Oregonal Sin

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.

Noah wasn't a religious person, hadn't been in a good few years now. She was still young enough that 'a good few years' was actually a pretty long time. But there was one ceremony she had set for herself in the past few months. Every time she came to town from the ranch, she stopped by the cemetery, and Charlie's grave. She never said anything, she wasn't good at that stuff. She just stood there for a few minutes, thought about him, and everything she would've told him if he'd still been around, and then she put her hat on, tipped it at the grave, and headed back into the heart of town.

The saloon, for drinks, if it was an evening off. Wherever she needed to buy things for the ranch, if it was a business call.

Tonight, it was an evening off, and she headed for the saloon, looking up from her feet beating the dusty road when someone fell in stride beside her.

Doyle was careful. Still so very, very careful. People understood drinking, at least. But he couldn't be too drunk. Didn't want to be drunk at school or too hung over. So he spent very little time at the saloon during the week.

But these days, he had a stool that he spent most of Saturday night on. Sipping whiskey was still his favored drink, more expensive but worth it. He had one at the moment, only half drunk as he stared off into the middle distance. Not drunk yet. Not enough, at least. He blinked as someone took the seat next to him, picking up his glass. "Sorry. Do you need me to move?"

Noah was shoveling away on the grounds the churchyard had now extended to. She didn't need a proper burial for him, she'd just damn well do it herself. She was damn sure he wouldn't have minded. She'd finally found his corpse, which was a small favor in itself. She'd almost lost hope.

It was a grim task, digging a grave, all the more so with his body wrapped up in a bedsheet right beside it. It stank, but that was the least of her concerns. She hadn't lost it yet, hands only gaining a faint tremble as she kept digging, tears falling silently down her cheeks as she determinedly went on.

She didn't hear the footsteps until the last minute, and was fairly certain that had been done on purpose. She didn't stop digging, earth in a pretty big pile beside the grave already, and didn't turn around either. "What do you want?"

Noah was sitting in an alley, her back to a grimy wall, munching on an apple and keeping a casual, discreet eye on what was going on in the house on the other side of the street, opposite the alley. Sure, it was pretty damn cold outside, but she'd put enough layers on and was wearing warm, thick fingerless gloves. She was doing pretty well.

Well, unless someone decided to notice she was there and turned from the street into the alley. She did not particularly want company right now, thanks.

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."

The Blackwood House opened its doors -- though not literally, considering the cold -- to everyone Christmas eve. It was a tradition her father and mother had started the second year they'd been in town and something Liz looked forward to every year.

All the rooms and parlors were open except the guests' private sleeping areas and the kitchen. Even the garden had been cleared and swept, benches free of snow for the moment, if guests wanted a bit of fresh air or someplace more private to talk.

The house was decorated to the hilt with greens, candles, berries, and a large tree in main dining room. That room also featured a buffet spread with food and treats that Liz had been working on for weeks. The pianoforte had been moved into the main parlor and every guest was encouraged to take a turn if they wished.

In one of the smaller parlors there was a table with small gifts for each guest -- they could pick at random or have Liz's father, who presided over the room, suggest one for them. Her brother and sister-in-law had claimed the main parlor to hold audience while Liz herself floated quietly from room to room, making sure everyone had a good time and a full plate.

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.

"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?"

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.

Being sick did absolutely nothing for Alec's temperament. That is, if you called making him even more irritable and pissy nothing.

He stuffed the handkerchief back into his pocket with an irritated sigh and pushed the door to the shop open, bumping into someone as he tried to enter. He looked up and scowled at them.