Rodeo hates losing men. Of course he does-- nobody likes to see their friends die, and there isn't a man who doesn't go mourned in his camp. By the time you have that patch, you're a brother, and that's for life. But Rodeo believes he hates burying a friend more than anybody else, because when his men die it's on him. He makes the calls. He takes the blame. That's a weight he accepts.
It's just that there are so many damn weights on him these days.
Almost 200. That's where they're at, almost 200 people he needs to feed, support, and keep alive every single day. Men who fight with him, the women who love them, the children and brothers and sisters, the sweet wild girls who let them in their beds. It's more lives than he's ever been responsible for, but he can hardly remember a time when he wasn't shouldering this kind of weight. His baby sister would have died in her first week of life if he hadn't taken on caring for her while his Mama drank the days away. Since the day Adelaide was born, Rodeo's been taking care. The load has just grown over the years.
So when Lalita climbs up on that table and starts pumping Wheeler's chest, Rodeo feels like he should be doing something. It's not just profound concern that Lalita sees in his eyes when she looks at him-- it's the agony of guilt, the misery of being entirely culpable. Then Lita does something unheard of to him.
She looks him dead in the eyes, and she takes that weight off of him.
His brothers and his officers, they help him do the work he has to do. But none of them can take full responsibility for the outcome of each day, because to do so would be to break rank. They will always yield to him, and so he is the one who is accountable. This isn't a normal day for him, though. This is Lita's area of expertise, this is her job, and she's the one in charge. For once, he's taking orders, and she's pulling the weight.
Bizarrely, even in such a terrible, terrifying moment, he feels relief. Watching Lalita work on Wheeler, feeling the fear and panic of the prolonged moment when he realizes that he's helpless to save his friend, and then Lita squarely pulling the burden off his shoulders-- all of it adds up to overwhelm him slightly. He stands still for several long beats, the surface of his eyes noticeably glassy. He swallows down the tears unshed like they're a rock in his throat, and then drops his gaze to Lita's hands. He watches a few cycles of the chest compressions to learn it and then moves forward.
"Let me help," he says. He can do that. She's in charge in every way, but he can help, and it looks like what she's doing right now is fairly strenuous. A second pair of hands couldn't possibly hurt.