Buck Wilmington sat in front of the jailhouse with his fellow lawman Ezra Standish. They weren't playing cards alone, but the near silence from the third player often made it feel like a two-person game. It was Buck's turn to watch the jail and their one prisoner, Jeff Merckel, was a regular visitor to these accommodations. Drunk and very disorderly, as was demonstrated by the fight that broke out late last night, leaving Buck with a black eye. They were playing nickel poker, though Ezra seemed far away with his thoughts, and yet still managed to stay ahead of the game. The professional poker player was up about a buck fifty without appearing to pay a bit of attention to the game.

Buck was sure he knew what was bothering his friend and he was bound and determined to get things back on track for the Southerner and his lovely Mexican señorita.

"Can't work things out if you keep avoiding her."

Ezra looked back to his cards from looking down the avenue, then up at the tall, handsome ladies' man. He feigned a smile and said, "Ah am not avoiding anyone."

"Are, too."

Ezra smiled, a little more genuine, amused by Buck's response, so reminiscent of a seven-year-old.

"Inez and Ah speak daily."

Buck leaned in close to his friend. "That ain't the kind o' talk I'm talkin' about, if ya know what I'm talkin' about."

Chris Larabee shook his head at the "Buck-speak", but also disgustedly at his cards. "Leave 'im alone, Buck," he said, followed by "pfft," followed by, "call."

Buck turned to his long-time friend. "Now, Chris, you, more 'n anybody I know, believe in true love."

"Can't force it, Buck. Ain't right to force a man into anything," Nathan Jackson, Four Corners' healer said as he stepped onto the boardwalk.

"Those are curious words comin' from your mouth, Mistah Jackson," Ezra said, followed by, "Ah call and raise you a nickel."

"Why's that, Ezra? I know a little something about being forced to do things against my will."

"Yes, of course. You are quite right. Indeed, no other man among us has evah suffered comparable to you." The words stung, not just to the newly arrived man, and former slave, but to Chris as well, a man who had suffered tragically the death of his wife and son to a fire in their home, a fire set by a man working for an insane, jealous former lover. Buck hissed at the words as well; Sarah and Adam meant the world to him.

"How 'bout we get back to the topic at hand?" Buck suggested.

"How 'bout we don't and just play cards?" Chris countered.

"A fine idea," Ezra agreed.

"Look, I just came over to see if you want me to ask Dr. Wharton to arrange a place for you and Vin to stay. He's offered me free room and board at the house he's renting."

"Ah already have mah accommodations arranged. Vin will be staying there as well," the gambler said. Buck folded, the small pot tempting, but he needed to have some money to buy the lovely Daffodil London a drink or two later in the night.

"All right," Nathan said, disappointed that Ezra hadn't bothered to ask him if he needed a room when he reserved his own. "What hotel will you be staying at?"

"It is not a hotel." Chris and Buck looked up from the game. Both men were prepared to intercede should the discussion get ugly. Though Nathan and Ezra were still heading to Denver together, the two men never seemed farther removed from one another than they did at this moment.

"Ha! Don't tell me you're staying in a boarding house," Buck said.

Ezra turned to the former Texas Ranger and replied, "Ah am not stayin' in a boarding house."

"If you're not staying in a hotel and you're not staying in a boarding … wait a minute," Buck said, realization coming to his face, ending in a look of deep disappointment. "Don't tell me. You're not … ." Buck saw Vin approaching. As the tracker stepped up to the jail, Buck demanded, "Do not tell me you're staying at Miss Mattie Silks' place."

"All right, I won't," Vin said with a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye.

Buck turned to the card sharp. "Damn it, Ezra!"

"You can't stay there," Nathan more or less ordered the man who was dressed far too fancily for the current situation. In other words, just like Ezra Standish dressed every day of the week.

"Actually, Ah can stay wherevah Ah please. Equally so, Ah can be wherevah Ah choose." Ezra gathered his cards from the players, taking Chris' right out of his hand. He stood and said, "Just now, Ah choose to be in mah room, resting, until mah patrol." He turned away from his friends, heaving a heavy sigh.

Chris and Vin frowned at the declaration. Ezra had the overnight shift and normally nothing short of a bullet or some other serious injury or sickness would keep him away from the poker table in those hours leading up to midnight. They watched as Nathan Jackson reacted as Nathan Jackson does.

"Wait up, Ezra." Nathan stood as the former con man turned to face him. "Are you feelin' all right?" The healer placed his hand on Ezra's forehead. The gambler sighed, allowing the intrusion and would take to his grave the fact that Nathan's cool hand felt good on his warm face.

"It is just a headache, Mistah Jackson."

"Sick headache? You feel a little warm."

"It was warm this afternoon as it was warm this evenin'. And no, just a regular headache, though Ah would wish preventative measures might allay any other … unpleasant reactions."

"You want to lay down before you get another one o' them nosebleeds," Buck said with concern.

Ezra turned to Vin, Chris and Nathan with an accusatory glare. He thought that only these three, who were subject to Ezra's current anger, knew about the bleeding. Apparently not.

"Nathan let it slip to all six of us," Chris explained. "It was just a mistake."

"Yes," the card sharp said as he massaged his forehead, hiding his face from these men who had learned to read him far too well. "A mistake," he added. Though Ezra and Chris had become good friends over these years, he could recall being lambasted by their leader for a significantly lesser transgression earlier in the week. There had been no explaining away what he'd done as 'a mistake', which it was.

Ezra walked away. He was halfway across Four Corners' main street before the conversation started anew out in front of the jail.

"Don't you have to go … "

"No, Buck. He just needs to lie down. He knows what to do, until …." Nathan stopped talking. There was no need to alarm them with 'ifs' and 'maybes'.

"Until what?" Buck asked.

"Until layin' down don't help anymore," Vin answered for Nathan.

"You think that's gonna happen?" Chris asked.

"I don't know. His sick headaches ain't no worse, and he hasn't had one in a while," the healer reminded them all.

"It's almost like the nosebleeds and the headache that comes with it has replaced the sick headaches."

"I don't know, Chris," Nathan said as he rubbed the back of his neck. "I hope I can get more knowledge from the doctors in Denver."

Chris looked to the west and the setting sun. It had been a beautiful late-winter day. Spring seemed to have arrived early this year; there'd already been weeks of mild weather. The last couple of days hovered near seventy degrees, unusually warm with still weeks to go before Spring actually arrived. What it wasn't was warm enough for Ezra to fool even one of them that he wasn't feeling poorly.

"You two are gonna have a bitch of a time with him," the former gunslinger said as he turned from the reds, oranges, yellows, the pinks and purples of the high desert sunset and back to his partners in law enforcement, seated around the drab wood of the jail and boardwalk.

"Ezra's been in 'bad humor', as he calls it, fer a while now," Vin said, fondling but not yet chewing on a long blade of golden, over-wintered grass. "Wouldn't matter who went with."

"That ain't true, Vin. You've got a way with him that the rest of us don't," Buck said. The handsome ladies' man had a special rapport with Ezra, too, he would never deny it and was undeniably proud of it. But Buck knew they could all count on Vin to keep watch over their friend, both during the journey to and from the big city, and during their three day stay. Buck as chaperone? Even he would admit that he lacked the self-control to stick with Ezra, not with all the delectables at the famous madam's parlor. "I would volunteer myself, but with all them fresh flowers ready to be picked at Mattie Silks', I'm not really the right choice for this job. 'Sides, Nathan's gonna be on his best behavior, ain't ya, Nate?" Buck asked the question in a lighthearted manner, but his eyes stared the healer down, waiting for a serious response. Nathan nodded and verbalized his agreement, then Buck added, "Vin, your job is to make sure Ezra does what needs to be done."

"He'll balk at seeing the doctors. Nate, no offense, but you get defensive when he doesn't listen to you," Chris said, "and then you get angry and belligerent. He'll shut down, and then he'll shut you out. And that won't help him."

Vin smiled and said, "I don't know, cowboy. Maybe you should go. You know him as good as I do."

"Well, that's true, but you couldn't pay me enough to do this trip," the tall blond said with a wry smile. This wasn't true, and they all knew it. Chris' worry for Ezra was obvious to many in the town, nurtured no doubt by his relationship with Mary Travis and her affection for the Southerner, and definitely obvious to Ezra Standish.

They all stood. There was no need to man the jail all day with the only guest still snoring away his drunk. They had only stayed there this long because they were playing poker. With Ezra leaving and taking his cards with him, a deck he'd found in a dry goods store on a trip to Santa Fe a few months ago, a nearly pristine set of cards from France dating back to the early part of the century, the four men, as one, decided to head for the saloon.

"You think Ezra and Inez'll get back together?"

"Leave it be, Buck," Nathan said.

"She ain't yers fer the takin'," Vin warned as they walked together in the hope that supper was being served. Inez Rocios cooked most days these days. The pretty Mexican often had reason to pass on preparing an evening repast, in the past, but she and Ezra had not been rendezvousing in that way in a couple of months.

Buck turned toward Vin. He was about to take offense at the tracker's statement, but beyond the buckskin-clad man was his old friend Chris Larabee. That look, that particular glare, was the warning that the Lothario known territory-wide should look to any other woman. Inez Rocios, at least as far as the former slave, bounty hunter and gunslinger were concerned, was off limits.

"Hell, fellas," Buck answered lightly, "Inez apparently goes for a different kind of man."

"That's the truth," Chris said.

"Fer sher," Vin agreed.

"You can say that again," Nathan finished.

Chris grasped his old friend, his long arm reached across Buck's strong back. "Seems to me you have plenty of ladies who still want what you've got to offer," Chris said with a grin.

Buck smiled, but his smile changed quickly as his brow furrowed and he demanded, "Hey! Whaddya mean 'still'?" The handsome gunman and his three companions laughed as they took the steps up to the saloon.

About two hours later, with the rest of The Seven enjoying supper, drinks, and then more drinks and cards in the saloon, and Jeff Merckel released from the jail and instructed to sleep the rest of his hangover off at his home and to not bother showing up at the drinking establishments that night, Vin stepped away and headed upstairs. He knocked lightly on Ezra's door. No answer had him pull out his spare key. Vin knew better than to walk into this man's room unannounced, despite having just called to his friend. "Vin, comin' in," he said loudly. It was worth waking the gambler up to avoid a bullet to the chest.

He walked in and closed the door, making not a sound. Ezra had the curtains closed, and only the lamp at the door burned, just faintly. Dusk had made way for night, darkening the room as well, but Ezra would want to pull himself together, even though the chances were high during the midnight to eight A.M. shift that he could go a full six hours without seeing another soul. As things were in the town these days, only the first hour and the penultimate one were to be spent checking the families farther out from town, but not as far out as the big ranches. Those spreads were monitored during daylight hours; the ranchers and the farmers had reported far too few incidents to justify long rides in the dark desert nights. The remainder of the shift would be spent walking the town, checking in at the saloons, with the very end of the eight hours spent at the jail, flipping through wanted posters and waiting for his relief. And showing up early to get Ezra out of bed was the right thing to do if the man was feeling better; losing out on running a game on a busy night would not be appreciated by the accomplished poker player.

Vin turned up the flame at the door. "Ezra." The former bounty hunter didn't like what he saw, though it was still too dark to distinguish everything. Ezra lay on his side, seemingly sound asleep, his mouth slightly open. He wore his pants, shirt, vest … and boots. Vin shook his head and stepped to the lamp on the table near the head of the bed. He lit it, turned it up, and turned to the sleeping man.

"Aw, hell," he said as he kneeled near the card sharp's head. Ezra had blood on his mouth, an obvious dried trickle that came from his nose. His shirt and pillow showed signs of it as well. A light sheen of sweat covered his face. Vin reached his hand to his friend's forehead. The coolness of the touch had Ezra breathe in and then out with a contented sigh. It woke him up.

"Vin?" He blinked his eyes, the effort to keep them open harder than expected. He reached for his pocket watch on the nightstand. The tracker grabbed the hand and placed the watch back on the table.

"Don't. I'll take yer shift."

"No," Ezra said as he wearily pushed himself onto his elbows. "Ah can take mah turn."

"I know ya can. I'm on the schedule after Josiah takes the mornin' patrol. You 'n' me are jest switchin' turns is all."

"Vin, Ah do not wish for special treatment."

"Ezra," the lean tracker said as he switched from kneeling beside the bed to sitting on the edge of it, easily pushing the sick man back into his pillow, "there ain't no way Nathan 'r Chris'll let ya go out tonight. I know you still ain't got used to it," he continued as he stood, grabbed a cloth from the upper right drawer of his dresser, and wet it with the cool water from the pitcher. Vin returned to sit beside his fellow lawman. He took the wet cloth and ran it over Ezra's forehead, his cheeks, his neck to help cool him down. "Ya got people here who worry for ya," he said, followed by, "gonna wipe this dried blood from yer face now."

"Good lord," Ezra said beneath the cloth.

"Ain't a lot," Vin said.

"I thought that it had finished," the Southerner said as he lifted a hand to his nose. Vin saw more dried blood and wiped it from both of Ezra's hands.

"Ah am not a child. Ah can do these things mahself."

"Know ya can. Don't' hav'ta."

Ezra sighed and seemed to accept what Vin said, settling deep into the comfort of his feather bed.

"You want me to get Nathan to fix up somethin' ta help you sleep?" Vin asked as he took the wet cloth away and retrieved Ezra's night shirt. "Let's get ya into this."

Ezra sighed once more, preferring to remain where he was but knowing he would be much more comfortable in the soft nightwear and out of his restricting and now somewhat sweaty attire. He sat up, with Vin's help, and began unbuttoning his shirt.

"Ah would not wish to interrupt Mistah Jackson's leisure time."

"He won't mind, Ezra. It's upsettin' ta him that he can't help ya more. Ya need ta get that into that thick head o' yers."

"Indeed, because Ah am the only mule in this affair."

"Didn't say that. But they're all waitin' downstairs, and you and me, we both know Nate would be up here right quick if I went downstairs and told him ya needed somethin'. Don't know why you two are resistin' puttin' the past in the past."

Ezra yawned as he shrugged out of his shirt. Vin kept close watch as the gambler stood to remove his pants. He replied, "Ah refuse to discuss this as though the fault in our fractured relationship were fifty-fifty." Vin slipped the night shirt over Ezra's head as the man sat back on the bed, his pants draped at his boots. The Texan removed the fancy leather footwear, followed by the pants and the socks as Ezra sat, listless.

"Ain't no one said that, Ez. But Nathan wants ta figure this out. He knows he's been wrong, but when you shut down when he's like that, ain't no fixin' this in sight." Vin knew that now was not the best time to discuss this, and if nothing else, Nathan's awful tasting tea would knock Ezra out and get him some relief from the headache he was suffering.

"Ah understand the point, Vin, and Ah will take it under advisement." He yawned again, even that simple act seeming to bring on more pain.

Vin wrapped Ezra's treasured feather pillow in a new covering – middle, left drawer – and said, "Get in bed and I'll send Nate up."

"Very well."

The tracker made sure his friend was comfortably ensconced in his nice bed and then headed downstairs.

"Well?" Chris asked. Josiah and J.D. had joined Chris and Nathan at their table. Vin cocked his head at J.D., surprised to see him there.

"Ezra was gonna finish my shift just before starting his. Guess I can go back out."

"No," Vin said. Chris looked at his friend, waiting for an answer to his question. Vin looked to Nathan as he sat down. "Had a nosebleed. I cleaned 'im up, got 'im into one o' them fancy gowns." He paused to take a drink from the beer a worried Inez set in front of him. "He's waitin' fer you."

"He is?" the healer asked.

"Yep. Lookin' fer some of yer pain tea."

Nathan pushed his chair back from the table. "He's got some of that mix of tea … "

"In the bottom drawer," Vin, Chris and Josiah said. They all smiled. Ezra was fastidious, he kept a tidy and organized room. They all had spent enough time in his room while he recovered from more than one injury or illness that there were few secrets he was able to keep from them about what was where in his small abode, except for where he stashed his money.

"I'll get some hot water from Inez," the big black man said.

"Leave any talk for our trip. No need to … " Vin was interrupted by the irritated former slave.

"I wouldn't do that," Nathan told the group.

"We know you wouldn't, Brother Nathan," Josiah said, his eyes saying that they took him at his word, but it was a combination of trust in a man who was infinitely trustworthy, and warning that could be seen if you looked carefully in those piercing blue eyes.

"Do you want some help?" J.D. asked. "I'd be happy to help."

Nathan understood what his friends were doing. He couldn't be mad at them because he knew he had a history of starting things with Ezra. He also knew that he fell into every verbal trap Ezra Standish ever set for him. They were quite a pair.

"No, I don't need help, but thank you for the offer, J.D." Nathan stood and headed to the bar to speak with the beautiful Mexican barkeep.

"Think he got the hint?" Buck asked. He followed up the question with a swig of his beer that left a foam moustache on his real one.

Chris answered seriously, "I think he did, Buck."

"I'm takin' Ezra's shift," Vin said as he stood from the table, draining the last of his drink. "Finish up J.D.'s."

"Watch yer back," Chris said. They all watched as a faint nod was returned as Vin left through the batwing doors.

"Anyone up for a game of poker?" Buck asked. He saw Nathan head up the steps with a small pot of hot water and a mug. He nodded his head, hoping for something that would permanently change that relationship for the better.

"I'm game," J.D. replied.

"Deal me in," Josiah added. The four of them sat there for some uncomfortable moments.

"None of us has any cards, do we?" Chris asked.

"I'll go check with Inez," J.D. offered as he trotted to the bar.

Upstairs, Nathan knocked on Ezra's door.

"Come in," the tired-sounding voice called. The healer entered and offered a smile. Ezra wasn't sure if it was only because of his exhausted, sick state but, if he was reading Nathan correctly, the smile may well have been an offer of apology.

"Need to get some of that tea from your dresser," Nathan said.

"Be mah guest."

The former slave went to the drawer and pulled out the jar. "I'll fill this up tomorrow," Nathan said as he put the medicinal tea mix in the mug and poured the hot water over it to steep. Ezra did not reply to the comment.

The room remained silent, neither man choosing to converse. The healer figured that was just as well, Ezra didn't need any stress right now. Nathan heard what sounded like the breathing of regular sleep; he would let the man in the bed slumber until the tea was good and strong. As he kept an eye on the professional poker player, pale against his clean, white pillowcase, Ezra opened his eyes. He blinked a few times and stared at the man that he well might have met during the war, had things worked out differently. Or even a few months after the war, the Southerner's work on the railroad lasting into the autumn of 1865.

Nathan frowned. "You all right, Ezra?"

"Ah was thinkin' how our compatriots might each react should we two return from Denver, how shall Ah say, changed men."

Nathan smiled. "It'd be somethin' to behold, I'm thinkin'." The black man lost his smile pretty quickly. "I wouldn't want you to change much, Ezra. Kind o' gettin' used to ya."

Ezra offered his own smile. "Ah admit that Ah have become accustomed to the pleasuh of your comp'ny." Ezra yawned. "Mah apologies." His eyes wandered around his familiar room, avoiding Nathan's worried brown eyes. Finally, he looked at the man who had helped him through minor sickness and injury to far more serious, even life-threatening moments these last years. As much as they still did not get along sometimes, Ezra knew that he had much to be thankful for that Nathan Jackson was part of his life.

"Vin warned me not to get you all riled up, but you look like you want to talk," Nathan said.

"Ah do, but Ah fear Ah will not do our talk justice. Ah could fall 'sleep … "

"Ezra. Ezra." The card sharp blinked his heavy eyes open. "Drink this." Ezra obeyed with shocking ease. "Would be nice … " Nathan started, but he stopped fast, not wanting to start something else where he wouldn't be able to control any possible escalation. He could complain, again, to Ezra and his other partners in law enforcement about the difficulties of doctoring stubborn, frustrating men some other time.

"What would be nice?" Ezra asked as he handed the empty mug to the healer.

"If you got some good sleep and we could get some answers from a doctor in Denver," he answered, diverting to a topic about which they could both agree, in spite of how contrary Ezra was bound to be when it truly came time to meet with a doctor.

"Would be life-alterin', Nath'n." Ezra fell immediately asleep.

"Sure looking forward to hearing more of that," the former stretcher-bearer in the war said. "Nathan," he said out loud, in his best imitation of the Southerner, as he sat in the rocking chair and watched Ezra sleep.

The End.

Note: Mattie Silks was a real and famous madam of the time in Denver. Look her up!