Alternative Universes

I'm sorry, this came in too late to the wire to be betaed, but I did my best. Any historical inaccuracies are completely my fault.

Wild West AU with prostitution in, rather than the other way around. Rated PG for subject matter. Spoilery for Gojyo and Hakkai's backstory.



Someone was screaming. Perhaps it was me. I find my memory has several notable gaps, by that point, though I do think the fire had started by then.

"It's you," she said, and ah, her face. Her face. It had been so long, and it felt, for a moment, like I was walking back home from a day at the schoolhouse, like she'd been waiting for me all day.

But that was how I felt. Her face showed none of the same relief, betrayed no joy. "It's you?"

"I'm here," I said. "We can go home now."

She shook her head, and only then did I notice the swelling under her dress, the despair in her expression. "No," she said. "I'm sorry. That monster-- the things he did...I won't bear his child. I won't--"

She had my knife.

That was the last thing she said. I won't.

***

Against all expectations, I opened my eyes.

I was in a small, cramped room that smelled of dirty clothes and tobacco. "I never thought Hell would be so ordinary," I said to the gloom.

"So my place is ordinary, huh." Dark hair, so long it almost fell into my eyes as he leaned over me. A voice that sounded like whisky. "Nice to meet you too, asshole," he said, withdrawing and pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "Yeah, I'm the one who shoved your guts back in, and you're welcome."

That was right. I'd been stabbed. I moved my hand and felt the thick roll of bandages around my torso. To my relief, when I looked down, they appeared to be clean, their white a pleasant contrast to the dingy room. The man watched me as he lit his cigarette, and when he realized I wasn't going to run or do anything violent, he handed me my spectacles. "Joe," he said.

"Ah," I said, when I realized it was his name. "I suppose I should thank you."

He shrugged his shoulders. As my eyes adjusted, I could better see his face. He was dark-skinned, but I couldn't place his racial origin; he must have anticipated my confusion, for he scowled and said, "Half-breed. Mom was Diné. Dad was Chinese like you-- you're Chinese, right?"

"Yes," I said, a bit embarrassed by my gaucherie. "I apologize, I--"

He shrugged. "'s all right. Just don't go askin' me for any ancient Navaho secrets or any shit like that, she died when I was a baby."

"I'm sorry," I said.

"Eh." He rose, and the light from the open door caught his high cheekbones and dark eyes. He was quite handsome, despite the ragged scar on the left side of his face. "You want some food? I got some broth in the kitchen. Doc says you should start off simple."

I was ready to shake my head no, but my stomach grumbled, and I realized one of my myriad pains was hunger. "I suppose I should try a little."

He disappeared into the other room.

He returned with a grubby bowl filled with a thin excuse for broth. Still, it was food, and I ate it gratefully. "How...where did you find me?"

"They'd run out of lemons. I'd run over to Moody's for a bag, and when I got back--" He shook his head. "You were in the street in front of the hurdy-gurdy. The whole place was on fire. Found your guts a couple feet away."

I winced. He was no doubt exaggerating, but....

"You don't seem the brothel type," he said.

"I was looking for my sister."

"Oh," he said. "I'm...you find her?"

"She's dead," I said into my bowl.

"Sorry," he said. "Not many people got outa Flynn's without a pine box. He was..." Joe looked away. "Anyway," he said. "Nobody's gonna miss him, much. I hadn't even made it back to this place for months. Whoever did it probably did this town a favor."

Whoever, of course, had been me. I chose not to reveal that particular bit of information.

"You sure about her?" he asked. "I can check around--"

"No," I said. "I saw her. I'm quite sure."

"Kanan?"

I flinched at her name.

"Flynn kept her...." He shuddered. "He was a bastard. I'm sorry your sister got mixed up in it."

"We were separated when our father went to California to work on the railroad," I explained. "I didn't see her for...many years."

We were both sixteen when we met again.

I hadn't meant to fall in love with her.

We had two good years; the railroad workers paid me to teach them English, and she kept the little house we'd found by the river. She wasn't much of a cook, but that didn't matter.

And then Flynn's men came.

It took me six months to track her down, and another three weeks to get there.

I wish I could tell you all I wanted was to see her face again. But that wasn't true.

I don't regret what I did to Flynn. I never will.

I watched Joe's face; I don't think he suspected, not after knowing my sister died in the chaos. And I would be gone as soon as my wound healed.


Unfortunately, the first time I tried to stand, I realized just how long it would be before that would happen.

Joe caught me under the arm. "Easy, there," he said. His fingers felt narrow and strong. "Doc said it's gonna be a while."

The blossoming pain under my ribs agreed. I found didn't mind that so much as the unsteadiness of my legs. I went to grip Joe's shoulder, and found my grip as weak as a child's.

"Take it easy," he repeated, and guided me back to the straw mattress that I had come to realize was the only bed. Joe had been sleeping on the floor, presumably since he brought me home.

"I just wanted--"

"Didn't I tell you I had to stuff your guts back in? And you'd been out cold for days."

I wanted to protest, but apparently I had a few instincts for self-preservation left. Or perhaps I was just too exhausted to debate further. I returned to bed.


Joe brought me books and newspapers, once he realized the boredom was threatening to consume me. There were a few headlines about Flynn's, but the fuss had generally died down by the time I woke up. The rest of the town's business I found more distracting; arrests, rumors, the grandstanding of local politicians. The books were varied in quality and content; a Christian bible, some cheap pornography-- though he quickly realized that subject held little interest-- and, inexplicably but to my great pleasure, an excellent translation of Aristotle.

"Yeah," he said, when he saw my expression. "Thought you'd like that one." Sometimes, when he was pleased, I caught a sweet, almost childlike vulnerability on his face.

"I'm very grateful to you," I said. "For...everything."

He just shrugged.

I had begun appreciating Joe, I suppose. Not his terrible cooking, which I chose to replace with my own efforts when I grew strong enough to stand, but his generosity and good spirits, the way he checked on my health every morning as solicitously as any nurse. Few men would take a gore-covered stranger home to his own meager bed, much less allow him his secrets and silence.

As I grew stronger and stayed awake for longer periods of time, we would play cards after meals, round upon round of poker and blackjack which I invariably won.

"Feel like I'm losin' my touch," Joe said, after one night.

"You're a gambler?"

"Was," he said, a bit shyly. "Ran into some trouble when I got into town and landed at Flynn's. If I can get a stake together, I can go back to it. But the way you win--"

"I'm afraid my only luck has been at cards."

"You get better, you ought to take it up," he said, frowning as he realized he'd once again been betrayed by his hand. "Could make a good living."

"I was a tutor," I said, faintly. "I taught English."

He grinned. "Did ya."


So we settled in a strange sort of balance, as he went out late to 'work'-- I was still a bit unclear on how he was currently earning a living-- and I stayed home, sleeping most of the day, but increasingly managing the cooking and cleaning. I tried not to fall over him in the mornings, as he slept in, still reeking of cigarettes and alcohol from the evening before. It wasn't the way I would choose to live, but it was difficult to be too disapproving; after all, the man had saved my life.

I chose not to look too far ahead; my future had put a blade to her own throat, after all. The habit served me well enough until the night Joe came home, even later than his custom. (And had I been half-awake, waiting for him? For how many nights had I done that?)

When the rickety door opened, I could hear that his gait was unsteady, his footfalls heavier than his custom. He coughed, and it sounded liquid and pained.

I rose from the bed-- cursing to myself, not for the first time, how long the process took-- and walked to him, just as he got the candle lit.

His face was streaked with blood and grime, and his clothes were a mess. "You've been hurt," I said, and reached, without thinking, to pull a few bloodied hairs from his face.

"'Sokay," he said, through the blood. "Part of business. I'm glad to be out of that asshole's, but...." He got up, walked over to the sink, and spat. "Least there they had bouncers."

I realized, suddenly, that he hadn't been at Flynn's that night as an errand boy--that he had, in fact, been part of the merchandise. (What a blessing the low light was; it hid my expression well.) I poured water from the basin to the bowl and found a scrap of towel for his face, which kept my unsteady hands occupied.

"Could've been worse," he said, grimly. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a handful of money. "I got mine. He thought I was some limp Mary, he thought wrong."

I inspected the grubby bills as he carefully washed his face. It came to a good deal of money.

"I don't roll people," he said, in his own defense. "Bets're off if they try to roll me, though.."

He coughed, and spat out more blood.

"You don't think--"

"He won't come after me," Joe said. "He never got my name, and not many people fess up to what we done."

I bit back the impulse to correct his grammar. "All right," I said, and sorted through the money. "At least you can take a day or two off, I suppose."

"It's enough for a stake." Joe took the money away from me. "Past time I upgraded to honest work."

"Honest work gambling?"

Joe's smile was brilliant and wicked. "Exactly." He wiped his mouth again. "I look better?"

Heavens, yes. "Yes," I said, hating myself for recognizing how attractive he was, even with his face streaked with blood and sweat. "You should look fine by morning."

"Thanks," he said. "You didn't need to get up."

"It's all right," I said. "I was worried."

That smile, again. The grateful one. "I'm fine," he said. "Have some laundry to do in the morning, 'sall."

"I can take care of that," I said. "You'd best get some rest."

"Yeah," he said, and walked carefully to his spot on the floor; I could see he was favoring his right leg.

I watched him curl up like a stray dog in front of a welcome fire. My stomach lurched unsteadily.

I won't, my sister had said.

I can't, I thought to myself, and walked to the front door to empty the basin.