shallowz

Title: Intermedius

Fandom: Lancer

Rating: PG

Characters: Murdoch, Johnny, and Scott Lancer

Word Count: around 9,000 total

Warnings/Spoilers: Alternate Reality

Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and premises of many talented people. Essentially, not ours, no profit being made, etc. This is just for fun.
Summary: Sequel to Praeambulus. The Lancers’ first road trip. Follows immediately from where Praeambulus ended.

Thanks to our beta,harrigan, who we asked to make this fic better, and she so did.:)

Part One

April 27, 1865

The days took on a routine. They kept at a steady pace, with brief stops for meals and to rest the horses. Only when Scott admitted that he couldn’t go further, did they stop for the night.

Each day they were able to travel longer. Murdoch talked about Lancer and the inhabitants, hoping the knowledge would help Scott to feel at ease once they did arrive.

Barranca and his rider pranced around the wagon, or bolted off in a sprint that allowed them to expend excess energy. Murdoch often caught Scott’s eyes riveted on Johnny and the horse during these times. Murdoch often wondered what he was thinking, and he questioned whether he ever would know either of his sons well enough to have that ease of familiarity. There was a little of that with Johnny, but he wasn’t arrogant enough to think he’d even scratched the surface.

Johnny was made up of misdirects and smiles. To Murdoch’s relief, his son seemed to want a relationship with him. At least for now.

Scott, well, Scott remained to be seen. He was full of “yes, sir, no sir” with a polite way about him, but the tiny glimpses of fire showed he was made up of more than that. Murdoch couldn’t help wondering where his son’s thoughts traveled as he spent much of his time listening, and studying the countryside. There was a natural reserve to him that reminded Murdoch much of Catherine - a reserve that had hidden a wickedly dry sense of humor. He wondered if Scott carried that trait.

Murdoch was grateful Johnny was a part of the ‘making Scott better’ campaign, because if nothing else, Scott was curious about this unexpected younger brother.

Catching his sons studying each other off and on, Murdoch grasped the fact that if having a father after so many years wasn’t enough to keep them at Lancer, having a brother might be. Murdoch wasn’t fussy about how it happened, as long as he had time to get to know them. Time was all he needed.

~o~0~o~

April 29, 1865

“I’ll ride ahead a ways, and find us a place to make camp.” Johnny reined Barranca along side the buckboard.

“Not too far,” Murdoch spoke quickly. “Stay in sight.”

The look Johnny gave Murdoch was a mix of incredulous, stubborn, and maybe a tinge of humor, like he wasn’t quite sure what to make of Murdoch.

“Please.”

Johnny nodded before galloping off.

It was one of the many little interactions that puzzled Scott, and he continued to mull it over in an attempt to understand the relationship between his father and brother.

He didn’t think his curiosity would be satisfied any time soon.

~o~0~o~

April 30, 1865

Johnny took a turn in the buckboard with Scott, and they settled into a comfortable silence. Johnny had questions to ask, many in fact, but it didn’t feel right to bombard Scott during the trip. More like the thing to do in front of that big fireplace in the hacienda on a cold night.

He didn’t think Scott could handle even a friendly interrogation before he recovered his health. Even though Scott no longer gave the impression of being halfway through death’s door, he wasn’t in any shape to take on more than eating and sleeping right now.

Likewise, Johnny wasn’t ready to have questions coming back at him. He’d learned early on not to talk about himself, not that it came up a lot, but it would be a hard habit to break.

A gust of cool wind, strong enough to sweep his hat off his head and catch on the stampede strap around his neck, shook him out of his musings. Looked like they were in for a storm, and Murdoch was already heading off to a stand of scrubbish trees and rocks.

Nodding, Johnny agreed with riding out the storm in a protected location. Beside him, he could feel Scott scrunching down and huddling into his suit coat.

Murdoch, having dismounted, was waiting as Johnny guided the wagon into the sheltered corner amongst the boulders and pulled out their bedrolls. Looking to a darkening sky, Johnny hurriedly set the brake, and leapt off the wagon to secure the tarp. Murdoch tossed the bedrolls beneath the wagon and tied down the tarp on his side, and Scott reached over the seat to button up the front.

Scott was about to step down from the wagon on Johnny’s side when another strong wind kicked up. Strong enough to startle the team, giving the wagon a jerk, and to upset the precarious balance Scott had maintained against the wind itself.

Darting to the front of the buckboard, Johnny placed his body to catch his brother as he tumbled out.

~o~0~o~

This is going to hurt, was Scott’s first resigned thought. Then Johnny was suddenly right there and reaching out, vivid blue eyes catching Scott’s own. Concerned. Determined.

Scott found that reassuring, but he could see that this wasn’t going to end well, and he truly didn’t want to hurt his new-found brother.

The choice was taken from him as another jerk of the wagon had him tripping out of the wagon and heading right for Johnny. They struck foreheads, and Scott saw sparkly lights while feeling Johnny’s arms and legs twisting into his own.

The landing knocked the wind out of him.

Grimacing, he blinked his eyes open to see Johnny doing the same. Johnny met his own gaze with such intensity that Scott was taken aback. His brother had an incredible presence for someone so young.

The worried expression changed completely when Johnny broke into laughter. Reaching out to touch the middle of Scott’s forehead. “I bet I have a matchin’ one.”

Scott understood a second later when he focused on the bright red spot on Johnny’s forehead. The ludicrous situation and Johnny’s contagious laughter startled a laugh out of Scott. Rusty and out of practice, it felt good all the same.

Remotely, he heard Murdoch saying that they must be all right, and could feel his hesitant hands touching them.

Laughter dying down, Johnny grinned. “You think you can move your bony self offa me?”

Again, Scott was grateful that Johnny called a spade a spade No pretense that all was well, or the cloying concern that allowed him nothing.

He liked his brother.

~o~0~o~

The storm announced itself with drenching rain, lightening, and thunder.

“Johnny, lay out Scott’s bedroll.” Murdoch’s large frame hovered over Scott to protect him from the worst of the cold rain.

Johnny scrambled underneath and pawed through their travel gear. Murdoch waited just long enough for the bedroll to be unrolled before he hustled Scott underneath the wagon. Scott crawled into the waiting warmth as Murdoch followed alongside. His six-foot-five frame didn’t care for the cramped quarters, but he propped himself up behind Scott’s back while Johnny shook out a blanket.

Feeling his son shiver, Murdoch reached across to catch up one side of the blanket and drape it over Scott. Johnny edged closer as Scott drew his legs up to his chest. Familiar with Johnny’s aversion to the cold, Murdoch made certain his younger son was covered as well.

Scott had looked over his shoulder, startled when Murdoch added his own blanket to the mix.

“No, sir, you’ll need it.”

Finished with arranging the blanket, he moved in close to Scott’s back to buffer him even further from the cold.

“My jacket is enough.” Murdoch tugged Johnny in closer. “Just… humor me.”

~o~0~o~

The words were said mildly, but with some indefinable emotion. Scott looked away only to meet Johnny’s conflicted gaze. Scott raised his brows, and mentally shrugged. Johnny must have picked up on it and his expression eased.

“Might as well take a siesta, Boston.” Johnny wiggled to get comfortable and tucked the blanket under his chin. “We’re not goin’ anywhere for few hours.”

Scott smiled, felt Murdoch’s warmth behind him, and decided this visit was so much more than he had expected when he had essentially run away from Boston.

A siesta sounded fine, and Scott dropped his head to rest on an arm not his own. The noise of the storm seemed far away, and that was the last he heard as he drifted off into a surprisingly deep sleep.

~o~0~o~

Johnny thought of puppies he had seen long ago. They’d play and play and suddenly stop, dropping to sleep wherever they had landed. He wondered if Scott was always like this or if it was caused by his poor health.

His brother did know how to laugh, and remembering Scott’s deep, unrestrained laugh from before, he was a man that should do it often. There was something there, covered up by politeness, that Johnny suspected hid the brother he should have grown up with. He’d like to meet him, and for that brief moment, Johnny thought he had. Kinda scared him. It was one thing to be curious and want to meet his brother, but he hadn’t thought ahead to what it would be like. He had worried about Scott’s reaction to him, but not the other way around.

He couldn’t make sense of it.

He watched Murdoch use his large hand to brush Scott’s hair off of his forehead, and recalled near awakening moments when he felt that same hand.

~o~0~o~

Johnny looked so young.

“It was good to hear him laugh.” Murdoch smiled, smoothing out the blanket. “You’re good at bringing laughter out in people, Johnny, and I think Scott’s had too little of it.”

Johnny ducked his head down, and Murdoch’s smile grew. This son wasn’t use to praise, but Murdoch would see to it that Johnny had plenty of practice.

~o~0~o~

Murdoch and Johnny alternately napped when the rain settled into a gentle, steady pace.

Watching Johnny sleep brought Murdoch back to days long ago when he would sit in his baby’s room to watch him sleep. After a hard day, he could relax and know that this was the reason for the long hours and the rough work of building the ranch. During those nights, he’d also dream of bringing his older son home to take his rightful place as Johnny’s big brother.

How strange that he’d come close to that dream under a buckboard in a rainstorm. Murdoch wasn’t picky how it was achieved; he had hope that his sons would come to love Lancer and what it represented as much as he did.

~o~0~o~

Scott woke with start, coming out a troubling dream. He’d had it before, and it was one that always left him feeling off balance. Never really remembering it when he woke, he was left with the feeling of anxiety and that he was failing in some way.

He became aware that someone was speaking to him.

“You’re safe, Scott. Are you awake?”

A hand was running through his hair, and he was acutely aware that even his hair was brittle and coarse. If it hadn’t felt so good, he probably would have pushed the hand away.

Blinking rapidly, he focused on his father’s face. “I’m all right, sir.”

Surprisingly, that was even true. He felt toasty warm and fairly rested. The rain had stopped and the air smelled fresh and clean. Looking around, he noticed that Johnny was no longer under the wagon.

“Johnny’s taking care of the horses and tack. If you’re up to it, we’ll head out soon.”

Easing himself up, Scott nodded. “I’m ready.”

“We’ll eat as we ride.” Murdoch looked as if he was about to say something else, but hesitated.

“What is on your mind, sir?”

Murdoch studied his face, for what Scott had no idea, but he seemed to come to a decision.

“I want to get you home. We’re likely to have more weather like this, and I would prefer not to see you in it. You’ve already improved, Scott, and I don’t want to lose what ground you’ve gained.”

Seeing where this was going, Scott nodded. “You want to ride through.”

“Yes. We’ll make the needed stops, but they’ll be kept to minimum. If we do this, we likely can be back at Lancer in a few days.”

Craving the idea of his long journey coming to an end, Scott was willing to forgo the stops. “I’d like that, sir.”

With the gentle smile that was now familiar to Scott, Murdoch rested a hand on his shoulder. “Good. However, if you’re not feeling well, I expect you to tell me. Immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

Scott needed the time to sort out his thoughts. So much had changed in a few weeks, and he had wanted to push away the more troubling thoughts to conserve his energy for the physical demands during the trip. But it was difficult to ignore his grandfather’s revelation that his father had wanted him.

Too many years thinking that his father blamed him for his mother’s death was hard to give up. Part of him wanted to ask Murdoch about his mother, but wasn’t sure he was ready for the answer.

No, he had to let that go for now. When he was well, and for the first time in a long time, he thought that was possible, then he would ask those questions. If he didn’t like the answers, he would be physically capable of leaving and the choice was his alone.

“Ready, Brother?” Scott realized he had been so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even noticed Johnny’s approach.

Nodding, Scott climbed into the buckboard. Everything was damp and the cushion that had been on the seat was sitting in the back to dry off. But one of the blankets was folded up to offer some comfort against the hard wood. Murdoch handed out jerky for all of them before he settled in beside Scott.

Swinging up on Barranca, Johnny was riding bareback while the saddles sat in the back of the buckboard to dry out. With a “whoop” his brother and Barranca were off kicking up clods of earth, both exhilarated by the thrill of the run.

Jerky forgotten, Scott was enthralled as he watched the two of them for long minutes. For wondrous seconds he was back in time when he and his mount were flying over stretches of green.

Bitterly it brought him back the last time he was on horse, and the loss was as painful as it was over a year ago. He wanted to change his last memory of riding to something joyous and pain free.

Taking a deep breath, he blew it out slowly and settled into that place of patience that kept him sane.

He’d feel that again one day.

~o~0~o~

The following hours ran together for Scott. They stopped when they needed to, but kept going through the day and night. The weather was cooler and he kept one of the blankets wrapped around him to ward off the chill.

Murdoch always seemed to be beside him whenever he was tired, and more than once he woke to find the man’s arm easily holding him. Finally, Scott just accepted that he was going to sleep when his body wanted it, which was better than the insomnia he had suffered in the past.

They traveled mostly in silence, only speaking when needed. Scott could see that both Murdoch and Johnny were ready to be home.

~o~0~o~

May 2, 1865

In spite of the storm, they made steady progress, and stopped just before sunset.

Sitting with his back against a rock, Scott had watched as the sun had finished its descent. Jonah hadn’t exaggerated when he had spoken of the beauty of the sunrises and sunsets tangling with the distant mountains and hills.

Scott doubted that he would take such things for granted ever again. There was something to be said for having the freedom to walk outside at any point simply to look at the sky.

“Scott, food’s ready.” If it wasn’t for the spurs Johnny habitually wore, Scott was sure he wouldn’t hear him coming.

“Thank you, Johnny.” Scott accepted his brother’s offered hand and was pulled to his feet. He felt stronger these days, but his muscles still had a way of stiffening whenever he was immobile for any length of time.

“I did some of the cookin’ so you may want to wait with your thanks,” Johnny joked.

Glancing at his brother, Scott smiled. “I have a feeling you do just fine.”

Ducking his head, Johnny murmured, “Maybe, but I’m out of practice since Murdoch has folks that take of the cookin’ and the hacienda.” Looking up, he grinned. “Spoils a body havin’ things done for ‘em.”

Thinking of how his grandfather had raised him, Scott had no doubt that Johnny would correctly surmise that Scott had been ‘spoiled’ throughout his childhood. It made him wonder, not for the first time, what Johnny’s life was like before Murdoch had brought him to Lancer.

Murdoch was already dishing out the food when they sat down at the fire. As usual, he handed Scott his plate first.

The scent of the food wafted up to his nose.

~o~0~o~

Murdoch was handing Johnny his plate, when even with the poor light of the fire, he saw Scott blanch and drop his plate before scrambling away to retch behind some scrub bushes.

With both of them still gripping Johnny’s plate, they exchanged troubled and confused looks before Johnny said, “I thought he’d at least taste my cookin’ before gettin’ sick.”

The humor couldn’t hide Johnny’s concern from Murdoch, and of accord, they set the plate down before hurrying to Scott’s side.

Scott was bent at the waist, gripping a rock to stay on his feet even as he finished, but Murdoch wrapped a supporting arm around his middle anyway. Johnny hovered close by.

“It’s completely different,” Scott was saying repeatedly, in barely audible disgusted tone.

“Scott?” Murdoch kept his tone soft as used his free hand to rub his son’s trembling back.

Scott stiffened in his hold and visibly tried to gather himself.

“I’m sorry.” Scott wouldn’t look at either of them.

“Are you ill?” Murdoch knew he wasn’t successful in hiding his worry, but even as he asked, he knew illness didn’t quite ring true.

“No, sir.” Scott’s voice shook.

Carefully, they guided Scott back to the fire, but Scott balked when they moved closer.

“Johnny, move the food away.” Murdoch wrapped his arm more securely around Scott’s waist.

Without a word at the strange request, Johnny hurriedly moved their supper well away from the fire. He poured some water into one of the tin cups before heading back to them.

“Here, swish.” Johnny handed the cup to Scott.

With an unsteady hand, Scott accepted the cup and took a large swallow to rinse out his mouth before spitting it out in the dust behind them. He did it a second time before he let them bring him back to the fire to sit down.

“Scott?” Murdoch wanted an explanation, but wasn’t sure how to ask for one.

“I’m fine now, sir.”

That wasn’t convincing. Murdoch was at loss as to how to help his son, or how to encourage him to reveal what had caused this adverse reaction to the food.

Johnny didn’t have the same problem.

“Fine doesn’t have you heavin’ in the bushes.” He crossed his arms. “I’m goin’ to feel all insulted that my cookin’ caused this.”

Scott turned his head to look at his brother. “No, please don’t think that. It was just…” He stopped abruptly.

“It was just what?”

“It’s completely different.” Scott scowled as he looked away again, but Murdoch was sure it wasn’t from Johnny’s question.

Johnny shared a helpless look with Murdoch.

Murdoch felt Scott was far away even as he spoke. “We had mix of corn and corn cob every day, made it into what I would term generously as bread. I know it is completely different from the…”

“Tortillas.” Johnny sat down on his heels.

“It seems that I am not ready to face corn in any form yet.”

“Alright, no corn.” Johnny said with finality.

No, no corn, Murdoch thought. “Scott, is there other food that you might find… unpalatable?”

Sighing, Scott met his eyes for the first time since this started. “No, I don’t believe so. The variety of foodstuffs was minimal, and I haven’t come across spoiled food since I returned.”

Compassion mixed with Murdoch’s horror at what his son had endured. He had theorized, prayed, that Scott’s loss of weight had to do with illness, only to discover that his son had essentially spent a year slowly starving to death. Internally he shuddered at how close they had come to Scott never making it home.

“I believe I’ll retire for the evening. I’m more tired than I thought.” Scott sounded more like himself, but brittle.

With regret, Murdoch concluded that there were memories that would haunt Scott, and as a father he didn’t know how to help. Even in the short time he had known Scott, Murdoch knew his son was an extremely private individual who wasn’t going to offer up information, especially difficult information, readily.

“Johnny, go eat,” Murdoch urged, once Scott had drifted off.

“Murdoch…” Johnny turned away, and Murdoch squeezed his shoulder.

“I know. Come on.”

“Ain’t gonna taste too good now, is it?”

“Afraid not.” Murdoch ruffled Johnny’s hair, and was given a half-hearted swat in return. But the blue eyes were lighter, and Murdoch counted it a small victory.

~o~0~o~

May 3, 1865

Johnny was impatient to return home. He had an unreasonable, and he knew it was unreasonable, expectation that Lancer would fix Scott. Figured, Lancer had filled in a few holes and cracks that Johnny carried, maybe it would work the same with his brother.

To work off the impatience, he and Barranca ranged ahead, checked their route, and then returned back to the buckboard to make routing decisions with Murdoch. His father must have felt the same way since he didn’t call Johnny back or suggest he stay close.

Scott? Well, Scott was lost in his thoughts and memories, and not good ones. Oh, he did the usual chit-chat, enough so a body might think that he was fine, but Johnny knew a put on when he saw one, and Scott was putting one on.

His brother brought a heap of questions with him that neither Murdoch nor Johnny could ask yet.

Didn’t mean Johnny didn’t plan on asking them later.

~o~0~o~

May 4, 1865

Scott remembered long ago days when he believed his father would come to visit, and how he imagined that meeting would go. He had created several scenarios, but was certain he had left out falling asleep at the drop of a hat and heaving in the vegetation.

He could now claim to have left his mark in the West.

Grandfather would be proud.

~o~0~o~

May 5, 1865

He was bringing his sons home.

Marveling at the accumulation of over a decade of dreams, plans, and hopes, Murdoch repeated that simple statement over in his mind. He’d never tire of it.

Barring any unforeseen difficulties, they would arrive home tomorrow. Murdoch pondered on Johnny’s behavior until he finally comprehended that Johnny was eager to return home. There were many times in the past several months that he doubted Johnny would stay at Lancer, much less look forward to returning.

All the frustration and worry, as an out of practice father, dimmed in his memory after this discovery. Oh, he knew his younger son would continue to surprise him, and there were other hard days ahead, but bad or good he would take it and enjoy every single moment.

Glancing to Scott, huddled next to him, the worry and concern flooded back. The last few days of travel had worn his son down, and though Scott never complained or asked for any consideration, Murdoch suspected Scott was holding on by stubbornness alone.

Troubled, Murdoch speculated that compared to what his older son had survived in the last couple of years, this hardly ranked as discomfort.

Murdoch desperately wanted to talk with Scott about his experiences and help in any way he could, but was fairly certain that any details his son provided would occur only by happenstance. Scott and Johnny shared that trait, and if Murdoch was honest, he was guilty of the same.

Already he had a list of things to do to promote Scott’s health and well-being. He needed Sam to assume Scott’s medical care, and needed the doctor’s counsel on what to expect. Consuela and Maria would also need to be involved to plan simple meals, and to watch for any other triggers like corn. He would talk with Paul about creating a comfortable outdoor space to allow Scott to convalesce in fresh air, but away from curious eyes. Scott was a private man and wouldn’t appreciate being the center of attention.

And Johnny. The brothers needed time to become just that. There were 15 years missing as siblings that they would never make up, but Murdoch believed it was possible for them to form a relationship.

It was already clear that Johnny had an unobtrusive way of handling Scott that Murdoch wouldn’t share. They had a clean slate, and there was enough curiosity on both sides to move beyond strangers.

With Murdoch, they each had to work through discarding the lies they had been told by their respective guardians to learn who their father truly was. Johnny still struggled with Maria’s dishonesty.

And what had Harlan told Scott?

Years of letters and small gifts had gone unacknowledged. Were they received and ignored? Why had Scott responded to Murdoch’s invitation this time?

His relationship with his older son was tenuous at best. Murdoch forced his impatience aside to wait until Scott was physically and mentally able to work through their convoluted kinship.

Taking in a deep breath, Murdoch relaxed his mind and concentrated on the pleasure of traveling this last day with his sons. There was time to work on the rest later.

He was bringing his sons home.

~o~0~o~

May 6, 1865

The sun was setting when Johnny rode ahead to the hill overlooking Lancer. He’d seen this sight before, but it was different now with the hope that Scott would see it like Johnny did.

Waiting for the buckboard to come up beside him, Johnny exchanged a quick glance with Murdoch. Appeared he wasn’t the only one who felt there was a lot riding on Scott’s first impression of Lancer.

Murdoch set the brake, and Scott rose, the forgotten blanket sliding from his shoulders. Johnny figured Scott had just as easily forgotten about the two of them.

After a minute or two, Murdoch said, “Teresa calls this the most beautiful place in the whole wide world. I’ve always agreed.”

Johnny had never admitted it, but he thought so too.

~o~0~o~

Dimly, Scott registered Murdoch’s words, as he studied the large white house and smaller outbuildings nestled in the thriving valley. He couldn’t speak; Lancer was beautiful and different from anything he had seen before.

Conflicted, he struggled to identify the pull the place had on him. He wasn’t ready to put it to words yet, scared to do so, but that didn’t stop the thought from racing through his mind.

Home.

~The End~

Continues in Concludere