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The silence is telling. Charlie knows something is wrong as soon as Ben doesn't answer—no cutting wit, no quoted scriptures, nothing but cold silence.He turns back. “Boss?” But the look in Ben's eyes says everything Charlie needs to know. The smug curl of his lips falls; flush relief turns sour in his stomach. He's seen that look so many times. Cold silence, hard stare, filled with vengeance and fury. He whirls, goes for his gun. But in that same instant, Charlie knows it's already too late. His hand scrambles to his holster. He draws Schofield Number One. All in fractions of a second. It ain't like he's never been shot before, but never like this, and never by Ben. There’s a bang and then a thunk, almost simultaneously. It’s a sharp jab, right in the center of the chest, that knocks the breath from his lungs but that his senses can’t fully process. He staggers back half a step. A wet sensation slips down his front; a gurgling, searing pain throbs just on the edge of his awareness; suddenly, it's hard to breathe and his gun's left useless in his hand. Ben Wade doesn’t mess around, and he shoots where he means to. And this time, where he meant to was meant to kill Charlie Prince.What, ‘cause he shot that one-leg rancher?For fuck’s sake. The shock of it keeps him on his feet. His lips part, his eyes widen, and his vision blurs. Ben keeps right on shooting, and even as the hum in his ears builds up to a numb ring, Charlie can hear the bodies hitting the ground behind him.Bang—thud.Bang—thud.Two.Three.Four, five.Six.All for some stupid, wannabe lawman.By the time the Hand of God is empty, not five seconds have passed, Ben has hardly taken a step, and the whole gang is dead—or dying, Charlie supposes with some wave of nauseous humor. Then Ben strides towards him, six even steps that seem both too slow and too fast in Charlie’s clouding mind. Ben grabs him by the front of the jacket, yanking him close with one hand and neatly pulling out Schofield Number Two with the other. He looks him dead in the eyes and levels Charlie's own gun at his chest, biting into the white leather just above the bleeding wound left by his first shot.There’s a pause, a mere instant between bullet and grave, and Charlie hitches in a breath to choke out, ”I love you, Boss”—part incomprehension, part anger, part grief. His voice cracks upward on the second syllable; his eyes are wide and his brow scrunched painfully down; his teeth clench so hard that he can feel it throbbing in his temples.Ben tilts his head, just so, and doesn't hesitate before he responds. “I know you do, Charlie.” His voice is calm, but the expression on his face doesn’t change. He’s not gonna regret this. After all Charlie’s done for him, after Charlie thought he actually cared about him— Turns out he don't mean much to Ben, after all.The last thing he thinks is Jackson was right. They should've let Ben clean up his own mess. Left him to hang, if this is how it was gonna be. But Charlie never could’ve done that. Not after he'd been stupid enough to fall in love with Ben Wade in the first place. He blinks, swallows, keeps his eyes fixed firmly on Ben's. Then— Bang——thud.