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Like somebody just walked over my grave.
Ezra Standish shivered, feeling for a moment like the Earth had just spun out of control beneath his feet. He paused, glancing down the deserted street over his shoulder before giving his head a shake, wondering just who had coined that particular copper penny: 'Like somebody just walked over my grave.'
It brought the ghost of a smile to his lips, if only because he suspected he had just done that poor soul—whoever he was—one better. Ezra looked down. After all, it was his own boots, freshly polished, kicking up the patch of dust where he had been hit. Might have fallen. Should have died.
The boots were new, just purchased yesterday. Far from Lobbs of London, but he rather liked them.
He pulled his watch out of his pocket before continuing on his way, watching the second hand make its dutiful way around. He was mindful of the time these days, constantly aware of it ticking on, itching to pin it down. Eleven o'clock and the town was sleeping, and Ezra wasn't, but that just seemed to be the way of things lately. Main Street turned a blind eye to his night-time patrol, shades drawn and shutters shut. All decent folk were in their beds.
This brand of peace was still new enough to surprise him, insomuch as he could really be surprised by anything anymore. It might have been coming on springtime, but the sun seemed to be setting on the town just a little earlier each night. Four Corners was growing up and settling down, no longer fit for drinking and brawling through all hours of a weeknight until the law or the sunrise put it to bed. There was work to be done in the mornings now, and young mouths to feed.
He reached the end of the street and went around to the shadowy back lot of the Star Hotel. Even on the dusty thoroughfare, the sound of his own footsteps echoed loudly enough to make him wince. The quiet was new, yes, and it still rather unnerved him. It was a respectable quiet, the kind that had never taken to him. It hung in the night air like old lace curtains, fussy and self-satisfied behind the little insect and animal sounds that scuttled in from the desert after sundown. A respectable quiet didn't deafen, didn't need to—it muted. It hemmed and shushed, and it had expectations. The sort that made Ezra feel like a thief in the night, even as he went about his lawful duty, peering into doorway after doorway, checking for lifted latches and anything amiss.
St. Michael's, he thought. The quiet put him back in midnight mass in the Charleston of his boyhood. That hush in the rafters, and his grandmother wordlessly keeping her hand on his knee to keep him from swinging his legs. Of sitting very still, shivering in the silence, and feeling very small in the midst of something enormous.
This time the shiver he felt couldn't be shaken off, and his shoulder gave a wince of protest when he tried. The little twinge made him fumble the padlock he had been inspecting, and the clunk of metal against the door muffled his quiet curse. He had to force himself to shrug, gritting his teeth as the bones ground against each other, finally sliding into alignment with an audible pop, leaving behind a hot ache that radiated all the way down to his fingers.
He swallowed hard, flexing his hand, and then gave the padlock another tug for good measure. It didn't always catch when old Watson closed up for the night—a rusty sumbitch. Not unlike his shoulder was turning out to be, he thought wryly, still feeling a dull throb along his arm. His muscles had been knotted up as hard as wood for about a week now, paining him enough that he'd taken to sleeping on his back and practicing his cross-draw. He had managed to keep anyone else from noticing, and for that he was grateful.
Thinking on it, he almost supposed he should be grateful for the pain itself.
Take one man, and call him x or y or whatever you like. Add one bullet to the chest, a good shot. Now multiply that by two over a three-week run. No matter how you did the math, the answer surely shouldn't come out to one man, x or y, walking and breathing and going about his patrol with no more than a sore shoulder.
Dumb luck was what Nathan had called it. Damned near impossible, was Chris's opinion.
And as for himself...
Well, that was where his own train of thought invariably derailed. Because there wasn't supposed to be such a creature as impossible, not for a Standish, and his belief in luck had died along with his belief in the Cabbage Patch. He had learned how to stack a deck at his mother's knee, and the most important lesson she had ever impressed upon him was that all the world was a gaming table, and anyone with quick eyes and sharp wits could deal himself the hand he deserved. Only fools and wastrels allowed themselves to be shuffled.
Fools and wastrels.
Ezra wandered into the alleyway between the undertaker's and the haberdashery and propped himself up against the bricks to light a cigarette. Filthy habit, his mother chided in his head, but he couldn't quite muster reason to care. She wasn't here, and she wasn't him. He doubted that his mother had even heard of the game he was playing.
He took a deep drag and then exhaled slowly.
How could she? When he had only just figured out that he'd been dealt in the moment he fell in with this unlikely group of men and still didn't know exactly what was at stake. And every time he thought he had the rules figured out, someone went and changed them.
He shook his head.
He was alive, and he had no idea why. Against all reason, he hadn't been run out of town. Against all expectations, life had gotten back to normal among his compatriots—not coincidentally since Judge Travis had come to collect the money, save for a seven-hundred dollar stipend left behind. Not so very much once it was split up, but it was something. Like Chris and Vin buying him a round at the saloon, or Buck and JD sitting in for a few hands of five-card draw. Nathan had been as prickly with him as ever, but that was what passed for usual between them, and it was preferable to silence.
And Josiah...
Ezra let the smoke linger in his mouth as his thoughts drifted.
Things had been very...cautious between him and Mr. Sanchez lately.
That was the way of it, in his experience, when money changed hands between friends. The words that had passed that day in the church seemed to lie between them each time they met, and the only new ones that got forced around them were 'please' and 'thank you' and 'pass the salt.' From time to time he would catch Josiah looking at him with a strange, careful expression that would last until Ezra blinked. But just what was meant by it, he couldn't say.
Ezra was finding that he missed him, though. Especially on a sleepless night like this, when the preacher might have been counted on for a drink, or a game of chess, or a conversation that could twist on and on into all hours. That was how Ezra knew the world was still moving around without his leave, because here he was missing a man that he saw every day, and if that wasn't madness then—
A sudden noise caught his attention, halting him in mid-thought.
His hand crept to his revolver as he cocked his head. The sound had come from up the street, faint but jarring in the fragile peace. It was a wood-and-animal sound, he noted, his thoughts jumping to the livery, which should have been closed up for two hours or more. He put out his cigarette and tucked the dog-end into his belt before peering around the corner and up the street.
It took a moment for his eyes to clear in the light, and when they finally did, he found he had to blink and look again.
There, speak of the devil, was Josiah Sanchez. He was indeed occupied at the livery. And he was, to all appearances, stealing Ezra's horse.
Ezra watched curiously for a moment before amending his observation. Josiah was, more accurately, attempting to steal his horse, with lukewarm results. Half of poor Hamish had been successfully liberated, but it was, in fact, his back half. And there Hamish appeared to have dug in his hooves.
A quiet crooning could be heard: "...come on, you miserable son of a goat, come to Papa, or come hell or high water I swear I'll..."
Ezra smothered a laugh, his hand sliding smoothly away from his gun belt, as though a little guilty for still lingering there. It was, he decided, some manner of prank. He was most likely meant to find his horse wandering the streets in the morning in a pair of ladies' bloomers. It was almost flattering, though the sort of peace offering he would expect from Buck, with JD in tow.
Of course, flattering or no, he was obligated to spoil it. He watched closely, waiting for precisely the right moment to make Josiah jump out of his skin.
"...the glue factory, I swear to heaven, the glue factory..."
Josiah had apparently given up the reins and was pushing on Hamish's shoulder instead, to no more avail than pushing a brick wall until the horse finally took one obliging step back. Josiah's leg went out from under him, sending him sprawling on his backside in a cloud of dust.
This time there was no chance in hell of Ezra catching himself before he laughed out loud. A chuckle broke out before he could stop it, bringing Josiah bolt upright.
Too late, Ezra tried to melt back into the shadows, but there was no hiding from Josiah's booming voice, which had no respect for the sleeping town.
"You going to laugh at me, Ezra," Josiah called out, looking unerringly to where he was hiding, "or are you going to come give me a hand?"
For a moment Ezra considered slipping back through the alley, but then he recalled that for once he hadn't anything to feel guilty about. He stepped out into the halo of the nearest street lamp, crossing his arms over his chest and making his best attempt at appearing put out.
"You honestly expect me to assist you in the kidnapping of my own horse? Horse-thievery is a hanging offense in this territory, I'll have you know."
Josiah laughed and then turned and stepped into the livery. He returned a moment later, leading his own mount, which was already saddled and padding along willingly. His grin flashed in the dim light, disarmingly charming. "I expect you to at least get the other half of your damn fool horse out of the stable, because Job isn't going to hold us both."
Ezra glanced from Job to Hamish's rear end, and the confusion must have been written on his face, because Josiah kindly added, "We're going for a ride," in a tone of voice that suggested that should explain it all.
"Are we, now?" Ezra asked, making his way over to poor, manhandled Hamish and soothing him with a gentle pat.
"Yup."
A sudden suspicion struck him. "Just how did you know I'd be out here?"
Josiah didn't look up, fussing over the saddlebag. "Your shoulder's been acting up. You've been making the rounds twice every night this week."
The matter-of-factness of Josiah's words made him a little nervous. He was suddenly reminded of just how deeply the town was sleeping. There were stories about nights like these, told around campfires: two men ride out and only one comes back.
He shook his head quickly, trying to dismiss the thought as ridiculous, but there was something undeniably queer in the little looks that Josiah kept sneaking his way.
"Something the matter?" Josiah asked innocently. Maybe a little too innocently?
Ezra reined in his imagination with a sheepish grin. "Er...you wouldn't be planning on taking me out to the woods to shoot me, would you?"
Josiah paused, seeming to give it some consideration. "Should I be?"
"Not in my opinion."
"Well then," Josiah chuckled. "I guess I'm taking you out to the woods to apologize to you."
He felt his eyebrows climbing of their own accord. He wheeled Hamish around, peering back into the shadows in an attempt to see how Josiah had gotten into the livery in the first place, but it was too dark. He closed the door behind him.
"You couldn't do that over breakfast?"
Though what he really wondered was why Josiah felt any need to apologize at all. The preacher was a fair man, but a proud one too. Prouder than Ezra, in his own way.
Josiah straightened up, putting his hands on his hips and taking a lusty breath of the night air. "It's a good night for it," he proclaimed, and then he nodded smartly, as though his personal approval meant something to the world.
He glanced sidelong at Ezra, adding, "Now come on, or we'll be late."
Then a smile...a certain smile that made it clear that the cryptic comment was all he meant to say on the matter, and Ezra knew that Josiah was counting on his curiosity being piqued. Which, of course, it was. With a few departing thoughts for his lost senses, he swung himself into the saddle. "Lay on, good sir."
He nudged Hamish into a walk behind Job and let himself be led southward, into the darkness.
They rode in silence. The street lamps quickly gave way to moonlight, and Josiah was only a blue-gray shadow in front of him. It was too dark to read his watch, but he could feel it ticking against his chest. Was it about ten minutes they had been going, now? Fifteen?
He cleared his throat, both nervous and satisfied to hear the silence crumble. "If you ask me," he said, keeping his voice light, "it's Hamish you should be apologizing to."
Josiah's shadow turned.
"For calling him a goat," Ezra clarified, and he caught a chuckle.
"I've always thought the goat was a very noble animal, a prince among the cloven-hoofed—most definitely my favorite horned beast."
Ezra grinned. Josiah did know how to use that silver tongue when it suited him. He gave Hamish a double-tap behind the ear, prompting a whicker.
"Apology accepted," he said, rather more sincerely this time, hoping it might be taken for the both of them and this business forestalled, but Josiah rode on.
He would have known the trail by daylight. He had made a point of learning all the viable routes that led out of Four Corners. If he'd had to wager a guess a few minutes ago, he would have said they were heading toward Bradford's Pass, but they were veering slightly west now.
"Where are we going, if I might inquire?"
"There."
"Where?"
"There."
He peered out into the darkness, trying to separate one shadow from another. The ground sounded hard and flat beneath the horses' hooves, and he thought he could make out a patch of scrub to the left of them.
"Where?" he asked, exasperated.
"Right here." Josiah halted right in front of him, making Hamish sidestep to the right to avoid a collision.
Ezra clucked his tongue irritably, squinting out at the place where they had stopped and finding only shadows. He waited for Josiah to dismount and then followed suit, leading Hamish along to a stunted tree where he wasn't surprised to find two hitching ropes waiting.
"Come on."
He gave a start as Josiah's hands settled on his waist from behind, urging him forward. He squirmed, but they weren't to be batted off, and he let himself be walked down the path—reminding himself that it was very unlikely that Josiah intended to throw him off a cliff—and around the natural bend on the way.
They stepped into a small clearing that was lit up just bright enough for him to see the jagged black line where the outcropping dropped down into shadow below. He dug in his heels and felt Josiah stop.
Then Ezra looked up, and his jaw dropped as he realized just why the sand still looked red at night.
The moon hung just over the edge of the drop, as big as an orange in the sky and nearly the same color. It looked close enough that he might have stretched out his fingers to touch it, and for a mad moment his first thought was of the rapture. A dead man, and a preacher, and a moon the color of blood. His knees weakened.
"What do you think?"
Josiah's quiet voice broke through his reverie, and Ezra shook his head to clear it, unable to tear his eyes away from the sky. "My word...an eclipse. I haven't seen one of these since I was a boy."
The hands left him, and he heard the gusty sound of a blanket thrown out. He turned to catch Josiah's grin.
"It should be even redder at midnight."
Ezra finally blinked, and then he turned, crouching down to smooth out a corner of the blanket before taking a seat beside Josiah. "Oh? Does astronomy rank among your many talents now?"
Josiah pulled out a bottle of wine with a proud flourish. "Like the magi of old, it falls upon any spiritual man to study the course of the planets and the movement of the stars..."
The cork popped out like a gunshot, and Ezra gave him a skeptical look.
"...and I might have read it in the almanac."
Ezra gave a snort as the bottle was pressed into his hands and, when it was made obvious that no glasses were forthcoming, took a swig. He hummed his surprise when a surprisingly pleasant red vintage hit his tongue, and then he handed the bottle back with his compliments.
Josiah took a healthy drink as well, then looked at him for a moment before asking softly, "How are you doing, Ezra?"
Here it came. Ezra forced a smile, trying to keep his voice light. "Good wine, good company, and an excellent view—I'm quite well for all your efforts, thank you."
"Mm-hm. Now, how are you really doing?"
Ezra paused, already knowing what he'd see when he glanced over. Josiah had that look on his face, those eyes that always forced him to be the first to blink. Even his best poker face was never any match for that gaze peering right into his soul.
He sighed and shrugged, wincing as his muscles protested. "Pretty good for a dead man, I suppose."
Josiah slowly nodded. His gaze dropped to Ezra's shoulder. "May I...?"
A moment passed in which Ezra had to hesitate. He got jumpy enough when it was Nathan poking and prodding at him, and Josiah's hands were...well, this wasn't the first time they had caught his attention. But they were already settling on his chest and shoulder, warm and big, and before he could refuse, the first squeeze drove a hot sigh out of him.
He stiffened up as Josiah shifted behind him, and then he grabbed the wine bottle for a greedy sip. He swallowed hard as Josiah's fingers dug in, sweetly painful, doing what ten hot baths hadn't come close to accomplishing. He found the moon growing hazy as his eyes grew half-lidded, his body rocking gently back and forth with the motion of Josiah's hands. It seemed to go on for a small eternity, lulling him half to sleep before Josiah spoke.
"In India..." the low voice barely stirred him. "...they say that the moon is bleeding during an eclipse. And after, it's a time for cleansing."
"Is that so?" Ezra mused, leaning back just a little, his eyes tracing the fresh scars on the face of the moon. It really was a remarkable sight, and he felt a little pleasure at knowing they were the only ones in Four Corners to be seeing it.
"Mm. The time following an eclipse is one for new beginnings, and I..."
A heavy sigh puffed against his neck, making him shiver.
"...I just wanted to say I'm right sorry for the way I treated you, Ezra."
Ezra shrugged, and this time it didn't hurt quite as much, save for the tightness in his chest. "You didn't say anything that everyone else wasn't thinking." He smiled humorlessly. "And I proved you right, didn't I."
The hands tightened, putting in perspective how gentle they had been before.
"You didn't do anything that the rest of us weren't thinking about." Josiah's voice was low and fierce, holding him as steady as his hands. "I can't speak for the rest of our brothers, but I said the things I did because I was mighty tempted myself, and seeing you..."
His voice died, and the night sounds scurried in between them. Time stretched out awkwardly, with Ezra trying not to breathe as Josiah's hands began to move again—not rubbing anymore, but softly stroking over his shirt. He could feel the wine heating his blood, and he finally forced a chuckle to dispel the tension.
"Ah, now I see—you take me out into the wilderness, ply me with wine, and make free with my person. If I didn't know better, Mr. Sanchez, I'd think you were trying to seduce me.
His grin faltered when there was no answer save a silence that stretched out long enough for Ezra's stomach to tear itself in two. It had been meant as a jest—or nearly so—but Josiah wasn't laughing, and he knew this wasn't the place to be saying things lightly. Not when they were a half-mile away from town, away from any ears and eyes other than their own. Not when it was Josiah, whom he had always suspected to be a gentleman with tastes not so different from his own.
When Josiah finally spoke, his quiet voice sounded very far away. "I think...I might've been doing that for a while now, Ezra."
Now the wine was boiling in his belly and, incredulously, he felt the beginnings of a blush creeping up to his cheeks. The corner of his mouth lifted in a tiny smile and refused to lie down. He glanced over at Josiah, who was sitting calm as you please with a face that might as well have been carved out of granite. Only his eyes showed a hint of heat, with the red moon reflected in the centre.
"Well, I declare," was all Ezra could think to say. The huskiness of his own voice surprised him.
Josiah's warm and worn fingertips brushed across the back of his hand. Ezra's palm prickled with sweat when he took Josiah's hand in his own. He shook his head—what was it about these men that seemed to strip away every ounce of his finesse? He wasn't fifteen years old, taking his first unsteady steps up a hotel staircase with a few sweaty bills clutched in his pocket. He was a man of the world now, even if that world was currently a dusty little border town barely a stone's throw wide.
He wondered at the places Josiah had been. China and Tibet, England and Cape Town and India. The man had wandered so far and wide, only to find himself here in an unlikely little scrub grove with a bewildered confidence man. And Josiah's hand was trembling just a little too.
The blanket bunched up under them as Josiah leaned over him, their hands disentangling as he wrapped his arm around Ezra's middle. Tight, as if he thought Ezra was going to bolt—which he might have, and so he was glad for that strong arm around him, and for the fingers brushing over his throat.
He tilted his head back obligingly. The heat of Josiah's face so close to his was magnetic, and their lips were nearly touching when Ezra finally found breath to whisper, "This isn't a very good idea."
"Best idea I've had in a long time," Josiah said. He might have been smiling, faintly.
When he didn't respond, Josiah drew back, glancing briefly down before meeting Ezra's eyes. "I'd never hurt you again, Ezra. I'd die first."
Ezra's mouth twisted wryly. "And if I can't promise the same? I have a nasty history of..."
Josiah shook his head. "You won't hurt me either."
"You don't know that."
Josiah's grin lit up like the moon. "I'm a man of faith," was all he said before he was cupping Ezra's cheek and leaning in again.
The smell of wine was strong, and under it, a dry sort of sweetness like clothes hung out to dry on a hot day. Josiah's breath came hot and quick on his cheek, and then on his lips, and then it hitched to a stop as their mouths pressed together.
Oh sweet Lord...
If he hadn't been sitting already, his knees might have slid right down to his feet. As it was, he swayed back a little, caught squarely in the cradle of Josiah's hands. Josiah kissed the way he spoke, slow and soft and deep. Insidiously, with his tongue slipping right past Ezra's lips and delving in before Ezra had even thought about opening his mouth. Sweetly, like he was trying not to smile.
He slid his arms around Josiah's neck and felt himself squeezed tighter.
"Delicious..." The whisper sent a jolt deep in his belly, making him hot and hard and just a little crazy. He couldn't quite swallow a moan as Josiah's mouth moved down his throat, teeth gently closing around it. His breath quivered as Josiah's tongue zigzagged over his tender skin, knowing that he could bite down and tear his throat right out. The thought had him blushing hot to the tips of his ears when a hand clamped tight on his thigh.
His hands slid up into Josiah's hair as he nipped and sucked, wondering if there was a mark in the making, right in plain sight for all to see. He should have been horrified at the thought, and some part of him was, but not nearly enough to pry himself away.
"What the hell are we doing?" he whispered.
Josiah drew back with one hard, final suck. Cold air blew across Ezra's wet skin, raising goosebumps. Josiah's eyes were wild, and he was shaking slightly.
"I don't know, Ezra," he said. Then grinned like a lunatic.
Those hands were endearingly clumsy as they fumbled with the buttons of Ezra's waistcoat, and when they reached his shirt, it seemed they couldn't bare an inch of skin without eagerly diving in and stroking all they could reach.
"You are divine," Josiah murmured, brushing over a nipple until Ezra had to bite his lip to keep from moaning.
He squirmed as his fly was unbuttoned, the warmth of skin against him making him doubly aware of the chill in the air, making him sigh as he pressed himself even closer. It had been so long that his cock twitched right into Josiah's palm, stiffening up hard as iron with only a few lazy strokes, and he doubted he would last very long if Josiah kept that up.
"I wouldn't be averse to..." He struggled to catch his breath, licking his lips as he found himself making an incredibly foppish little gesture toward Josiah's lap. "If you'd like me to?"
Josiah's quick, eager nod nearly made him laugh out loud. He scuffled back on the blanket, easing himself down as he untucked Josiah's shirt and unbuckled his belt. He ran his hand down a furry, flat belly, blindly bumping up against Josiah's cock and taking it in his hand. So hard, and already sticky and wet with a bit of the clear stuff.
"Now what am I going to do with you, sir?" he murmured, half-expecting to see his breath steam in the air with how feverish he felt.
He was trying to remember just how he was supposed to go about this, and if he'd been any good at it the last time. Josiah was...big, bigger now up close, and he was breathing so slow and deep, just waiting.
"Mmm." Josiah gently stroked the back of his neck. "Just about anything you want to, Ezra."
He grinned and then wet his lips, knowing Josiah was watching him, watching his mouth. "I think I'd like to make you feel very good indeed."
And his whisper melted into a sigh, and the sigh into the wet rub of his lips against the tip of Josiah's cock. Oh yes, that was how it went. First his lips and then his tongue, lapping up all that salty taste for himself. His whole body wound up hot and tight, pulsing with his every heartbeat. He thrilled at Josiah's sudden little grunt of pleasure, the way those strong fingers clutched at the back of his shirt.
"Feelin' pretty good," Josiah chuckled, but his laugh sounded stretched thin, like strings on the air that could be plucked on any note.
But he had a feeling he could do better than 'pretty good.' He wriggled closer, curled right over Josiah's lap, and opened his mouth as wide as he could. It was ridiculous—the slide of wet skin against his lips, the musky smell, his own arousal—as ridiculous as anything else in his life, and the absurdity was enough to make him let go.
"Ezra..."
He'd forgotten how good it could be. With a man. Harder and sweeter. No mystery to figure out, only pleasure, and a sharp hunger that urged him to take in more, suckling and stroking and reveling in every little gasp and groan until Josiah gave a great shudder and a salty rush hit his tongue.
"Oh God, Ezra..."
He had hardly swallowed the last of it down when he found himself on his back. He arched and moaned as a sinfully hot mouth closed over him, hands everywhere, ungentle and hungry. Then all he knew from then on was the moon, that end of the world moon shining down, and a delirious feeling that he had denied himself for far too long.
Please.
It was some time later before Ezra woke up enough to move. He slowly caught his breath, and they both straightened their clothing before stretching out side by side, arms just barely touching.
"What's going on in that head of yours, Ezra?"
Nothing. Everything. The whole black of the sky with that great pumpkin of a moon looking down on them.
"Unlikely things," he said. "Just...unlikely things."
Josiah's hand brushed his own. "This?"
Ezra shook his head, though he didn't know if Josiah was even looking at him. His own eyes were on the sky.
"No. Only that..." He hesitated, minding his words. To all rights, the best thing after...these matters was to keep one's mouth firmly shut. But talking with Josiah was the reason Ezra liked him, and it would be a different kind of folly to give up their conversations after making amends.
"...only, have you ever had something—some things—happen to you. Things that utterly deny explanation, or even reason, and yet..."
His hands groped at the air. "...and yet they fit."
Josiah hummed, a deep, considering sound. "You're talking about things that wouldn't have happened anyway?"
Ezra considered, then nodded. "I suppose."
Josiah shifted closer, his voice dropping quieter. "Like not losing something you rightly should have, for no other reason than getting to appreciate it?"
Ezra paused, turning that over in his mind. "Yes. Yes, I suppose that's exactly what I mean."
And then he heard Josiah begin to laugh, trembling little chortles that shook against him. He frowned, moving to sit up, but Josiah only caught his arm.
"I'd call that a miracle, Ezra," he said gently.
A miracle. The corner of Ezra's mouth quirked, and he shook his head ruefully. Another word for claptrap, maybe, but it seemed to fit this unlikely turn of events just as well. Against his chest, his watch ticked on madly, and the moon was moving on. He reached for his pocket, then stopped, and took Josiah's hand instead, mustering a faint smile as he squeezed.
He closed his eyes and let the Earth keep on spinning—the planets turning, the fates conspiring—just a little while longer.