too tired to fight. The young man watched Buck quietly as Nathan cleaned out the wound on his temple and prodded his upper body for broken bones. J.D. flinched a few times, but overall remained stoic and focused on Buck.

Nathan finished quickly and backed away suddenly feeling as if he were intruding. He motioned for Chris to join him outside and softly closed the door behind them. "Where's ever'body?"

"They should be back in another coupla hours. Ezra took a hit, but I think he'll be all right. He needed to travel a lot slower than J.D. was willing."

Nathan let out an exasperated sigh, his tone sharp as his shifting emotions finally settled on anger. "Can't you pigheaded fools at least have the decency to try and get hurt one at a time? You must think I don't have enough to do without ya'll gettin' shot up and beat up..."

He pushed past Larabee and gripped the railing in frustration, letting his gaze wander back toward the street below. The last few days had frayed his nerves and he fought the urge to ignore them all and sleep until things returned to normal. Exhaustion sure could put strange thoughts in a man's head and he pushed them aside before he did something he'd eventually regret.

"Nathan." Chris's voice was quiet, yet sent chills down his spine. "Is he gonna lose his leg?"

Nathan hesitated. He wished he could say no. Say it with a certainty that he knew Chris wanted to hear, but he didn't know yet. "Dr. Matthews did ever'thing he could. He said the leg looks good, but we'd know for sure in a few days." The words physically hurt as they reached Nathan's ears. Thinking it was one thing, saying it out loud was quite another.

+ + + + + + +

J.D. released the breath he was holding as the two men stepped out of the room. This was awkward enough without his friends watching over his shoulder. Now he could let down his guard a little. Let his mind unravel itself long enough to make some sense out of all of this, except there didn't seem to be any sense to it at all.

"I'm so sorry, Buck." He stared into the unconscious man's face through a haze of unshed tears. A part of him hoped Buck would wake up and assure him that the friend he knew was still resided there; another part of him hoped Buck would sleep a little longer, let him have time to pull himself together. The dark mustache stood barren against his friend's pale and bruised features. The closed eyes and the slackness of that solid jaw made J.D.'s heart ache. Buck was the strongest person he knew and to see him lying broken and so utterly helpless made him queasy. It reminded him of his own vulnerability, his own weaknesses and it reminded him of just how much he needed this man.

J.D. angrily wiped at his eyes and slowly gathered the courage to look at Buck's mangled limb. He'd been so focused on whether or not Buck was still alive that he'd forgotten to ask if he still had his leg. His heart thumped in his ears as he moved aside the bed sheet, gasping in a mixture of relief and horror at the sight of it swathed in thick bandages stained various shades of brown from the seeping blood.

A soft laugh of pent up anticipation and worry broke from his throat and he closed his eyes as he silently thanked God that Buck still had his leg. Pain slowly crept through his weary body and J.D. let his head fall into his hands, too exhausted and too afraid to move from his place beside his best friend. As if his mere presence would keep Buck from slipping away.

He focused on the soothing sound of Buck's breathing, letting the steady cadence lull him toward desperately needed sleep. A break in the rhythm startled him and he held his breath as he slowly peered over his hands and locked eyes with Buck.

He struggled for the right words as he felt the rush of tears escape. A wide smile split J.D.'s face as he recognized the dazed, but obvious, glint in Wilmington's eyes. The sparkle lay hidden beneath a layer of strong drugs and exhaustion, but J.D. could still see it. The look that welcomed him back and chastised his absence all at the same time. That expression of brotherly warmth and genuine affection that most people couldn't communicate with a whole dictionary of words.

Buck struggled against the confines of his sheets, his hand rising and weakly brushing J.D.'s swollen cheek. J.D. flinched slightly at the touch and grasped Buck's hand.

"I'm fine." J.D.'s lip trembled. After everything Buck had been through himself, he still thought of everyone else first. Typical. The trust and care he showed his friends, watching their backs, being there when they needed him; that was the reason the man had so many friends in the first place. And it was the reason JD and the others counted themselves lucky to have Buck's friendship.

J.D. had been praying almost non-stop since yesterday for this moment, for a chance to tell Buck how much he meant to him. Promised himself that if Buck wasn't dead that he wouldn't pass up the opportunity to tell him that he'd been the only father figure he'd ever had or would ever want. Except the tears were too close to the surface. He was too tired, too hampered with worry then relief…and too damn exhausted and hurting to follow through now. Of course it wasn't like Buck would remember even if he had spilled his guts.

By the time J.D. had decided to just let it be, the sound of soft snores drifted through the confines of the small room. Buck seemed to be resting easier now. J.D. hoped it was because of him. That his presence had eased his friend's worry just a little.

"J.D. get some sleep – I'll sit with him a while."

Chris's voice sounded far away despite the fact he could feel the gentle weight of the man's hand on the back of his neck. Chris was right and God knows he needed the rest. J.D. just couldn't seem to pull himself away. He'd managed to force his own pain aside and do what had to be done, but now his strength waned and he realized he wouldn't be under his own power much longer. He nodded and gently placed Buck's arm back under the coverlet.

"I'll be right over there." J.D. whispered. The irony of being the one uttering those words instead of the one hearing them gave him a renewed sense of worth. That maybe he could find the strength to repay Buck for all those times he'd been the one to pull him through.

He could do this. He wanted to do it.

J.D. allowed himself to be led to the cot across the room. He unhooked his gunbelt more out of habit than actual rationale and vaguely wondered why he never heard it hit the floor. He shut his eyes as aching bones met cool sheets. Let himself drift as Chris removed his boots and spread a quilt across his body.

"Thanks." J.D. could only manage to utter the one word, despite the enormous gratitude swelling inside his heart. Not just for helping him now or for riding after him, but for always being where he was needed. For all of them. He could sleep now. Safe in the company of his friends and safe in the knowledge that he'd made it. That Buck had made it. And that he would be capable of being his best friend's strength later on.

EPILOGUE

J.D. straddled the wooden chair and crossed his arms over the back. His view consisted of random clouds and the roof of the livery, but his mind remained on the man in the bed behind him.

It'd been three days since they'd returned and Buck grew steadily stronger. His fever had broken day before yesterday, but he remained in a great deal of pain and Nathan refused to completely wean him off laudanum and an occasional shot of the morphine Dr. Matthews had left. Buck hadn't been too much for conversation though and it was just as well. J.D. didn't feel much like talking yet. Not until he could clear his head of the pain and confusion that lingered despite more sleep than he normally got in a week. Continuous nightmares and their accompanying demons saw to it that rest wasn't part of the plan.

At least the bad dreams about Buck had stopped. He was going to be just fine and despite Nathan's refusal to say when he'd walk again, J.D. knew that Buck wasn't one to stay laid up too long. Well, if they could stop the townswomen from doting on him so much. J.D. figured Buck would find a way to use his ailments to his advantage, but he'd never seen the like of women clamoring to sit for the gunslinger. Not that he didn't take them up on it once in a while, but truth was J.D. couldn't seem to stay away for too long. He still hadn't forgiven himself for bolting like a spooked colt the first time he saw Buck all banged up and hurting. He promised himself he'd take care of him, wouldn't run scared again. It wasn't just his responsibility, but a burning need to be close and offer whatever comfort he could. Just like Buck would, and did, for him.

A deep sigh followed by a groan alerted him that Buck had decided to come to again. He quickly moved the chair beside the bed and lay a supportive hand on his friend's shoulder.

Buck opened his eyes and looked at JD with more calm and more recognition that JD had seen since the incident.

"Buck. You all right?"

Buck tried to swallow and J.D. filled a cup with water and held it against his friend's lips. Buck sipped slowly before pushing the drink aside. "Takin' up bein' a nursemaid now, boy?"

The gentle tease in his voice sounded so familiar, so normal, that J.D. couldn't help but smile. "You do all right at it, figured it must be pretty easy."

Buck let his head settle back into the pillow. "Where's Nathan?"

"At the hotel, takin' care of Ezra."

Buck's brow furrowed and his eyes asked more questions than J.D. wanted to answer.

"He's gonna be fine." J.D. let the words trail, not ready to bring up the details that would lead straight to the subject of Ethan Foxx. "Nathan just wanted to check up on 'im and get some rest, so I got stuck with you."

"Thanks, kid." Buck said, a hint of playful sarcasm in his tone.

"You ain't too much trouble, 'sides it's the quietest you been since I met ya." J.D. grinned at Buck's attempt to scowl. He hated seeing his friend laid up like this, but it was good to be able to joke with him again.

Buck laughed weakly, then his expression turned serious. "I'm damn proud of you, son."

J.D. stared at Buck, trying to determine if he was fishing for the truth or he already knew it. He didn't think Buck knew much of anything that went on the last few days and certainly nothing he could claim pride in him for. Maybe he was just hallucinating from all that laudanum Nathan kept pouring down his gullet.

"'Course I ain't condonin' that stupid bull-headed stunt you pulled. Goin' after a man like that alone? Ain't I taught you better 'n that?"

"How'd you…" J.D. stuttered, not sure how Buck always seemed to know damn near everything. He could hide a pink elephant from his momma easier than he could keep a secret from this man.

"Chris filled me in on a few things. Prob'ly thought I was too doped up to remember, but I got the highlights, boy."

J.D.'s eyes dropped and he stared into the tin cup in his hands. Apparently Chris had altered the truth a bit and now he'd have to set Buck straight. "Ain't no reason to be proud."

J.D. had done a lot of thinking in the last few days. Contemplating with some lucidity for a change and replaying all the alternatives to shooting down a man continued to plague his mind. He could have winged Foxx, could have brought him back to stand trial; instead he blew the arrogant son of a bitch's head off. J.D. had wanted him dead and he damn well made sure he was.

"You did what any man woulda done."

J.D. stifled a nervous laugh. He wondered if Buck would feel the same way when he found out that killing Foxx wasn't what bothered him. He wasn't proud of his actions, but still, he had a feeling of enveloping peace about them. Foxx deserved to die. No question he did the only thing he could do. J.D.'s only concern now was whether he'd lost the approval and respect of the one man who meant everything to him.

"I know you always say to do it by the book, but I didn't. I could have brought him back alive." J.D. looked up, trying to decipher the expression projected on Buck's face. Trying to determine if admitting the truth would taint him in his mentor's eyes.

He already knew somewhere deep in his heart that Buck wanted him to stay innocent, to be the same naïve kid who pestered the daylights out of them until he was allowed to tag along. And as much as J.D. tried to pretend he was just as seasoned as the rest of the guys, he was really still a wet-behind-the-ears greenhorn. He should be on his knees thanking Buck for making it his responsibility to shield him from those things that would turn him hard or bitter.

Like Chris.

J.D. had no delusions that he understood that kind of grief. Even losing his beloved momma and nearly losing Buck didn't exactly compare to the loss of a wife and child. Or did it?

He wondered if Buck could read the apprehension in his eyes. Revenge had changed something deep within him. Not completely, but enough to propel him closer to that person Buck had tried to prevent. Enough to remind him of just how innocent that boy who'd jumped off the stage had truly been.

"Chris said he damn near killed you first. Figure that mighta had some bearing on what you did."

"I didn't have to kill him."

"You did what you had to do, son. Ain't no shame in it."

"I wanted him dead." J.D.'s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper.

A brief look of astonishment crossed Buck's face at his confession, but J.D. saw no condemnation. "I suspect you done the whole country a favor there."

"I know."

"Nothing to fret or feel guilty about."

"I don't feel guilty."

J.D. pushed slowly, revealing only a layer at a time to judge Buck's reaction. His need to spill the truth held in check by the apprehension that his judgement would somehow fail the person he never wanted to hurt.

"Do you think you oughta feel guilty? You want me to say you're a bad person for taking out a rabid animal like Foxx? Cause you ain't gonna hear that from me. Or a judge, and especially not your friends."

J.D. stared hard into Buck's face, trying to read beyond the words. If his friend harbored any disappointment, J.D. couldn't see it. Acceptance and empathy unfolded instead and he felt the worry of failure lifting from his soul.

And now he wanted to tell him he wished Buck had been with him his whole life. That he would always need his strength and his wisdom and would be completely lost without him. Except all the words crowding in his brain refused to come out. Thoughts and feelings that he'd thought he had to express he continued to hold back. He just couldn't say it. Couldn't spill his guts without sounding overly emotional.

Except that seemed all right, too.

The tone of Buck's voice and the look in his eyes told J.D. that his best friend, his brother, didn't have to be told to know everything that lay in his heart. That words, spoken or not, couldn't make their bond any stronger.

+ + + + + + +

Buck sucked in a painful breath as he struggled to sit up. He needed to be sure J.D. got the message and being flat on his aching back wouldn't gain him much credibility. "You don't feel guilty 'cause your gut told you letting that murdering bastard live would most likely mean at least one more innocent person would die. You didn't kill him 'cause you wanted to, you sacrificed a piece of yourself for all of us."

J.D. seemed to brighten as he recognized the genuine pride in Buck's words. "I just didn't wanna let you down."

"Not likely, kid." Not ever, Buck silently corrected himself. "You had a tough call and you did exactly what I woulda done. Takes courage to make a decision like that. To realize sometimes there is no right, just a less wrong." Buck leaned back, his mouth breaking into a wide grin. "Stand up for what's right, don't go lookin' for trouble and back away from it when you can. Just don't let me catch you gettin' all cocky and thinkin' it's your callin' to play God."

J.D. shook his head. "Don't plan on it, Buck. I hope I ain't never gotta make a decision like that again in my life."

Buck swallowed the roiling emotions building in the pit of his stomach. This wouldn't be the last grueling judgment the boy would have to face. Harsh country usually made for harsher men, but he wouldn't let that happen to J.D. There was a way to balance life's lessons without bitterness or hatred, just like his mother had taught him. Next time he'd be there when J.D. needed him. He'd guide him through whatever came their way and hopefully take away a little bit of the sting that reality liked to heap on in spades.

"Well, then, maybe you still need somebody around to run shod over ya? Show you the ropes so you don't go and get your fool hide hung with 'em?"

J.D. smiled, trying hard to keep the corners of his mouth from trembling. "Maybe."

Buck returned the grin, his aches forgotten for the moment at least. "Maybe we both do, kid."

The End