May 20th, 2003


Tennessee Waltz

Bogged off early at work to go home and do some washing as the day turned out all blue skies and sunshine. Indeed I spent most of the day fretting at the window, counted the wasted drying hours. I desperately needed some washing done, otherwise I'd be coming to work in the comedy t-shirts and everyone here already sneers down at me like I'm shit on their shoe.

Decided not to walk home because I was tired and fed up. Wicked I know but I just didn't feel like humping my heavy winter coat for kilometres and as the bus rattled past shot up bus shelters (for those lucky folk who actually rate a bus shelter), flattened street signage and the mud clogged creek, which, now that its flood waters have receded, was proving quite the olfactory experience.

Actually the bottom of our yard, where AP has banished all my plants, is also a creek, so yes, my drought resistant succulents are all waterlogged and rotting. I can't win, I really can't. Worse, she's stolen all my tiles so I'll have to buy new ones if I'm ever allowed to move my garden back to its wee spot between the stairs and the shed. Sigh. I'm trying not to be bothered and to breathe it out, but you know deep down I'm churning as much as the largest creek must have, given the torn up and flattened state of the reed beds that it had roared over this last week.

I suppose I'm lucky there are still enough creeks not built over so that we didn't flood as badly as in back in the 80s when the school was awash, knee deep, and the steps were waterfalls and cars were floating down the main drag and water came up to the windowsills on some houses. That was impressive. I keep telling people they're living on a floodplain, but until you've lived it, I guess you don't really get why they call it a floodplain, or why cheap little workers cottages were built near waterviews (malarial swamp, oil refinery, Agent Orange producing chemical factories...).

Managed to watch most of Roswell. At lot of tv passes me by in a take it or leave it fashion, and a lot of American customs like the Prom remain entirely alien concepts to me, but the walking in and finding your man pashing someone else, especially someone you rightly loathe and despise, that I understand, and when Liz, having dumped her high maintenance cheating boyfriend curls up happy, content and free and announcing that she could breathe at last and was writing for the first time in a year I wanted to cry and say right with you there, sister. The prom I don't get, dating in highschool I didn't get (all girls school fer starters) but the sudden ability to breathe, the dusting off of notebooks, curling up and writing again after a long, long dry spell, that I get, viscerally.

So yeah, sometimes tv grabs me and affects me so deeply it's quite a shock. Suddenly I find myself in deep empathy with Liz Parker and it's kind of disturbing.

After that it was 24 and after thinking upon Now & Again that afternoon, being reminded by a pic in my inbox, I was again disappointed that The Prez didn't burst into song again tonight. I was also waiting for Radioactive Man to appear as a dear friend had cheered me up by telling me George wasn't dead because nobody knows for sure what crawled from that nuke crater after being exposed to all those gamma rays. Heh. Alas, no Radioactive Man, though, honestly, it's about the only bad tv cliche that's missing. This really is a bad 70s tv show with bells and whistles, mutton dressed up as lamb. It's just the presentation that's new, the plot is so predictable I'm surprised it's not announced in the nightly news that precedes it by a few good hours. And as for the high arch looks towards the camera, well, golly gee if that isn't straight from the Twenties. The 1920s. Sheesh. Come to think of it, this isn't 70s telly at all, it's a 30s serial. With a mighty leap, he was free...

After that it was Blade, I mean Buffy. Or rather Buffy, or more precisely Principal Wood suddenly turned into Blade, and so very Blade I'm surprised they haven't had letters from the lawyers over at Marvel. You know I was bothered when they lifted stuff from Daredevil, X-Men and Hellblazer etc, but then it was pick n mix, more of a lifting of themes or ideas, you could just about call it a homage, but this is out and out plagarism, this is near blatant Blade/Buffy fan fic masquerading as television. Not that I don't think it's a cool idea, but could they have twisted it a bit, the way Farscape used to twist the genre, to give it their own spin. As it is, it's like one of those note perfect covers, kinda creepy and pointless except as a cynical marketing exercise.

This episode was saved entirely by the Xander plot, as always. Poor Xander. Finding myself catnip for Unabomber clones, I do understand his pain, I understand it deeply, and I guess poor Xander and I are going to have to take a vow of celibacy to save us from any more dating disasters. Sure, mine don't end up quite as badly as Xander's, but it's a much, much smaller degree of difference than you would think. I just loved Xander wanting Willow to gay him up, I mean, really, like Xander wasn't the gayest character on the show pre Andrew, and the whole imaginging Scott Bakula naked thing - too fekking funny. Gay Trek boys, can't live with 'em, can't kill 'em, she says with a wry taste of past bitterness, or rather bitter disappointment as they all flew out of the closet like some cgi flock of tearing winged things.

Spent this morning's dark solitude working on my M7 fic. I won't tell you much, but here's the ditty that inspired the title, which tells you just about everything you need to know. That and I can't get Sarah McLachlan's Full Of Grace out of my head since jokingly writing in the margin 'and as the tender Sarah McLachlan song swells in the background we slowly fade out...'

    I was waltzing with my darlin’ to the Tennessee Waltz

    When an old friend I happened to see

    Introduced him to my loved one and while they were waltzing

    My friend stole my sweetheart from me.

    I remember the night and the Tennessee Waltz

    Now I know just how much I have lost

    Yes I lost my little darlin’ the night they were playing

    The beautiful Tennessee Waltz.

  • Tennessee Waltz

  • Full of Grace

  • Damian Lewis

  • Dating a Blogger, Reading All About It

  • Peace plea for U-boat grave

  • Ancient Nicaraguan society found

  • Michael Biehn Archive

  • Eric Close Archive

  • Nick Lea
    and Other Fic

    • Current Music
      Sarah McLachlan

    M7 fic rated MA for Mature Adults only

    No infringement of the following characters and situations is intended.
    Warning: Rated [MA] Mature Adults only. Contains m/m themes and violence
    Title: Tennessee Waltz
    Series: Magnificent Seven
    Status: WIP Part 7/9 qv Fall From Grace
    Archive: Yes to EBoS
    Author/pseudonym: Hellblazer
    Rating: MA
    Pairing: Ezra/Buck (some other pairings, suggested pairings, unresolved longings and jealousies)
    Universe: OW
    Date: May 2002 - May 2003
    Disclaimers: Don't own these characters, MGM and the rest do. No copyright infringement is intended or inferred.
    Warnings: slash, H/C, extreme violence, m/m hanky panky, drug use, nudity, coarse language, adult themes
    Spoilers: Season 1 & 2
    Summary: Chris tries to spare Ezra the blood on his hands.


    "Anna? Who's Anna?" Buck teased, dancing about with the silver watch.

    Ezra reached for the watch but Buck dangled it out of reach.

    "Who's Anna?" Buck insisted cheerfully.

    "Give me back the watch, Buck."

    "Not until you tell me who Anna is," he giggled.

    Furious, Ezra drew on him. "Give it back!"

    Shocked, Buck mutely held out the watch.

    Ezra snatched it back, holstered his gun, then checked on the watch's precious contents before polishing it and putting it away safely. Then he sank down in a chair, on the verge of tears.

    "Ezra," Buck crouched before him. "Ezra, I'm sorry, I was only teasing. Who was Anna?"

    Ezra wiped at his eyes and tried to compose himself.

    "My sister," he answered at last. "Well, half sister at any rate. She was as unwelcome as I was, but she was the prettiest little girl you ever did see, all strawberry blonde curls and big blue eyes." He smiled at the memory.

    "You doted on her," Buck agreed, softly.

    Ezra wiped his eyes again. "I was her big brother." He looked away. "She was barely two when she died. A fever took her. Scarlet fever, I think, I can't remember. I just remember my mother never crying, treating the whole thing like an enormous inconvenience. She told me boys don't cry, especially in public." He looked up at Buck. "After we put my sister in the ground she never spoke of her again." He pulled out the watch and opened it, revealing the tiny curl of strawberry blonde hair nestled in the back of the case.

    "I carry this so I won't forget her."

    "You never told me you had a sister."

    "It was a long time ago. It doesn't matter now."

    "It matters. I'm sorry, Ezra."

    Ezra met his eyes and knew that Buck really was sorry, and he took comfort in that.

    "If you miss Anna so much, how can you bear to have your own little girl so far away?" Buck accused mildly.

    "Because I was fool enough to marry a girl too much like my own mother, that's how I bear it," Ezra rued, then shrugged slightly. "You know our Charity," he reminded. "She finds our little outpost rather too provincial entirely for her tastes, and you know as well as I do that if she'd tried flirting with Chris like that just once more Mary would have had her eyes out, for certain this time."

    Buck nodded in agreement, still equal parts amused and appalled at the behaviour of all the parties involved. Chris especially, for encouraging it. The old dog loved a cat fight, but playing up with Ezra's wife, no matter her past or unconventional marital arrangements, it was just plain unseemly.

    Ezra didn't seem overly bothered though, accepting it all as a fact of life. Charity was just a very high strung, high spirited, high maintenance, easily bored, trouble making young lady, of that there was no doubt.

    "I believe my dear wife believes herself destined for things greater than this little dust bowl. I believe San Francisco or New York would be more to her taste, eventually."


    "Right now she has everything she's ever wanted in Kansas City: money, power, prestige, feted by society, her name up in lights. She's having the time of her life."

    "With your money."

    "Our money," Ezra corrected. "It was part of our agreement. She runs her enterprises as she sees fit, without any suitors to bother her that she doesn't want or need, and, for the reputation of myself and my associates, I take a cut."

    "You sure she's not cooking the books?" Buck wanted to know, not trusting the woman for a second.

    Ezra twinkled a smile at him, and Buck had enough sense at least to know not to ask any further after the financial affairs between man and wife, especially in regards to that pair. Professional thieves and con artists both, they'd met their match in each other, and if they tried to cheat the other it was purely for fun or practice. Charity might well be cooking the books but it was obviously only to an amount Ezra was willing to tolerate. Some might accuse Ezra of going soft, but so long as his generosity in overlooking his wife's financial misdeeds was being spent on spoiling his darling daughter with ribbons and bows, he didn't much mind.

    Ezra doted on his child, conceived by chance as she was, and he did miss her fiercely, but he was right, the matter was out of his hands. He had married a girl just like his mother, and he had no real part to play in the life of his wife, or their child.

    Ezra gave his old watch one last polish, then pocketed carefully. Perhaps his own father had wanted to be a part of his life, perhaps not. Most likely not. He had no idea and it made no real difference. Both he and Buck had grown up fatherless, and they'd turned out all right.

    Buck saw the slight regret in Ezra's face and moved quickly to close the gap between, catching Ezra's face gently in his hands and licking across his lips, slipping his tongue in just a little. A warm touch, a reminder of why Ezra was here, with him, and not in Kansas City with his family. Ezra opened under the kiss, fully aware of why he was here, with Buck.


    Buck would later muse how funny it was that life could change as quickly and as dangerously as the weather, all blue skies and sunshine one moment, dreadful and terrible tempests the next.

    Ezra had been playing cards all afternoon for a diversion more than any real need for income, though he'd fleeced a few poor foolish souls who thought they could easily best the flash looking gambler. They had mistaken Ezra's situation in this pathetic little excuse of a town, with barely one main street to call its own, for a cardsharp fallen on hard times or not up to the standards of the nearest city, and they had paid with all the coins left in their pockets for this misconception.

    Sending them on their way with a lesson well learned Ezra had since passed the time dealing cards to himself, practicing the flourishes that amused his comrades so easily.

    Ezra frowned at the hand he'd just dealt himself, catching the first pang of unease and, turning over the cards, he'd suddenly been struck by a deeply bad feeling, a sense that something in his life was terribly wrong. He dealt another hand, reading meaning in the faces, and he didn't like what he saw, not at all.

    Ezra had known something was wrong, he'd convinced himself he'd had a premonition, and he worried at it like a dog with a bone. His inexplicable anxiety had gotten on Buck's nerves after a while and instead of letting Ezra ride all the way to Kansas City he'd tried convincing Ezra to send a telegram instead but Ezra didn't want a cold, anonymous telegram. He wanted to see for himself that his family were safe and sound and his irrational fears, the dark swirling in the pit of his stomach, were all unfounded. The cold feeling had a hard grip on him and it wouldn't let him be.

    From his lazy position, just sitting and smoking and watching the world go by, Chris could see Ezra and Buck tumble out of the telegraph office, screaming at each other, mad enough to nearly come to blows until Ezra just turned on his heel and stalked off, leaving Buck to fuss and fume by himself on the sidewalk.

    Chris watched Buck consider his options for a moment, then make a beeline for the saloon, Chris barring Buck's way with a booted leg lazily slipped out to stall him.

    Buck glared down at the leg, then up to Larabee's all too amused eyes.

    "Chris, I ain't in the mood, so you can either move or so help me I'll shoot your damn foot off."

    Chris retracted the offending boot but drew himself upright as smooth as a snake, blocking Buck's path a step later, still with that shit eating grin on his face.

    "You haven't told me what you did to get Ezra all riled up yet," Chris explained, wanting the story as his toll before he'd let Buck pass.

    Buck scowled at him, knowing he was caught, and spat on the sidewalk in extreme annoyance.

    "Ain't anything I've done, least ways he ain't blamin' me for anything. One minute we're just drinking and playing cards, the next Ezra has a damn hive of bees blownin' up his skirts over his family. He reckons something's up but the telegraph won't do, even though it's done before."

    "He thinks there's trouble?" Chris's eyes had instantly narrowed, as he had never forgotten the fact that Ezra had married himself into a family that earned as much of their money under the counter as above it. If you wanted or needed something, Ezra was the man to supply it. Any vice, be it for whores, liquor, gambling or even candy, Ezra could get you exactly what you wanted, for a price.

    Any services Ezra provided he did quietly and on the sly in town, but in larger towns and cities, Ezra was a partner in a number of enterprises that didn't exactly hold with the image of a lawman. However, since such enterprises were outside any jurisdiction Larabee and his regulators might hold, there wasn't a damn thing any one could do about it. Certainly any suggestions that Ezra reform his character and try to profit by more honest means had fallen on deaf ears.

    Not even Buck had any real influence over Ezra's constant gambling with shady business deals. Though Buck worried and fretted he'd eventually just turned a blind eye to all of it, unable to take the high moral ground with Ezra after the unfortunate entanglement with the wife of a notorious gangster, the very same woman Ezra now called his wife. The very same woman who had encouraged Ezra in his wheeling and dealing.

    Buck shrugged in answer to Chris's question, unable to answer for sure as to whether there was real trouble or if Ezra was just blowing smoke.

    "What are you going to do?"

    "Wait'll he cools down, then send a telegram."

    "You think it's something?"

    "Depends if Ezra thinks it's something," Buck shrugged again, and he followed Chris into the saloon, badly needing that drink.

    Whatever Ezra was playing at, Buck didn't much care right now. He just saw it as another symptom that Ezra was bored and restless, and it wore on him.

    Chris saw the tightness in his friend's face and he patted him on the shoulder lightly, wondering again why Buck had bothered to take up with Ezra when Ezra so plainly vexed him at times. Perhaps there were moments with Ezra that made it worth it.

    Chris wasn't sure he'd be willing to pay the price, certainly Vin hadn't been. Vin referred to Ezra as Coyote, the trickster spirit, always up to something or other, always getting himself or others in trouble, a wayward child too damn clever for his own good and always looking over the horizon, never where he was.

    Ezra was restless, reckless and exhausting to be around, yet like the coyote he was a rogue and a charmer, almost always with a twinkle in his eye, a flashing smile and a promise that he was the very answer to your prayers.

    It was easy to see how Buck had been lured to the honey pot. What Chris couldn't figure was why Buck stayed. Ezra must be giving Buck what he needed, whatever it was, letting Buck hang around like an addict, desperate for his next fix.

    Buck never felt like that, of course. Buck loved Ezra right down to the soles of his feet and they had an easy friendship, but sometimes Ezra just shut him out and it hurt and today was one of those times and Buck didn't know why.

    Chris planted a large glass in front of Buck, a balm to sooth what ailed him, and Buck just leant into the bar and swallowed it in one tight gulp, ordering another. Chris was right, there was no real point in fretting over Ezra, better just to sit and wait for the boy to come to his senses again.

    Only whatever had stirred up Ezra pricked at Buck, and the whisky sat sour and burning in his empty stomach, churning over as he imagined all the reasons why Ezra had suddenly wanted to leave so badly.



    Ezra was furiously saddling his horse, taking out all his anger on the dumb animal. Fortunately Ezra's horse was used to both Ezra's moods and Ezra's hasty exits and so it endured its current treatment, ears flat back, tail flicking, saving its revenge for later.

    "If you want to go, go, I've never kept you here," Buck drawled from just outside the livery, hidden in shadows.

    "Like hell," Ezra growled viciously against his animal's quivering flanks.

    Buck came into the circle of lamplight at that, both dumbfounded and distressed by Ezra's behaviour. One minute everything had been right between them, the next moment Ezra was as jumpy as if somebody had slipped a scorpion down his shirts, hissing and spitting vinegar, fretting over his family but not willing to sit and wait for a telegram. Nothing was going to stop Ezra riding out of here, probably forever, and Buck knew it. He could see it quite clearly in Ezra's eyes. He just wanted to know what he'd done to deserve this.

    "Tell me what I did to hold you down, Darlin', because I promised you I'd never do that," Buck asked softly, and his low soft voice got under Ezra's skin as it always did, he could see that boy wriggling over that itch from where he stood.

    Ezra stilled for a terrible moment, then turned to face him. "You kept me here. You know you kept me here, long after all sensible fools would have departed. I know you'll never leave Chris as long as he breathes life, and I could never leave you."

    "Chris, what the hell has Chris got to do with this? He been at you again Ezra because I swear, friend or not, I'll cut him if he -"

    "No." Ezra almost wailed, his fists pressed against his saddle. Damn Buck for being thicker than a root cellar door at times.

    "It has nothing to do with Chris, it has nothing to do with you. It's just -"

    "Just what, Ezra?" Buck's need to hold onto to Ezra, to understand, warred with his increasing irritation at the situation. Damn if Ezra wasn't the most contrary man, and a part of Buck wondered if this sudden drama wasn't just another invention of Ezra's to relieve the boredom of being stuck in a small, too small, town that was barely more than a trading post in the middle of nowhere.

    Ezra wilted, the fight leaching out of him. He spoke quietly, forcing Buck to listen, really listen.

    "You ever felt the air before a storm, the way it gets low and heavy and you know something terrible is coming? You try and shake it and even if you can't see the dark clouds rolling in you can't lose the sense of foreboding, the sense that by the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." He glanced up at Buck. "That's how I feel. I know I've played with the cards and you all think it's a trick, and I know none of you will ever believe any word that falls from my lips, but believe me when I say I know something dreadful is going to happen. I can feel it deep in my bones, and not you, not even Mr Larabee, are going to stop me from riding out of here. I can feel it, Buck. Something bad is coming."

    Those last words were a plea, for understanding, for sympathy, for companionship.

    Buck shrugged, not about to let Ezra ride out of here alone into god only knew what, and he knew enough of Ezra's hunches now to take him seriously, even if he always teased him for them. Maybe it was his gambler's sense, or just simple survival, but Ezra had a nose for trouble, and Buck wasn't about to doubt him now.

    "You ain't riding out here alone. Not if you think there's trouble and even if there weren't. We're friends, you and I, and friends ride together."

    Ezra could have melted into Buck's arms, but didn't. He needed all his strength, but he was glad for Buck's, always there when he needed it most, always given without question or cost.

    "What about our friend Mr Larabee, won't he be annoyed if you suddenly ride off with me?"

    "Oh, I'm not planning to ride off with you alone." Buck whistled to the stable boy who had been loitering just out of earshot as the two men had argued.

    A quick nod was all it took for Buck to relay his message to Chris via the boy, and Ezra realised he was no longer setting out alone. Ezra crackled with irritation at this delay and interference, almost hissing out his breath in his restless need to be mounted up and moving already, but the more calculating part of his brain kept reminding him that the odds were much better in his favour if he rode out with his companions, and if his fears all turned into fancies, well, they could hardly think any less of him than now. It simply wasn't possible, in his estimation.

    He glanced up at Buck again, but Buck just shook off that look. They were friends and friends rode together. It was as simple as that for Buck, and he wasn't about to let Ezra complicate it.

    One of these days Ezra would settle down and realise Buck loved him, no matter what, and he'd stop waiting for the other shoe to drop. Until them Buck just had to be patient, let Ezra have his head, and only reign him in when he got up to some damn fool plan like dashing off in the middle of the night without so much as a word of goodbye.

    It stung Buck a little, he couldn't deny it, and he'd felt very keenly how Ezra was torn between staying here with him, or moving to some fancy city with his family. He'd thought the strings holding Ezra here had finally snapped, but things weren't that simple. Things were never just that simple with Ezra.



    "Are you sure about this?" Chris asked, pulling Buck aside as men milled about horses.

    "Am I sure this isn't some game of Ezra's? As sure as I can be. I know we've all seen Ezra pull his gipsy crap on people, telling them their fortunes, telling them what they want to hear, but -"

    "You think he really read it in the cards?"

    Buck shrugged.

    "You don't think it's more likely someone slipped Ezra some warning, some business rival?"

    Buck shot him a harsh look.

    Chris shot him an equally bitter look back.

    "You know damn well Ezra's dealings are more crooked than not, you knew this might happen. You've seen disgruntled former associates of Ezra's come to town, looking to extract a little payback. What makes you think this is any different, Ezra just wanting to get out and lay low for a while?"

    Buck got up right up close to Chris, cold and fierce.

    "Because Ezra doesn't think they're coming after him." He shared one long, real hard meaningful look with Chris.

    Chris nodded, hand gripping his saddle, ready to mount up and ride out this instant, that old, dreadful ice cold terror coiling in the pit of his gut.



    It had been near dusk the day they'd finally arrived at the house. There was no one in the yard and no lights in the windows. The white washed two storey edifice was unnaturally quiet, the front door dark and gaping open, as if the house was locked in a long, terrible silent scream.

    They'd found the maid with her throat slit in the front hallway, the blood drying in an ugly brown pool on the polished chessboard tiles. The cook was dead, too, and the two men Ezra had hired as caretakers and guardians to his household were dead in the back yard. One had been sot in the back, the other had put up quite a struggle.

    Ezra had raced up the steps before they could stop him, and like the house, Ezra had been unable to give voice to his scream.

    His wife was there, dead amongst the torn and bloody sheets of their bed, her clothes ripped from her, all cut to pieces.

    "Get him out of here," Chris ordered, but Ezra couldn't be moved.

    "Get. Him. Out." Chris hissed and Josiah knocked Ezra out with one swipe of his heavy hand, caught him and handed him off to Buck.

    "Take him away from here, brother," Josiah begged of Buck softly, knowing Buck would be seeing that dead girl in that bed for the rest of his life. They all would. He gave Buck a shove towards the door.

    In the child's room they found the nanny lying dead by the door.

    Vin crept towards the tiny crib, peeked over the side, and wished he'd never had. He'd seen similar horrors, and the sight of it still woke him at night, but never brought upon a child that he'd dandled on his knee.

    Chris saw all of the colour drain out of Vin's face.

    "Who'd do that to a child?" Vin asked him, pleading with him.

    "Monsters." Chris answered simply, abruptly.

    JD was crouched crying in the corner, huddled over next to where he'd been sick. Chris nodded and Nathan took JD back downstairs, to sit out in the front where a few stray chickens searched the courtyard for something worth pecking. JD leant over and wretched again.

    It took them all night to carry the bodies down to the undertaker's cart that JD had fetched, irritated by the constant suggestions from the local Marshall that Ezra's wife had turned his house into a brothel and a gaming house, and this had been the natural outcome.

    They'd had to restrain Chris physically from killing the man if he'd called Ezra's wife a whore one more time. They all knew Charity had entertained gentleman callers on the side, but as lovers, never paying customers. It was a fine but important distinction. She had her lovers and Ezra had Buck and it had suited them fine. They were sure Charity would have never let a man into the house who could have done this.

    Josiah had tenderly carried Charity's body downstairs, wrapped in a clean sheet. He'd prayed for her as they'd loaded her onto the cart with the rest, Vin placing a tiny bundle beside her. Josiah had no words to offer up for the child, struck into silence. He could only touch the child's body and wish it peace. He'd buried children before, too many, but they'd died of fever of starvation, never anything like this.

    They'd shut up the house, leaving Vin and Chris to guard it, while Josiah, JD and Nathan had followed the Marshall and undertaker back into town.

    Buck had checked into one of Ezra's part owned hotels, standing guard outside the door of one of the best rooms.

    "How is he?" Nathan asked of Buck.

    Buck was slumped against the door, head bowed. "I think you can give him more of what he needs than I can," Buck murmured quietly, his eyes flicking to Nathan's medical bag.

    Nathan nodded opened the door, finding Ezra curled on one side in the bed, the sheets balled in his hands, not moving or saying a word. Shattered furniture and broken glass swept into the corner showed testament to an earlier rage.

    Ezra ignored Nathan, not caring at all as Nathan gave him a healthy dose of morphine to quiet him for the night. Nathan wished he could do more for Ezra, but that was more Josiah's area than his. He shook his head and took his leave.

    "He'll sleep now," he advised Buck, and gently guided Buck downstairs for some medicinal brandy, because in all his time in the man's company, Nathan had never seen Buck look so wretched.


    Vin hunched over the small fire he'd managed to get started, unable to get warm. He and CHris were both going to sleep out in the open, neither having the stomach to stay in the house. The whole place was haunted by the angry ghosts of the newly dead. Even without seeing what he'd seen, Vin would have known something terrible had happened here. It had that sense about it.

    They were here to see that nothing more was touched, that Ezra's fine things weren't looted, not that they thought Ezra cared much one way or the other right now. In the morning they'd begin closing up the house properly, disposing of the property and hunting for clues, if any remained, as to who could have done such a terrible thing. Neither wanted to say it, but they both knew their first thought was probably the right one, that this had been done by a business rival of Ezra's. Someone had resented Ezra's hostile takeover of the Nicholls organisation and they'd sent him a message. This was the first act in a criminal gang war. They'd turned a blind eye to Ezra's illicit activities for too long.

    The time had come for Ezra to choose between being a lawman or a law breaker. They'd stand by him, if he chose to walk away now, but if he embroiled himself in this war, they would have no part in it.

    Chris was smoking quietly, watching the flames dance, looking as raw and exposed as Vin had ever seen him. Then Vin remembered with a shock what Chris was seeing in the flames: the murder of his own wife and child.

    "Chris," Vin tried, but Chris shook his head. He wasn't given to words, and no words could describe what the day had dredged up, memories he'd thought long buried and forgotten. Chris took another bitter swallow from the one bottle he'd taken from the house, not thinking Ezra would mind, or care.

    Vin studied the man and realised that's why Chris had volunteered himself for this duty. In town he'd be too tempted to burn his anger and bury his grief, and Buck was in no shape to bring Chris back from the brink this time. Chris knew this and he'd chosen to isolate himself out here instead, where he could sit and try to smother the churning emotions himself.

    Losing himself was easy, holding himself took much more steel and grit, yet Chris had to, he had no choice. He had to be there, to hold the team together, for Buck's sake. He owed him that much, at the very least. It was time for Chris to stand up for Buck, no matter how much it hurt.

    Chris wasn't the man they'd first encountered: a sullen loner prone to exploding in insane fits of rage when his blood was up, the moon was high and he'd been drinking hard. The Chris sitting by the flames now was a bitterly wounded man, but with a quietness and strength about him that drew Vin in. Vin could imagine a Chris less hardened by life, more given to smiling and laughing, and he could well imagine how Buck and Sarah had fallen in love with him.

    Vin watched the flames with Chris, neither man wanting to talk. It was enough to share the silence. The fire crackled and popped in the darkness and they huddled close, all too aware of the night pressing in around them, and waited for the first light of morning.



    Nathan had to take spell sitting down. He cursed himself for his squeamishness. It wasn't like he hadn't cut up anybody he'd known before, nor should he let the decomposing state of the bodies get to him, but it did. He'd seem some terrible, terrible things in his time as a slave and a stretcher bearer in the war. He'd seen murders and butchery and animal cruelty, but this had to be close to the worst thing that he'd ever seen. He'd heard of such things happening, but he'd never really seen it this close, and never to somebody he'd known, to a child he had delivered with his own hands.

    He bent forward, still feeling slightly faint, his empty stomach rising and falling, the outrage in his heart growing second by second. He'd known Ezra's wife had been brutally raped before the animals had started cutting into her, and probably during. That much he'd known just from seeing the way the body had been spread out on the blood soaked bed. But the child, what monster would do that to a child, Ezra's child? Dear god, that there were such people in the world.

    He schooled himself, made himself bite down on all his churning emotions, and went back to his job of cataloguing each terrible wound before the bodies were decently buried. He'd tell Chris what he'd found, but he knew Ezra must never know. The thought came unbidden to him that Ezra might already know, because Ezra, like Vin, missed very little, and Ezra, as much as Nathan and Josiah chided him, always looked for the worst in a man's nature.

    The thought stayed Nathan's hand for a moment. Ezra knew what they'd done to his wife and his baby daughter. Dear god, what must Ezra have felt when he saw them. Nathan was glad he'd given Ezra some release this night.

    It was true Ezra had only married Charity for the enterprises she had inherited from the gang war she'd had a part in starting. She was quick and ruthless and so very beautiful and Ezra had found his match in her. He'd fallen in love with her in his own way, more as a brother than a lover, but there had been no doubt that his affection for her was real, and returned in kind. The child had sprung from the legal requirement that their marriage be consummated, and Ezra had lavished all the love and attention on his child that he himself had been denied. And now they'd been taken from him in one brutal gesture. No matter what Ezra's wife might have done, no woman deserved to die as she had.

    Nathan shook his head. No matter how much he disapproved of Ezra's financial interests, Ezra's dubious business dealings did not require a payment for his transgressions in the loss of his family, especially not like this.

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