Oregonal Sin

Yet another morning, yet the same empty spot in the bed to wake up to. It's a little frightening, how quickly Benjamin's grown to expect John to be there, and now each morning brings its small dose of disappointment. Only small. At least John is in the house. At least John isn't running. Only small, but it piles up.

"Do you know, I don't think the house could get any cleaner," he greets him after dressing up and making his way downstairs.

Once upon a time, in the time before the flood, and Noah had had a shed she used on the outskirts of town, for when she didn't want to or feel like going back all the way to the ranch. Then again, once upon a fucking time, Charlie had been alive for them to share the shed.

She hadn't felt like building another one, and ever since the flood, whenever she needed somewhere to sleep, she managed to make her way over to her father's. Ever since the flood, the amount of evenings she spent in the saloon, evenings that became nights that found her too drunk to ride back, had multiplied, and she very often ended up at Benjamin's.

Most of these nights, she curled up on a couch downstairs, or sometimes passed out on the floor in front of the fireplace. But sometimes, she managed to climb up the stairs and crawled into bed with her father. She was always thankful, in the morning, when he acted as if it had not happened. As if he had not held her through the night. As if she were not that lonely, not that needy.

That night was one of those nights. Through the fog in her brain, she paused on the threshold of Benjamin's bedroom, because there was already somebody else in his bed. The two men were asleep, in each other's arms. It took her a few long seconds before the realization fully hit - or as fully as it could after quite that much whisky - and she turned around and went back down the stairs. She went and found one of Benjamin's bottles of good whisky, and brought it back with her to the armchair beside the fireplace. She sat there and drank it until she passed out, cradling the half empty bottle against her through the night.

Benjamin did not remember the last time a day had seemed to drag quite so much. There was nothing particularly odd about it. In fact, it was routine. But he had barely slept half an hour and had had his evening - their evening - in mind all day long, so that each patient seemed to drag by slowly.

By the time he was done for the day, night had fallen, and he was on edge in a way he very rarely was. He knocked before walking into John's home, put his bag down, walked over to him, and kissed him, thankful that they were in a spot that could not easily be seen through the windows.

John was half-drunk, half-conscious, naked to the waist (with a blanket) and in Liz's boarding house. One of the girls had run to find Benjamin while they waited. John was fine with Liz's company until Benjamin got there, but at that point really, really wanted her out.

The bruise on his temple and cheek was becoming more apparent as he warmed up. So were the bigger, darker, bruises along his side. The cut on his cheek wasn't much of an issue. That his collarbone was messily broken, with a fractured end showing through skin, though, was one hell of one.

He was shivering, still filthy, and really just didn't give a shit about much at that point. Except, of course, Not having anyone aroundbto witness anything potentially embarrassing (or humiliating or that would make Benjamin's life (more) miserable forever.

He knocked firmly on Benjamin's door. No apologize, no muss, no fuss. He just showed up and knocked.

He'd been lucky enough to get himself and the horses into the barn before they'd gotten lost in the storm. He'd been there long enough to get both horses that he'd had with him (the one he was riding and the one he was delivering) into stalls before he heard something thunk against the door. Figuring it was another person looking for shelter he opened the door.

It was Ben.

"Fantastic."

Benjamin walked back downstairs after checking over all of Gemma's girls, and put his bag up on a stool by the bar where she was standing. He looked exhausted, leftovers from the flu, but did not cough anymore. It was gone.

"Miss Trent's rash will be gone in three to four days, she should not receive anyone until then," he informed Gemma. Not unless she wanted word to spread that her girls were spreading diseases. "And you'll be glad to know Mr. Colton has not managed to further his injury. A small miracle in and of itself."

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 seemed that the flu had finally caught up with the Doctor. There were still patients to treat, however, flu patients he did not risk to contaminate, and he was coming back from checking on one of them, face flushed and sweaty, pulling on his necktie to try and get more air. It might be cold outside, but the fever he ran was making him feel far too hot.

He only needed to get to his house. Right after having that thought was exactly when the dizziness kicked in.

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.

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.

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.

If misery truly loved company then John would have been happy to see the Doctor -- or even really be aware that he was there. Apparently this was the exception (or company, or misery) that made the rule, because his response to opening his eyes and seeing the doctor's face above him was to groan, deeply and with feeling.

"Anyone die yet?" he asked, and yeah he was really worried about the apparent plague that had stricken the town. His voice sounded rougher than usual and he was short of breath as hell because a damaged throat, plus a red and swollen throat with inflammed tonsils, tended to make things a bit... wheezy, as well as ragged.

First thing Ryan was conscious of, was pain. Pain all over, too overwhelming to identify, and he just remained still a while. Little by little, he could make out where it came from in his body, even as the memory of what had led to the pain slowly came back to him. The memory of more pain.

So he wasn't dead. Okay.

He blinked his eyes open, cringed at the light, and croaked out a sound that should've been a moan of pain but really sounded more like what he imagined two frogs fucking might sound like. He tried to swallow, and to focus his gaze on whoever was beside him, but things were blurry and his throat was far too dry.

Lord, breathing hurt.

Note - please please make sure you've read all threads and checked on character locations and what you can find out from the 'crowd' before posting a thread or tag, so we can keep everyone in one place at one time without cloning! Thank you! Ryan and Beth have now gone from the scene but please feel free to keep on playing threads set before then or reactions after.

It had been a bad idea. Beth had known it was a bad idea, felt it, but the preacher had been so insistent and Gemma had just shrugged and said it wasn't her business what the girls did with their time off and Ryan had said he'd go with her, so Beth had gone to the church pot luck. And it had been a bad idea.

( And now )

The air was a little cooler than might have been ideal for an outdoor gathering, but hovering in the low 60s, it wasn't so bad.

There was a tent set up in the yard beside the church, a few tables put together, to make a long row, and chairs. Brother Dan has announced the last couple of weeks in church that there would be a pot luck today, everyone invited. No preaching, just community dinner. Now it was up to everyone else to show up. With food, if they wanted to and could.

He'd run out of eggs, and that simply wouldn't do. No Englishman worthy to be called such would hold on very long without eggs, or at least that was his view on the matter.

Benjamin buttoned up his vest and strode out of his home, only just avoiding a collision with someone... passing by, or coming up, he could not tell.

"Please tell me you're in no need of my services," he prayed out loud, a longsuffering look on his face.

Opening time on another day. Didn't make much odds if it was a weekday or a Sunday, save some of the girls started shifts late on Sundays but this one was a weekday. Heavy bars lifted away from the doors to let people in, Jax behind the bar, Gemma's girls ready and willing for company or custom. Or both.

Open for business.