Appearances, Mag7/HL, slash, R, 4/4
Available on my site, or here on LJ.
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
# # #
Chris let his chair tilt back against the exposed support beam and rubbed his forehead against a headache that came more from trying to figure out Ezra and McCormick than from last night's drinks. "So you're telling me McCormick finally gave Ez a name over another chess game?"
"And his word that he wasn't looking for Vin, or so Vin said this morning, brother." Josiah spoke slowly, and Chris wasn't sure if he was contemplating their actions or why they still hadn't seen the Denver stage... and Buck and Vin. That was worrying Chris, too, and he was giving it another hour before the rest of 'em set out to see what had happened.
JD leaned forward, quick and impetuous and wondering. "How'd Vin get McCormick to give his word?" He adjusted the brim of his bowler to shade his eyes before looking northeast for a plume of dust that had yet to appear.
"That's Vin's business, brother. Seeing as there was no disturbance last night, I'd have to imagine they came to an understanding." Josiah sounded as if he had some idea of how, too, and Chris closed his eyes against the image of Vin getting into a fight with McCormick in the middle of the night in a room Inez had rented out....
"Damn it." Mr. Larabee bit the words off, rather than give JD worse habits than they already had. He took a breath and asked, "Nathan, how sure are you that McCormick's a Pinkerton?"
Nathan never looked up from carving a new cane for old Mrs. Abernathy. "I never said McCormick is a Pinkerton, Chris. I said the man was a Pinkerton. Also said that was three years ago in Abilene." Nathan shrugged and added, "Still don't see why I shouldn't just go ask him what he's doing here."
Chris shook his head. "And if he is after Vin?"
Nathan just snorted in disbelief. "Come on, Chris, you really think Vin'd let someone lie to him about something that important?"
"Hellfire." Chair legs dropped onto planks, rowels scraped along wood. "We're goin' to have to do something about that bounty."
Ezra sat down on the step beside JD with an absent-minded nod of greeting, drinking his first coffee of the day, or so Chris judged it. Ezra hadn't been up long; his cuffs were still rolled up and damp, and he was clean-shaven, but hadn't pulled on a jacket yet. "Even apprehending the correct suspect might not clear away the bounty, Mr. Larabee. And Mr. McCormick's word is likely good. Pinkerton is not in the habit of employing those of questionable morals. The question becomes, which problem are we attempting to solve first? Attempting to move Mr. McCormick along, or trying to clear Mr. Tanner's name and reputation of the blot placed there by others?"
Chris shook his head, chewing on the cigarillo he hadn't yet lit. "McCormick first. He's here. But we're going to have to do something about that bounty soon. This is no way for Vin to live."
"Especially since he didn't do it," Josiah rumbled.
Chris glanced over to see why he'd restated the obvious and saw McCormick coming out of the Clarion office, closing the door quietly behind him. Across the street, a couple doors down, but still close enough to hear them talk if he was listening, seeing as the day'd stayed quiet. The kids were down at the far end of the town, playing Red Rover in front of the grain exchange and watching the blacksmith work. Mary was still sitting at her desk, writing with one hand, sipping tea with the other, and smiling as she wrote.
McCormick nodded to them, his smile courteous and bland as Ezra marking new victims for his card games, and Chris bit back the urge to deck him just to see if he'd keep smiling. The man annoyed him like a burr that'd gotten under the skin and was gonna have to be cut out. Sooner he left town, the better, and not just for Vin's sake.
Chris asked abruptly, "You sure about that name, Ezra?"
"He's looking for a green-eyed conman named Corwin, Mr. Larabee." Ezra's sipped at his coffee, then fell still when the telegraph operator ran out of his office, calling for JD.
"Sheriff! Hey, you got to hear this!"
McCormick had paused to listen, too, but hell, so had everyone in the street. Sometimes it was just good gossip over the wires, and sometimes it was damned important -- or the operator thought it was. Didn't do to rile up the man who was your fastest contact to the nearby towns.
"What is it, Lafe?" JD stood up, one hand dropping absently to his pistol.
"One hell of a fuss over in Wyoming, near Medicine Bow. Some crazy bastard--" he saw Mary Travis standing on the Clarion porch to listen, winced, and nodded to her, "--sorry, Mz. Travis. Some lunatic stole the Army payroll cars, Sheriff. Off the train, with the Army guarding it. Dropped a skunk in with the car of guards, disconnected the rear cars pretty as you please, and made off with as much gold as three horses could carry. Word over the wire is that no one understands why it was only three of 'em loaded, 'cause tracks say there were at least eight horses."
"In case the first three go lame," McCormick answered, his face tight with something that might have been anger but looked to Chris a damn sight more like a man trying not to bust a gut laughing. "A skunk?"
"Yes, sir, that's what Myra up in Denver signed. She was about laughing too hard to tap it out, way she sounded, but it was her fist." Lafe grinned at him. "A skunk. Man won't get away with it for long, but Lord, what a story."
Mary Travis smiled at him. "If you hear any more details, Lafe?"
"I'll bring 'em right to you, ma'am, soon's I stop for lunch or Billy stops by to pick up the news." He grinned at her and headed back in, laughing as he went. "A skunk. If that don't beat all...."
Chris watched McCormick narrowly. "You seem pretty damn amused by this."
"Mr. Beauregard didn't report anyone as being hurt, " McCormick pointed out, and yeah, that was a grin starting to escape. "Some sergeants are going to be downright emphatic about bathing, but the payroll will either be recovered or reissued. And this robber neither warped the rails, nor blew up the train. He merely separated parts of it from each other, and the Army from some of their payroll." He gave up and started laughing as he added, "With the aid of a skunk."
"Trains are going to be guarded more carefully from now on," Josiah said, and he wasn't even trying not to laugh. Chris gave up trying to frown, because it was mighty funny now that he wasn't trying to blame McCormick for a robbery six days' ride away. "Mighty fine sense of humor on the man, using a skunk 'stead of dynamite."
"Or fires on the tracks... a most considerate robber," Ezra managed to say between gusts of laughter, and they were all laughing now, even Mary Travis and McCormick. Hell, Chris couldn't remember the last time he'd heard this many people laughing so hard, even if it was over a crime.
Nathan looked up, still chuckling, and pointed to a plume of dust. "And there's the Denver stage."
JD grinned. "We might want to ride out and tell Buck about this."
Chris snorted. "JD, we do that and he won't take a bath this week for claiming he's no skunk-thief."
Nathan grinned. "Nah, he'll get his bath. Buck's not going to upset whichever lady he's charming this week. Come on."
JD whooped and ran for the livery, with the others not far behind. McCormick was sitting on the saloon porch when they rode past, still laughing like it'd hurt to stop.
# # #
"Good night, Señor Standish."
"We'll turn the lamps down when we go up, Inez," Ezra promised her as he had the night before. This time he and Matthew each had a glass of whiskey to hand, having already toasted the safety of the skunk (although without specifying two legs or four).
Matthew shifted a rook sideways, chuckling as he did. "It's going to be a good while before I can see a black and white checkerboard without laughing for that poor skunk."
Ezra considered the move, then shifted one of his knights towards an unguarded bishop. "Mr. Tanner tells me you were at Mrs. Potter's store earlier, buying supplies?"
Matthew's hand tapped lightly from pawn to queen to bishop before finally moving a knight up to threaten Ezra's rook. He glanced up then, one eyebrow arched in eloquent curiosity. "I was, yes."
"Then you're departing our fair town on the morrow?" Ezra kept his attention on the board, listening to the man's voice; it gave away more than his eyes or face.
"Even the back-issues at the Clarion ran out eventually," Matthew said lightly. He went on more seriously, "And Mr. Larabee has no taste for my presence in town. I prefer riding out on my horse to his rail." A rustle of cloth followed by the quiet return of glass on wood spoke of another small sip of the slowly-diminishing whiskey. "Were you going to move, Ezra?"
"That's not why you're leaving," Ezra stated, looking up and ignoring the game. "The payroll robbery--"
Matthew's glance froze the words in his mouth... and confirmed Ezra's suspicion that Matthew believed he could put a name to the bandit if he so chose. Matthew only said, "As everyone has told me, there's only so much to do in Four Corners."
Ezra took a deeper breath than usual, perfectly willing to let Matthew think he was off-balance, and finally asked very quietly, "I must ask, whether you answer or not. The wounds you and Carl Hobart took in your daily bouts -- how did you heal them all so swiftly?"
Matthew studied him over the chessboard, eyes sharp and measuring. "And if I asked what you were talking about, sir?"
"I know too well that I would never match you in a fight, sir, and I don't believe a bullet would stop you long enough." Ezra ignored the tension shivering through his nerves as easily as he would have controlled a twitch or gasp during a poker game and kept his voice too quiet to be overheard from any of the corners of the room. "Nonetheless, you are the same man I watched in Belle Chassee in 1859, and I do mean the same. Not so much as a grey hair nor a line of age added, not even a visible scar, and I don't believe you avoided the War." Ezra shook his head, helpless before the imperatives of his own curiosity. "How?"
Matthew only said quietly, "Your move, sir," and continued to watch him over the chessboard. His voice was almost gentle as if he understood the way curiosity burned in Ezra, as loss burned in Chris or the desire for communion drove Josiah.
Ezra looked down at the chessboard, the possible moves and ploys sliding away as he looked. He made himself contemplate the squares and pieces anyway and finally sent his queen sliding down the diagonal to threaten Matthew's king's rook.
"Mmm." Matthew took the queen with a bishop Ezra had overlooked and said quietly, "Mate, I'm afraid."
Ezra looked at the board, at his exposed king and the rook ready to take it if he didn't move, at the knight and bishop ready to strike at the king's possible destinations, and he found himself laughing. His laughter went on long enough that Matthew handed him a silver flask produced from somewhere about his person, still warm from his body, and said firmly, "Ezra. Drink some of that."
It was very good brandy, far too good to be wasted on an excess of mirth. Ezra took a second swallow just to enjoy it, and a third for the pleasure for wrapping his mouth around the warm metal and teasing Matthew with things he had yet to admit he wanted.... He finally asked, "Will you tell me if I'm mad, in any case?"
Matthew had an elbow on the table, his chin resting on his fist while he watched Ezra. "And if I did?"
"At least I would know, although no one would ever believe me." Ezra handed the flask back regretfully. "Hardly as if I have any proof, sir."
"No, I suspect you don't. And I'm afraid your mother's reputation would do you no good in a court." Nor Ezra's own profession, as Matthew didn't point out.
"I find I can't believe I've lost my faculties," Ezra said quietly, but he started to gather up the chess pieces, settling them into their box lest he lose one. The slow smile curling Matthew's mouth made Ezra's hand tighten around the bishop; he controlled himself long enough to put it away rather than risk breaking the mitre.
"You're not mad," Matthew said, soft enough that no onlooker would have been able to overhear him. Ezra heard all of it, however; it would be enough. "But it doesn't appear along any rhyme or reason I've ever discerned." Matthew shrugged and added, "Nor is it a prize to be won, given away, or seized." Despite the topic, he was still smiling, slow and appreciative.
"Then I shall simply have to seize the night," Ezra said and leaned in to kiss Matthew.
He'd expected anything from stillness to hands pushing him away to (a more remote possibility) violence of fist or knife. Ezra hadn't expected that McCormick would fold one hand around his nape and the other around the point of his shoulder, that the man would laugh against his mouth and turn the kiss into something slower and more exploratory -- gentle and interested and thorough. That, he hadn't expected at all.
Matthew's mouth tasted faintly of whiskey; his throat tasted of dust, and recent sweat. His hands were precise in the way they shifted Ezra and the way the fingers kneaded the spots in his neck that always ached after a long night of watching and remembering cards. He smelled of sun-dried cloth, leather, a hint of lavender under those... Ezra found himself relaxing into the touch of someone who smelled like a home he hadn't seen in years.
Matthew finally moved back rather than push him away. While Ezra was still waiting for... something, he only murmured, "I'd suggest we discuss this somewhere less public and with fewer lights," and helped gather the chess pieces and blow out the lanterns.
Moonlight painted Matthew's room in silver and shadows, striping the blue and white quilt grey and navy; the light left the roses stenciled just below the ceiling black (and explained what Inez had been doing during any number of rainy afternoons). Matthew closed the door behind them, pushed the shutters nearly closed, and leaned in to kiss Ezra again, every bit as slow and interested.
Ezra wasn't nearly as surprised this time.
This time he retained enough self-possession to keep his hands moving, tracing up Matthew's shirt (good cotton, less fine than Ezra's but better suited to the west) to remove it and learn the body he could barely see now. His hands saw well enough, however, tracing the few scars on a man who'd once been well-known for his skill at dancing, a man Ezra had seen fighting with a knight's sword day after day in the swamp....
Ezra shuddered at the feel of nails trailing along nape and shoulders -- not hard enough to scratch, too firm to ignore. Matthew chuckled against his throat, careful not to leave marks as he tasted and explored. Ezra stepped back and said breathlessly, "Best my clothes not go everywhere."
"A lamp later might be difficult to explain, yes." Matthew sounded regretful, and was making short work of shedding his own clothes. Ezra looked over in what moonlight remained and saw a silhouette on the bed, silver and shadow and well worth the time it took him to look. Matthew only laughed softly -- with him, not at him -- and Ezra chuckled and joined him on the bed.
Bedding Matthew was... fun, strangely enough. Playful and intent by turns, sometimes intertwining limbs while they laughed against mouths or throats, sometimes lying almost at the edges of the bed, hands exploring while they fought to remain silent under the moonlight. Matthew squirmed under Ezra's teeth, urging him on with no regard for marks (later, that didn't surprise Ezra) and traced Ezra's scars lightly, unsurprised by the number or places. For fingers callused by hard work and weapons, they found even the old, smooth scars surprisingly swiftly. Matthew traced them gently, soothing and comforting without words being said.
Ezra kissed fine scars on the backs of Matthew's knuckles and licked between his fingers for the pleasure of hearing his breath catch, sucked at the small indentation on his palm that made Ezra wonder about mishaps and fishing hooks, traced a fingertip down a scar that curved along a rib as if worn in by repetition. The muscle revealed under the clothes he'd expected, although not so much of it; Matthew hid his strength as Ezra did, both of them preferring to be underestimated.
That Matthew would explore him with hands was no surprise; his mouth and tongue were, and nearly drew sounds from Ezra that, with the windows here, he would not have cared to explain to Vin in the morning. As it was, he shivered, then tugged gracelessly until Matthew shifted around to let Ezra do his own exploring and stifle his moans on something far more appreciative than a pillow.
Even here, Matthew tasted and smelled clean enough that Ezra wondered, then and later, if he'd foreseen this as a potential end to their encounter. He had no room to complain of someone planning ahead for the best possible outcome however, and only chuckled around Matthew for the pleasure of hearing the groan against his own skin. After that they were too busy for thinking, competing in a game where it didn't much matter who won first.
Ezra fetched up in his own skin again lying on his side on the outside of the bed with a warm body against his back, a solid arm under his neck and head, and a strong, callused hand tracing lazy patterns along his chest and belly. He wrapped his own fingers through Matthew's, rubbing with his thumb in the other man's palm.
That got a soft laugh against his neck, and an even softer murmur of, "Thank you."
Equally soft and even more amused, Ezra said, "My pleasure I assure you." Soon enough he'd have to get up and go to his own bed. For the moment, that could wait, as could the questions he'd turn over in the next several days. For now, he'd enjoy what he had rather than wish for what wasn't available to him.
# # #
Nathan and Vin rode out with Matthew the next morning, ostensibly to harvest some herbs McCormick had sighted on the way in. The man did at least wait 'til they were out of Four Corners to ask, "I assume you also came along to reassure Mr. Larabee that I've truly departed?"
Nathan just adjusted his hat, looking around to see how the catnip was coming in. For one of the mints, it could be downright picky about how and where it came in, or maybe the barn cats at the livery were the problem? "Josiah can't afford to keep buying you whiskey every time you aggravate Chris into arresting you."
McCormick just laughed at that, not worried about Chris's temper at all. Or maybe he just didn't believe the reputation. "Make Mr. Larabee pay for it. He really does need to check the statutes on loitering."
Peso tried to bite Matthew's mare, and found her dancing away while Vin clouted him on the neck. "Quit that, Peso. You could quit rilin' Chris up if you wanted to stay a while."
"Annoying him is about as difficult as finding cowboys at a box social," McCormick pointed out, but he patted Night's neck and murmured to her to steady down. Good man with his horse, anyway, and he'd done a fine job of catching those bank robbers in Abilene. "And no, thank you. I don't care to leave on a rail or a cloud of tar and feathers. Time I moved along."
"Where ya headed?" Vin asked. "Wyoming?"
"The Rockies first and probably down to Santa Fe after that." McCormick adjusted his hat against the early morning light, looking around with the cautious eye of a man who might need to remember the way back, whether he said he was coming back or not.
Nathan asked curiously, "You expect us to believe Chris is why you're headin' out?"
"Mr. Jackson, I've given up on getting anyone in Four Corners to believe me about anything." McCormick sounded like he thought it was funny, which made Nathan grin. "Not Mr. Larabee, Mrs. Travis, Mr. Sanchez, or yourself. Do feel free to come up with better reasons, but let me know about them if you would. I've been enjoying the creative streak of your fair town's inhabitants."
Vin laughed. "You sound just like Ez. So? What should we tell people?"
"Pinkerton called?" Nathan suggested, just to hear what he'd answer.
"Mr. Beauregard could scotch that theory, I'm afraid. No telegram, and I didn't receive any mail from the Denver stage. It's also been more than a year since I've worked for Pinkerton." McCormick glanced over, however, and nodded to him. "You did a fine job in Abilene, sir. I was most grateful for your assistance with Mrs. Pruitt. Hopefully I left enough for your fee?"
Nathan flushed, grateful his skin concealed it, and nodded back. "More'n the locals would have paid me, enough to let me keep moving on. Appreciated it. Did you ever hear if that lady's arm healed up properly? That was a bad break under those cuts, made setting it tricky."
McCormick shook his head. "Like you, Mr. Jackson, I had to leave before I knew how events settled out. I’m afraid I don't know, either."
Vin glanced between them, surprised. "You didn't say you'd met him, Nathan."
"Hell, Vin, Chris would have kept asking questions I couldn't answer. Man came in, brought me a patient, and went on with his business. Maybe five minutes all told, and then I was too busy to pay much attention. What was I going to tell him?" Nathan shrugged it off, trusting Vin to drop the subject. Until later, anyway.
"The color of my blood?" McCormick asked, amused. "What vest I was wearing that day? Whether I paid you in coin or bank notes?" He shook his head, then pointed to a patch of green. "There's the comfrey, Mr. Jackson. The boneset is down by the streambed, just east of the three rocks over there." He pointed to a formation a few hundred yards along.
"'Preciate it, McCormick." Vin grinned at him, and Nathan wondered what secret those two had, because they both looked mighty amused about something. "Good luck finding Corwin."
"Luck's always needed for that, Mr. Tanner. Thank you." He rode on as Nathan and Vin turned off to collect the comfrey, not speeding up, but not slowing down either, still glancing around from time to time.
Nathan swung out of the saddle, ground-tied his horse, and got to work collecting the comfrey. "Think he'll stay gone?"
"We ain't who he's lookin' for." Vin shrugged and helped Nathan dig up the comfrey, roots and all. "And he didn't like annoyin' Chris that much."
"Hell, he can trust Ezra to do that for him," Nathan agreed, grinning.
"So can we." Vin was grinning, too. "Come on. Maybe when we get back Lafe'll know if that poor skunk escaped."
"If he doesn't, we can ask Ezra for more stories about those sword fights he used to watch." Nathan chuckled. "Or I can make him come practice with me. Wouldn't do to get rusty."
Vin just chuckled and checked again to make sure McCormick was still leaving. Wouldn’t do not to know that when Josiah asked. And Buck, and JD, and maybe Ezra. And definitely Chris.
Nathan shook his head. Some folks just shouldn't be allowed in one place together, and he was putting Chris and McCormick at the top of that list. Just as well he'd gone on. When he wasn't working for the law, McCormick was even more aggravating than Ezra.
~ ~ ~ finis ~ ~ ~
Comments, Commentary, and Miscellanea:
Rowels: big, wheel-shaped spurs.
Barratry: consider it early insurance fraud. Claiming a ship had sunk and its cargo been lost, when really it's been renamed and the cargo sold.
Pinkerton was an honest Chicago policeman, who personally protected Abraham Lincoln on his inaugural trip to Washington, D.C., and ended up establishing both one of the first detective agencies and the Secret Service. His detective service was known throughout the West, and the men were frequently called Pinkertons.
There's a bounty on Vin Tanner's head for a crime he didn't commit.
Cory Raines (played by Nick Lea of X-Files fame) was a bank robber, con artist, etc, etc who studied with Matthew McCormick back in the 13th century (per the Highlander episode "Money No Object"). Also green-eyed, and prone to altruism and mischief. Carl Hobart was a slave owned by Matthew's father-in-law who became an immortal when he 'disappeared.' He was actually shot, left to rot, and instead revived (per the HL episode "Manhunt"). But a dozen or more field hands saw him return to kill Seth and Silas Hobart; there's no way Ezra didn't hear that story if he lived in the area then.
The Magnificent Seven episode "Love & Honor" established that Nathan and Ezra can both use swords (although Nathan's much better with them). No, there's no explanation of why Nathan's owner made him learn to use a sword. (Well, okay, to have a sparring partner, but, er, teaching a slave to fight really could have gotten the owner whipped or hung, so it never did make sense to me!)
The Rocky Mountain News is the oldest Colorado newspaper and is still in existence. And newspapers in that time were gossip rags that did in fact report everything from who'd bought a new mule, who'd been heard arguing by the neighbors, and asking questions like 'Who's going to remove the dead cow that's blocked the intersection at Main and 4th for the last five days?' (Yes. I'm serious.) They would be the best place to look for word of orphanages striking it rich, families 'inheriting' unexpectedly, or other signs of Cory's passing.
The changeover from quills to fountain pens and other nibs began around 1850, however in the early 1870s the USA consumed more than 20,000,000 pencils per year. Pencils were cheaper than good paper.
::tries to look innocent:: That the TV show The Virginian was set in Medicine Bow, Wyoming is, of course, complete coincidence. So is Medicine Bow's nearness to the Outlaw Trail, a string of hideouts and friendly ranches that ran from Mexico to Canada. Really. (And I never read Louis L'Amour, either.)
Yes, telegraph operators were valued, they knew each other by their 'fist' (the way they tapped out the Morse code was apparently highly individual), and they passed gossip when the lines weren't busy. They also had pseudonyms, cross-wire friendships (and one cross-wire marriage, where the bride, groom, and minister were in three separate locations, and all the operators on the line were considered witnesses and guests at the ceremony), and a few other things that sound a great deal like the Internet.
Yes, rails were frequently sabotaged during the Civil War, but to the best of my knowledge, not with skunks. No skunks were harmed during the writing of this story.
Ezra's mother is a con-artist herself, and has gone through at least five husbands.
This story was started easily four years ago: started, abandoned, retried, abandoned, glared at... and finally finished because I got stubborn. Originally inspired by Sting's "Shape Of My Heart."
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
# # #
Chris let his chair tilt back against the exposed support beam and rubbed his forehead against a headache that came more from trying to figure out Ezra and McCormick than from last night's drinks. "So you're telling me McCormick finally gave Ez a name over another chess game?"
"And his word that he wasn't looking for Vin, or so Vin said this morning, brother." Josiah spoke slowly, and Chris wasn't sure if he was contemplating their actions or why they still hadn't seen the Denver stage... and Buck and Vin. That was worrying Chris, too, and he was giving it another hour before the rest of 'em set out to see what had happened.
JD leaned forward, quick and impetuous and wondering. "How'd Vin get McCormick to give his word?" He adjusted the brim of his bowler to shade his eyes before looking northeast for a plume of dust that had yet to appear.
"That's Vin's business, brother. Seeing as there was no disturbance last night, I'd have to imagine they came to an understanding." Josiah sounded as if he had some idea of how, too, and Chris closed his eyes against the image of Vin getting into a fight with McCormick in the middle of the night in a room Inez had rented out....
"Damn it." Mr. Larabee bit the words off, rather than give JD worse habits than they already had. He took a breath and asked, "Nathan, how sure are you that McCormick's a Pinkerton?"
Nathan never looked up from carving a new cane for old Mrs. Abernathy. "I never said McCormick is a Pinkerton, Chris. I said the man was a Pinkerton. Also said that was three years ago in Abilene." Nathan shrugged and added, "Still don't see why I shouldn't just go ask him what he's doing here."
Chris shook his head. "And if he is after Vin?"
Nathan just snorted in disbelief. "Come on, Chris, you really think Vin'd let someone lie to him about something that important?"
"Hellfire." Chair legs dropped onto planks, rowels scraped along wood. "We're goin' to have to do something about that bounty."
Ezra sat down on the step beside JD with an absent-minded nod of greeting, drinking his first coffee of the day, or so Chris judged it. Ezra hadn't been up long; his cuffs were still rolled up and damp, and he was clean-shaven, but hadn't pulled on a jacket yet. "Even apprehending the correct suspect might not clear away the bounty, Mr. Larabee. And Mr. McCormick's word is likely good. Pinkerton is not in the habit of employing those of questionable morals. The question becomes, which problem are we attempting to solve first? Attempting to move Mr. McCormick along, or trying to clear Mr. Tanner's name and reputation of the blot placed there by others?"
Chris shook his head, chewing on the cigarillo he hadn't yet lit. "McCormick first. He's here. But we're going to have to do something about that bounty soon. This is no way for Vin to live."
"Especially since he didn't do it," Josiah rumbled.
Chris glanced over to see why he'd restated the obvious and saw McCormick coming out of the Clarion office, closing the door quietly behind him. Across the street, a couple doors down, but still close enough to hear them talk if he was listening, seeing as the day'd stayed quiet. The kids were down at the far end of the town, playing Red Rover in front of the grain exchange and watching the blacksmith work. Mary was still sitting at her desk, writing with one hand, sipping tea with the other, and smiling as she wrote.
McCormick nodded to them, his smile courteous and bland as Ezra marking new victims for his card games, and Chris bit back the urge to deck him just to see if he'd keep smiling. The man annoyed him like a burr that'd gotten under the skin and was gonna have to be cut out. Sooner he left town, the better, and not just for Vin's sake.
Chris asked abruptly, "You sure about that name, Ezra?"
"He's looking for a green-eyed conman named Corwin, Mr. Larabee." Ezra's sipped at his coffee, then fell still when the telegraph operator ran out of his office, calling for JD.
"Sheriff! Hey, you got to hear this!"
McCormick had paused to listen, too, but hell, so had everyone in the street. Sometimes it was just good gossip over the wires, and sometimes it was damned important -- or the operator thought it was. Didn't do to rile up the man who was your fastest contact to the nearby towns.
"What is it, Lafe?" JD stood up, one hand dropping absently to his pistol.
"One hell of a fuss over in Wyoming, near Medicine Bow. Some crazy bastard--" he saw Mary Travis standing on the Clarion porch to listen, winced, and nodded to her, "--sorry, Mz. Travis. Some lunatic stole the Army payroll cars, Sheriff. Off the train, with the Army guarding it. Dropped a skunk in with the car of guards, disconnected the rear cars pretty as you please, and made off with as much gold as three horses could carry. Word over the wire is that no one understands why it was only three of 'em loaded, 'cause tracks say there were at least eight horses."
"In case the first three go lame," McCormick answered, his face tight with something that might have been anger but looked to Chris a damn sight more like a man trying not to bust a gut laughing. "A skunk?"
"Yes, sir, that's what Myra up in Denver signed. She was about laughing too hard to tap it out, way she sounded, but it was her fist." Lafe grinned at him. "A skunk. Man won't get away with it for long, but Lord, what a story."
Mary Travis smiled at him. "If you hear any more details, Lafe?"
"I'll bring 'em right to you, ma'am, soon's I stop for lunch or Billy stops by to pick up the news." He grinned at her and headed back in, laughing as he went. "A skunk. If that don't beat all...."
Chris watched McCormick narrowly. "You seem pretty damn amused by this."
"Mr. Beauregard didn't report anyone as being hurt, " McCormick pointed out, and yeah, that was a grin starting to escape. "Some sergeants are going to be downright emphatic about bathing, but the payroll will either be recovered or reissued. And this robber neither warped the rails, nor blew up the train. He merely separated parts of it from each other, and the Army from some of their payroll." He gave up and started laughing as he added, "With the aid of a skunk."
"Trains are going to be guarded more carefully from now on," Josiah said, and he wasn't even trying not to laugh. Chris gave up trying to frown, because it was mighty funny now that he wasn't trying to blame McCormick for a robbery six days' ride away. "Mighty fine sense of humor on the man, using a skunk 'stead of dynamite."
"Or fires on the tracks... a most considerate robber," Ezra managed to say between gusts of laughter, and they were all laughing now, even Mary Travis and McCormick. Hell, Chris couldn't remember the last time he'd heard this many people laughing so hard, even if it was over a crime.
Nathan looked up, still chuckling, and pointed to a plume of dust. "And there's the Denver stage."
JD grinned. "We might want to ride out and tell Buck about this."
Chris snorted. "JD, we do that and he won't take a bath this week for claiming he's no skunk-thief."
Nathan grinned. "Nah, he'll get his bath. Buck's not going to upset whichever lady he's charming this week. Come on."
JD whooped and ran for the livery, with the others not far behind. McCormick was sitting on the saloon porch when they rode past, still laughing like it'd hurt to stop.
# # #
"Good night, Señor Standish."
"We'll turn the lamps down when we go up, Inez," Ezra promised her as he had the night before. This time he and Matthew each had a glass of whiskey to hand, having already toasted the safety of the skunk (although without specifying two legs or four).
Matthew shifted a rook sideways, chuckling as he did. "It's going to be a good while before I can see a black and white checkerboard without laughing for that poor skunk."
Ezra considered the move, then shifted one of his knights towards an unguarded bishop. "Mr. Tanner tells me you were at Mrs. Potter's store earlier, buying supplies?"
Matthew's hand tapped lightly from pawn to queen to bishop before finally moving a knight up to threaten Ezra's rook. He glanced up then, one eyebrow arched in eloquent curiosity. "I was, yes."
"Then you're departing our fair town on the morrow?" Ezra kept his attention on the board, listening to the man's voice; it gave away more than his eyes or face.
"Even the back-issues at the Clarion ran out eventually," Matthew said lightly. He went on more seriously, "And Mr. Larabee has no taste for my presence in town. I prefer riding out on my horse to his rail." A rustle of cloth followed by the quiet return of glass on wood spoke of another small sip of the slowly-diminishing whiskey. "Were you going to move, Ezra?"
"That's not why you're leaving," Ezra stated, looking up and ignoring the game. "The payroll robbery--"
Matthew's glance froze the words in his mouth... and confirmed Ezra's suspicion that Matthew believed he could put a name to the bandit if he so chose. Matthew only said, "As everyone has told me, there's only so much to do in Four Corners."
Ezra took a deeper breath than usual, perfectly willing to let Matthew think he was off-balance, and finally asked very quietly, "I must ask, whether you answer or not. The wounds you and Carl Hobart took in your daily bouts -- how did you heal them all so swiftly?"
Matthew studied him over the chessboard, eyes sharp and measuring. "And if I asked what you were talking about, sir?"
"I know too well that I would never match you in a fight, sir, and I don't believe a bullet would stop you long enough." Ezra ignored the tension shivering through his nerves as easily as he would have controlled a twitch or gasp during a poker game and kept his voice too quiet to be overheard from any of the corners of the room. "Nonetheless, you are the same man I watched in Belle Chassee in 1859, and I do mean the same. Not so much as a grey hair nor a line of age added, not even a visible scar, and I don't believe you avoided the War." Ezra shook his head, helpless before the imperatives of his own curiosity. "How?"
Matthew only said quietly, "Your move, sir," and continued to watch him over the chessboard. His voice was almost gentle as if he understood the way curiosity burned in Ezra, as loss burned in Chris or the desire for communion drove Josiah.
Ezra looked down at the chessboard, the possible moves and ploys sliding away as he looked. He made himself contemplate the squares and pieces anyway and finally sent his queen sliding down the diagonal to threaten Matthew's king's rook.
"Mmm." Matthew took the queen with a bishop Ezra had overlooked and said quietly, "Mate, I'm afraid."
Ezra looked at the board, at his exposed king and the rook ready to take it if he didn't move, at the knight and bishop ready to strike at the king's possible destinations, and he found himself laughing. His laughter went on long enough that Matthew handed him a silver flask produced from somewhere about his person, still warm from his body, and said firmly, "Ezra. Drink some of that."
It was very good brandy, far too good to be wasted on an excess of mirth. Ezra took a second swallow just to enjoy it, and a third for the pleasure for wrapping his mouth around the warm metal and teasing Matthew with things he had yet to admit he wanted.... He finally asked, "Will you tell me if I'm mad, in any case?"
Matthew had an elbow on the table, his chin resting on his fist while he watched Ezra. "And if I did?"
"At least I would know, although no one would ever believe me." Ezra handed the flask back regretfully. "Hardly as if I have any proof, sir."
"No, I suspect you don't. And I'm afraid your mother's reputation would do you no good in a court." Nor Ezra's own profession, as Matthew didn't point out.
"I find I can't believe I've lost my faculties," Ezra said quietly, but he started to gather up the chess pieces, settling them into their box lest he lose one. The slow smile curling Matthew's mouth made Ezra's hand tighten around the bishop; he controlled himself long enough to put it away rather than risk breaking the mitre.
"You're not mad," Matthew said, soft enough that no onlooker would have been able to overhear him. Ezra heard all of it, however; it would be enough. "But it doesn't appear along any rhyme or reason I've ever discerned." Matthew shrugged and added, "Nor is it a prize to be won, given away, or seized." Despite the topic, he was still smiling, slow and appreciative.
"Then I shall simply have to seize the night," Ezra said and leaned in to kiss Matthew.
He'd expected anything from stillness to hands pushing him away to (a more remote possibility) violence of fist or knife. Ezra hadn't expected that McCormick would fold one hand around his nape and the other around the point of his shoulder, that the man would laugh against his mouth and turn the kiss into something slower and more exploratory -- gentle and interested and thorough. That, he hadn't expected at all.
Matthew's mouth tasted faintly of whiskey; his throat tasted of dust, and recent sweat. His hands were precise in the way they shifted Ezra and the way the fingers kneaded the spots in his neck that always ached after a long night of watching and remembering cards. He smelled of sun-dried cloth, leather, a hint of lavender under those... Ezra found himself relaxing into the touch of someone who smelled like a home he hadn't seen in years.
Matthew finally moved back rather than push him away. While Ezra was still waiting for... something, he only murmured, "I'd suggest we discuss this somewhere less public and with fewer lights," and helped gather the chess pieces and blow out the lanterns.
Moonlight painted Matthew's room in silver and shadows, striping the blue and white quilt grey and navy; the light left the roses stenciled just below the ceiling black (and explained what Inez had been doing during any number of rainy afternoons). Matthew closed the door behind them, pushed the shutters nearly closed, and leaned in to kiss Ezra again, every bit as slow and interested.
Ezra wasn't nearly as surprised this time.
This time he retained enough self-possession to keep his hands moving, tracing up Matthew's shirt (good cotton, less fine than Ezra's but better suited to the west) to remove it and learn the body he could barely see now. His hands saw well enough, however, tracing the few scars on a man who'd once been well-known for his skill at dancing, a man Ezra had seen fighting with a knight's sword day after day in the swamp....
Ezra shuddered at the feel of nails trailing along nape and shoulders -- not hard enough to scratch, too firm to ignore. Matthew chuckled against his throat, careful not to leave marks as he tasted and explored. Ezra stepped back and said breathlessly, "Best my clothes not go everywhere."
"A lamp later might be difficult to explain, yes." Matthew sounded regretful, and was making short work of shedding his own clothes. Ezra looked over in what moonlight remained and saw a silhouette on the bed, silver and shadow and well worth the time it took him to look. Matthew only laughed softly -- with him, not at him -- and Ezra chuckled and joined him on the bed.
Bedding Matthew was... fun, strangely enough. Playful and intent by turns, sometimes intertwining limbs while they laughed against mouths or throats, sometimes lying almost at the edges of the bed, hands exploring while they fought to remain silent under the moonlight. Matthew squirmed under Ezra's teeth, urging him on with no regard for marks (later, that didn't surprise Ezra) and traced Ezra's scars lightly, unsurprised by the number or places. For fingers callused by hard work and weapons, they found even the old, smooth scars surprisingly swiftly. Matthew traced them gently, soothing and comforting without words being said.
Ezra kissed fine scars on the backs of Matthew's knuckles and licked between his fingers for the pleasure of hearing his breath catch, sucked at the small indentation on his palm that made Ezra wonder about mishaps and fishing hooks, traced a fingertip down a scar that curved along a rib as if worn in by repetition. The muscle revealed under the clothes he'd expected, although not so much of it; Matthew hid his strength as Ezra did, both of them preferring to be underestimated.
That Matthew would explore him with hands was no surprise; his mouth and tongue were, and nearly drew sounds from Ezra that, with the windows here, he would not have cared to explain to Vin in the morning. As it was, he shivered, then tugged gracelessly until Matthew shifted around to let Ezra do his own exploring and stifle his moans on something far more appreciative than a pillow.
Even here, Matthew tasted and smelled clean enough that Ezra wondered, then and later, if he'd foreseen this as a potential end to their encounter. He had no room to complain of someone planning ahead for the best possible outcome however, and only chuckled around Matthew for the pleasure of hearing the groan against his own skin. After that they were too busy for thinking, competing in a game where it didn't much matter who won first.
Ezra fetched up in his own skin again lying on his side on the outside of the bed with a warm body against his back, a solid arm under his neck and head, and a strong, callused hand tracing lazy patterns along his chest and belly. He wrapped his own fingers through Matthew's, rubbing with his thumb in the other man's palm.
That got a soft laugh against his neck, and an even softer murmur of, "Thank you."
Equally soft and even more amused, Ezra said, "My pleasure I assure you." Soon enough he'd have to get up and go to his own bed. For the moment, that could wait, as could the questions he'd turn over in the next several days. For now, he'd enjoy what he had rather than wish for what wasn't available to him.
# # #
Nathan and Vin rode out with Matthew the next morning, ostensibly to harvest some herbs McCormick had sighted on the way in. The man did at least wait 'til they were out of Four Corners to ask, "I assume you also came along to reassure Mr. Larabee that I've truly departed?"
Nathan just adjusted his hat, looking around to see how the catnip was coming in. For one of the mints, it could be downright picky about how and where it came in, or maybe the barn cats at the livery were the problem? "Josiah can't afford to keep buying you whiskey every time you aggravate Chris into arresting you."
McCormick just laughed at that, not worried about Chris's temper at all. Or maybe he just didn't believe the reputation. "Make Mr. Larabee pay for it. He really does need to check the statutes on loitering."
Peso tried to bite Matthew's mare, and found her dancing away while Vin clouted him on the neck. "Quit that, Peso. You could quit rilin' Chris up if you wanted to stay a while."
"Annoying him is about as difficult as finding cowboys at a box social," McCormick pointed out, but he patted Night's neck and murmured to her to steady down. Good man with his horse, anyway, and he'd done a fine job of catching those bank robbers in Abilene. "And no, thank you. I don't care to leave on a rail or a cloud of tar and feathers. Time I moved along."
"Where ya headed?" Vin asked. "Wyoming?"
"The Rockies first and probably down to Santa Fe after that." McCormick adjusted his hat against the early morning light, looking around with the cautious eye of a man who might need to remember the way back, whether he said he was coming back or not.
Nathan asked curiously, "You expect us to believe Chris is why you're headin' out?"
"Mr. Jackson, I've given up on getting anyone in Four Corners to believe me about anything." McCormick sounded like he thought it was funny, which made Nathan grin. "Not Mr. Larabee, Mrs. Travis, Mr. Sanchez, or yourself. Do feel free to come up with better reasons, but let me know about them if you would. I've been enjoying the creative streak of your fair town's inhabitants."
Vin laughed. "You sound just like Ez. So? What should we tell people?"
"Pinkerton called?" Nathan suggested, just to hear what he'd answer.
"Mr. Beauregard could scotch that theory, I'm afraid. No telegram, and I didn't receive any mail from the Denver stage. It's also been more than a year since I've worked for Pinkerton." McCormick glanced over, however, and nodded to him. "You did a fine job in Abilene, sir. I was most grateful for your assistance with Mrs. Pruitt. Hopefully I left enough for your fee?"
Nathan flushed, grateful his skin concealed it, and nodded back. "More'n the locals would have paid me, enough to let me keep moving on. Appreciated it. Did you ever hear if that lady's arm healed up properly? That was a bad break under those cuts, made setting it tricky."
McCormick shook his head. "Like you, Mr. Jackson, I had to leave before I knew how events settled out. I’m afraid I don't know, either."
Vin glanced between them, surprised. "You didn't say you'd met him, Nathan."
"Hell, Vin, Chris would have kept asking questions I couldn't answer. Man came in, brought me a patient, and went on with his business. Maybe five minutes all told, and then I was too busy to pay much attention. What was I going to tell him?" Nathan shrugged it off, trusting Vin to drop the subject. Until later, anyway.
"The color of my blood?" McCormick asked, amused. "What vest I was wearing that day? Whether I paid you in coin or bank notes?" He shook his head, then pointed to a patch of green. "There's the comfrey, Mr. Jackson. The boneset is down by the streambed, just east of the three rocks over there." He pointed to a formation a few hundred yards along.
"'Preciate it, McCormick." Vin grinned at him, and Nathan wondered what secret those two had, because they both looked mighty amused about something. "Good luck finding Corwin."
"Luck's always needed for that, Mr. Tanner. Thank you." He rode on as Nathan and Vin turned off to collect the comfrey, not speeding up, but not slowing down either, still glancing around from time to time.
Nathan swung out of the saddle, ground-tied his horse, and got to work collecting the comfrey. "Think he'll stay gone?"
"We ain't who he's lookin' for." Vin shrugged and helped Nathan dig up the comfrey, roots and all. "And he didn't like annoyin' Chris that much."
"Hell, he can trust Ezra to do that for him," Nathan agreed, grinning.
"So can we." Vin was grinning, too. "Come on. Maybe when we get back Lafe'll know if that poor skunk escaped."
"If he doesn't, we can ask Ezra for more stories about those sword fights he used to watch." Nathan chuckled. "Or I can make him come practice with me. Wouldn't do to get rusty."
Vin just chuckled and checked again to make sure McCormick was still leaving. Wouldn’t do not to know that when Josiah asked. And Buck, and JD, and maybe Ezra. And definitely Chris.
Nathan shook his head. Some folks just shouldn't be allowed in one place together, and he was putting Chris and McCormick at the top of that list. Just as well he'd gone on. When he wasn't working for the law, McCormick was even more aggravating than Ezra.
~ ~ ~ finis ~ ~ ~
Comments, Commentary, and Miscellanea:
Rowels: big, wheel-shaped spurs.
Barratry: consider it early insurance fraud. Claiming a ship had sunk and its cargo been lost, when really it's been renamed and the cargo sold.
Pinkerton was an honest Chicago policeman, who personally protected Abraham Lincoln on his inaugural trip to Washington, D.C., and ended up establishing both one of the first detective agencies and the Secret Service. His detective service was known throughout the West, and the men were frequently called Pinkertons.
There's a bounty on Vin Tanner's head for a crime he didn't commit.
Cory Raines (played by Nick Lea of X-Files fame) was a bank robber, con artist, etc, etc who studied with Matthew McCormick back in the 13th century (per the Highlander episode "Money No Object"). Also green-eyed, and prone to altruism and mischief. Carl Hobart was a slave owned by Matthew's father-in-law who became an immortal when he 'disappeared.' He was actually shot, left to rot, and instead revived (per the HL episode "Manhunt"). But a dozen or more field hands saw him return to kill Seth and Silas Hobart; there's no way Ezra didn't hear that story if he lived in the area then.
The Magnificent Seven episode "Love & Honor" established that Nathan and Ezra can both use swords (although Nathan's much better with them). No, there's no explanation of why Nathan's owner made him learn to use a sword. (Well, okay, to have a sparring partner, but, er, teaching a slave to fight really could have gotten the owner whipped or hung, so it never did make sense to me!)
The Rocky Mountain News is the oldest Colorado newspaper and is still in existence. And newspapers in that time were gossip rags that did in fact report everything from who'd bought a new mule, who'd been heard arguing by the neighbors, and asking questions like 'Who's going to remove the dead cow that's blocked the intersection at Main and 4th for the last five days?' (Yes. I'm serious.) They would be the best place to look for word of orphanages striking it rich, families 'inheriting' unexpectedly, or other signs of Cory's passing.
The changeover from quills to fountain pens and other nibs began around 1850, however in the early 1870s the USA consumed more than 20,000,000 pencils per year. Pencils were cheaper than good paper.
::tries to look innocent:: That the TV show The Virginian was set in Medicine Bow, Wyoming is, of course, complete coincidence. So is Medicine Bow's nearness to the Outlaw Trail, a string of hideouts and friendly ranches that ran from Mexico to Canada. Really. (And I never read Louis L'Amour, either.)
Yes, telegraph operators were valued, they knew each other by their 'fist' (the way they tapped out the Morse code was apparently highly individual), and they passed gossip when the lines weren't busy. They also had pseudonyms, cross-wire friendships (and one cross-wire marriage, where the bride, groom, and minister were in three separate locations, and all the operators on the line were considered witnesses and guests at the ceremony), and a few other things that sound a great deal like the Internet.
Yes, rails were frequently sabotaged during the Civil War, but to the best of my knowledge, not with skunks. No skunks were harmed during the writing of this story.
Ezra's mother is a con-artist herself, and has gone through at least five husbands.
This story was started easily four years ago: started, abandoned, retried, abandoned, glared at... and finally finished because I got stubborn. Originally inspired by Sting's "Shape Of My Heart."