A/N: A little something for Halloween.   I don’t know why JD is my favorite Halloween protagonist, but I always seem to end up writing him into these stories.  :)  Thanks to Judy for the beta!

“Braaaains . . .”

JD Dunne looked up from the report he was typing, a frown creasing his brow. What had he heard? He waited a moment, looking about himself carefully in an attempt to determine the potential presence of joking co-workers. 

Nothing.   The others had all gone home, or out for a pre-weekend drink after work. He had stayed late himself, needing to fix two of the computers and catch up on a few pieces of paperwork before Monday rolled around.

Shaking his head, he went back to his report. Nathan had been chiding him about working too hard just this morning. Apparently he was right!

A few more sentences into the document, he heard it again; a low gravel-throated whisper of a word, barely audible even in the quiet office. 

“Braaaains. . .”

Standing abruptly from his desk, his chair rolling back and hitting the wall hard enough to make him jump at the noise, he demanded, “Who’s there? Buck, if that’s you, I’m not in the mood. I just want to finish this report and get out of here. Now come out where I can see you!”

Abruptly, JD got his wish. From the area of the break-room, a tall figure shambled forth, his gait too unbalanced to be called a walk. 

“Buck?” the young man asked again, hesitation in his voice as he surveyed the misshapen, grayish-complected figure. It was definitely Buck Wilmington, but he looked as if he’d been in some horrifying accident. There was blood everywhere on his skin and clothing. Patches of hair had been torn from his scalp in ragged clumps, and some of it was still dangling from strips of skin that hung loosely from his head, neck and hands, allowing the decaying flesh underneath to be seen clearly. JD’s nose wrinkled as his roommate came closer, his impression of dead and putrescent flesh growing stronger as he caught a whiff. “Buck, what the heck have you done to yourself? This is a pretty sick joke, even for you.”

“Braaaains . . .” the ghoul hissed, a terrible smile of anticipation peeling his cracked lips back from broken yellow teeth.

Unable to stop himself, even if he knew he would be paying for it in howls of laughter and endless teasing later, JD backed up and raised his hands in a warding-off gesture as the creature reached out to touch him.

“Now Buck, I think this has gone just about far enough,” he said sternly, trying to pretend there was no audible tremble in his voice.

A large hand came down upon JD’s shoulder from behind and he yelped before he could stop himself, spinning around to face a new presence. He breathed a sigh of relief, seeing that it was, “Josiah!” Then his smile fell as his older friend stepped further into the light and showed that he looked every bit as gruesome as Buck. More so, in fact. His throat almost appeared to have been ripped out.   The flesh was shredded and blood-soaked, bloody tendons and a disgusting display of exposed bone showing through the tattered flesh. JD’s eyes bulged as he saw that one of the other man’s blue-gray eyes had been pulled from its socket, hanging in a gelatinous ball on his cheek and leaving the socket empty. Not wanting to believe what he was seeing, JD repeated another, far more tentative, “Josiah?”

The creature gurgled, a horrifying sound, and JD’s heart thundered as he realized that he could actually see blood bubbling in the torn flesh of his ruined throat as Josiah attempted to speak.

“No!” he squeaked, falling backward over the edge of his plastic carpet protector as the nightmare versions of both his friends simultaneously made a grab for him. Scrambling backward in a terrified crab-walk, JD looked around frantically for an escape route. The office door seemed impossibly far away. Even as he thought it, the knob turned and the door swung open, revealing Ezra Standish, whose normally fair complexion had lightened to such an extreme bluish-white pallor that JD just knew there could not possibly be any blood left in him. 

As his eyes traveled over the new arrival, JD gulped hard. He had thought for a moment that Ezra was attired in a dark red suit, but as the other man moved, he realized that he had found the missing blood. It had completely soaked the light colored material of Ezra’s tailored business suit, staining it crimson. Tattered threads decorated the chest area and as he lurched stiffly forward, his movement revealed a large hole in his chest. JD whimpered when he realized that he could see the office wall on the other side, the hole having gone clean through Ezra’s body.

“Braaaains . . .” the man hissed, the word somehow sounding even more menacing when spoken in that cold, emotionless, southern drawl.

“Guys, guys, come on now!” JD stammered, using the wall as leverage to get back up to his feet, thankful for its solid presence behind him. “You don’t want to hurt me. I don’t know what’s happened to you, but I’m your friend! I’m a genius, remember? I’ll think of a way to fix this!”

Inside his private thoughts, JD figuratively slapped himself upside the head. Sure, I’ll just write up a computer program that will bring the living dead back to perfect health.   Shit!

“Or, or, or . . . Nathan! Yeah, that’s it. We’ll all go see Nathan and he’ll figure something out!”

JD frowned, his fear increasing exponentially when Ezra suddenly smiled, his bloodshot green eyes filled with an unholy light as he pointed toward the conference room to JD’s left and whispered again, “Braaaains . . .”

Not wanting to see, but too afraid not to look, JD turned his head, moaning when he realized that both Vin and Nathan were standing in the doorway, each looking about as fresh as a week old banana peel.    Nathan’s skin was a peculiar shade of greenish gray and there were yellow-seeping pustules dotted around his cracked black lips. His normally healthy white teeth were broken and yellowed, much like Buck’s had been, and both his gums and the whites of his eyes were blood-flecked. He held up a syringe, half filled with brown liquid, and gave the plunger a short squeeze that sent a squirt of the fluid flying up into the air.  Unlike his companions, he did not speak his desire for JD’s brain, nor did he attempt to, but the glee-filled madness in his eyes was somehow worse.

JD stared at Nathan, barely able to even look at Vin Tanner. The normally handsome Texan appeared to have been burned alive. His hair was half gone and the remaining flesh covering his scalp, face, neck and body on the right sight was charred and ruined, lumps of bubbled tissue and bodily fluids still dripping from exposed bone. The stench he exuded was stomach-churning and JD had to clap a hand over his mouth as the dead sharp-shooter held out a flesh-free hand, mere inches from his face, the revealed bones clicking audibly as they stretched in a slow grasping motion. Hungrily, he groaned, “Braaaains . . . “

JD’s breathing grew harsh and ragged, his heart doing its best to thump straight out of his chest as he ducked under that reaching hand and dove between Josiah and Nathan, stumbling and nearly falling in his haste to reach the sanctuary of Chris Larabee’s office. It had its own door and while it might not keep the others away for long, it should give him a few minutes of sanctuary in which to call for help. 

Chris! He would call Chris, convince him somehow of the terrible fate that had befallen their team. Chris would help him.

A voice greeted JD as he dove into the office and slammed the door.   Seized with a sudden horror of being alone in the dark, JD fumbled the light switch on and looked around. Chris Larabee sat at his desk. His flesh was intact, his color was good, and everything appeared to be exactly where it ought to be.

“Chris! Oh, thank God you’re here. You’re not going to believe what’s happened. The guys, our team, our friends!   They’re all dead, I mean undead, I mean they’ve all been turned into . . .”

“Zombies?” Chris asked calmly, standing and casually rounding the desk to face JD. His smile was calm and pleasant, amused even. 

“Yeah!” As his eyes adjusted to the bright light in the office, JD frowned. Chris had been wearing jeans, a white shirt and a brown sport-coat when he left the office. Now he was attired in a finely tailored black suit that fairly reeked of wealth, and matching highly-polished black shoes. His perfectly tied silk tie and matching pocket handkerchief were also unrelieved black, the tie held in place by an onyx and silver clip, the tiny gleam of metal providing the only trace of color to be seen. Even his hair and eyes seemed much darker and completely free of luster. His appearance was so incongruous with the typically casual Chris Larabee that JD momentarily forgot his fear and blurted, “What’s with the outfit? You look a Goth version of Ezra!”

The calm smile never leaving his face, Chris ignored the question and reached out to open his office door, ignoring JD’s yelp of warning. The slavering undead, who had been scratching and thumping at the closed door, poured into the small space. Five sets of eyes stared intently at JD, making his flesh crawl. He backed into the high cold office window, whimpering when he realized that there was no escape. 

The zombies had stopped behind Chris, almost appearing as if they were waiting for him to give them permission to advance. The man in black eyed JD dispassionately. “You see, JD, I can always use another soul for my collection and my friends here deserve a chance to feed.”

Desperately, JD climbed up on the desk, shoving against the window to force it open. “Stay back! I’ll jump if you come any closer! Then you won’t get anything!”

To his dismay, the zombies only leered and Chris actually laughed. “Do it if you feel the need. It will change nothing.   Do you really think none of the others attempted to escape that way?” He gestured at the other men, actually stroking one hand over Vin’s burnt cheek and peeling away a bit of the charred flesh. He dusted the remnant from his fingers with casual disregard.  “They tried, and they failed. You see, JD, you’re already mine. You gave yourself to me and there is no escape.”

“Gave . . . what are you talking about?”

Chris smiled again. “It was all there, in your contract when you agreed to work here.” Shaking his head, he mourned, “Nobody ever reads the fine print. To be one of the greatest agents in the country, someone who had the best friends a guy could ever ask for who, together, would be an unbeatable team of heroes . . . a family.  That’s what you asked for, isn’t it?”

JD’s pale face lost even more color. “After my mom died,” he whispered. “When I came west to join the ATF . . . I wished for all that.   I said I’d give anything to have them.”

“To be precise,” Chris corrected, holding up one long index finger. “You said you’d give your soul to have those things.”

“My soul,” JD whispered, cold sweeping over him.

Chris glanced to his left and right, the amusement gleaming once more in his eyes. “Amazing how common a dream that is . . . a place to belong, people to care about you . . . and how easily fools will give away their most precious possession to have it.”

“But I didn’t know! It was just an expression!”

“An expression?”   Striding forward, his hand shot out faster than JD could see, dragging him down from the desk with super-human strength and setting him gently upon the floor. His expression turned hard and cold. “Perhaps you should pay more attention to how you express yourself in the future.”

JD’s face became pleading, hopeful. “Do I have a future?”

Chris blinked, as if in surprise.   He cocked his head thoughtfully. “Good point.” Shoving the young man forward into the eagerly reaching arms of the zombie horde, he added, “I picked this one for his brains, guys. Try to savor the experience.”

As the hungry undead pushed him to the floor, eager hands and mouths ripping and tearing at his flesh, JD screamed, a long anguished sound that seemed as if it would never end.

Chris drew a deep breath, shutting his eyes and smiling as if he were hearing a chord of sweetest music.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“AAAAAHHHH!”

JD sat up so abruptly that he fell right out of his office chair. 

“Easy, kid, it’s just me!”

“Buck?” he squeaked, scuttling back to stare up with wild eyes as his best friend leaned over him in an attempt to help him up.  “Is it really you?”

Buck fell back a step, confused. “Who else?”

JD studied him. No blood, no rotting flesh, no undead odor. He still wasn’t quite ready to believe his eyes, however. “What are you doing here?”

“Checking up on you,” he said frankly, squatting down to be at eye level. “We stayed at the bar until closing time but you never showed up to meet us, like you were supposed to.   Called around to the others, but none of them had seen you either. Nathan happened to mention that you’d been looking kind of tired today, so after I checked back home, we followed a hunch that you might have fallen asleep at your desk and came back here to have a look.”

“We?”

A throat cleared, and he looked up with a gasp as he noticed the rest of his teammates for the first time. They were standing near the office door, looking at him with a mixture of amusement and outright concern on their faces.   They, too, looked completely normal.

“I realize it’s a bit much for six of us to be playing mother hen at one o’clock in the morning,” Ezra said with a smile, “but given your usual predilections for punctuality and sharing information on your physical whereabouts, we were naturally a bit concerned. I hope you won’t hold our overprotective impulse against us, Mr. Dunne.”

JD heaved a huge sigh of relief.   Ezra’s wordy explanation was like a balm to his shattered nerves after all those grunted demands for his brain!   He climbed to his feet with a helping hand from Buck, happily allowing Nathan to give him a quick once-over. “I fell asleep, I guess. Had the most horrible nightmare ever!”

“What about?” Josiah asked, his interest piqued. He had been making an informal study of dream interpretation for years.

Embarrassed, he admitted, “Well, you were all trying to kill me.”

“What?” they bellowed, making him jump nervously.

“Sorry, kid,” Vin said, patting his arm in a soothing gesture. “Guess we weren’t expecting that one.”

He laughed, a bit shakily. “Me, either. It seemed really real.” Another, stronger laugh followed. “At least you all look a heck of a lot better now!   You were pretty damned ugly.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asked, frowning as he reflexively patted his dark hair into place.

Blushing hotly, JD confessed, “Well, see, in my dream you were all, uh . . . “

“All what?” Josiah pressed, eyes alight with interest.

“Zombies,” he blurted quickly, flinching in anticipation of their reaction.

They looked at one another, incredulous expressions giving way to grins as all six of them burst into hearty laughter.   Vin held out his arms and did a Frankenstein monster-walk, swiping one hand at JD. “I vant to suck your blooood.”

“He said zombies, not vampires,” Buck scolded, still chuckling.

“They don’t like blood?”

Ezra considered the question. “They always appear to have lost a great quantity of it in those cheap schlock horror movies, so perhaps they do. I believe their main diet is consistent of gray matter, however.”

“Brains?” Nathan said incredulously. He never could be persuaded to join the others when they gathered to watch horror films.  

JD could not help himself. He shuddered from head to toe at that word.

Nathan was instantly back in doctor-mode. “You okay, JD? You got a chill?”

“Little one,” he said, preferring that excuse to admitting the real reason for his reaction. “I was feeling a bit feverish earlier.”

“Must be the reason you thought we’d all joined the undead,” Chris teased, giving him a penetrating stare that expressed his concern clearly.

JD nodded. “You didn’t, actually.”

“I wasn’t a zombie?” Chris clarified, sounding oddly disappointed.

“No, but you were in control of all of them.”

 “Naturally.”

“I think we’d better get you home before you start imagining we’re all aliens next,” Buck chided, gently leading his young roommate toward the door while the others grabbed JD’s coat and backpack and powered down his computer for him. 

As they moved out toward the elevator, JD looked again to Chris. “Is there any fine print in my work contract?”

Chris raised an eyebrow. “Maybe a little bit of legalese. Why?”

Shaking his head, JD waved off the question. “Nothing. It just popped into my head.”

The blond man’s features settled into a small grin as he watched the others pile into the open elevator. “Nobody ever reads the fine print anyway,” he murmured, eyes flashing darkly as he got in and allowed the car to begin its long journey downward.

The End

Author's Note I was thinking about how different Maude was with Ezra in Witness than she was in Sins of the Past. Maude-motives are never crystal clear, so this is just me taking a shot at them.

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The hour was growing late and with every tick of the clock, Maude's irritation grew. Oh, not that anyone saw it, of course. She was still presenting the same winsome smile and inviting laugh to the players at her poker table that she had been displaying for the past hour. Poker, after all, was business and personal feelings had no place in it.

It had been some forty five minutes since Maude had watched her son and his cohorts return to town, escorting that despicable murderer back to join his accomplice in jail where they would face charges of murder, blackmail, kidnapping and God only knew what else. In her heart, Maude was glad to see that justice was being served. She had never been particularly attached to the straight and narrow, but there was simply no room in a civilized world for anyone loathsome enough to prey on an innocent child.

The child in question, Billy Travis, had returned as well, riding safely in the saddle in front of his mother. Chris Larabee and Vin Tanner had flanked the little family to either side like a pair of vigilant watchdogs and Misters Jackson and Wilmington had, in turn, been watching over Larabee with equal fervor, drawing Maude's attention to the bandage adorning his arm. Not an entirely bloodless victory, then. A small shiver of fear ran down her spine at the thought of the danger her son had willingly placed himself in to help save young Billy and that fear, in turn, made her angry. As much as she approved of those men paying the price for their actions, there was absolutely no reason why Ezra had needed to risk himself for a child who was a virtual stranger.

A subtle huff of disgust blew from between Maude's red-painted lips. One of the other players took it as the sign of a bad hand and raised his bet. Maude called, smiling at the man as she raked in another pot. Her reaction had had nothing to do with the card game. It had come as the result of a memory, specifically her son's earlier excuse for joining his compatriots on their heroic mission. He had done it so that the influential Mrs. Travis would owe him a favor, he had claimed. Complete poppycock! Maude had found herself trapped in conversation with the young widow more than once throughout this ordeal and it had become very clear that no such favors would be forthcoming. Mary Travis would bestow sincere thanks upon the men who had saved her son, but it would never occur to her to offer a more substantial reward, and Ezra would never ask for one.

That was what truly galled. He had done this good deed for nothing! A scant two months he had been in this dirty little backwater and already the lessons of a lifetime were being submerged beneath the weight of conscience; that annoying streak of charitable integrity that she had never been able to train out of him.

After helping settle the prisoners, Ezra returned to the saloon, accompanied by JD and Buck, all of them proudly accepting of the approval and praise of their fellow townsfolk. For a moment, Maude's hopes rose. Perhaps her son really was just milking these rubes for their confidence, intending to use their acclaim to his advantage at a later date. Then, as Ezra took a seat at her table and thanked her for her assistance earlier in the evening, settling back to enjoy a glass of whiskey and Buck's enthusiastic retelling of Billy's rescue, her heart sank. Ezra was happy here. He was not playing any angles, he was actually enjoying the life of an honest man; coming to view this rag-tag group of lawmen as friends!

This state of affairs could not be allowed to continue. Ezra was her only child. It was her job as a mother to disabuse him of such foolish notions as friendship and charity, harmful habits that might very well result in his dying destitute and young. She would speak to him tonight; give him a piece of her mind that he would not forget in a hurry!

As Buck finished his tale, Ezra smiled and excused himself, saying that he would return shortly. Maude watched him walk out of the saloon, knowing that he would be heading for his room at the boarding house. She had seen him brushing at the wrinkled material of his jacket and known it would not be long before he felt the need to exchange it for another. Fastidiousness was ingrained in her son's very soul. Even as a boy, while he had not shirked from the need to dirty his skin or wear ripped clothing to benefit a confidence game, the moment it was over he would find the nearest source of clean water and vigorously repair whatever damage had been done to his appearance. It was a personal quirk that Maude had always found charming.

She waited with well-disguised impatience for Ezra to return from tidying up, her need to set him straight on his responsibilities and priorities growing with every tale that Wilmington and Dunne shared of the exciting and dangerous life they all led. Opening her reticule, Maude checked the time. Ezra had been gone for far too long for a simple change of clothing. Lips briefly pursing in annoyance, the southern woman gracefully rose from her seat, collected her winnings, and thanked the men for their company. Hats were tipped politely all around as they wished her a pleasant evening. Maude smiled. It seemed that there was a modicum of gentility to be found in even the most rustic setting.

Once outside, she paused. Where would Ezra have gone if avoiding the saloon, and her? The jail was an option but she doubted he would have returned there. It would have raised questions from whoever was guarding the prisoners. He could have gone to the newspaper office to check on Billy, but that would be ungentlemanly if the child had just been settled after his ordeal. The stable, perhaps? He had always had a peculiar fondness for moonlit rides. Surely, he would not be hiding out in his room. It was entirely too obvious. Then again, the boarding house was one place he was certain to eventually return to. Mind made up; Maude picked up her skirts and strode purposefully down the street.

~*~*~*~*~

Soft scratches, a muffled click and the tiny squeak of hinges in need of oil were the only sounds to be heard inside the room as Maude picked Ezra's lock for the second time in a week and slid inside with a faint rustle of skirts. She was slightly surprised to find a lamp lit and turned down low inside the room and more so at the sight of her son. Ezra lay stretched across the mattress, one booted foot still on the floor and the other resting atop the coverlet. It seemed he had only gotten as far as removing his guns, coat and tie before the urge to nap had overtaken him.

For a moment, she considered waking him. After all, she had gone out of her way to speak to him and she had concocted a very stern and impressively cutting speech to rebuke him for his altruistic instincts. It seemed a shame not to deliver it.

Even as she reached out her hand to touch him, however, Maude knew that she would let him rest. He had looked quite drawn earlier, his naturally heavy eyelids dark and lazy as they blinked over his glass of whiskey. Had he been sleeping at all? She sighed regretfully. Probably not. He had been agitated over one thing or another since she had stepped off the stagecoach, and Ezra's state of mind always affected his sleeping habits. No doubt that irritating conscience again. Thank goodness she had never suffered from such an affliction herself.

Maude smiled slightly at her son's loose limbed sprawl. It was a position he had favored as a small boy, but it was difficult to remember the last time she had seen him this way. As he had grown older and his innocent childish trust had faded, the boy had taken to sleeping on one side, in a tight coil from which he could, and often did, spring up out of bed in full alert wakefulness when the need to flee in the middle of the night arose.

Maude sighed regretfully. The relaxation she was seeing now seemed to her yet another sign that the people of this odd little town were changing Ezra for the worse. He was losing his edge and growing entirely too comfortable here. He could deny it all he liked but this, to her eyes, was proof.

With a shake of her head, Maude bent to pull her son's dangling left leg up into alignment with the rest of his body. Ezra stirred slightly at this disturbance of his person, but settled again quickly, some part of his mind apparently recognizing his mother's touch. She removed his boots with the casualness of long practice, reflexively peeking inside and smiling at the sight of the pockets sewn into the top of each boot, each containing a generous fold of money. One boot top also bore a small sharp knife in a built-in sheath. So he had not gone entirely soft, after all. Perhaps there was hope for him yet.

Easing herself down to sit on the side of her son's bed, Maude studied his face. He still looked very young when he slept, his features carrying none of the guarded, closed-off quality that seemed to define him whenever he was not drawing someone in with that dimpled winsome smile of his. His face seemed softer this way, the lines of tension eased until she could see more than a hint of the little boy she had raised.

"You didn't raise me as well as a stray cat raises a litter. You dumped me, remember? At every aunt and uncle's house you could find. Unless you needed me. For a con."

Ezra's words from their last confrontation in this room played back through her mind and filled her eyes with sadness. How could she have failed to realize that her boy harbored such resentment? It had been there in his voice, bitter and painful, and she had reacted defensively, chiding him for his ingratitude toward her teaching of their trade before walking out on him.

Suddenly, Maude was glad that she had not delivered the lecture she had come up here to give. If Ezra were still in the same frame of mind now that he had been before, her well-intentioned words would have only driven him further away.

She would wait; bide her time until he was ripe for a practical lesson in keeping his skills sharp and his true heart hidden from others. That would work better and he would ultimately appreciate it, whereas he would likely dismiss sharp words as nothing more than maternal nagging.

Having arrived at an acceptable solution, Maude relaxed, enjoying this unusual moment of quiet with her son. Fingers drifting up, she stroked his hair. It was worn far shorter these days than he had preferred it in the past, no longer tending to flop forward into his eyes. How many times had she chastised him for allowing his hair to grow to such unsightly proportions? She smiled, knowing that her disapproval had likely prompted him to keep it long as an act of youthful defiance. Ezra had no idea how many times she had sat next to him like this as he slept, fingers brushing unruly locks back from a beautiful child's face. Those reddish brown locks were just as soft as she remembered them and the face had only grown more attractive with the added maturity of adulthood.

Though she had dismissed it earlier, Maude had understood perfectly today how Mary Travis had felt about her missing son. While she herself would never have put on such an undignified public display, she did understand the driving emotion behind it. She had felt that same pain to some degree every time she went off in search of a new mark during Ezra's childhood, leaving him behind to be cared for by some handy relation, often fearing that they would not treat him as well as he deserved, but having no other choice.

She had felt that pain again today when she had watched her son deliberately place his own life in danger for young Billy Travis.

As Ezra smiled in his sleep, unconsciously nestling his cheek into the soft palm resting against it, his mother's mind drifted back over the years they had spent together. Ezra and Maude had been an amazing team, a perfect match of charm, finesse and such a natural talent for the game that a mark rarely even realized he or she had been swindled until it was far too late to do anything about it. They had been friends as much as family, each of them able to anticipate the other's moves and work a perfect balancing act of illusion and sincerity upon the gullible souls they encountered. She had been the master and he the apprentice, of course, but she missed that closeness and connection; something that she had never found the like of with anyone else.

It hurt, she could admit in the privacy of her innermost thoughts, to think that Ezra could have found another such bond here, with a pack of reprobate 'peacekeepers' in a ridiculous little western town full of fools and dreamers. To realize that perhaps he could get along just fine without his mother's guiding light.

But how, even if that were true, was it possible that Ezra could have turned his back on his true calling?

Acting as a lawman for a short time in order to obtain a pardon for some unnamed transgression she could understand. It wouldn't do to have wanted posters and such with his picture on them, and how better to get on the good side of the law than to infiltrate their ranks and work from within? But she had seen the honest pleasure on Ezra's face as he returned from his errand this evening, the ease and closeness he felt with those six gunmen, and it had forced Maude to face the shocking reality that her son was taking this new 'career' seriously.

Ezra might say that he was only ingratiating himself with this town for business purposes, but she had seen the truth. He had found a place to belong, and was quickly growing far too comfortable. Maude understood how he felt. She had, much to her own embarrassment, given in to that desire for normalcy herself on five different occasions. But a settled life was not made for such as them and trust never came without a very high price-tag.

Maude's mouth settled into hard lines as she studied her son's innocent slumber. It would only be a matter of time until his new friends proved false and threw him aside in favor of their own needs and wants. And then where would he be? Alone in the world and no longer fit to exercise his god-given talents; destitute, friendless, hurt . . . maybe dead.

She simply would not allow it. She needed a bit of time to plan, to devise some shocking and sobering way to prove to her son that he was being a fool. Better to let Ezra's fragile hopes be broken in one swift stroke than to stand by and allow his soul to be slowly and agonizingly chipped away until there was nothing left of him.

Mind made up, Maude gently shook her son's shoulder. His lids quivered and slowly rose. "Mother?" he mumbled. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, darlin', I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving on the morning stage tomorrow. I'd appreciate it if you could join me for breakfast before I board."

The sorrow he felt shone clearly from Ezra's sleepy green eyes as he said in a wistful tone, "So soon?"

"I have some business matters to conduct, and I really cannot put them off any longer," she told him, smiling a little as his eyes slid shut. She drifted her fingertips over the heavy lids as they struggled to rise once again, telling him wordlessly that it was all right. "Rest, darlin'. Tomorrow will be here soon enough."

He did not reply, but shifted to lie on his side, settling into the guarded position she thought of as normal for him. She nodded in satisfaction at the change, knowing that he had subconsciously set his internal clock for first light. He was on guard now, even as he fell back into the arms of Morpheus.

It wasn't too late.

THE END

DAYS LIKE THAT

“Do you ever have days when you just want to scream?”

Nathan and Chris looked up from the crossword puzzle they were sharing across the break room table, Chris reading the clues upside down but still managing to get more of the correct answers, much to his colleague’s chagrin. 

“Bad day, Ezra?” he asked absently.

An exasperated gesture signaled Ezra’s feelings. “It’s been an abominable day. Nothing has been on time, working correctly, or helpful to me in any way, shape or form since five o’clock this morning; the deplorable hour at which I was forced to rise from my bed in order to meet a source, who never even showed up!   That would have been bad enough without it inspiring Buck, Vin and JD to spend all afternoon teasing me about having gone to meet my ‘imaginary friend’. Sometimes I really am forced to wonder why I remain friends with those three.”

Nathan growled, “I sympathize,” as he glanced up from the crossword, glowering at the smirking Chris, who neatly filled another difficult word into the white squares of the puzzle without even turning the paper upright.

“Maybe you should just do it, Ezra” Josiah said, taking a sip from his freshly filled coffee cup.

Ezra frowned. “Do what?”

“Scream,” he elaborated. “Letting your feelings out can be very therapeutic. Might make you feel a little better.”

Sarcasm rolled off Ezra’s tongue as he said, “And where would you suggest I go to do that?”

“Elevator’s probably free,” Chris grunted.

“There’s always your car, long as the windows are closed,” Josiah chuckled. “Just make sure the security guard isn’t around or you might have some explaining to do.”

Nathan grinned, getting into the spirit. “How about the roof? Go liven up the pigeon population.”

A small snort of laughter met their suggestions, Ezra’s tense shoulders relaxing a little at the friendly teasing. Suddenly, a devilish sparkle lit his eyes. “I do believe you gentlemen are on the right track, but I have a much better place in mind.”

Taking their puzzle and coffee with them, Josiah, Chris and Nathan curiously followed their friend back out to the bullpen, staying back so as not to draw attention to themselves as they watched him stealthily move up behind Buck and JD, who were bent over JD’s computer. Vin glanced up from something he was writing but otherwise paid no attention. 

Taking a deep breath, Ezra suddenly threw his head back, scrunched his eyes shut and bellowed, “AAAAAAUUGGGH!”

The result was a thing of beauty. Buck jumped like he’d been shot, falling over the still-seated JD, who yelped in spontaneous panic and tumbled out of his chair, landing right on top of the fallen Buck. Vin had scratched a long line of ink across his paper and clutched his desk, eyes wide and wild like he was wondering whether fight or flight would be the best option.   Josiah, Nathan and Chris all clutched the walls, doorframes and one another for support as they broke into howls of mirth at the others’ expense.

“Shit, Ezra! What the hell was that?” Vin demanded.

“You about scared ten years off of me!” Buck shouted, shoving JD off his lap and scrambling to his feet. “What the hell is wrong with you, screamin’ down the walls that way?”

JD looked rather admiring. “Damn, Ezra, I would have bet money you couldn’t make a noise like that if you were being killed!”

The southerner smirked and sat down at his desk. “Gentlemen, really. Would I do a thing like that?”

“We all heard you,” Vin shot back. 

“It wasn’t me."

Buck looked as if he were worrying over Ezra’s sanity. “Well, then who do you think it was?”

“I heard nothing.”

“Oh, c’mon, Ez!” JD protested. “You came in here and started screaming like a lunatic!”

He blinked innocently. “Really? Are you sure you weren’t listening to my imaginary friend?”

They gaped at him, startled by the calm, serious question. Then JD started to laugh, quickly followed by Vin. Buck was the last to give in, but soon his booming guffaw was the loudest and heartiest of all.

Ezra grinned over at a still-snickering Josiah. “Thank you for your prescription, Mr. Sanchez. I feel a great deal better now.”

THE END

The bat-shit crazy teens and their evol leader - Shirtless Steve!   Beware, all who have wronged them!   Bwahahaha!

"How long do I have before the offer expires?" Ezra asked, looking completely unfazed by the gun pointed in his face.

"Exp . . . why you little . . . take it now or die!"

Green eyes blinked in seeming surprise. "Ah, well that hardly leaves much time for mulling the pros and cons."

The outlaw sputtered. "Mulling! You get me into that bank without anyone knowing or I kill you right now. Those are your choices."

Ezra sighed gustily. "I'm still not certain this deal has merit. If I get you into the bank, someone will eventually figure that I had some part in the robbery. Consequence? They hang me, and I'm dead.  On the other hand, if I don't get you into the bank, you shoot me between the eyes, and again, I'm dead. Truly, I just don't see an up-side to this.  Particularly as I'm sure you have no intention of sharing your ill-gotten gains and allowing me to enjoy a brief respite of high-living before my inevitable consequential demise."

The outlaw's mouth had fallen agape as he listened to the oh-so-reasonable southern accented voice. “Well . . . well . . . what if I tell you that I’m going to kidnap one of your friends and make him the same offer if you don’t co-operate!” 

He jerked his head in a triumphant ‘so there!’ motion, only to receive a pitying shake of the head in response. “My dear sir,” Ezra told him, “I’m afraid you still aren’t quite getting this. If you shoot me, I won’t be alive to care who else you’ve laid hands upon, will I?”

“Um, I guess not,” the man muttered, looking confused.

“Besides, I assume you’re referring to the six men who assist me in guarding this little burg,” Ezra continued.  "I really cannot think of a single advantage to kidnapping one of them.”

Almost pouting, the outlaw scratched his head and demanded, “Why not?”

Ezra’s shoulders jerked as he moved to tick off the reasons on his fingers, then scowled at recalling his hands being tied securely behind his back. A small huff of irritation signaled his feelings on the subject. “Well, sir, allow me to illustrate. Mr. Larabee is a notoriously foul-tempered and quick-triggered fellow, who would like shoot you before you ever had a chance to state your business, particularly if he happened to be down-wind at the time of the conversation.”

His abductor scowled. “You sayin’ I stink?”

“Let us just say that I’m remembering the head-cold I suffered last month with unusual fondness at this moment.”

The man tightened his grip on the trigger but did not pull it. “What about them other men, then? Reckon any of them would do as well as you.”

Ezra laughed mockingly. “My dear sir, surely you jest! You would never find Mr. Wilmington alone, that is to say lacking in female companionship, long enough to get the drop on him.   Mr. Jackson is another surly type who would surely introduce you to his favorite throwing knife if he caught even a flicker of your true intentions.”

“Well, that still leaves . . .” he paused to count on his fingers, “three of them lawmen who could get me inside.”

Ezra sighed gustily. “Such a shame you didn’t think to simply steal the manager’s key before you shot him yesterday. Truly, sir, that was poor planning on your part. For that matter, what induced you to try and rob a bank all by yourself, in a town that you knew was guarded by seven peace-keepers? Atrocious odds, if I do say.”

“Figured them’s just rumors,” he admitted. “No town that size has seven lawmen! Hell, Dodge City don’t even have that kind of protection!”

“Ah, yes, it is a rather unusual situation,” Ezra admitted. “Quite an entertaining story, too. Would you care to hear it?   You see, it all began when Mr. Jackson, the fellow with the knives I mentioned a moment ago? Well, he was about to be hanged, quite unjustly I assure you, by a gang of ruffians. Mr. Larabee and Mr. Tanner happened to see the crime taking place and since they clearly have a better understanding of unfair odds than you have demonstrated, decided that simply would not do. It was quite a thrilling escapade, I’m told. So when…”

The outlaw was nodding interestedly, then abruptly caught himself and shoved the pistol forward, nearly smashing Ezra in the nose with the barrel. “Shut up!”

“You asked,” he said, shrugging.

“I . . . no, I didn’t!”

Ezra frowned. “Of course you did. You wanted to know why the rest of my compatriots would be equally poor choices to help you rob the bank, and I assumed you might wish some proper enlightenment as to that situation. However, if you’re going to be rude about it…”

It was the other man’s turn to frown, but his was an expression of confusion as he seemed unsure whether or not he should apologize for offending his prisoner.

“Ah, well,” Ezra said cheerfully. “To return to the point of our discussion, Mr. Sanchez would be a terrible choice as a hostage. The man is strong as an ox and would snap you and all your nefarious intentions into kindling with one flex of his mighty hands. Mr. Tanner is what you might call an untrusting soul. Eyes in the back of his head, as they say. You’d never manage to get the drop on him.”

“Well, what about that youngster? I seen him yesterday. He ain’t any of those things you said, big or strong or suspicious or nothin’.”

Ezra nodded. “Quite so, but he is something much worse for you.”

“Yeah?” he asked warily. “What’s that?”

A rueful smile flickered over the gambler’s face. “He’s loud. You wouldn’t get two steps out of sight before he’d sound off and have everyone else at his side, guns loaded, within seconds. Even if you assaulted his cranium in the same manner you did mine, it’s most likely that he’d have time to get off one good shout. Besides, it wouldn’t matter. That boy couldn’t pick a lock if his life depended on it.”

“Which yours still does,” the outlaw remembered, pointing the drooping barrel of his gun with renewed enthusiasm. 

Ezra gave him a mournful look. “You’d really kill me? Without even offering me a last meal, a libation, or perhaps a final game of poker before I shuffle off this mortal coil? I must say, you aren’t a very gracious host.”

“I ain’t your host!” the man snarled. “I’m a bank robber, remember? A kidnapper, a thief, a murderer! Why ain’t you afraid of me?”

The gambler winked and smiled, further confusing his companion. “Because, you, my soap-challenged friend, have just confessed to enough criminal activity to insure that I never have to consider your threats seriously again. Why not, you ask? Perhaps you should turn around and see for yourself?”

“Aw, no! I ain’t gonna fall for that old trick.”

Suddenly, the air behind the outlaw was filled by sound as seven hammers clicked back with frightening synchronization. The man gulped and turned around, the gun falling from nerveless fingers as he found himself looking down the barrels of six handguns – JD was holding two – and one sawed-off Winchester, each held in the hands of a hard-eyed lawman.

“You okay, Ezra?” Nathan asked, eyeing the outlaw as if he might just carve him like a Christmas ham with the long sharp Bowie knife he was fingering with his left hand, the gun in his right never wavering an inch.

Ezra grinned. “I’m quite well, thank you, or I will be if one of you would be kind enough to release my hands from these ropes." 

“Heard you say you’d been whacked on the head,” Vin commented, spitting a stream of tobacco at the kidnapper’s boots. “He hurt ya?”

As Nathan put his gun away and circled around to apply his knife to Ezra’s bonds, the gambler made a non-committal sound.

“That a yes?” Larabee demanded, the question almost a growl as skewered the outlaw with a harsh glare. The man promptly wet himself.

Nose wrinkling in delicate disgust at the display, Ezra edged back further from the puddle as his hands were freed, getting to his feet and hurriedly brushing himself off as if he feared contamination. “I have a rather severe headache,” he admitted, smirking as he saw the panicked expression this statement brought to his abductor.

“Looks like having your hands pulled back that way wasn’t so good for your shoulder either,” JD shouted, shooting Ezra a playful wink when the outlaw jumped about a foot from the loud noise in his ear. Clearly, the young man had heard his description and had decided to play a little. “Should I shoot his, just to make you even?”

The bank robber gulped.

“Don’t do that, kid,” Buck advised, smiling in a companionable way that seemed to unnerve the man even more. “No point getting blood all over everything before we throw his ass in jail.”

Beside him, Josiah nodded and stepped forward, taking firm custody of the outlaw with an iron grip on his arm that brought forth a whimper of pain. “I agree. After’s good enough.”

“I appreciate your timely arrival, my friends,” Ezra commented, picking up his possessions from the ground and settling them back about his person. “I wasn’t sure you’d got my message.”

“Your hat lying on the boardwalk with a double-eagle inside?” Buck laughed. “No way you’d be that careless with money unless it meant something. We figured out pretty quick that you’d been taken by the same feller who tried to rob the gold shipment yesterday.”

Vin smiled. “Trail of blood drops was pretty damned easy to track, too.”

Ezra rubbed his head carefully over the bandage Nathan had just applied before gingerly pulling on the hat Chris handed to him. “Yes, well, if I’d realized he intended to strike me upon the head, I might have left a different clue. Which reminds me…”

He held out his hand to Buck, eyebrow raised. The gunslinger smiled and fished the gold piece out of his pocket. “How’d you know I’d had it?”

Ezra smiled. “Call it an educated guess.” Tucking the money into his waistcoat, he asked, “Did anyone think to bring my horse?”

“He’s back over the ridge with the others,” JD said, using his normal voice this time. “We didn’t want your new friend to realize you had company.”

“Sensible,” Ezra approved. Watching his kidnapper, squawking and protesting with every step as Josiah roughly marched him toward his horse, he shook his head. “You know, I think that fellow may be the worst outlaw I’ve had the misfortune to meet.”

Vin snorted. “Lucky for us.”

“Indeed!” Ezra took a sip from his flask and raised it in a toast. “Here’s to ineptitude, may we encounter it in our enemies far more frequently.”

The men chuckled, Buck and Chris each accepting a sip from the offered vessel.   That was a sentiment that they could happily drink to.

END