Title: Fellow Feelings
Author: JoJo (solosundance )
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven (TV), Alias Smith and Jones
Pairing: Chris/Ezra, Heyes/Curry
Rating: PG
Length: 1798 words

Summary: They were pretty sure they hadn't been recognized



Wednesday evening in the saloon, all dusty light and the last of town’s day-time business. Stores were shuttering up, the Livery was noisy, and drinkers were trickling in.

Ezra, fresh from the bath house, was settled at his preferred table. His hat hung from the back of the chair by its storm strap, and his red jacket was on a nearby hook. He was very clean, very well dressed, and rather fragrant, all things considered.

This time of day was always the start of things. Ezra’s head was clear after a light dinner. Hot water had eased the aches of a day in the saddle. His fingers flipped the cards with ease, joints supple.

Alert to activity both inside and outside the batwings, he knew a stage had just left, and another arrived, depositing new characters on to the street. A couple of strangers reeking of travel plodded in through the batwings, proceeded to belly up at the bar.

Inez planted a full shot glass at Ezra’s elbow, distracted by the strangers’ friendly requests for cold beer.

Ezra ran a hand of solitaire as a warm-up exercise. Then another, quicker this time. Then he fell to shuffling. He was aware of Inez in polite conversation with the strangers.

A pair of cowboys? Didn’t seem like it to Ezra, although he guessed they’d probably like to pass as such. One was dressed in dark colors, had black hair and a jittery demeanor. His companion was fair and still, wore a sheepskin coat and had his sidearm tied down. They leaned thigh to thigh with each other at the bar. Thigh to thigh was something Ezra didn’t often see in here.

After a while they turned to face the saloon, taking in who was there. Now they were shoulder to shoulder, although there was plenty of space around them. They drank their beer and Ezra finished his shot.

“The bottle if you please, senorita.”

“Si, si,” she said to him, a little snappy. Then she smiled, suddenly coquettish, as the dark-haired stranger turned to say something over his shoulder. She dipped her head, and then the two non-cowboys were coming over to Ezra’s table, bringing the whiskey with them. It was set down carefully and Ezra murmured that he was obliged.

“The name’s Smith,” said the dark-haired man by way of introduction.  He was friendly enough, but held something in reserve.  “And this here is Mr. Jones.”

“Smith and Jones,” Ezra drawled, flicking lint from one sleeve.  He looked from one to another of them with faint amusement. “Of course you are. Pleasure to make your acquaintance I’m sure. Ezra P. Standish at your service.”

As his restless shuffling of the cards continued, almost without him being aware of his actions, the two strangers remained where they were.
 
He knew that Smith was watching his hands without wanting to seem as if he was watching.  Definitely a man who could read hands. Who understood a deck. It also very much seemed to Ezra that the man was itching to sit down at the table but that something was holding him back.  There was something quick and bright about him that intrigued, but also made Ezra wary.  

Lord knows it had taken him a long, dispiriting, time to best Big Lester Bangs. Ezra did not relish being on the wrong end of another talented cardsharp just yet.  

The others hadn’t let him forget Bangs.  Not the wedding ring, nor the naked poker.   Buck and Vin especially hadn’t let him forget about the naked poker.   And those of his comrades who’d missed his promenade down the street wearing nothing but a tablecloth, gunbelt, and boots, seemed to feel deprived of a rare treat.  Not having been witness to the display particularly seemed to irritate Chris, for some reason.  

Now why Mr. Larabee would want to see him without his shirt and pants on instead of upholding his seventh of the town’s peacekeeping duties Ezra didn’t quite know.

He was brought back to earth by Smith saying, “Now tell me, Mr. Standish, do you like to play poker with those cards or are you just an entertainer?”

Smith’s dark eyes twinkled with a kind of knowing merriment. Next to him, Jones slouched on one hip and made a noise that was halfway between a growl and a tut.

“Gentlemen,” Ezra said, and he graced them with a wide smile as he waved his free hand to the chairs on the other side of the table. “Please, be my guests.”

*

Two evenings being the guest of Mr. Ezra P. Standish was about as much as Kid Curry could stand.

Not because the game wasn’t good sport. Not because there weren’t winnings to be had. Because it was, and there were. It wasn’t, either, because the Kid didn’t care for Standish. In fact he rather admired a man who turned himself out so well in a dust-blown backwater like this town. Who smelled so damned good.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was because it felt dangerous in more ways than Kid Curry could count.

“I think we should just get the heck out of here, Heyes.”

He said it on the second morning, coming back to the hotel from the not very impressive restaurant up the street.

“You do?”

“Shouldn’t be getting too comfortable. Not in a place like this. Especially not in a place like this. Look who the law is around here. And that newpaper lady was telling me her father-in-law’s a judge.”

Heyes blinked at that. Not the judge part. The newspaper lady part. “Well,” he said, “Have you been batting your big blue eyes?”

“Just for information.”

Heyes thought about that for a minute and then nodded. “Yes, maybe you’re right at that.” He was over-calm, which always worried Kid Curry.  “We should probably get the heck out.  But I reckon just one more evening at that table...”

“Ah hell.”  Kid Curry flipped off his hat and scrubbed at his hair, straw-colored from the desert sun.  “You don’t need to best him, Heyes.  You won the first night and he won the second.  All square.  That seems like the perfect result to me.  No reasons for anyone to get over-excited in any direction.”  

“Yes, but, Kid, I think I really know how to beat him.”

Hannibal Heyes always thought he knew how to beat someone at poker. Nine times out of ten he was right.

“He a cheater?”

“Not the last two evenings he wasn’t, far as I could see.  Hard to tell, his hands are so good.  Reckon he could cheat the pants off you if he chose, but seems he likes the sport.”

“Seems you do too, Heyes, and it could be dangerous.  I don’t want to end up having to draw my gun in this town, I really don’t.”

“You twitchy?”

“Twitchy? Ha!”  Curry made an expressive swipe with his hat.  “That there’s seven goddamned lawmen here? You think that would make me twitchy? That the kid Sheriff does nothing but rifle through the wanted posters just ‘cause it makes him feel important?  Swear to God, Heyes, that feller Tanner’s got a bead on me every time I walk down the street, and I’m telling you... Larabee’s fast.  I mean, he’s very fast.  Might even be faster than me.”

“Oh God,” Heyes said, brow furrowing.  “I hope that doesn’t mean you want to find out.  You know what you’re like when you want to find out.”

“Yeah well at the moment we’re talking about what you’re like.”

Heyes dismissed that. “Listen,” he said. “If any of ‘em thought they knew who we were we’d have been arrested by now. Besides, they’re a strange set of lawmen, don’t you think? Only one of them wears a badge, and the rest look like they’d cause more trouble than the opposite.”

Now Kid Curry loved Heyes for his positive thinking, even when it drove him wild. He liked to see him happy and engaged, liked to see his sweet brown eyes shining, have him in a good mood for nights under the blankets. But for a powerfully intelligent man, he could sure be a gold-plated eejit sometimes.

“Heyes,” he said gruffly. “I don’t know much about the law of averages, but strikes me that one out of the seven of ‘em, sooner or later, is going to figure something out.”

Heyes seemed to stop his brain running on how to beat Standish then, and looked closely at his partner instead. As in, he looked him square and deep in the eyes. Truth to tell, that look always took Kid Curry’s breath away a little. And maybe it worked in reverse, too, for Heyes didn’t say anything. Just gave a nod. A swift pat to Curry’s ribs.

*

It was late Friday when Chris Larabee wandered into the saloon, feeling, as he very often did, that he deserved a drink. Given he’d spent half the day cursing the circumstances that found him keeping the peace in a crime-raddled border town, it surprised him that the smell of the place, the fug of tobacco smoke, the familiar tunes on the piano, didn’t rub him up the wrong way. The flash of red jacket in the corner warmed his belly some.

Weaving a way to Ezra’s customary table, where most of the others were congregated, he pulled up a chair.

“So they’re gone then?” he said as Ezra pushed a drink towards him with his fingertips.

Chris met his little look of welcome. All daring and promise. His belly warmed more.

“Kept to their room all morning, left by the afternoon stage.” Buck wiped beer foam from his mustache.

“They were mighty peaceable,” Josiah observed. “Didn’t seem much point stirring things up.”

“We weren’t really doing our job,” Nathan pointed out but he didn’t seem very exercised by it.

J.D. had sat up a little straighter, a puzzled look on his face. “Hey,” he said.

“Smith and Jones,” Ezra said on a chuckle. “My, what paucity of imagination.”

J.D. looked around the table, confused. He flicked a thumb over the badge under his lapel as if it was burning him.

“So. You ever send that wire to the sherriff in Porterville, cowboy?” Vin asked, a glint in his eye.

Larabee paused for a while, aware that J.D. was staring right at him. “Must have forgot,” he said, and knocked back his shot. He kicked Ezra’s boot under the table. “Let’s take a turn around town. You look as if you need some fresh air.”

Ezra made a fair show of protesting, but Larabee knew that was all it was.

As they left the saloon, shoulder to shoulder, he heard J.D.’s voice above the rest, almost a squeak.

“Hey, Buck! Hey, fellers! Wait. What? Who were those guys?”




-end-