Oregonal Sin

It had been long enough, and he was fine now, really, apart from when he tried to bend back too much - yeah, he'd tried. So it was time, and Gemma was okay with it so long as he always ran clients by her before taking them up, and. He should've told Doyle, but he'd chickened out.

So he sat at the cathouse bar soon after opening, and waited to see which of his regulars would show up tonight. He was hoping for a regular, anyway.

He was decidedly feeling better. The fever had dropped, he was coughing much less, and the fact that John was in his house rubbed him every wrong way that existed. He wrapped himself up in a robe and headed out of his room, still tentative, holding out to the banister down the stairs just in case his legs went wobbly again.

He found John in the kitchen, making water boil, and suddenly was at a loss what to say, scathing remarks clear in his mind just a second ago chased well away by the simple sight of John, in his home, making water boil.

He was a bloody idiot.

It was the last orange. He sneaked into the kitchen and grabbed it, turning around and jumping when he found himself face to face with Gemma and one of her mighty arching eyebrows.

"It ain't for me!" he pleaded, immediately, very much the boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "It's for Bee, she's feelin' shitty after her last customer from last night and I thought it might do her good, it's full of vitamin they say, and it tastes like sunshine, and I thought she could use that, I swear it ain't for me."

John walked outside the stable and to the square. There was a horse following him the entire way. Not on his heels but from a distance of about four feet. It stopped when he stopped and when John turned to look at it, it looked away.

"Why," he asked, voice extremely rough, "Do I bother getting out of bed?"

It was a bit of humor at the situation but over all extremely gentle.

Jax wiped down the bar again, before he turned his attention back to cleaning glasses, putting them away. The bar had just opened for the evening so there wasn't anyone except old George sitting in the corner, scribbling in his little notebook as usual. Jax glanced at his glass - still full - and went back to preparing to get busy.

When the doors opened again, he looked up and smiled a little. "Hey there."

Liz presented herself nervously at the marshall's office. She didn't normally come here -- although she never turned away a chance to talk to Marshall Kane -- it was different when it could become official business.

She gave him a small smile when he came in to the room. "Good day, marshall."

Harry had been coming over almost every day, each trip about an hour long. He swore whichever girl he chose to secrecy and left with a grin on his face. Today he was bundled up in a bulky coat. He walked straight up to Beth and held out his hand.

"Your turn," he said, smiling.

He'd hesitated. A lot. Thought about God, and Brother Dan, and wondered why Doyle wasn't coming anymore and nobody had news and eventually, he plucked up enough courage to venture outside while it was still day, after school should end if there was school despite the flu, and go knock on Doyle's door. He had the Poe book in his hands and was fidgeting. A lot.

This time of year, Harry was seen around town even more often than usual. Normally, he had a bundle of carefully (if plainly-wrapped) packages in hand as he made deliveries he figured the few boys who worked at the store shouldn't be trusted with.

Packages delivered, he rambled slowly back to the store, hands in his pockets and whistling a merry tune.

Charlie rode back into town with a considerably fatter purse than he'd left it with. Perfectly timed trail that had been, to get out of town when the 'fluenza hit, and a nice bounty to collect at the end, which wasn't exactly negligible.

It had even given him some trouble, which was always a pleasant surprise.

He stopped in front of the boarding house, but did not dismount, rather turning to the person closest to him. "Howdy. 'Fluenza still wreaking havoc in town?"

"That... 'man' is a stubborn bastard of a cunt," Noah raged as she claimed a spot at the bar, talking to no one in particular, and she slapped a couple coins down on the counter. "Jax, a shot of whiskey and I'll love you more'n I already do?"

Late evening John rapped sharply on Benjamin's door. He was carrying a tea pot, tea, and a plate that he'd covered. There was steam coming from the plate and they smelled, frankly, of scones. There was also a really, really determined look on his face.

Doyle had thought he was doing quite well, in all honesty. When he'd left the tavern and Ryan last, he'd expected there only to be a few more days before he could start classes again.

Then the fever had come back, laying the school teacher flat out. It raged for a week, leaving Doyle weakened with disjointed, half remembered fever dreams of fire and loss. He knew at least one and probably several had revolved around the cathouse and Ryan in particular. He only hoped he hadn't said anything that could have been misconstrued.

Today was the first day he was well enough to be out of bed, though his housekeeper fussed and wouldn't allow him to go far. It was just as well as his porch was about as far as his legs would carry him. So there he sat, blankets bundled around his thin frame, hands folded around a steaming cup of tea and watching the town as they passed. He nodded as someone approached, smiling slightly. "Good day," he said, voice raspy.

Jack hadn't slept well last night, bad dreams waking him at all hours and keeping him awake a good long time once they had. As it was, he was taking it slow, yawning as he went about his business, heading toward the general store to pick up some supplies he and the pastor needed.

Benjamin was not going in.

He was standing across the street from the Chinese house, after nightfall, and he was not going in. Testing his self-control, since it had dropped so low lately. Not going in.

After ten minutes, he started pacing. Manage a half hour, he had told himself; he was not going in. After twenty minutes, he crossed the street halfway before tracing his steps back to his spot across the street.

Testing himself. Not going in.

Twenty-five minutes, staring dead ahead at the door and what lay on the other side of it - sweet, sweet oblivion - when he heard someone walking near, and pulled himself together to turn to them.

Dan came into the saloon, in his preaching clothes. Spotted Gemma and came up to the bar, solemnly.

"I was hoping to pay Ryan a visit. As his pastor," he said quietly.

Afternoons were quiet enough, most times, that there wasn't much call for keeping the main bar open as well as the cathouse. Most folk weren't interested in girls until darkness fell, as if daylight would show up the patches on goods that weren't no longer new, so early afternoon found Gemma through in the saloon, resting on a stool next to the bar, watching Jax polish up glasses. "You been hearin' anythin' more 'bout those men the sheriff took away?"

The impulse was completely irrational and utterly childish. He didn't care.

He was pissed off. He was hurt. His head was throbbing and his throat felt like he'd been gargling broken glass. He couldn't stop coughing. It wasn't helping his throat, but it was giving him an excuse for the tears in his eyes.

He should have stopped and taken a cough syrup or drank tea or *something*, but for no good reason at all (and still all the reason he needed) was flatly reserving. He slammed into the bar, still coughing and crying (well, with tears thanks to the cough, at least).

And found someone looking at him rather more closely than he would have wanted.

He didn't even have time to think before he snapped out a very rough, a very angry, and a decidedly resentful, "What do you want?"

He sounded like Benjamin. It did not improve his mood.

Cranky was as contagious as the flu, apparently.

John didn't do cranky anymore than he talked.

John gave it a few days-- he wanted Benjamin to have a chance to calm down and he wanted to regain some of his own physical strength for what was sure to be an exciting encounter.

Then he went looking. It wasn't hard to find the man, really. Someone died and he knew in his gut that Benjamin would be there. Maybe not close, but he'd be there. Overseeing his charges, or his duty, or maybe just using his failure to flog himself, but whatever it was he was doing he'd be there.

And he was.

John didn't say a word, just stopped beside the doctor and looked in the same direction. Watching someone being put in the ground, covered with dirt and their existence on this planet being covered up. He didn't 'cry but the lump in his throat temporarily prevented him from speaking.

Liz knew she'd been very, very lucky. The 'flu had hit the town hard and the boarding house hadn't been excluded. She and the girls had done the best they could to nurse those affected without catching it themselves. It had worked, up to a point. One of the girls had gotten sick toward the end and Liz had spent the last few days nursing her. She wouldn't send her home to her family to risk them, so she'd put her up in one of the empty rooms.

Throughout the whole thing, she'd been trying very hard not to think about how her mother had died from a fever. How the whole family had been struck. How it had changed everything.

When she finally had a chance to get out of the boarding house, she kept a warm shawl on and tilted her head up to the sun as she walked slowly across the town square. She was paler than normal, looked more tired, and walked more slowly.