Summary: Chris and Vin - the first time
Warnings: Slash, violence, Angry-Chris, passive-Vin. This is a dark-ish story - grey, two guys having post-battle sex. Many of you won't like Chris. He's - well, he's a hard man who's fighting his feelings.
Beta-ed by the wonderful Sara_Merry99 and Jill, two exceptional writers who took time away from their own pursuits to help me out. Any mistakes are entirely my fault because I probably thought I knew better than they did!
Author's Note 1: As with everything else I've written so far in this universe, this is not what I expected. (See the other three stories so far in this arc, Weaving: Prophecy or Chance, Weaving: Cause or Cure, and "Weaving: Knotting III - the Half Hitch".) But somewhere along the way, things got complicated, and it didn't go the way it was supposed to. I think it's because sex is easy, but love isn't.
Author's Note 2: The Star knot: Star knots are possibly the most interesting and difficult knots to make, but they are arguably the most beautiful of them all. According to Ashley, it was first noted in 1888, although some references suggest it's been around for more than 150 years. The Celtic Star note is a five-point knot, the emblem of perfection.
'Home. . .. Family . . . things worth fighting for. . . '
The words drifted through his mind - had he actually said them? Did being here, in this village with these people, actually make him as maudlin as he sounded?
Chris sighed. The party was winding down now, the post-battle fatigue setting in quickly as the alcohol - bottled and home-made - kicked in. Josiah, Nathan, and Ezra had made it to their bedrolls in the dwelling that the village had allocated to them. JD had passed out on the bench where he had been drinking, and Chris took a certain vindictive pleasure in the anticipation of the boy's hangover. Kid had guts - more guts than brains. And despite himself, he liked the kid. Dammit. He didn't need any more affections.
Having Buck underfoot again was enough of a strain on his battered emotions. Fortunately, whatever this thing was that Buck had about Vin was keeping Chris just angry enough not to feel anything else.
But that lead him to Vin.
He watched the fires dying low, the few people still about settling for the remainder of the night. Vin. He didn't know what it was about the man, but something had happened between them, something instant and deep and binding. It had happened in that split second when their eyes had first met across that damned dusty road in that damned dusty town - and now here he was, taking on a mission to protect a village of outcast Indians and former slaves.
He should've been long gone by now, should've been somewhere that needed protection from him, not the other way around. Wasn't he the 'bad element' as he had so boldly told Mary?
Mary - so like Sarah in her fierce determination. Seeing her with the gun, walking into a chaos of men mounted on horses, hell-bent on a hanging - just like Sarah would have done. That had started it, he knew, started him on the path that had led him here.
"Chris?' Buck sauntered up beside him, yawning. "Ain't you asleep yet?"
Chris looked at his oldest friend. He was tired, but that only seemed to feed his irritation. "Thought someone should spell Vin. He's been on look-out since this thing ended this afternoon."
"Ah, hell, Big Dog, ain't no need to -"
"Like hell there is," Chris snapped back. "Those men look like they were happy with the way this ended? Would you be?"
Buck let out a long sigh. "Well, they won't be back before - "
"What's your problem with Vin?" Chris demanded, knowing the root of Buck's attitude. "He too pretty for you?"
Buck straightened, blinked, then frowned. "Yeah," he said eventually, "maybe he is. Or maybe he's wanted in Texas for murder and I don't cotton to my best friend's life depending on him."
Chris stared at him, some of the anger fading in the confrontation with Buck's sincere concern for him. "He tell you?"
Buck snorted. "You think he would? Hell no, I saw his wanted poster when I was working over in Flatbend. He's got a $500.00 bounty on his head, Chris - what the hell is he doing here with us?"
"Saving this damned village," Chris snapped back. "Same damned thing you're doing, and I'm doing."
"Yeah, that's it - outta the kindness of his heart, just like Ezra." There was an underlying anger in Buck's voice that Chris had rarely heard. In fact, the last time it had been this resonant had been in the aftermath of losing Sarah and Adam.
"He didn't kill that man in Tascosa," Chris said calmly. "He was framed by another bounty he was going after."
"Then he should clear himself. What the hell is he doing -"
"He's looking for the guy who framed him. And along the way, he had to make some money, so he took a job - Jesus, Buck, what the hell does it matter? He's here, he's doing more damned work protecting this town and us - "
"You so sure about that?" Buck interrupted. "Whatcha wanna bet he's not up there on that rim? Whatcha wanna bet he's long gone, leaving us just as easily as he joined us?"
Chris stared at the other man, feeling just a little queasy at the thought. Would Vin have done that?
No. He knew better. He knew Vin - maybe not with the long familiarity that he knew Buck, not with the minute details that one gleaned over time and talk and shared experience. But he knew Vin with the certitude of their strange bond.
He glared up at Buck, his voice flat as he said, "Let's go then. When we find him, you get the next watch."
Buck thought for a second, then smiled. "When we don't, it's yours, right?"
They were both familiar with the path, and both angry enough to move up it with surprising grace and speed despite the darkness. It was harder, though, to find their sentry, and after about twenty minutes of walking and looking, Chris' faith was beginning to erode.
"Told you," Buck said. "Son of a bitch is long gone - you know where that gold piece is?"
"My pocket," Chris spat, even though he did have to curb the instinct to let his fingers reach for it. "Watch your mouth, Buck, now you're acting like I - "
"Problems, boys?" The voice was soft and raspy and invisible, wafting from the darkness like a ghost. Chris smiled when Buck jumped beside him, the taller man's hand instantly dropping to his revolver.
"Where are ya?" Chris asked, looking around.
"Same place I been since y'all started huntin' fer me," Vin returned, but he moved from the rock outcrop to their left, edging into the soft light cast by the waxing moon. He carried his rifle on one shoulder, the fingers of his right hand loose on the trigger guard. His buckskin jacket hung around him, open but heavy, and his hat rested on his back, the rawhide strands tight against the pink bandana at his throat.
Chris stared at him, feeling some of his tension drain away. Then, with a grin, he said, "Buck came to relieve you of watch. Didn't you, Buck." It wasn't a question.
Vin slowed his movements, wary, and Chris knew the younger man had heard the edge in his voice.
But it was Buck who spoke, his own tone hard. "Chris and I were just talking 'bout why a man with a price on his head would be wasting his time babysitting a village of Indians and the like - 'specially as it ain't for the money."
Vin stiffened, and Chris felt the man's gaze sweep over him. He felt a pang of guilt, knowing that Vin assumed he had told Buck about their conversation on the bluff the night before.
To his credit, Buck actually rescued him - sort of. "Ain't his fault," he snorted. "There are posters of ya in every sheriff's office from Texas to the East. Just happens that I did a spell of law-keeping recently and got to know your face." He took a step forward, his right hand tightening on the grip of his gun.
"You come to take me in?" Vin asked quietly. His attention was on Buck, but Chris knew those eyes were watching him as well.
"Maybe," Buck answered. "Ya got a reason why we shouldn't?"
Vin didn't move, but his next words were directed at Chris. "He speakin' for you?"
"Nobody speaks for me but me," Chris said sharply. "But nobody's taking you anywhere, Vin. I won't let that happen."
Buck turned to look at him, and even in the dimness, Chris could see the hurt in his eyes. It was replaced by anger in a short space, and the anger colored his words. "Didn't answer my question, boy. Why shouldn't we take you in? Or better, why should we put ourselves in danger to protect your sorry ass?"
The rifle on Vin's shoulder slowly lowered to his side, facing down but easier to draw. The tension among them ratcheted up. "Didn't ask no one to protect me," Vin said. "Won't ask. I didn't kill that man, Eli Joe Whitney did. I was looking for him - hell, I thought the man I took in was him. But he wasn't, he was a farmer that Eli Joe killed to set me up. The people in Tascosa ain't got much call to believe me unless I got proof, and Eli Joe weren't standing around to offer it, so I ran. That's why they got a bounty on me."
Buck shifted, his weight balanced evenly. "Pretty story, boy. All sad-like and innocent - and we're just supposed to believe it because you're - "
"You don't have to believe me," Vin said, hard. "You asked, I answered."
It was an impasse. Chris waited, hoping that Buck would back off.
Eventually, Buck shifted again, this time putting his weight on his right leg and dropping his hold on his gun. "Guess you boys better get some sleep," he said neutrally. "In case Chris is right and them ghosts come back tomorrow."
He looked to Chris, who nodded. "Come on, Vin," he called. "Buck, I'll make sure someone takes the next watch." It was as close to an appeasement as he could give.
He started away, then paused when he realized that Vin and Buck were still standing as they had been, Vin unmoving, focused on Buck.
"Vin?" Chris called again.
The younger man didn't move, but his gaze flickered to Chris for an instant. In it, Chris saw uncertainty, and he felt a spike of - something, a sort of hurt.
Then Buck casually stepped away, moving to his right and away from Vin. Clearing the path for Vin to follow Chris.
Vin lifted the gun, letting the end of the barrel rest in his left hand, the length of the rifle crossing his slender body. Even easier to aim and shoot, if need be. His steps were measured and controlled, his eyes never leaving Buck as he moved past him. He made sure that Chris was between them, and Chris wasn't certain if that was reassuring or not.
They walked silently to the junction of the ridge and the path that led down to the village, Vin staying just in front. But as they arrived at the turn, he stopped, glancing back past Chris to where they had left Buck. The other man wasn't in sight, but Chris knew - and he knew that Vin knew - that Buck had walked to the end of the premonitory that looked out over the valley floor. In this darkness, he couldn't be seen.
"I'm sorry, Vin," Chris said, watching the other man. "And I promise, I won't let - "
"He's yer friend," Vin said, still looking past Chris. "Can't blame him for being worried."
Chris frowned. "Yeah. He is, and he's a damned good one." It was true, and Chris knew that it was. "But so are you."
Vin started, looking at Chris before snapping his head back toward where he thought Buck might appear. "You've hardly known me four days. How can you - "
"Same way you know to trust me," he interrupted quietly. "Same way you knew I wouldn't come at you when Buck started running his mouth."
For a second, Vin looked as if he would challenge it. And if he had, Chris wasn't certain how he could argue. It was a feeling, based entirely on one shared look.
But the younger man didn't argue. Instead, he nodded. "All the same, I don't think I need to be staying where he or the others kin find me. You go on down - "
"I'd rather stay with you." He hadn't meant for it to come out so strong, so forceful. He could see before the words were completely out of his mouth that Vin didn't like them either.
"Afraid I'll run?" he challenged, his back up once more, his fingers tightening their hold on his rifle.
Chris straightened, but not as much in anger as in respect. Calmly, he answered, "I came up here with Buck because I knew you'd be here. If I'd thought you were going to run, I wouldn't have let you walk down the street with me four days ago, much less put my life in your hands here. I don't give a damn about a bounty on your head - except that it might get you killed before I get . . . . " He swallowed, unsure as to what he had actually meant to say there.
But what he had said seemed to be enough. Vin visibly relaxed; the gun slowly, slowly fell to point at the ground, and he actually drew a breath.
"I'll watch your back," Chris said simply.
After a space, Vin nodded. "'Spose you wanna stay close to the others?"
Chris grinned. "Rather have a bed, but don't think that's likely."
Vin's lips quirked slightly. "Nah, not likely. But ground's softer in some places 'en others." With that, he set off down the hill, and Chris followed.
Gathering up their bedrolls wasn't difficult; all of their tack was stored just inside the dwelling where the others slept, and they hardly made any noise that could compete with Josiah's and Nathan's snores. Chris chuckled softly as they moved away from the building and toward the perimeter of the village.
"At least the hard ground is quiet," he commented.
Vin was in front of him, so Chris couldn't see his face, but he could hear the humor in his voice as he said, "Bein' alone does have its way."
The words rolled around in Chris' head as they walked to a small, cleared space nestled into the canyon wall. Over time, erosion had produced a fine sand that had been trapped in the small recess of the walls themselves, so that the ground was softer here than almost anywhere. They'd have a time getting the tiny grains out of the blankets in the morning, but at least they'd sleep well enough tonight.
"You stay here last night?" Chris asked as he settled his bedroll along one side.
Vin was doing the same, so his words were a bit muffled. "Yep. Sand's a bitch to get out, but it's quiet and soft. Don't much like being boxed in, but I usually hear someone coming. Low to the ground, the sound carries 'round the walls."
Chris sat on his blanket, watching the other man. Vin's movements were efficient and quick. He'd been taking care of himself a long time.
"How old are you?" The question was out of his mouth before he realized it.
Vin flipped back the corner of the top blanket, then turned and settled on it, mirroring Chris' position. "Don't rightly know," he shrugged. "Stopped counting after my ma died. Hard ta keep track."
"When'd your ma die?" It was a personal question, and Chris covered the bluntness of it by reaching to tug off his boots, then unbuckling his gun belt, letting it fall easily onto the bedroll around him.
Vin didn't seem to mind though. "I's 'bout five, I think. 'Fore you ask, my pa was gone already - can't rightly remember the last time I saw him, but it was long before Ma died. Been on my own since, and doin' fine, thank ya very much."
The last words held a warning in them and Chris accepted it. Vin had said as much as he planned to say on the subject of his past, at least for now. Given the way the evening had started, Chris was surprised he'd gotten this much.
Five. Adam had been five. So small and innocent. What if it had been him and Sarah instead of her and Adam? Who would have taken care of his little boy, who would have helped him grow up, who would have kept up with his birthdays? Hank, maybe, or his own kin -
"Chris?"
He jerked, forcing himself back to the moment. It angered him suddenly, the thought that Adam might have been left alone, might never have known how old he was, how much his father had loved him.
"You all right?" Vin was leaning forward, his eyes worried even in the dim light. He had taken off his hat, placing it on the ground near his head - and near his gun.
"Ah, yeah," Chris answered. "Just tired, I guess." But it built, this anger. This frustration. It wasn't right that people could forget. That they could not care.
The other man sort of smiled, that little twist at the corners of his lips, and tugged at his own boots.
Chris watched him. He didn't want to think of Adam right now, Adam or Sarah. But for some reason, when he was around Vin or thinking of Vin, he couldn't not think of the two most important people in his life. Or the life he had lost. It was an association that was becoming unsettling.
Because there were other things associating themselves with Vin, things he usually associated with Lydia, the woman he visited in Wickestown. Right now, watching the frown of concentration on the shadowed features, the nimble fingers tugging at the worn leather of dusty boots, the long legs bent ungainly, the wisps of hair drifting lazily in the chilly air, he felt an association that definitely had more to do with Lydia.
Then those blue eyes - so blue that the color was discernible even in the soft bleaching light of the moon - were staring into his.
Like the first time their eyes had met, there was no need for words. Chris knew the question was in his own eyes, the desire strong but wrapped in shades of need he didn't want to separate or identify. Wrapped in the anger to punish himself for failing Sarah and Adam, for all those who had failed Vin.
He was more interested in what he saw in those other eyes. Surprise, first, a widening that made Vin look as young as he probably was. But it gave way to a sort of wariness, that made Chris wonder vaguely how much experience Vin had with what they were thinking about.
And in that wondering, he felt a jealousy that fed his own desire.
Vin must've seen something for the wariness turned to a sort of alarm and his hands came up defensively. But Chris was already moving, reaching across the expanse between them, his fingers closing on the buckskin jacket.
"Want you," he snarled, pulling Vin close.
Vin smelled of sweat, and dust, and gun smoke, acrid but erotic. Before he was aware of it, the smell translated to taste as Chris' tongue slid along the junction of Vin's throat and jaw.
Then taste turned to possession as his teeth closed over the tight flesh, claiming.
He felt a vibration, vaguely registered that Vin was moaning, then something exploded against his chest, knocking him back. He found himself on his knees, breathing hard, glaring into startled eyes that were glaring back into his.
Doubt cut through him - had he misjudged -
"Slow down," Vin rasped, and the glare softened. "I ain't going nowhere." He reached up, rubbing at the place Chris had bit.
Chris took a deep breath, getting some control. "Sorry," he murmured.
Vin did that little grin-thing again. "Don't say something ya don't mean." Then he reached out and caught Chris by the front of his shirt, pulling.
There was an instant of relief as Chris understood that the desire was shared, but as Vin tilted toward him, he angled away, going again for that seductively long throat. His body had its own instincts; he wasn't aware of the action, but he found his fingers lost in Vin's hair, the curls wiry and dense. They wrapped around his hands, the tangles catching and trapping the two men together, giving Chris unexpected control of the other man. When he slid his hand down, it pulled Vin's head as well, exposing even more of the taut skin of his neck, and there was only the urge to own.
He heard the hiss as he bit again, and he concentrated on being more gentle - but it was an effort. A sort of distraction came in the awareness of hands on him, one pressing against the back of his neck, the other clutching at his bicep, then soft words gasping in his ear.
"Easy, Chris, it don't have to hurt - " then another long hiss as, despite himself, Chris bit down hard again.
Those hands were pushing at him, forcing him back and away, but he countered, pulling at the hair trapped around his fingers, drawing Vin off-balance. "You ain't some shy filly, are ya?" he breathed. "Need me to be all gentle and sweet, woo you with - "
Then he was on his ass, Vin glaring down at him. "Do I look like a damned filly?" he snorted, his hands clenching and unclenching. "Hell no, I ain't no girl, but I don't think we need to be leaving signs for the rest of 'em - 'specially Buck - to know what we got up to tonight." He rolled onto his knees, then stiffly stood, towering over Chris. "This is a bad idea," he muttered, more to himself as he turned away, "stupid, stupid - "
"Hey, whoa," Chris finally got his mouth to work. Without thinking, he reached up and caught Vin's wrist, stopping the turn. "I didn't mean to hurt you - "
"You ain't never been bit?" Vin looked back, his glare vivid even in the dimness.
"That ain't what I meant," Chris said, realizing only as the words left his mouth that it was true. "I didn't mean to - " He hesitated then, not sure what he did mean to say.
Vin sighed. "Battle heat," he said succinctly, but he let himself be pulled back down, to sit on his bedroll. "Ain't nothing but an itch - "
"Maybe," Chris rose to kneel between his friend's legs, catching Vin's other wrist as well. "Whatever it is, I still want ya."
"Or somebody," Vin mumbled, but he didn't resist as Chris pulled him close again.
"You got a big bandana," Chris said as he leaned in to look at the other man's neck. "Should cover the bruises - "
"Don't want no more," Vin stated, but the words faded into another sigh as Chris tongued over the places he had hurt.
Something worried at Chris, something in Vin's attitude, or more likely, something in the way he himself was responding to it; but as Vin had said, it was just battle heat, the need for release, the need to affirm that they were still alive, the need to rid himself of the post-battle tension. Nothing more. Didn't mean nothing that it was Vin, and that he wanted it to be Vin, just as he had said.
Then he couldn't think at all as Vin groaned, a low vibration that jolted through Chris, straight to his cock.
Letting go of Vin, he used one hand to stroke himself, appreciating the way the rough cloth of his pants chaffed at his swelling flesh. Rough. That was how it was supposed to be between men, hard and fast and just on the border of pain -
Then he had his pants open, pulling his shaft free of confinement, his fingers naturally curling around it, teasing it. But he didn't want his hand on himself - he could've done that alone.
With effort, he reached out and caught Vin's hand where it still rested on the blanket, drawing it unresistingly to his groin. "Feel me," he whispered, "God, feel - "
Then Vin was doing just that. His touch was, at first, tentative, unsure, but before Chris had time to feel frustration, it changed; Vin was a man and he knew how to pleasure himself. It was that grip he used now, pulling almost perfectly, his work-calloused palm hard and deliberate against Chris' sensitive skin.
"God, yes," he whimpered, balancing himself against Vin's shoulders. He leaned farther down, resting his forehead against Vin's chest, gasping as he felt the touch of a second hand, slender fingers reaching into the opening of his pants to taunt his balls. "Christ, yes," he arched, trying to allow for access.
But instead of aiding, the new angle trapped Vin in the tight cloth, distracting him. His pace slowed, the motion erratic, and Chris felt the pending orgasm recede.
"Dammit," he swore, levering his balance back to his knees. He was breathing hard, tense.
"Shouldn't wear your clothes so damned tight," Vin muttered, managing to extricate himself finally.
It wasn't the words so much as the subtle criticism in the tone which gave spark to the anger. "Shouldn't put your hand where you mouth should be," he retorted. He didn't think at all as he caught the back of Vin's head with one hand, sliding back into the knotted strands of hair familiarly.
But Vin resisted, his back stiff and unyielding despite Chris' strength. "Might help if ya ask instead a taking," he snapped back. "I ain't no filly and I ain't gonna be ordered around like one."
The resistance was unexpected, and for a second, Chris warred between his temper and bewilderment. Then, with a smile, he said, "Thought you didn't want to play rough."
He saw the flash of surprise that swept across the other's sharp features, but he had already reversed his efforts, pulling instead of pushing, so that they fell hard across the bedroll. Vin bore the brunt, the breath knocked out of him as Chris landed on top of him, pinning him down.
Taking advantage of the momentary incapacity, Chris wormed a hand between them, working to open the buttons of the other man's pants. He was somewhat nonplussed not to find a full erection, and he thought that perhaps he had hurt Vin more than he intended. He was careful as he traced along the tumescence, relieved when it pulsed under his touch, inflating more. As Vin began to squirm, Chris pushed at the cloth of the thick jeans, drawing the rising cock to touch his own.
It jolted him, like finding a cold current in the middle of a summer-hot pond, startling in it intensity. It wasn't the first time he had shared this pleasure, but it was first time it had taken his breath, put him on the edge by just the connection.
"Chris!" Vin growled, as if sharing the feeling. Then his arms were wrapped around Chris' back, forcing him into a better position, and they were driving against each other with a bruising force.
Chris closed his hand around the two shafts, and the jolt from the first time became a constant current of ice and flame, so good that it hurt but not enough to stop. He was on the edge, so very close that he could see the abyss - but he couldn't fall to meet it. Something held him at the apex, tormenting him with exquisite agitation, but refusing his body's demand to release.
Then Vin shifted, his long legs spreading to wrap around Chris. The position allowed for just the slightest variance in contact - but it was enough. Knobby ankles raked against his thighs, pressing him closer, and he fell into the void of pure sensation.
Sometime later, when consciousness started trickling back into his brain, he found himself draped over a body breathing as heavily and desperately as his own, sharp bones and joints punishing his overly-aware skin.
Lethargy competed with the growing discomfort, but eventually, he was able to shift his weight enough to slide to one side. It was then that he was reminded of the mess these sorts of encounters produced; his hand was sticky with the product of their mutual achievement, and it was only with some effort that he was able to extricate himself from the puddles that were congealing on Vin's clothes and the small space of bare skin that was exposed.
Vin's own inhalations evened as Chris' weight moved off of him, and slowly, his body began to show signs of life. He took a deep breath, opening his eyes and glancing to Chris.
"That what you had in mind?" he said, but his voice was hoarse. Chris wondered if they had made noise - he didn't remember any, but he suspected that there were many things he didn't remember. He wondered if they would hear about it tomorrow.
"Chris?" Vin's voice wasn't any stronger but it was a little more urgent.
"Um, yeah," he stammered, finding his own voice uncooperative. "Did we - we weren't - was there noise?"
There was a soft chuckle, then Vin's arm rose, his hand casually moving toward Chris. "Nah, we didn't wake nobody. Even tho' did kinda feel like the stars moved or something."
Chris started to agree, but the fingers combing through his hair unsettled him. Instead, he forced himself up and away, feeling a sort of strange absence at the loss of the touch, even though it was also a relief.
It hurt, his body shaky with exhaustion, but be managed to make it to his knees. He put himself back together, buttoning his pants and righting his shirt before looking down to his companion.
The blue eyes were staring up at him, watching. He saw something in them, something that he didn't understand even though, for a second, he thought it looked a little like betrayal. But before it seated in his mind, Vin looked away.
Then rolled away, onto his side. He didn't get up, just turning his back to Chris, pulling his buckskin coat around himself tightly. It occurred to Chris that he had never had an orgasm where he and his partner were still wearing so many clothes - not even when he and Sarah had fooled around during Adam's brief afternoon naps.
Trying to lighten the mood, he said softly, "Got a mess there. Maybe you should use that bandana to clean yourself - "
"I know how to take care of myself," came the flat reply.
Chris swallowed, the disquiet back. He felt the edge of anger, but it was duller now, muted by his satiation. He got to his feet, stepping over Vin's legs to walk the few steps to his own bedroll. He dropped onto it, wincing as his knees hit; the ground was softer, but it was still ground. He thought about wiping the sand from his socks, but decided he was too tired. So he settled in between the blankets, using his folded duster as a pillow.
The moon was directly overhead, the light brighter now than it had been when they were talking to Buck. Curiously, he looked to his side, toward Vin, wondering if he was asleep. Wondering if he could still see the color of his eyes.
He could. They stared at him from the shadows of the other man's face, wide and bright and strangely old.
He didn't know where the words came from, but he heard them even as he spoke, his voice a bare whisper. "Yeah, the stars did move, didn't they."
Vin blinked, then closed his eyes.+ + + + + + +
The sun wasn't up yet when he awoke, but Vin was gone. Chris rose with a curse, his body achy but not pained. Getting the sand out of the bedroll was, indeed, impossible, and after shaking it so much that he was sweating in the chill air, he folded it up, put on his guns and boots, and headed into the village. It occurred to him that he had forgotten to get someone to spell Buck, but as he neared their adobe hut, he heard a very familiar snore.
He came around to the front of the building, surprised but not to see Vin saddling his horse. His mouth felt suddenly dry when he saw the other man packed up, hat on and pulled low on his head, but before Chris could find any thoughts, the younger man said quietly, "Thought I'd ride along the ridge line fer a spell, see if there's any sign of 'em doublin' back." He pulled the girth tight, smacked the gelding in the ribs, then tightened the strap some more as the horse expelled the air it had been holding.
"Want company?" Chris asked, finding that he had been holding his breath - then finding that he was doing it again.
Vin shrugged, still concentrating on his tack. "Ain't plannin' to leave 'less ya want me to."
Chris stared at him, frowning - hadn't they had this conversation last night? "Don't want ya to. Just wanna watch your back." He waited, feeling tense, anticipating but not sure what he was worried about.
Then Vin nodded, once, as if satisfied, and his hands dropped from the saddle. Grabbing up the horse's reins, he finally looked at Chris, his gaze direct. "'Siah's up and got coffee on. I'll git ya some while ya saddle up."
Chris grinned, feeling a little light-headed suddenly. He canted his head to one side, using his chin to point towards the ridge above them.
Vin answered, the barest hint of a frown turning his eyes. "Ezra, according to Nate. He said he and Ezra got up 'bout the same time, and Ezra said someone probably needed to spell me. Damned nice of him ta think on it," he added dryly.
"Yeah," Chris agreed, picking a path toward the hut's door. "Don't like it when he gets charitable. He ain't the type."
Vin snorted his agreement, tying the reins to the corral fence. By the time Chris got back out, carrying his saddle and rig, the tracker was down talking to Josiah.
He culled Pony from the other five horses, the big gelding coming easily, nickering at the sight of the saddle blanket. His horse was ready for a romp as well.
"Going somewhere?" a sleepy voice called from the hut, and he looked over to see Buck yawning in the window opening, stretching and scratching his head at the same time.
"Vin and I are gonna ride along the ridge, see what we see," he answered, wincing as he noticed all the sand. He took the blanket back off his horse and stepped away, shaking it some more. Pony would never forgive him for grit under the saddle.
When he eventually moved back to reset the blanket, Buck was leaning in the window, watching. "Want company?" he asked casually.
Chris felt his spine knot, but he kept his tone even. "You ain't taking him in."
Buck laughed, but it didn't hold very much amusement. "No, don't reckon I am. But if ya want me to make nice to him, would help if I got to know him. And that ain't gonna happen with just the two of us together, you gotta see that already."
Chris sighed. "You didn't give him a chance before you decided," he chided, knowing that he shouldn't but unable to stop himself.
This time there was some lightness in the laughter. "Guess I been hanging 'round with you too much, Big Dog. Your judgmental habits must be rubbing off."
Chris grinned himself. It was hard to be angry with Buck, they knew each other too well. "Difference is, I tend to be right," he shot back as he hefted his saddle and centered it on Pony's back. "If you're comin', better get to it. Gonna be dawn soon and I wanna know what's going on."
Vin was back with coffee for Chris by the time Buck was ready. As Chris had expected, the younger man was watchful, staying back and away from Buck. Chris could tell that Buck was both amused and annoyed by the reticence.
"You find a river 'round here to fall in?" the big man asked, as he finally mounted up.
Vin frowned from his own place in the saddle, blinking as he looked from Buck to Chris and back.
"Your shirt," Buck explained, pointing. "Looks like you fell in a river - part of it's damp and clean and part of it looks like ya been living in it for the past month."
Chris almost choked on the coffee he was swallowing as comprehension came, but other than the faintest blush, Vin answered calmly, "Used it ta dry my face this morning. Didn't have a drying rag at the well."
Buck nodded his acceptance of the explanation. Falling in on Chris' right, he said, "Think JD's up - not moving too good, but up."
Vin fell in on Chris' left. "Heard 'im puking," he stated, tugging at his bandana.
Chris grinned as the dawn broke on the horizon. "Chili," he said. "Perfect day for chili. That'll learn the boy."---fin---