Dreaming. He was dreaming. Soft murmurs in his ear, a tender caress on his skin, lips against his cheek. Her face was just out of reach, a hazy blur he couldn't focus on. Rueben, she cooed gently. Rueben, wake up.

"Wake up,"

Eyes snapping open, he sat up before knowing where he was.

"It's okay," Olivia was beside him, her hands on his shoulders. "You were having a nightmare."

"Was I?" Gruff from sleep, his voice was hard. "I don't remember,"

"It's okay now," shifting to pour a cup of water from a pitcher kept on the nightstand by her bed, she offered it. "You were calling out."

His grunt was distracted as the cobwebs in his mind began to clear. The water helped.

"Is that normal? Having nightmares?"

"No," scooching closer, she gazed at him. "What about after... you know?"

Shaking his head, Lane scowled, swallowing the rest of the water. He couldn't remember now, but it clung to him. The emptiness of loss. The sharp ache of grief.

"Why am I here," he muttered sullenly, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Why,"

"You're a traitor, Rueben."

It stabbed into him so hard he froze, mouth popping open in stunned surprise. Green eyes held poignant sympathy as she watched him turn to face her. His features were nearly ashen.

"It's all you told me. It's all you would ever say about your past."

"...traitor," he choked out the sound, unable to accept it. "No, I... I can't be."

"It's true. You were branded when you were put on the prison ship, but," her shrug was gentle. "After so many floggings, the brand is gone. It was on your neck."

Lifting his hand to touch it, he realized his body remembered it, even if his mind did not. He remembered the scars on his back.

"A traitor," scowling with a shake of his head, he stood up, pacing the room. "That's... that's not me. I... no. No! That's not me. That's not who I am."

"Perhaps not now." Gently soothing, her voice brought his focus back to where Olivia sat, watching him. "You don't remember what you were like. How angry you were. How violent. How full of hatred for the world. So yes, Rueben, you were a traitor. Whatever the reason, whatever the circumstance, it's the truth."

Running a hand through his hair, he blew out a heavy sigh.

"Did Prescott know?"

"You two never got along very well to start with, so I cannot imagine you'd tell him, but," her lips twisted into a soft pout. "He did buy your freedom, so maybe the prison commander told him?"

"More questions," slumping against the wall, his features hardened. "All I get is more questions."

"I'm sorry," her sigh was empathetic but neither moved.

"What else have I done?" without looking up, he ground his jaw. "In the years I worked for Prescott, what did I do?"

"Are you sure you want to know?"

Lips set in a tight line, jaw muscles bunched, he shook his head.

"I have to, though. I need to know what I was."

"Why? Why torture yourself, Rueben?"

"Atonement." His gruff whisper brought tears to her eyes. "I have to atone for what I've done."

"Let me get you some coffee first," standing, she straightened her gown before pulling on a robe. "We're going to need it."

"Do I like coffee?"

"Not particularly, but for this," she gestured around them. "Tea just won't do, and you don't drink spirits."

"No?"

"You always said it turned good men into animals."

"Then I have little to worry about."

"Shush," scolding him with a light frown, she slipped from the room. Lane sat down on the hard floor, wondering how much more of the truth he could take. Harmony had been right to deny telling him.

Morning found them staring vacantly at the wall, tears in her eyes as droplets tracked down his face. The conversation had not gone well. Still, he had no choice but to believe her. Coupled with Harmony's strong aversion to him digging into his past, Olivia's account added up. It made him sick.

Tiredly scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed.

"Is that everything?"

"It's all I know," hushed and thick, her voice was a ragged whisper. "I'm so sorry, Rueben."

"Not one bit of this is your fault."

"I hate seeing you suffer."

"Thank you." Pushing to his feet, he held out a hand, helping her up. "For everything."

"Where are you going?" It was written all over his face. "Rueben, please-"

"Don't." His tone silenced her. "I have to."

"If you're going to insist on this... craziness, then tell the people here you work for Prescott," she instructed thickly. "They'll give you whatever you need, no payment required."

"Olivia, I cannot just-"

"You don't have any money, do you?" With a pointed look, her arms crossed. "I surely don't have any to spare, so unless you want to starve, you'll do as I suggest."

"So you are giving the orders now?"

"You're so pigheaded." Glaring at him, she moved away. "Go then. Get yourself killed."

"That's not the idea."

"It doesn't matter." Hugging herself hard, she glanced over her shoulder. "If you had your memories, maybe you'd kill him. As you are now? No, Rueben... you're not capable of it."

"Yes, I am." Startled, she met the clear, dark depths of his eyes. "He did not just take my past, he took my future. He took the life I had planned. For that... Yes, I can kill for that."

"Then I wish you luck," tears balanced on her lower lashes, lips trembling. "Godspeed, Rueben Lane."

When the door shut behind him Olivia buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

The heat hit him in waves the instant he stepped outside, the early sun a dire indication of the day ahead. Making certain no one was paying him any special attention, he strode to the bathhouse, looking for the proprietor.

"Whatcha need fella?" A man about his age came out of a small room off to the left, a friendly look on his face. He'd been drying his hands.

"Bath and a shave," Lane replied quietly.

"Sure, the bath is through there, 'ot water will come in a minute. It's 'alf a shillin'," the man raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"You know Prescott?" A bleak look fixed the man in place.

"Yeah," he licked his lips. "Everyone knows him,"

"I work for him," leaning his elbows on the counter, he lowered his voice even more. "He'll settle the tab with you, if you'd be so kind,"

There must have been something glinting in Lane's eyes because the man swallowed suddenly as though his throat was very dry and nodded. The hands wrapped in the drying towel shook.

"Sure, go on in,"

"Thank you...?" he paused for a moment.

"Barney, Barney Cotter."

"Mister Cotter."

Leaving the man to stare after him Lane went to the room the man pointed out and closed the door. He checked out the supplies for shaving while he waited for the hot water to arrive. A moment later a soft knock announced the attendant, and he let a petite girl in. It took several trips of steaming hot water, then the basin was full and ready for him. Her dim smile was edged in uncertainty as he stood aside, letting her slide past him. Just in case, he pushed a rickety stool in front of the door before stripping.

The water was piping hot and oddly enough felt wonderful even on such a warm day. Soaking it in, feeling the layers of dirt and sweat lift off his skin tugged a grin across his lips. Closing his eyes brought Harmony to mind, her brilliant lavender iris sparkling with life. Her soft skin. Her smile- he missed her more than he thought he would.. Sitting up suddenly he shook his head, rubbing his eyes.

"Stop dwelling on what you left behind idiot, you're the one who wanted to come out here, and she tried to warn you..." He could see Harmony in his mind's eye, her earnest gaze, the look in her eyes.

"How can I be at peace if I do not know who I am?" Grabbing her hand before she could move away, he held it firmly. "Tell me, please."

No good behind you, no happy. Though cryptic, her response sounded like a warning.

"So, I am not going to like what I learn, is that it?" Slowly dropping her hand he just stared at her. "What kind of man was I?"

Good man, she gestured slowly, you good man.

"How good could I have been if you will not help me remember? I must have done something awful to you,"

No! She shook her head emphatically, putting both hands on his chest. You good...but no happy.'

Grumbling unhappily to himself, he tugged fingers through his hair forcing his thoughts elsewhere. Prescott and he had made a deal, it had to do with Harmony, and was something that he could do that Prescott perhaps couldn't. Olivia didn't know what it was, neither did Noah, and if Harmony herself knew, she had been unwilling to tell him. That left him with one course of action. Go back to the beginning and get the answers from Prescott himself.

Recalling the map Harmony had drawn he thought about the region to the north, where she had warned him not to go. He was certain it was Prescott's station, and Noah had said it was some day's travel to reach his land.

After scrubbing the best he could, he rose from the tepid water. One full clean bucket of water had been set aside for him to rinse with and he tipped the pail directly over his head. Shaking the water from his eyes he grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his waist, moving to the small mirror hanging by a nail in the wall. Wiping away the steam, he took a long look at his reflection. It was still the face of a stranger.

A full thick beard, several shades darker than the loose curls of his hair coated his jaw. Frowning critically, he studied his features. Shave or not? Did it matter?

"This is ridiculous, make a choice." He snapped at his reflection, abruptly annoyed at his lack of direction.

Stropping the razor blade that hung next to the mirror he wondered briefly how steady his hand was. He'd find out soon enough, for better or worse. Tilting his head to start at the underside of his jaw, he started scraping the keen blade across his skin, shaving bit by bit. Working his way around his jaw he suddenly chose to leave the hair around his mouth, shaving the rest thoroughly. Rising off the lather he used a small set of scissors to trim the goatee he'd left. Finished he stepped back and examined his work. Though no less strange, it was a good look he decided, satisfied.

Cotter was still at the front counter when he came out a few minutes later. His expression was anxious though a tiny flicker of hope brimmed in his eyes.

"Everything satisfactory Mister Lane?"

"You run a fine operation, Cotter," his response was neutral. "Where can I get new clothes and a horse?"

"Abbott runs the general store across the way there, he's a good chap, an' Wilkins handles the stable and corral. Just tell 'em you work for Mister Prescott."

Exactly as Olivia had said. He made a mental note to thank her the next time they met.

"Make out a bill would you, Cotter? I'll see to it it's paid."

"Oh, n-no sir! I'm 'appy to-!"

"Cotter." His tone was sharp. "The bill."

The slip of paper was handed over a moment later and Lane stuffed it into his trouser pocket then headed out without a backward glance. The thought of telling Prescott about it brought a wicked smile to his lips. The man called Abbott was behind the counter when he walked in.

"Mornin' friend! What can I do for you?" The shopkeeper gave no hint of recognition. Neither did the woman standing near the fabric arrangements.

"Some supplies and such. I have a few days of travel ahead of me, and some new clothes, if you'd be good enough to bill Mister Prescott."

At the name the man fumbled the small jar in his hands, the glass shattering as it hit the hardwood floor. The woman looked ashen but kept her gaze averted.

"You work for Prescott?" Beads of sweat formed on the man's brow, and he began to wonder what it was that Prescott had done to these people.

"Name's Lane," he tried, watching the shopkeeper's eyes widen dramatically.

"Reuben Lane?"

"The same,"

Abbott went pale and licked his lips nervously and Lane suddenly realized it was him they were afraid of, not Prescott. Apparently, his reputation preceded him.

"Whatever you want Mister Lane, on the house,"

"Wouldn't hear of it Abbott, get what things you think I'll need and make out a full bill."

"It's really no trouble Mister Lane...I'd..."

"Abbott, I am not a patient man. Please do not make me repeat myself. Now, if you'd be so kind." Lane lowered his voice a little and stared directly at the shop owner.

"Right away sir," the man practically ran to gather the supplies, piling them on the counter as he moved back and forth. The woman had vanished into the back, but he could see her worried shadow pacing the floor in the next room.

In less than five minutes he had an impressive array of things laid out and Abbott was packing them neatly into saddle bags and burlap sacks. Finished, he shakily wrote out the bill on a slip of paper and handed it across to Lane, his fingers trembling. Without glancing at the writing Lane stuffed it into his pocket with the first one.

"Where can I find Wilkins?"

"He's at the end of the street," the frightened man pointed. "I can go get him for you,"

"Mind your store and my things, I'll be back for them."

Without waiting to hear the man's response he went back into the heat, heading directly toward the large building that must be the stable. A few people glanced his way, some of them meeting his eye and Lane nodded in greeting. A limited few nodded back. The barn was large and cool when he stepped in, sunlight filtering through the haze of hay and alfalfa dust in the air.

"Wilkins!" Calling loudly got no answer, the air still cool inside.

Walking through the barn to the yard behind he saw a tall man about ten years his junior forking hay into the corral for several beautiful horses. His call lifted the man's head.

"You Wilkins?"

The man turned in surprise, his cool blue eyes sizing up Lane before he answered.

"Who wants to know?"

"Name's Lane, Cotter said you have some horses available?"

"Lane huh?" Wilkins strode toward him with the pitchfork in his hand. "Would that be Reuben Lane then, Prescott's right-hand man?"

"That's the rumor,"