Fic: Among Vicissitudes of Night
Title: Among Vicissitudes of Night
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Characters/Pairing: Nathan Jackson, Vin Tanner
Rating: Gen.
Summary: There's a power that comes with the knowing of things.
Prompt: Magnificent Seven, Vin + any, OW, he saw more in the dark than in the daylight
Notes: Boy did this fic spiral out of control. Unbeta'd because that's just how I roll.
It takes Nathan a few weeks to realize that, nine times out of ten, Vin's the one on night patrol. It's a damn peculiar realization, one that leaves him equal parts confused and concerned, for he can't recall ever seeing Vin sleep in past seven o'clock, which don't leave a whole lot of time to be asleep after finishing up a patrol. Vin can't be getting more than three hours a night -- if that -- and Nathan is all too familiar with the kind of damage too little sleep and too much work can do to a man; he knows, too, how dangerous a man who ain't been sleeping can be.
So Nathan spends a couple of days after his little revelation just watching Vin, looking for any sort of sign -- looking in equal measure for a sign of Vin stealing away to sleep through the empty afternoons as he is for a sign that Vin's on the edge of some powerful mischief. But though he catches Vin napping a time or two, hat pulled low and feet up on the jail's porch railing, he don't see any other sign that Vin's getting a few solid hours of sleep to make up for the hours he misses during the night. And though he sees Vin hesitate before firing a time or two, and engage in behavior that makes Nathan question Vin's sanity, he also sees Chris and Buck and JD do the exact same things, and he knows at least one of those boys is getting a solid night's sleep.
Besides, Vin's just as sharp and perceptive as always -- something he drives home with expert force when he pulls Nathan aside and says, "Got something you want to ask me?"
Nathan sighs, chagrined to have been caught watching, but not too surprised. "Just noticed you've been taking the night watch an awful lot, lately," he says, voice as even and non-judgmental as he can make it. "Was wondering if maybe you needed a sleeping tonic."
"Tryin' to get me in bed, Nathan?" Vin asks, laughing.
"Just concerned," he says, and he pauses for a minute, unsure if he should say that he's concerned for Vin -- for his health, for whatever it is that keeps him from sleep -- or concerned about what Vin might be doing in the night, for the jail's been standing mighty empty lately, and Nathan knows it ain't because folks round here have had a sudden change of heart.
"Just getting the lay of the land," Vin says. He claps a hand to Nathan's shoulder, just on the edge of friendly, like he heard the words Nathan hasn't said, and his eyes lack the laughter of his smile. "You can come with me tonight, see what I mean, if you can tear yourself away from your bed."
"Reckon I might," Nathan says, smarting as much from the words as he is from slap on the shoulder -- he ain't Ezra, after all, who can't be bothered to rise from his bed much before noon. He knows what it's like to work all through the night.
Still, he ain't exactly thrilled to be standing next to Vin when the shadows begin to stretch out long over the town, not after a long day helping old Mrs. Murphy to pass peacefully from the world. He knows he could find his bed now, and Vin wouldn't say a damn word, wouldn't judge him and find him wanting, but Chris ain't the only man in these parts with an unbending pride, and Nathan likes to think he's a man who will always keep his word.
"Well?" he asks, looking at the quiet, twilit streets of his home.
"This way," Vin says, heading out towards the livery at a gentle amble. Nathan trails after him, trying to see what Vin sees in the gathering dusk, trying to understand how Vin could possible get a better lay of the land now, rather than in the broad light of day. All Nathan can see is the glow of the night fires, the low banked flames casting the world into unfamiliar shadows.
Nathan's beginning to think that Vin's playing one of his little jokes when they pass Tiny, who greets them with a low grunt and a nod of his head. Nathan nods back as they pass, not thinking much of the encounter, until Vin says, low and quiet and meant only for his ears, "See the way he got his hair all slicked back and combed out that ugly excuse he calls a beard?"
"What?" Nathan says, twisting back to stare at the big man -- who, now that he thinks about it, does look a damn sight cleaner and more put together than normal.
"He's sweet on Gloria," Vin says, stopping his walk to lean up against a hitching post, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. He nods his head at Tiny, who's standing outside the Potter's store and looking an awful lot like a man heading toward a firing squad, and adds, "Most nights, he don't do nothing, just stands there for a bit and then turns tail. Some nights, though, Gloria sees him 'fore he can run, and they walk out for a bit. I reckon, pace they're going, we got another year or two 'fore Josiah's gotta dust off the wedding vows. Maybe sooner if Gloria gets fed up with the waiting."
"Huh," Nathan says, and sure enough, there's Gloria Potter, wearing a pretty bonnet and smiling as she takes Tiny's arm. "How long that been goin' on?"
"Oh, three months I reckon?" Vin says. "Started right around the time Gloria decided to sell her cob, 'cause she needed the money to send the kids back to James's folks in Indiana."
"She's sending her kids away?" Nathan asks, incredulous, and Vin chuffs out a small laugh.
"Nah," he says, pushing away from the hitching post and starting off again at the same slow pace. "Tiny kept hemming and hawing over that cob -- mostly to keep her coming back, I reckon -- and then Mary got wind of her plan, and you know how Mary can be." He tips his hat to Virgil Watson, who's heading towards the bathhouse, and says, "Sunday already, Virgil?"
"Consarn skunk got me again," Virgil says, "and the missus won't let me in the house 'till I've had a bath."
"Told you to stop poking it," Vin says, and then as an aside to Nathan, "fourth time this month Virgil's gone up against that skunk and lost. Don't know why he won't let me just shoot the damn thing."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do with a dead skunk?" Virgil says as they walk on by.
"Well, it's your outhouse," Vin says over his shoulder. He leads Nathan up the street, nodding pleasantly to the few folk they pass, and Nathan marvels that he's got some kind of quiet word about all of them, for he'd never considered Vin to be particularly sociable. He's starting to wonder if this is what Vin meant about getting the lay of the land -- this quiet knowing of the minutiae of his neighbor's everyday lives -- when Vin stops just short of the invisible line that splits the town between "respectable" and "not", and turns around.
"Vin?" Nathan asks, suddenly unsure, for the he knows that the few blocks they haven't walked are the parts of the town that need the most watching.
"This early in the evening, most folks is eating," Vin says as he makes his unhurried way to the telegraph office. "And right now the girls can handle anyone partakin' of what's on offer over there. I ain't gonna be the reason someone goes hungry." He pauses, one foot on the step up to the boardwalk, and gives Nathan a challenging look. "You want to go bust up some working girls tryin' to get by, you be my guest, but I ain't a part of that."
Nathan bristles a little at that, and Vin flashes him a grin, lightning quick, before ducking into the telegraph office. Before he can say anything, Vin's back out and heading back on down the street, tucking some slips of paper into his pocket as he goes.
"Well?" Nathan asks, for this ain't at all like the patrol he does when he's stuck with the task, and he ain't sure how they're going to be filling their time. "Now what?"
"Now, I usually head to Mary's," Vin says, patting his pocket and the telegrams within. He stops again, and Nathan follows his fond gaze to the trio of men approaching them.
"Nathan, Vin," Josiah says, somber and sober and dressed in his darkest clothes. "Sad doings today."
Nathan shrugs as he falls in step with his friends, for he'd helped old Mrs. Murphy pass without pain or fear, and far as he's concerned that's the best death anybody could hope for. "You off to pay your condolences?"
"Off to wake Mrs. Murphy," Buck says, lofting the bottle of rotgut in his hand.
"Reckon they've finished the laying out," JD says. "Ain't sure who's gonna be doing the keening."
"Doubt that'll be a problem," Nathan says as they approach the Murphy place, for he can already hear the muffled wailing. He nods solemnly to Nettie Wells, standing staunchly at the Murphy door with a pipe in one hand and a glass in the other, and steps back to let Josiah and Buck and JD and Vin pay their respects. The other three go on through, but Vin stops at the edge of the golden light spilling from the single open window, and Nathan's surprised to see his hesitation, to see the brief flash of discomfort that crosses his face as he nods at the Murphy home and the wake going on inside.
"Listen," he says at last, "me and her, we didn't get on. But if you want to pay your respects to the family, I ain't gonna stop you. I can finish up on my own."
"No," Nathan says, though he's desperate to know what old Mrs. Murphy, who'd been mostly harmless, could have done to raise Vin's hackles so. "I already said my bit to her sons. 'Sides, we ain't done with the patrol yet."
Vin nods, and he waits until they're a few doors down from the Murphy place before he says, "She loved her sons."
"Yeah," Nathan says, half in question.
"Too bad them boys are such assholes."
And that startles a laugh out of, Nathan, mostly because it's true, but partly because it ain't at all what he expected Vin to say. He's still chuckling when they reach The Clarion's offices, and he ain't at all surprised to see Mary's still hard at work over her press. He is a bit surprised, though, by the warmth in her smile for Vin, and he's beginning to think he's stumbled onto something he shouldn't have, when Mary says, "Vin! And what's the news today?"
"You tell me," Vin says as he hands Mary the telegrams, before settling himself down in a chair in the corner.
"Well," Mary says, "there was a shoot out between a couple of ranchers two days ago at the Texas border -- three men dead, and I expect we'll be seeing quite a few jumpy cowboys passing through, until things settle down again. There was a fire over in Harrisburg on Sunday -- no casualties there, though the Johnsons lost both their house and their entire herd. I'll be publishing a notice about a collection box we're setting up at the church, so I'd take it kindly if you'd let Josiah know about that, and that he shouldn't go using any of the donations. Conklin is at it again -- and you know I'd normally just let him rant, but his letter is about Chris this time, and I'm going to have to print it." She sighs and Nathan smiles, because he knows exactly what Chris will do about Conklin's letter.
"Let's see, what else...Oh, we've got a new poem by Holmes, that's always nice, and that Mark Twain has written another traveling book -- I don't know what all he's got to say about traveling in the Territories, but maybe it'll convince folk to settle in these parts, rather than just heading straight on to California..." she trails off, and Nathan frowns, wondering if there's some particularly bad news in those telegrams. But she just smiles and nods her head at Vin, who has his hat over his face and his legs stretched out long in front of him.
"I know he just comes in here to sleep for an hour or two," she tells Nathan, her voice quiet and fond, "but it's nice to have the company."
"Ain't sleeping," Vin says from his corner.
"'Course not," Mary says, rolling her eyes for Nathan's benefit. She smiles at him, and says, "There's another chair in the kitchen, Nathan. Why don't you fetch it."
"Sure," Nathan says, not quite able to hide his own smile.
"I ain't," Vin calls after him, and maybe if he'd lifted the hat from his face, or sat up straighter, Nathan would have believed him. As it is, Nathan can see why Vin might come here for a quick snooze -- it's warm, and while it ain't quiet, the soft clicking noises of Mary setting up the type for the morning's paper are soothing. He's half-asleep himself when Mary says, "There!" in a softly pleased sort of voice, and Vin rises from his chair. It takes Nathan a mite longer to shake the sleep from his eyes, and he scowls at Vin's smug little smile.
"Well, gentlemen," Mary tells them as she dims the lamps, "I think that's it for me tonight. A pleasure as always, Mr. Tanner."
"Mary," Vin says, touching the brim of his hat, before gesturing Nathan out the door. It's full night, now, and Nathan shivers a little at the chill in the air.
"So you and Mary," he says, once Vin's closed The Clarion's door, and he feels a little smug that it's Vin's turn to scowl now.
"Ain't what you're thinking," Vin says. "Just, you ever notice how much trouble that paper of hers causes? Way I see it, if I stay there until she's tucked away for the night, then at least someone's close at hand when the trouble comes. And," he adds, pointing a finger at Nathan, "I ain't sleeping on the job."
"Uh huh," Nathan says, trying to figure out a way to tell Vin that maybe he wouldn't need to catch forty winks at Mary's at the beginning of the night if he'd let the others take their turn at a night patrol.
"Come on." Vin takes off down the street, walking with a firm purpose and none of the genial ambling of earlier in the evening, and Nathan has to trot to catch up. Vin's moving fast and Nathan wonders where they're going in such a goddamned hurry.
He stops wondering when he sees the two men crowding a girl down the first alley on the wrong side of town.
"Shit," he says, and he reaches for a knife.
"Wait," Vin says, quietly, though he's got a hand resting on the butt of his gun.
"Vin--"
"Wait," he says again, and then louder, "You all right there, miss?"
"Wait your turn," one of the men says, dismissive and impatient, and Nathan ain't at all surprised to recognize the voice as belonging to Henry Beaumont. Nathan growls and starts forward, intending to teach the man a lesson, because he's seen the man's work before, seen how he likes to leave his women; it takes Vin grabbing his arm and yanking hard before he stops.
"Jesus," Vin growls. "It's like you ain't never seen a working girl doing business in an alley before." He tightens his grip on Nathan's arm, before saying again, "Miss?"
"Everything's fine, honey," the girl says. "You just move on along. Me and these boys have got things well in hand."
"All right," Vin says. "You holler if that changes." And he drags Nathan past the mouth of the alley, and the men with their pants around their ankles, and the woman with her dress rucked up to her waist.
"What the hell, Vin?" Nathan says, yanking his arm free once they're past that shameful sight. "You know who that was?"
"Sure." Vin shrugs, like it don't matter that Henry Beaumont once beat his daughter so bad she damn near died. "And he's a piece of work, ain't no mistake. But you heard her -- she don't need us right now."
"And you believe her?"
Vin sighs, a long-suffering sort of sound. "Beaumont'll beat his wife, and he'll beat his daughter, but he won't ever beat his horses, and he won't ever beat his whore, and we can't arrest a man for being an asshole. Now if you see little Jimmy Simpson skulking around here -- well, you can just go right ahead and cut his balls off and I won't stop you, 'cause he likes pain and he don't like to pay for it. But it ain't like we'll find him hanging 'round out here, or in the parlor, and I ain't going down to the cribs with you if you don't behave yourself and listen to me."
"Jesus," Nathan says, unable to stop himself from thinking about the last time he patrolled the town at night, and how he'd kept his eyes straight ahead, like if he couldn't see it, it wasn't happening. He wonders, now, how many girls got beat that night 'cause he couldn't bring himself to look into the darkness of the alleyways.
"Look," Vin says, and Nathan hates the kindness in his voice, "most of the folks 'round here are decent enough. Shoot, most nights, all I end up with are a couple of fellas who can't hold their liquor and need to spend the night sleeping off their drink 'fore they do something down right stupid. Hell, only reason I hang around here this time of night is 'cause it's so damn busy, and it don't hurt none to remind folks -- and especially Miss Mollie -- that this ain't Wickstown, where anything goes. Gotta remind folks that there's consequences for rolling a fella, or taking too many liberties with a lady."
"So you're just gonna let that," Nathan says, waving back at the alley, "happen?"
Vin shrugs. "Sure. Ain't like it's hurting anybody."
"And when he does?"
"Then you can give him the shit-kicking he deserves. Now you think you can jaw at me while we walk? 'Cause the night's just started, and I ain't aiming to spend all of it standing here."
Vin takes off again and Nathan follows, in part because he doesn't know what else he should do. He wants to go back and beat Henry Beaumont black and blue before he can do the same to that girl, but Vin's right, damn him, and Nathan ain't too proud to admit when he's wrong. The man isn't doing anything illegal -- at least, not how it's reckoned in these parts -- and Nathan tries as hard as he can to be mindful of the fact that if he goes back now and hauls Beaumont in for public indecency, then he's going to have to do the same for a whole lot of folks in town, and he knows that that kind of law and order don't work around here.
So he follows Vin, up the streets and down the alleyways, and he wonders, now, at his desire to see what Vin sees in the darkness of the night. He knows, of course, of the things that happen in Mollie's parlor house -- hell before he came to an understanding with Rain, he'd availed himself of her services a time or two, though he always treated the girls the way he thinks a gentleman ought to -- and he ain't a blushing innocent like JD; he'd seen the camp followers in the war, and back before that he'd been the one Missus Jackson would send to roust old Mister Jackson out of this or that bawdy house, and he's always treated the working girls for most of their private complaints. But it's one thing to know about Mollie's, to catch brief glimpses of the girls at work, and another to see it everywhere he looks; it's one thing to know that sweet Clara is the girl you want for some recreational whipping, and something entirely different to see her lead Jan Gundersson upstairs. And he really doesn't know how he's ever going to be able to look George Harris in the eye after catching a glimpse of the man sitting in one of Mollie's red velvet chairs with a tarted up boy on his knee.
"Jesus," Nathan says, trying to find a place to put his eyes that will make him feel less like a peeping tom. He settles on the parlor's grand staircase, and Miss Mollie sweeping her way down the shining wood steps like the grandest of grand dames.
"Well, well, well," Mollie coos. "I declare, it's been an age since you've been in, Nathan."
"Mollie," Nathan says, unable to keep the fondness from his voice; for all of Mollie's many faults, she ain't never turned away a paying customer because of the color of his skin. "Ain't here for personal reasons."
"Saw Dora outside," Vin says, and Nathan is surprised to see his narrowed eyes. "Thought she was one of yours."
"My girls are free to leave whenever they want," Mollie says, lofty and evasive. "It's not my concern if one of them leaves here to set up on her own."
"I ask her, she gonna say the same thing?"
"I can't imagine she'd have reason to say anything different." Mollie's smile is sharp, and there's something not exactly friendly about the way she takes Vin's arm. "Now dear Georgette may not be quite as experienced as Dora was, but if you're interested in a companion for the night, she would make a most excellent substitute. She has the voice of an angel and can speak quite passable French."
"Ain't got much interest in being talked at in foreign," Vin says, extracting his arm from Mollie's grasp. "Just stopping in to pay our respects and let you know that you get any trouble, me and Nathan'll be close at hand."
"Mm-hmm," Mollie says, her eyes shadowed and her gaze considering in a way that makes the back of Nathan's neck itch. He waits until they're out on the parlor's porch before he scratches it, and he breathes out, unsure of what exactly just happened.
"Mollie's been tryin' to bring the crib girls and streetwalkers into her fold for awhile now," Vin says in response to Nathan's unasked questions.
"And that'd be a bad thing?" Nathan asks.
Vin shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. But ain't fair if her girls sell themselves cheap 'cause they don't need the money, and it definitely ain't safe if any of the crib girls decided they ain't happy with what Mollie's doing."
Nathan nods, quietly amazed by this whole new world that he's seeing; he's never stopped to really think that there might be as much territorial in-fighting among the working girls as there is among the cattle ranchers. He's certainly never thought of the crib girls and streetwalkers as dangerous, and yet the closest he comes to injury is when he and Vin stop two of the girls from rolling their fellas and the smaller one nearly gets him with her wickedly long knife. He wonders how Vin can stand it, seeing all the filth humanity has on offer; wonders even more when Vin says, as a quiet aside, "The little one's only fourteen."
"Christ Almighty."
"Ain't the only one out there," Vin says, and there's something cruel about the smile he flashes in Nathan's direction. "Ain't the youngest, neither."
"And you ain't doin' something?"
"Ain't nothin' to do. Or you reckon it'd be better to round 'em up and put 'em on a train and send 'em on down the line to a family where they can get the fear of God beat into 'em all proper-like? Think that's a kindness?"
"Maybe," Nathan says, knowing that this is a test, and knowing that he's failing it. But he can't bring himself to care that this ain't the answer Vin wants, not when he's thinking about that child they just locked up; not when he's thinking about the children still out there. "Might be bad, but it's gotta be better than this."
Vin laughs at that, ugly and short, and they walk on in silence, past the zenith of the moon's slow rise until, at some sign known only to him, Vin turns towards the saloon. Nathan pauses before squaring his shoulders and following, wondering what new thing he's going to learn about his neighbors now.
But the saloon is the same as it always is: loud and bright, and with Ezra sitting right in the middle of it.
"Huh," he says, not sure if there's something more he should say, something more he should see.
"Decent folks've wrapped up their sinning right about now and gone to bed," Vin tells him as they walk to the bar. "And the rest of 'em usually end up here for an hour or two."
Nathan chuckles at that, for he's powerful certain that Vin's including both himself and Ezra in that later category. The laughter doesn't feel as forced as he'd feared it would, but it ain't as easy as he'd like. He's truly regretting this night -- not because of the painful reminder that the folks he lives with are equal parts sinners as saints, but because he ain't sure, now, about the man beside him. Fact is, he's always thought that he and Vin saw eye-to-eye on the important things, like protecting the weak; he ain't so sure about that now, not when Vin knows there're children out in the night who need his help and he's doing nothing. He ain't at all sure what to think about the kind of man who'd think walking the streets is a better life for a child than the one to be had with a family to shield them from this unforgiving land.
Inez is already filling two glasses before Vin lays a coin down on the bar, and she puts two small bowls -- one of charred looking peppers, the other filled with crispy tostadas -- down beside the bottle.
"Anything else Senõrs?" she asks. "I still have some empanadas."
"Much obliged," Vin says, already turning to settle his back against the bar. He quirks an eyebrow at Nathan, and there's something like resigned disappointment in his gaze, as though he's already expecting Nathan to refuse the drink Vin's bought him.
"No, thank you, Inez," Nathan says, but he takes the glass of whiskey and stares straight into Vin's eyes as he drinks it down, for while he may no longer know the full measure of the man, he's willing enough to listen to Vin's reasoning if he's inclined to speak.
He'll give Vin as many second chances as they both need.
Vin sighs and stares at the table where Ezra's busy cheating at cards. Nathan pours himself another glass and waits.
"Can't force folks to live a certain kind of life, Nathan," Vin says at last, voice edged with a heavy weariness. "Thought you knew that."
"Don't mean we gotta let them live this one. Don't mean we gotta sit by, or lock 'em up, or let 'em kill themselves 'cause they don't know there's a better option--"
"You ain't the only one been owned," Vin says, quiet and harsh. "Life those girls chose -- it ain't easy, and it ain't nice, but it's their choice. I ain't gonna take their choice from 'em, and at least if they're here I can make sure they don't get hurt too bad -- and don't hurt no-one too bad, neither."
"Can't be the only thing we can do for 'em," Nathan says, just as quiet, but without Vin's harshness, and he's no longer sure if he's talking about the girls or about whatever secret hurt Vin's edging around.
"Huh." Vin shifts, turning ever so slightly away, and it's Nathan's turn to sigh now, for he knows that Vin's done talking and nothing he says now will change that. He sips at his drink, instead, and leans back against the bar, taking in the tattered ends of the saloon's night. He half expects Vin to have some word about the folks in here, for that's the kind of night it's been. But if Vin has any stories, he ain't telling them, and the two of them pass the time nursing their drinks and watching Ezra work the room, until the only folks left at the tables are those too drunk to rise. Ezra's smiling with quiet satisfaction as he gathers his winnings, and though he's still as neat as a pin and moves with deft assurance, Nathan can see the tired slope of his shoulders and the exhaustion edging his eyes. Still, he ain't surprised to see Ezra head toward the bar instead of the stairs. He's shuffling the deck with one hand, and there's a look in his eyes that says he's not quite done for the night.
"Gentlemen," Ezra says, filching Nathan's mostly full glass with casual assurance. "Can I interest you in a game?"
"Usual stakes?" Vin asks, and Ezra flashes his cheater's grin.
"Of course," he says, leading the way to the table their usual table. He settles himself with a popinjay flourish and Nathan can't help but roll his eyes as he settles himself down with far less flair but far more dignity. Ezra shuffles, cuts, shuffles again, and when he deals the cards out across the smoothly scarred wood of the table Nathan's surprised to see that he's dealing for twenty-one and not poker. There's a part of Nathan that thinks it's a mite unfair to expect a man to do sums this late at night, but the rest of him's mostly grateful that Ezra's chosen a fast game.
He wins a handful of hands, goes bust on a handful of others, before pushing the cards away to watch the small pile of pennies on the table shift back and forth between Vin and Ezra. Seems to him that most of the pennies are ending up in front of Ezra, but there's still a good size stack in front of Vin by the time the two of them finish up their last hand.
"Well now," Ezra says, raising an eyebrow.
"Might want to check your rig for a few days. Folks coming through are gonna be awful jumpy," Vin says, and Ezra nods with surprising solemnity.
"I met a most interesting man today, by the name of Horace Miller. I believe he will be at the Gem for the next two days under the name of John Smith," Ezra says in a seemingly nonsensical reply. He shuffles his cards one more time before adding, "I expect a finder's fee, this time."
"Don't reckon that counts as finding shit, Ezra," Vin says, grinning, but he pushes a few more of his pennies over to Ezra's pile. He stands and stretches before heading for the batwing doors. Nathan stands too, but he doesn't immediately follow.
"Horace Miller?" he asks quietly. Ezra pauses in sweeping small his winnings into his pocketbook, and the glance he shoots at Nathan is equal parts knowing and inscrutable.
"A man who is wanted for murder," Ezra says, before dropping his gaze back to the table and his money. "Among other things."
He tidies up his cards, slips them into his jacket, and Nathan thinks that's all he's going to get tonight. But Ezra pauses after he stands, and his gaze is less inscrutable now, as he says, "His bounty is most impressive."
Nathan nods and heads outside. He half expects to see Vin to be halfway to the Gem by now, but Vin's standing just outside the doors, looking like he'd be happy standing there for the rest of the night.
"Well?" Nathan asks, nodding his head in the direction of the hotel.
"He'll keep," Vin says, and he begins to walk again, slow and easy. Nathan expects them to turn back to Mollie's little kingdom, but Vin just leads him on an aimless turn through the town: past Mollie's parlor, and the dark bulk of the church, and a dark alley where a heartbreakingly young voice calls out "Oooh, handsome! Two bits for a kiss!", and the Murphy house where Tommy and Doyle Murphy stumble out the front door in a spill of golden light. Nathan pauses, wondering if he should perhaps spell the Murphy boys and take his turn with the corpse.
"Dirty nigger," Tommy spits. Nathan shakes his head and starts walking again, knowing he'll have to hurry catch up with Vin. "Hey. I'm talking to you boy."
"Go inside and get some sleep, Tommy," Nathan says, for he can spare some patience for a drunken idiot mourning his mother.
"We know what you did, nigger." Tommy takes a step forward, full of boozy swagger. "We know what you done to our ma."
Nathan opens his mouth, unsure what he's going to say -- for it's true that Mrs. Murphy may have passed sooner than was strictly natural thanks to a judicious dose of ether, but Nathan ain't ever going to be sorry for helping a body in pain find some relief -- and that's when Doyle Murphy clocks him one.
He staggers back from the blow, more surprised than hurt -- though it does hurt, for Doyle Murphy is a big man with a big fist -- for it'd been mostly a glancing drunkard's punch. Still, it's enough to encourage Tommy Murphy to take his shot, and while Tommy may be drunk he's sober enough that his blow is a solid one that leaves Nathan gasping and bent double.
"Gonna lynch you, boy," Doyle growls, lashing out again, hitting hard enough to make Nathan's ears ring and bring tears to his eyes.
The quiet sound of Vin cocking his mare's leg is, perhaps, the sweetest sound Nathan's ever heard.
"Step back boys," Vin says. He reaches down and pulls Nathan upright, eyes never leaving the Murphy boys. "Now we're gonna head to the jail, all peaceful like, and your kin'll only be digging one grave tomorrow."
"Vin," Nathan says, reaching out to push the barrel of Vin's gun down; he's not surprised to find he can't move it at all.
"Nathan."
"They just lost their ma, and they've been drinking," Nathan says quietly. "Ain't no real harm done yet."
"Ain't no excuse."
"You gonna arrest 'em? Keep 'em from seeing their ma off properly?" Nathan smiles, a little, grim and humorless. "Can't arrest a man for being an asshole."
"Shit," Vin says, but he's smiling too. He relaxes slowly, barrel of his gun dropping in incremental stages. He gestures with his head towards the still open door and says, "Go back inside, boys."
"Fuck you, you cock-sucking whore," Tommy Murphy says, and while Nathan is all for patience and compassion for a man neck deep in grief, he knows there's a limit to such things, so he does nothing to stop the wicked right hook Vin throws that lays Tommy Murphy flat on the ground.
"Gonna lynch you both," Doyle says, and Nathan ain't ashamed to admit to the satisfaction that curls in his belly when his own punch puts Doyle down.
"Can't arrest assholes, huh?" Vin asks as he helps Nathan drag the Murphy boys inside.
"We've all done worse and for less cause," Nathan tells him. He rubs the side of his jaw where Doyle's punch had landed, and though he knows there's still hours yet before dawn, he thinks that maybe he's had enough of Vin's nighttime world.
"C'mon," he says, jerking his head towards the livery and home. When Vin hesitates, he adds, "I'll make us coffee and I reckon I can rustle us up a bite."
Vin shrugs, but he still follows when Nathan starts off. He's quiet and Nathan takes the short walk to the clinic to think on this night, to think about this glimpse he's been given into the lives that are led after he's gone to bed; to think, too, that for all that Vin sees better than anyone he can still be so blind. He thinks on all these things as he builds up the fire in his little stove and puts the kettle on and takes out the apple pie he received as payment for treating Mrs. Abrams toothache. By the time the water's boiled and the coffee's brewed, Nathan thinks he has the words he needs to say. He settles himself down in his best chair and contemplates Vin over the rim of his cup.
"Well?" Vin asks, a wry twist to his mouth. "Got something to ask me, Nathan?"
"You ain't sleeping," Nathan says. The wryness leaves Vin's mouth, gets replaced with impatient dismissal, and Nathan plows on, as stubborn and pig-headed as any of his friends. "You ain't sleeping, and that ain't good for nobody."
"Huh," Vin grunts. He puts down his cup, and Nathan knows he's about ready to rise and leave, walk out and off into the night.
"You ain't sleeping, and while I reckon maybe I understand some of why you ain't, nothin' you've showed me tonight makes me any less concerned. Fact is, Vin, after tonight I gotta tell you, I'm more worried than I was." Nathan sighs and rubs his jaw again. "Ain't trying to tell you that what you been doing ain't worthwhile or necessary. Ain't gonna try and tell you that any of us could it better. But," and he points his finger sternly at Vin, "that don't mean we'd do it worse."
"You think Buck'd bother to go anywhere other than Miss Mollie's? That Ezra'd do more than walk 'round once 'fore heading to the saloon? That Chris wouldn't just get drunk and punch the shit out of some cowboy for looking at him funny?"
"Seems to me you don't trust us to do the job before us."
Vin shrugs, expression surly, and Nathan knows his shot's gone home.
"Ain't that," Vin says, at last. "It ain't...It ain't about trust. I trust you. I do."
"Just not enough," Nathan says, slowly, for there's a thought scratching at the back of his brain, a thought about the way Vin and Ezra had played for scraps of news, about sleeping in a chair at Mary's and knowing of Virgil’s skunk troubles. He thinks about his youth, and hoarding every scrap of knowledge he could gather about the doings on the plantation: about learning not just which dogs would bark and which slaves would betray him and which overseer might be counted on to be too drunk to count the number of heads heading out to the fields, but about young Jeremiah’s fondness for Br'er Rabbit stories, and how old Mister Jackson would send cracklings to his hut if he was particularly pleased with Nathan's fencing that day, and the way Missus Jackson took her tea; he thinks on how the knowing of these saved him and his daddy from a beating on more than one occasion; he thinks about how there’s a safety that comes with the knowing of things.
He thinks about how he looked over his shoulder for men come to drag him back in chains every day until the end of the war, even when he was surrounded by the Union army, even when he was safe in Canada; how, even now, he wakes sometimes and thinks this is all just a fever dream.
"Ain’t gonna pry," he says at last. "Ain't gonna ask to be told. But you ain't alone, Vin. And we ain't going nowhere. You don't gotta do this on your own. You can rest a spell, let one of us take up the load." He thinks about the girls in the jail, and the way Vin had bristled. There's a wound there, one that Nathan reckons is so old that Vin might think ain't ever gonna really heal; but Nathan knows more about wounds than any man here, he reckons, and he knows that sometimes the only thing to do is to lance them and let them bleed awhile to clear them of any sickness that's been festering.
"Don't gotta walk alone," he says, his voice low and gentle, mindful of the stiffness in Vin's shoulders, of the way he's clenching his jaw and staring somewhere over Nathan's shoulder, like the worn and knotted wood holds all the mysteries of life. "You got friends here. A family, if you want it. Folks who'll always be at your back."
"A better life?" Vin asks, voice raspy and full of mocking.
"Maybe. Ain't been a bad one so far."
He sure he's lost Vin, then, sure that the other man will stand up and walk away, full of wounded pride and wounded soul. But Vin doesn't move, other than to pick up his cup again and fix his stare on his coffee's murky depths.
"Reckon it's too late for me," Vin says at last. "Reckon I'm one of them folks that won't ever change."
Nathan reaches out across the table and grasps Vin's hand. "Ain't no such thing."
This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth where there are
comments
Fandom: Magnificent Seven
Characters/Pairing: Nathan Jackson, Vin Tanner
Rating: Gen.
Summary: There's a power that comes with the knowing of things.
Prompt: Magnificent Seven, Vin + any, OW, he saw more in the dark than in the daylight
Notes: Boy did this fic spiral out of control. Unbeta'd because that's just how I roll.
It takes Nathan a few weeks to realize that, nine times out of ten, Vin's the one on night patrol. It's a damn peculiar realization, one that leaves him equal parts confused and concerned, for he can't recall ever seeing Vin sleep in past seven o'clock, which don't leave a whole lot of time to be asleep after finishing up a patrol. Vin can't be getting more than three hours a night -- if that -- and Nathan is all too familiar with the kind of damage too little sleep and too much work can do to a man; he knows, too, how dangerous a man who ain't been sleeping can be.
So Nathan spends a couple of days after his little revelation just watching Vin, looking for any sort of sign -- looking in equal measure for a sign of Vin stealing away to sleep through the empty afternoons as he is for a sign that Vin's on the edge of some powerful mischief. But though he catches Vin napping a time or two, hat pulled low and feet up on the jail's porch railing, he don't see any other sign that Vin's getting a few solid hours of sleep to make up for the hours he misses during the night. And though he sees Vin hesitate before firing a time or two, and engage in behavior that makes Nathan question Vin's sanity, he also sees Chris and Buck and JD do the exact same things, and he knows at least one of those boys is getting a solid night's sleep.
Besides, Vin's just as sharp and perceptive as always -- something he drives home with expert force when he pulls Nathan aside and says, "Got something you want to ask me?"
Nathan sighs, chagrined to have been caught watching, but not too surprised. "Just noticed you've been taking the night watch an awful lot, lately," he says, voice as even and non-judgmental as he can make it. "Was wondering if maybe you needed a sleeping tonic."
"Tryin' to get me in bed, Nathan?" Vin asks, laughing.
"Just concerned," he says, and he pauses for a minute, unsure if he should say that he's concerned for Vin -- for his health, for whatever it is that keeps him from sleep -- or concerned about what Vin might be doing in the night, for the jail's been standing mighty empty lately, and Nathan knows it ain't because folks round here have had a sudden change of heart.
"Just getting the lay of the land," Vin says. He claps a hand to Nathan's shoulder, just on the edge of friendly, like he heard the words Nathan hasn't said, and his eyes lack the laughter of his smile. "You can come with me tonight, see what I mean, if you can tear yourself away from your bed."
"Reckon I might," Nathan says, smarting as much from the words as he is from slap on the shoulder -- he ain't Ezra, after all, who can't be bothered to rise from his bed much before noon. He knows what it's like to work all through the night.
Still, he ain't exactly thrilled to be standing next to Vin when the shadows begin to stretch out long over the town, not after a long day helping old Mrs. Murphy to pass peacefully from the world. He knows he could find his bed now, and Vin wouldn't say a damn word, wouldn't judge him and find him wanting, but Chris ain't the only man in these parts with an unbending pride, and Nathan likes to think he's a man who will always keep his word.
"Well?" he asks, looking at the quiet, twilit streets of his home.
"This way," Vin says, heading out towards the livery at a gentle amble. Nathan trails after him, trying to see what Vin sees in the gathering dusk, trying to understand how Vin could possible get a better lay of the land now, rather than in the broad light of day. All Nathan can see is the glow of the night fires, the low banked flames casting the world into unfamiliar shadows.
Nathan's beginning to think that Vin's playing one of his little jokes when they pass Tiny, who greets them with a low grunt and a nod of his head. Nathan nods back as they pass, not thinking much of the encounter, until Vin says, low and quiet and meant only for his ears, "See the way he got his hair all slicked back and combed out that ugly excuse he calls a beard?"
"What?" Nathan says, twisting back to stare at the big man -- who, now that he thinks about it, does look a damn sight cleaner and more put together than normal.
"He's sweet on Gloria," Vin says, stopping his walk to lean up against a hitching post, his thumbs tucked into his gun belt. He nods his head at Tiny, who's standing outside the Potter's store and looking an awful lot like a man heading toward a firing squad, and adds, "Most nights, he don't do nothing, just stands there for a bit and then turns tail. Some nights, though, Gloria sees him 'fore he can run, and they walk out for a bit. I reckon, pace they're going, we got another year or two 'fore Josiah's gotta dust off the wedding vows. Maybe sooner if Gloria gets fed up with the waiting."
"Huh," Nathan says, and sure enough, there's Gloria Potter, wearing a pretty bonnet and smiling as she takes Tiny's arm. "How long that been goin' on?"
"Oh, three months I reckon?" Vin says. "Started right around the time Gloria decided to sell her cob, 'cause she needed the money to send the kids back to James's folks in Indiana."
"She's sending her kids away?" Nathan asks, incredulous, and Vin chuffs out a small laugh.
"Nah," he says, pushing away from the hitching post and starting off again at the same slow pace. "Tiny kept hemming and hawing over that cob -- mostly to keep her coming back, I reckon -- and then Mary got wind of her plan, and you know how Mary can be." He tips his hat to Virgil Watson, who's heading towards the bathhouse, and says, "Sunday already, Virgil?"
"Consarn skunk got me again," Virgil says, "and the missus won't let me in the house 'till I've had a bath."
"Told you to stop poking it," Vin says, and then as an aside to Nathan, "fourth time this month Virgil's gone up against that skunk and lost. Don't know why he won't let me just shoot the damn thing."
"And what the hell am I supposed to do with a dead skunk?" Virgil says as they walk on by.
"Well, it's your outhouse," Vin says over his shoulder. He leads Nathan up the street, nodding pleasantly to the few folk they pass, and Nathan marvels that he's got some kind of quiet word about all of them, for he'd never considered Vin to be particularly sociable. He's starting to wonder if this is what Vin meant about getting the lay of the land -- this quiet knowing of the minutiae of his neighbor's everyday lives -- when Vin stops just short of the invisible line that splits the town between "respectable" and "not", and turns around.
"Vin?" Nathan asks, suddenly unsure, for the he knows that the few blocks they haven't walked are the parts of the town that need the most watching.
"This early in the evening, most folks is eating," Vin says as he makes his unhurried way to the telegraph office. "And right now the girls can handle anyone partakin' of what's on offer over there. I ain't gonna be the reason someone goes hungry." He pauses, one foot on the step up to the boardwalk, and gives Nathan a challenging look. "You want to go bust up some working girls tryin' to get by, you be my guest, but I ain't a part of that."
Nathan bristles a little at that, and Vin flashes him a grin, lightning quick, before ducking into the telegraph office. Before he can say anything, Vin's back out and heading back on down the street, tucking some slips of paper into his pocket as he goes.
"Well?" Nathan asks, for this ain't at all like the patrol he does when he's stuck with the task, and he ain't sure how they're going to be filling their time. "Now what?"
"Now, I usually head to Mary's," Vin says, patting his pocket and the telegrams within. He stops again, and Nathan follows his fond gaze to the trio of men approaching them.
"Nathan, Vin," Josiah says, somber and sober and dressed in his darkest clothes. "Sad doings today."
Nathan shrugs as he falls in step with his friends, for he'd helped old Mrs. Murphy pass without pain or fear, and far as he's concerned that's the best death anybody could hope for. "You off to pay your condolences?"
"Off to wake Mrs. Murphy," Buck says, lofting the bottle of rotgut in his hand.
"Reckon they've finished the laying out," JD says. "Ain't sure who's gonna be doing the keening."
"Doubt that'll be a problem," Nathan says as they approach the Murphy place, for he can already hear the muffled wailing. He nods solemnly to Nettie Wells, standing staunchly at the Murphy door with a pipe in one hand and a glass in the other, and steps back to let Josiah and Buck and JD and Vin pay their respects. The other three go on through, but Vin stops at the edge of the golden light spilling from the single open window, and Nathan's surprised to see his hesitation, to see the brief flash of discomfort that crosses his face as he nods at the Murphy home and the wake going on inside.
"Listen," he says at last, "me and her, we didn't get on. But if you want to pay your respects to the family, I ain't gonna stop you. I can finish up on my own."
"No," Nathan says, though he's desperate to know what old Mrs. Murphy, who'd been mostly harmless, could have done to raise Vin's hackles so. "I already said my bit to her sons. 'Sides, we ain't done with the patrol yet."
Vin nods, and he waits until they're a few doors down from the Murphy place before he says, "She loved her sons."
"Yeah," Nathan says, half in question.
"Too bad them boys are such assholes."
And that startles a laugh out of, Nathan, mostly because it's true, but partly because it ain't at all what he expected Vin to say. He's still chuckling when they reach The Clarion's offices, and he ain't at all surprised to see Mary's still hard at work over her press. He is a bit surprised, though, by the warmth in her smile for Vin, and he's beginning to think he's stumbled onto something he shouldn't have, when Mary says, "Vin! And what's the news today?"
"You tell me," Vin says as he hands Mary the telegrams, before settling himself down in a chair in the corner.
"Well," Mary says, "there was a shoot out between a couple of ranchers two days ago at the Texas border -- three men dead, and I expect we'll be seeing quite a few jumpy cowboys passing through, until things settle down again. There was a fire over in Harrisburg on Sunday -- no casualties there, though the Johnsons lost both their house and their entire herd. I'll be publishing a notice about a collection box we're setting up at the church, so I'd take it kindly if you'd let Josiah know about that, and that he shouldn't go using any of the donations. Conklin is at it again -- and you know I'd normally just let him rant, but his letter is about Chris this time, and I'm going to have to print it." She sighs and Nathan smiles, because he knows exactly what Chris will do about Conklin's letter.
"Let's see, what else...Oh, we've got a new poem by Holmes, that's always nice, and that Mark Twain has written another traveling book -- I don't know what all he's got to say about traveling in the Territories, but maybe it'll convince folk to settle in these parts, rather than just heading straight on to California..." she trails off, and Nathan frowns, wondering if there's some particularly bad news in those telegrams. But she just smiles and nods her head at Vin, who has his hat over his face and his legs stretched out long in front of him.
"I know he just comes in here to sleep for an hour or two," she tells Nathan, her voice quiet and fond, "but it's nice to have the company."
"Ain't sleeping," Vin says from his corner.
"'Course not," Mary says, rolling her eyes for Nathan's benefit. She smiles at him, and says, "There's another chair in the kitchen, Nathan. Why don't you fetch it."
"Sure," Nathan says, not quite able to hide his own smile.
"I ain't," Vin calls after him, and maybe if he'd lifted the hat from his face, or sat up straighter, Nathan would have believed him. As it is, Nathan can see why Vin might come here for a quick snooze -- it's warm, and while it ain't quiet, the soft clicking noises of Mary setting up the type for the morning's paper are soothing. He's half-asleep himself when Mary says, "There!" in a softly pleased sort of voice, and Vin rises from his chair. It takes Nathan a mite longer to shake the sleep from his eyes, and he scowls at Vin's smug little smile.
"Well, gentlemen," Mary tells them as she dims the lamps, "I think that's it for me tonight. A pleasure as always, Mr. Tanner."
"Mary," Vin says, touching the brim of his hat, before gesturing Nathan out the door. It's full night, now, and Nathan shivers a little at the chill in the air.
"So you and Mary," he says, once Vin's closed The Clarion's door, and he feels a little smug that it's Vin's turn to scowl now.
"Ain't what you're thinking," Vin says. "Just, you ever notice how much trouble that paper of hers causes? Way I see it, if I stay there until she's tucked away for the night, then at least someone's close at hand when the trouble comes. And," he adds, pointing a finger at Nathan, "I ain't sleeping on the job."
"Uh huh," Nathan says, trying to figure out a way to tell Vin that maybe he wouldn't need to catch forty winks at Mary's at the beginning of the night if he'd let the others take their turn at a night patrol.
"Come on." Vin takes off down the street, walking with a firm purpose and none of the genial ambling of earlier in the evening, and Nathan has to trot to catch up. Vin's moving fast and Nathan wonders where they're going in such a goddamned hurry.
He stops wondering when he sees the two men crowding a girl down the first alley on the wrong side of town.
"Shit," he says, and he reaches for a knife.
"Wait," Vin says, quietly, though he's got a hand resting on the butt of his gun.
"Vin--"
"Wait," he says again, and then louder, "You all right there, miss?"
"Wait your turn," one of the men says, dismissive and impatient, and Nathan ain't at all surprised to recognize the voice as belonging to Henry Beaumont. Nathan growls and starts forward, intending to teach the man a lesson, because he's seen the man's work before, seen how he likes to leave his women; it takes Vin grabbing his arm and yanking hard before he stops.
"Jesus," Vin growls. "It's like you ain't never seen a working girl doing business in an alley before." He tightens his grip on Nathan's arm, before saying again, "Miss?"
"Everything's fine, honey," the girl says. "You just move on along. Me and these boys have got things well in hand."
"All right," Vin says. "You holler if that changes." And he drags Nathan past the mouth of the alley, and the men with their pants around their ankles, and the woman with her dress rucked up to her waist.
"What the hell, Vin?" Nathan says, yanking his arm free once they're past that shameful sight. "You know who that was?"
"Sure." Vin shrugs, like it don't matter that Henry Beaumont once beat his daughter so bad she damn near died. "And he's a piece of work, ain't no mistake. But you heard her -- she don't need us right now."
"And you believe her?"
Vin sighs, a long-suffering sort of sound. "Beaumont'll beat his wife, and he'll beat his daughter, but he won't ever beat his horses, and he won't ever beat his whore, and we can't arrest a man for being an asshole. Now if you see little Jimmy Simpson skulking around here -- well, you can just go right ahead and cut his balls off and I won't stop you, 'cause he likes pain and he don't like to pay for it. But it ain't like we'll find him hanging 'round out here, or in the parlor, and I ain't going down to the cribs with you if you don't behave yourself and listen to me."
"Jesus," Nathan says, unable to stop himself from thinking about the last time he patrolled the town at night, and how he'd kept his eyes straight ahead, like if he couldn't see it, it wasn't happening. He wonders, now, how many girls got beat that night 'cause he couldn't bring himself to look into the darkness of the alleyways.
"Look," Vin says, and Nathan hates the kindness in his voice, "most of the folks 'round here are decent enough. Shoot, most nights, all I end up with are a couple of fellas who can't hold their liquor and need to spend the night sleeping off their drink 'fore they do something down right stupid. Hell, only reason I hang around here this time of night is 'cause it's so damn busy, and it don't hurt none to remind folks -- and especially Miss Mollie -- that this ain't Wickstown, where anything goes. Gotta remind folks that there's consequences for rolling a fella, or taking too many liberties with a lady."
"So you're just gonna let that," Nathan says, waving back at the alley, "happen?"
Vin shrugs. "Sure. Ain't like it's hurting anybody."
"And when he does?"
"Then you can give him the shit-kicking he deserves. Now you think you can jaw at me while we walk? 'Cause the night's just started, and I ain't aiming to spend all of it standing here."
Vin takes off again and Nathan follows, in part because he doesn't know what else he should do. He wants to go back and beat Henry Beaumont black and blue before he can do the same to that girl, but Vin's right, damn him, and Nathan ain't too proud to admit when he's wrong. The man isn't doing anything illegal -- at least, not how it's reckoned in these parts -- and Nathan tries as hard as he can to be mindful of the fact that if he goes back now and hauls Beaumont in for public indecency, then he's going to have to do the same for a whole lot of folks in town, and he knows that that kind of law and order don't work around here.
So he follows Vin, up the streets and down the alleyways, and he wonders, now, at his desire to see what Vin sees in the darkness of the night. He knows, of course, of the things that happen in Mollie's parlor house -- hell before he came to an understanding with Rain, he'd availed himself of her services a time or two, though he always treated the girls the way he thinks a gentleman ought to -- and he ain't a blushing innocent like JD; he'd seen the camp followers in the war, and back before that he'd been the one Missus Jackson would send to roust old Mister Jackson out of this or that bawdy house, and he's always treated the working girls for most of their private complaints. But it's one thing to know about Mollie's, to catch brief glimpses of the girls at work, and another to see it everywhere he looks; it's one thing to know that sweet Clara is the girl you want for some recreational whipping, and something entirely different to see her lead Jan Gundersson upstairs. And he really doesn't know how he's ever going to be able to look George Harris in the eye after catching a glimpse of the man sitting in one of Mollie's red velvet chairs with a tarted up boy on his knee.
"Jesus," Nathan says, trying to find a place to put his eyes that will make him feel less like a peeping tom. He settles on the parlor's grand staircase, and Miss Mollie sweeping her way down the shining wood steps like the grandest of grand dames.
"Well, well, well," Mollie coos. "I declare, it's been an age since you've been in, Nathan."
"Mollie," Nathan says, unable to keep the fondness from his voice; for all of Mollie's many faults, she ain't never turned away a paying customer because of the color of his skin. "Ain't here for personal reasons."
"Saw Dora outside," Vin says, and Nathan is surprised to see his narrowed eyes. "Thought she was one of yours."
"My girls are free to leave whenever they want," Mollie says, lofty and evasive. "It's not my concern if one of them leaves here to set up on her own."
"I ask her, she gonna say the same thing?"
"I can't imagine she'd have reason to say anything different." Mollie's smile is sharp, and there's something not exactly friendly about the way she takes Vin's arm. "Now dear Georgette may not be quite as experienced as Dora was, but if you're interested in a companion for the night, she would make a most excellent substitute. She has the voice of an angel and can speak quite passable French."
"Ain't got much interest in being talked at in foreign," Vin says, extracting his arm from Mollie's grasp. "Just stopping in to pay our respects and let you know that you get any trouble, me and Nathan'll be close at hand."
"Mm-hmm," Mollie says, her eyes shadowed and her gaze considering in a way that makes the back of Nathan's neck itch. He waits until they're out on the parlor's porch before he scratches it, and he breathes out, unsure of what exactly just happened.
"Mollie's been tryin' to bring the crib girls and streetwalkers into her fold for awhile now," Vin says in response to Nathan's unasked questions.
"And that'd be a bad thing?" Nathan asks.
Vin shrugs. "Maybe, maybe not. But ain't fair if her girls sell themselves cheap 'cause they don't need the money, and it definitely ain't safe if any of the crib girls decided they ain't happy with what Mollie's doing."
Nathan nods, quietly amazed by this whole new world that he's seeing; he's never stopped to really think that there might be as much territorial in-fighting among the working girls as there is among the cattle ranchers. He's certainly never thought of the crib girls and streetwalkers as dangerous, and yet the closest he comes to injury is when he and Vin stop two of the girls from rolling their fellas and the smaller one nearly gets him with her wickedly long knife. He wonders how Vin can stand it, seeing all the filth humanity has on offer; wonders even more when Vin says, as a quiet aside, "The little one's only fourteen."
"Christ Almighty."
"Ain't the only one out there," Vin says, and there's something cruel about the smile he flashes in Nathan's direction. "Ain't the youngest, neither."
"And you ain't doin' something?"
"Ain't nothin' to do. Or you reckon it'd be better to round 'em up and put 'em on a train and send 'em on down the line to a family where they can get the fear of God beat into 'em all proper-like? Think that's a kindness?"
"Maybe," Nathan says, knowing that this is a test, and knowing that he's failing it. But he can't bring himself to care that this ain't the answer Vin wants, not when he's thinking about that child they just locked up; not when he's thinking about the children still out there. "Might be bad, but it's gotta be better than this."
Vin laughs at that, ugly and short, and they walk on in silence, past the zenith of the moon's slow rise until, at some sign known only to him, Vin turns towards the saloon. Nathan pauses before squaring his shoulders and following, wondering what new thing he's going to learn about his neighbors now.
But the saloon is the same as it always is: loud and bright, and with Ezra sitting right in the middle of it.
"Huh," he says, not sure if there's something more he should say, something more he should see.
"Decent folks've wrapped up their sinning right about now and gone to bed," Vin tells him as they walk to the bar. "And the rest of 'em usually end up here for an hour or two."
Nathan chuckles at that, for he's powerful certain that Vin's including both himself and Ezra in that later category. The laughter doesn't feel as forced as he'd feared it would, but it ain't as easy as he'd like. He's truly regretting this night -- not because of the painful reminder that the folks he lives with are equal parts sinners as saints, but because he ain't sure, now, about the man beside him. Fact is, he's always thought that he and Vin saw eye-to-eye on the important things, like protecting the weak; he ain't so sure about that now, not when Vin knows there're children out in the night who need his help and he's doing nothing. He ain't at all sure what to think about the kind of man who'd think walking the streets is a better life for a child than the one to be had with a family to shield them from this unforgiving land.
Inez is already filling two glasses before Vin lays a coin down on the bar, and she puts two small bowls -- one of charred looking peppers, the other filled with crispy tostadas -- down beside the bottle.
"Anything else Senõrs?" she asks. "I still have some empanadas."
"Much obliged," Vin says, already turning to settle his back against the bar. He quirks an eyebrow at Nathan, and there's something like resigned disappointment in his gaze, as though he's already expecting Nathan to refuse the drink Vin's bought him.
"No, thank you, Inez," Nathan says, but he takes the glass of whiskey and stares straight into Vin's eyes as he drinks it down, for while he may no longer know the full measure of the man, he's willing enough to listen to Vin's reasoning if he's inclined to speak.
He'll give Vin as many second chances as they both need.
Vin sighs and stares at the table where Ezra's busy cheating at cards. Nathan pours himself another glass and waits.
"Can't force folks to live a certain kind of life, Nathan," Vin says at last, voice edged with a heavy weariness. "Thought you knew that."
"Don't mean we gotta let them live this one. Don't mean we gotta sit by, or lock 'em up, or let 'em kill themselves 'cause they don't know there's a better option--"
"You ain't the only one been owned," Vin says, quiet and harsh. "Life those girls chose -- it ain't easy, and it ain't nice, but it's their choice. I ain't gonna take their choice from 'em, and at least if they're here I can make sure they don't get hurt too bad -- and don't hurt no-one too bad, neither."
"Can't be the only thing we can do for 'em," Nathan says, just as quiet, but without Vin's harshness, and he's no longer sure if he's talking about the girls or about whatever secret hurt Vin's edging around.
"Huh." Vin shifts, turning ever so slightly away, and it's Nathan's turn to sigh now, for he knows that Vin's done talking and nothing he says now will change that. He sips at his drink, instead, and leans back against the bar, taking in the tattered ends of the saloon's night. He half expects Vin to have some word about the folks in here, for that's the kind of night it's been. But if Vin has any stories, he ain't telling them, and the two of them pass the time nursing their drinks and watching Ezra work the room, until the only folks left at the tables are those too drunk to rise. Ezra's smiling with quiet satisfaction as he gathers his winnings, and though he's still as neat as a pin and moves with deft assurance, Nathan can see the tired slope of his shoulders and the exhaustion edging his eyes. Still, he ain't surprised to see Ezra head toward the bar instead of the stairs. He's shuffling the deck with one hand, and there's a look in his eyes that says he's not quite done for the night.
"Gentlemen," Ezra says, filching Nathan's mostly full glass with casual assurance. "Can I interest you in a game?"
"Usual stakes?" Vin asks, and Ezra flashes his cheater's grin.
"Of course," he says, leading the way to the table their usual table. He settles himself with a popinjay flourish and Nathan can't help but roll his eyes as he settles himself down with far less flair but far more dignity. Ezra shuffles, cuts, shuffles again, and when he deals the cards out across the smoothly scarred wood of the table Nathan's surprised to see that he's dealing for twenty-one and not poker. There's a part of Nathan that thinks it's a mite unfair to expect a man to do sums this late at night, but the rest of him's mostly grateful that Ezra's chosen a fast game.
He wins a handful of hands, goes bust on a handful of others, before pushing the cards away to watch the small pile of pennies on the table shift back and forth between Vin and Ezra. Seems to him that most of the pennies are ending up in front of Ezra, but there's still a good size stack in front of Vin by the time the two of them finish up their last hand.
"Well now," Ezra says, raising an eyebrow.
"Might want to check your rig for a few days. Folks coming through are gonna be awful jumpy," Vin says, and Ezra nods with surprising solemnity.
"I met a most interesting man today, by the name of Horace Miller. I believe he will be at the Gem for the next two days under the name of John Smith," Ezra says in a seemingly nonsensical reply. He shuffles his cards one more time before adding, "I expect a finder's fee, this time."
"Don't reckon that counts as finding shit, Ezra," Vin says, grinning, but he pushes a few more of his pennies over to Ezra's pile. He stands and stretches before heading for the batwing doors. Nathan stands too, but he doesn't immediately follow.
"Horace Miller?" he asks quietly. Ezra pauses in sweeping small his winnings into his pocketbook, and the glance he shoots at Nathan is equal parts knowing and inscrutable.
"A man who is wanted for murder," Ezra says, before dropping his gaze back to the table and his money. "Among other things."
He tidies up his cards, slips them into his jacket, and Nathan thinks that's all he's going to get tonight. But Ezra pauses after he stands, and his gaze is less inscrutable now, as he says, "His bounty is most impressive."
Nathan nods and heads outside. He half expects to see Vin to be halfway to the Gem by now, but Vin's standing just outside the doors, looking like he'd be happy standing there for the rest of the night.
"Well?" Nathan asks, nodding his head in the direction of the hotel.
"He'll keep," Vin says, and he begins to walk again, slow and easy. Nathan expects them to turn back to Mollie's little kingdom, but Vin just leads him on an aimless turn through the town: past Mollie's parlor, and the dark bulk of the church, and a dark alley where a heartbreakingly young voice calls out "Oooh, handsome! Two bits for a kiss!", and the Murphy house where Tommy and Doyle Murphy stumble out the front door in a spill of golden light. Nathan pauses, wondering if he should perhaps spell the Murphy boys and take his turn with the corpse.
"Dirty nigger," Tommy spits. Nathan shakes his head and starts walking again, knowing he'll have to hurry catch up with Vin. "Hey. I'm talking to you boy."
"Go inside and get some sleep, Tommy," Nathan says, for he can spare some patience for a drunken idiot mourning his mother.
"We know what you did, nigger." Tommy takes a step forward, full of boozy swagger. "We know what you done to our ma."
Nathan opens his mouth, unsure what he's going to say -- for it's true that Mrs. Murphy may have passed sooner than was strictly natural thanks to a judicious dose of ether, but Nathan ain't ever going to be sorry for helping a body in pain find some relief -- and that's when Doyle Murphy clocks him one.
He staggers back from the blow, more surprised than hurt -- though it does hurt, for Doyle Murphy is a big man with a big fist -- for it'd been mostly a glancing drunkard's punch. Still, it's enough to encourage Tommy Murphy to take his shot, and while Tommy may be drunk he's sober enough that his blow is a solid one that leaves Nathan gasping and bent double.
"Gonna lynch you, boy," Doyle growls, lashing out again, hitting hard enough to make Nathan's ears ring and bring tears to his eyes.
The quiet sound of Vin cocking his mare's leg is, perhaps, the sweetest sound Nathan's ever heard.
"Step back boys," Vin says. He reaches down and pulls Nathan upright, eyes never leaving the Murphy boys. "Now we're gonna head to the jail, all peaceful like, and your kin'll only be digging one grave tomorrow."
"Vin," Nathan says, reaching out to push the barrel of Vin's gun down; he's not surprised to find he can't move it at all.
"Nathan."
"They just lost their ma, and they've been drinking," Nathan says quietly. "Ain't no real harm done yet."
"Ain't no excuse."
"You gonna arrest 'em? Keep 'em from seeing their ma off properly?" Nathan smiles, a little, grim and humorless. "Can't arrest a man for being an asshole."
"Shit," Vin says, but he's smiling too. He relaxes slowly, barrel of his gun dropping in incremental stages. He gestures with his head towards the still open door and says, "Go back inside, boys."
"Fuck you, you cock-sucking whore," Tommy Murphy says, and while Nathan is all for patience and compassion for a man neck deep in grief, he knows there's a limit to such things, so he does nothing to stop the wicked right hook Vin throws that lays Tommy Murphy flat on the ground.
"Gonna lynch you both," Doyle says, and Nathan ain't ashamed to admit to the satisfaction that curls in his belly when his own punch puts Doyle down.
"Can't arrest assholes, huh?" Vin asks as he helps Nathan drag the Murphy boys inside.
"We've all done worse and for less cause," Nathan tells him. He rubs the side of his jaw where Doyle's punch had landed, and though he knows there's still hours yet before dawn, he thinks that maybe he's had enough of Vin's nighttime world.
"C'mon," he says, jerking his head towards the livery and home. When Vin hesitates, he adds, "I'll make us coffee and I reckon I can rustle us up a bite."
Vin shrugs, but he still follows when Nathan starts off. He's quiet and Nathan takes the short walk to the clinic to think on this night, to think about this glimpse he's been given into the lives that are led after he's gone to bed; to think, too, that for all that Vin sees better than anyone he can still be so blind. He thinks on all these things as he builds up the fire in his little stove and puts the kettle on and takes out the apple pie he received as payment for treating Mrs. Abrams toothache. By the time the water's boiled and the coffee's brewed, Nathan thinks he has the words he needs to say. He settles himself down in his best chair and contemplates Vin over the rim of his cup.
"Well?" Vin asks, a wry twist to his mouth. "Got something to ask me, Nathan?"
"You ain't sleeping," Nathan says. The wryness leaves Vin's mouth, gets replaced with impatient dismissal, and Nathan plows on, as stubborn and pig-headed as any of his friends. "You ain't sleeping, and that ain't good for nobody."
"Huh," Vin grunts. He puts down his cup, and Nathan knows he's about ready to rise and leave, walk out and off into the night.
"You ain't sleeping, and while I reckon maybe I understand some of why you ain't, nothin' you've showed me tonight makes me any less concerned. Fact is, Vin, after tonight I gotta tell you, I'm more worried than I was." Nathan sighs and rubs his jaw again. "Ain't trying to tell you that what you been doing ain't worthwhile or necessary. Ain't gonna try and tell you that any of us could it better. But," and he points his finger sternly at Vin, "that don't mean we'd do it worse."
"You think Buck'd bother to go anywhere other than Miss Mollie's? That Ezra'd do more than walk 'round once 'fore heading to the saloon? That Chris wouldn't just get drunk and punch the shit out of some cowboy for looking at him funny?"
"Seems to me you don't trust us to do the job before us."
Vin shrugs, expression surly, and Nathan knows his shot's gone home.
"Ain't that," Vin says, at last. "It ain't...It ain't about trust. I trust you. I do."
"Just not enough," Nathan says, slowly, for there's a thought scratching at the back of his brain, a thought about the way Vin and Ezra had played for scraps of news, about sleeping in a chair at Mary's and knowing of Virgil’s skunk troubles. He thinks about his youth, and hoarding every scrap of knowledge he could gather about the doings on the plantation: about learning not just which dogs would bark and which slaves would betray him and which overseer might be counted on to be too drunk to count the number of heads heading out to the fields, but about young Jeremiah’s fondness for Br'er Rabbit stories, and how old Mister Jackson would send cracklings to his hut if he was particularly pleased with Nathan's fencing that day, and the way Missus Jackson took her tea; he thinks on how the knowing of these saved him and his daddy from a beating on more than one occasion; he thinks about how there’s a safety that comes with the knowing of things.
He thinks about how he looked over his shoulder for men come to drag him back in chains every day until the end of the war, even when he was surrounded by the Union army, even when he was safe in Canada; how, even now, he wakes sometimes and thinks this is all just a fever dream.
"Ain’t gonna pry," he says at last. "Ain't gonna ask to be told. But you ain't alone, Vin. And we ain't going nowhere. You don't gotta do this on your own. You can rest a spell, let one of us take up the load." He thinks about the girls in the jail, and the way Vin had bristled. There's a wound there, one that Nathan reckons is so old that Vin might think ain't ever gonna really heal; but Nathan knows more about wounds than any man here, he reckons, and he knows that sometimes the only thing to do is to lance them and let them bleed awhile to clear them of any sickness that's been festering.
"Don't gotta walk alone," he says, his voice low and gentle, mindful of the stiffness in Vin's shoulders, of the way he's clenching his jaw and staring somewhere over Nathan's shoulder, like the worn and knotted wood holds all the mysteries of life. "You got friends here. A family, if you want it. Folks who'll always be at your back."
"A better life?" Vin asks, voice raspy and full of mocking.
"Maybe. Ain't been a bad one so far."
He sure he's lost Vin, then, sure that the other man will stand up and walk away, full of wounded pride and wounded soul. But Vin doesn't move, other than to pick up his cup again and fix his stare on his coffee's murky depths.
"Reckon it's too late for me," Vin says at last. "Reckon I'm one of them folks that won't ever change."
Nathan reaches out across the table and grasps Vin's hand. "Ain't no such thing."
This entry was originally posted at Dreamwidth where there are
comments