Oregonal Sin

Ryan didn't go out as much as he used to, even this long after the attack. Whenever it got too cold, his ribs ached in a way that made him feel like he couldn't breathe no more, even if he always could. Sometimes a client said this or did that and he was back there, too, and it was all he could do not to try and get away from them. It happened less and less with time, but still, once in a while.

When he used to go out, before, he knew people were looking at him, staring sometimes, saying stuff behind his back, sometimes to his face. It hadn't ever mattered. Now he was paranoid, and he always walked fast through the streets, and kept checking over his shoulder that there wasn't nobody following him.

That was what he did that morning, until he got to the edge of town, and kept on walking 'til he hit the forest. Trees looked dead in the winter, but that was okay. They were still good to climb, and there were some pines here and there kept their needles, so he picked one of those, so he could feel as if he was hidden from the world up there in its branches.

When he heard steps coming his way, he peered down through the branches and needles, heart thudding hard in his chest, trying to see who it might be.

Early evening in the cathouse, and there was no booking for Ryan for a couple of hours. Even after all this time, ever since the church potluck, he preferred to stay in the cathouse rather than venture into the saloon. He couldn't get away with it all the time, needed to advertize and everything, but he still did it as much as possible. It felt safer here, and he was less likely to see Doyle on his booze-oriented nights. Nothing he could do against seeing him on his girl-oriented nights.

As it was, he was on a stool by the counter, feet swinging idly in the air, and checked the door each time it was pushed open, always hoping it might be somebody for him.

Nearly three weeks after the flood and Harry's shelves were still pretty bare. They would continue to be until a ferry came or a supply wagon or, well, any sort of outside source. He locked the shop at the end of the day with a sigh, leaned briefly on the door frame, then straightened out and headed across the saloon.

He stopped as he entered, getting used to the difference in light, then sought out a familiar face. A tired smile and he headed over to Ryan.

"Hello there," he said quietly.

It felt as though it had been nonstop since the thaws. The school house was mostly cleaned up, though, though the tables and benches still needed to be taken out and cleaned. There were still other buildings that needed attention, though, so Doyle turned his focus to them and helping out as much as he could.

Today, though, he was spending the afternoon indoors. There really wasn't anything more that he could do out there, so he was in the front room of his home and thinking. The doors were open and his boots were on the porch, pretty much signaling to anybody that he was home.

He was going to make it into the saloon tonight, he promised himself, no more hiding in the cathouse. He took a deep breath and stepped through, ignoring the eyes he felt on him (whether they were real or imaginary), and made it to the counter, sitting on a stool next to someone who'd never been mean to him. He liked Alita.

"Hey beautiful," he grinned at her, his custom smile.

Lunchtime and Harry had closed the store for an hour. He ate quickly in his rooms, then hurried over to the saloon. Well, not exactly the saloon -- he'd been coming over to see Ryan about once a week ever since the holidays.

He knocked on the boy's door after checking that he was free, a smile on his face even if there were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes.

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.

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."

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.

Certain moves still hurt, but he was up and he could walk and move about without getting short of breath within thirty seconds. The moment Gemma said he was allowed outside, he'd kissed her cheek, grabbed a jacket, stuffed a knife in his pocket and headed out.

Out into the bright, bright sunshine, although it was a bit cold, and for a moment he forgot to be scared shitless about being outside, and he just stood there and basked. Then he became aware of the knife his hand gripped tight in his pocket, not that he knew how to use it but hey, couldn't be that hard, and got moving before anyone noticed him, heading for the closest woods outside of town.

He damn near jumped out of his skin when someone called out to him.

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.

Three weeks, going on a month since the incident, and Beth was finally free of the damn sling. Free of most of the bruises and soreness, if not the guilt, and definitely not the worry about Ryan. Still, it was enough time, and she was back to work, corsets laced a little looser than usual, or could be that she'd just had less appetite of late.

She found a familiar face and an old smile, and slid into a free chair at their table. "Buy a girl a drink?"

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since The Incident and Harry hadn't managed to make it over to Gemma's to check on Beth and Ryan.

Not that he hadn't tried.

One day, he'd actually made it out the door but then a customer had come in, one that needed his own personal attention, yes. And then, a couple days later, he'd made it down the block before he realized where he was headed and turned around. Then, then there was the time he'd made it the whole way into the saloon before a flash of feather had reminded him of everything and he'd bolted like a startled deer.

It wasn't that he didn't want to see them. He did, desperately. But he'd also convinced himself that it was his fault. That he wouldn't be welcome anymore because of it. He knew, logically, that it wasn't. But heart and head weren't talking so much these days and he and Ryan had had that fight at the picnic and he'd left like the coward that he was. If he'd just stayed. If he'd stood his ground. If he'd just been the sort of person he always purported to be ...

If if if.

Today, Harry was standing in the alley opposite the back of the house, staring up at the windows. Hoping to catch a glimpse. If he just saw them, saw that they were mostly OK, then it would be better. Really.

It wasn't the first time that Doyle had come in to check on Ryan. Wasn't even the first time he'd been upstairs to see the young man. He stopped downstairs long enough to get waved up by Gemma. He tipped his hat and headed up, tightening his hands at his sides before he knocked.

He wasn't expecting a response. Every time he'd been by before, Ryan had been drugged asleep. So he only paused a breath or so before pushing the door open. Just a few minutes to make sure he was still okay. That was all he really wanted.

Just over a week since that damned Church picnic, and Ryan was still bedrid. Gemma did what she could to keep things peaceful for the boy, but the walls were thin, and business was business. Still made time to check in on him, though. This morning was later than others, consequence of a late night working, and she was wrapped in a robe and a shawl, hair down and face bare of make-up when she let herself into his room, quiet as she could be. Door closed, she settled into the chair kept by the bed, leaning back with a soft sigh to watch the boy sleeping.

She wouldn't wake him, but she'd be there when he woke.

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.

Most days, Doyle was seen around town in a suit and tie. People were used to him dressing that way, knew who belonged to the suit and sharp hat. Which was why he wasn't dressed that way now. Dungarees and a button down shirt weren't all that unusual for him, since Doyle pitched in to help at the odd barn raising or when the school building needed fixing. Cover that with a coat to ward off the chill of early autumn and it definitely wasn't his everyday wear. It afforded him a moment of being overlooked in the town.

He stepped into the saloon, running his fingers back through his dark hair as he glanced around. He nodded to Gemma and her girls before going to Jax and ordering a sipping whiskey. It wouldn't be difficult to keep himself to just the one while he waited.

Ryan walked in through the back door, making it to the kitchen. No Beth around, saloon was still closed and she wasn't in the main room neither. "Hiya Jax," thrown at the bartender, who was there, with a bright smile, and he strode up the stairs two at a time to go knock very enthusiastically on Beth's door, balancing the cookie cutters in one hand to do so. "Betty Bethy Beth!"

As soon as he'd knocked, he promptly hid the cookie cutters in his back so she wouldn't see them first thing.