As the good doctor agreed to give Hart more time, Boyd found a moment of peace, believing this new allowed time might be his only chance to end this with Ives once and for all. Yet, before Slauson could answer a woman burst through the door. Her eyes were untamed and her manner unruly and Boyd had the foresight to brace himself. Ives had given him a number of injuries; Knox had taken advantage of the situation and punished Boyd with a few clean punches as well. The Captain still wondered if Knox’s anger was more because he had to be sober for a day while the General was here or if he was really upset over the deaths of Cleaves, who Knox had mostly ignored before. Probably the sober factor. The point was Boyd was becoming keenly aware of the warning signs that came just before someone took a swing at him. This wouldn’t be the last swing either.

Braced or not, it still hurt, but he was growing accustom to pain. He’d been shot at, forced over the side of a climb, choked by Reich, forced to walk back to camp on a mending leg, abused by Knox, stabbed by Ives among countless other assaults from the new Colonel most while being shackled to the wall, helpless to defend himself. He almost wanted to ask if anyone else wanted to take a swing while he was down, but the cold steel against his neck rendered him mute with fear.

For a moment he almost wanted to beg her to do it – to end it, but then there was Ives, still alive and always hungry. His next thought was that if Ives was intelligent, he’d kill and eat this woman first, but Boyd cursed himself for such a dark thought immediately. Rowdy or not, she was still a woman and no one deserved to end up in the stew pot.

“I did not kill Reich,” he offered for lack of anything half way cunning coming to mind. All he had was the truth, as unfriendly and cold as it was. “Colqhoun shot him and he fell,” he offered with an unsteady voice. He imagined that Slauson was probably praying the woman did them all a favor and cut him open.

Hart didn't see the door open and Lucy sweep in until it was too late. He had been about to agree to the new doctor's plan, but the words died before reaching his lips. He stared at Lucy, holding a knife now to Boyd's throat. Damn it. What was she doing in here? He didn't want her near Boyd, near Ives, near any of them. Though, he had to say, he was happier that Lucy was here, holding a knife to Boyd's throat, rather than alone with Ives.

He held his hands up and took a few steps towards Lucy, staring into the woman's angry eyes. He knew he should have expected this. Lucy was a stubborn, free-spirited woman. Hart should have known that she would want to be more proactive in making sure the man she thought killed her friends paid for his supposed crimes. As he advanced closer, his mind whispered tauntingly, `What do you think she'll do when she finds out that you are somewhat to blame for all this? Do you think she'll hold that knife to your throat?'

Hart pushed the thought away. If Lucy ever found out, he would gladly let her gut him. He stepped closer and spoke in a soft voice, not realizing how much he was giving away about his feelings towards Lucy by his tone alone, "Come now, Lucy. You don't want to do this. That man is a prisoner of the U.S. Army. If you kill him like this, they'll try and hang you. I don't want to see you on the gallows." He stared into her eyes and stepped a little closer. "He deserves a fair trial. We don't know if he indeed committed these crimes. I can't remember correctly. He will get what is coming to him, if he deserves it, but not at your hand, Lucy. Give me your knife."

His fingers closed gently around her wrist. So many times, Lucy seemed larger than life, but this close, with his hand on her, Hart was reminded that she really was just a delicate little thing. So fragile… He tore his eyes away from his fingers locked around her wrist and stared again into her eyes, "Please."

As Lucy burst in, and before anyone could react, she'd given Boyd quite a beating. Slauson had the briefest moment to think they should be letting women into the army, when Lucy held a knife to Boyd's throat, claiming vengeance for Reich. `The plot thickens,' Slauson thought to himself. If Hart thought he could take Reich's place, no wonder he was working so hard to make himself look younger and more energetic. But it was not the time for humorous thoughts.

"Miss Lucy, please come to your senses! It is not your place to render judgment on Boyd!" Slauson said. But it was Hart who seemed to be getting through to her. Slauson held his breath, hoping Hart could calm her down, and also fascinated to see them interact and confirm his suspicions that Hart cared for her. Also, if she killed Boyd, Slauson would lose an important piece of this puzzle.

~~

Ives reached the kitchen and stepped inside expecting to find the women cooking the dinner that they so much wanted. But instead, the kitchen was empty. The food was still cooking, and Ives had a thought to put some of the stew into the food so that whoever ate this dinner would also have a little something extra. But Ives decided against it, not wanting to waste any of the food on some more potential meals.

Ives looked around and wondered what he should do next. He so wanted to talk to the woman to see what she was like, her intentions, goals, whatever would give him a sense of who she was. He could not have her here bothering Hart, leading him civilized and soft. She did give him leverage however when she was here against Hart. He knew that he could use his fear of her harm against him, and if Ives killed her now, Hart would surely try to kill him. Damn women, Ives thought, nice to look at but they can be a pain in the ass sometimes. It reminded him of Boyd.

Just then he heard a noise outside, sounding like a door. He looked out and watched amazed as the woman strode across the earth toward Boyd's shack with a look of utter disgust and anger. Could it be that she was going to kill Boyd? He couldn't let that happen, he had plans for Boyd.

He watched as she stormed into the shack. At this, he walked over to the shack, and to the door, and stepped inside. He did not say anything and as far as he knew, not one of them knew that he was there. He watched as she held the knife to his throat. The girl has got spunk, with a little Wendigo, she might have a lot more. Ives kept watching as the situation unfolded in front of him.

Lucy felt the adrenaline pump through her veins that she often felt during times like this; but as always, she kept her wits about her, too. And though she listened to both Hart's words and those of General Slauson, she also felt his strength grasping hold of her wrist, and knew that no matter what she decided to do Hart would take the knife from her.

She listened to Boyd's words, too, and felt the insistence in both his look and tone when he told her he did not kill Reich, but that Colqhoun shot him. It was uttered so quickly and with such conviction, that between his words and Hart's, Lucy knew she couldn't do it. Not without hearing the whole story -- something she knew these men wouldn't tell her right now. ‘Who in hell is this Colqhoun?’ she questioned silently. Maybe later, but not now.

She released her grip on the knife and let Hart take it from her, though she could feel some of her anger transferring from Boyd to Hart. "All right, then, Colonel," she said, emphasizing the word *Colonel* as if to say he had some explaining to do before she'd start calling him Andrew again. She stood and held out her hand. "Fair trial and a full story it'll be. Do you mind returning the knife, though? It belonged to a friend." She looked to Boyd and the General now, including them in her final remark, "I promise to put it away and not use it again 'less I have to."

Miles heard Slauson make a small sound, followed by,"That sounds like a fine idea doctor. Since you will be stationed here indefinitely, it will help you get to know who you'll be living with."

The word indefinitely stung his mind with a sort of painful realization. Would it be like this every night? Inquisitions and distrust? Suddenly, without any notice or reason, the Chicken woman burst into the room, punching, kicking, and holding her knife up to the man's neck. Miles' stomach gave an unpleasant squirm, but he merely hung back as Hart and Slauson attempted to stop her. Hart, almost affectionately firm, persuaded her to back away as two barely inaudible footsteps brought another into the building. Miles cast a sidelong glance at Ives, turning his head slightly, but quickly reverting back, giving a mock-bored sigh.

As the excitement ebbed and ‘Lucy's’ rage subsided, Miles turned to Slauson while they were all still mildly calm, speaking as softly as he could.

"I wonder, General, if I may have a moment or two alone with Boyd...dress his wounds at the very least---ask him some questions, perhaps. Right now he doesn't seem...er--harmful, and if entirely required, I do have.." Miles reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small vial " certain methods to calm him." Slauson's eyes were disapproving, so he continued. "In this state of affairs, I would require absolute isolation from any and all impending...forces that may sway what he says. I will need to interview him numerous times, therefore I'd like to start immediately...General."

His face and ribs ached so badly that Boyd didn't bother to move. He did not even open his eyes; he just lay on the floor where Lucy had left him, thinking that moving in general would be a bad idea. He didn't want to provoke anyone else and he didn't want to cause himself more pain.

But then the new doctor's voice lowered, Boyd knew something was being said, something he needed to hear in order to stay alive. John opened his eyes slowly and looked up at the man, glancing from him to the vial in his hand and back. What was in that vial? There was no way he wanted to find out. If he had to hurt this doctor to get away from whatever was in that vial, he would.

Hart took the knife gingerly from Lucy's grasp and released the woman's wrist. He saw the anger in her eyes and heard it echoing in her voice. `Just a taste of things to come,' his conscience reminded him. THIS was what he deserved. Her fury. Not her kind words or the feel of her lips on his. Yet… yet, her angry eyes still lanced right through him. How was he ever going to send her away like this? Maybe if he could make her mad enough, she would leave on her own.

As it was, he was just grateful that Boyd's throat was intact. "Have you the sheath for this blade, Miss Cort?" He glanced at the knife. He knew whose knife this was and the memory almost made him want to drop it in the dirt there and then. Reich's blade. No wonder she had been so upset. He turned around and looked up, only to find Ives' smirking eyes on him. Hart stared back for a long moment, as if to silently tell him that he had kept Ives' little pet safe. Ives owed him. Hart's eyes found the General and he said, "I shall escort Miss Cort back to her quarters and return her knife to her there, well away from the prisoner." He saluted the higher ranking officer and nodded to Lucy for her to go first.

On his way out, Hart again made eye contact with Ives but said nothing as he passed. Outside, the winter air stung his lungs at first inhalation and he said to Lucy, his voice still gentle, yet hold a touch of irritation in its deep tones as well, "You should not be wandering around here without a coat. It's still too cold. Here. Take mine until you get back to your cabin." He stripped off his jacket and held it out to her, his eyes meeting hers as he said, "That was a risky move, Lucy. I know you're angry, but any of those men could have had cause to shoot you for that. If you calm down, I will explain things to you, but not if you are to continue with this fit of temper."

Lucy could feel her heartbeat slowing down to its regular pace and her breathing become more regular as she brushed off her skirt and straightened up, trying to regain whatever composure she hadn't totally shattered before every male at the Fort, captive and strangers included. It was one of the things she hated about her family's background: the Cort Irish/Anglo/Scottish combination tended to make for a short fuse, and in her this trait often surfaced. At least, that was what her father had pointed out on many occasions. And while she didn't regret her actions, she hated that they all now likely thought of her as a stupid, ignorant female. Especially Hart -- she could see that her brash words had affected him and she immediately regretted them. He did not deserve her fury. Sure, he had some explaining to do, but technically, he owed her nothing. She should be grateful that he looked upon her as kindly as he had. Still, her natural defensiveness drove her to behave the other way, and keep a stiff front rather than apologize and have it over with. Besides, she justified to herself, Boyd deserved everything she gave him, and then some....if he was guilty. *If.*

At Hart's question, she nodded, patting her calf once and grousing, "I ain't no Can-Can gal, and this ain't France. Mind if I put it away later, and not out here in front of the whole dang camp?" When Hart suggested to the General that he take her back to her cabin, she knew what was coming -- a reprimand from the one man here whose opinion mattered to her -- but still looked to the floor, refusing to reveal any sign of regret. She did steal a glance at Boyd, and saw he was still curled up, not risking a glance at her. For just a moment, she wondered about all that was going on -- was he perhaps innocent? Her cheeks flushed at the idea that she may have just attacked an innocent man.

At Hart's offer of his coat, some of her defensiveness dissipated, and she accepted, though she remarked, "It ain't so cold out. But thank you." As she put on the coat, Hart's words stung her as a parent's might sting a recalcitrant child. She hated that she'd disappointed him, yet at the same time felt his manner patronizing and cool. "'Fit of temper'?" she steamed. "You think that was bad, you should see how things get when someone really deserves it. I ain't alive by the good grace of God, you know. There was some straight-shooting involved, and a lot of quick thinking. So I'd appreciate not being spoken to like some kid."

Lucy knew he was only trying to tell her he'd been worried about her temper getting her killed, though, so she added, "I know I do get carried away sometimes. I..." She gritted her teeth and squinted at the admission. "I'm sorry. I don't want you to think less of me because of what I done." She noticed the thickening clouds overhead, and the increase in winds. "Storm's coming. C'mon inside." She led the way into her cabin, relinquishing Hart's coat as he shut the door firmly behind them.

She sighed, asking, "I suppose I'm in for a lecture now about the proper way for ladies to behave?"

Hart stood just inside Lucy's cabin, his back against the door. "How should I know how a proper lady should behave? I'm not a lady. I wouldn't want you to change anyway. I like that stubborn streak and I like your temper. Besides, you are no child or insubordinate for me to lecture." He lifted his eyes to watch her. "I apologize if you felt I was patronizing you and speaking to you as I would a child. I didn't intend that and if that is how I came across, I am sorry. I like your spirit, Lucy. I always have. It was the very thing that made me lo- like you so very well."

"But things have changed here, Lucy. Things have changed and you must believe me when I tell you to be careful. I don't wish to rein in your spirit, but I don't want you to be hurt. Should that occur, I'm not sure what I would do, so I must do everything in my power to keep that from happening." He stepped closer to her and took her hands in his. "I understand you are angry. I am, too. But there are things happening here. You have to be careful. Please. For me. Don't go see Boyd. Not again."

Hart didn't know how he was going to do it. He didn't know how to keep her safe if she stayed here and he didn't know how to make her go. If only he felt nothing for her, then he could easily push her away and send her packing. But his emotions, his weak, foolish emotions, were like a poison in him, tainting his good judgment. Good judgment said to get all of these innocent people out of here, release Boyd, and let the bloodbath begin. Yet, he couldn't make himself say the things to send her away and pleading did not work.

Suddenly, he leaned forward and placed his hand on Lucy's waist, pulling her into a forceful kiss. A kiss inspired by his own confusion and, not in any small part, by her show of temper in Boyd's prison hut. He loved her feistiness and her spirit. It was not a rough kiss, but not the gentle one of before. Hart pulled away quickly and murmured, "I'm sorry. I should not have done that."

Lucy hadn't expected Hart's words to be so kind, and she had certainly not expected the kiss he gave her. His brief speech was so reassuring, so welcome that she felt horrible for behaving like such a child just now. *He should lecture you, girl, the way you've been acting,* she'd thought before he suddenly reached out to her. The way he pulled her to him, the passion of the kiss itself, told her that this was no genteel old fellow. His strength was far greater than she'd anticipated, and she felt a thrill run through her at both the kiss itself and its delivery.

When he pulled back away and apologized, however, Lucy caught his gaze and wouldn't let go. "There's a lot of things people do that they probably shouldn't. It's called living," she told him, a crooked smile breaking through as she put her hands on his broad shoulders and stood on her toes to kiss him, at first gently, then more fiercely, returning that which was given to her earlier. She knew this may lead further -- and fast -- and did not care. She was with the man who cared for her, who looked at her as no one else did. Looking up at him once more, she remarked, "That's what I call livin'."

While his mind shouted at him to stop what he was doing this very instant, Hart's hands were reaching for Lucy's once again, pulling her closer as he leaned down to return her kiss. This was wrong on so many levels, yet he couldn't bring himself to stop or push her away and walk out of the cabin. It had been kissing a beautiful woman that had landed Hart in trouble the first time. And he knew without a doubt that he was going to get in trouble for it again.

Ives already knew that Hart was fond of Lucy. That much was obvious by the man's barbed comments and looks. If he knew that Hart liked Lucy enough to kiss her like this, then he wouldn't hesitate to use the woman as leverage against him. How could Hart help Boyd if Ives was using Lucy to keep him in check? And then there was the issue that, despite his currently state of youthfulness and seeming virility, Hart was much older than Lucy. At least twenty years older if not more. Besides all that, he was also still an officer in the United States Army, even if he was a disgraced one, and there were codes of conduct and manners to think about…

Yet all those facts added together could not overshadow the fact that the biggest reason why kissing Lucy was so incredibly wrong was that he was a murderer. The crimes she had wanted to punish Boyd for were his. His and Ives'. Reich, a man that Hart assumed Lucy had loved very much, was dead in part due to his actions or lack thereof. In fact, he had likely –eaten- some of Lucy's past lover in a stew. Wouldn't she just want to kiss him after she heard that?

By the time he became aware of himself again and sorted out his thoughts, Hart realized he had been kissing Lucy Cort for a good solid minute with hesitation. His hands had swept over her shoulders and down her back to rest comfortably at her waist. With reluctance, he pulled away, his breath coming a little fast as he said, "I wish I would have met you twenty years ago, when I was young and my hands were clean. When I was still a good man. If I had met a girl like you back then… I would have married you in a heartbeat, settled down…" Hart knew he was talking too much, but it was either talk or kiss her and if he kept kissing Lucy, he was going to do something that he knew she would eventually come to regret when the truth about everything was revealed.

Kissing Hart instantly filled Lucy with a joy she hadn't felt before. While the primary urge of lust was certainly present, so was there a spark of intimate caring and need. Her hands ran up behind his neck, holding him close as he pulled her to him and they kissed. No, she had never felt this certainty with a lover before, this mixture of comfort and warmth and honesty blended with fiery passion.

At first when he pulled away, she had smiled at his talk -- twenty years, indeed! Maybe ten, but he didn't look to be twenty years older than her. "Andrew, twenty years ago, I'm pretty sure marryin' me would have been illegal." But his talk of marriage touched her, and she couldn't turn away from it, or make fun. "You really care for me that much? Because I...well, I care for you like no one else before. Maybe this is love, I don't know. I never been in love, not really."

She wondered if it was Reich that was giving him pause now. "Andrew, is it Reich that's bothering you?" Her now-troubled eyes searched his for an answer. "It's true, I cared for Reich. He was a good friend to me, and a lover as well. But he...well, he wasn't the type of fella a gal falls in love with, if she knows what's good for her. We had fun, and he was always honest when it came to our...agreement. I'm upset because my friend -- my friends have been killed, not because the love of my life is gone. If that were true, I don't think I would've stopped long enough for you to take that knife away from me." Aware that she was rambling heatedly now, Lucy trailed off.

Hart's loving words echoed in her ears once more, and she found herself slipping into his arms comfortable. "You're a dear man, Andrew. I don't know why I didn't see how dear you were before, but I see it now." She looked up at him, her blue eyes shining brightly. She knew she'd said too much already, but still more poured out of her. "I always told myself I didn't need no man. All I wanted was a piece of the Columbia River to prospect and a little cabin to call my own. Now, I wonder if that's true." She kissed him more slowly this time, deeply, hoping her words got through to him as her body drew even closer to his.

Hart kept trying to convince himself to pull away from kissing her, but his body seemed to be working independently from his mind. And his body was telling him quite frankly that he and his lofty ideals could go straight to hell. Her words… he had always wanted to hear them. Imagined it during many a cold night when the icy wind whistled through the trees and the thought of his wasted life haunted him.

It had been a life without true love and companionship. No children that he could claim and raise and love. There had been a child that could have been his, the very reason he was sent away. He had never seen or heard word of that child. Didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl. No wife. Just a woman that he had loved intensely and passionately for such a short time. A woman that had turned him over to his superiors the minute she had what she wanted from him. His life had been his books and the army. As he grew older and his time in this world shorter, Hart was reminded how empty and hollow that life was.

Then there was Lucy. Fiery, vibrant Lucy who made him dream again. He had never thought she would be his. He was an old man when he first saw her, barely able to stand the creaking and aching in his aged bones. He had always wondered, in the back of his mind, if he had met her sooner, when he was a young man, would it have been different? And now? Now he –was- a young man. He was a young man and she was in his arms and kissing him and murmuring such words to him as to make his heart nearly sing.

For a moment, it ran through his head that he could take her and go. Forget the army. Forget Ives and Boyd and the blood and the shame of everything that had happened. He could leave with her tonight. Run off tonight and leave the horrors that this fort held behind. Hart could get her that piece of the Columbia River to prospect. He would never have to tell her of his sins. Maybe if he spent the rest of his life making her happy, God would forgive him.

He removed his lips from hers and kissed a delicate line down her jaw until his lips found her soft neck. His hands moved without restraint over her body. Yes, they could run away together. It would be so easy.

Yet what about Boyd? Hart couldn't leave him here to whatever fate Ives had planned for him. What about the others? Could he really leave them all here to suffer at the mad Colonel's hands just because he was selfish and wanted to keep Lucy without guilt? He had no doubt that if they stayed, she would discover what he was and hate him. He could feed her the meat and make her Wendigo like him, but he loved Lucy and didn't want to condemn her soul as his had been condemned.

He ran his hands through soft hair and murmured against her skin, "I shouldn't be doing this, Lucy. I'm not what you think I am. I am a horrible person. I let my men die. You should be holding a knife to my throat, not Boyd's." Hart kept trying to pull away, but instead of withdrawing himself, he found himself moving his mouth back to hers in another deep kiss.

Lucy had some vague awareness that it was risky to be doing this here and now, but rather than cool her down, this knowledge only added fuel to her flame. Her body pressed against his, the warmth of his body was impossible to deny, and she ran her hands down around his waist, giving in to her desires. She knew it wouldn't take much to set things on a course of no return -- they were halfway there already -- and was entirely tempted to make that move, consequences be damned.

But what if they were to be caught? The results would be disastrous for Hart, who was already clearly in a bad place with the military. He must be, in order to be there. Despite his well-mannered wisdom, Lucy knew the Army didn't send perfectly good men like Hart to a mountain fort unless he had disgraced himself somehow. After all, she reasoned, look at Reich. He had killed one of his own men for retreating -- what had Hart done? Even more important, where was the General planning on sending Hart now that Fort Spencer was no longer his? She knew the military had meant everything to him. Was it possible they might give him early retirement? Or would they send him far away, someplace she would never see him again.

She feared something horrible may happen to him if they were caught, especially now. While the others were busy just now, they likely wouldn't stay busy for too long. Still, she felt it impossible to let go. She had never felt this before, and now that she had found it, she didn't want him to stop. She deeply inhaled the scent of him, fingers playing with the tie at his collar as he spoke. The sound of his voice was gentle and deep and reassuring; everything about it told her this was right, even if his words did not.

He seemed so convinced that he was responsible for his men dying; for a moment, Lucy recalled his words and Boyd's back in the shack, and she was jolted out of her dream world. She had been promised explanations, important explanations, and perhaps she should try and get them. Kissing Hart twice more, she looked up at him. "There's nothing you can say that will convince me you're responsible. But if you do recall what happened out there, and who this Colqhoun is that Boyd mentioned, I'd appreciate your telling me about it." She added, that crooked smile returning, "Although you can tell me later just as easy as now."

Hart stared down at Lucy in a disoriented manner when she pulled away and asked him about Boyd and Colquhoun. He blinked at her, trying to think of what he should do next. Part of him wanted to grab her and kiss her again, just so she wouldn't ask these questions, but those two names were like a bucket of ice water dumped on the flames of his desire. He knew he should tell her the truth. But to what purpose? If he thought it would make her leave, he would do it in an instant, but he knew Lucy. If Hart told her the truth now, she'd go off half-cocked and Ives would kill her without hesitation.

So, to keep her safe, he had to lie to her.

He dragged his fingertips lightly over her jaw line before withdrawing completely and moving around her to sink onto the crude little couch with a sigh. For a dim moment, he wondered if he was lying to save himself or to save her. He stared towards the fire and said quietly, "I don't remember what happened, Lucy. I can barely remember anything that happened just prior to or just after the attack. I think I must have been struck on the head. I recognize this name, this Colquhoun, but I can't remember the man for the life of me."

Hart's tone was wooden as he spoke. The lies he told tasted rancid in his mouth and he wanted more than anything to spit them out and replace them with the pure sweetness of the truth. But he couldn't. Not now. "Things are coming back, but only in spurts. I don't know if Boyd did anything at all. He very well could be innocent." He –was- innocent, Hart reminded himself. Boyd was a coward and a bit of a whiner, but he was no murderer. "For all I know, I could have been the culprit of these crimes and I have blocked out the horror of their recollection." Hart slanted a glance at Lucy, judging her reaction to that last statement.

The touch of Hart's fingertips along her face and his warm breath against her neck brought goosebumps to her which traveled down to her toes. She didn’t wish for this to end. But once more, her questions had led them to pause.

By Hart's reaction, Lucy could see how much her question had disturbed Hart, and instantly regretted bringing it up. Of course the questions would upset him, she reasoned; it had been a terrible thing to have happen, let alone to be the lone survivor out of all his men. He obviously felt guilty for having made it, when all the others perished. Assuming, that is, that they had. It occurred to her, then, that perhaps Reich, Toffler and George may still be out there, perhaps wounded, and Slauson's men simply hadn't found them. No, Slauson wouldn't have called off the search unless he was certain they were beyond help.

She listened to him recount his story, standing behind him as he stared into the fire. When he'd finished, she joined him on the sofa and took his hand. "So that's why you feel so rotten. Well, I'm here to tell you, ain't no way you're responsible for anything that happened at no cave. Maybe it was Boyd, maybe it was this Colqhoun fella he's talking about. But I feel like I know the real Andrew Floyd Hart well enough to say that even if something bad did happen up there that you knew about, its control was out of these hands." With those words, Lucy brought his hands to her lips and kissed them, then pressed them to her cheek. "I'm sorry I asked. It was just....just something I had to know. Something that muddying the water."

Releasing his hands now, she leaned in, kissing him softly and running a finger along the bristle of his sideburns. "No more talk of killing today, at least between us. All right?"

Hart pulled away and cupped Lucy's cheek in one of his hands, staring deeply into her eyes as he ran the pad of his thumb along her cheekbone. Lucy was right. He had not been to blame for what happened at the caves. That had been Ives, Colquhoun, whoever he was. That was his doing. But Hart had been responsible for what happened after. That was his doing. She looked at him like he was an innocent man. Hart so wanted to believe it and at the same time, he wanted to tell her the truth.

"It's not safe for you here," He murmured while still staring into her eyes. The hand that cupped her cheek slowly slid across her soft skin, fingertips dragging gently against the flesh of her neck. "If this Colquhoun was the one that killed those people at the caves and not Boyd, then we have the wrong man chained up. And a killer is still on the loose. Hat means that everyone is in danger, Lucy. You, Martha, everyone. He could come back here and kill us all. If anything happened to you…" Hart swallowed and took his a deep breath.

"I used to tell Reich to follow after you when you left. At a distance, of course. I didn't want you to think we thought you were weak. I just worried. We all loved you in our own ways. I just wanted you to be safe." Hart leaned in and lightly brushed his lips against her jaw again, his voice dropped to a deep whisper, "If something happened to you now, because that madman is still loose… they would never forgive me. I would never forgive myself."

He pulled away before she could intoxicate him further. Hart didn't know whether it was mere desire or the Wendigo inside him that kept prodding him to touch her, but either way it was almost as if he couldn't stop himself. "This is why I need you to make a promise to me. I can't send you away now. I want to, but I can't do it. I don't think you would listen to me anyway." Hart smiled against the side of Lucy's neck and chuckled softly. "But if there comes a time, promise you will run. If I ask you to, promise me you will run away from this place." Hart stared into Lucy's eyes, his firm, fervent expression indicating that he wouldn't be willing to take no for an answer.

Melting under Hart's touch and softly spoken words, Lucy thought she could understand Hart's concern. After all, if this man, this killer, whoever he was had managed to murder so man and still perhaps be loose, then certainly this man could overpower one woman. Even she had to admit it would take a hell of a lot of luck in addition to whatever skills she may possess to get out of that serious of a scrape.

She rested easily on his arm, torn between feeling both the fear Hart wished her to feel, if only out of caution, and love for his deep consideration for her. Love had always been the deeper emotion for Lucy, and it always won in the battle against fear. She nearly smiled at his remark about her not leaving even if asked, but feeling his lips on her neck distracted her from her own amusement.

At Hart's final insistent plea, she held his gaze, sensing that this was the closest she would come to a sincere demand from Hart. She felt he might forgive her nearly any other transgression but this. Wide-eyed, she nodded, not breaking her gaze. "You're right in thinking you'll be hard-pressed to get rid of me just now, at least until the storm passes and snow on the trail melts enough to get through. And I don't expect you to keep me here -- hell, for all we know, General Slauson's already got a plan for you." She looked up at him, nestled in the crook of his arm, and sighed. "But you've got my word, Andrew. On my mother's grave, if you ever feel that strongly, I'll git gone." She kissed his chin, reaching up and tucking a stray hair behind his ear. "But if it does come to that, I sure wish you'd come with." She knew it was a wish that would go unfulfilled, but still felt the need to give voice to it.

She had felt a chill come over the room, almost as if the topic itself was causing her to shiver. She reached around Hart's waist, resting her head upon his chest and inhaling deeply. Why did these things always have to get so danged complicated, she wondered.

Hart held Lucy close and stared at the fire as he stroked her hair. "If I can come with you, I will. I'll do everything in my power to come with you, but even if that isn't an option… even if we part here and I never see you again, know that I love you, Lucy. I do. I'm not sure that it is right, but there you have it." He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his head atop Lucy's for a moment. He could get used to this, having her near, but in a way, he didn't want to get used to it. It was all going to be taken away from him one way or another. Hart knew that without a doubt.

But for now, he was just going to enjoy it. He smiled against her hair and said softly, "I used to wonder when you would get that patch of river to prospect. I kept waiting for the day when instead of your pretty face, there would be another trader come to tell us that Lucy Cort had found her fortune panning the Columbia River and bid her friends at Fort Spencer a hearty farewell. I was very near to giving you the money for such a venture myself. I've saved all of my pay since I came to the Fort. I don't need it here and before, it didn't look like there was much chance of my leaving. I've no wife or children to take care of, so I just saved it all these years."

Hart ran one hand down the length of Lucy's back and opened his eyes to look at her again, not quite believing that he was here and she was so close to him. It had to be a dream. Or else the bright spot in a horrible nightmare. How could any of this be real? "You can have it. You can have all of it. I have no use for that money. None at all. And you, someone with your spirit and kindness deserve a chance to fulfill her dreams. Once you leave here, I'll give you papers. You deserve to have that claim, Lucy. Just don't forget your old friend Andrew when you become a millionaire." He smiled again and gently tilted Lucy's chin up with his fingertips before indulging himself with another lingering kiss upon her lips.

~~

Miles set the vial over on the table across the room, placing his bag next to it, waiting for the General's answer---but he thought to himself that it would, after all, be Slauson's best bet that he simply leave this little part to him, however much of a stranger he was and however dangerous Boyd may be---Miles could handle it.

However, he had fibbed...For one thing, he had been stripped of most chemicals with his demotion, and for another---he strictly avoided any and all drugs lately for reasons he chose to keep under wraps. But neither the man on the floor, nor Slauson, nor the woman Lucy and Hart knew that the little vial he had was filled only with water tinted with an earl gray tea bag. His little secret. Didn't mean he wasn't cautious--he still had a few objects in his bag that if put to the ultimate test he wouldn't use---he'd be hesitant, but not frozen.

Miles sat down in the one chair the room had to offer and looked back at Slauson, his tie straight and jacket dapper---exactly the opposite of how he felt. He could only hope he was a good actor.

Lindus watched all that unravelled with a growing unease. He was not used to such emotional outbursts and strange proclamations, all in one day! At best, he was the right-hand man of a very important tactical General in the United States Army. His mother was very proud of him and the life he had made for her back in Denver. Still, there was something unsavory and tedious about serving out these war-riddled years in places like San Miguel. And taking trips to places such as Fort Spencer, where a decent water closet was a dream.... he perished the thought of a permanent assignment there. He pitied the new doctor, and wondered what he had done for this assignment. He would have to ask General Slauson later.

Yet, here they were, with what appeared to be a madman on the floor and an enraged woman across camp. Lindus shifted his weight uneasily from one foot to another, looking to the General for direction. Was he to stay there with the General and Dr. O'Donnel? Or leave? He was used to picking up on the General's looks and their many meanings; now, he stood within range of the General's glance, ready to take direction, wordless or spoken.

Slauson considered Dr. O'Donnell's request. It sounded fine, because even without Lucy's attack, Boyd looked quite ragged and probably required medical attention. However, Slauson had no idea if Boyd was subject to violent outbursts, and could not in good conscience leave the doctor completely alone with a possible murderer.

"I'd feel better about your safety, doctor, if Lindus waited outside the door for you. Far enough to give you privacy, but close enough to hear you call out if you need assistance. Don't drug Boyd unless absolutely necessary. But if it does become necessary, don't hesitate. I'll leave you to your work and go back to the dining hall. Good night, gentlemen."

Slauson started to leave and saw Ives waiting right outside the door, which was a little strange because Ives had said he was going to the kitchen. But Lucy's commotion had probably attracted a lot of attention. Slauson hoped the new colonel didn't think they were all crazy at Fort Spencer. Then again, maybe insanity was commonplace at the fort, and Slauson simply hadn't figured it out yet.

"Colonel Ives, the doctor requested time alone with Boyd for a while, to interview him and look over his injuries, and Lindus will be waiting for him outside. I was going back to the dining hall myself."

Miles felt a hint of relief to have him agree, but was already rather confident. He nodded once and smiled slightly. "'Night, Colonel," he replied, eyes moving over to Ives, who returned an unplaceable glance. Quickly, to avoid the growing discomfort between the two, he looked over at Boyd. The door brought out Ives, Slauson, and Lindus, who most likely was sitting right outside with his ear to the door and a notepad, knowing him. Miles waited for the retreating steps to become silent, then sighed, opening his bag and bringing out various disinfectants and bandages. "Do you feel as lucky as I to have them gone? Positively breathing down my neck every second, it seems..." His voice died in his throat, hearing what he had said. "...I'm sorry. I can only imagine how it must be for you, Boyd. But...if we're lucky, we'll be able to sort everything out for the better. I'm here so that nobody gets killed, even the...guilty. But especially not the innocent. Well...I wasn't here for that reason to begin with, but I think now I am. But perhaps I'm just being selfish...."

He was rambling. He always did this. Yes, you are selfish, Miles, he thought. Shut up, bloody arse.

"But...," he continued softly, kneeling down in front of Boyd, not exactly at the safest distance, “I have no wish to harm you. No wish to tranquilize you--god knows I won't get the truth from someone drugged up to their eyeballs. I just want to treat your wounds--you'll have to tell me where they are, I don't want to go poking around without permission. As well...if you feel like it, I'd love more than anything to know the story, Boyd. As much as you can tell me--I'm completely fresh to this subject, so don't worry about bias. I've been amongst and about insanity since the first day I came into this world--you seem rather okay to me..."

Miles lowered his eyes and sat cross-legged, extending his arm. "I'm Miles O'Donnel, born in Scotland. Nice to meet you."

Boyd stared at the new doctor as the man began to speak, nearly rambling at first. He didn’t know what to say in reply. Telling the truth was what got him in the situation he was in now, telling lies was not who he was. He didn’t make a habit of lying. Desperate times call for desperate measures, yes, but he wouldn’t even know where to end the truth and begin a lie or if it wouldn’t get him in a worse situation than he was already.

No, he decided. He would not lie. He was too worn out to keep track of tall tales at this point and was not sure to what purpose he would lie. No one believed the truth, but it was all he had. This man could be just like the others, of course – listening to him speak as if they were interested and all the while thinking him completely mad. At least Slauson had the decency to criticize him as he spoke, not wait for his tale to be over before he revealed he thought it was all lies.

“Cap-“ No. He wasn’t a captain anymore. Captains aren’t chained to walls and dismissed by Generals as insane. The title was gone, which was good. He never wanted it anyway. It had hung around his neck as heavily as the guilt of knowing he did not earn it did. The way Reich always said ‘Captain’, with utter distain, reminded him of that every single day. Reich had been nothing short of merciless, but still, he did not deserve to die. “John Boyd,” he finished, offering the man a weak shake. His wrists hurt from trying to free himself and he was trying hard to hide the blood. The last thing he wanted this doctor to see was that he’d tried to escape.

The fact the doctor was from Scotland made Boyd leery. Ives was from Scotland, or so he had claimed as Colquhoun. But the man lied. Frequently. And well. Anything out of Ives’ mouth could be a lie. If it was a lie or not, Boyd had no way of knowing if this doctor was already in league with the mad man or not. What if this man was just another Ives?

Boyd winced slightly, realizing that he was losing his mind. He was beyond paranoid, but he was not delusional. He knew what had happened. “I did not kill any of the men they said I did. Hart.. he’ll remember,” he offered hopefully. “I am not insane, and I did not kill Toffler, Reich, George, Knox or Cleaves. Or the horses.”

~~

Ives watched as the new Doctor asked to speak to Boyd alone. Why does everyone want to be alone with Boyd? It was beginning to get on his nerves.

It did however give him more time with Slauson.

He shot a glance at the doctor not sure what he was trying to portray to him. Annoyance may be the best word and headed out the door with Slauson and Lindus at the tail. Ives watched as Lindus shot him a look as Slauson gave Ives a look like he was his new best buddy, and apologetic that Ives was dealing with all of this as the brand new Colonel. Was Lindus jealous? That was a thought that Ives didn't really want to know about. Lindus did seem to watch a little too much when Ives had been forced to undress in front of him, Slauson, Knox, and Boyd. It had cheeped him out a little. And he was very hard to creep out. No Lindus had to go.

Ives followed the General back into the dining area but not before shooting a glance towards the woman's cabin. He knew that Hart was in there with her and he wondered how far it had gone yet. Hell they might be "busy" right now. Ives didn't care; he knew the feelings that the Wendigo brought. Ives might take a shot at the woman himself. Ives did find it a bit humorous that Hart was 20 years this woman's senior and now with his renewed virility he would have the balls to go after her. He rooted for Hart in that way but if any of this "romance" messed with any of his plans, he would end it fast. Ives could be mean if he wanted to be, and sometimes it was just plain fun to let the meanness take over and just be free. He wondered if that was him or the Wendigo. Either way, it was fun.

~~

Miles watched as Boyd stuttered, weakly reaching out his arm.

"John Boyd..." he finally said, shaking his hand. Miles nodded and stood up again, rummaging through his bag once more, having spotted more blood stains. At least he got a name, perhaps informality would be a gift at this place that he could get---something besides 'doctor' or 'lieutenant'. He was bored sick of formality.

"I did not kill any of the men they said I did. Hart..he'll remember," Boyd said suddenly, voice shaking. "I am not insane, and I did not kill Toffler, Reich, George, Knox or Cleaves. Or the horses."

Miles quickly turned and looked at him, green eyes looking over the piercingly blue and injured ones of Boyd. He searched for a response, but thought there wouldn't be a way to actually have Boyd realize Miles believed him. So he just rested on...

"Okay...But I cannot talk to the rather forgetful Hart as of now. I'm just trying to gather what I can from you. I don't think you're...insane, Boyd. After my many experiences with...the mentally ill, I have learned at least a little about how to tell the difference. Even if you were guilty I wouldn't declare you insane. However...I do not know these men you talk about, save for Knox--but that was very brief and hardly worth mentioning. Suffice it to say I'll need the story," Miles responded, sitting down again in front of him, reaching out his arm again, this time in order to treat him. "May I please have your arm?"

Boyd lowered his head, uncertain if he should trust this man or not. His eyes went back to where the vial rested next to the doctor’s bag. It was still there, untouched. “You can not medicate me,” he offered quickly, not sure if it would do any good. He couldn’t sleep. If he slept he couldn’t keep an eye on Ives. Even from his small prison, he could keep tabs on the man. If he slept, he couldn’t. “If I tell you the truth, you will think I am as mad as the General does,” he explained, keeping his arms to himself until he was more certain the doctor did not have any thing with which to sedate him with.

“A man appeared in our camp. Colquhoun. He told us that his wagon party became lost in the Mountains and that this Colonel with them murdered and ate them all one by one except him and a woman with their party. He claimed he fled. He said he did not stop until he came here. Hart was worried about the woman. We all were so we.. Reich, George, Hart, Toffler and I went with this man. When we got the cave, Reich and I went in. Reich.. he said something about the number of people in the party. He told me that it was Colquhoun. That he had killed them all and lead us into a trap. When we came back out..” He trailed off, wincing at the memory. Hart was laying in a pool of his own blood. He had paused to help the Colonel, but the smell.. the smell of the blood. It turned his stomach and made him hungry all at one time.

Swallowing heavily, Boyd’s hand went to his stomach giving away the fact he felt sick without intending to do so. “They were all dead. Hart was still alive, but George and Toffler were dead. Reich and I followed Colquhoun through the woods, but he shot Reich and he fell. I.. I ran. When I got back to camp, Knox sent for the General. Slauson brought with him a new Colonel. Colonel Ives. It was him,” he noted, finally looking the doctor in the eye once more. “I know you don’t believe me. No one does. But Colquhoun had called the mad man in his tale Ives. Ives,” he informed the man with a quick nod. “It was him. His face I would know anywhere. Knox was too drunk to identity the man he had seen with us. Cleaves and Martha were gone when Colquhoun came. No one saw him but me, but I am not insane. It was him. Then Cleaves was killed. And the horses. Knox accused me. Ives confirmed the story. Slauson believed him. Then Knox was murdered,” he continued, well aware at this point he would have been better off not saying anything at all. The doctor would surely condemn him to an asylum, which at this point did not seem like a bad option. He was slowing going mad. The longer Ives lived, the more insane he felt. He purposefully left out that it was Hart that had killed Cleaves, Knox and horses. That would surely not be believed.

“It wasn’t me,” he declared breathlessly, still holding back his arm. “It wasn’t me.”

~~

As Slauson and Ives walked back to the dining hall, Slauson said, "Well Colonel Ives, Hart claims he doesn't remember what happened at the cave yet, but I'm not so sure I believe that. However, I don't have much choice but to wait and see. I hope he gets his memory back before I have to return to San Miguel."

"It's too bad they didn't have you to help at the caves Colonel Ives. Hart cares for his men, but since I sent him to Fort Spencer, I don't believe he's done much but relax and read books all day. I'm afraid he was simply too old and soft to lead and defend his men properly. Until he remembers, its possible Boyd might not be guilty of what happened at the cave, but is he guilty here? Colonel Ives, did you personally witness Boyd kill Cleaves and Knox? There's no chance it could have been savages hiding in the woods around the fort and Boyd simply stumbled on the bodies and lost his mind? I don't mean to make you dredge up gory details, and I promise this is the last time I'll give Boyd the benefit of the doubt."

~~

Miles listened to his story, watching Boyd's eyes as they moved from the vial to him, then back to the floor again multiple times. After he had finished, a pause was held for several moments, interrupted suddenly by Miles standing up, picking up the vial, and opening it. Boyd moved away but he just smiled at him.

"Smell this for me, Boyd." Miles set it on the floor and watched him slowly pick it up. "Have you ever drank Earl Gray tea before? Not very powerful, mind you--no kind of sedatives or caffeine that would be harmful. However, it is about the only thing that shades water to the necessary color to fake a drug. I'm not going to medicate you."

He screwed back on the cap and began pacing, mind rolling back over the story. "So...I'll suppose that Colqhoun or Ives--whatever name I should be using, pardon me, ate the bodies in the caves? That's why there were no corpses to be found. Did he as well kill Cleaves and Knox?" There were things Boyd wasn't telling him. This was his story, and he was telling an awful lot more than he seemed to want to, but there was more to it. "Oh, and do stop trying to think I'm calling you insane, sir. " He smiled slightly," If I think you're insane, you'd have heard something about it by now. I may not be into medication, but I'm well versed in the art of insults."

He leaned against the table and looked down at Boyd again. "Tell me when I can mend your wounds, by the way. I can wait, but really--it is my specialty compared to psycho-analysis and playing detective."

Boyd sighed, just watching the man in front of him with constant concern and distrust. He meant the Lieutenant no disservice, but given all he had been through over the past few weeks, John did not think he would ever trust anyone again. The fact the vial was holding just water gave him some deliverance, but then other questions arose – why was the man carrying around water meant to appear as a drug? How had he known he would need it?

“Can you clean this wound?” he asked, gesturing to the damage his face had sustained under Lucy’s fist. His wrists and ribs could wait, he needed to get the smell of blood away from his nose first. “I do not know what he did with the bodies,” he admitted. “But that is a good deduction. That or hid what was left of them. He would kill me if he knew I told you. He would kill you well,” he informed the doctor, giving him fair warning. “You can not tell him what you know. Him or anyone else. The others will tell Ives and then…” He shook his head, watching the doctor’s eyes for some indication of what he planned to do with the information. If he wanted to die, all he had to do was open his mouth to someone within the walls of this Fort. Slauson would tell Ives, laughing at how insane Boyd was and not realizing he was being played. Lindus would run back and tell Slauson and Hart.. well, Hart was the wildcard. Boyd no longer knew what Hart was going to do.

Miles' mouth curved into an odd sort of smile, half pathetic, half loathing.

"I've been killed before, Boyd. I have no wish to die a second time." He remarked inwardly how odd that must have sounded as he poured some astringent on a cotton ball. "...What I mean to say is your secret's safe with me. I'll keep what you've told me in my head, but I have to talk to the others--not about your story, but theirs. As a rather...makeshift detective, I must collect as much evidence as possible. For all that Ives, Slauson, or anyone knows---all I did was this--oh, and it might sting a little," he said, patting up the blood on Boyd's face--which was more than needed. When he was done and Boyd's face was clean and treated, he leaned back and nodded as if he were a painting.

"Very well... I can see you don't exactly feel.....comfortable, Mr. Boyd. However, my room is only a little whiles away...I suppose scream if you need me. Don't know any other way you can contact me...Erm--sorry, that was in very poor taste." He stood up and quickly packed everything back, then turned to look back at Boyd, studying his wrists. He gave a small sigh and nodded. "Some of us are victims of fate, some are contenders of it. All I can tell you is before the weeks end, you'll know yours, and I swear I'll be quite fair. Until then, I give you my word that nobody will know you told me anything. You stick to the story that you didn't talk and so will I."

He offered a smile that he knew wouldn't be returned, picked up his things and walked out, praying to god that the chickens were being cooked.

In the now empty shack, Boyd sat alone, more frightened and confused than before. Was O’Donnel one of them, was he already in league with Ives? He’d died before? The doctor’s promise to keep his mouth closed on the topic was good, but at the same time, everything else he said sounded like at threat. Boyd will know his fate by week’s end?

John was only acutely aware that he might be over reacting to the man’s words. He was beyond paranoid and maybe the doctor had meant nothing. Maybe he meant he’d kill Boyd himself. Everyone else wanted to kill him, would one more person with murderous intent towards him be shocking? No.

Nothing that Slauson, Lindus or the doctor had said scared him as much as what was in his head right now though. Right now, he wanted to see Ives and that fact alone sent a jolt up his spine. It wouldn’t be a friendly chat, but he wanted to see if Ives knew the doctor without revealing that Boyd knew anything at all about the doctor. It just made him sick to the stomach that he wanted to see Ives and was nearly prepared to call out for him. All he truly wanted was some answers. He was so tired of feeling confused. He was just so tired.. and still losing blood.

~~

Lindus greeted Dr. O'Donnel as he left the shack, pleased that there had been no unpleasantness to deal with. Frankly, he was uncertain what he would have done had some action been required. He'd only had to fire his pistol on rare occasions, and certainly not at close range. He nodded in response to the Lieutenant's informal salute, and replied, "I hope you found everything to your satisfaction? I hope Captain Boyd didn't prove to be too much trouble for you."

There was something intriguing about this new doctor. He had an enigmatic presence, not entirely unlike Colonel Ives'. He wondered if perhaps this man could mete out ever was going on here at Fort Spencer, and he and the General could finally go home. If he could manage that, perhaps the General might find a better location for this man.

He gestured towards the dining hall. "I'm sure dinner will be ready shortly. Why don't you go along and warm yourself? Let Colonel Ives know that he may speak to Boyd if he so wishes. I shall wait for him inside, out of this weather. I declare, the temperature drops by the minute. All I ask is that if he doesn't wish to further interview Captain Boyd, someone relieve me of this rather tedious task." He assumed Ives would want a guard to stand by while he spoke to Boyd. He glanced up at the sky, noting a few flakes of snow were already beginning to fall from the darkening sky.

Miles nodded to Lindus as he came out, smiling vaguely. "Hullo, Major."

"I hope you found everything to your satisfaction? I hope Captain Boyd didn't prove to be too much trouble for you," Lindus said professionally.

"No, not at all. Wouldn't really talk much to me, though. Only told me his name. Just cleaned him up a bit, really--not too violent at all.

Lindus nodded, and gestured towards the dining hall. "I'm sure dinner will be ready shortly. Why don't you go along and warm yourself? Let Colonel Ives know that he may speak to Boyd if he so wishes. I shall wait for him inside, out of this weather. I declare, the temperature drops by the minute. All I ask is that if he doesn't wish to further interview Captain Boyd, someone relieve me of this rather tedious task."

Miles grinned at the idea of Lindus actually calling his duty tedious. Thrilling changes happen every day.

"Of course, thank you very much. I'll be there in just a moment---I'm afraid I must change. I'll tell--erm--Colonel Ives..."

Miles nodded to Lindus who stood outside still, waiting for an answer. He felt awful for making the man wait, but he was sure it'd be a lovely story for Slauson to hear later. Given this, he trotted more quickly to the kitchen to find Ives. Luckily the man seemed to not be hidden at all.

~~

Lindus stepped into the shack, thinking Boyd must be growing rather tired of all the constant visitors and questions. He certainly looked it. Still, all things considered, he should hardly be surprised. General Slauson had given Boyd every opportunity to change that silly story of his long ago....what was it, again? The "Wendigo" story? Lindus nodded towards Boyd. "Well, Boyd, you've had your say in all of this. You cannot claim us unfair in our willingness to listen."

He leaned on the table, back to the door. "I suppose they're all done with you for the night. But I do wish you'd explain yourself better than you have been. You and Colonel Hart both." Lindus easily picked up on his superior's doubt of Hart's claim of memory loss, and was fast to adopt it as his own opinion. "Before it was a story of some Indian malarkey, and now it's a murderous Ives. Which is it?"

“Both,” Boyd answered. There was a hint of defiance in his quiet voice that was nearly drowned out by weariness. “You would not believe me if I told you the truth.” He would have suggested to him to ask Martha about Wendigo, but Boyd was afraid she’d tell Lindus it was him, not Ives. Martha knew he was one too. Did she know about Hart yet?

“If you ate his stew, you should understand,” he offered weakly, leaning his head down on the cot. It was tempting to cut himself further and just bleed to death. It was the coward’s way out, but at the same time, he was too afraid of dying to just let go. And there was Ives. Whatever his proper name was, he had to die. Lindus was one of the only people here that he was not afraid of. Martha was the other. She knew what he was and had done nothing to harm him, just attempted to keep him from killing Ives. She didn’t know what Ives was or else she would have let him finish the task.

Lindus furrowed his brow. Stew? Now what nonsense was this? "Now, what does the stew have to do with anything?" he asked. "If you're trying to intimate that Ives is attempting to poison us, then I can assure you, that isn't the case. I had a bowl and the General two, and we are both quite well." It was certainly a hardy meal for just one bowl; it filled him with more spirit and energy than he had felt in some time. "In fact, I never felt better."

He wondered if Boyd was trying to cast their suspicions elsewhere with this odd statement about the stew. It seemed an odd thing to simply tack on to all the rest of the stories. "After all," he added quickly, "You yourself ate some of the stew."

Lindus had one bowl and the General had two. It was too late for them now as well then. The amount of people he was going to have to kill was growing. Ives, Hart, Slauson now and Lindus too. That was is Ives didn’t get to one of the other three first. He felt sorry for Lindus right now. The man was clueless and would only believe what was right in front of his fact. The truth was something that could not be seen. It was inside them, like a toxin growing within.

“Yes, I did.” And he regretted that. But what was one more bowl when he’d already consumed so much of Knox. He needed his strength. Of course he’d used most of it in a failed escape attempt. “And I felt better afterwards. That’s what it does, Major. It changes you. Like I explained. Wendigo.”

~~

As Ives listened to Slauson’s question he debated what to say. He knew that if his plans went right, that eventually Slauson would know that Boyd was indeed innocent. By then it wouldn't matter much, Slauson would probably be in his own hell. Or not, he had not noticed any changes in Slauson since he ate the stew which was interesting. Usually it doesn't take much for one to notice a change. Hell, it had only taken blood for Boyd to change enough to take over a Mexican command post. Slauson had eaten two full bowls of stew. Ives just hoped that it would take some effect, or his power over Slauson would be lost. Ives decided to just be "honest" about Cleaves and Knox and to just reiterate his former stories.

By then they had reached the dinner shack and had taken their seats at the table. Ives smelled the other food cooking. It just didn't have the same effect anymore. He didn't even make him hungry even though he was sure that it smelled delicious. He nodded at Martha to say hello.

"Well General, I have no resistance to giving Boyd the benefit of the doubt. I have never seen with my own eyes him murdering those two poor souls. Cleaves had been done out in the dark but Boyd had blood all over him. No one else was around and no one else had blood on them. Plus, Boyd seemed mad, and is still somehow convinced that I killed everyone." Ives stole a glance at the General at this to sense his reaction. He sensed nothing.

"Then with Knox, like I had stated before, Boyd had been tied up and had somehow taken Knox over. I did not see this with my own eyes but he was the only one who could have done it, unless someone snuck into the shack where they were. Then Hart saw Boyd dragging Knox's body out into the woods. Why would he be doing that if he did not kill him? I realize Hart had not had the best of memory lately, but I did witness Hart fighting with Boyd with my own sight. And I witnessed Boyd's behavior at this, as being almost ravenous with us both. It was almost like” he trailed off. "Like, he wanted a taste of us." He let sink in for a moment. "That General I'm afraid is all that I can truthfully tell you."

Slauson worried for the doctor's safety at Ives's words. Boyd wanted a taste of them? "Very well, Colonel. Boyd is most likely guilty. It would be far too elaborate a scheme to frame him, as he insists he is. I'm rather tired of thinking about all this for tonight. I believe I'll have one more bowl of stew if there's some left, and then retire for the night." Slauson's mood lifted considerably at all the food smells in the kitchen, particularly the stew. He almost felt he could eat everything in the kitchen, including Martha's dinner, even though he thought the two bowls of stew he'd just eaten would have filled him up. The encounter with Boyd must have taken more out of him than he realized. Still, he wasn't as tired as he thought he'd be at this time. He was looking forward to his sleep tonight as a welcome rest, rather than simply collapsing in exhaustion.

"Colonel--" Miles burst through the door to find Ives and Slauson in the dining hall, both of whom naturally looked at him as if he were interrupting again. He was, naturally. "Er--excuse me. Colonel Ives, I just wished to announce that my time with Boyd is over--you're free to join him now. Lindus said he'll stand guard if you need him." His voice sounded foreign talking to this man he didn't know, but he feigned importance and boredom...however poorly. "He doesn't talk much, though. Hopefully you can get more out of him than I did," he remarked, sounding like a better actor than before.

Martha had watched the events unfold from a safe distance; she had no desire to place herself in the middle of this fray. Indeed, it seemed that she would be able to see more accurately from further away, removed from the heart of it all. From Martha's vantage point in the shadows of the yard, she had seen Ives approach the shack when Lucy rushed from her cabin, knife in hand, and watched as Colonel Hart escorted Lucy back to her cabin only moments later. There was a great familiarity between the two as they crossed the yard and the Colonel gave her his coat to wear -- it was something akin to an intimacy that should not exist between simple acquaintances. She watched as Ives and Slauson headed back for the dining hall without the doctor, and ducked back inside, not wishing them to think she was spying. After all, she thought to herself, she was not spying, merely watching. No more, no less.

Martha was a little peeved that Lucy was taking so long, however; her potatoes were definitely done boiling and ready to be mashed, and the chicken was nearly done cooking. Martha spoons some of the juices over the chickens' breasts, the crispy skins soaking in the juices and sizzling in the heat. She decided to take over with the remainder of the cooking, Lucy or no, ready with a stern glance for the girl when she should show.

When Dr. O'Donnel reappeared with news about his interview with Boyd, Martha kept an ear open for Colonel Ives' response. She remembered Boyd's warning about not turning her back on Ives. She very much intended not to turn her back on anyone, Boyd and Hart included, but she wondered about what might happen with Ives and Boyd united in the shack. Watch, she told herself. Watch and be ready.

"Well, if I don't see you again tonight, Colonel Ives, have a good night." Slauson said in farewell.

"So, Dr. O'Donnel, why don't you join me for a late supper and tell me about yourself. What brought you to Fort Spencer?"

Miles smiled broadly and walked over, his manner still as confident as he could make it.

"Thank you very much, General." He sat down, the scent of chicken wafting through the room, both tantalizing and comforting compared to the awful taste left in his memory. "I'll be honest and say my patience is wavering for that bird, but my story is brief, really...and I had believed known to you...." He felt odd telling such a story of claimed innocence and reversed blame. Though no evidence was against him, it could be said that Miles had killed ten wounded men. Would they call him crazy as well?

"You see, General, after the battle, there were...many casualties...So many that I chose whom I thought to be my most trusted apprentice, who was oddly 14 years my senior, tend to the less wounded and keep them more or less living. That was my mistake...and I was paid well for it, if you don't mind me saying. My apprentice, who had a strong love for all things hard, was not sober by the end of the night. Having raided my medicine bag, he administered to each of my patients left to him heavy doses of morphine...ether...and even his own batch of heroin. Well, they did not live. However, they were put in my care and it is, essentially my fault...I know it sounds awfully immature for me to blame another man...and those who sent me here didn't believe my story. But, in all essence, I ordered the indirect killing of 10 men," he finished, looking down and tracing a scar half hidden by his sleeve. He didn't look up---seemed to him that the men here never bought stories like that, true or no.

Martha, finishing with the cooking and setting the table, kept an ear open to all that was said, just so she could keep track of everyone. Ives and Lindus were with Boyd. The General and Dr. O'Donnel were here. Lucy and Hart were still gone -- her cabin? Martha pursed her lips together. That girl had better be careful, she thought. This place had bad spirits hanging over it.

She wordlessly placed the chickens on the table, along with the mashed potatoes and bread. She never expected words of gratitude, only did what was expected and looked forward to her own time alone. She stepped back to the rear of the kitchen once more, peering out the window towards Lucy's cabin and wondering if she should make sure all was all right. Something told her she may be intruding, however.

Now, though, she also listened. The Doctor's story was similar to many of those sent here; they all were misfits, embarrassments to the uniform. She could only assume it was the storm keeping General Slauson and Lindus here rather than leaving this Fort to the cold and snow of winter.

~~

Hart's words and kisses both befuddled and warmed Lucy, who ran a hand up around his neck and looked up at him. "Shoot, I couldn't forget you if I tried. I love you, too -- just being here with you convinces me of it. But I can't take your money. Not without you as partner on my claim, wherever it ends up being. I'm surprised that no woman grabbed you up for herself years ago." She smiled warmly up at him, kissing him gently. She had never imagined a man like this existed for her, and now that she was experiencing it, she didn't wish it to end. Yet Hart was speaking as though they were certainly doomed. She knew she should be heading back to the dining hall, that Martha would be looking for her to help finish with dinner, yet couldn't force herself to stir from her spot on the sofa.

She found herself thinking back to simpler times in her youth, of Buddy Starling, who had caught pneumonia after walking all the way to the Cort farm to see Lucy...to Reich, who had likely died trying to protect his fellow soldiers...and there were others. Other men, dead and gone, promises whispered to her withering and dying with them, but not in her memory. Brushing the back of her fingers along his cheek, she added, "You talk like a dead man, Andrew. But you're not. I'm here to tell you that for sure. Don't you think there's some chance for us? Or is it that you don't think the General wouldn't give you leave?"

When Lucy said that she loved him, Hart's heart swelled and broke all at once. Swelled because he had wanted those words for so long. Dreamed about them, heard them whispered in the depths of his dreams and at the heart of every fantasy. Yet broke because he knew that no matter how much he loved her, not matter how much she loved him, no matter how many plans his mind cooked up so that they could stay together, he could not keep her. His hands were too slippery with blood to ever hold on to her. But he had her now. Just for a few days, he could pretend and then he would send her away and let Boyd or Ives or, hell, even Slauson kill him. That was what he had to do. It was the just thing.

But, oh God, did he hate it.

Hart stared into Lucy's eyes, tracing the outline of her face with his fingertips as he spoke, "It's just that I don't know what is going to happen. I once heard a man say `When men plan, God laughs.' I don't want to make promises that I cannot keep." He leaned forward and kissed her again before pulling away and slowly rising to his feet, pulling her up with him. "You haven't eaten yet and they will be looking for both of us. As much as I could stay here alone with you forever, now is not the time."

Hart started to move away, back towards the door, reaching for his jacket. But, before he was there, he spun back around and placed his hand on Lucy's waist, pulling her hard against him as he whispered against her lips, "I cannot promise you forever. As much as I want to, I cannot. But I can give you tonight, if you will have me." Hart didn't move into kiss her, though he was close enough to do so easily. Instead, he stared intently into her eyes, the expression in his own making it clear that he was not going to let her refuse him.

~~

Ives was very pleased that Slauson wanted another bowl of stew. He even forgave the doctor's interruption. As he stood he waved his hand towards the stew. "Waste not Want not General. I do have enough meat to make some more if it is so appealing. I hate to say that I quite enjoy it myself." He smiled and headed toward to door and to Boyd.

As he made his way over he glanced once more towards the woman's cabin. Still no sign of either one of them. His path was safe... for now. Ives felt down and felt that he still had his knife on him. He was planning on killing soon, and he wanted to make sure he had a weapon if the right opportunity should arise.

Opening the door to Boyd's shack he noticed that Lindus was in with him. They looked to be in conversation but stopped when Ives opened the door. As Ives entered he noticed Lindus moving towards him and the door. He no doubt wanted the hell out of the room and if he knew the truth about who was in the room, two cannibals, he would be running.

"Lindus." Ives stated somewhat sharply. "I need you to stand outside the door and do not move until I say so." He stated in a commanding tone.

"Are these the General's orders"? Lindus asked him, questioning.

"No these are my orders." Ives shot back and sternly glared at him until Lindus finally nodded and stepped outside. Ives watched him to make sure that he did indeed stand by the door and not run like a baby to Slauson to tell him what big bad Ives ordered him to do. But Lindus stayed obediently, even sneaking a glance to Ives and then looking down when he noticed that Ives was watching him with a firm stare.

Ives turned towards Boyd. He still looked pathetic as ever. Ives almost felt sorry for him. Ives enjoyed toying with Boyd immensely but at this moment he felt a pang of sympathy. Ives decided on not saying anything until Boyd spoke first. Ives had his plans but he wanted Boyd to quit resisting him, to simply give in. He had already tried the nice talks, two in fact. Boyd wasn't much of a conversationalist. He did however look as if he almost wanted to see Ives as he came in the door. That softened Ives a little. In a strange way, he wanted Boyd to like him, to crave his affection, and not shiver in disgust at the very thought of him. He would never show this or admit this to anyone of course, barely even to himself. But it was there. But as before, he knew that this could turn at the drop of a hat, for although Boyd was the only one it seemed to bring out the human in him, he could also bring out his worst as well, his demons. Ives smiled at Boyd softly and stayed his distance.

~~

Lindus found himself once more stuck in the freezing cold, and more than a little put-out at the fact that Ives was suddenly growling at him like that. True, he was a superior officer. Still, it was an unspoken tradition that visiting officers should be treated like the guests they were.

Lindus realized then that he wasn't feeling the cold exactly the way he had earlier. He felt almost as though he had an internal furnace going. Perhaps he was coming down with a fever from that awful ride today. Or perhaps, as Boyd intimated, it was the stew. Lindus smiled at the thought. Yes, the magical stew. Well, it was rubbish, of course, but he should mention it to General Slauson.

He glanced over towards Lucy's cabin, and though he saw the firelight in the window, he saw no sign of movement. He looked disapprovingly towards the structure, adding Colonel Hart's misbehavior to the list of things to tell the General about. And while he was at it, he'd mention Ives' attitude.

Yes, Lindus had much to tell Slauson about tonight. Perhaps after dinner.

~~

Through some random drawl of fate, Boyd found himself locked in a silent staring contest with Ives. Neither man was speaking. Strange in a way. Ives seemed to never run out of ways to spin cannibalism to make it seem exciting and acceptable. Maybe he’d run out of ideas. Maybe he just realized that Boyd wasn’t giving in with that tactic. That was a frightening thought. Who knew what new tactic the Colonel had devised. If this was it, it was a good one. The weight of Ives’ stare made Boyd uncomfortable and he felt almost compelled to speak.

“What do you want from me, Ives?” He asked, shaking his head with utter exhaustion. He’d come back from the brink of death over the past few days, consuming stew nearly against his will. And now here he sat, bruised and broken again. Eating the stew was just to stay alive. Wasn’t it? He didn’t like it. No, of course, it was just to stay alive, he convinced himself. And here was the man before him who made him do it, made him eat Knox to survive the vicious stab wound.

The former ‘doctor’, Major Knox, was drunk, useless, but still a man. He didn’t deserve to die, no matter how much he wasted his time, skills and opportunities. Knox was young yet, he could have found a way out of Fort Spencer, could have been someone if he wasn’t with the bottle ever damn minute of the day.

Boyd swallowed, realizing he was rationalizing eating Knox, making it all right in his head by declaring Knox a waste of life. It wasn’t all right. It was just wrong. No matter how hard he fought it, it seems whenever Ives was around, the man had some unseen power over him.

“I never did anything to you,” Boyd blurted out. “I do not even know your real name. No one believes the truth. You could let me go,” he offered, well aware the request would not be granted. Where would he go anyway? Into the wilderness. He’d never survive without Reich’s spirit urging him on. John Boyd was a Captain gone mad in the eyes of the government. No matter where he went or what he did, he would be killed for these crimes he did not commit. He had no option to run. It was give in or die. If he had to die, he wanted to take Ives with him. The other option to give in? He couldn’t. It was wrong.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he asked frankly, saving his question about the new doctor until he got this answer. “At least tell me what you have planned if Slauson wants to hang me tomorrow for these crimes.”

~~

Lucy's blue eyes were locked by Hart's gaze, her body frozen by his words and embrace. The words he'd spoken earlier saddened her, because she sensed the doom in them. Yes, she felt joy at having found a man like Hart: wise and witty and appreciative of her need for independence, yet powerful and strong as she felt a man should be. But the words he spoke implied that their future was being built on shaky grounds, at best.

Being so close to him now, it was tempting to just pull him to her and forget the others, forget the formality of dinner and pleasant -- or unpleasant -- conversations. But she knew Hart was right. Her stomach told her so, and Martha would likely give her one of her patented looks when Lucy did make a final appearance. She could wait; they had waited so long, so certainly a few extra hours wouldn't make much difference. If nothing else, it would certainly give her something to look forward to.

She smiled a wicked little smile at him and whispered softly in his ear, "I will have you, Andrew." Hands on his shoulders, she drew him to her and kissed him so softly that her lips barely grazed his. "Sometimes, one night's all you get."

She released him then, handing him his coat and taking up her own. "We should go. I don't know about you, but I'm starved."

With Lucy's soft, teasing kiss and her acceptance of his proposal, Hart's first thought was to forget about dinner and formality and everything else, pull her against him, and take her now. The urge was like white fire in his veins. Luckily, she had stepped away, giving him time to come back to his senses. Had she been but a step closer, he would have acted on those impulses. As it was, it took several deep breaths before Hart was in full possession of his faculties again. He reached out and accepted his coat with a smile, buttoning it up with fingers that, until recently, had ached so much that buttoning was agony. Now, he barely noticed the action.

Once he felt he was back in order, Hart opened the door for Lucy and allowed her to go outside before shutting it behind him. Out in the cold, he held his arm out to her like a proper gentleman as he said, "I'm not hungry myself, but I will accompany you. I imagine that General Slauson wonders at my whereabouts. At both of our whereabouts." Unless he is occupied by Ives, Hart's mind added darkly.

Just before they reached the kitchen, Hart pulled Lucy into the shadows and claimed her mouth once more, kissing her hard before realizing her, his eyes bright and seeking hers in the darkness. "Until tonight," he whispered before releasing the woman and moving towards the kitchen door. He flung it open, his eyes searching the kitchen for Ives' presence first and foremost. He was thankfully gone. Probably tormenting poor Boyd again…

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