[Amnesty Day] [The Wild Wild West/Emergency!] The Sweetest Gift

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: The Sweetest Gift
Day/Theme: December 23rd - I did not know that snakes could hibernate, until this one woke up.
Series: The Wild Wild West/Emergency!
Character/Pairing: Snakes Tolliver, Dixie McCall
Rating: K/G

Snakes is from the WWW episode The Night of the Poisonous Posey. He's a time-traveler in my stories and prefers to stay in the present-day. This piece takes place during and after my story The Night of the Deadly Codename.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Snakes' heart was pounding in his ears as he stood on top of the doomsday device, debating with himself for one final moment as the countdown clicked down to nothing. He knew he was going to die either way. At least, if he was the only one who went, Pinto couldn't get at him again. And these other people would be safe too. . . .

Did he care about them? Why should he? He had spent all the time since his revival frantically trying to stay alive. Nothing else had mattered. But now . . . now he was just going to give up and die? What was the matter with him?

The timer said two seconds. He had no time left. He fired into the timer.

He knew he was going to die. He even expected the explosion. But when it came, engulfing him in flames and sending him off the ship, the terror was still fresh and new. He screamed right before he hit the water and went under.

No one would try to save him, even if they knew he'd gone overboard. Well, Posey's gang certainly wouldn't. Maybe the Secret Service agents would. But it would be too late for him. It was already too late.

It was strange, the things that came into his mind as he slipped into oblivion. He remembered lying on a couch in New Orleans, back in 1865. He had thought he was only in a light doze, but when Chita McCarthy-Tolliver had leaned over him and kissed him awake, she had seemingly felt otherwise.

"Hey," she had said, running her fingers into his blond hair. "You know, I never realized snakes could hibernate until you woke up just now."

He had looked up at her sleepily, not fully awake. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You were in such a deep sleep, I thought maybe you'd up and died on me." Chita had playfully straddled her husband, running her hand down his right cheek. Always the right cheek. . . . She had never wanted to touch the scar on his left. Although she had never said so, he had known it repulsed her.

"It doesn't seem like you were too broken-up about the possibility," Snakes had remarked.

"Oh, I was just kidding," Chita had purred.

Snakes had accepted that explanation, even though he had thought that it wasn't a very good joke if the lady loved him.

Death and its assorted aspects and cliches had been with him ever since his parents had died in an accident when he was still very young. He had visited their graves when he had been older, trying to think, to remember, what it had been like to be loved. All he had been able to conjure up was the vague sensation of being wrapped in unconditional warmth. But as he had stood there, staring at the granite headstones, there had only been a coldness that chilled him to the bone. He had decided not to visit the cemetery any more after that.

It said "R.I.P." on both of their graves. Rest in peace . . . heh, what a joke. He wouldn't fall into some deep, dark oblivion for the rest of time. He knew what it was like to be dead and it wasn't restful in the least. But . . . if Pinto wasn't there to torment him, and if nobody else decided to jump in where he left off, then maybe . . . maybe . . .

Pressure came hard on his chest and he gasped, his eyes flying open as water flew out of his mouth. He groaned, slumping into the hard, cold surface he was laying on. Everything was dark around him, but it didn't feel dark and cold and Hellish, as it had for the three years he had been trapped in Justice. It didn't seem like any Heaven he had ever heard tell of, either, and of course he would never go to Heaven, but . . . if Justice hadn't felt like Hell, even though it was, maybe this wouldn't feel like Heaven, even though it was.

He looked up, trying to focus. "Saint Peter?" he mumbled as someone leaned over him.

"No," came Jim West's voice. "Just me. You're alive, Snakes."

Snakes stared, uncomprehending. Alive? He had survived the fall, and the fire, and West had rescued him?

He brushed the wet hair out of his eyes. Alive. . . . Yes, of course. It made sense now. He couldn't swallow water if he was out of his body. But he was still in awe. He still had his chance to live again. He hadn't used it up.

He thought many times that night and over the ensuing weeks on the events of that night and why he had done as he had. Usually if anyone else brought it up, he insisted his reasoning had been selfish. He had blown up the device so that he and Pinto wouldn't both die and Pinto couldn't torture him more. But really, deep in his heart, he wasn't sure that was the entire explanation.

He had always been a relatively decent person growing up, in spite of whatever petty crimes he got involved in. He had cared about people and hadn't wanted them hurt. Even as an adult, when he had decided that humanity was cold and cruel and cared nothing for each other, he had still tried to help people. As a crime boss, he'd had power unlike anything he had ever had access to before. He had aided the downtrodden, not wanting others to suffer as he had. And he had come down hard on their persecutors. Even though he had controlled towns, he had done it by getting people to like him and not through fear. He had been a coward for years, unable to stand the thought of pain or death, yet sometimes he had even come out of the shadows to help, putting himself in danger by doing so.

Really, he came to realize, it had only been after Pinto had damaged his soul and spirit during death that he had changed the rest of the way, even though for years he had told himself that he had been bad ever since the War Between the States and the night that had left him scarred. But only after he had been restored to life had he been completely consumed by selfish desires and had thought only of keeping himself alive at all costs. Perhaps, now that he knew of modern understanding of illnesses, he had been suffering from the strangest type of post-traumatic stress disorder ever experienced. And perhaps, just perhaps, blowing up that doomsday device had helped to bring him back to himself.

"I never realized snakes could hibernate until you woke up."

It was a strange comment made by a woman who had never loved him, only his money. But, oddly enough, maybe it applied to his recent states of being. Even before his death, he had told that Mexican Secret Service agent that his goodness had laid down and died. She had convinced him it hadn't. And even after the terrible things he had done to keep from dying again, his goodness was still there. Maybe any time he thought it was gone, it had only been sleeping. Now, he had woke up, and his goodness with him. And now he didn't want it to hibernate again.

He slowly dressed, pulling on his blue-purple coat and his dark hat to complete the picture. Maybe, he mused, he could start off by giving a kind word to the nurse who had tended to him. She had been stubborn and strict, but he knew she'd had his best interests at heart.

He strolled out of the hospital room and headed for the nurses' station. She was there, looking over patients' charts and marking them with her pencil. He approached, putting on all the charm of his Southern upbringing. "Is one of those mine, Dixie?" He leaned on the counter with one elbow.

She looked up. "Yours has already been taken care of, Mr. Tolliver," she replied. "You're free to go."

"I can't say I'm sorry about that. But I will miss our little chats." He straightened. "You made my time here a lot more pleasant."

She smiled. "You're an old charmer." She closed a folder as she added, "But you've been a good patient. I wish they were all as cooperative as you."

"If they were, then I wouldn't stand out." He grinned, tipping his hat to her.

That brought a smirk. "Oh, you'd still stand out. I don't think you could ever be just one of the crowd."

His eyes flickered a bit in sudden dread. "Yeah, I guess you don't get too many patients with something like this." He touched his hand to the scar on his left cheek.

She gave him a Look. "I don't, but that's not the point. You'll always stand out because for such a young age, you've seen a lot. You have a quiet sort of street-smart knowledge about you that I don't see from a lot of people in here. At the same time, sometimes you're still kind of naive. You think you know a lot on a certain subject when you really don't. There's a lot of good left in this old world, no matter how mixed-up it is. And I hope you'll start to find it."

Sobered, Snakes could only nod. "I already have," he said quietly. "Thank you, Miss Dixie." He stepped away from the counter and headed down the hall towards the door.

The world wasn't all bad, it was true. And neither was he. It was a grand and glorious revelation.

He wasn't sure what he was going to do with his life when he walked through those doors. But, he thought, knowing that he was a good person would help him on his way. Chita hadn't valued him, but he knew he was worth something. While she had made him feel like dirt instead of a husband, Dixie had made him feel like a real person, not just a patient. He would take that with him, as well as Jim West's selfless act of finding and pulling him out of the water. He would make them proud of him. He would make him proud of him. And he would show to himself and Chita and anyone else who thought it that snakes were not all bad.