Ives still didn't recognize his voice and it slightly scared him that he was losing himself again. He had lost himself up on that mountain at the massacre especially when he had cornered Boyd on that cliff. Part of it was him and part of it was something that was inside him. Either way, it had been intoxicating.

He had already noticed a change in Boyd's eyes as he ate the stew. He sensed anger, rage even. It nearly matched his own.

Ives stayed where he was, only inches from Boyd, still waiting, making sure that Boyd ate the stew.

"I didn't choose you Captain," stressing the word captain sarcastically. "I believe you chose me." He flicked his cigar ashes at Boyd, waiting, wanting a reaction. "I knew because you had asked me on the mountain about how I felt when I had ate the man. I didn't have you picked out Captain Boyd, things just panned out to where you were the only one left. Sure I could have killed you instead of Reich up there, but things just worked out the way that they did. I had to get Reich out of the way. He was the strong one." He said that mockingly still trying to get a reaction, feeling still not quite himself. "I left you in that pit because I wanted to test you. I felt even then that you might be worthy of my...attention."

He finally stood straight and held his arms out. "And now look where we are Captain. And look at you." Dropping his arms. "Now you are testing my patience, yet again. Go ahead and heave your pathetic sighs. I am not going away." Ives again noticed Boyd pausing. "Keep.." Ives leaned down again close to Boyd again "Eating!" he growled again, his voice getting worse. Ives wanted Boyd to lash out, he knew that he wanted to. Although if he did, he could not guarantee that he himself wouldn't lash back, especially how he was feeling now. He waited still close, noticing the bowl was almost empty. "Your pathetic Boyd. Maybe your father was right. You are just a washed out, worthless, spineless, coward."

He paused. Then put the most mocking look on his face possible and mouthed to Boyd with as much emotion as he could muster.. "Coward."

There had been a reason Boyd wanted Ives dead and suddenly, he was being reminded of it. The man taunted people, toyed with them. It was the manipulation that drove Boyd to refuse. His father had been that way. He had forced him into the army when what he really wanted to do was be a researcher or a professor. Some simple profession without cannons or gunfire. That is what he wanted and yet, his father had made him join the army and then dared to be disappointed in him when he made a mistake. He was a coward, he knew that. But to hear the ill spoken words on Ives’ lips.. it was almost as if the man was urging him to be angry, to refuse further and put up a fight. Maybe Hart was right; maybe for Ives he only liked Boyd when he was fighting with him. And maybe he just wanted to see how far Boyd would go.

He felt his heart pounding in his ears, the blood coursing through his veins and it made him deaf to reason and blind to the fact he was still chained to the wall. He took a swing that fell short of Ives. The chain around his wrist kept his punch from landing. But he wanted it to. He wanted to hurt this man again, even if he was his only way out of Fort Spencer. His wrist, which had already begun to heal, stung from the jolt, but he didn’t care. He just glared at Ives. “Get away from me.”

He didn’t mean that. He wanted Ives to come closer so he could actually hurt him, but it was the first thing that came to mind. The second was declaring Ives a liar, but that was pointless. They both knew the man a liar. He had spun tales that pulled at Boyd’s head and heart when he first arrived at Fort Spencer. Maybe all of this was just the same. The tale of his father, all a lie? No. It hadn’t been the same.. his eyes were different. He would have called for Lindus, but that was what Ives wanted, was it? Call Lindus in so he could see just how insane Boyd was; see how he’d hurt his own wrists in an attempt to break free so he could run back to the General and report it. And maybe he was insane. Maybe this was all just in his head. It was so far removed from anything he had ever known. Maybe he had died on that battlefield months ago and this was truly hell. It seemed as if it might be. A cold place where everyone you ever loved hated you now and no one would listen to the fact you were still a sane man.

He couldn’t reach Ives and while provoking him was the rashes thing he could possibly do, he knew it would bring Ives closer. If Ives hit him, then he could at least reach enough to strike back. And presently, he felt invincible. “I know what I am. You have told me nothing that I did not already know. But what do you think you are? You feed off of other people’s misery. Is that not what your own father did?”

Ives felt a sting as Boyd uttered those words. First because he had never before told anyone about his father and so this was the first time someone had asked him about that. He had always felt that his life was his life, and that he was in his own misery and anger. Alone. No one other than those present had known what his father had done to him. And those people had not been around since he joined the military. It just shocked him that someone else now knew about him enough to ask him a personal question and even know about his father let alone bring up his father.

The second reason was because Ives was acting now just like his father. In some strange way, he had become just like him. He knew how it felt on the other end, but now he was the predator who toyed with his victims, driving them to fear and close to insanity. He remembered what it had been like, hell, when he had to put on his act up on the mountain near Ives's cave, all he had done was to think back to his father and how he had felt when he had known that he was going to come after him. All if Ives's crying and pleading, as Colqhune to the others and especially to Reich, had nearly not been fake at all. He had done it before for real, a long time ago. He was glad when he could stop going back to those thoughts again but then something else had taken over him, and at first he had felt fear, then extreme anger, then eager. Eager for the kill, and wanton when he had finally tasted it again.

Ives knew that Boyd was reaching the end of his rope. He wanted this, although he knew now that he would still refuse. It seemed that Ives got through to him more when he revealed more about himself. But right now, Ives had revealed more than he ever had about himself to him. It mad him almost angry with the man and he did not feel like being nice right now. He had chuckled at Boyd's missed swing at him. But he did wonder what would have happened if he had connected.

Ives smiled watching Boyd still eating and finishing his bowl. "Are you trying to provoke me Captain?" he asked in a sly almost seductive tone. "I'm flattered really." He did not answer Boyd's question but felt his anger seething to the surface. "Do you want to hit me Boyd? Do you want... a piece of me?" Ives, not sure if he should do this but his body moved closer anyways. Ives stopped in reach of Boyd, and tapped the side of his face. "Go on. If you want me so bad, do it."

"Do it."

“No,” Boyd replied finding it easy once again to refuse Ives. He wanted him to hit him and as much as Boyd desired to he would not give into the games this man played. Ives would do something worse in return and being chained to the wall was no way to start a fight. Lindus was too close as well. If Ives called out and the man entered, he’d see Boyd attacking Ives, not the other way around. It was all a game to make him look more insane. And it was nearly working. He felt half mad. He also felt like he could kill a normal man with his bare hands if provoked enough. But not Ives. Not even bullets stopped him. It would take a something permanent to stop Ives, something he could not pull out, avoid or get off of. Something that maybe impaled him in a way he could not get free from before death.

He felt guilty, thinking like that. He didn’t want to kill anyone, especially not himself, but he felt the need. They couldn’t go back to normal now. No, it was over and the things Ives had recently convinced him off seemed like lies now. It was death because without some sort of structure, some sort of support, he could not live like this. “Let me go. Unchain me, Ives or kill me, but just do whichever one you aim to do and let me go. Make-up your mind. Either you want me with you and Hart or you don’t,” he informed the man not quite realizing it was him who was making the decision to stay chained to the wall, not Ives. He was the one who could not make up his mind. Right now, however, he just wanted to hit the ‘Colonel’.

Ives was surprised that Boyd had not taken a swing him. He most certainly knew that if he had been in his situation, he would have ripped those chains right off of the wall and beat the man to death with them. He had lost his temper in the military a few times. Ives was a semi-small man and not always taken seriously for the ways of brawn. He had been picked on a few times, usually when his fellow soldiers were intoxicated and looking for someone to torment. Once a drunken soldier had picked a fight with him, and he accepted. The man had been bigger, stronger, and had took him over in the fight and had beaten him pretty badly. But he had been through worse beatings than that, so he took it in stride but very very personal. He had waited until the right time to get back at the man, and finally it came. One night the man, again intoxicated was wondering around the camp, stumbling around, looking again to pick a fight no less. Ives had hid in the woods, out of sight of the camp but close enough so that the man could hear him. He started to make sounds, strange sounds, to coax the man out into the shadows. The man, being drunk, had heard him and of course followed the noises to see where they were coming from. Once he was out of sight Ives attacked him, knocking him to the ground, and began to choke the man. The man was weak from the alcohol and had been surprised, so this time Ives had the upper hand. He had sat there on top of the man, choking the life out of him, waiting until the man passed out. When the man woke up again, he again started to choke him harder this time watching his eyes, watching his fear that he was going to die and him knowing who it was that was killing him, watching as the man took his last breath which seemed to take forever. He had been a younger man then and this had been his first murder. The body was found the next morning but the murder remained unsolved. Curiously enough, Ives was never even suspected.

Ives stopped the games and looked at Boyd. The anger began to recede now and he was beginning to feel normal again. He sighed heavily and looked down, closing his eyes as if to regain composure.

"I want you to join us Boyd. You know this." He opened his eyes and looked at Boyd. "I wanted you to feel anger, to feel how powerful and invisible a man can make you feel. To feel the ultimate rush of rage. I know you hate me. But I know that you crave me too. You want to kill me, but can you kill someone that has let you live to see another day?" He closed his eyes again and paused then opened them once more focusing them on Boyd. "I told you about my life Boyd, about my past, about my father even which I have never told anyone. These things are not lies. Please do not tell anyone." He looked Boyd deep in the eyes, almost pleading with them to him.

He then changed his voice and his demeanor. He looked towards the door and back at Boyd, "Should we see how our friend the Major is doing? He must be cold, tired, and still hungry" Ives smiled sincerely. "Did you want the other bowl of stew or shall I have Lindus partake in the meal?"

Boyd’s eyes widened at Ives’ last comment. He wasn’t sure what was more of a threat – not finishing his stew or leaving it to Lindus. If he ate it, then Lindus would be spared from becoming as they already were if the first bowl the Major consumed hadn’t taken a hold. But if Boyd ate more, he’d be ill. Or just not care anymore. He was not sure which was more frightening, watching Lindus turn into one of them or watching himself become like Ives. “I want it,” he offered, making his choice. Lindus was a pompous ass, but he was still a good person. He did not deserve to be turned or cooked. The Major still had a chance. Boyd did not. And he understood that now.

Join them or die. Neither was a welcoming prospect. Maybe it was just temporary. Maybe in a week or more he’d find a way to kill Ives. Maybe in a week or more he wouldn’t want to kill him anymore. All he knew was he did not want to live like this, chain to the wall like a dog and being force-fed the remains of a washed up drunk.

“And I will not tell anyone,” he added in reference to Ives’ request. The man had changed the topic so promptly that Boyd knew he wasn’t comfortable talking about it, but he had to answer. He would not tell anyone else. There was little purpose to as Ives had little reason to tell anyone else about Boyd’s father. It was a fair exchange: Ives’ silence for his own.

Ives gave a quick nod at Boyd's words that he would not tell anyone. He still was annoyed at himself that he had told Boyd these things because now Boyd knew that he had a weakness. Not even a weakness per say, but an insight into him and why he might be how he is. Ives knew plenty about Boyd but now he had opened up to Boyd, however small, and now they had to have an understanding of silence to others. Ives felt that Boyd understood this.

Smiling at Boyd's choice, Ives walked over and placed the half full bowl of stew in front of Boyd but not in reach. He then took the other contents of food out and put them in the now empty bowl of stew that Boyd had eaten. The food was still warm. He then scooted the bowl towards Boyd and smugly smiled again "What do you say?" he asked not really expected to hear any ‘thank you’s. He suspected however, that this was something that his mother had made him do.

Boyd had chosen to eat the stew and in doing so had chosen Ives's next victim. Although he did not plan on have Lindus partake anyway, he was amused that Boyd thought that he had just saved the man's life.

He the walked over to the door with the food and opened it. Lindus was still there looking cold and miserable but was still standing straight and obedient. Oh how he wished that Boyd would have followed Lindus' example.

"Major Lindus. Would you like to join us? The food here for Boyd is still warm if you would like to eat it and it is indeed much warmer in here. Please come in," he said motioning for Lindus to join them. He watched as Lindus contemplated the idea, looking over to the General's quarters. He then seemed to make his decision and followed Ives into the room. Ives motioned for him to take a seat and gave him the bowl of food.

"I'm sorry that there is no more stew, Major. That seems to be the only thing that Boyd will eat. I do believe he is taking a liking to it,” he said and chuckled.

Ives looked at Boyd who glared at him for that comment but also seemed completely freaked out that Lindus was now in the room with them. He knew it was going to be torture for him to have to eat in front of Lindus, knowing what it was he was eating and that Lindus may be in the next bowl of stew.

Lindus, looking happy to be inside started eating his food and giving Boyd a glance that could be taken as he thought the man was crazy.

Ives also took a seat, the one nearest to Boyd and stole a glance at the younger man. Boyd was not eating and now looked absolutely disgusted. Ives caught his eye and gave him a look to let him know to start eating. Boyd did. "So Major, how have your travels with the General been lately? I'm sure you have visited better places than this recently.“

As Lindus began answering him Ives began to feel down for his knife. He was betting that Boyd had forgotten that he had it. He opened his coat enough that he knew that Boyd could see, but it was still out of Lindus' view. Making sure Lindus happened to be looking down at the time, Ives reached down and stroked it once and stole a glance at Boyd, winking once. It was not long now before he would put his plan into motion. But not before Boyd had finished his bowl of stew.

The spoon in his bowl had fallen still as Boyd watched Ives and his knife work their lies and pull Lindus into the conversation, cannibalism and possible death. It wasn’t certain death. Maybe Ives was going to try to turn Lindus first, but either way, the man was dead to Boyd. He’d be no help in a rebellion if he were in on it with Ives and certainly no use if he were dead.

Ives was glaring at him which meant ‘eat’ but if he finished the bowl, then what? Lindus’ death or a persuasive speech aimed at making Lindus join them? Boyd would have shook his head, but he knew that would earn him a far worse glare probably accompanied by an infliction of pain of some sort. If he warned Lindus, it would be him who was killed. If he spoke up at all, even in mild conversation, and said even a single syllable out of place, Ives would most likely hurt him. So he just sat there, watching and waiting. Was Ives going to blame him for this? ‘Look at what the insane Captain did?’ Killing the general’s right hand man was death for certain. A quick punch would be better than being blamed for Lindus’ death and he felt as if he could take a dozen now and keep going. But still, fear alone kept his mute.

Lindus, glad to finally be in out of the cold – even if the shack was barely better -- and with a warm bowl of stew to eat, even if it was in Boyd's presence. Still, the captain had not exhibited any violent behavior since he and General Slauson had arrived, so Lindus relaxed. Boyd seemed agitated, though that was nothing new. The man had cowered and sulked like a quivering female every time Lindus had seen the man.

Now, as Ives mentioned Boyd's fondness for the stew, he squinted a bit, confused. Hadn't Boyd warned him of the stew? Well, it tasted more than fine to him, especially after such a frosty guard. It had been a long time since he'd been asked to do something as menial as that. Still, in a short-staffed situation, it was comforting to know that the General trusted him with such an important task.

Keeping just out of Boyd's reach, and with his back to Ives, he peered into Boyd's bowl to see how much remained. "Suddenly not interested, Boyd?" He chuckled a little, keeping an eye on Boyd in case he should lunge at him, "You know, Colonel Ives, I believe the Captain may have lost his appetite."

~~

Miles cast a sideways glance to Hart and nodded, half-forcing a smile that in some way he did feel. Hart, despite his obvious lies that led Miles looking for stories that went nowhere, was obviously a kind man, if not wise. He felt when he talked to him now as if he were speaking to an uncle or very much older cousin, whereas before he was just the deceiving old Colonel.

"Yes, thank you..." he mumbled. He didn't answer or reply to anything else posed. He felt awkward suddenly as he was reminded of the fact that he just spilled everything to a stranger, even though Hart promised not to tell the General...But would he tell anyone else? Miles became too tired to care. If he did and word got around, nothing would happen, really--he was sure of it. After all, it wasn't him that killed anyone.

Walking out into the now bitterly familiar cold, he noticed Lindus standing guard. The emotion of question came upon him, but not the thought. Whatever was happening in there was their business, Miles didn't even dare to wonder about it. He merely hurried along to his room, settling down in the odd comfort of alcohol--the most odd thing about it being that he actually drank some. After swearing to himself not to drink again until absolutely necessary (whatever those peculiar circumstances may be) he undressed while trying to keep as warm as possible, donning old tattered shirts from long ago--each, of course, having its own story. He sank down into the bed, however early, and waited either for sleep or insomnia to bring him to the morning.

~~

Slauson considered the new doctor. "Well, he's still young, and getting used to his new surroundings. It'll probably be awkward for him for a while, until he adjusts. I'm not sure who sent him or when, but I'm certainly glad he could get here so fast. As for your behavior, who could blame you? When I heard nearly all my former men at Fort Spencer were dead, I certainly felt like throttling someone, at the very least." Slauson gave a her a sympathetic smile. That was actually a huge understatement. Slauson had been so furious when Martha had told him of the new murders that if Boyd had been in sight then, Slauson might have shot him on the spot.

The mention of his wife had jolted him a little. Did Lucy think all the men at Fort Spencer were going to hit on her like Hart and she had to defend herself? Martha, who was now quietly knitting in the corner, never seemed to have a problem with being the only woman around, maybe because she had such a no-nonsense air about her. When Slauson was younger, he'd tried to be considered a ladies' man, and long separations from women really got to him, but that changed as he matured and eventually married. Now, if any man would look at his daughter the way his men had looked at Lucy, he'd want to hit them. He'd almost done that to someone long ago, and his daughter had ended up marrying the man.

Slauson decided to show Lucy that there were still some gentlemen around in this day and age, if not around Fort Spencer anymore. "Let's see, here," he said, sifting through the items with a partly false running commentary, "I believe I will get this cameo for Amelia like you suggested, the tobacco and brandy for myself, and two of these books for the commandant back at San Miguel -he's become rather intellectual lately- and that secretary's been asking for snowshoes for a while..." When he was done selecting, he took out several bills of high denomination, much more than the items could possibly cost, and put them in the surprised Lucy's hand. "Here you go, my dear. Keep the change. I know it must have been hard for you to come back and find Fort Spencer like this. Consider this a gift, something for all your trouble."

Lucy had to agree with the General's suggestion that the doctor was just trying to adjust. After all, things around here had gotten strange of late, and it was no average fort to begin with. She recalled her first visit to Fort Spencer and finding it to be nothing like what she expected. Sutter's Fort had a good number of families already, as did Columbia and Sonora. But high in the Sierras things became slower, less regimented and civilized, and its lifestyle demanded a personality content with extended periods of solitude. Here, she felt always welcome, and enjoyed her stays, even if they saw her visits as a mere break from routine. "I guess you're right, General. Walking in on these...circumstances would likely set anyone a little on edge. I know it did me." She added, looking into the fire more pensively and shifting her gaze to him, "Thanks for understanding, General. I don't know if this Boyd fella is guilty or not, but at the time I thought so. I just felt like...well, I felt like any of the officers here would do the same for me."

She noticed the General had an odd look on his face for just a moment, and wondered if he was pondering the same losses she was. "You know, General Slauson, I seen a lot of things in these mountains. Some of the fellas that live up here are right scoundrels, through and through. They'd shoot you for your boots or because they wanted to take over your fire. Human life is cheap up here -- I'm sure I don't need to tellyou a body's always gotta watch her back. But I gotta tell ya, I always felt safe here, and San Miguel. That's why I set up regular shop there -- I could relax for a while before going on guard again." She offered a small tired smile of gratitude, and picked up on an understanding look from Martha as she continued with her quilt.

When the General paid for his merchandise, Lucy felt split in two; part of her wanted to give it back, having been brought with the firm belief that the Cort's don't take charity from anyone. But at the same time, she didn't want to offend the General Slauson; they both knew she could really use the money. If she could order some supplies ahead of time, she'd get the jump on some of the other traders in the area and gain some new customers...reaching her goal that much sooner.

"Well, shit, General, that's a lot," she said, forgetting her language then; used to being in the company of the other traders, she only cleaned up her speech when around real gentlemen, like the General. But now, she forgot herself. "Pardon my French, sir. But I mean, are you sure?"

Martha listened to the attempts at light conversation between Lucy and General Slauson, keeping silent as she worked on her quilt. Like Lucy, she was haunted by the memory of the recent past, when the room had been filled with those seeking to pass the time in usually as jovial a manner as possible. Certainly disagreements between the men would break out from time to time -- usually between Reich and someone else (often Knox) -- but these were quickly extinguished by Colonel Hart or Toffler. No one could place Toffler in the middle, no matter how odd the little man was.

Her thoughts were interrupted when she heard Lucy exclaim over the money she was being paid. Almost on cue, the new doctor -- apparently finished with his talk with Colonel Hart -- came out of Hart's office and continued wordlessly out the door. He must certainly be tired, she thought, having traveled so long only to find himself embroiled in these circumstances.

She was finding herself quite tired, as well, and decided to stay only a few more minutes before returning to George and her -- well, now it was only hers -- hut. She still did not feel he was truly dead; perhaps his spirit lingered to watch over her. This was impossible to know.

~~

Ives chuckled amused at Lindus' comment. Yes Boyd did lose his appetite, but he would grow hungry again soon, even worse than before. Ives continued to wait as Lindus ate his food. He knew Boyd wasn't going to eat any longer and so far had not said a word. Lindus continued to eat and talk casually about his travels with the General. He had his back to Ives right now but soon turned his chair to face him and Boyd, who was sitting to Ives's left. Ives continued to take part in the conversation but also continued to steal glances at Boyd to make sure he was not warning Lindus in any way. He did not know how Boyd was going to react at the death of a man in front of him, but he was going to find out soon.

Ives stood up and nodding at Lindus' words still began to move towards the window behind Lindus. He had put half interested look upon his face so that perhaps Lindus was just thinking that he was looking out the window from boredom. In fact, Ives was looking to make sure that the coast was clear. He saw nothing out of the window and slowly turned towards Lindus. He was in Boyd's view but Lindus still had his back toward him.

Ives pulled the knife completely out of his coat and felt the cool steel in his hand. He had remembered how desperate he had wanted that knife on the mountain. And now he would use it again.

In a flash he was upon Lindus. He did not want to kill him right away so he held the hard steel knife to the major's throat and pressed down. Lindus, caught by surprise did nothing to resist. He was not stupid, he knew that moving would just cause the blood to begin to flow from his throat. He looked at Boyd, trying to read a reaction. There was no turning back now, Lindus would tell the General about this, no, this was it for the General's right hand man.

Ives waited not saying anything, waiting for Boyd to speak. He felt laughter come up in his throat and gave Boyd a look as if he was asking him if he should do it. He felt Lindus jerk once. Ives pressed down harder enough to cause blood. He wanted to slit the man's throat so bad but yet he still waited.

Boyd knew Lindus had made this happen himself. He hadn’t believed Boyd, even when Boyd offered him sound advice. Oh no, the man still assumed he was crazed. Furthermore, Lindus had taken great effort to remain out of Boyd’s reach when he sat down to eat which left him still out of Boyd’s reach now. John couldn’t save him; all he could do was watching and damn Lindus in his head. ‘You should have listened to me,’ he scolded the man silently in his mind alone.

“Now do you believe me?” he asked, not realizing he’d given vocal life to the second comment until it had been said. It was almost as if this body decided to speak out loud without addressing his mind first. It wasn’t him who said that, something else entirely. John Boyd wouldn’t taunt a dying man. No. Never. “If you’re going to kill, Ives, at least do it quickly,” he requested, breathlessly and growing weary of Ives’ games. He was unimaginably cruel to leave a man to linger and die.. unless.. well unless he trying to save Lindus as he did Hart. The stew was here for the taking, even if Lindus’ blood was slowly draining into the bowl that was formerly in his hands, making the stew twice as potent. And to Boyd, twice as sickening.

Lindus felt the steel of the blade at his throat long before his mind could catch up to what was physically happening. Once he realized what was happening, and heard Ives' laugh, he knew then that it had all been true...Boyd's entire story -- the one he'd written off as false all this time -- was completely true. Ives really was Colquhoun! Or vice-versa -- it didn't really matter to him. What did matter now was there was a knife at his throat, and he may soon be just another body to add to the growing number. How stupid he had been! How had he so quickly forgotten his training to never judge until all the facts have been gathered?

Now, the General would certainly be at risk. Not to mention all the others. For certainly, he could not get to the gun in his holster fast enough.

Still, what did he have to lose in trying? If he was to lose his life anyway, at least he could go out with a struggle. But when he jerked to try and reach it, the knife pressed in harder, and bravery gave way to the wish to hang onto life, if only for a few more moments. And his arms were more or less pinned by Ives' surprisingly strong grip. He could not see Ives' face, but looked to Boyd, and then rolled his eyes up towards Ives. "Colonel, please, I beg of you -- don't do this!"

Surprisingly enough, Boyd had not begged him to stop. Or had even looked away. In fact, he had almost taunted the man. He knew of course that Boyd was not enjoying this, far from it. But in another way, he was not the same as he would have been one week ago in this situation.

Lindus, on the other hand, was now begging him to stop. He had heard that before so it was nothing new to him. He knew himself to be cruel and begging had never made any difference before, man nor woman. Ives looked right down at the Major, making sure that his eyes met his in a steady glare. Ives said nothing, waiting for more and pressed down a little harder, causing more blood to flow. Ives could smell the blood and it made it even harder for him not to finish the job and partake in such a fresh kill. But he did not kill Lindus, not yet.

"Oh I think that he believes you now, Boyd,” he said in a low tone, keeping his eyes locked on Lindus. "Major Lindus, I'm sure the General will be upset at your death. I’m sure he'll miss his faithful little servant. Now he will have no one to boss around and treat like a dog. But I have other plans for the General Major, and you are a part of it." Ives smiled wickedly. "You are the General's next meal."

He still waited feeling Lindus struggle now in his grasp. He was starting to gasp now, the knife going further and further into his skin. He wanted to draw this out as long as possible, make Boyd watch this. He knew he would find Ives disgusting, but doing this in front of someone made him feel powerful and surprisingly virile.

He couldn't help but look at Boyd just once and when he did he couldn't quite read what he saw. He then looked back down to the Major, seeing the blood beginning to come more heavy now, death would not come immediate for the man, Ives knew exactly what he was doing. He continued waiting for any response from Boyd, Lindus himself could no longer speak, only make desperate noises and try to reach for his throat which of course, he couldn't. He felt Lindus begin to panic and knew that he would have to finish this soon. He did not know how much time he had, and knew that at any moment, someone could walk right through that door.

Pushing down once more, he felt skin begin to rip. Ives looked once more into the Major's eyes and saw pain and the realization that he knew it was over for him. Ives ripped his knife slowly across Lindus' neck and felt the warm blood fall on his hand. Lindus finally free, held his hands up to his neck and fell, gasping for air. He tried to feel around but now there was so much blood that he could no longer see. He started to crawl towards Boyd, trying to cling to any life that he had. Ives just watched keeping his eyes on both the Major and Boyd, as Lindus crawled closer and closer to the Captain.

Lindus locked eyes with Boyd at the Captain's question. It would have been funny, the look on Boyd's face, were he not about to die. Strange, he thought, how all that talk about seeing your life flash before your eyes at times like this turned out to be so utterly, terribly true. He would have told Boyd yes, yes, he believed him, but of course he couldn't. In fact, he doubted he'd be saying anything ever again.

*Not now*, he thought. *I've got so much left to do.* He'd not gotten around to marrying yet, he had no children, no one left to mourn him. Perhaps it was better to die, then, if this was all there was.

He barely registered the first of Ives' words; the surge and roar of his own blood rushing forth was far too distracting. But what struck him was the reference to the General. Plans? The next stew? The terrible realization of what this was all about fell completely into place at the exact moment Ives' blade ripped through him.

That was it. There was no going back; what had been done was done, he knew, and so was he. The one thing that bothered him most, though, was the thought of dying here, alone on this mountain, friends just across the yard but miles away. He looked to Boyd -- he'd been innocent, after all; he'd tried to warn Lindus of the danger. He reached out to him, wishing desperately for some source of life to hold onto before he died. Lindus was drowning, suffocating as his lungs filled with his own blood. Surely, Boyd would take pity in these, his last moments.

As Lindus' life slipped away and death wrapped its dark cloak around him, he turned his eyes up to Boyd, the terror behind them speaking not so much of fear, but of dying alone.

Boyd could taste vomit in his mouth but he did not open it. If he got sick Ives would know he wasn’t as far a long as he’d presented himself to be. No, he was still quite compassionate and human. It took all his strength not to reach out and try to close the wound on the Major’s neck with his bare hands. He knew it wouldn’t work, but he wanted to try. It was just all that blood, flowing free. It left him frozen. The only action he took was to breath and stare at the crimson liquid. It was always so much darker when it first began to flow. Almost mesmerizing. He could smell it and wanted to draw nearer like he had when he’d found Hart bleeding to death outside that cave. Just sit there and smell it for a moment. If Reich hadn’t called him away then, he wasn’t sure how long he would have sat. He had wanted to help Hart like he now wanted to help Lindus.. but the way the blood filtered in between the grass and snow then and the floor boards now kept his eyes and mind overwhelmed with interest.

Interest he should not have. It was wrong. Breathing in sharply, he finally moved, grabbing Lindus’ hand in what was the man’s last second of life. And then, nothing, just the stillness. “Why do you do that?” He asked through clenched teeth. It wasn’t an expression of anger, but rather one of pain. He was trying to resist his urge to just lick the blood off his fingers so badly it hurt. “Why do you play with people? Why can you not just kill them quickly?” He asked, still finding it hard to pull his eyes away from the blood, which continued to flow even after Lindus had become still. He finally looked up, but only after he realized he’d dampened his lips with a small flicker of his tongue. He wanted the blood. Wanted the power. He just knew it was wrong to gain it by this means. It was wrong to want it at all.

And then the situation dawned on him completely. “You are going to say I did this?” He asked bluntly, meeting Ives’ eyes. He had known that fact all along, but right now, with the bloody mess in front of him, he realized there would be no trial, no trip back to somewhere, anywhere away from Ives. Slauson would kill him where he sat. “He’ll kill me. Is that what you want? I’ll…” He paused, not even certain of what he had been about to say. ‘You’ll do what?’ He asked himself, looking back down to the blood, which began to near his boots. He was about to offer to do something in exchange for his life, but what could he give Ives? His loyalty? Ives would know it wasn’t up for grabs. What could he give the man that the Colonel could not just take if he wanted it?

~~

Slauson waved away Lucy's protests, chuckling at her 'French'. "Take it, my dear, take it. I know money is no substitute for your fond memories, and I'm glad my men treated you well. I'm happy to help you out any way I can." Slauson collected his items and set them next to his chair, then took out his new pouch of tobacco and his pipe and sat back.

But when he tried to light his pipe, for some reason his match kept going out. The cold wind from outside seemed to be seeping through the cracks in the room, but somehow it also seemed like only he could feel it. He looked around the room, puzzled. Lucy was putting her things away and Martha was still stitching her quilt calmly, and neither of the women's hair or clothes was being ruffled by any wind, but Slauson suddenly felt chilled. After wasting three matches, and throwing each down in increasing disgust and irritation, Slauson finally walked over to the fire and held his fourth match directly in the flames, and lit his pipe at last.

Puffing on it thoughtfully, he continued to stand by the fire until his mystery chill went away. He didn't know what had come over him all of a sudden, but it left him unsettled, and he didn't like feeling like that. It seemed to have passed now. As Slauson returned to his comfortable chair, he briefly wondered if Lindus had finally been relieved of his duty and gone to his rest.

~~

"Because I like it Boyd. What other reason is there?" Ives stated simply after watching Boyd react to the death of the Major. His token of sympathy of grabbing the dying man's hand had been expected, and Ives couldn't help but admire the man's humanity. It had been an invigorating sight, and Ives knew that one reason that he liked Boyd was for his suffering for other people. Maybe if he had met Boyd as a boy then Ives may have turned out different. Back then he had needed someone to care, someone to reach out to him and take his hand when he had been bloody and violated and wanting to die. But there had no one, just another fist in his face and harsh words that eventually made him stop crying forever. Maybe a part of him was reaching out for someone now, choosing Boyd as the one. But he didn't like to think that way, and because of the ways that Boyd made him feel, he felt both a love and a hate for the man. The most intense feeling however that he had was to make the man submit to him, to conquer him. Boyd had so far been his greatest challenge, and he intended to overcome him.

There had been a reason that Ives had chosen this method of death for Lindus. He knew that slitting the throat produces mass amounts of blood and he knew that blood was something that Boyd had an interest in. He knew that from the chat by the fireside when the Captain had wanted his hand so badly. He knew that it held a strange fascination for Boyd, and although he would try to resist, the blood would call out to him. Ives even thought that he had seen Boyd wet his lips for a moment, but dismissed it that it couldn't possibly be true. Not yet.

Ives remained silent as Boyd began to panic at the thought of being blamed for the murder. Ives did not have the intention to blame the Captain but he wanted Boyd to squirm a bit and leave Boyd in the dark. Plus, if Boyd thought that he was going to die, he may be more submissive and easier to control.

Ives began to walk over to them, knife still in hand, keeping his face determined and strong. Ives had no worries of getting blood on himself for what he had to do next required it. He kneeled down towards Lindus, and closed his eyes smelling the blood and flesh. He had gotten used to the urge of what that made you want to do, and as time went on he found it easier to resist and to have patience. He knew the time would come again soon well he could taste it again, although this time the urge to partake was particularly strong after the excitement of what had just happened and he lost himself in the smell and anticipation. He opened his eyes and realized that Boyd was there with him, very close, silent but fascinated.

Ives, locking eyes with Boyd took his hand and touched the Major's neck, feeling the blood rush onto it. He then slowly raised his bloody hand to Boyd, letting him smell, letting his see, giving him the chance to do what was forbidden. This time Ives did not plan to pull away, and if Boyd wanted it, he would let him take it. He moved his hand closer to Boyd, blood dripping off of his hand, beckoning to him slightly with his finger. His hand was close now, almost to Boyd's wet lips. Ives could almost feel himself shake with excitement at what might happen, at feeling Boyd's submission, of his hungry mouth closing on the blood. He had never shared this with anyone, Hart he had fed but he not like this. Hart had not been aware of what he had been eating. This was different and new.

Boyd’s first instinct was to shirk away and he did. Not far. He had nowhere really to run, but he backed away ever so slightly. It didn’t deter Ives, however. Nothing did. He wanted the blood. He couldn’t deny it. Since that first taste in Mexico, he’d be haunted by dreams and nightmares were blood flowed freely. He wanted it. But not like this. Not from an innocent person who was staring up at them with dead, hollow eyes. They always looked at him. The bodies they had piled on top of him in Mexico had all been looking down at him, pleading for help. Reich’s piercing blue eyes had stared at him even after the man had gone, passing a silent judgment. And now Lindus.

Without having to debate the motion, he let go of Lindus’ hand and quickly moved forward to close the man’s eyes. He finished the task, but in doing so, he had brought himself closer to Ives’ hand, caked in blood, which was still warm. The smell alone sent him reeling and it was wrong to want it so badly. Why was this happening to him? He didn’t ask for this? Was this a temptation from God? Resist and be rewarded in the afterlife?

It was too late for that.. wasn’t it? His eyes drifted up to meet Ives, which lingered, staring at him from behind the hand. He wanted Boyd to take it and Boyd knew himself well enough to know eventually he would. The smell, the color.. he wanted it and he wanted it while it was still warm. All Ives had to do was wait him out. Maybe that is what Ives thought about the matter as a whole: all he had to do was wait Boyd out. And maybe it was true. Maybe eventually he’d become too tired of fighting and just give in, but now.. now he didn’t want to be what Hart and Ives where, he just wanted that blood. That didn’t make him evil. Lindus was already dead and not by his hand.

‘Oh, John,’ he thought silently. Those were the words of a coward, someone who was justifying his want for blood by making the means of getting it not his fault. He winced and whimpered a little, tearlessly. The craving was so hard to resist. It ate at him like little else did. He was more afraid of it than he was of Ives. Ives was just urging him on, giving him little choice but to join them or die. The craving, however, made him do things…. Like kill and eat. It left him no alternative. When it showed it’s self, there was no other option but to give in.

He finally let go of Lindus completely and reached out for Ives’ hand, at first to hold it at bay. He wanted to keep it far away from his face, so he couldn’t smell it anymore. But the craving won.. and no amount of clenching his teeth or whining made it give up its hold on him. He pushed the hand away only to grab it again and pull it towards him. He knew how feral he must seem, how inhuman and animal like. And maybe he was reverting to some primal insist that most men were able to over-come. Weakness had always been his major flaw. It did not fail him now.

He didn’t even pause to take the blood from Ives’ hand and into his own from which to drink, instead he just ran his tongue across Ives’ palm and took the sweltering blood back into his mouth with disappointed sniff. It was not the blood that disappointed. No, that tasted exactly how he recalled it. It was the fact he wanted more than made him so sorrowful. It was never ending. He always wanted more. Looking down at Ives’ hand, which was still held firmly in his own, he eyed the blood that lingered on the man’s fingers and debated taking it as well. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want any part of it in fact. But it was too late, he could still smell it and now that’s he’d tasted it, he wanted more. The problem with that was once he got more, he’d want even more until there was nothing left.

He let go of Ives’ hand, hoping the man would pull away, but then, out of fear that Ives might pull away, he took his hand once more. There was plenty of blood there.. he just needed to think for a second and it was so damn hard with that smell all around him. He sighed heavily and shook his head. “I still want more. Does the craving ever stop?” He asked, once more giving in a little as he raised the other man’s hand to his mouth and relieved it of more blood. This time, from the first of Ives’ blood coated fingers. Each time he gave in, he felt a part of him die.

Ives felt a shiver go through him as Boyd took his first taste of the blood off of his palm. He had not expected this and just the slight touch of Boyd's tongue against his flesh had excited him. He kept his eyes steady on Boyd watching him as he fought his urges, and watching as the urge of sweet flesh and blood took over. Ives kept his hand steady, frozen strong in Boyd's firm grasp. He had never had this happen before, and he felt his body begin to ache, and his virility begin to take over.

He felt his hand being pushed away then grabbed in a desperate attempt not to let go. There was still blood left on Ives's fingers and much more left on the ground and on the late Major's neck. Ives had never felt so wanted before, so needed, and this also added to his exculpation. He watched fascinated and excited as Boyd became more and more excited at the blood right in front of him. He wanted to partake in the blood as well but the idea of Boyd giving in, of him tasting the flesh right off of his fingers kept him still.

He shook violently as Boyd took his finger again into his mouth feeling the warmth of Boyd, feeling the hunger of his soul. He felt all of his being, all of his power and strength emerge in this and he knew that this is exactly what he had wanted. He continued to watch as Boyd took each of his fingers, one by one into his hungry mouth and felt the energy rise inside of him. He felt his breathing grow more rapid and his eyes began to lose Boyd's gaze as he felt himself rise higher and higher into non control. He didn't know what was happening to him, and this made it more exciting and more inviting, and he did not resist it.

Seeing that all of the blood was gone from his hand, Ives once again reached over to Lindus filling his hand with new blood and again reached out to Boyd and again Boyd caught his hand, his mouth and body still hungry and waiting. As Ives felt the man's mouth close again over his fingers and hand he felt that he might lose himself completely and began to shake violently again, feeling his virility all throughout his body and soul and again looked into Boyd's eyes. Ives watched as Boyd hungrily licked and sucked the blood of his hand and again Ives moved to Lindus to catch some new. They continued staring at each other, Boyd's eyes being just as wanton, just as intense. Ives then erupted into a single strong jerk and felt his body pull against Boyd who did not let go and held on with a strong determination and strength that Ives had never seen nor felt before. After a few moments Ives felt himself go limp and keeping his hand in Boyd’s looked down in a single attempt to pull himself together. What had just happened was unreal to him and he did not know how to act now. He looked up at Boyd knowing that the man had witnessed this exchange wondering what to do next. Boyd continued to hold his hand in his, and even attempted one last swipe at the blood left on his hand and fingers.

Ives continued to try and pull himself together and tried to tell himself that he had plans that he needed to accomplish. If his man Hart was any good, then he should have already killed the horses, and now there would be no way for the General to escape, which would give him more time to turn him. Now he needed to alert the General that his man Lindus had been killed and to tell him who it was who had done it.

Ives finally pulled his hand away from Boyd and stood up reeling slightly from the experience. He felt himself gain a little more hold now and could finally start to think again. In a flash he did what he had planned, stabbing himself in the shoulder, and felt his own blood begin to flow from him. He needed to convince the General that someone else had killed Lindus and that he had tried to defend him. And for this, he needed to be wounded. Feeling his own blood on his hand Ives once again began to feel the submission of Boyd and the craving of his mouth on his flesh but he resisted. He did not have much time now. He had to do what needed to be done. Raising the knife once again Ives stabbed himself once more in the shoulder, wincing in the pain but knowing that soon the wound would be replenished and healed. Looking Boyd once more in the eye, Ives wondered what the man was thinking, wondering if the Captain was had felt the way that he did in the exchange that had just happened, and felt the fire go through him once more. In an instant Ives kneeled down next to Boyd only inches from him, and smelled at the essence radiating from his body. He knew that soon he would have to leave and do what he needed to do but he waited here once more, taking in what he knew would soon be gone and waited to see if Boyd reached out again, either for the blood or for Ives's steely gaze or body.

There was a part of Boyd that had not been present for the last few minutes. It was as if the craving, lust and want had grabbed the part of him that refused to except this and stuffed it away, in some deep, dark vault somewhere cold and frightening. The want had taken over, made him do things he wouldn’t have done had he been of full mind. His mental process had nearly ceased and an animalistic instinct to feed and give in to what he wanted won over. What scared him was, he liked it. No, he actually had loved every second of it. The wave of guilt that hit him now could not change the fact he had really enjoyed the last several minutes. Nor could it change the fact he felt, for the first time in his life, truly satisfied.

Was it wrong? God yes. Did it feel good? Good was an understatement. The first thing he realized as he blinked himself back to full awareness was how lightheaded and disoriented he felt. Like he’d been somewhere else entirely and his body had acted on its own, but that wasn’t true. Part of him had been there. Part of him had wanted that blood. The second thing he noticed was how heavy he was breathing. Panting almost, like a feral creature exhausted from feeding on prey. But Boyd hadn’t caught this prey himself nor did he think he could. He was the scavenger at best. And yet, he did not feel weak. The third thing he noticed was that the smell of blood had grown and changed. He lulled his suddenly drained head to one and looked intensely at Ives. The man’s shoulder was bloody and this was not Lindus’ blood.

“You’re bleeding,” he offered the obvious and only after the words escaped his lips did he realize how much concern lingered in them. An hour ago he would have loved to see Ives’ blood flowing freely and the man’s life slipping away. What had changed?

A lot.

His opinion of Ives had changed drastically. He had always seen the man as some murdering monster who consumed everything he touched. How he knew that underneath the hard exterior was a man just as afraid of as he was. He was just less reserved. He didn’t have notions in his head of right and wrong. For Ives it had always been about survival. That was why it was so easy to give in for him and not for Boyd. Boyd never had to worry about survival before he came to Fort Spencer. At best all he worried about was what school to attend or how well to dress before leaving the house. Ives was a man, not a monster although at times the two blurred into one being.

He sat there, staring into Ives’ eyes, which gazed back, unwavering and wondered where they stood now. Enemies, friends, rivals, master and apprentice, more? He wasn’t sure he wanted to be what Ives’ was, even though he already was. He just did not know what else he could be besides dead. Lindus’ corpse might make that possible if Slauson decided now was a good time to check on the incarcerated Captain.

So awkward a moment he had never known before. He just remained still, staring into those dark eyes wondering if Ives still wanted to taunt him, hurt him or if he wanted something else all together. Wondering if he was going to tell Slauson that Boyd had killed Lindus and if he’d be happy when the General finally did it and killed the Captain. He could not make a decision or make a move. He was too afraid of being punched or stabbed for either moving away or moving closer. He knew he should move away, it was the right thing to do.. get away from this man.. the smell of his blood.. but it wasn’t what he wanted to do and his want had been overriding what as morally right a great deal this day.

“I’ve nev..” he dropped off there, well aware that Ives would know what he was about to say. Of course he’d never done that before. What man in his right mind had? He left it at that, holding Ives’ gaze with a question in his eyes: ‘what now?’ What was he going to tell the general? Lindus had, unfortunately crawled close enough that it could appear that Boyd cut his throat. Where he had actually been killed was out of Boyd’s reach. And while the blood was on Ives’ hand, it was also on Boyd’s face. He reached up and wiped what he could from his lips.

~~

Hart lingered after Miles had left, staring into the fire as he sipped his whiskey. He could hear voices in the other rooms. He could hear Lucy's voice, but he could not go to her now. There was work to be done. With a last fortifying gulp of liquor, Hart stood and retrieved his sword from under the desk. Ives bade him keep it there while the General was around. Hart had kept it there for the past fifteen years. With his sword in hand, Hart walked back out into the cold, taking the back way out of his old office so that he would escape notice.

The night wind cut through him as moved towards the stables. He stood in the doorway for a moment, watching the dozing horses with regretful eyes. His gaze fell upon Lucy's horse and he sighed even more bitterly. He had no problem with killing the mounts that belonged to Lindus and the General, but he had a problem with killing her horse. Not just because it belonged to her and he knew Lucy loved that horse. If he killed the horse, how was he going to get her out of here? Hart still intended to make sure Lucy left this place alive. He loved her and he wished he could keep her, but he knew that was an impossible dream.

Hart sat there and wrestled with the decision for a few moments and in the end, decided that he couldn't do it. So, Hart quietly went to the tack wall and slipped a bit into the horse's mouth. He grabbed a half bag of feed and carried it in one arm as he led the horse away from the camp. There was an out building where he would stash her. Leave her with food and water. And get Lucy and Martha the hell out of here as soon as possible.

About a half hour later, Hart had set Lucy's horse up with feed and water in one of the abandoned buildings on the property. As he walked back, he was thankful that it hadn't snowed yet. No tracks to show anyone where the horse was. Hart hoped she would be safe. Just until he convinced the women to go. Back at the stables, Hart stared apathetically at the horses. They had been a bit disturbed by the moving of Lucy's horse, but not terribly so. Hart unsheathed his sword and with quick, precise movements, he killed the remaining horses. Hart tried to keep them from suffering as much as he could. Just a quick jab through the throat. The smell of blood filled Hart's senses and he leaned against the wall, watching the horses die sadly.

He thought he heard a noise and glanced up, startled. He saw Cleaves looking back at him, his face contorted with horror as he asked in a slightly slurred voice, "Colonel? What the hell you doin' here? What the hell you doin'?"

Hart watched himself moved across the stable with an ease and fluidity that belied the number of years he had. As smoothly and as easily as he had slit the throats of the horses, Hart slit Cleaves' throat as well. It had all been so easy. Too easy. Hart blinked and took in a sharp breath, releasing it in a puff of frost as he slowly straightened. That had been the last time. Cleaves was already dead. Already eaten. Hysterical laughter bubbled up in Hart's throat and threatened to overwhelm him before he shook it off and moved towards his old office again, fetching a bucket of water from the well on the way there with which to clean himself up with and change into the spare uniform he kept there. No one would ever know a thing. Hart laughed softly indeed as he set the bucket of water over the fire and began to strip off his bloody clothing.

~~

Lucy put away her things as the General went to the fireplace to light his match and pipe; she'd always found the odor of pipe smoke very comforting. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes, picturing her grandfather and father having a smoke on the front porch after Sunday dinner -- her mother never allowed smoking indoors -- while she and her older sister minded the younger children and helped their mother. She often wondered about them now -- how they must all be grown, and if they ever thought of her. She'd send letters when she could, but doubted the post at San Miguel was terribly accessible yet. Damned if her life hadn't turned out differently than she'd thought it would back then.

She realized then that she had nearly dozed off there by the fire. She looked up to see the General had returned to his seat, and Martha packing up her sewing things. Some time must have passed while she dozed, yet the fire was still so inviting.

Martha felt the heaviness of the day overcome her and, not wishing to linger in conversation, she uttered a simple good-night before leaving. On the way to her hut, she considered checking in on the horses, but hearing no signs of distress, she decided against it, knowing that sometimes bringing in light to check on a sleeping animal disturbed it more than achieving anything.

In the lodge, it occurred to Lucy that the Doctor had left some time ago, but that Hart had not yet emerged from his office. Was this part of his plan to appear uninterested in her to the others? Perhaps he meant to meet her later, at her cabin. She glanced over her shoulder towards the door; a deep blackness awaited outside that she certainly did not wish to brave unarmed and unaccompanied. She realized she had stupidly left both Reich's knife and her own gun in her cabin; she'd never thought twice about it before. Well, the General was with her, so she felt a bit safer for that. Still, she hated feeling vulnerable. It occurred to her then that neither Major Lindus nor Colonel Ives had returned yet. Had they simply retired for the night? Or had Boyd gotten loose and gotten to them somehow? She shuddered at the thought, and decided against mentioning it to the general. After all, no need to raise concern where none was needed.

Hart was quick and efficient in cleaning himself up. Once the blood was washed off his skin and clean uniform covering him while the old burned in the fireplace, Hart moved back out to the door and dumped the pink-tinged water he'd bathed with in a patch of scrub grass. He set the bucket outside the door and walked back inside. He stared at his reflection in the looking glass, wondering at how he felt so calm this time. The last time he had killed the horses, he had been shaking afterwards, near hysterical. Of course, he hadn't only killed horses the night, had he? Cleaves had fallen to Hart's sword that evening as well. Not tonight, though. Tonight it was just the horses and after one has taken the life of a fellow man, the death of a horse seemed paltry by measure.

Making sure that no one would notice a single thread out of place, Hart stepped out of the office and into the lodge. Only Lucy and the General remained. Slauson puffed contentedly on a pipe while Lucy dozed off and on. Hart stood in the doorway between his office where the evidence of his crimes burned merrily in the hearth and the lodge where Lucy waited, looking so sweet... so good. For a moment, he wanted to turn around and walk away. He should. There were any number of excuses that he could make.

But a man, especially a man like him, could not ignore his heart.

So, slowly, Hart walked to where Lucy sat before the fire. He paused only a moment to nod to the General before taking a seat near Lucy. He reached out as if he meant to touch her face, trace the curve of her jaw line with his fingertips, but thought better of it and instead lightly shook her shoulder. "Perhaps you should go to bed, Lucy. It's been a long day. Shall I escort you to your cabin?" Hart's voice was soft in the stillness of the room, yet also restrained. He knew without needing to look that Slauson was watching him.

Sitting at the kitchen table with her sister Maggie, removing peas from their pods. Her mother cooking at the stove, its heat emanating a comforting warmth that made the kitchen worth being in, despite all the labor that took place there. Pearl and Zachary, six and three respectively, are napping upstairs. She and Maggie are still young, not quite in their teens, and her mother is still alive.

Lucy was awakened form her dream by Hart's gentle shake, and for a moment, she felt a little sad, as if a chance to revisit that time had been snatched away. But then she saw that it was Hart, and smiled up at him. "I must have nodded off there for a minute. Sorry, General, if I wasn't very entertaining company," she chuckled, knowing he would wave it off.

At Hart's offer, she nodded, trying to make it appear as if this was a new idea to her. "I think I'll take you up on that, sir. I am tuckered out, and considering recent events, I'd feel better with the escort." She stood and bundled up, knowing that even a short walk in weather like this, a snowstorm about to break, was best made wrapped up. She slung her bag over her shoulder, and told Slauson, "Well, General Slauson, I suppose I'll see you in the morning. Rest well." She looked to Hart. "Ready when you are, Colonel."

Hart nodded and took Lucy's bag out of her hands with a faint smile, hoping that she didn't get offended. "I'm ready now." He looked at General Slauson and smiled tightly. He could tell the man wanted to know how his interview with the young doctor had gone and knew that he would be questioned come morning, but Hart would give no such satisfaction. He was wearied in spirit from killing the horses, from doing Ives' bidding once again. He noticed that Lindus and Ives were nowhere to be found and sincerely hoped that both men were sleeping and not tormenting Boyd further. Hart knew he needed to speak to the Captain, but when? And how without attracting Ives' notice?

But he pushed that thought away for now as he stared down at Lucy and offered her his arm in an easily gallant manner. It was not a false act of courtesy for Hart. He genuinely liked being a gentleman. Especially with Lucy. He knew that because of her appearance and occasionally rough manner that some forgot that she was a woman, which he supposed was useful to keeping her safe on the trail. But Hart, for his part, had always treated her like a grand lady. In his eyes, she was better than any grand lady.

He led her outside. The night was cold and the scent of snow was on the wind. A snowstorm. It seemed almost as if God himself was smiling upon Ives' plans, wasn't it? And a snowstorm also meant that he might have to revise his plan to get Lucy and Martha out of this place. "The interview with the doctor revealed nothing new, unfortunately. He is an odd young man." Hart's breath escaped his lips in puff of frosted air as he spoke. He didn't divulge any of Miles' story and he wouldn't. He had given the young man his confidence and would not break it unless it was absolutely necessary. "I am sorry to have taken so long. I hope you were not bored."

Lucy felt the chill of the air biting at her fingers as they crossed the yard, and slipped her hand within his. She felt bad for Hart; it must be awful not being able to recall such an important event. On the other hand, what he had experienced was probably much more awful than that. She thought it would be better perhaps not to speak of it, and smiled at his comment. "I wasn't bored. I think it was the first really relaxing moment I've had all day."

When they arrived at the cabin, Lucy felt herself growing a little nervous; of all her encounters, this one struck her as perhaps the most important, and she didn't want to chatter away as she tended to when uncertain of herself. Hart was such a good, passionate man, and so wise, she was sure that sooner or later he'd see that she was not as he originally thought.

"Well, here we are. Uh, come on in. Please." Lucy entered the cabin, a little fearful of facing Hart right away and appearing...well, less than perfect. She tossed a few more logs onto the fire, and its flames illuminated the cabin, throwing shadows upon the wall. She took her coat off and faced him finally, and was unable to suppress a smile when she looked into his eyes. "I have to say, I feel like something of an outlaw here with you. But at the same time, I'm not arguing."

~~

Staring at Boyd Ives now felt a variety of emotions, some of which were a first for him. He had never in his life thought that he would be sexually attracted to a man, let alone have such a private moment in front of him. He wondered judging by Boyd's reactions now if Boyd had even noticed what had happened with Ives and to him it looked like he was just trying to understand what why he himself had felt that way, and why he had done what he had done. He knew that Boyd had enjoyed it, but what he didn't seem to know was how much Ives had. If he didn't know about Ives's "moment", then he sure wasn't going to tell him, and maybe he still had a secret of his own.

Ives knew that part of why it had felt so good, so hot, was because of the innocence that Boyd possessed and knowing that he had finally given in to the animalistic, the sexual side of himself possibly for the first time. Also, Ives had felt the hunger in Boyd, instead of his cool blue eyes expressing weakness, cowardice and fear like he had always seen before, there had been lust and want and dare he say even domination. Yes he had liked that immensely, and had even felt for a moment that he could let go, and not be the one that had to be in control for once, to just let go and let himself and his body feel good. And he had.

"Your bleeding" he heard Boyd say and what struck Ives was the concern that he heard in his voice. Boyd actually had concern for him, the man that had put him through hell and back and then put him through it again. Ives had never felt concern from anyone before, and had always felt that no one had truly ever cared for him and that he would live this life alone, and that once dead, he would not even be mourned. Ives had felt a twinge of concern before once on the mountain when he had arrived at Fort Spencer but he knew that it was not for him, it had been for Colqhune which had all been a lie. But this concern from Boyd was for Ives. Boyd knew who he was and what he was and was indeed sincere. Ives didn't know what to think now and how to feel. He needed to be strong and unfeeling, the way that he was used to being. He was not understanding of these new emotions and other than the sexual, the lustful cravings that he felt which had had been feeling ever since the cave, he wasn't sure if he liked them.

"I nev..." he heard Boyd trail off. I'm sure not Boyd, he felt himself thinking knowing that Boyd was now obviously feeling the guilt of what he had just done, but also perhaps feeling the new sense of virility that he never had felt before. And maybe, just maybe, he liked it and liked that it was Ives who had given him that.

Ives now, knowing what he had to do, felt another new emotion, and he almost did not want to hurt Boyd. Just a little while ago he had loved doing that but now he felt resistance. Strange he thought but in an instant, Ives grabbed Boyd's hand and with his other hand still holding the knife, swiped it violently, watching as the cut emerged and wincing as he heard Boyd cry out in pain. He hated to say that he did not like hearing that from Boyd and almost felt sympathy.

He watched as Boyd stared at his hand now bleeding and then looked at Ives innocently again, looking at him with why in his eyes, blinking surprised, almost looking hurt even. Ives knew that he had to continue with his plan and had no choice but to do it but he would not explain it to Boyd.

In a brief moment, Ives felt weakness and suddenly without even thinking Ives reached out again to Boyd and with his own hand began to rub the blood off of Boyd's face and mouth gently. He know that he was looking at him in a way that Ives was sure he had never done before with anyone. But then just as suddenly the feeling went away and Ives began to feel embarrassed at his behavior, and angry at himself for acting out this way. He felt his eyes and demeanor return to normal and the fire in his veins that he was so used to return in him. He could only imagine what his father would have thought of him for what had just happened, letting a man place his mouth on his hand, growing excited and even ejaculating in his presence, and now showing concern and acting like a mother washing her cute little son's face.

Ives dropped his hand and stood up feeling his face flush slightly and his hands beginning to close into fists. He was not going to hurt Boyd but he felt like hurting someone. He knew that he had to deal with Slauson, who for sure was not going to be happy at the death of Lindus, and would possibly have to stop him from hurting Boyd or even killing him right here. He would have to deal with Hart and his new problem, the woman, and with Martha and the doctor. Ives after taking a few moments finally felt himself ready and smoothed back his hair with his least unbloody hand and down his coat, checking his shoulder slightly to make sure it was a believable sight . Looking at Lindus' blood begin to cool Ives knew that the time was now.

"I must go now Captain and tell the General the bad news. I'm sure that you'll be here when we get back." He said and smiled weakly and with that walked across the room and towards the door to fetch the unsuspecting General.

A sulking expression claimed the former Captain’s face as Ives walked out without little explanation. A moment ago he had been ready to let this man take just about anything he wanted from him and now, he right back to disliking the Colonel. Ives had been cold and cruel when he cut Boyd’s hand, but his touch as he cleaned Boyd’s face off had been anything but cruel. It was kind, gentle. That is why it aggravated Boyd when Ives suddenly went cold again and simply sauntered out the door, leaving him with the blood mess and Lindus’ corpse to judge him. Which Ives was real? Was it the cruel killer or the kind man? Or was he both? That was a frightening prospect but presently Boyd knew he was as good as dead. If Ives told them he had done this, he was not long for this world. Maybe Ives had just gotten his fill, maybe he’d taken everything he had wanted from Boyd and now felt the captain had out lived his usefulness. But why waste flesh? He had just killed Lindus. Two bodies was too much meat and it would spoil before Ives got to it.

Boyd gagged a little, realizing he was thinking of himself, his own dead body as meat. Meat spoiling in the sunlight of tomorrow’s morning. A morning that he’d most likely never see. He wanted Ives to come back, but he also wanted the man as far away as possible.

“I warned you,” he offered the dead body, attempting to push away the guilt he now felt over indulging in Lindus’ blood. He hadn’t killed the man, but he had contributed to the reason he had died and knew he would again if Ives tempted him in the same manner. If he lived that long.

He hadn’t felt guilty when Ives had been feeding him. He hadn’t felt anything but hunger, rampant desire. He knew Ives had as well. The other man had enjoyed it as much as he had. Boyd was just more quiet about it, more reserved. As always. And he felt utterly ashamed that he wanted more. He hadn’t wanted Ives to leave because now it meant he had to face what had happened. With the other man near him, he could pretend it was Ives that was the killer, the cannibal. Pretend it was Ives forcing him to do what he had done. He could pretend he was still innocent, but now he was alone and alone he realized he was just as guilty. And that he may have fallen into a trap. Ives could have him dead with in the hour if he desired and maybe he’d gotten all he wanted out of Boyd..

He was thankful he’d closed Lindus’ eyes. To see them staring at him right now would be his undoing. He avoided looking at the dead Major and instead, he stared down at his bleeding hand, wondering the wound’s designed purpose. He was certain Ives was going to blame this on him. For what reason, he did not know. But what else was there? Someone had to take the blame… he just was not ready to die. Especially not now.

Walking out the door Ives suddenly felt the cold air on his face and he was reminded that the world was also a cold place. He still felt angry at himself but also at his father. Because of how he had treated him and the words that he had fed into him, Ives had been ruined. Ruined from any emotion that was real. It had scared Ives how he had felt in that room and what scared him even more was that he wanted to feel like that again.

Walking to the stables Ives was hoping that he would find what he had intended Hart to do. Looking inside he saw that the horses were dead and Ives counted them to make sure that it had been all of them. The count was off so Ives counted again slower this time and again there was one horse missing. Ives squinted into the darkness looking everywhere making sure that he hadn't just missed one but no, he hadn't. It then dawned on him which horse that it was that was missing and he felt anger beginning to flush his whole body. This was an emotion that he was used to and he knew exactly what to do about it. But not now, later. He briefly wondered if Hart had sent the woman off and she was now on her way to tell someone what the truth was of what was really happening here at Fort Spencer. He really hoped Hart would not be that stupid and mumbled to himself under his breath, his voice growling with disdain. He would certainly find out soon. Damn them both!

Ives looked towards the dinner hall where he knew that Slauson would be waiting, probably smoking his tobacco and having a drink. He soon would need a lot.

Ives began to break into a run towards the hall ready to try and make a convincing performance. Ives could only hope that Boyd hadn't taken any more from Lindus' body. He did not want to walk into the room with the General and find Boyd's face covered in blood. The General would never believe that Boyd did not do it and would kill him where he sat.

Bursting through the door he saw the General immediately to his right and breathlessly ran up to him.

"General, Lindus is dead. Jesus. He's dead." Ives said breathless and panting and holding his shoulder making sure that blood got on to his hand. He acted as if he could not say any more and pretended to half faint his head rolling to his side and he fell to one knee in front of the man.

"Please...please...General...I have been stabbed...Lindus..." he trailed off there and watched as Slauson got up panic on his face and began to run towards the door. Ives then noticed Martha was there too and saw too that she had concern for him and for Lindus. Ives pretended to stagger around a bit but then also got up and followed Slauson outside the door and across the way to Boyd's shack. Ives knew that he must look a sight stabbed and breathless then running, behind the General just a little ways but he also knew that under certain circumstances a man could do anything and Martha knew it too.

The General burst through the door and stopped in shock as he saw Lindus' body. Ives was not far behind. He couldn't be, he had to stop the General once he got a look at Boyd. He could not let Slauson kill him, especially not now.

~~

Once inside the cabin, Hart closed the door behind them and bolted it shut. In case someone got curious, they would have to knock first. He stood staring at the door for a moment. He should leave, he knew he should leave. If Ives knew... who was he kidding, Ives *already* knew. Hart couldn't hide his feelings well. He knew Ives would use it against him. If he already knew, what was the sense in hiding at all? Maybe it was only his own sense of shame he was hiding from. Not shame at loving Lucy. Never that. It was shame at letting her care about him when she did not know the truth. He took a deep breath and turned around, intending on merely bidding her good night.

But when he looked at her and saw her smile and the look in her pretty eyes, Hart knew there was no way he could just walk away. Hart returned her smile and moved across the cabin to place the bag on a table, making sure he was as careful as possible with her things. "An outlaw? With me? Surely, you must think yourself with a different man, my dear. I'm only Colonel Andrew Hart who reads far too many books and plays a mean game of chess. No outlawry in either of those activities." He grinned at her before the expression faded as his mind snidely added, and we kill our friends and defenseless horses. We mustn't forget that. Hart rubbed his temple as if that would make the voice stop.

He sighed and stepped towards Lucy again. He reached out and place a hand on her side, pulling her close as he stared down at her and said softly, "I'm not sure if this is right, Lucy. I don't know if I can give you anything... You deserve so much better." With his other hand, Hart brushed Lucy's hair away from her face. He wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid if he did, this time he wouldn't be able to stop himself.

~~

Miles stared at the black ceiling for what seemed to be hours, but after glancing back at his watch he gathered it had only been around 20-25 minutes. Feeling entirely unable to sleep, he sat up and searched through the dark to find his matches. Upon striking them he heard a faint whinny. The candle brought some illumination to the room and yet another neigh. Somebody was probably feeding hungry horses or the like.

He sat once more on his bed with the candle nearby and pulled out Paradise Lost, his black medicine bag close and open beside him. As hard as he tried to concentrate on the text in front of him, his peripheral vision drove him nearly insane. There the bag sat, beckoning what little he had left of the only thing they didn't confiscate and could not recognize, yet was perhaps the most effective drug he owned. In fact, for a while it was the only thing that kept him alive so long ago. But not here--he didn't want to keep on with that. He clutched the bag and marched over to the darkest, farthest part of the room and tossed it into the corner, walking back and sitting down.

Naturally that did absolutely nothing. He stood up once more, growing impatient with himself, put on his jacket once more and stepped outside just in time to hear exactly what he loathed coming quietly from the other building.

"Lindus is dead."

Miles's eyes widened and he exhaled forcibly, unable to believe it. Slauson rushed to where Boyd was kept, followed by Ives who was stumbling and staggered. He found himself leaning weakly against the doorway, still aghast. He didn't exactly know Lindus well, nor did he enjoy what he did know of him---but the fact that such a young man was dead, most likely killed, and in the room of the man he had supposed was not insane gave him chills. But if Ives were in the room with Boyd the whole time, how could he have let Lindus die? Suddenly the rush of realization that he would have to investigate the corpse as well made his stomach turn over in the worst way. Still he gathered himself and walked briskly to the cabin, eyes trailing over the dismal scene.

~~

Slauson said farewell to Lucy and Hart, keeping his expression neutral behind a cloud of pipe smoke. He sat back again, idly speculating about their relationship. Looked like Lindus was right. Slauson made a mental note to tell Lindus to continue keeping an eye on them, just to keep Slauson up to date. Just then Ives stumbled in, bloody and disheveled, and delivered a message so unreal, Slauson seriously thought his hearing had gone.

Slauson stared at Ives in shock for a second, uncomprehending and rendered speechless. His pipe fell unnoticed. The sound of it hitting the floor broke the spell, and in another second he was storming towards Boyd's cabin, Ives at his heels. At the entrance he hesitated for the slightest moment, steeling himself. He reminded himself he'd seen many bodies on the battlefield, in various gruesome conditions, and then threw open the door.

That first image of the scene in the cabin burned itself into Slauson's brain indelibly. Lindus was lying on the floor, dead of a slit throat, in an enormous pool of blood, so recently spilled it was still spreading slowly. The entire floor was getting covered in it. Boyd was crouched in the corner behind Lindus, at first startled by the sudden intrusion. Then, seeing who it was, a look of terror crossed his face. Boyd was afraid of the general's reaction, as he damn well should be. Slauson wanted Boyd to be afraid, as Lindus had probably been. A slit throat was not an instantaneous death like a bullet to the head. What had Lindus been thinking in those final, horrible moments? Slauson noted Lindus' hand reaching out towards Boyd. Reaching to his murderer to beg for his life. His pistol was still in its holster.

A rage, one like he had rarely if ever felt before in his life, slowly began to consume Slauson, until he almost shook from the force of it. Slauson walked over to Lindus' body slowly, stepping in Lindus' blood. There was no avoiding it. Slauson stood over Lindus for a second, staring down at the body of his faithful assistant, almost in disbelief of the whole situation. Then he reached down and smoothed the hair from the major's forehead. He touched it, feeling how cold it was, then looked across Lindus directly at Boyd for the first time. The general's eyes, full of pure hate, met the captain's eyes, full of pure terror.

As for Boyd, he was not covered in Lindus' blood like Slauson would have expected. He must have grabbed Lindus from behind and done it. But this close to Boyd, Slauson noticed only one hand bloody, and his mustache... He suddenly recalled Ives's previous words about Boyd wanting a piece of them. Boyd had killed Lindus and then licked the blood off his hands! That was it. Engulfed in white-hot rage, Slauson grabbed the pistol Lindus never had a chance to use, forgetting about military trials and proper procedures, forgetting that he wanted Boyd to suffer slowly, and aimed directly at the cowering captain.

Behind him with surprising speed, Ives grabbed his arm and his first shot only grazed Boyd's left arm. Still, it was extremely close range, so when the bullet tore through Boyd's sleeve and flesh it left quite a wound. The sight of Boyd's blood and pain in return for Lindus' both appeased and amplified Slauson's fury, and he shot again and again, though by this time Ives had a better grip on his arm. Slauson shot holes into the walls and roof until all the bullets were finally spent, but not his rage. Not by any means.

For the first time, Slauson turned on the new colonel in anger. "How could you let this happen Ives? I thought you had this son of a bitch under control!" He dimly realized he had lost his own control, something he never liked to do in front of people, but at the moment he couldn't bring himself to care.

~~

Lucy saw love in Hart's eyes, but also regret and a sadness that tugged at her heart. She wondered what was keeping them apart in his mind; was it the differences between them in age and lifestyles? No, he'd said that her difference from other women was one of the things he loved most about her. And as for the age difference, it couldn't be that much - 15 yeas at most. And her own father had been nearly 10 years older than her mother when they married.

Could it be he simply had decided he'd mistaken lust for love, and being the gentleman he was, he now was backing away? That seemed more likely to her. She looked down at her feet as he smoothed her hair and crossed her arms a little. "S'okay," she told him with a small shrug as she moved over to the fire. Hoping he couldn't hear the disappointment in her voice, she added, "You don't need to explain."

Just then, a horrible sound tore through the night, a sound she knew well -- gunfire. First one, then several in succession. She instinctively counted the shots - six. Someone had completely unloaded their pistol. "God-*DAMN*!" she exclaimed, whirling around and looking at Hart. "What in blazes is going on?" There were far too many possibilities for her to even comprehend.

~~

Martha, who'd been on her way out earlier but had paused to fill a lantern for herself, was startled by the sight of Ives' sudden appearance in the doorway, wounded and breathless. Stunned, she listened to his proclamation - Lindus was dead. She was speechless; how could this have happened? She'd seen him less than half an hour ago, standing outside the shack. Could it be Boyd? Could he have gotten out of the shackles? It could be possible. Anything was, in this world. The general was already on his way out the door, Ives still grasping the door for a breath. She was going to help him to the sofa, knowing that he needed aid yet and thankful there was already a doctor. But Ives was out the door before she could even say anything.

She dropped her bag and quickly lit the lantern, knowing that outside, it was difficult to see more than an arm's length ahead of you. This certainly didn't slow the general or Ives, however -- they both barreled towards the shack quickly. Once Martha's lantern was lit, she headed out into the cold, the red of Ives' blood marking the white of the snow. She wasn't more than a few feet out the door when she heard shots firing. The sound stopped her in her tracks -- she had no desire to enter a potentially dangerous situation. Comforted by the knife she always kept on her -- the one George had given her -- she looked around for the others as she slowly approached the shack, keeping a safe distance from the door. She thought she might listen first and ensure it was safe.

Seeing the General react to Lindus' body was another experience that Ives would not soon forget. Ives had always thought that the General had not really cared about the man, that he had been just a slave to order around and control but now he knew that that was not entirely true. He could see the pain in Slauson’s eyes when they fell upon the late Major surrounded by his own blood, and he could feel the vengeful rise in his soul as he realized the horribleness of the end that the Major had just experienced, and his drowning in dying a slow and painful death.

In an instant Slauson was over on Lindus, smoothing back his hair and he watched as the General's eyes slowly raised to Boyd. He knew what was coming next and was glad as his instincts took over and that he was there when the General took his first shot at Boyd. He did not react only out of satisfaction that his own plans would be ruined had he not been there, but he also acted out of concern and out of protection for Boyd. He would not let anyone hurt the Captain, no, not without his permission. He saw such fear in Boyd's eyes while Slauson’s rifle kept shooting and shooting again and again and he felt right in what he was doing as well as needed. He kept a steady grip on the General until all of his rounds were spent and finally then and only then loosened his grip on the old man.

He listened as the General angrily asked him how this could happen and as he did he noticed that Martha and the doctor were also there, in his presence and also in Boyd’s.

"It was unexpected sir. Jesus Christ. I swear to you. It was not Boyd," he said and paused still holding the General but suddenly letting go and clutching his shoulder. "It was a man, a crazy man who burst in here and tried to kill us all. Lindus had his back to the door and...." gasping ... "he just grabbed him and... it was over in an instant. The man then went after Boyd here and thankfully I had reached him in time so he could not do any serious damage to him except for one single wound to his hand after he had defended himself to the man's frantic attempts to end him. The man then turned to me and since I had stopped him before he could get to Boyd here, he stabbed me twice." He pointed to his shoulder and painfully winced. "I believe then that then out of panic he ran out of here but not before Boyd here called out his name... Colqhune!"

Ives paused taking one more deep breath and continuing "and at that the man turned and smiled such a wicked smile" Ives shook his head and shivered. "And with that he left and I have to say that I lost my mind for just a moment and passed out. But soon after I regained consciousness and composure and seeing now that Boyd here was innocent and that this Colqhune was still on the loose, I ran to you sir, to warn you." He ended breathlessly and looked at Slauson with as much of a pleading look as he could manage.

Ives hoped that the General and the others believed his story to be sincere. In a way it was, and he hoped that this would all go away quickly, so that not only could his life return to normal as he knew it but also so that he could continue with his plans, but most importantly so that he could take the blame off of Boyd for all of past murders including Lindus, both because he now had more plans for the former Captain but also to help ease his now growing conscious and his guilt of hurting his new partner in crime and potential partner in everything else to come.

When Slauson had entered, Boyd took what little shelter he could by shifting to the corner and cowering. It was a natural reaction. Even though he felt as strong as ten men, he still had John Boyd’s instincts and that was to hide, not fight. But he had no place to take cover. The first bullet grazed his shoulder and after cry of pain, he winced, preparing for the second blow. He heard it, but did not feel the same sting. The lack of new pain forced him to open his eyes. Not knowing what was going on was far worse than expecting to be shot.

He blinked in disbelief at the sight of Ives holding the General at bay. It was a dangerous move, but one Boyd was more thankful for than anything he had ever been in his entire life. It took bravery to stop a General from doing anything and Ives had bravery going spare. It was one reason Boyd hesitated to harm the new Colonel now. Oh how he envied that trait in Ives. Wanted it for himself. He knew to some extend he’d begun living through Ives at this point. He wasn’t sure if he could go back, but he also wasn’t sure he could go forward.

The sparing of his life was just the first of many shocks. Ives began to speak, confirming the tale Boyd had told earlier to the General. The truth.. but such a twisted version of it. Boyd wasn’t dumb, he wouldn’t tell anyone that anything happened here other than what Ives had just said. He was being spared and still uncertain why. But he was not so foolish as to deny such a gift. Freedom. Not by his own hand, but he would take it anyway. And he’d spare them all the ‘you should have believed me’s out of respect. It was bad enough he was going to lie to every single one of them. His confidence had been shattered by a gunshot and yet renewed in the fact his enemy had lied for him. But he and Ives were not enemies anymore. They were in this together now. Jesus Christ.

“That’s what happened,” he confirmed, swallowing hard against the pain he presently felt. He could hear his own voice but his conscious was so far removed from it, it sounded almost as if someone else was speaking. He was lying. It was wrong to lie, but.. but why would be not? And the more he thought about it, the easier it became.

“Colqhune,” he confirmed. And that was a not lie. Ives was Colqhune. That was the only part that he left out. “I told you the tale once, General, but I was so.. tired.. so weary from what I had witnessed that I was delusional. When I saw the new colonel, I thought Ives was Colqhune, but..” he left it off at that. He did not want to lie further. Slauson was a smart enough man that he’d assume the rest. He’d assume Boyd meant they were two different men. “I remember now,” he added for good measure, bringing his already blood hand up to the new wound on his shoulder. He was bleeding heavily. With another wince, he looked up at both men pleading for help once more. This time not for them to believe him, but rather someone who unchain him and stop the bleeding.

~~

Hart saw the look in Lucy's eyes as she turned away and he felt something tighten in his chest. Even though he wanted to go to her and tell her that he was just being foolish and kiss her, a part of him knew that he should let this happen. let himself disappoint her and make her unhappy. Would that keep her safe? Hart didn't know. But it might be easier to disappoint her now than break her heart later when she learned of what he was and what he had done. But the look in her eyes, the subtle timbre in her voice...

He could not do this.

Hart strode across the room and touched her shoulder, whispering, "Lucy, I-"

The sound of gunfire outside interrupted whatever he was going to say. His head turned towards the door and he sucked in a harsh breath. Good God. Hart knew that it wasn't Ives that had emptied the gun. Ives preferred a knife. Not Boyd either because the man was chained without access to a gun. So that left either Lindus, Slauson, or Martha. He could almost imagine the circumstances that would lead up to such an event and shook is head. So soon? Was this all going to begin so soon?

He looked again at Lucy and said softly, "I don't know, but we should investigate, I think." He reached for her coat and handed it to her as he said in a weary voice, "Please bring your gun." It would have been the gallant thing to leave her here while he investigated, but Hart wasn't stupid enough to leave Lucy alone. It would be just like Ives to create a distraction and hurt Lucy while he was otherwise occupied. Hart was going to do everything in his power to stop that from happening.

Before Lucy could walk out, Hart grabbed her by the elbow and turned her around, kissing her firmly, but briefly on the mouth before he said in a low voice, "This isn't over yet." He released her and started to move for the door, checking to make sure that his own firearm was loaded and ready. Just in case.

~~

Slauson took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to absorb the story and regain his rational mind. He looked between Ives and Boyd as he did this, because it was much easier when he did not have to look at Lindus. Slauson turned and studied Ives a minute. The blood on his shoulder and the pained expression on his face softened Slauson somewhat. Ives had gotten hurt as well, and must have aggravated his wound further trying to restrain Slauson. It could just as easily been the colonel killed as Lindus, or both.

Behind Ives outside the door, Slauson saw he'd drawn a crowd. Dr. O'Donnel and Martha close by, and farther out Lucy and Hart, carrying weapons of their own. He must have disturbed the whole fort with his violent outburst. Slauson sighed and cleared his throat, reassuming control of himself and the situation as a good general should in times of crisis.

"Very well then. Since Boyd appears to be innocent, he may be released. My apologies, captain." Slauson knew he did not sound sincere, because he wasn't. There was still something wrong with Boyd, in Slauson's view, though he supposed it was slightly better to be a lunatic than a murderer. Maybe Boyd hadn't killed the men at the cave, or Cleaves, Knox, and their horses back at Fort Spencer, but why did he attack Hart and drag Knox's body around? Slauson knew it was irrational, but he somehow blamed Boyd for everything, for being a coward on the battlefield and forcing Slauson to send him to Fort Spencer, and somehow setting this whole train of tragic events in motion. The only reason Slauson was releasing Boyd now was to have another lookout for this Colqhoun bastard, who appeared to exist after all.

Slauson looked down at Lindus' pistol, which was cold and empty now, like the man himself, and decided to keep it in his own jacket pocket. If it weren't for the testimony of the reliable and mentally sound Ives corroborating Boyd's story, Slauson would probably have taken out his own pistol, which was still fully loaded, and finished the job.

"Dr. O'Donnel, I'll need you to treat the wounds of Colonel Ives and Boyd. But first, please put a bandage around.... around Lindus' neck so he can be moved." Slauson peered out of the doorway. "Colonel Hart, will you please help me carry Lindus' body from the room?" Good Lord, he couldn't believe he was referring to Lindus as a body. It simply wasn't right. And now he would have to touch him again. The fatherly gesture of a minute ago was done out of shock, to try and understand the situation. Now by carrying Lindus out, it would make everything so real and final.

"Martha and Lucy, stay close by. Do not go anywhere by yourselves under any circumstances." Slauson then addressed the group. "Everyone, stay alert! Carry a weapon if you have one, and don't go anywhere alone. If you see this Colqhoun monster, feel free to shoot him on the spot."

Running to the shack with her gun gripped firmly in her hand, Lucy was surprised by heart's fervent kiss and message. She knew it was dangerous to let herself become distracted in a time of crisis like this, but she could not help being both relieved and thrilled that Hart still felt as she did.

But nothing could have prepared her for the sight at the shack. She held onto Hart's arm instinctively, recoiling from horrible sight of the bloodied Lindus. She'd seen many deaths since coming out west -- hell, she'd even had to kill a few herself out of self-defense -- but seeing a good man die would never become easy.

She finally let what everyone was saying sink in, and realized she had been wrong about Boyd, had beaten the wrong man. Guilt added to her shock, and she looked up at Hart as if to apologize, for she could not yet bring herself to face Boyd or the others. She knew how inappropriate an apology would be right now.

Hearing the instruction to stay close by, Lucy was thankful Hart suggested she bring her gun; if this lunatic was quick with a knife, that wouldn't matter. It was always better to bring a knife to a gunfight. She looked to Martha, who'd warned her to stay armed. Had she known something like this would happen?

Gathering herself, Lucy did her best to at least appear strong despite her shock, and suggested, "Should we all go to the lodge? There's more room in there for the doctor to treat the wounds, plus it's well-lit and warmer." And larger numbers were safer, she wanted to add.

Ives was relieved that the General seemed to believe his story and stole a glance at Boyd who looked even more relieved than himself which was expected. Boyd did not catch Ives's eye, which was fine, he would speak to him later as well as his protege about the horses. He watched as Hart came into the room and attempted to help the General move Lindus' body outside. Hart did not look in Ives's direction and was smart not to do so for Ives would not be able to keep himself from shooting a look at him of annoyance and disdain.

Ives walked over the table where the keys to Boyd's shackles lie and picked them up and still wincing in pain for show, walked slowly over to Boyd.

Boyd then caught his eye and they stared at each other silently, eyes mixed with relief, knowledge, and even respect. Ives put the key into the lock and felt as the lock gave way and Boyd fell free of the chains that had held him for so long.

Ives then watched as the doctor slowly entered the room, slightly hesitant of the situation, raise his eyes to meet the corpse, then Boyd, then to look at him. Ives caught his gaze and took his hand off of his wound and looked at his hand then at Boyd.

"Help him" Ives said and nodded his head towards Boyd. "I'll be ok, please just help the Captain. If you don't mind I am going to sit here and regain my senses."

He wanted control of the situation but he knew now, for the time being, that he would have to obey the General and let his wound be treated, even though he knew that the other cure was already beginning to work it's magic and would so on Boyd soon as well.

Boyd stayed still, knowing better than to make any sudden moves. Freed or not, they all still thought him insane and they would think even worse of him when he started to regret all that he had said, claiming it was under pressure that he had said it and he was not of a proper frame of mind. He had to secure a position here before he made any moves – to or away from Ives. Right now, it was just about securing his safety and stopping the bleeding.

If he hadn’t felt so horribly guilty over the whole situation with Lindus, he would have been far more angry over the ‘My apologies, captain’ comment from Slauson. You chain an innocent man to the wall, beat him repeatedly and then shoot him and all you have to say is ‘My apologies, captain’? Being chained to the wall had made him less innocent and that was partly Slauson’s fault as well. Boyd, however, had not the courage or the gall to call the General to defend his prior comment. He had Lindus’ body to tend to and Boyd was to blame for that… at least he certainly felt guilty over Lindus’ death. It was harder to feel guilty with Ives’ eyes on him and he now owed the man for sparing his life. He owed Ives, and that was a scary prospect.

He sat back against the wall even though his chains were cut, still holding his wounded arm as he stared at Ives. He wanted to look to Hart, to offer something.. an explanation perhaps, but he knew better. Not here, not right now. He just leaned his head against the wall and watched the ‘new’ Colonel.

Miles watched the events unfold in front of him. Boyd and Ives wounded--Colqhoun revealed as a living and breathing maniac who burst in and killed Lindus? Then just...left? But it wasn't his place to question. So Boyd was correct then. That at least gave Miles a slight feel of accomplishment, though nothing was done by him.

He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and knelt down beside the late Lindus, the smell of blood heavy in the air, and tied it around his slightly severed neck. Then he pushed himself back up and looked over at Slauson, nodding finally for him to move it....the body--Lindus. Good god, Lindus really was dead. That was his blood seeping through the floor into the ground, dying everything it touched a dismal shade. He turned to look over to Boyd, who was huddled even though his chains were gone, eyes tracing back to the body being hauled up, then to Ives.

Ives made a comment of 'treat Boyd first', Lucy commenting that 'it would be warmer somewhere else', Slauson barking 'everyone be on your toes'. He was in the army after all, and there would seemingly never be a vacation from that. He sighed, looking over to Boyd again with a slight smile, his eyes dimmed and his brow low, as if to say 'odd situation, huh?"

"Excuse me, General, I had no idea I would be back treating wounds--I left my bag in my room," Miles remarked offhandedly, turning around and walking out boyishly as if he forgot his homework outside that day. "Situate yourselves and I'll treat them."

At Lucy's suggestion, Martha firmly shook her head, setting her lantern on the table and getting a better grip on her knife. "We all stay together." She saw Lucy's eyes widen at her own lack of foresight, and she nodded back.

Martha stood aside as General Slauson and Colonel Hart carried Lindus' body out. She and Lucy entered the shack as O'Donnel left to get his bag, instinctively standing near each other and away from Boyd and Ives, who seemed to be looking at each other; Boyd with a strange mixture of gratitude, anger and shock, while Ives sat back heavily in the chair, exhausted but looking as if he wished to speak to Boyd. Perhaps to apologize? She suspected Lucy wished to apologize to Captain Boyd as well, but had the wisdom to wait until things weren't so tense. Martha could see that the other woman was in shock, and realized then that she was too. For about the third time in two months! So much loss, and too much mourning -- she wasn't sure she could remain at the Fort much longer, no matter how much they needed her.

She took Lucy's arm with her free hand, and both women were silent, as though mourning, staring at the bloodied floor until O'Donnel's return.

Miles half-ran back to his room, the candle flickering still, grabbed the bag lying open at the dark, far end corner, closed it, then rushed back. He knelt in front of Boyd, the knees of his pants becoming soaked with the blood on the floor, and opened his bag.

"I think the light is sufficient---save for perhaps one missing candle. If someone would please light one..." Miles said in passing, pulling out gauze, bandages, antibacterial solutions, pain relieving creams, and at last a brown leather purse which he kept rolled. He looked over at the man Boyd, more calm than he had seen him, but still relatively shocked. " I hope, John Boyd, that you will let me serve you better now---you most certainly need it."

Another candle had been lit and the room was bright and easily maneuverable. He looked over his items and sighed, eyes fixed finally on the leather pouch, containing what little he had left of the potent painkiller. He didn't want to use it...he wanted it...but now was not the time for being selfish---not the time at all. He took a breath and unrolled it, pulling out the dried plant and looked back at Boyd.

"This time I intend to finish *all* of my work, if you would be so inclined."

Hart wasn't as shocked when he came across the body as he thought he would be. He had known someone was going to die and felt oddly relieved that it was Lindus instead of Martha or Lucy. He looked at Ives, his expression weary and resigned before he glanced at Boyd. If Boyd was being released, it meant that something had changed. Hart looked between Boyd and Ives and had to swallow his disappointments. Boyd had given in. He knew it.

Hart also know that if that was the case, he was all alone in this now. He nodded numbly to the General's order and started to move forward. He spared Lindus a pitying glance and reached down to heft him into his arms. Hart felt something strangely akin to despair start to descend over him. Not over Lindus' body. Hart never liked the little kiss ass and besides, he himself had slit the throats of two of his own men just weeks ago.

No, his despair over the situation came from the fact that he was alone now. Before, he had begun to shape his plans with the idea that he and Boyd were on the same side. But not now. One look was all Hart needed to know that Boyd belonged to Ives now. Oh, he was wary and his inner instincts told him to fight it, but Hart knew that Boyd was Ives.' The fevered gleam in the eyes, the way he kept looking at Ives... Hart recognized that. That had been him just hours after Ives had fed him the meat for the first time.

As he passed Martha and Lucy, Hart murmured softly, "Please keep an eye on her for me, Martha?" He met the woman's eyes. It was not a command, but a plea from friend to friend. He looked away and with a grunt of effort, he and Slauson carried Lindus' body out of the cabin and into the cold. The snow was starting to spit from the sky, white flakes descending like frozen petals from the cold, dark clouds. Hart looked up at Slauson and asked, "Where shall we take him? It might be better to leave him out of doors. The cold will keep the animals away..." And help with the stench of decomposition, but Hart didn't think it would be right to mention the fact that his subordinate would soon be rotting to the General right then.

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