Liars and Thieves

by Kaed

Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven does not belong to me. . . I'm not delusional, no matter what you've heard. I claim no rights and intend no infringement; I simply can't give up and walk away from the boys.

Warnings: Violence and bloodshed to the tune of torture and death (not one of the guys), language, psychological pain

Pairing: Chris and Vin

Universe: ATF (THANKS, MOG!)

Notes:

• This is written to fulfill the requests of three members of the Black and Buckskin Adult listgroup, who asked that Vin suffer from psychological injury for their birthdays. Hope you enjoy, ladies!
• Acute Stress Disorder is similar to Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, but occurs more quickly. Perfect for H/C fic!
• Although it doesn't impact this fic, in my little corner of the slash world, Buck and Ezra are also involved, although not in a committed relationship like Chris and Vin. Also Nathan and Raine are married with children.

Sean Michaels stood in the corner of the little room, legs apart and hands folded in front of him. He appeared for all the world to be at ease, but inside he was shaking like a leaf. Bernard Wickes, an underworld entrepreneur and cold-hearted sadist, was exacting revenge with the help of his right hand man, Clovis Pitts. Pitts was a big, hulking brute who was even more sadistic than his boss. And, right now, he was focused on delivering as much pain as possible to Nora Dean. Nora was a former child of the street, underage prostitute and, most recently, one of Wickes main girls. The young woman was suspected of leaking information to federal agents, and 'Bernie' wanted to find out exactly what was going on.

And he and his man were very, very good at getting people to talk.

Sean had done everything in his power to convince Wickes that the young woman was innocent. He had willingly risked his own welfare to argue every point, no matter how minute, that disproved Wickes assumption that the young woman was guilty. He argued every point but the one that guaranteed her release.

He was the guilty party.

One of them, at least. He, in fact, was not Sean Michaels, but Vin Tanner, special agent for the Denver branch of the ATF. Currently he was working undercover, along with Ezra Standish and Nathan Jackson, in an effort to bring down Wickes operation.

And it was for those friends, and all of the people Wickes operations destroyed, that he didn't divulge the truth. And, as long as Nora wasn't in danger of dying, he wouldn't share his identity with her torturers.

Nora laid, naked and bound spread eagle, on a cold, metal table. Vin recognized it as similar to one a medical examiner might do an autopsy on. The main difference was that this table included leather straps to hold its occupant on its cold surface.

They had "slapped her around" as Pitts called it, leaving her bruised and bloodied. From there he slowly and with sickening cheer, broke every one of the young woman's toes, her ankles, followed by her knees. From time to time he varied the torture, sodomizing her with a variety of objects he kept handy beneath the table.

In the beginning, Nora had angrily proclaimed her innocence; her loyalty to Wickes. Then she had screamed it. . . cried it. Now she whimpered it, more often begging for him to stop than anything else.

It only spurred the bastards on.

Her fingers were next, followed by her wrists. Now she mostly just lay there, staring blindly, although Vin couldn't help but notice that she seemed to be staring right at him. He knew that her injuries weren't fatal. She might be maimed, but she wouldn't die from broken bones. Right? The logical portion of his mind told him he was right. But, if he gave away the operation, many people would die. Not people who worked for Wickes. . . truly innocent people.

But Nora was staring at him, her eyes pleading with him to help her.

He continued to stand there; outwardly calm while inside he was falling apart. The fact that they hoped to bring down the bastard; to end Wickes Empire, was the only thing that stayed his hand. They hoped that the weapons, drugs, and prostitution he so generously provided - for a price - would be halted. If he gave in now, the bastard would win and his enterprise would continue to flourish.

Nora would survive this. When it was all over, he would make certain that she got the best care possible. "She'll survive" became his mantra; keeping him from tearing away from the wall and plowing his fist into the pair of ugly, gloating faces that towered above her.

Suddenly, horribly, everything changed. The young woman began struggling, gasping as she fought to draw air into her lungs. She convulsed; her body thrashing on the table. Despite the broken bones, she bowed upward, as far as she could; given the restraints. Before the others in the room could react, she collapsed with a final gasp, back to the metal surface. At the same time, both her bladder and bowels released their contents onto the table.

"What the - she's dead!?" Wickes turned toward his henchman, fire in his dark, beady eyes. "What the hell happened?"

Shrugging, the tall man said, "Don't know Mister Wickes. Maybe. . . hell, I don't know. Maybe I hit her harder than I thought." He seemed unfazed by the death.

Vin had moved from the corner, coming to check for a pulse. Pressing his fingers to her neck, he waited. Nothing. For a full minute, he stood there, praying to feel movement.

Nothing.

"She's dead." His voice betrayed little of the emotions warring inside. 'NO-NO-NO! This can't be happening. . . this wasn't supposed to happen. . . she wasn't supposed to die. . . OH GOD! How could this be happening? How could she die? What could have killed her? OH GOD!'

"All right, get rid of the body," Wickes ordered. "Take the little whore cat bitch out and dump her where no one will ever find her."

"Yes sir," Pitts responded, seeming more disappointed than anything else.

Suddenly, protecting the young woman's body became of the utmost importance. He hadn't been able to protect Nora in life; at least he could protect her now. Forcing the emotion from his face, Tanner looked up with feigned casualness. "If ya don't have a special place in mind, I know a place where ain't a soul gonna find her 'til there ain't nothin' ta find."

While Pitts glared at him, Wickes considered the offer for a moment. Finally, long after Vin expected the man to turn him down, the crooked businessman said, "All right." Turning to Pitts he continued, "I've got something else I need you to do. Sean, I'll trust you to take care of this."

A few seconds later, he was alone with the dead woman. Moving around the room, he found something to clean her up with, as well as a blanket to cover her. The two men had taken great pleasure in ripping her clothes from her body even before they dragged her down to this little room. Gently, keeping his mind focused elsewhere, he cleaned her up as best he could, then carefully released and straightened the battered limbs before wrapping her in the blanket. In some part of his mind, he realized how unnecessary his care was, but it was the only thing he could do for her.

Before he covered her completely, he found himself drawn to her face. Her eyes were open. . . and still staring at him. "Oh God. . . Nora, I am so very, very sorry," He whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "This shouldn't have happened. You shouldn't have died. I never meant. . ."

"What's taking so long?" Clovis Pitts bellowed as he re-entered the room.

Hiding his emotions once more, Tanner turned toward the other man, Sean Michaels scowling. "You want this done fast, or you want it done right?"

"Both. Get your fucking ass in gear and take this garbage out."

Biting back a comment, Tanner covered the young woman's face and lifted her into his arms. Staggering slightly beneath the dead weight, he regained his balance before he started toward the door.

"Jesus, get a move on!"

"What the hell's your problem, Pitts?"

"You're my problem, you son of a bitch," the bigger man growled. "You're wasting time. Now, let's go."

Reaching the threshold, Vin turned and growled, "You comin'?"

~o~

Vin forced himself to stay within the speed limit as he drove the little car along the mountain roads beyond Denver. He had managed to keep his emotions in check while he lowered Nora's body into the trunk, closed the lid, and slid behind the wheel of the car the department had issued him. He had enjoyed the fact that he would be driving a flashy sports car. Now the little vehicle felt like a hearse.

Glancing in the review mirror, he noted that the black SUV was still behind him. Pitts. He had noted the vehicle behind him almost since leaving Wickes' compound and recognized it immediately as belonging to Bernie's sadistic henchman.

Pitts had had it in for him since day one; had seemed threatened by the quietly charming young man's abilities. Clovis had gone out of his way to create problems for him, making his job all that much more difficult. He knew that, with or without Wickes' blessing, Pitts was going to make certain that he did what he said he would do.

Which meant that he had to dump Nora Dean's already battered and broken body into a ravine.

He knew a place. It looked just as deep as anywhere else in the vicinity, but he knew better. He and JD had been hiking all over this area, and knew what few others did. Just a few yards below the road, there was a ledge. He would "dump" her in such a way that she would land on the ledge, for all intents and purposes, fulfilling his promise to Wickes. Then, he would contact Chris as soon as he could, letting his boss know where to find the body, and what had happened. It would be another nail in Bernard Wickes and Clovis Pitts respective coffins.

Slowing as he rounded a curve, Vin stopped the little car at the edge of the road, tires crunching in the gravel. Pressing the button positioned low on the dash, he opened the trunk. Slipping from the car with studied calm; blue eyes studying every inch of the world around him, he moved to the rear of the vehicle. He was aware of the SUV stopping just at the edge of his sight where the road curved. Pitts was waiting to see what he did.

Peering over the edge of the road, he made certain that he was indeed where he needed to be, finding the landmarks he recalled from their hike. Running a hand through his long hair, he tried to calm himself enough to continue. Taking a few, slow breaths, he composed himself. He was unwilling to show weakness, even though there was no one to see it. Looking out over the vista that usually gave him peace, he found none. Then, offering a prayer to the spirits watching over the ground below, he moved back to the car.

Vin forced himself to look down, cursing as he did. The morbid cargo in the trunk had shifted during the drive, leaving Nora's battered face once more uncovered. With a groan, he leaned down to bring the blanket back over her lifeless features.

The nearby crunch of gravel under a heavy boot alerted Tanner that his adversary was coming up behind him. He didn't expect to feel the burning sensation, followed closely by an intense pain that exploded along the right side of his head. Before he could respond, the world was abruptly ripped away, leaving him alone in the darkness.

~o~

Arms crossed tight across his chest, Chris Larabee stared out the window of his office, not really seeing the buildings or the mountains beyond, the clouds, or the traffic below. The only thing he saw was a pair of blue eyes, a lop-sided grin, and a body that made him hard in a heartbeat. He missed his partner; ached to hold that trim, handsome body in his arms. With a groan, the blond pressed his forehead to the window and closed his eyes.

"You okay?"

Larabee turned, glaring at the intruder. Then he sighed, shoulders slumping as he was greeted by a pair of dark blue, knowing eyes. He knew that, if anyone understood what he was going through right now, it was his oldest friend. But, all he said was, "Shut up, Buck."

With a soft chuckle, the bigger man strolled into the room, closing the door behind him. Long strides brought him quickly across the room, where he slouched in the chair on the other side of Larabee's desk. "Okay, so I'll shut up. Don't change the facts, though."

"The facts?"

Nodding, the brunet said, "You're worried about 'im."

"I'm worried about all three of them."

"Sure ya are,' he drawled, "But you're worried even more about that scraggly ol' Texan."

"Shut up, Buck," Chris repeated. His voice was softer now, though, lacking any conviction.

Sobering, Wilmington said softly, "He's okay, Pard. . . they all are."

"You can't be certain of that."

"No, I guess not. . . but I'll be damned if I'm gonna think the worst. I've got a commitment on the line, too, ya know."

With a sad smile, the blond said, "Yeah, I know."

"So, Ezra's gonna come home safe. . . Vin's gonna come home to you, safe. . . and Nate's gonna come home to Raine and the young'ns. . . safe. Period. Not gonna entertain anything else, and neither should you."

Shaking his head, Chris whispered, "I wish I could, Buck. God. . . I wish I could. But something. . . something's gnawing at me. . ."

~o~

Pain.

Darkness.

He couldn't move.

It was hard to breathe.

Where. . . was. . . he?

He groaned, the sound echoing, sounding far too loud to his ears. He tried to move, but found himself without the room to maneuver. Panic began to set in as he tried to decipher where he was and what was happening. He tried to calm himself, to put into practice the relaxation techniques he'd learned from a variety of sources over the years. But, as much as he tried, he couldn't put those exercises into practice.

Panic had turned into full blown fight or flight now, and he began thrashing about, trying desperately to move, to get away. He managed to move his arms, reaching out to find. . . anything. Answers; where he was, what had happened. He hit the same barrier that his head and shoulder hit earlier. It was hard, not even bending when he hit it. Metal? It felt like it. Even his panicked mind could decipher that much.

Reaching out around him as far as he could, he felt only the same, immovable barrier. Until his frenzied movements took him downward.

Soft.

Yielding.

Oh God! His mind conjured up an image. A pair of eyes, staring blindly, unblinking. Wherever he was, he was laying, entwined, with the body of Nora Dean.

OH GOD!

Flight. That was the only thing his spinning mind could latch onto. He had to get away. Had to remove himself. Had to leave. Get away. . . get away. . . get away. . . that was the single thought he could snatch from the spiraling madness that was his mind.

He struggled, beating and pounding on the immovable barriers, doing everything in his power to force them to do what they weren't meant to; to make them move. He untangled his legs from the space beneath him, forced himself to push the young woman's body away as best he could. He did his best to kick at the barrier which he finally identified as the inside of the trunk of the little car he had been driving.

He beat and kicked until sweat covered his trembling body, until his breathing had been reduced to halting wheezes. Finally, after what seemed like an age, he collapsed, his body still resting partially on the corpse of the woman who shared this tiny space. A long, sobbing, wheezing breath echoed in the tiny space and, other than his too-rapid heartbeat, there were no other sounds.

"Calm down, ya fool," he said aloud, his drawl far deeper than normal. "Ya ain't gonna manage anything like this. Jist calm down an' figger out what ya can do. Stop snivelin' like a baby an' start thinkin'."

Slowly, his breathing calmed, his heart slowed. Again, speaking aloud, he gathered his thoughts. "Ya need ta find a way ta git outta here. Ain't no way a doin' that by poundin' and kickin'. Yer just takin' up air ya ain't got." He stopped at that, forcing himself to once more breath slowly; in through his nose and out through his mouth. He had to conserve oxygen.

"How ya gonna git outta here if ya cain't force the lid open. . . cain't git out on yer own? Ya gotta get someone's attention." That caused him to pause once more. He had chosen this road primarily because of its lack of traffic. How could he get anyone's attention if there was no one around?

"God. . . Chris, where are ya?" He moaned the words, praying to look up and find his partner looking down at him. "I need ya like I ain't never needed ya before."

If only he could call out, knowing that special 'something' the others swore they had; that special sense of when the other was in need, hurt, or. . . or locked in a trunk with a dead body. . . would bring the blond to him.

Frustrated, he kicked out, striking the side of the trunk with a booted foot. Then, slowly, a thought pushed its way through the swirling vortex that had taken over his mind. Chris. . . call. . . Chris. . .

Phone. He registered the presence of something foreign inside his right boot. A slight weight that shouldn't be there. Then it all quickly fell into place. He had secreted a cell phone inside his boot; one of those new ones. . . just a little thicker than a credit card.

All he had to do was get to it.

Twisting and turning, he struggled to reach his right boot. The problem was, he was laying on his right side, the boot shoved in one corner of the trunk. Panic tried to claim him once more, causing his movements to grow quicker, faster, and more frantic.

"STOP!" He ordered himself.

Forcing himself to slow his breathing once more, he struggled to calm himself. It seemed to take hours, but finally he managed it. He shifted himself as best he could, not thinking about the body he was forced to press against. He eventually freed his leg from between him and Nora. Slowly he shifted it toward him, while he reached down for his leg at the same time. He made contact, registering the rough feel of denim. More time passed as he pulled his pant leg up with trembling fingers. Finally, they were above his boot. He felt inside with the index finger of his left hand, searching blindly for the phone.

There!

He grasped it between his first two fingers, drawing it slowly toward him, out of the boot. Now he understood why the blond had pressured him to carry the hidden phone. He'd never doubt his lover again.

If he ever had the chance to be with him once more.

~o~

It was past six o'clock. Past check in.

Ezra had checked in, under the guise of calling his bookie, "Jimmy", to place a bet. In reality he told them that he was fine and there was no change. He was continuing to gather information.

Nathan had called in next, his cover was checking in with his "Uncle Eustis", to see how "Aunt Vi's operation" had gone. Like Ezra, he informed them that he was fine, but offered no new information. Afterwards, Buck called Raine to let her know her husband was safe.

But still no call from Vin.

"It doesn't mean anything, ol' son," Wilmington argued, although Chris hadn't said a word. "He's probably just gotten held up with somethin', or just lost track of time."

"He's closest in with Wickes. There are more opportunities for something to go wrong." Larabee's voice was barely more than a whisper, but the emotions were easy to hear.

There wasn't a thing the big brunet could say in response, because there wasn't a thing to say.

"You know I'm right." It wasn't a question.

"Chris. . ." He looked into the haunted, green-hazel eyes and sighed. "Look, all I'm sayin' is - "

The sharp call of the cell phone lying on the SAC's desk interrupted the conversation and changed Wilmington's frown to a grin. "There, see? Told ya so."

Cutting his old friend a look that said he needed more than a ringing phone to ease his mind, Larabee reached for the little device. "Hello?"

"Chris?"

"Vin? Vin!" Relief spread across the handsome face at the sound of the familiar voice. Then he frowned, realizing that he was talking on his personal cell, not the one they had set up for their current operation. Add to that the fact that Tanner had called him by name, no code word, just his name. His face darkened even further at the young man's next words.

"Chris. . . help me. . . please? Please, Chris. . . help me!"

"Vin? Vin, listen to me, Pard! I need you to calm down. What's going on?"

"Locked me. . . bastard locked me in. . . the trunk. Nora. . . Nora's here. . . she's dead."

"What are you talking about? What trunk? Pard, where are you?" As he spoke, he reached out for a pen, hand hovering over a pad of paper. "Where are you?" He repeated.

The sound of breathing was the only thing the blond heard for a few seconds. Then, slightly calmer, "I'm in the trunk. . . of my. . . of the car I been usin'. . . God! Chris, please. . . git me outta here!"

Larabee could hear the panic in every gasping breath the man took. "Vin, I will, but you have to tell me where you are. . . where the car is," he amended his question, realizing that Tanner was on the ragged edge, and barely comprehending anything. It wouldn't take more than a word or two to send him over. Keeping a tight check on his emotions, he repeated, "Where's the car, Vin?"

"Car? Car. . . car's on. . . road. . . it's on. . . Parson's Pa. . . Parson's Pass. Parked... left it... Parson's Pass... JD... JD knows where we. . . hiked. . . Chris? Hard. . . 's hard ta breathe. . ."

By this time, the two men were on their way out the door. While the blond continued talking to his lover, Buck called JD. It took the youngest member of the team a moment to understand what the older man was talking about. Finally he realized where Tanner was, and gave his friend the directions.

"Thanks, Kid."

Before Buck disconnected, Chris motioned for the other man's phone. Holding his own against his chest, he snapped out, "JD, I need you to call Ezra and Nathan, bring them in. We don't know what's going on, and I don't want to put them in any more danger than they're already in."

'You got it -" Was all Dunne managed to convey before the call was ended.

Bringing his own phone back up, Chris said softly, "Vin?"

"'M. . . here. . ." Tanner sounded drowsy now. "Cain't. . . hard ta. . . br-breathe. . ."

"I know. Listen, Pard, just hang on. Buck and I are on the way."

They climbed into Larabee's Ram, both men still on their cell phones. Wilmington was talking to Josiah now, filling the profiler in on what was happening. He had grabbed Chris' keys out of his hand, ignoring the glare shot his way. He knew the other man well enough to know he'd risk life and limb to reach his lover, and reckless was the last thing they needed to be right now.

After trying a glare and getting no results, the blond focused on the more important issue at hand. His voice far calmer than he felt, he continued talking. Although Vin responded with little more than an occasional grunt, he could hear the younger man's breathing slowing, evening out. Tanner was calming, he hoped. He avoided thinking about how little oxygen was in the trunk of the sports car.

Ignoring the fact that Buck could hear him, he spoke lovingly to his soul-mate. "We're on our way, Cowboy. We'll be there soon. We'll be there, and we'll get you free. And then you're coming home with me. I'm gonna take care of you and, as soon as you're up to it, I'm gonna take you up into the hills, we'll ride to the outlook, how does that sound?"

"Now. . . let's go. . . now," his voice was nothing more than a faint whisper; sleepy and vague.

"Now. We'll go now, Pard." He glanced across the cab, Buck returning his gaze, the brunet's face echoing the fear he felt. How much longer did Vin have, before he suffocated?

"We'll be there in about twenty minutes," the bigger man announced. He was running with lights and siren, but they still had several miles to go.

Nodding, Chris turned his attention back to the phone. "We'll be there soon, Pard. The cavalry's coming to the rescue."

"Cav'ry," Tanner murmured.

"Yep, we'll be there in just a few minutes, me and Buck. Hey, we should have you home in time for a late dinner. How about pizza? I'll even order it with extra jalapeños, how does that sound?"

"I. . . dyin'?" The faint, brief chuckle announced the words as a joke.

Heart in his throat, Larabee managed an answering chuckle. "No, but imagine I will be after we eat the damn thing."

When the only thing that answered him was silence, he said, "Vin?"

The line was dead. Pulling the device away from his ear, he saw two of the coldest words he could imagine. NO SERVICE. With a growl, he tossed the cell away and reached out, grabbing Buck's off the seat. He found, to his dismay, that the second cell phone bore the same message.

"We'll be there real soon, Chris. He'll be okay."

The only response was a brief sound, part curse and part cry. Dropping his head back against the seat, Larabee closed his eyes. He didn't acknowledge the single tear that trailed back from beneath his eyelid, dropping to the seat below.

~o~

"Chris? Chris! Oh. . . God!" The cell phone dropped from his hand, landing with a muffled thud.

"Ow! Hey, watch it!"

Vin gasped as the distinctly feminine voice echoed through the small space. "Wh. . . what? Wh. . . who. . ."

"Could you get off me?"

"N-Nora?"

"Yeah. . . get off me already."

"I. . . I. . . c-cain't. I'm. . . I. . . no. . . no-no. . . yer d-dead."

"I will be if you don't get off me. Now, c'mon. . . move already. . . please!"

He listened to her voice as it grew fainter and more desperate. Then, suddenly, she was screaming, begging, crying out for mercy.

"Nora. . . God, I-I'm sorry! I never me-meant fer it ta ha. . . ta happen. Oh, God!" He tried covering his ears, but her screams were just as loud as before. Even louder it seemed. He pulled himself back as far as he could; trying desperately to move himself away from the trunk's other occupant. He grunted as he hit something metal and unyielding. "No. . . no. . . no-no-no! Pl-please. . . stop. . . oh, God. . . please. . . stop!" He continued crying, begging for the dead woman's cries to cease. When the air grew too heavy to catch his breath, or speak, the frantic pleas continued in his spinning mind.

Still the screams continued.

~o~

"There!" Buck called out. Barely checking to make certain the way was clear, he turned the wheel sharply, crossing lanes and stopping the truck nose to nose with the little car. Before he could shift into park, the other man was out of the truck, heading for the other vehicle.

Wilmington followed with only a little less speed. As he passed the car, he reached inside and depressed the button to open the trunk. Hurrying around the vehicle, he frowned when he noticed that the lid hadn't moved. Then he saw the same thing Chris saw; the trunk lid had been hit with something heavy, jamming it closed.

With a feral sound, deep in his throat, Larabee launched himself at the trunk, trying to force it open with his bare hands.

His thoughts slightly calmer, Buck hurried back to the truck and rummaged behind the seat. Retrieving a crowbar, he returned to where his old friend continued to attack the trunk lid.

"Chris, move." When the blond didn't seem to hear him, he reached out and grabbed one shoulder. Louder now, he repeated, "Chris! Move!"

Turning, Chris saw the crowbar and realized what the other man intended. With a sharp nod, he stepped back, allowing Buck the room he needed.

~o~

He lay, trembling, arms folded over his head as he tried to block out the noise. Nora continued to scream, crying out, begging for mercy. . . for help. . . for the pain to end. Tanner's distraught mind echoed her pleas, begging for her to stop, for help, for the pain he felt with every word she cried to stop.

Then a new sound. . . distant. . . different. Not words. The sound of metal attacking metal, a creak. . . a screech. . . a pop.

Fresh air, it rushed in; caressing him, beckoning him to leave this place.

~o~

"Vin?" Chris ducked his head below the now open trunk lid, searching the chaos that resolved into a body. . . bodies. . . tangled together. Fetid smells - death and fear - assuaged him, making him want to gag for a second. Then they diminished; no match for the air that poured into the now open space.

There. A pair of wide, blue eyes, darting everywhere, like a hummingbird seeking sustenance. "Vin!"

A wild creature growled, launching itself from the darkness. He barely caught the tangle of limbs that propelled the wild thing into his arms. Then he was holding a trembling, sweat-soaked being in his arms, finally recognizing this creature as his lover. "Vin," he murmured softly in one ear. "Sh, it's all right now. I've got you. Sh, it's all right. . . calm down."

"Chris."

At first he thought the younger man was speaking to him, but quickly realized it was Buck. Still holding tight to Tanner he looked at his friend, expectantly.

"There's a body in here. . . young woman. Looks like someone tried to take her apart."

"Alive. . . she's. . . she's alive." Vin's tone was one of confusion and wonderment. "Thought. . . she was dead, but she was cryin'. . . beggin' for 'em to let her be. We gotta. . . call an ambulance, Chris, we gotta take care of 'er. Told 'er I. . . I wanna make it up. . . not her fault. . . couldn't tell Wickes. . . Pitts. . . they hurt 'er. I promised I'd make sure. . . she's taken care of. Gotta call. . . please Chris. . . need an ambulance."

"Sh, all right, all right." Larabee looked to Wilmington only to see the bigger man shake his head.

"She's been gone a few hours." Buck announced softly.

Stroking the sweat-curled hair, the blond continued to soothe his partner. "Sh, calm down, Cowboy. She's already gone, Vin, there's nothing we can do."

"No! She was. . . I heard her. . . yer lyin'! No!" Tanner pulled himself away from that warm embrace, turning back to the vile container. She'd come uncovered again, and he looked at her face, those glassy eyes still staring. "Nora, ya gotta tell 'em. . . we'll take care. . . care of ya. . . but ya gotta let 'em know. . . tell 'em yer alive."

"Oh God, Vin," Larabee moaned. He reached out and caught the other man, drawing him, struggling, away from the car. "Vin, listen to me. She's dead, Cowboy. We'll make sure she gets a proper burial; we'll bring down Wickes and his whole operation for her. But there's nothing else we can do for her."

"No!"

"Ambulance is on its way, Chris." Buck announced. Then, more softly, he added, "So's the coroner."

"No! She was talkin'. . . cryin'. . . that bastard! He hurt 'er. . . broke 'er. She didn't know nothin', but he wouldn't b'lieve it. Hurt 'er. . . I couldn't say nothin'. She shouldn't 'a died. . . didn't think she'd die. Couldn't let Nate. . . Ezra. . . couldn't let 'em git hurt. Had ta stand there. . . watch Pitts. He likes. . . likes ta hurt folk. Hurt women. Broke her. . . he broke her. . . NO!"

Tanner was still struggling, although there was no force behind it. Larabee held him, firmly but tenderly, against his chest. "Take it easy, Pard. You're gonna be fine, Vin. You're gonna be fine."

"No! Gotta. . . gotta help 'er. Chris, please!" Then, with a gasp, the Texan allowed the events of the last few hours overwhelm him. He collapsed against the blond, suddenly dead weight in those strong arms.

Taken unawares, Larabee couldn't brace for the added weight. He found himself guiding the suddenly unconscious man to the ground, still holding him. Cradling his lover in his arms, he looked up at his old friend, fear and confusion in his eyes.

Buck had no answers. He wasn't certain what was going on, so all he could do was shrug and shake his head. Turning back to the trunk, he carefully covered the young woman back up with the blanket, covering her face, as well. He knew he shouldn't bother a crime scene, but couldn't simply stand there. She should be afforded some dignity, and this was all he could offer at the moment.

~o~

"Please. . . help me."

Still unconscious, Tanner found himself back in the darkness. The only company he had was the young woman's voice. In the dark void he continued to listen to her cries.

~o~

The body in his arms jerked, trembled and then grew heavier against him. Chris pressed his fingers against the long neck, reassuring himself when he felt the soft flutter of a heartbeat.

Buck had retrieved the blanket the blond kept in the truck for emergencies and squatted down in front of his two friends. Carefully he draped it over the traumatized man. Locking eyes with Larabee, he read the fear in those usually cool eyes. "It's shock, that's all. He'll be fine just as soon as we get him to the hospital. You saw the blood on the side of his head, looks like they hit 'im with somethin'. Knocked him out before they shoved him in. . . there. Only way they could have gotten the better of him, hit 'im from behind."

Larabee nodded; his attention still on his lover. He knew they should lay him down, but he couldn't. it felt like abandonment, and he wasn't about to abandon his partner.

"There's the boys."

Glancing up, Chris saw that Josiah and JD had arrived. The distant sound of a siren told him that the ambulance would be here in a few minutes. As the other two agents approached, he nodded, his face marshaled into that unreadable mask that told those who knew him that he was struggling with his emotions.

"I got hold of both the guys." JD announced. "They should be home in the next hour or so."

"Thanks, Kid," Buck replied, knowing their SAC was too preoccupied to do so.

Josiah had stepped over to the trunk and was now murmuring a prayer over the dead woman.

The ambulance pulled up, parking in the road, lights still activated. The emergency crew stepped out to find a nearly still tableau, three men standing, protectively, around two men on the ground. Trading looks, they approached.

"We've got one that's gonna need the hospital," Buck informed them, his eyes boring into the two newcomers.

Nodding, Andy Gonoleski and Rich Danielson returned to the ambulance for supplies and a stretcher.

~o~

 

"Your fault. . . it's your fault. You should have told them. . . you let them do this."

"No. . . I. . . I didn't mean. . . didn't want. . . I'm sorry, Nora. I'd never let them. . . I didn't know. . . ya weren't s'posed ta die. . . please, I'm sorry. . . so sorry."

~o~

The area was getting more and more crowded as the coroner's wagon joined the morbid gathering. Buck and Josiah went to talk to the newest arrival, filling the men from the coroner's office in on what was happening; the importance of the case they were working on and the need for discretion as well as caution. And an autopsy.

JD stood beside Chris, one hand on the bigger man's arm. They looked on as the emergency personnel worked on Vin, preparing him for transport. "You go with him, we'll take care of things here," Dunne said softly, squeezing Larabee's arm.

Absently Larabee nodded before he followed the EMTs into the ambulance after they had secured the stretcher in the little bay. He settled on the bench to one side, staying out of the way while Danielson continued working on the unconscious man. He barely realized it when Gonoleski started the engine, flipping the siren back on before he started off.

Reaching out, Chris wrapped his hand around the chilled fingers of Tanner's hand. "I'm right here, Pard. We're heading for the hospital and they'll get you fixed right up. Then me and you're gonna make plans for that camping trip." The words were vague enough not to announce the true depth of their relationship to the stranger beside them. It was detailed enough to convey his promise to his lover, however. The others teased them frequently that they didn't need words to communicate, but right now he felt the need to speak - out loud - to the injured man.

~o~

Chris sat, hunched over on the dark, plastic chair, staring at the floor of the little examination room. They'd taken Vin away a short time ago for x-rays, leaving him to wait alone. Heaving a sigh, he straightened up, folding his arms tight across his chest. Trying to distract himself, he read the emergency posters taped up around the room. He read the poster across from him four times before its words made any sense to him. Huffing and shaking his head, he silently berated himself for taking so long to comprehend something as simple as hand washing.

The big door to the room opened with a heavy 'bump' and two techs wheeled the stretcher back in. Vin was still unconscious, laying limp on the little bed. They had been concerned about the shallow gash that was the only visible injury to the Texan. One of the techs nodded to him, informing him that "Dr. Turner's reviewing the x-rays now. He'll be in as soon as he's finished." With that he and the other tech left the room, the door closing behind them.

Stretching stiffly out of the hard chair, the blond went to stand beside his unconscious lover. Looking down, he frowned at the pale hue of his flesh, marred by the dark smudges around those closed eyes. A canola delivered oxygen while an IV delivered vital fluids to replace lost blood and stave off infection. He recognized them for what they were, but hated that they were attached to the man he loved.

Reaching down, Larabee wrapped his hand around the limp on lying atop the covers. Squeezing gently, he whispered, "I'm here, Vin. You're safe, it's gonna be. . ." He stopped. Did he dare say that everything would be fine?

A sharp rap on the door announced another visitor. Turning, he watched the emergency room doctor enter. He vaguely remembered meeting the man before tonight, but couldn't remember his name. His nametag presented him as "Jared Marsh, MD".

"Mister. . . Larabee? I'm Doctor Marsh; I just finished reviewing your friend's x-rays."

Chris did nothing more than nod, waiting for the other man to continue. His hand was still wrapped around the other man's, and he felt no inclination to remove it.

"There is trauma, but no fracture. We'll clean the wound and suture it; it should heal nicely. His chart says that he's ATF? I take it this was an on-the-job injury?" When his only answer was a nod, he continued. "We'll keep him overnight for observation, but he should be ready to go home tomorrow. I'll send his records to his PCP; I'd imagine he'll be cleared for light duty in no more than a week. Any questions?"

"Will he be in a regular room, or ICU?"

Scratching his chin, the doctor said, "Actually, right now we're standing room only; he may just stay right where he is tonight. Hopefully we won't need this room."

Chris barely registered the words, only taking in that they wouldn't be moving any time soon. Once again nodding, he turned his attention back to the Texan. "He hasn't woken up."

"That's not unusual with head injuries."

"He was awake when we found him. He was confused. . . out of his head. . . but he was awake."

"Head injuries are - "

"Tricky. I know. I've just. . . he's never acted like that before. He's a strong man; he's been through a lot, long before he came to the ATF. I've never seen him. . ." Terrified? Out of his mind with fear? How did he explain it? "Like that before. Not. . . scared. I think. . . he seemed to be hallucinating, too."

Marsh made a few notations on the chart he held. "All part of the trauma, I'm sure. He may seem confused, may have memory loss. He may never regain his memory around the trauma event, but the chances are very good that he will recover just fine." A nurse entered the room, carrying a packet. The doctor nodded to her, then explained, "This is Karen, she'll be cleaning the wound. I'll be back in a few moments to apply the sutures. If you want to go get some coffee. . ."

Shaking his head, Chris said only, "I'm fine."

~o~

"Chris?"

Larabee blinked awake, staring blearily around him as he tried to figure out where he was. He concentrated, realizing that he was sitting on a chair, head leaning against the side of a stretcher, cradled in the crook of his arm. His other hand was entwined with another. Vin's.

The memories flooded in then, and his head shot up. He groaned, blinking back the gray around the edges of his vision.

"Ya okay?"

He smiled as he found the man on the narrow little bed awake. Blue eyes stared at him with a mixture of concern, confusion and amusement. "Yeah, I'm fine. How're you feeling?"

"Ain't sure. Head hurts. . . 'bout everything hurts. What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Larabee hedged.

Staring off into the distance for a moment, Vin finally said, "I was. . . workin' with Ezra and Nate. We were undercover. . . Wikes? We were. . . tryin' ta bring down Wikes?"

Nodding, Chris said, "Yeah, you were."

"Ezra. . . Nate. . . they okay?"

"Yeah. They got out before anything could happen to them."

"They get me out?"

Shaking his head, the older man said, "No, Vin. You weren't with them when. . . when you got hurt."

"Oh." After a few minutes, the Texan said, "Nora. . . they thought Nora was leakin' information. They were hurtin' her. She okay?"

"No, Vin, she's not." He waited for the memory to return; for Vin to break down again.

"Oh." Again the injured man was quiet. When he spoke, however, the words were nothing that Larabee was expecting. "So, when're they gonna spring me?"

~o~

Chris stared across the cab of his truck, at the man in the passenger seat. Vin was sprawled out, head back and eyes closed behind sunglasses. The Texan had been discharged just a few hours ago; they had stopped for his prescriptions and a few other supplies, and now they were on their way home.

He couldn't help but think that he was taking a stranger home.

Vin had spent the night in the hospital emergency room and Chris had spent the night sitting beside him, until he was deemed well enough to go home. Larabee had challenged the doctor's decision; his partner seemed anything but well. Marsh had done his best to reassure him that the strange behavior was simply a product of the head injury. As it resolved, so would the behavior.

Chris thought back to the evening before. Tanner had been in and out of consciousness, but his memories seemed intact. At least for the most part. His recollection had been that, to save his cover and therefore protect the mission and his teammates, he stood by while Wikes and Pitts began questioning Nora. That was followed by waking up in the ER. The Texan didn't seem to recognize that there was missing information; it was the same each time, almost verbatim.

"Wickes got wind that someone was set on bringin' him down, and he pinned it on Nora. I knew she wasn't ta blame, but long's she wasn't in danger of dyin', I knew I had ta keep my mouth shut. They grabbed hold of her, and told me ta come with 'em while they asked her some questions. Since fit in with my cover I went along. I figured it'd be better ta be there in case they went too far. Then I woke up here, and you were with me."

Even confronted with the inconsistency of his report, he didn't respond differently. In fact, he looked at his soul-mate with a puzzled expression and didn't respond. There was no recognition that there was a large chunk of missing information in that report.

Reaching the drive leading to the ranch house they shared, Chris reached over and gently tapped Vin's leg. The response was immediate and nearly caused the blond to wreck the truck.

"No! Don't touch me! Yer dead!"

"Vin? Vin! It's me, it's okay. It's Chris. You awake?"

Frowning, Tanner replied "Yeah, I'm awake. What's wrong?"

"You tell me. Were you having a nightmare?"

Lifting his glasses and rubbing a hand across his eyes, Tanner replied, "Don't think so."

"Sounded like it." It sounded as if the younger man was dreaming about being in the trunk with the dead woman.

Yawning, Vin simply shrugged. The rest of the drive was traveled in silence.

Parking at the end of the drive, the blond leaned back into the seat. Suddenly he felt as if every ounce of energy had left him.

"C'mon old man, I'm supposed to be the one that's busted up." Tanner quipped as he opened the passenger door.

Rolling his eyes and cocking a blond eyebrow, Chris responded with, "You slept in a bed all night. I was the one sleeping in that spine buster of a chair."

"Hey, no one told ya ta stay there," Tanner remarked as he exited the cab.

Behind him, Larabee stared.

The older man couldn't believe the younger man's comment. Vin had never been so cavalier about such a gesture, even before they entered into a relationship. And neither had he come out of a head injury with such a change of personality. Still shocked by his partner's attitude, Larabee left the truck and moved after the other man.

Entering the den, he found Tanner already settled in on the couch, flipping through the channels. "You hungry?"

"Starved," Vin grinned up at the other man.

"Got some leftover chili. Sound okay?" Getting a nod as his only answer, Larabee moved toward the kitchen. As he passed the wall-mounted telephone, he grabbed the handset and speed-dialed Josiah.

"Sanchez."

"Got a minute?"

"Got several, what's up?"

"Not certain." He proceeded to fill the profiler in on the Texan's strange behavior. At the end of his description, he asked, "What do you make of it?"

"Well, I'm not completely certain, but it sounds like our friend may be experiencing ASD."

"Translation?"

"Acute Stress Disorder."

"Definition?"

"Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, only it takes place sooner." Sanchez knew that the best way to explain anything to the laconic blond was to start with the briefest facts and build on it as needed.

"Would the head trauma factor in?"

"Possibly, but given his history and the nature of the psychological trauma - "

"Not likely."

"That would be my opinion. But, Boss, this is just my opinion."

"Understood. Thanks."

"Anytime."

Disconnecting the call, Chris sat the phone aside and moved on to prepare the chili. Tucking a pair of beers under an arm, he balanced two bowls of chili and a basket filled with cornbread as he walked back into the den. At the door he stopped, shaking his head. Vin lay, curled up on the couch, his eyes closed. Settling everything on the coffee table, he reached out to shake Tanner's leg, half expecting a repeat performance from the truck. Instead, one bleary, blue eye peered up at him.

"Dinner's served."

"Ain't hungry," Vin replied brusquely before he turned over, facing the back of the couch.

What in the hell was going on?

~o~

If things seemed strange upon their homecoming, it became worse as the day wore on. As bedtime approached, Tanner rolled off the couch and shuffled off down the hall. Sighing as he put down the book he was reading, Chris moved through the house, making certain that things were locked up, and the alarm was engaged. Entering the bedroom, he found Vin already in bed, curled up on his side and seeming to be once more asleep. Moving on through the room, he entered the bathroom and started the shower. Striping down, he slipped in beneath the hot water, groaning as the heat began to work on his knotted muscles.

A short time later, still toweling off, he padded back into the bedroom. Pulling on a pair of pajama pants, he climbed into bed and sank onto the mattress with a groan. Pulling the comforter up over himself, he rolled to his side, spooning up behind Vin.

"God, don't! Please, get away from me!"

Chris rolled quickly back across the bed before he even completely registered the frightened response to what had become normal for the two of them. Tanner rolled over, spearing him with wide, terrified eyes. "Vin? Vin, it's okay. I didn't mean to scare you. Okay? I'm sorry, pard."

"Just. . . I cain't, Chris," the Texan stammered. He climbed out of bed and stumbled from the room.

Quick on his heels, Larabee called after his lover, "Calm down, okay? Talk to me!"

Stopping at the threshold of the guest room, Tanner turned. "I-I'm gonna sleep in here t'night. . . okay?"

It wasn't okay. It was far from okay. But what could he say? There was only one thing he could say. "Yeah. . . yeah, okay. Give a shout if you need anything."

Nodding, Tanner slipped into the room and closed the door. Chris faintly heard the sound of the lock being engaged. Scrubbing both hands over his face, he muttered, "shit" before padding back to his bedroom.

~o~

Vin lay huddled in the bed, blankets pulled tight around him. Despite appearances, he hadn't slept since arriving at the ranch. He had pretended to sleep, to keep from interacting with his lover, and the questions he could almost see spinning through that quicksilver mind. And they were questions he couldn't answer.

Questions he didn't want to answer.

Images rocketed around his overtaxed mind, so fast that he couldn't recognize them, or grasp their meaning.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, he let it out with a sob. Beneath the covers, his arms were wrapped tight around his chest, while his knees were drawn up against his body. Without realizing it, he began to rock.

~o~

Chris lay on his back, staring through the darkness toward the ceiling, head pillowed on folded arms. Despite feeling exhausted, sleep eluded him.

He understood PTSD; had experienced it himself when Sarah and Adam were taken from him. Looking back, he could recognize what Josiah called ASD. . . 'PTSD, only quicker'.

Allowing his mind to wander, he tried to imagine what it must have been like. Locked in a small, confined space. . . sharing that space with someone he had been forced to watch die. Facing not only that fact, but having to deal with an overwhelming fear of small spaces. Dealing with an almost impossible mixture of guilt and fear. . .

He stopped that train of thought when he realized just how fast his own heart was beating; how erratic his breathing was.

"Oh, God, Vin," he groaned, tears welling up at the thought of just what his partner had gone through.

~o~

Dawn was just making itself known when Chris woke up. He yawned and stretched, luxuriating in how relaxed he felt before memories of the night before made themselves known. Suddenly weary, he climbed out of bed and slipped into the bathroom. Re-emerging a few minutes later, he padded from the master suite.

Quickly realizing that Vin wasn't in the guest room, he began searching. He found Tanner slouched down on one of the chairs on the deck, wrapped in one of the quilts Nettie had given him. There was a bottle of tequila on the table, a nearly full glass beside it. On closer inspection, he realized that there was no more than a glass missing from the bottle.

Tanner was staring out across the pasture, which was just escaping the shadows of night. Larabee relaxed slightly, knowing how much his partner enjoyed watching the sunrise. "Beautiful morning."

There was no response. Frowning, he questioned a little louder, "Enjoying the sunrise?" Still, there was no response. Becoming more and more concerned, the blond moved closer. "Vin?"

Slowly, the silent man turned toward the voice, blue eyes focusing on the speaker. "What?"

Coming across the last few feet and dropping into the other chair, Chris leaned forward. Elbows propped on knees and hands folded together, he questioned, "Where were you?"

"Been right here fer quite a while."

"Not what I meant." When the other man's frown deepened, he clarified, "You didn't hear me just now." When the only response was a shrug, Larabee sighed. "Vin, I'm worried."

"'Bout what?"

"You."

"I'm fine." Vin turned his attention back toward the rising sun.

Chris recognized then that his lover didn't seem to even notice the brilliant light. His eyes were somewhat unfocused and seemed to be turned inward. Taking a deep breath, he said, "No, you're not."

Anger flared, and Tanner threw back the quilt. Beneath, he was fully dressed, running outfit and shoes. "Said, I'm fine," he growled as he leapt to his feet and bounded off the deck.

Chris could only watch, dumbfounded, as his partner flew out across the grounds at top speed. After satisfying himself that the other man was simply burning off some energy, he headed back into the house.

He needed more information.

~o~

He goggled "Acute Stress Disorder" looking forlornly at the multiple page response to that three word inquiry. With a groan, he scanned the descriptions for one that at least looked like it offered valid information. Finally clicking on http://www.ncptsd.va.gov/facts/specific/fs_asd.html While Tanner didn't fit the demographics; he did seem to fit many of the criteria for the disorder. One fact was clear, and was included in the other websites he visited. ASD could progress to PTSD if the trauma of witnessing Nora's death and being locked in the car trunk with her body wasn't discussed therapeutically and soon. And, much like a cold developing into pneumonia, it would be more difficult to treat later on. He pushed out of the chair, his concern growing by the second. Moving with leaden steps through the house, he moved out onto the deck.

Vin was collapsed against the corral fence. Cursing himself for not checking on his lover earlier, considering the head injury, he leapt over the rail and dashed across the yard toward the corral. Squatting down in front of the younger man, he took in the sweat-soaked hair plastered to the flushed face, the heaving chest covered with a shirt that was plastered to his body and the fact that his breathing was ragged. "You okay?"

Squinting one eye open, Tanner responded, "I look it?"

With a grin, Larabee quipped, "You look like shit."

"That's good. . . 'cause I feel like it."

"Would you like to go back inside?"

"Wouldn't mind it."

"Need some help?"

"Wouldn't mind it."

"Okay." Gently, the blond helped his partner to his feet.

Tanner groaned, but remained upright. "Damn legs. . . feel like. . . Jell-o."

"How long did you run?"

"Jist stopped a few minutes ago, I reckon."

"Shit, Pard," Chris grumbled. He'd been inside for more than an hour, and Vin was not up to that much exertion right now. "There are other ways to let off steam, you know."

Vin pushed away from his lover. "Ain't in the mood fer that."

Stopping, the older man couldn't restrain a glare that hit nothing but Tanner's back. "Damn it, Vin! That is not what I meant."

God, when was that stubborn ass Texan going to stop running away from him? Or, was he pushing Vin away?

~o~

Chris was almost glad to get back to work the next morning, although he continued to worry about his partner. For the next few days, the SAC of ATF Team Seven felt as if he was living with a ghost. He came home to a quiet house, dinner kept warm for him, and Vin already locked away in the guest room. There were signs that he had been busy during the day; the house was clean and the horses had been taken care of. Even the yard showed signs that he had been hard at work on it.

Every evening it was the same. He would knock on the door to the guest room, but get no answer. He would eat dinner, alone and then watch TV, alone. Each night was spent alone in the bed that felt too big and too cold.

He would see the other man for a few minutes in the morning. Vin would be sitting on the deck, wrapped in a quilt and staring at nothing. The changes the young Texan was going through became more evident each morning. The dark circles that shadowed his eyes were more vivid with each passing day, and he seemed more drawn and haggard. The weight seemed to be melting off a frame that had little to spare. His hair was limp and greasy, evidence that he wasn't taking care of his hygiene.

The other members of Team Seven became more and more concerned about not only Vin, but Chris as well. He was even quieter than normal; spending most of his time shut away in his office. His eyes were red rimmed, their normal fire hidden behind a fog of confusion. His hygiene was marginal; although it was clear he made an effort to look like the lead agent of the ATF team. He often sought Josiah's counsel, which the older man refused to share with the others. He wouldn't entertain going out after the shift was over, and as the week passed, he didn't offer to open his home for game watching or any other leisure activities that they normally shared.

As Friday drew to a close, Larabee called Josiah into his office. As the profiler entered, he motioned for him to close the door and take a seat.

"What's up, Boss?"

"Think you could come out to the house tonight, or tomorrow? Any time this weekend?"

Frowning at the almost desperate sound in the blond's voice, Sanchez said, "Whenever you need me to come, just say the word. You know that, Chris. Want some help with Vin?"

"I'm not certain what I want. It's just that. . . the thought of being there with him - alone - all weekend is. . . well, hell, it's scary."

"It's been scary for both of you since this began, am I wrong?"

"No," Chris pushed away from his desk, gained his feet, and began to pace. "I know he's in pain, Josiah, but how do I help him? I've probably seen him a total of 30 minutes this entire week. If I can't even get him to talk to me, how do I help him?"

"We have to get him to come out of his safe place and to discuss what's going on."

"Safe place? I'd always thought the entire ranch was his safe place."

Nodding in agreement, Sanchez said, "It is, otherwise he'd have taken off before now. But, right now, he needs to keep his safe place as small as possible. It's more manageable."

"But he won't let me in."

"Because he can read the pain and fear in your face. . . probably in your entire body. He can't cope with that right now, so he has to shut you out. I know you only want to make it better but, for Vin, that intimacy right now, only brings up memories that he can't even remember, let alone tolerate."

"My touch is being confused with being locked in a trunk with a dead body? More of your opinions?" Larabee's tone was sharp. Then, he seemed to realize just what he'd said. His shoulders slumped and he hung his head. Running a hand through his blond hair, he said, "I'm sorry."

"No offense meant and none taken. You're not far from falling apart. . . am I right?"

Taking a deep breath, the blond nodded. "You're right. Damn it! I want to help him. . . want to try and make it better. . ."

"But you can't, Chris, and you know that. You have too great of an investment in the relationship you have with Vin, and too much to lose right now, to confront him any more than you have. Tell you what. I need to take care of a few things, so what if I come out tomorrow, say mid-morning? Then I'm at your disposal for the entire weekend if you need me."

"Thanks, Josiah," the blond smiled, a broad, relieved smile.

~o~

Larabee's relief was short lived, ending upon his return home. Entering the house, he found it completely dark and silent. That in itself had become expected, however, there was no dinner warming, and no sign that the Texan had done anything throughout the day. Breakfast dishes were still on the kitchen table, dirty clothes sat beside the mudroom door, including a still damp towel and what Vin had been wearing that morning. . . and the past several mornings as well. That was a positive sign at least, but it was the only one he found.

Tanner was nowhere to be found in the house, so Chris went out to the barn. There he found something that hit him like a lightening bolt. Peso was gone. His saddle and tack were missing as well, but where had his partner gone?

"Vin?" Perhaps the gelding had been turned out into the pasture and the Texan was cleaning his equipment? "Vin!"

No answer and no sign of the younger man anywhere in the barn.

"The Outlook," Chris whispered to himself. The sharpshooter must have decided to go for a ride and lost track of the time. At least he hoped that was what had happened. He prayed that the 500 foot drop hadn't proven to be too much for the distraught man.

"No, I'm not going to think that way," Larabee chastised himself. Quickly he prepared Pony to ride. Soon he was mounted, kicking the big black into a run as soon as they cleared the barn door.

Riding as quickly as he could, knowing that they would have only an hour or so of light, he took the straightest course toward the place the two of them often visited. Both men loved to just sit, enjoying the beauty of the scenery, the peace and quiet, and the chance to just absorb the nature that surrounded them.

As the Outlook came into view, he saw a dark shape that could only be the big, black gelding Vin rode. Nudging his own horse, he sped across the open land, heading toward where he hoped to find his partner, alive and well.

Reining in near Peso, he dismounted, tying Pony off near the other animal, but not close enough for the two hard headed animals to get into a tussle. With a stern, "You two mind," he left the horses and headed up the trail toward the Outlook on foot.

Slightly breathless as he reached the top of the rise, he called out, "Vin? Vin Tanner!"

"Go 'way, Chris," Came the response.

"Not gonna happen," He finally located the other man, sitting at the outer most point of the Outlook. Breath catching in his throat at just how much of his lover was hanging over the edge of the outcropping; he tried to decide what to do. Should he move closer, just in case. . . or should he stay back, just in case?

"Ain't gonna jump, Chris," Vin promised, reading his thoughts as clearly as if he had spoken. "Might be crazy, but I ain't stupid."

"You're not crazy, Vin."

"Got a hole in my mem'ry. . . keep hearin' things. . . seein' things. . . don't make no sense." His accent was heavy, a sure sign he was stressed.

"It's a response to what happened to Nora, that's all. You need help to get it all sorted out."

"A shrink? That what yer talkin' about? Thought ya said I weren't crazy."

Chris heaved a sigh. "You know damn well one doesn't mean the other. What's happening is a normal reaction to an abnormal event. Like PTSD - "

"Sound like 'Siah."

Coming closer, the blond dropped to the ground. Sitting cross-legged, he propped his elbows on his knees and managed a weak smile. "Been talking to him some."

"He the one diagnosin' me?"

"He's not diagnosing you, pard. He cares about you. . . wants to help - "

"Don't need no - "

"Bullshit, Vin! When you showered and cleaned up earlier, did you take a good look at yourself? You look like a ghost, Tanner, like you've been rode hard and put away wet. You lock yourself away, won't let anyone near you - "

"Like I said. . . crazy."

Sliding a little closer, Chris argued, "Traumatized."

Pushing back and pulling himself to his feet in a single, fluid motion, Vin moved away quickly.

With a curse, the blond rose and moved after him. "Walking away again? Think that's gonna help? Hasn't helped so far, has it? Never thought I'd see the day when a Tanner would run away. Never thought I'd see the day when Vin Tanner would turn coward!" He knew he was going too far, but the days and nights of worrying about his partner came spilling out in a diatribe of anger.

Vin turned sharply, surprising the older man, who was only two or three paces away from him. Without warning, he struck out, catching his partner in the jaw. As a shocked and surprised Larabee fell hard to the ground, he strode away. Over his shoulder, he yelled, "Ain't no fuckin' coward!"

Behind him, Chris groaned softly, his head lolling to one side. Blood covered the rock beneath him.

Vin stormed down the steep trail, heading away from the Outlook. Reaching the place where Peso waited, he angrily snatched up the reins and stepped into the saddle. With a growl, he turned the black's head and rode away at a gallop.

Up on the plateau, the felled man moaned softly. "Viiii-iiin. . ."

~o~

Tanner was nearly home before he slowed down. Frowning, he turned, staring behind him into the empty land. Land that shouldn't be empty. Where was Chris? He drew back on the reins, bringing the gelding to a stop and turned in the saddle once more. He watched, intently, for nearly a minute.

No Chris.

"Damn it!" Something was definitely wrong. "C'mon mule."

They sped back across the plain, over the land they'd just crossed. Back toward the Outlook. . . and back toward Chris.

~o~

Chris blinked his eyes open, crying out breathlessly as the pain in the back of his head blew through the front like a bomb. He pressed the heels of his hands to his temples, not certain what had happened, but knowing that he needed help.

"Vin?" He had been here. . . had been with him. "God. . . Vin. . . it hurts. . . Please. . ."

There was no answer. Was he wrong? It was more than possible, at the moment he wasn't certain where he was and had only a vague idea of who he. . . or Vin. . . were. But he still needed help.

Slowly, fighting growing nausea, he rolled to one side. There he stopped long enough to empty the contents of his stomach onto the ground. The retching increased the pain, which increased the nausea and, for long moments his world came down the contraction of his stomach muscles and the expulsion of bile and the remnants of lunch.

Drained, trembling and even more disoriented, he managed to push himself to his feet. Stumbling, nearly falling with each step, he instinctively moved toward the trail that would take him down off the Outlook.

~o~

Vin reached the bottom of the Outlook's trail, bounding from the saddle and quickly ground tying the big black. His heart was suddenly gripped by an icy hand and he knew something was wrong. His mind's eye brought up the recent memory of hitting his partner. "What the hell'd you do, Tanner?"

He tore across the ground, heading toward the path leading up to the rocky outcrop. Halfway up the steep trail, he saw a familiar figure coming toward him, staggering, stumbling, and leaning against anything he could find. "Chris!"

Just as he reached his lover, the other man's legs gave out. Grabbing Larabee, he managed to keep his fall from being too painful. As they landed on the ground, he said, "Oh, my God. Chris. . . I'm. . . I'm sorry."

"Vin?" The tone was vague, lost.

"Right here. I'm sorry, Chris. I didn't mean ta leave ya out here. Didn't mean ta hurt ya. I'm so, so sorry."

Squinting as he tried to clear his vision, the blond recognized his partner. He wasn't certain what the other man was talking about, all he knew was that Vin was there, and that he was okay. "Something's. . . wrong. Head hurts. . . wh. . . what happened?"

"I got stupid's what happened. I never meant ta hurt ya."

"Don't. . . under. . . understand." He allowed his head to drop to Tanner's broad shoulder. "Hurts, Vin. . . hurts. . ."

"I know, and we'll sort it out, later. Right now, we need ta git ya help." He lifted the blond head and tried to get the other man's attention. "Can ya walk? I'll help ya, but we gotta git down the hill. Pony's waitin' fer ya there, but we gotta git to 'im."

"'Kay. . . let's go. . ." Larabee's words were slurring, he seemed ready to pass out, but he managed to place all of his trust in the man beside him.

Slowly they made their way the rest of the way down the hillside, Chris stumbling and nearly falling every step or two and Vin standing strong beside him.

By the time they reached the horses, the shadows of nightfall were draped across the land. Vin knew they had to move fast if they were going to get back to the ranch before darkness was complete.

"Can you ride?" When the other man didn't answer, he called softly, "Chris?"

"Mm?" The blond turned toward him, eyes glazed and unfocused. Without warning he dropped to his knees, groaning as he grasped his head.

Kneeling beside the blond, Vin reached out, stroking a hand over the clammy, sweat-soaked face. "C'mon, Cowboy. We need to git ya in the saddle."

Shaking his head slightly, Larabee said, "No. . . don't want to ri-ride. Too. . . too tired. T-tomorrow?"

With a bittersweet smile, the Texan said, "No, it's gotta be now. I'll ride with ya, okay?" When his only answer was a sigh, he rose, bringing the other man up with him. Gently he guided his partner into his saddle, making certain he was going to stay. Untying both horses, he tied Peso's reins to Pony's saddle before climbing up behind the blond. Reaching around his lover, he took up the reins and nudged the animal to a trot, Peso following, snorting indignantly at being led.

After a few, brief minutes, Chris lost consciousness with a moan, dropping back against the other man. With a grunt, Vin took the unexpected weight, and spent the rest of the ride trying to keep his lover in the saddle.

The darkness swallowed them up before they reached the yard, but they managed to get there safely. Tanner guided the two horses up to the deck, as close to the steps as he could. Stepping down onto the deck, he reached out and pulled Larabee to him.

"Chris, c'mon," he grunted under the dead weight, "I could use some help 'bout now."

The blond didn't reply, but did manage to keep his feet under him. Leaning heavily against Tanner, he staggered into the house beside him. They made it as far as the den, and Vin lowered him to the couch. He pulled the long legs up onto the end, then grabbed the quilt that hung over the back of the couch. Spreading the warm covering over the shivering form, he moved back to the kitchen. Grabbing up the phone, he dialed 9-1-1 and gave the dispatcher the information he was asked. That part of his mind that made him a good agent kicked into gear, he moved to the front entryway, unlocking and opening the door.

Moving back to the den he grabbed up his cell phone before he dropped to the coffee table. Still responding to the dispatcher's voice, he speed dialed Buck's phone.

"Wilmington."

"Bucklin? I. . . I need some help."

"What's wrong Junior?" At the other end of the line, the big man was already moving. Grabbing his keys and jacket, he headed out the door.

"Chris is. . . he got hurt. I didn't mean to. . . I wasn't th. . . thinkin'."

"Calm down, have you called 9-1-1?"

"Talking to 'em now, on th' other phone. . . says ambulance's gonna be here in. . . 'bout 10 minutes."

"Okay, look, send them to Denver General. . ." he paused as he heard the other man relaying that information. "I'll meet the ambulance there. You comin' in with him?" Again Wilmington heard the other man speaking to the emergency dispatcher.

"Said I can follow 'em."

"No you're not, what the hell are they thinkin'? All right, I'll get a hold of one of the guys to come get you. Okay? You understand what I'm sayin', Junior?"

"Yeah. . . yeah, I'll stay here. Buck, he don't look good a'tall. He's awful pale."

"It's gonna be all right - " he was cut off as the other man continued rambling.

"I shouldn't 'a hit 'im. . . I was mad. . . he keeps pushin' at me. . . wantin' me ta talk 'bout it. Bucklin, I cain't talk 'bout it. . . can't. Don't even r'member most of 't."

"Vin!" He nearly shouted as he tried to get the Texan's attention. In the meantime he was speed dialing Ezra on the house phone. "Listen to me, Junior, calm down, okay? Focus on the job, nothin' else. We don't need blame to dirty up the works; we'll sort it out later." He paused as Ezra answered the phone.

"Standish."

"Ezra, I need you to get out to the ranch, fast as you can."

"I was just sitting down to dinner - "

"It'll keep. There's been an accident and Chris was hurt. Vin sounds like he's in shock, so I need you to go pick him up, okay? I'm gonna go meet the ambulance at the hospital."

"Good Lord, what happened?"

"I'm not sure, I can't get anything coherent out of Junior."

"All right, I'm on my way."

"Thanks, Ace." Disconnecting that call, he returned to the other. "Vin?"

"Yeah?"

"Ezra's on his way out to get you, okay?"

"'Kay. I'm sorry, Buck. . . I didn't mean. . ."

"I know, Junior. Just hold tight, Ezra'll be there soon. I'll stay on the line with you until Ezra gets there, okay? Vin?"

"I heard ya. I'll be okay, 's jist. . ."

"I'm staying on the line with you," Buck replied in no uncertain terms. He knew that Tanner was anything but 'okay'. "Until Ezra gets there. Got me?"

"Got ya."

Buck grabbed up his keys and jacket, dashing out the door and barely pausing to lock it. Heading for his truck, he continued talking to the sharpshooter. "What's the ambulance's ETA?"

Another pause while Tanner could be heard, talking to the dispatcher. He came back with, "They're about 2-3 minutes out. . . yeah, think I hear 'em."

"Can they get in?"

"Yeah, door's unlocked."

The two men continued conversing throughout the next half hour, while Buck drove to the hospital and Vin dealt with the EMTs. Sitting in the hospital parking lot, the brunet could hear the ambulance's siren, announcing that Chris was in route to Denver General. "Vin?"

"Yeah. . . they jist took off."

"Okay, Ezra should be there in a little while."

"Okay. . . I need ta take care of the horses. . ."

"They can wait."

"Nah, they need brushed down an' untacked. . .."

"Were you guys out riding?"

"They won't like standin' at th' deck, I gotta take care of 'em."

"All right, but keep the line open, okay?"

"Yeah."

Vin slipped the small phone into his shirt pocket while he went to the back of the house. Taking up the reins, he led both horses to the barn. There he busied himself grooming them and settling them into their stalls for the night. By the time he'd finished, he heard the sound of a car roaring up the drive. Retrieving his phone, he said, "Buck?"

"I'm here."

"Ezra's here."

"Okay, let me talk to him for a minute."

Vin greeted the Southerner with a nod, handing the cell over to him and heading for the house.

"Hello?" He spoke into the phone while following the other man into the house.

"Hey, Ace. Just wanted to check in with you. How's Junior look?"

"From what I can tell, dreadful. What on earth happened?"

"Not for certain. Chris is unconscious and Vin's blaming himself, that's all I know. The boy ain't real stable right now as it is, don't wanna see him go over the edge."

"Neither do I. I'll take care of him."

"Thanks, Ace. Ambulance just pulled up, I'll see you both soon."

"Soon," Standish echoed as he disconnected the call.

~o~

He could feel the other man's attention on him, even though Ezra's eyes were on the road. He didn't acknowledge that attention, though; had no energy to do more than sit in the passenger seat. That lethargy didn't extend to his mind, however. That was once again spinning out of control.

He could 'a died. . . I shouldn't 'a. . . Buck's gonna hate. . . damn it! I could 'a killed him. . . cain't tell him. . . not about Nora. . . oh God. . . I'm so sorry. . . Ezra ought ta' jist pitch me out. . . they'll all hate me. . . Nora I'm. . . sorry. . . Chris. . . I'm. . . oh, God. . . I cain't lose. . . if he dies. . .. He's broke. . . Nora's broke. . . Chris I broke. . . Chris. . . broke Nora. . .

On and on his mind spun, thoughts reeling so fast that he felt nauseous. His head was pounding, the onset of another migraine sending lightening bolts of agony through his eyes, only to reverberate off the back of his skull. He closed his eyes tightly, the heels of his hands pressing hard against the sides of his head. Leaning forward as far as he could in the seatbelt, he tried to force the bile back down.

It wasn't working.

"Ezra. . . stop, please. Oh God! Stop!"

Quickly pulling onto the shoulder, ignoring the annoyed horns screaming around them, Standish scarcely braked before Vin opened the door and hung out over the side of the car. Uncertain of what to do, he simply sat there, one hand sitting lightly on the perspiration-soaked back. He grimaced at the pitiful sounds of retching, wishing he could do more than offer such a weak gesture of support.

After nearly ten minutes, a trembling Tanner wearily pulled himself back into the car, head leaning back on the seat. Ezra pressed some tissues into his hand, not missing the trembling of those long fingers. Untwisting the top on the bottle of water he'd left in the car earlier, he handed it over as well. Although it was tepid, it would at least help his friend get the foul taste out of his mouth.

Vin accepted the bottle, holding it while he finished wiping off his mouth. Tossing the ruined tissues aside, he took a swig of the water, rinsing out his mouth. Spitting that, too, out the side of the car, he dropped back and took another drink.

"Can you close the door?" Standish wasn't keen on stepping out so close to traffic, but would if Vin couldn't coordinate his movements to pull the door closed. Fortunately Tanner reached out and brought the door toward him, having to close it twice before the annoying "ding-ding" signaling that a door was ajar stopped.

With another, worried, sideward glance at his companion, Ezra gauged the traffic, and pulled back onto the road.

~o~

Buck looked up to see Ezra guiding a rather shaky Vin toward him. The Texan was a distinct green tint at the edges of his too pale face. He stood, meeting the others in a few long strides. While his words were aimed at Ezra, his eyes wee on Vin. "Junior okay?"

"Decidedly not. I think it would be prudent to get his feet up for a few minutes."

"No," Vin argued, "Wanna see Chris."

"Can't see him right now, Junior. . . he's in surgery."

"S-surgery?"

"C'mon." Not answering the question, he led Tanner toward the nearest couch, Ezra at the man's other side. They guided the young man to the seat, lowering his head to one arm and lifting his legs to the cushions as well. That finished, Buck settled onto the coffee table, propping his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. Catching the worried blue eyes, he said softly, "He's got some bleeding, inside his head, Vin. They've got to do some repairs. It's not life-threatening, you need to believe that. They said his chances of a full recovery are very, very good."

"God. . . I could 'a. . . killed 'im," Vin drawled in a pain-filled whisper.

Leaning closer, Wilmington said firmly, "You did not kill him. . . you did not try to kill him. I'm not for certain what happened, but I know you well enough to say this. Whatever did happen out there was an accident. Don't you forget that, son, or I'm gonna have to kick your skinny ass. Got me?"

Despite the other agent's smile, Vin felt the hot sting of unshed tears and closed his eyes against them. In a hoarse whisper, he said, "Ya don't understand, Bucklin. . ."

"Then you explain it to me, son."

"I. . . I cain't. . ."

"Well, let me tell you what I know. You've been puttin' yourself through hell since all that with Nora -"

"NO!" He rolled over, burying his face into the couch cushion, arms wrapped around his head.

"DAMN IT! Vin," Buck started. Then a noise behind them called the bigger man's attention. Turning, he found one of the nurses standing nearby.

"Gentlemen, I have to ask you to quiet down, or go outside."

Sapphire fire flared in the bigger man's eyes, but he simply nodded and turned back toward his friend.

Beside him, Ezra laid a hand on one broad shoulder and said in an overly civil tone, "I'm sorry if our friend's heartbreak has disturbed the hospital. I'm certain such a display of emotion has never happened here before." Satisfied when the woman turned on her heel and stormed away in stiff-legged anger, he dropped to the coffee table beside Buck.

"Always did say you had a silver tongue."

"Why thank you. . . however, I thought you preferred it used in. . . other ways." He grinned suggestively.

With a snicker, Wilmington turned to face his sometimes lover, a glint of humor in those deep blue eyes. "Yeah, well. . . maybe later. We've got other things to think about right now."

Sobering, Ezra said, "Of course."

Reaching out Buck laid a hand on the prone man's back. "Vin? Come on, pard. . . I don't want to argue with you. Can you roll over here, so we can talk?" After nearly five minutes, he sighed with there was no response. Dropping his head, he carded his fingers through his thick black hair.

"We'll get him back, Buck," Ezra whispered only loud enough to be heard by his companion. "Just give it time."

On the couch, the silence and stillness of the third man was deceptive. Inside his head, thoughts continued to whirl. Chris' face, bloodless and battered danced through his mind with the battered features of Nora Dean. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh God! Make it stop!"

~o~

The soft, steady beep. . . beep. . . beep. . . called him reluctantly and painfully toward wakefulness. Managing to lift heavy eyelids, he waited for the blurry world around him slowed, coalescing into a sterile looking room. Shifting his eyes without moving his head, he searched for a familiar landmark. Finding it in the rather hazy and out-of-focus face of his old friend, he managed to croak, "Buck?"

Wilmington smiled, straightening in his chair. "Hey, Stud! How you feelin'?"

"Not. . . certain. What ha. . . happened?"

"You cracked that hard head of yours a few days ago. Doctors put all the pieces back together again, so you'll be fine. Uh, one thing though. . ."

Frowning, Larabee asked, "What?"

"They had to shave a patch of hair, long about there," he waved a finger over the area he was talking about.

"Great," Chris groaned. Then, "Where's Vin?"

"Sent him home. He needed a rest." He hated lying to the other man, but wasn't going to give him more to worry about.

The truth was, none of them could get Tanner to come into the room. Neither could they get him to go home. He sat like a statue in the waiting room, staring through anyone who came near. They had managed to get him to go to the cafeteria once or twice, only to follow after when he made a mad dash for the nearest restroom.

They were all at a point of wishing for him to just fall over, so they could admit him as well.

"Drink?"

Startled from his thoughts, the bigger man picked up a Styrofoam cup, adjusted the straw, and helped the injured man drink. When Larabee indicated that he was finished, he set the cop back on the tray and dropped wearily back onto his chair.

"You're tired." It wasn't a question.

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

With a chagrined expression, the brunet said, "Look, it's just hard jugglin' things when you're out of commission and Junior's off his feed."

"He said. . . anything?"

"No, not really. He's as closed mouth as you are when he's dealin' with a lot of guilt."

"I was h-hoping. . ." Chris broke off, groaning, pressing a hand to his forehead.

"I'll get the nurse." The fact that the blond didn't argue with him was even more alarming than the sudden onset of pain.

A few minutes later they were alone again. The nurse had come in and checked Chris' vitals, releasing a pain reliever into his IV, and making a notation on his chart. The injured man was beginning to drift off, his eyes blinking owlishly as he fought the siren's call to sleep.

"Go ahead and sleep, Stud. I've got your back."

One more, slow blink, and then Larabee drifted off once again.

~o~

"You could come over here. . . sit down." Chris said softly. He was finally in a regular room and would be discharged in the next day or two. "I was beginning to think you were a figment of my imagination or something. Where've you been?"

Tanner had yet to come to visit. At first it had been easy to believe the others responses that he had slept through the visit, or that Vin was sleeping, or had just left to clean up. Later, however, he questioned and challenged their excuses, becoming more and more demanding that they produce the keeper of his heart. It had done little good; they simply told him that the Texan wasn't ready to come to see him yet. He knew that the other man's mental health was fragile, but that only increased his desire. . . his need. . . to see him.

"Vin?"

"'M fine."

Pulling himself carefully up in the bed, Larabee said, "Look, I'm not steady enough on my feet yet to come over there, but if you're going to stay there, then. . ." He trailed off, carefully lowering his feet over the side of the bed.

"Damn it," Vin was quickly at his side. "You lay yerself back down there, Larabee."

Managing a weak smile as he settled back on the narrow bed, the blond wrinkled his nose. "Damn, Pard, you're a little ripe there. Thought you'd been home at least a few times since I came in here, at least. Do have to say, though, I like the mountain man look you've got going," he indicated the beard that covered the lower portion of the handsome face.

The only response was a shrug.

Heaving a sigh, the blond said, "What's going on, Vin?"

"Noth - "

"Bullshit. You forget who I am? I can read you like a book, Tanner. And right now you seem to be on the chapter titled 'How to Kill Yourself with Guilt'. So, what's going on?"

"Yer on the wrong page," Vin replied sharply. "I'm on the chapter titled 'How ta Kill Yer Lover with Stupidity'." With that he turned and all but ran from the room.

"Vin? Vin! Damn it." Larabee picked up the phone, quickly dialing Buck's cell.

"Wilming - "

"Buck, I need you here, quick!"

~o~

The big brunet was just pulling into the hospital parking lot when the frantic call came in. By the time he reached his friend's room, he found the blond struggling to get his clothes on. "Where the hell do you think you're going?!"

"Af-after Vin," Larabee panted.

"The hell you are. You get your ass back in that bed, before you fall and undo everything." He moved toward the other man, intent on manhandling him into bed if necessary.

"Why did. . . didn't you t-tell me?" The blond accused breathlessly. "Why didn't you let me kn-know he wasn't t-taking care of him. . . self."

"Because you'd have done something stupid,' Wilmington admitted, sheepishly.

Collapsing back on the bed, Chris looked up at his old friend with fear in his eyes. "G-go find him. . . Buck. . . please. . ."

"You promise to stay here?" He slipped the other man's jeans off, helping him to settle in on the mattress. When Larabee managed a nod, he said, "All right, I'll see if I can scare him up. But if you get off this bed. . ."

"N-not going any. . . anywhere."

Nodding, the brunet hurried from the room. Not certain that he should believe his friend; he stopped at the nurse's station and informed a member of the medical staff there, of the blond's foolhardy stunt before continuing on. The nurse responded to thin air, Wilmington's long legs having already taken him to the elevator.

Buck sent the elevator up, knowing that, since Vin wasn't willing to leave the hospital, he'd choose the place that would offer him the widest and least populated space available.

He couldn't help but show a brief, but bright, smile when he caught sight of the lean Texan sitting on the ledge that bordered the roof. Moving slowly, he came to stand behind his friend.

"Y'all are gittin' too good at findin' me," Tanner observed softly. "Gonna have ta change my MO."

"That's what friends do, Pard. They learn to know you as well as you know yourself. . . even better, sometimes."

"Y'all don't want ta stay my friend," the words were delivered in a mournful voice. "You'll end up gittin' hurt."

"So, maybe we'll take that risk."

"Ya keep yammerin' like a Hallmark commercial, I'm jist gonna jump," Tanner smiled, but the joke fell flat. Ducking his head, he asked, "Chris okay?"

"No, he was almost dressed and ready to come lookin' for you when I got there."

"Shit."

"Yeah." Wilmington's voice became stern then. "So you need to get that skinny ass of yours up and go let him know you're okay - "

"Hell, I can't tell 'im that," Tanner argued, "'Cause it ain't true."

"Then do something about it."

"What? Go ta some shrink?"

"Couldn't hurt."

"Wouldn't help. Keep tellin' Chris, and I'll tell you, too. I'm crazy. Hearin' voices. . . seein' things. . . cain't get away from Nor - I mean, it."

Managing to hide his shock at the confession as well as the unintentional slip, Wilmington said, "Sounds like the very thing a doctor or a therapist could help you with - "

Turning and rising from the concrete barrier in an unconsciously graceful and fluid movement, Vin walked away. Over his shoulder, he tossed, "don't go soundin' like Chris, Bucklin, I ain't interested."

Heaving a sigh, the big man shook his head, following after his distraught friend.

~o~

"Come ta let ya know I'll stick around 'til yer mended, then I'm movin' on. Ya don't need ta deal with a crazy person in yer life."

By the time Chris registered the appearance of his partner, processed the words and formed a one syllable response of "What?" the doorway was once more empty; Tanner long gone.

~o~

"Nathan, damn it! I'm not an invalid!" Chris slapped away the medically trained agent's hands, walking with only slightly unsteady steps toward his house. With Jackson and Wilmington right behind him, he entered the ranch house, stopping to find everything in the den sparkling clean; the smells of orange and lemon cleaners still wafting in the air, mixing with sage and pine incense that lazily smoked from various points throughout the house.

Josiah looked up from the couch where he was reading. Unfolding his body from the deep cushions, he smiled. "Welcome home, boss."

"Thanks." Chris sank to his recliner, having broken out in a cold sweat from the walk. Leaning back he sighed and closed his eyes. They didn't open until he felt a cold glass placed in his hand. Frowning up at his old friend, he said, "Wouldn't mind some bourbon - "

"Not for the next month at least," Nathan interjected. "You heard the doctor's orders the same as the rest of us did."

Huffing, Larabee took a drink of the spring water before turning his attention to the team's profiler. "I guess someone's been busy."

Nodding, Sanchez said, "The boy's been going through this entire house for two days, now. He only stops in here when he goes out to take care of the horses. Reckon you've got the best groomed animals in the county by now."

"Is he sleeping?"

"Maybe two or three hours, tops. And, no, he's not taking care of himself in any other way, either. Practically have to sit on him to get him to eat." With a tone of hopefulness, he finished with, "I did see him heading toward the bathroom about an hour ago, though. Maybe things are changing."

"Welcome home."

They all turned at the monotone words, to find Tanner in the doorway. He was freshly showered and shaved, although the effect was to show even more clearly just how haggard he was. Dark circles stood out in the pale face, like a child's Halloween mask. Blue eyes, usually the color of the sky, were dark, as if clouds were covering the sun.

"Thanks," Chris replied softly, his heart breaking at the sight of his lover. "Josiah says you've been busy."

A single shoulder rose to shrug, then, "He'd know; been babysittin' me since I come ho- back here."

"It is your home, Vin. . . you know that." Chris said softly, as if gentling a colt. "It always will be. And Josiah was only doing me a favor. I asked him to. . . keep you company. . . until I came home."

"Didn't want the crazy person left alone in yer house. . . cain't say I'd blame you."

"That wasn't the reason. . ." the blond broke off, dejectedly, as he watched Tanner disappear once again. He noticed Buck start to go after the Texan, and said quickly, "No, Buck, let him go."

"Boy needs a good swift kick in the ass, Stud, and I'm gonna be the one to do it."

"No." When his old friend stopped, he continued, "He's kicking himself enough already. The last thing he needs right now is a size 13 imprint to make him feel even more worthless."

"Damn it, Chris, he's already told you he's gonna leave as soon as you're better. He's acting like some sort of ghost; a wild animal that's sniffin' around the edge of civilization before he skitters back into the shadows - "

"You done or you have some more clichés to spout?"

Looking around the room, catching the eyes of the other agents. Seeing no support there he responded, "Look, all I'm saying is he's leaving. . . hell, he's already gone. . . and you're just sitting there letting him go."

Frowning, the blond said, "I'm sorry if I'm not living up to your expectations, Pa, but I've got to do this my way."

"Well, from where I sit, your way is. . . no way." Shaking his head, Buck turned around and walked away, leaving the house through the back door. The others sat or stood in silence, listening to the classic mustang roar out of the drive a minute later.

After the silence moved past uncomfortable, Josiah broke it with, "I'm going to stay out here for a couple of days if that's okay with you, boss."

Shaking his head, Chris said, "No, you go on back into town with Nathan."

"Chris - "

"I'll be fine." The expression on the blond's face was clear, the conversation was over.

~o~

Chris woke slowly, sluggishly, to find himself in the dim light of evening. He could remember sending Nathan and Josiah away, but little after that. A vague recollection of Vin rousing him. . . how many timer?

"Chris? Ya hungry?"

"Chris? Here, ya need to take yer medicine."

"Chris? Woudn't ya be a mite more comfortable in yer own bed?"

Three times. He vaguely remembered responding. No, he wasn't hungry. He reluctantly took the medication. He had no desire to get up any time soon.

Now, however, the pressure of his bladder told him in no uncertain terms that he needed to get up. it took some fumbling for him to get the foot rest down, and three times to make it to his feet and stay there. Finally he was steady enough to shuffle from the den and out into the hall. There he turned, moving more by instinct than conscious thought. He kept one hand pressed against the wall, sliding it along as he moved.

He wasn't expecting to encounter an open door.

Nearly falling into the guest room, he felt himself caught and held by a pair of strong arms.

"Where ya goin'?"

Chris couldn't help the sigh at the sound of that soft drawl. But all he said was, "John."

"Ya should 'a given a shout."

"Been pissing on my own for a lot of years."

"C'mon in here, it's closer." Carefully he led Chris through the guest room and into the small bathroom just beyond. There he turned on the soft nightlight and made certain that the older man was steady enough to be left alone. Then he slipped out and returned to the guest room bed, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, wrapping his arms tight around his chest. Slowly he began to rock, just as he had been for some time before his partner had startled him.

Over and over again, he watched Nora being beaten to death, while he stood there, letting it happen. Over and over again, she screamed out at him, accusing him of allowing her to die.

"Oh, God," he whispered in a broken tone. He tucked his chin against his chest, tears rolling down his face and soaking into his tee-shirt.

"Vin?"

Taking a deep breath, he lifted his head, staring at the shadowy figure of his lover. "Ya get everything taken care of?"

"Yeah." Larabee chuckled briefly.

Unfolding himself, Tanner stood and moved toward the blond. "Well, c'mon then, let's git'cha ta bed."

Not moving, Chris asked, "You're coming to bed, too?"

Hesitating the younger man said, "Ya don't need ta deal with me hoggin' the bed. Ya need yer rest."

Reaching out to snag the other man's shirt, Larabee said softly. "You don't hog the bed. Besides, I sleep better when you're sleeping with me."

Vin considered the statement for a moment before saying, "All right. . . but I warned ya."

They walked together down the hall towards the master suite. Once there, Vin got Chris settled into bed and then, reluctantly, moved to the other side. Pulling off the damp tee-shirt, he wiped his face on the soft jersey and climbed into bed, keeping to the edge of the mattress. Pulling the blankets up, he turned on his side, hugging his arms around him.

He lay there, unmoving, barely breathing, staring into the darkness as he waited. After a few minutes, Chris' breathing evened out and he could feel the lean body relaxing on the mattress. He inhaled until he thought his lungs would explode before he let it out slowly enough that he felt dizzy and light headed. He repeated the process several times until he couldn't help but relax and drift off to sleep. . .

~o~

Buck sat, staring at the TV without really seeing what was on the screen. It was late and he should be in bed, but he didn't expect to find sleep any time soon. He hadn't been able to let go of his anger, which flared inwardly toward himself as much as it flared outward toward his friends. He understood that Vin was in poor shape as well as anyone. Maybe better than most.

There were only two people who knew how many nights he had lain beside Chris after Sarah and Adam's deaths. Lain, not as a lover, but as a friend and even a guardian. And he was the only one who had any memories of the nights that found him holding onto the blond. Sometimes he held the man while his grief spilled out in a flood of hot, salty tears. At other times he held on for dear life to keep the broken man from ending his own life with whiskey or a bullet.

But what he couldn't understand was Larabee's intentions now. Why was he so insistent upon staying alone with Vin? A man so unstable at the moment that he had already injured him once. Was Chris more suicidal than he thought?

"Buck?"

With a startled jump, the big brunet turned to find his housemate just entering their apartment. "Hey, Kid."

"Didn't expect to find you here. Thought you were going to stay out at the ranch."

"Yeah, well, Chris had other ideas."

"Huh?

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Buck explained, "Chris didn't want me around. . . thought it'd be better if we all cleared out."

"And leave him there, alone, with Vin?" JD exclaimed. "Vin's falling apart at the seams for crying out loud!"

Suddenly his anger found a new target. With a growl, he leapt to his feet and began yelling. "You think I fucking don't know that!? You think I wanted to leave him there like that?"

Dunne was taken by surprise by the other man's harsh tone, but stood his ground. In a calm voice he responded, "No, I don't think you wanted to leave him there. . . so why did you?" He prepared to take on the bigger man's wrath.

Instead, Wiilmington slumped, dropping his gaze. Raking his fingers through his dark hair he replied softly, "I don't know, JD. . . I don't know."

Moving forward, the smaller man reached up and gripped his friend's shoulder. "Then maybe you ought to go back out there."

Grinning despite his anger, the big brunet said, "Maybe I should." Shaking his head ruefully, he finished with "Thanks, Kid. Reckon I'll head back out there; see how things are goin'."

"Uh, Buck? It's the middle of the night."

Shrugging, Wilmington held up a set of keys. "I've got a key. If things are quiet, I'll crash on the couch. See ya later, Kid."

JD waggled his fingers, shaking his head as the bigger man strode purposefully from their home. Sometimes he wondered about his friend. Why did it take him so long to decide to do what he knew was right?

~o~

Pitts was there; so was Wikes. Taunting him. He was looking up at them, feeling very alone and vulnerable and very afraid. And then he was looking over at himself, standing in a far off corner, staring back with marshaled features.

No. . . God. . . how could he be here, where he was. . . looking at himself? But, before he could figure that out, he screamed with pain, as blows began to rain down on him from a quartet of heavy, hard fists. His cries continued, the pain intensified, as the two men beat him. He looked back at himself, crying out for help and getting only stony silence in response.

He began to thrash, trying to free himself from the restraints. He continued to scream, unintelligible sounds that spoke eloquently of terror and agony.

Then, he was alone in darkness. No, not alone. He could still see himself nearby, staring at him without emotion. Then, he felt someone grab at him. NO! It couldn't start again; he couldn't go through any more.

"NO!" He cried out, striking out at his unseen torturer.

"Vin! Vin? Hey, c'mon. . . stop!"

Blue eyes flew open, staring wildly around in the darkness. Someone was behind him, strong arms wrapped around his chest. He continued struggling, but something drew his gaze toward the bed. He gasped as he saw that he was straddling Chris, his hands around the blond's throat. Hazel eyes stared up at him with shock, but the man's voice was soft and calm.

"Vin, you awake?"

"Tanner, get the hell off - "

"Buck, back off." Larabee's voice was still calm, but it now had a firm edge to it. "He's barely awake, and he was having a nightmare."

"Stop makin' excuses, he'd have likely strangled you if - "

Wilmington broke off, shocked as Tanner suddenly shoved back against him. Caught off guard, the bigger man stumbled back as the man he'd just pulled off his old friend staggered out the door.

"Vin!" Chris cried out, pushing himself up and out of bed. As he stood upright he lurched as the quick movement threw his equilibrium for a loop and sent him to his knees with a pained grunt. The next second he was being helped up. Managing to blink his vision clear, he found Buck at his side. "You need to go. . . after him."

"No, right now I need to get you back into bed." Gently he got the blond up and back into bed. As Chris dropped to the mattress, he tried to swing the man's legs up onto the bed, but the other man resisted. "Chris, come on."

"Either you go after him or I will." It was clear that he was in no shape to do that, but the determination that flashed in his eyes made it clear that he would attempt it nonetheless.

Cursing under his breath, the bigger man begrudgingly conceded defeat. Nothing would stop Chris Larabee when he set his mind on something. "Fine, I'll go look for Junior. But you had by God better stay right where you are."

Drawing his legs onto the mattress, Chris said softly, "Thanks, Buck."

Watching for a few seconds as his long-time friend settled on the bed, Wilmington turned and left the room. He hurried, not so much from a sense of concern for the traumatized Texan, but because of concern for Larabee.

~o~

Fight or flight; that primal response to anything that threatens safety and causes fear. Vin was acting on that primal response. He was in flight. He ran, barefoot and heedless, from the house and out onto the broad yard. From there he ran into the woods that bordered Larabee's property, not caring that pine nettles and twigs stabbed at his feet, or that the low branches scratched at his face and bare chest. Clothed in nothing but loose fitting pajama pants, he did the only thing he could think to do.

He ran.

He heard only one thing. Nora. Screaming. He saw only one thing. Nora. Dying. The ranch he had come to love and to know as well as his own apartment was gone. No matter which way he turned, he was in that basement. . . or even worse, in the trunk of his borrowed car. And Nora was there. Screaming. Crying. Begging.

But he couldn't reach her. Couldn't touch her. Couldn't save her.

"NO!" He didn't even hear himself; didn't hear the screams that ripped from his soul and filled the air.

Somewhere, behind Tanner, Buck heard the screams. Using them as a homing beacon, he sped up, running as quickly as he could. Despite his longer stride, he wasn't quite as agile as the Texan, which allowed Vin to keep his lead for some time. Finally, just as he felt ready to drop, he caught sight of the smaller man in a pool of moonlight. The electric blue pants that he had given his friend as a gag gift, but that he had taken a real shine to, stood out against the earth tones around him, making it easy to track Tanner.

Finding his reserves and picking up speed, Wilmington pounded hard through the trees, gaining on his quarry, inch by inch. Foot by foot. Tanner was slowing; whatever was driving him was also sapping his strength. Yard by yard. He tried calling out to the younger man, but Vin didn't seem to hear him.

Finally he got close enough, and launched himself into the air, dropping Vin with a full body tackle. They both landed on the hard ground, Tanner yelping as the carpet of pine nettles poked into his bare flesh.

Pulling back only far enough that he could turn the sharpshooter on his back, Buck straddled the panting form below him. In response, Vin began to struggle, fighting back against the grasping arms and the pressure on his chest. "Damn it! Stop fighting me you damned fool! VIN! Calm down!"

His only response was a growl, the struggles growing more frantic as Tanner tried desperately to get loose.

Changing tactics, the tall brunet held on only as tightly as he had to, lowering his voice until it was little more than a whisper. "Vin? Vin, it's me. It's Buck. Junior, you need to calm down, okay? I'm not trying to hurt you. . . you know I'd never hurt you, son." And, hearing those words, he knew them to be true. He was still angry, but not at the young man who had helped bring his oldest friend back from the black chasm of grief. For that fact alone, he couldn't stay angry at that friend's partner.

"Bu. . . Buc. . . Bucklin?" Vin stuttered, confusion overtaking the fear on his finely chiseled features. "Buck?"

"Yeah, Junior, it's me. You ready to calm down now?"

"I. . . what? I. . . she was here. Where is she?"

"Who?"

"Nora. Nora was here. My fault, Buck. My fault she died."

"No! No it is not your fault, Junior. She's dead because of those sick bastards who beat her to death. Not you. It was never your fault."

"Yes. . . yes it was. I jist watched. I didn't help. I could 'a saved her."

"And caused them to kill Ezra, Nathan, and who knows how many others. You didn't have a choice, son. They didn't give you a choice."

"But. . . I jist watched. . ."

Reaching out to brush some of the tangled, chestnut locks back from the handsome, bloodied face, he said, gently, "It wasn't your fault, Vin. None of it was your fault. Do you understand me, Junior? It wasn't your fault."

"But - "

"No buts, son. It wasn't your fault. I want you to say it."

"I cain't."

"Vin Tanner, you are the damndest, pig-stubborn son of a -" Seeing the fear return to the other man's face, he forced himself to calm down. Cupping his hands against each side of Tanner's face, he gently forced the troubled blue eyes to focus on him. "Vin. . . listen to me. I understand that you're hurting, and you've got good reason to. Son, what those fucking monsters did to Nora. . . and to you. . . was pure evil. And I swear, we're gonna do anything and everything we can to make them pay. But you do not need to carry any of the guilt over what happened to that girl. Vin, you were in an impossible place; a place I wish to God you'd never been placed in. But it happened and there's nothing we can do to change that. Nothing you can do to change that. But I swear to you, Vin Tanner, you have Chris Larabee's love to hold onto, and that's not a small thing. But if that doesn't do the trick, you've both got five friends who will walk through Hell to help you any way they can. You hear me?"

In a soft, trembling voice, Tanner replied, "Yeah."

"Good. Now I want you think on what I said. Later. For now, let's get you back home to Chris. If we don't, he's likely to be comin' after us. Can you walk?" When his only response was a frown, he continued, "I know, you got out here. Fine, come on then."

Pushing off the Texan, Buck stood and held out his hand. There was a slight hesitation but then Tanner reached out and took it. With a grin, he pulled, bringing the smaller man to his feet. When Vin swayed, he tightened his grip and brought Vin against him. "Steady there, Junior."

Keeping one arm wrapped around Tanner's shoulders, Wilmington guided him back through the trees. Barefoot, the adrenaline having deserted him, Vin felt every prick and poke. He limped along beside the bigger man, trying hard not to show just how much his feet were hurting. He should have known he couldn't hide it from the man beside him.

Buck stopped, bringing Vin to a stop as well. Turning slightly away from the smaller man, he motioned, at the same time, saying, "Come on, Junior. Hop on."

"Ain't gonna have ya tote me, Bucklin." Tanner was losing ground fast, his voice, with its thick drawl, was a dead give away as to just how tired the younger man was.

"Junior, I don't know about you, but I don't fancy having Nathan and Chris both chewin' me out because your feet are tore up. Besides, the quicker we get you back home, the less chance we have that Chris will be comin' after us. Okay?"

"Ya don't play fair, Bucklin." Tanner groused as he nonetheless limped around and climbed up on the other man's back.

Grabbing Vin under the knees, Buck grunted out, "Damn, you're heavier than you look, son."

"I'll get do--"

"You're fine." Wilmington said firmly, keeping a solid grip on the other man. With determination, he strode off, heading back toward the house. It was time to get Vin home. . . in more ways than one.

~o~

Buck was far more right than he expected to be. Returning to the ranch, they found Chris just coming back from the barn. He was walking slowly and somewhat unsteadily, but he was moving. "Damn it, son! I thought you were gonna stay in bed!"

"What?" Vin mumbled, raising his head from the top of Wilmington's. He had drifted off, dozing as the bigger man carried him.

"Buck?" Chris called out at the same time. he turned toward the sound of his friend's voice, nearly toppling over in the process; his head injury keeping him lightheaded.

"Lemme down," Vin insisted. Wilmington didn't argue this time and as soon as his feet touched the ground, despite the pain in his torn flesh, he raced toward his lover.

Buck was a few steps behind when he reached Larabee, just as the stubborn son of a bitch began to fall. Taking hold of his partner, he eased his decent, both of them landing in the grass, with simultaneous grunts. Wrapping his arms around the older man, Tanner felt Chris trembling. "Where the hell were ya goin'?"

"You did. . . didn't come ba. . . back."

"I'm right here, ya damn fool."

"Where we-were you?" The blond stammered.

Vin hesitated then, finally, admitted, "Lost, I reckon."

"What?"

Before Tanner could elaborate, Buck interjected, "All right, you two, let's get you inside and into bed."

Vin and Chris were both on their feet just seconds later, with Buck's help. While the younger man limped ahead, opening the back door, the older two moved slowly behind him, Buck grumbling under his breath as he guided his old friend through the house.

A short time later, they had Chris settled in bed. With an expression on his face that said he would entertain no arguments, Buck pointed toward the bathroom and pushed the tattered Texan in that direction. In front of him, Vin edged a glare in his direction, but didn't argue.

In the bathroom, Tanner stripped off his pants and climbed into the shower. There he washed away the dirt, blood and perspiration, as well as cleaned away the dried tears. Stepping back out of the shower a few minutes later, he toweled off, turning quickly as Buck returned with antiseptic, cloths and bandages.

"I'm fi--"

"Don't even try it, boy," Wilmington growled. "You're in piss poor shape, I'm going to clean up those cuts. End of story."

"Fine." Tanner hobbled over to the toilet, sitting on the closed lid. He sat stoically, not making a sound, while the brunet, kneeling in front of him, applied the antiseptic to the raw flesh of his feet. At closer look, however, the muscles of his jaws were tight to the point of twitching.

"Well, don't think any of 'em are too bad. Just gonna be uncomfortable to walk for a couple days." Buck sat back, stretching his back with a grunt. Gesturing at the switch marks on Vin's arms and chest, he said, "Okay, let's start on those."

When the bigger man winced as he moved, Vin said, "I hurt yer back, didn't I?"

"Just a little stiff is all. If you didn't use up all the hot water, I'll take a shower in a bit."

"Sorry. Ya shouldn't be hurtin' like that, 'cause of me."

"Wasn't your fault, Junior," the mustached man said softly, dabbing at the angry red marks. "You need to stop thinking like that."

"But yer hurtin'."

Looking up into the troubled, soulful eyes, Buck said, "So are you, son, and it's a hurt a lot deeper than mine. Junior, you need to stop beating yourself up over all of this."

"Cain't help it." Tanner turned away, unable to look at his friend.

Taking the younger man's chin in his hand, Buck turned the troubled face back toward himself. His voice soft with passion, the bigger man said, "Vin, I can't say that I know what you went through, but I know you. You'd have done anything you could to keep that girl alive; the trouble is, there wasn't a damn thing you could do. You need to believe that."

"But, I - "

"Look, I know it's gonna take more than me sayin' it to make you believe it. You're gonna have to work at it; find a way to deal with it. . . get past it."

"Therapy."

"I reckon so." Buck surveyed the suntanned chest; then nodded. "Think we're good to go."

Reaching out, Vin put a hand on the bigger man's shoulder. With sincerity he said softly, "Thanks, Bucklin."

Grinning as he rose, the hand on his shoulder sliding down to the point he could take it in his, Wilmington said, "You're welcome, Junior. Now, come on."

Vin smiled, following the brunet out into the big master bedroom. He caught a clean pair of pajama pants that Buck tossed at him, slipping them on beneath the towel before discarding it. He started toward the door, but a soft call from the bed drew him back.

"Hey, Pard, you're going the wrong way."

Hesitating only for a second, Vin limped over and crawled into bed beside his partner. As he pulled the covers up, Chris rolled toward him with a sigh. Glancing toward the third man, he saw Buck smile and wink before he closed the door. Turning back to the older man, he curled up beside him, wrapping an arm around the lean body. Beside him, the blond nestled in, head against his chest. Tanner kissed Larabee's temple gently, before whispering, "Night, Cowboy."

Epilogue

Ezra and Nathan had been able to successfully re-enter Wickes operation. Their team depleted while Chris and Vin recovered, Team Three was brought in to assist. Josiah took the lead, acting as SAC in Larabee's absence. It took another two weeks, but they gathered the information to arrest Wickes and his henchman, Cletus Pitts, along with others involved in the operation. While the bad guys began their long wait before Lady Justice, Team Seven finished their paperwork and moved on to their next case.

Chris Larabee reclined on his bed, leaning back against the headboard. His life partner lay beside him, head in his lap. He stroked his fingers through the long, brown locks, his motions having the desired effect. Vin was slowly relaxing, his tense muscles jerking from time to time as they loosened. He smiled when he heard a soft sigh. "Feeling better?"

"Mm-hm," Tanner responded sleepily.

"I'm glad." Actually he was relieved.

They had just returned from another therapy appointment. Vin had been going weekly for nearly three months; at first with Chris by his side, and then alone in the therapist's office. He was waiting outside at the end of each session, wanting to take his lover home. Vin was being treated with a combination of medication and psychotherapy for Acute Stress Disorder. He was experiencing what was commonly referred to as "survivor's guilt", finding it almost impossible to come to terms with the fact that he still lived, while Nora Dean was dead. Slowly, thanks to an empathetic therapist, the support of his friends, and the unwavering love of Larabee, he was turning things around. While he would never forget what happened, he was learning to forgive himself.

This session had been particularly rough. Chris had heard him, muffled by the closed door, as he raged against the violence and horror of watching the young woman die. He raged against himself for not finding a way to help her. He even raged against Nora herself, for making the decisions that had led her to be there in the first place. The session was nearly over before the sounds dissipated, and a very pale, exhausted Tanner appeared when the door opened. Larabee was silently glad he'd already paid for the session as he stopped himself from going over to embrace his lover; settling for guiding him out of the building and to the parking lot. Making certain Vin got into the truck all right, he moved around to the driver's side.

Inside, he took advantage of the darkened windows to lean over and stroke the back of his hand down the haggard looking face. "Rough one?" When his only answer was a nod, Vin leaning his head back against the seat and closing his eyes, he rubbed his thumb over the wide mouth. "Want to stop by the Saloon or just go home?"

"Home's fine." Tanner whispered; his voice scratchy from his recent outpouring of emotion.

"Home it is."

They drove in silence, Chris turning the stereo on, keeping the volume low, so that country music softly filled the cab. Once they were home, he moved around the truck and guided the exhausted man out and across the yard to the house. Entering the den, Vin shuffled forward, heading for the bedroom.

The two of them had been relaxing ever since, Vin pillowed against his thigh, slowly relaxing under his ministrations. As he did every day, Chris found himself praying that his lover had reached a turning point; that the nightmares were at an end; that the depressed mood with its lack of sleep, easy anger, no appetite, and self-loathing were over. He knew it was doubtful that it would happen quite yet, but he could hope.

Vin moved slightly, sighing once again. He nuzzled his face against Chris' shirt, the fingers of one hand wrapped in his shirt as well. Larabee smiled, stroking the loose curls back from the fine-boned face. In response, Tanner mumbled something sleepily, his voice too soft to carry.

"Sweet dreams, Cowboy," the blond whispered.

The End

February 18, 2007
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