The small clinic was comfortably quiet as Nathan was placing a pot of water on the stove, his eyes on the jars of dried herbs on the shelf above. The bandages was already prepared, something he'd learnt quickly as one of the seven peacemakers of Four Corners. It seemed like one of them was always hurt, or somebody else was. There was never a shortage of need for his services. Turning back to the cot that was placed opposite the stove, he had to smile. He wondered at times who was worst when it came to the need of being mended, Vin or Ezra. The latter was now sitting on the bed, looking none too happy to be there.

Another failed attempt of robbing the town bank had resulted in the Southerner taking a bullet in his left shoulder. Several hours later he was in Nathan's clinic, reluctantly waiting for the healer to examine the wound. It had taken a lot of the Larabee patented glare and gentle coaxing from Josiah to get him there. The final straw was Chris' promise to knock him out, throw him over his shoulder and carry the smaller man to the clinic himself if Ezra didn't go voluntarily. Trying one last 'but I really am fine!' which nobody believed or even bothered to answer, he gave up and stalked after Nathan who at that time couldn't keep from smiling either.

Adding some of the herbs to the water, he went to sit down next to Ezra. "Ok, let's get you outta that jacket and shirt so I can take a look at your shoulder." The bleeding had had time to dry and crusty brown stains were now being covered with the seeping of fresh blood. "Looks like it's bleeding again."

"Is this really necessary, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra moved away from the touch. "I assure you that I am perfectly capable of tending to my own health...this is merely a scratch..."

"A mite big for a scratch, I'd say." Ignoring the continuing protests, Nathan freed the shorter man of the red jacket. "'Fraid this is ruined, Ez. The blood's gonna come out just fine, but you've got a large hole right through it. The bullet must have gone straight through. You were lucky."

"Really." The pout was evident in voice as well as on the turned-away face. "I'll have you know that that was my favourite piece of garment."

"Can't be helped," Nathan shrugged. "You were lucky that it was just that coat that got ruined. A little lower and it might have been you." Knowing that Ezra would have difficulties moving the wounded arm, Nathan started undoing the buttons on the snow-white shirt. A frown appeared on his face as the other man shied forcefully away. "What's it now then?"

"I... " He could tell that Ezra was doing his best to regain his composure, poker face slipping easily into place.

"It's nothing, Mr. Jackson. I just don't feel inclined to remove my clothes at the present time."

Studying him, Nathan noticed the too bright eyes and the slightly flushed look. "Well, you're gonna have to. Looks like you might be running a fever after leaving that wound not tended to. I have to get it properly cleaned and dressed."

"No."

Surprised, Nathan stilled his movements. "What? Come on, Ez, a serious infection could kill you, you know that. It ain't like I've never treated any injuries of yours before."

"That's true." Ezra's hands were busy doing the buttons back up. "And I have no doubt in your skills in doctoring, you were always excellent at that..." The sentence lingered off into silence as green eyes lifted to meet Nathan's. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up, I know that you don't like talking about..."

"About the past?" Nathan gave a wry smile. "Yeah."

Those green eyes he had to admit were extremely expressive without the dubious pokerface keeping every emotion down, now had a flicker of curiousity in them. "You never told them, did you?"

Memories came flooding back, Nathan shook his head. "About us? No. Although I did recognize you as soon as I laid eyes on you in the bar."

"I know you did." Ezra smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. "I recognized you as well. Kinda hard not to, I have to say. You haven't changed much, Nathan." Diverting his eyes to his hands laying in his lap, he quietly added: "Not on the outside, at least."

The water was boiling and Nathan rose to lift the pot off the stove. Readying the things he needed to clean and dress the wound, his thoughts took him back years in time. He hadn't been a free man then, the war had yet to come. The days were an endless string of working on a plantation; picking cotton, harvesting corns and vegetables, every one in a while a stray duty to break the monotomy. He had hated every single second of it. And in the middle of it all, was the enigmatic Southerner now sitting on the bed.

"You ever wondered why I didn't tell them? Even after all this time we've both been here?" The question was asked nearly without his knowing.

"Not really, no. And I don't mind, I really don't. That time in my life...it's not something I care to remember."

His own curiousity peaked, Nathan turned back. "Why? I know that Crawford wasn't exactly the kindest man about, but he still was your uncle..." The amused look on Ezra's face made him stop, there was a shimmer in his eyes that made Nathan feel uneasy.

"My uncle? Good heavens, no. I was never related to that man whatsoever, which I am very thankful for. I ran away about half a year after you did."

Nathan had returned to the bed. "Then why did he say that he was? He told everybody that you were his nephew and..."

"He took me in out of the goodness of his heart and out of his Christian duty when his poor, wayward sister could not care for a young boy like she should... You weren't the only one fooled, Mr. Jackson. August Crawford had the entire town believing in his lies."

"But..." Nathan wasn't sure how to ask. He had ran away from the Crawford plantation only a little more than a year before the war broke out. The years had passed and he hadn't seen the auburn haired young man again before literally stumbling over him in a backwater town out West. The memories were still there though, still as clear. As well as the anger, the resentment.

Crawford had been a hard and ruthless master, fond of the whip and inducing terror in the slaves he owned. One midsummer day he had left for town, and came back with a lone passenger in the carrier. Introducing him to the house slaves and his wife as his nephew, he told them that the boy was to stay in the main house from now on. Nathan had been present at the time and had heard the story of how the sister, the black sheep of the family, had been meaning to raise her son to the kind of life she was leading herself and how Crawford had saved him. All the time the greeneyed boy had not said a word, merely stood beside his uncle, palefaced and looking down. That was something Nathan couldn't understand. The boy had just been saved from a life in disgrace and crime, and taken in by his family, and yet he looked like everything had been taken away from him instead of gained. He should be counting his blessings, not acting like a spoiled brat. Nathan had kept his silent judgement to himself, but was reminded of it every time he laid eyes on the younger boy. The uneasiness grew as he realised that he may have had it all wrong.

"You want to hear the truth?" Ezra watched him. One side of his mouth lifted in a mirthless smile. "Oh I do know how you felt about me, Mr. Jackson, about the ungrateful bastard child who was too lucky for his own good..."

Nathan had the decency to look ashamed. "Yeah? Then why don't you let me know what was really going on?"

"You will probably not like it, or even believe me. It's quite a sordid tale, I don't like talking about it much myself."

"Try me."

A flicker of an unreadable emotion crossed Ezra's face. "Very well... But keep in mind that you wanted to hear this." Drawing a deep breath, he started. "My mother wasn't Mr. Crawford's sister, far from it. The only likeness between them, was that they both were gamblers. My mother spent several nights playing poker with him..." This time the smile bore a little more feeling. "He was the only one I have ever seen to beat mother at her own game. She lost everything, more than that. By the end of the third night she was seriously indebted to him. That was why he...made a proposal to her. He only wanted one thing and she was free to go."

The story came to a halt, and Ezra didn't seem to intend to go on.

"And what was that one thing?" Nathan asked the dreaded question.

"Me."

"What?" Nathan's eyes were filled with disbelief. "She placed a bet with her own child as the stake? Jesus..."

Ezra shrugged. "It wasn't the first time... We usually managed to run before they claimed their winnings or mother would find a way to get me back again. But this time...things were different."

"I'll say." Anger was simmering in the usually stoic healer. "Where the hell was Maude in the middle of this? I guess she ran, as she always does."

For the first time since they had entered the clinic, anger was clearly written on Ezra's face. "She was trying to get me back! She wouldn't leave me with that... That man."

Having a sinking feeling that that was just the thing Maude would do, Nathan kept quiet. Even how badly Maude Standish treated her son, he was always ready to defend her, blind to her cunning, ruthless sides. She'd sweep into town, leaving a trail of devastation in her wake and then up and leave, not ever looking back. At first, he had found the woman charming, inspite of her heritage and often rash ways. But first impressions had a way of lasting, even when they had been proven wrong. He still was relieved to see the back of her though, as the stage coach left for another destination.

"He won you at a poker game." The words made even Nathan flinch. It wasn't much better than being sold in an auction. At least it wasn't your own mother that gave you away then.

"So he did." Ezra's voice seemed far too calm for what he was saying. "Now you know the truth."

It was Nathan's turn to study the other. He couldn't help wondering why. Slaves were often used in poker games bets, their value measured only in money's worth. They were moved to a new place and set to work. Nathan couldn't ever remembered seeing Ezra doing any work at the Crawford plantation. The boy had spent most every day in the stables or out riding. That was also the only times Nathan could remember seeing the younger man smile.

"You are wondering why he settled for me instead of the money mother owed him." Ezra wasn't really asking. He was looking intently at Nathan, giving the darker man a feeling of being measured.

"I...yeah, I do. He had slaves enough, and the neighbours wouldn't take lightly to him keeping a white boy with the likes of us."

Again that small smile passed over Ezra's face. "If you only knew, Mr. Jackson, how much I envied you... There are more than one kind of slaves." Unsteady hands started to undo the buttons of the bloodsoaked shirt. Without a word, Nathan helped, easing the shirt away to not induce more pain. Peeling the damp fabric away, revealing bare skin beneath it, the world skipped to a halt.

"Sweet Lord..." Nathan wasn't aware of that he was speaking. He had seen marks like this before, too many times. He had seen friends and family members being strung up and taken the whip to, shredding them within an inch of their lives. Many only to wither away and die if they survived the initial pain.

The Southerner's back was covered in ugly, vivid scars. Nathan could only imagine what kind of force it would have taken to leave these kind of marks even so much time later. Or how many times the whip had been applied. Feeling bile rise in his throat, he gingerly touched a curved scar, following it from shoulder to hip.

"Ezra, I..." The words deserted him as the horror of his discovery threatened to overwhelm him.

"Mr. Crawford was a man of....let's say unusual persuasions. And I was a pretty child, at least so I have been told. The only reason he kept me in the house was so he'd have me close when he...desired my presence at night." Ezra's voice was flat, emotionless. "So you see, Nathan, I was his slave, just as much as you were. Although you never had to pretend. You belonged."

Reading the last statement correctly, Nathan could only nod. Another man may have claimed ownership over him, but he had family and he had friends, people who took care of him, stood up for him. Ezra had had no one, living under the false impression of being taken in by his kind uncle, when the truth had been completely different.

"I'm sorry, Ezra." Not able to take his gaze away from the bloodcovered back of his friend, Nathan felt helpless. He prided himself of being able to fix things, to take care of people. He had no idea how to even begin to fix this. Pulling himself together he focused on the blood and the shoulder wound. No wonder Ezra hadn't wanted him to remove his shirt. He wondered if anyone had ever seen what he had right now, at least he understood the other man a little better now. Which brought his dark conscience to new heights. How could he have been so blind? The signs had been so clear...

"They say hindsight is always twenty-twenty," a voice broke into his thoughts. "Don't blame yourself, that wasn't why I showed you this. You would have found out eventually, I preferred it to be like this. It was a long time ago, and that's where it belongs. In the past."

Being as careful as he could, Nathan knew his washing away the blood still had to hurt. The lack of colour on Ezra's face was the only evidence he found of the pain in the man next to him. Guessing that he'd had a lot of practise hiding his hurting, Nathan worked quickly, noting with professional satisfaction that the wound appeared clean and that the bleeding had stopped. Dressing it, he got up. Then he handed one of his own shirts to Ezra. At the wondering look, the standing man looked away.

"I thought you'd probably wanted to get dressed."

"Thank you."

The small words made Nathan feel another twinge in his stomach. The shirt was far too big for Ezra, making him look young and fragile, the russet head bowed as his fingers buttoned the shirt. For a second the image was replaced with the one of a much younger Ezra, at his so called uncle's side, looking lost and helpless.

Unsure of what to do and what to say, Nathan took a seat on the bed again. Placing his hand on Ezra's right shoulder, he removed it again when he felt tension stiffen the muscles underneath his touch.

Clouded green eyes were turned his way, holding an apologetic look. "I don't like people touching me. It has nothing to do with you as a person, Mr. Jackson. It just makes me feel uncomfortable..." Seeing the other's confused look, he added: "I know, I tend to touch people a lot myself. But then...then I have a choice. When somebody places their hands on me, I don't."

"I'm sorry." The words felt hollow and insufficient, but Nathan didn't know what else to say. "Guess that's why you don't like being up here, huh?" He hadn't expected Ezra to smile.

"Your touch is actually one of the few I am willing to endure. I have known you for a long time, Mr. Jackson. You hurt with your words, never with your hands. Words I can take, and they don't leave any lasting marks behind. Which is why I must say that I do enjoy your company. I know where I have you. I don't deal well with people I cannot read."

"Like Chris." Nathan berated himself for being a coward and changing the subject, but he couldn't take that confession just there and then. Every snide comment and remark ever uttered on Ezra's behalf was thrown back in his face. It felt terrible.

"Yes. Like Mr. Larabee." Ezra had a bemused look on his face. "Although I think I am starting to get to know him better. I am not sure how well I want to know him though, our Mr. Larabee can be quite...intimidating when he wants to."

"Oh he won't do anything," Nathan returned the careful smile. "He knows 'Siah would have his hide if he hurt you."

"Ah yes, Mr. Sanchez..." Ezra didn't say anything else, but the scornful look he was desperatedly trying to keep couldn't hide what he really thought of the older man. Nathan shuddered thinking of what would happen if Josiah found out what had happened to Ezra. There wouldn't be a safe place on the earth for Crawford to hide, so much Nathan was sure of. The docile giant of a man was like an unstoppable train when it came to the people he cared about being hurt. A little voice told him that it may be just what Ezra needed. No more secrets and somebody being there for him, showing him that they were willing to stand up for him. That he mattered. Repairing what Nathan had failed to do himself. One of his white mugs in hand, he stirred more herbs into the sweetened tea. The sugar took at least a little bite off the strong, unpleasant taste.

"Here. I want you to drink this. It'll take the pain away and help you to get some rest."

Scrunching up his nose, Ezra made a face at the brownish liquid, taking ten years of his appearance. It was no secret that a lot of the ladies and the young girls in the town were secretly swooning over the charismatic gambler. The large, green eyes in the cherub-like face, along with the impeccable manners and fancy clothes drew a great deal of attention. But Nathan doubted that any of them had ever seen the side of their resident con man as he had tonight. It made him feel both special and scared.

Whatever the feeling he had towards Ezra, it was always strong. And it was easier to see the bad sides and be angry or overbearing, than seeing what was so carefully hidden underneath the surface. Telling the other that he would need to stay at the clinic over night because of the light fever and the blood loss, he marvelled at the protective feeling inside of him. Overhearing the obligatory protests, he patiently waited for the mild sleeping agent he had mixed in the tea to take effect. Settling down on the bed, albeit grumbling a little about missed poker games and his own comfortable bed, Ezra was soon asleep, just as Nathan had predicted.

The large shirt covered him all the way to the thighs, the sleeves shielding the small hands completely. Carefully removing the black boots, Nathan pulled a blanket over him, before placing his hand to the sleeping man's forehead. His temperature was a little up, but not enough to be alarming. Hesitating, Nathan then let his fingers comb through soft locks of hair, the touch eliciting a small sound from Ezra. A slight frown drifted over the lax features.

"Shh, it's ok, it's only me," Nathan soothed him. "You sleep now, I'll be right here." Touching his fingers to the other's cheek, he pulled away as soon as he realised what he was doing. Watching Ezra with an inscrutinable look, he moved to the old rocking chair to sit down. The shadows were flittering in, consuming the last of the sunlight. Gold and red washed over the horizon, the colours weakening away as the night was approaching. A last ribbon of dying light curled almost affectionately over the sleeping gambler, adding a shine of gold to his hair and skin. It smouldered for a brief second before being chased away by the dark.

Taking up his silent vigil by the bed, Nathan folded his arms over his chest at the sudden chill in the room. He had escaped the Crawford plantation years ago. Looking at the sleeping figure on his bed, he wondered if you really did run away from something at all, or if part of it stayed with you. The unbidden thoughts of what the perverted mind of August Crawford had seen in the young Ezra, while playing poker with his mother, made Nathan feel nauseous. The thought of Maude leaving her son to be abused and molested made him feel unbridled anger. And as for himself...he felt ashamed and guilty, so very guilty.

A faint whimper claimed his attention. Getting to his feet, Nathan only hesitated a split second before climbing into the bed, gathering the smaller man into his arms. Chasing the nightmare away with murmured words and gentle touches, he felt a unexpected form of joy as Ezra snuggled up to him, accepting the offered comfort without really waking up. Keeping his arms locked safely around the other, Nathan rested his chin on top of chestnut hair. "Don't worry," he quietly whispered. "You're safe with me. I won't let anyone hurt you again." The embrace tightened.

"I promise."

The End