Mister Perfect
(Old West)
Disclaimer: Don't own them, enough said.
Pairing: E/N
Summary: Ezra is feeling a tad snarky.
Author's Notes: I'm still trying to find Nathan's voice (Through the use of Ezra's… just a teeny bit nonsensical but what the hey.) so this is basically just a practise maboby. Still not there but I'm working on it.
Well aren't you just mister perfect, Nathan?
Mister infallible.
Mister righteous.
Always so astute, yet always so quaintly unaware.
You know everything about anything. Medicine, healing, law, I bet you even know a good few languages, don't you?
All that wonderful knowledge stuffed so densely into your perfect brain.
Well, Nathan, you don't know everything.
I'll tell you one thing you don't know.
Me.
You're at a loss now, aren't you, mister genius?
How about I stun you and give you a second thing?
Yourself.
Oh do close your mouth, Mr. Jackson, it's most unsightly.
How long have we known each other, Nathan? Two months isn't it? Or is it more than that... I lose count.
That village seems so blurry to me now. Those foolish villagers, they call themselves pacifists. They're cowards, you know it, I know it, they know it, everyone knows it.
Stupid, no good cowards. Always running, always hiding. They're snivelling curs. They're the kind of people who cry when they break the Sunday china.
What're they crying for? It's so stupid-after all, it was just a bloody cellar. It lasted no more than a week!
It was their fault; they shouldn't have broken his plates and ruined his peaceful day, the snivelling cowards.
Pathetic.
But you don't think so do you, mister holy? Mister greater than life itself.
You've visited them every week since then, haven't you? You made friends with them and cared for them.
Fighting their battles wasn't enough for you. You had to worry about their lives, you had to make sure they all found their feet again and survived.
You made them love you.
Well what about you. Have you found your feet? Have you faced anything from your past?
I thought not.
Now tell me, Nathan, for I am just an ignorant fool, but isn't that the height of hypocrisy? Or is it just irony?
You probably know both those words, don't you? You'd be able to recite them to me with the pride of having an education despite working for the massah' in the field.
Am I just a massah' to you, Nathan? Is that why you hate me?
No, I'm being pretentious. You don't hate me. You don't feel anything for me, you don't even see me.
Well that's okay because you don't see yourself either.
Nathan the doctor.
Nathan the slave.
Perfect or broken. Which is it going to be, Nathan?
When are you going to decide?
When are you going to-why can't you just hear me?
For once would you stop being everything people want you to be and just listen to me?
Damnit, Nathan! You made them love you!
Why can't you see that?
/////////////////////////////////////
"Did you say something, Ezra?" Nathan asked as he stepped into the room. An assortment of coloured bottles sat nestled within the crook of his arm, clinking together in a small, disjointed chorus. He walked over to the shelf by his door and gently placed them one by one in a row next to each other.
Ezra blinked and looked away from the mirror he sat before. The room was dark, made gloomy by the evening light but Ezra could easily see Nathan through the shadows.
"No," he said softly. "Nothing."
Nathan hummed a little and stepped away from the shelf and surveyed his new stock, pride shining in his eyes.
Ezra shifted uncomfortably.
"I'd better be going." He started for the door.
"Nonsense!" Nathan cried as he blocked his path. "I need to take a look at that shoulder of yours. How'd you say it happened again?" Nathan pulled Ezra's coat from his shoulders with sure, confident hands and placed it carefully on the clinic's bed.
"I just--" Ezra hid the flinch Nathan's hands caused. "-banged it. It's fine, honestly."
Nathan tutted his disbelief and ran his hands up and down Ezra's arm. His fingers were hot against the cool skin, like ten little fire pokers scorching Ezra.
"Doesn't look like it's been dislocated. You're lucky, it's probably still a little weak from the Seminole village."
Ezra sighed and pulled away from Nathan's touch.
"Thank you," he said softly. He reached for his jacket but again Nathan stopped him.
"Chris told me you'd been having some trouble with some marks the other night." The tone of Nathan's voice made Ezra look up. He was surprised to see something like concern in Nathan's eyes. "This wouldn't be the result of a bunch of sore losers, would it?"
"No..."
Nathan raised his eyebrows and quirked his mouth.
//A councillor as well, Nathan? Always so surprising with your faces.//
"It's fine," Ezra said, defence in his tone. "They left soon after, I checked in the livery to make sure they did."
"You need to be careful, Ezra. You're digging yourself into something you-"
"Nathan!" Ezra snapped. "I said it's fine."
Nathan froze. After a beat he swallowed and gave a short nod.
"Alright, fine." Turning from Ezra, he reached for a sling on his shelf and tossed it into Ezra's good hand. "Just to give it a bit of a rest. Now I expect you to wear this, if I hear that you aren't we'll be having a nice long talk."
Giving Ezra a short but pleasant smile, he disappeared into the back room.
Ending the exchange with such a careless ease.
Ezra waited until the door closed behind Nathan before allowing his shoulders to droop. An infinite sadness descended upon him, drowning him. He fingered the sling, as a child would hold a toy when seeking comfort.
"No you won't." He said softly, pitifully.
THE END
If you enjoyed this story, we're sure that Phantom Black Sheep would love to hear from you.
HOME | PHANTOM BLACK SHEEP'S FIC | TITLES | AUTHORS | UNIVERSES
This website is maintained by Donna and Barb
email us
with corrections and additions