Thanks as always to Aithine and xangel.

Sequel to Caveat.

I.

Ezra drifted in a pain-soaked haze.

Voices came and went, some familiar, others not. Strong brown hands cradled his head, held a bottle against his lips and bade him drink: laudanum, heavy and sweet with the promise of ease. The hands left, only to return a while later, pungent with the scent of herbs. They removed his clothes and cleaned his wounds and it hurt, oh God, it hurt, like being turned inside out, de-boned and filleted and Ezra knew with absolute certainty that he'd never eat fish again. Somewhere, as if from a great distance, he heard John's voice whispering this too shall pass and he clung to it, let it guide him down past the pain into warm velvet darkness.

He wavered for a time, caught somewhere between dream and waking. When he finally opened his eyes again, he was in a strange room, lying in a strange bed with a quilt tucked up around his chin, his whole body leaden and aching down to the marrow.

A soft voice murmured, "Welcome back."

Ezra managed to turn his head just enough to see John sitting in a chair beside the bed. His dark hair hung in lank, unwashed tangles about his face, and God only knew when he'd last shaved. Ezra frowned, and reached out to touch John's stubbled chin. "You look awful," he croaked.

John caught his hand and kissed his fingers. "I'm sure. How do you feel?"

"Like Jonesboro after Sherman's March to the Sea."

"Do you want more laudanum?"

"No, I--" He peered confusedly at the unfamiliar surroundings. "John, where are we?"

"The Grand Hotel, in Tombstone," John said. "Nathan thought you'd be more comfortable here than at the bunkhouse."

"Nathan's in Tombstone?"

John nodded. "So are the rest of your friends." He kissed Ezra's fingers again. "You should try to get some more sleep, if you can."

He wanted to say he'd slept long enough if he didn't even remember being carted fifteen miles over bad roads to Tombstone, but his body was already melting back into the mattress.

The next time he awoke, John lay sleeping peacefully beside him, and it was Buck sitting in the chair. "Hey, there, pard," Buck said cheerfully.

Ezra struggled to sit up, though it made his arms shake and his head swim. John didn't even stir. He lay atop the covers, still wearing the same clothes as before, though some kind soul had removed his boots and tossed a blanket over him. "Is John all right?" Ezra asked.

Buck held up a placating hand. "He's fine, Ezra, don't you worry 'bout a thing. Nate just dosed his dinner with a little valerian to make sure he got some rest. Poor bastard's been hoverin' over you like a mare with a new foal ever since we got here."

He blamed the remaining laudanum in his system for making him smile and kiss John gently on the lips, something he would never have done in front of witnesses had he been within in his right mind. Buck didn't seem to mind. In fact, Wilmington looked decidedly amused and chuckled quietly to himself.

"May I ask what you find so funny?" Ezra said.

"Aw, ain't nothin', really," Buck said with a grin that implied it was anything but.

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Really."

"It's just--well, you know laudanum does funny things to a man. Some folks see things that ain't there, while others get--talkative."

Ezra felt his face grow warm. "How talkative?"

"You babbled your fool head clean off," Wilmington chortled. "I especially liked that speech about, Lord, what was it, armor Vincent somethin'--"

"Amor vincit omnia,"(1) John mumbled sleepily.

"That's it! Damn near brought a tear to my eye. Of course," Buck added, "Josiah had to translate most of it 'cause ol' Johnny here was blushin' too hard to speak."

John opened one eye. "You started quoting Catullus again."

Ezra winced. "Do I want to know?"

"Quid dicam quare rosea ista labella hiberna fiant candidiora niue..." (2)

"Oh, hell!" Ezra shouted, and pulled the quilt over his head.

II.

The eight of clubs landed a good two feet short of its target. Ezra frowned. Shuffling through the deck, he selected another card at random and sent it sailing through the air. It turned out to be the three of diamonds and had moderately more success than the eight of clubs, this time actually striking the edge of the wicker chaise but still missing the ultimate goal of John's right foot.

John remained oblivious, too engrossed in a copy of Thucydides' History of the Peloponnesian Wars to notice the steadily growing pile of cards at the end of the chaise. Ezra sighed and shuffled the deck once more. Perhaps something heavier was in order. Like an anvil.

"You know, we can do something if you're bored," John said.

"You mean you'd actually deign to let me out of bed?"

That got him a dark green glare from over the top of the book. "When you can stand without losing your balance, I'll think about it."

"Well, if I hadn't spent so much time chasin' the dragon, I wouldn't be losing my balance."

"No," John snapped, "you'd still be in sheer fucking agony and begging me to put a bullet in your head."

Ezra put the cards down. "John--"

John rubbed at his eyes. "God, Ezra, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that."

Ezra sighed. "Because you've been cooped up in this room lookin' after an invalid for Lord knows how long."

"Days," John replied with a tired smile.

"Most of which I was drugged out of my mind for, and apparently quoting dirty limericks in Latin." He smiled gently. "John. It's all right. Someone else can come up and keep me entertained for a while."

"But--"

"No buts," he said and pointed to the door. "Away with you, sir! I do not want to see your face again until you've had a hot bath and a good night's sleep."

John, being sensible for once, did not argue. He simply marked his page with a scrap of paper, set the book aside and rose stiffly from the chaise. Walking to the bed, he paused long enough to feather a caress across Ezra's cheek. "I'll be back in the morning," he said.

Once John was safely out of the room, Ezra pushed the quilt aside and swung his legs over the side of the bed. The dizziness had finally faded, though the deep muscle aches remained. "This too shall pass," he muttered, and attempted to stand.

This proved to be a great mistake as his knees immediately buckled and dropped him onto the floor in an undignified heap. "Fine," he said. "We'll just try that again."

Using the bedpost for leverage, he gingerly pulled himself back onto his feet. His legs wobbled but held. When he was sure he had his balance, he let go of the bedpost--and promptly toppled over backward. "Damnation!"

This time he stayed on the floor, caught somewhere between laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation and tears from the pain of his landing. A few minutes later, when the door to his room creaked open, he still did not bother to move. Peering between the carved feet of his bed, he saw a pair of black, dust-covered boots. "Over here, Mr. Larabee."

The boots clomped closer and then Chris was staring down at him. "What the hell are you doin'?"

"I suppose it would be belaborin' the obvious to say lyin' on the floor?"

"Plannin' to stay there?"

"That does seem to be the general idea, yes."

Chris rolled his eyes. "Come on," he said, and held out one hand.

Ezra took a deep breath, reached out and grasped Chris's hand. Standing was easier this time. Walking was more of a challenge, but with Chris to steady him, he made it to the chaise without incident. "You're tryin' to get Ringo to shoot me, aren't you," Chris said irritably as he pulled the quilt off the bed and draped it over Ezra's lap.

"No," Ezra replied, "I am trying to keep from shooting myself. I was about to go stark, raving mad just lyin' in that damned bed."

Chris grinned. "I'll bet."

Larabee politely looked away as Ezra smoothed the folds of his dressing gown back into place and settled the quilt more comfortably across his hips. Except for the bandages that covered the worst of his wounds, he was naked beneath the soft cotton robe. It wasn't something he'd given much thought to before now--John had seen him nude often enough--but with Chris in the room he was suddenly, painfully conscious of his dishabille.

When he was as decently covered as possible under the circumstances, he turned his attention back to Chris. "I admit, I'm surprised you haven't been by sooner."

Chris shrugged. "Didn't want to intrude."

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "Intrude? This is a sick room. Visitors are allowed, as long as they don't overtire the patient."

"You know what I meant."

Ezra sighed. "I do, I just don't know if I'm ready to discuss the matter yet. Of course, I'd rather not discuss it at all, but that is how we wound up in this situation in the first place and have I mentioned how very much I detest laudanum? I swear, it's like someone removed the filter between my brain and my mouth."

Chris was smiling again, damn the man. "I noticed."

Ezra swallowed. "Why do I suddenly have the feeling John isn't the only one I waxed poetic about?"

Chris's eyes danced with mischief. "You composed a sonnet to my ass."

"Oh, hell. No wonder you're worried John will shoot you."

The smile faded. "Ringo knows I ain't a threat," Chris said. "You made sure of that."

"Yes," Ezra said quietly. "I did cry my love from the rooftops, didn't I."

"More like the back of a buckboard, but yeah. Doubt there's anyone between the Clanton Ranch and Tombstone who don't know how you feel."

"I'm sorry, Chris."

"Ain't your fault." He sighed. "Well. Better be goin'."

Ezra frowned. "But you just got here."

"Got a long road ahead. Just stopped in to say goodbye."

Ezra was dizzy again, only this time it was not the laudanum. "Wait," he said. "Goodbye? You're leavin' Tombstone?"

"I'm leavin' Arizona."

"For Heaven's sake, why?"

"It's time," Chris said simply.

III.

Ezra lay on the chaise, quilt wrapped tightly around him despite the evening's warmth. He knew he should kindle the lamp, but he didn't feel much like moving, just as he hadn't felt much like eating when the maid had brought his dinner up.

He loved John; he knew that. But for two years he had ridden, fought and bled at Chris Larabee's side and now the man was gone, completely and without warning. It hurt, more than he cared to admit, and he wondered if this was how Chris had felt when Ezra had first tried to leave for Tombstone all those weeks ago.

Sleep claimed him eventually. Laudanum made him chatter, but it also made him dream and he woke some hours later trembling and soaked with sweat, wishing John was there to soothe him with a word or a touch.

He tossed the quilt aside and struggled to his feet, weaving an unsteady path across the room to the washstand. The water was tepid but felt good against his flushed face. On a whim, he shrugged out of the dressing gown, letting it slither to the floor to pool around his feet. The bandages were next and soon he stood clad only in his own skin, battered and bruised though it was. He poured more water in the basin, added a splash of John's lavender oil for good measure and then reached for the soap, bathing as thoroughly as he could with such limited means.

The door creaked quietly open. Ezra tensed, but it was only John, boots in hand and moving with a stealth that indicated he expected Ezra to be sound asleep. He'd washed up and changed his clothes, but his hair was as unruly as ever, hanging in his face to obscure his beautiful eyes. "One of these days, I am going to cut your damned bangs off while you sleep," Ezra said mildly.

John jumped, startled. "You're supposed to be in bed!"

"And you're not supposed to be back until morning."

"It is morning," John said.

Ezra rolled his eyes. "Technically. What is it, three minutes past midnight?"

"More like ten," John said with a sheepish smile.

John set his boots down by the door, and crossed the room to where Ezra stood. "I couldn't sleep," he admitted.

Ezra raised his hand and let his fingers trace the line of John's jaw; the curve of his cheekbone; the softness of his lower lip. "Neither could I," he said, and kissed John sweetly on the mouth.

John hesitated a moment before returning the kiss, one hand slowly coming up to cup the back of Ezra's head. "I'm not sure this is such a good idea," he said when they finally parted.

"On the contrary, it's an excellent idea," Ezra replied, unfastening John's gun belt and setting it on the dresser. "Now, stop dilly-dallying and come to bed."

John still seemed reluctant, but he allowed Ezra to maneuver him towards the bed. "I don't want to hurt you," he said as they eased down onto the mattress.

"And I want you naked and nonverbal beneath me."

John had a form worthy of poetry in any language, but he was especially beautiful with his green eyes glazed dark with need, hair damp and clinging to his face like tendrils of ink. Ezra's lips sought the pulse-point in John's throat, felt the rapid beating of his heart through the fragile skin and smiled. "Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame," (3) he whispered.

"I couldn't agree more," John said before Ezra cut off any further conversation with another deep, languid kiss.

FIN.

(1) "Love conquers all."

(2) From Catullus 80: "What can I say as to why those red lips become whiter than winter snow..."

(3) From "Desire", by Samuel Taylor Coleridge:

Where true Love burns Desire is Love's pure flame;
It is the reflex of our earthly frame,
That takes its meaning from the nobler part,
And but translates the language of the heart.