"Tell me something, Ezra." Buck's abrupt
demand startled the gambler. The normally loquacious ladies' man had spoken
hardly a word all evening. And he'd been drinking steadily. Acting rather
like Chris Larabee, in fact. Minus the aura of danger that perpetually
surrounded the gunslinger. Buck just seemed rather...sad. Ezra hadn't really
concerned himself overmuch. And neither had any of the others. Buck
was...well...Buck. It wouldn't be long before he was laughing and joking and
out for his usual good time. Nothing kept him from that pursuit for long. So
they had left him to work it out, figuring he would have either conquered it
or moved on by morning. Whatever it was.
"Certainly, Mr. Wilmington.
I am always glad to offer a friend the gift of advice." He supposed it was
some question or other about a new woman in town. But the other man
surprised him.
"If you was in trouble, who would ya turn to?" The big
man stared intently at him. Waiting for his answer.
"Do you mean if I
needed an extra gun? Or perhaps merely some advice? Or do you mean if I was
injured in some fashion?" Ezra was a bit confused by the
question.
"Any. All." Buck waved his arms impatiently. Only the
slight thickening of his tone gave any indication at all of the vast
quantity of whiskey he'd consumed.
"Well..." The gambler thought for
a moment. "I suppose if it were a matter of needing an extra gun or two, I
would turn to Mr. Larabee or Mr. Tanner. For advice, I believe Mr. Sanchez
would be more than adequate to the task. And of course, there is Mr. Jackson
for matters requiring medical attention. Is that what you wished to
know?"
"Yeah." Buck replied softly. "I guess it answered my question
alright." The bitterness in his tone was an unfamiliar sound. One that
caused Ezra to frown upon hearing it. He almost asked the older man to
elaborate. But a lifetime habit of not getting involved stilled his tongue.
He had made steady progress in that area since joining up with the seven,
but it was slow going at times, still.
The gambler sighed and glanced
around the saloon. The remainder of the seven had long since retired for the
evening and there didn't seem to be any other prospects in sight. He pushed
back his chair. He would retire as well and try his luck again in the
morning. The stagecoach was due tomorrow. Perhaps some unwary traveller
could be lured into a game or two.
"Good night, Mr. Wilmington." A part
of him felt a twinge of guilt. Buck appeared so forlorn, sitting there with
his head bowed, his usual high spirits nowhere in evidence.
"Night,
Ezra." Buck didn't glance up as he spoke. Just curled his hand around his
glass and continued staring down at the table.
Ezra began walking towards
the doors, telling himself that Buck was a grown man. With five other men to
confide in. Men that he was far closer to than the gambler. Men who were far
better suited to playing the role of friend than he.
He almost made
it. He had one hand raised to push open the door. One foot poised to step
out onto the boardwalk. Where he would be free. Where he could forget the
pain he'd heard in the other man's voice. Pretend that the lonely figure
he'd left behind would be just fine. But Ezra had been that lonely figure
far too many times. And he'd apparently changed even more than he realized.
Because he found that he couldn't walk away.
"It seems that I am not as
tired as I thought." Buck looked up blearily at the sound of the gambler's
voice.
"It's ok, Ez." he said tiredly in response. "It's just good old
Buck, remember? The clown. Ladies man extraordinaire. The one you can always
depend on for a good time. And not much else." The last sentence wasn't
meant for Ezra to hear.
"You forgot to add the most important thing
of all to that list." Ezra sat down in his recently vacated chair across
from Buck.
The tall gunslinger glanced at him as he sat, but made no
reply.
"Good friend." It wasn't until Ezra spoke the words that he
realized their truth. And realized, with acute shame, how very little
thought he and the others gave to Buck. He was just always there. Wooing the
ladies. Looking after JD like a mother hen. Laughing. Not something to be
taken seriously. And they didn't. They just assumed because he presented
that front, there was nothing more to him. Nothing of substance. Ezra, of
all people, shouldn't have made that mistake.
And now, thinking
about it, he could see how wrong he'd been. How wrong they'd all been. It
would have taken a man of unusual generosity and loyalty to stand by Chris
Larabee. Only to be put aside in favor of another as a reward. Buck had
accepted Vin taking his place as the gunslinger's closest friend with grace.
Never once indicating that he resented the tracker, although surely it must
have rankled a bit. Then he'd taken the boy under his wing. JD, who tried
all of their patience at times. Ezra knew he would not have concerned
himself so greatly. And he didn't think any of the others would have,
either.
The light hearted, jovial manner of Buck's gave the erroneous
impression of a man who did not feel things deeply. A man who was too busy
having fun to settle down or take matters seriously. But Ezra remembered the
look on his face when they'd ridden after that odious Fowler. The sorrow and
guilt in his eyes when JD had been shot by that female bounty hunter.
"If I'm such a good friend, how come I wasn't one of the people on your
other list? The list of people that you would want backin' ya?" The
effects of the whiskey were starting to become a little more apparent. The
last few words were slurred and Buck was slumping in his chair, holding onto
the table for support.
"Because we are all a pack of fools, Mr.
Wilmington. And because human nature tends to take the established for
granted."
"For granted?" Buck was having a little trouble wrapping his
thoughts around Ezra's words. The gambler would have to escort him to his
rooms and pour him into bed in a few minutes. He just wanted to make Buck
understand something first.
"You. We take you for granted, Buck. We
assume you will always be there. That we can rely upon you. You may not
spring to mind and be on our lists, but rest assured that we expect you to
ride with us, nonetheless. Indeed, we count upon it."
The gambler
paused. Buck's expression was impossible for him to read. But was it his
imagination or did the broad shoulders seem a bit less tense? The hand
gripping his glass a trifle more relaxed? He decided to
continue.
"Actually, I rather think it might be nice to have someone take
me for granted. No one has ever done that. It's always been assumed that I
would ride on one day and never look back." Ezra heard the wistful tone in
his own voice and was slightly embarrassed by it.
The gratitude in
his friend's eyes more than made up for any embarrassment he felt,
however.
"Thanks, Ezra."
"It was my pleasure." And it had been,
surprisingly enough.
"Do ya think you could help me out a bit, here?"
Buck smiled a bit sheepishly. He'd been attempting, unsuccessfully, to get
to his feet.
Ezra came around to the other side of the table and slid his
arm around Buck's waist. Together they managed to haul the larger man to his
feet.
"Gotta make sure I get my beauty sleep ya know." Buck explained as
they started walking in the direction of the batwing doors. "Wouldn't want
to disappoint the ladies."
Ezra chuckled. Good old Buck. You could
always count on him.
The End
