NOW:

"Wake up."

Standing at Jamie's bedside, his form illuminated by the oil lamp he held in his extended hand, Ben peered down at his youngest son.

Blinking blearily, Jamie yawned, lifting his hands to rub his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep, his face contorting with visible confusion.

"Early," Ben whispered. "Hours before sunrise."

"Then why are we getting up?"

Shaking his head, Ben tugged at the quilt covering his son. "Come on," he said. "We don't have a lot of time to waste."

"Before what?"

"Get dressed," Ben ordered as he abandoned the oil lamp on the side table next to the bed, leaving ample light for Jamie to conform to the instruction. "I will be waiting for you in the barn. I will not tolerate being made to wait any longer than necessary."

Mouth hanging slightly agape, Jamie's eyes widened with fear, and Ben fought the urge to smile as he turned and left the boy to wonder what was awaiting him. Given the teen's actions the evening before, he was not eager to comfort Jamie's worries about what the morning could bring. He would receive punishment for his insolence—that was a given. It was neither appropriate nor tolerable for him to speak to his father the way that he had. He didn't have to agree with the way Ben had spoken to Adam, but there were other ways he could have gone about voicing his displeasure.

Ben had never been one to silence his sons' opinions, no matter how differing they were from his own. Not unlike their similarities, the ability to find peace with each other's differences strengthened them as a family; it made them more well-rounded and better-equipped, allotting them the wisdom to negotiate trying conversations with people with which there seemed no common ground. In some instances, common ground wasn't having one person's point-of-view superseding another's, it wasn't one person losing so the other could win. It was the mutual parties agreeing to tolerate or accept each other's differing views. This was a lesson Ben himself had learned at a later age than he wanted to admit; one which he now wished he could have understood years ago, before Adam had left, or at least had the wisdom to recall a lot sooner than he had.

It was knowledge he had only remembered during the night, when his thoughts were much too burdened to ever allow him to sleep. He was too worried about Jamie's bond with and seemingly blind loyalty to Adam and what complications they were destined to bring. He couldn't help recalling difficult memories of trying times that had taken place long ago, and agonizing over what trials had yet to come.

Roy Coffee was right: Adam was brave to return to Virginia City and in the role had acquired, no less. Hoss was right too: There was little point in remaining angry at Adam over a past that could not be changed. Though it promised to be difficult, the future was the only thing anyone could control now.

Ben had saddled their respective horses by the time Jamie entered the barn. The teen appeared only slightly more alert than he had in the moments after Ben had awakened him; still, his building nervousness was immediately apparent. Hesitating just inside the entrance of the barn, he pulled the collar of his jacket up around his neck and his coat sleeves down to cover his hands, the motions either meant to contend with the chilly, early morning air, or something else.

"Where are we going?" Jamie asked. "It ain't gonna be light for at least another coupla hours."

"I know," Ben said as he ushered him outside and handed over the reins of his horse. "Come on," he added, nodding at the dark landscape awaiting them. "We have a way to travel before the sun comes up."

"But where are we going?" Jamie pressed.

Mounting his horse, Ben ignored the question as he urged Buck forward, leaving Jamie no choice but to follow his lead. Though it took several moments, eventually he heard a second series of hoof steps falling into tandem behind Buck's.

They rode in silence. Jaime, it seemed, was too nervous about what was to come to dare utter a word. Ben was too lost in thought to bother maintaining a conversation. There would be time for that yet, once he and the boy arrived where they were going. The path they were traveling was by no means worn, yet it was one he had led a son down before. Of course, that had been a different son and a different time.

The place he was taking Jamie was one Ben had only ever visited in the company of one other very specific son. Although, it stood to reason his other sons had visited the area— either alone, in the company of others, or with each other— at some point. It wasn't a secret place, rather a difficult one to get to. The trail was rugged and steep, onerous to maneuver in the dark. But if its travelers knew how to successfully negotiate the jagged turns and variable foundation, the reward they would be presented with at the end of the journey would supersede all hardship.

Though it took a while, they eventually reached the crest of the trail. Instructing their horses to stop, they remained seated in their respective saddles as the shadows of the night were chased away from the rising sun.

"Oh," Jamie whispered, his expression and tone awed by the scene unfolding before them.

They watched from their steep perch on the side of the bluff as the sun climbed higher and higher into the sky above them, casting bright, brilliant light on their surroundings and illuminating the canyon below. Composed of rock and crevasses of varying colors, heights and sizes, the landscape was a sight to behold.

"A very long time ago, Adam and I used to come here," Ben said quietly. "We would wake early and silently travel the path on which I just led you. I'm not certain how old he was when this practice began, but it continued for years. The mornings that found him and I here always came after a conflict. When he was a boy, this journey always followed a punishment, a tanning or harsh talking to, whatever had been deemed acceptable to correct his poor behavior. When he became a man, the occasions when we chose to take this path together meant something else."

Shifting in his saddle, Jamie leaned forward and cast Ben a curious look, his eyes imploring him to share more about the brother he somehow already knew.

"In a way, he and I were always at odds," Ben continued. "Of course, that was something I was more at peace with back then. He was headstrong and stubborn, steadfast in his convictions and the most dependable man I knew; he was everything I raised him to be, right up until the moment he wasn't. We were a lot alike, he and I, something that contributed to our occasional disagreements and difficulties. We had a habit of pushing and challenging one another, especially in moments when others would have backed down and left well enough alone."

Ben turned his attention to the landscape below, the conversation with Adam night before springing to the forefront of his mind; it weighed on him more than he wanted to acknowledge. He had handled the interaction poorly; he had allowed his hurt and anger to have control over his words, something which he resigned himself not to do again.

What was the purpose of this morning ride, he suddenly wondered, of rising early and taking Jamie to a place where the memories of Adam would be impossible to ignore? His memories of this path and view were both embedded with Adam, wound so tightly in his memory that they seemed to be synonymous. He couldn't look upon the land below without being reminded of his oldest son; he couldn't sit in the company of one son and not speak of another with whom he used to share such moments.

Had he brought Jamie here with the intention of discussing Adam? Or had he brought him here to discuss something else?

Like with the son who had come before him, Ben had hoped this place would be a comfort to Jamie; he had hoped they could speak calmly and honestly, allowing the beauty of the land to assuage any ill will or doubt. Like it had been with Adam, the journey was meant to be retrospective, the very fact it was being traveled a declaration of silent forgiveness for all lingering wrongs. Adam had always known that, but sadly Ben realized Jamie might not. He and Jamie didn't have the history, the years together that made them better prepared to read one another or understand their actions without explanation. With all the things they knew about each other, there were so many more left to learn.

"So, this was like your secret place," Jamie said. The deduction seemed to come easily as did the one which followed the first. "Where the two of you would come when you couldn't agree." He nodded, his gaze drifting to the horizon. "I understand."

"Do you?"

"Sure. Coming here, it was like the two of you were agreeing to not agree, or something like that. What I don't understand is why I'm here. After last night, maybe you should have brought him instead."

"This morning isn't about him."

"I think it is," Jamie insisted. "Why else would you have taken me to a place that belongs to you and him?"

"It belongs to all of us. There is no part of the Ponderosa that is anymore mine than it is Hoss's, Joe's, or yours. This Cartwright land; your last name, as newly acquired as it may be, declares your stake in all that surrounds you."

Jamie appeared skeptical about the claim. "You forgot someone," he said. "Adam is a Cartwright too, but you don't treat him like one. You said you used to take him to this place; I'm sure you used to speak to him the way you're speaking to me. But something between you changed. The way you saw him changed. If that can happen between you and him then it can happen between you and me. I don't know, maybe it's more likely to happen with me. I ain't your blood. I don't even think of you as my father, not really. I don't do anything you ask me to. I cause more trouble than I do good."

Ben's expression softened. This was the first time Jamie had spoken freely about their differences and struggles; it was the first time had mentioned not seeing Ben as his father without using the information as angry ammunition to win a losing fight.

"You certainly have your moments of appallingly poor behavior," he said. "All boys do. You're young, passionate, energetic, and impulsive; these are all things that will change over time. You'll learn to direct your energy and passion toward constructive pursuits; you'll temper your impulses, controlling them in situations where they'll do more harm than good. With your father, you saw hardship, and it's shaped you, there's no denying that. But, beneath the invisible shield of misanthropy you wear to protect yourself from the world, you're a good boy, Jamie, and you'll grow into a good man."

"Just like Adam grew into a good man," Jamie said cynically. "Just like you used to love him and now you don't."

"I never said I didn't love him."

"You never said you did."

"Well, I do," Ben countered. His exasperation came quickly, loosening his statements. "And for the record, I love you too."

The words hung in a still silence between them as both man and boy stared at each other, shocked etched on their respective faces. If this was to be looked back upon as a conversation of firsts, then this verbal confirmation of a father's feelings toward his adopted son was another to add to the list.

"I love all my sons," Ben added, his voice low. "That is one thing that will never change. Not distance, time, any number of disagreements, or poor behavior will ever be enough to change it."

Brows narrowing tempestuously, Jamie's lips curled into a tight frown and he shifted his attention to the canyon below. Though he remained quiet for several long moments, his anger and disapproval were palpable. "Yeah," he snorted eventually, his eyeline not drifting. "Maybe your love doesn't change, but your opinion sure does. They ain't true, you know."

"What isn't true?"

"The awful things some of the people in town say about Adam."

Expelling a deep breath, Ben felt his frustration shift to sadness. "I know," he said.

"You act like you believe them," Jamie challenged. "You speak about and to him like the things others say are true. No wonder he wanted to leave last night. I wouldn't want to be around someone who treated me that way. You say you love him, but I don't think you really do. I think that's just something you tell yourself so that you don't have to admit how you really feel. Lying to yourself is better than admitting you're not as good of a father as you think you are."

The statement was a little too apt, one which, in different circumstances and in different surroundings, Ben might have reacted differently to. "Sometimes the feelings we have for people are as complicated as the events that shift our perceptions of one another," he explained. "Sometimes good people make bad decisions. When a good person cares more about denying their mistakes than correcting them, they can become a bad influence. You'll understand that when you're older."

"I hope I don't," Jamie said stubbornly.

"I hope you do. In the meantime, I expect you to stay away from Adam. You respect his authority, but you do not seek his company. Do you understand me?"

"You can't tell me to stay away from him, not now that I know that he's here."

"I am your father and I can tell you to do anything I please."

"No." Jamie violently shook his head, fury burning in his eyes. "You're not. My father was a better man than you'll ever be. I know that, and Adam knows it too. You can't tell me to stay away from him. I won't."

"You will," Ben said firmly, his tone of voice leaving no room for disagreement. This was not what he had brought the boy here for. He had no interest in arguing, in furthering misunderstandings or disagreements. Taking a deep breath, he held it, then expelled it slowly, seeing whatever wisdom and patience could be gained by his extended pause. "Tell me about your father," he added, his voice losing its dangerous edge.

Jamie's frown deepened. "What?"

"We've never properly spoken about him. I think I would like to hear more about the man you're going to spend the rest of my life comparing me to."

"I don't want to talk to you about him."

"Why not?"

Though simple, the question did what it was intended to. Pursing his lips, Jamie's expression shifted as the anger in his melt away to make room for something else. "Because…" he hedged sadly as he absently toyed with the reigns still clutched in his hands.

"There must be a reason."

"There is."

"Then tell me."

"I don't wanna talk about my father because…because...Well, I don't like to think about him much. It reminds that he's… gone."

"It's okay to be sad over losing someone we loved."

"I know, but… I just…" Jamie shrugged. "Outside of Dusty Roads, I'm the only one around here who knows he actually existed. If I talk about him then it's like… it's like he doesn't belong to me anymore. That sounds strange, but that's how I feel, I guess."

"I can understand that," Ben said. "Of course, you are forgetting that someone else knows about him, too."

"Oh," Jamie groaned, his frown returning. "You just want to know what Adam knows."

"That is not why I want to talk about your father."

"Why then?"

"As I already told you, I would like to learn about your father because we've never spoken about him, and I think we should. So, tell me, Jamie, what was he like?"

"I don't know."

"Well, then, let's start with simple things. Was he tall or short?

"Tall."

"Was he big like Hoss or average like Joe?"

"He was somewhere in the middle."

"Did he have hair like you?"

"No. He… He had brown hair."

"Was he kind?"

"The kindest," Jamie said. "He was smart and patient and he always took the time to listen to what I had to say."

Ben nodded approvingly. "And I'm nothing like those things?" he asked softly.

"Sometimes you are," Jamie admitted. "Sometimes you're not."

This was a statement Ben wanted to deny, but couldn't. With all his talk of shifts in perspective, good and bad men, and poor behavior gone uncorrected, it was difficult not to think of his own flaws.

"It's my reaction, my responses to Adam's return that are making you think differently of me," Ben deducted calmly. "Maybe your new perception of me is good, maybe I'm showing you who I truly am and your new attitude toward me is something that will serve and protect you, or maybe it'll hurt you instead."

"How's that?" Jamie snorted.

"Because maybe I'm not the one who you shouldn't trust. I don't know what your past experience with Adam was, but knowing him and knowing how often you and your father traveled about, the time the three of you spent together could not have been long; whatever you think you know about Adam is wrong."

Jamie's anger was immediate. "You're the one who's wrong," he said belligerently. "You don't even know who he really is!"

"Then why don't you tell me, Jamie?" Ben asked. "Who is he?"

Jamie crossed his arms indignantly and shook his head. "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you. I'm not going to answer a question you're too stubborn to ask him yourself. Looks like I was right after all," he said, nodding at surrounding land. "I wasn't the person you should have brought here, and Adam, what he said last night about you was true, too. You only speak to hear yourself. You only see what you want to see!"

Ben lifted a warning finger. "I will not tolerate you speaking to me this way."

"And I won't tolerate answering questions that you should be asking someone else! If you want to know things about Adam then talk to him! If you don't want me to say you're a badfather, then act like a betterone!"

The last remaining sliver of Ben's patience vanished in an instant, leaving him with little concern of how his actions would help or hurt the current dynamic between him and Jamie. When he considered the moment later, even he was pressed to admit to himself that what he had done was rash—despite how warranted it was. Jamie's behavior demanded action, a punishment as loud and firm as the boy's words.

Dismounting Buck, Ben didn't think his purposeful strides quickly closed the small gap between the horses. This action, it seemed, was either too quick or too foreign for Jamie to realize what was happening until he had been pulled from the back of the horse and thrust over Ben's bended knee. Once the realization came, though, it couldn't be denied; Jamie began kicking and screaming, doing everything he could to escape the tight grip. His resistance was futile. Holding strong with one arm and hand, Ben began unleashing his fury with the other.

Jamie was crying in earnest by the time Ben finally let him go. Looking between his reddened hand and the sobbing teen, he felt the slightest twinges of guilt. This was a feeling he quickly dismissed. If Jamie wanted to be corrected in a different manner, then he needed to act accordingly and cease tantruming like a child. Ben was willing to discuss just about anything with him if only the boy would keep a tighter rein on his words and a civil tongue in his mouth. However, this was something that wasn't destined to change—not on that day, at least.

"Y-you're such a b-bad father!" Jamie sobbed as he furiously refused to abandon his prior criticisms. "I-I hate y-you!"

Ben could have grabbed the boy, bent him over his knee and tanned him again, but there seemed to be little point in doing such a thing. If the punishment he had received at the top of the trail hadn't been enough to temporarily cease Jamie's stubborn criticisms then the long, steep ride down in the saddle certainly would.

"You can have a few moments to get yourself together," Ben instructed as he mounted his horse. "I am heading back down the trail. I will wait for you at the bottom. I hope you take this time to think about your words and actions, how you can adjust your behavior to avoid such pain in the future."

And with that, he directed Buck toward the trailhead, leaving Jamie to sob alone.

TBC