MAIN CHARACTERS: Chris/Vin

WARNINGS/Comments: Graphic description of male-male sex.

Author's Note: Patricia: This is all Erica Michael's fault. We both agreed to trade Vin-gets-lost-in-the-snow stories, but it's taken me a little longer to get this finished than I had hoped. In fact, this was the very first Mag7 story I started. Sorry for the wait, Erica! I owed you this one! And thank you for your inspiration, comments, and support. Thanks, too, to my sister, Michelle Fortado. Lorin: And thank you to Patricia for letting me edit and slash her baby! The original gen version of this story first appeared in Let's Ride #5. And the slash version of this story first appeared in the Mag 7 zine, Seven Card Stud #10, both published by Neon RainBow Press, Cinda Gillilan and Jody Norman, editors. When we all decided to post the stories that have appeared in the issues of Seven Card Stud that are more than two years old, we opted to use a generic pen name because, while Patricia Grace and Lorin Zane are the primary authors of this story, they had so much help from the other folks writing for the press that it just made sense to consider the story to be written by the Neon RainBow Press Collective! Resistance was futile. So, thanks to the whole Neon Gang - Dori Adams, Sierra Chaves, Dana Ely, Michelle Fortado, Patricia Grace, Dani Martin, Erica Michaels, Nina Talbot, Kasey Tucker, Rebecca Wright, and Lorin and Mary Fallon Zane. Story lasted edited 6-4-2008. Art by Shiloh (shigal13@excite.com)

Chris and Ezra were pinned down, a sniper well-positioned and waiting for them to line up so he could take them both out with one shot...

He could see Standish was bleeding... Buck, Josiah, and JD were moving in, taking fire from some other unseen shooter... and he kept trying to find a shot, a way to stop the snipers before it was too late, but there was no opening...

And he wasn't going to find one in time, either.

But then he was... someplace else...

Someplace familiar...

Someplace frightening...

Gunfire echoed around him, shattered occasionally by a scream from the wounded. It was ugly, terrifying.

His hands were shaking as he peered through his scope, trying to find the hidden sniper who had his unit pinned down, but he couldn't see him. Johnson, his spotter, crouching next to him, screamed.

He couldn't help it, he looked. The man's chest had been blown wide open, dark eyes still open, staring at him, begging him to change what had just happened, but he couldn't change it. He couldn't change a damn thing.

"Damn it," he hissed, eyes stinging as he tried desperately to find the sniper as another member of his unit went down.

But as he looked around at the men he had called his brothers, it wasn't his Ranger unit, it was Chris and Ezra... Josiah and Nathan... Buck and JD...

"No!" he cried, his blood singing for revenge. But the enemy snipers remained invisible, and the ghosts of the dead men lying near him were starting to close in, determined to take him down with them...

But, before they could reach him, he bolted, running as hard and as fast as he could into the open, hoping the enemy snipers would kill him, too...

But then he was... someplace else...

Someplace familiar...

Someplace frightening...

His foster father, his belt in hand, was coming toward him. The man's huge hand flew out, striking him, knocking him to the floor. Then the big man was wading in amongst the other children, but they weren't his foster brother and sisters, they were his friends, but now they were just boys, just like he was - small and helpless when faced with the size and strength of the big man.

The belt came down with a crack as it was stopped by Chris' back. The blond boy screamed in pain.

The belt came down again, harder this time.

"No!" he screamed at the man, lunging up off the floor and launching himself at him, determined to stop him before he killed Chris. But he was caught, held away like he was no more than a pup. Then, shaken and thrown back onto the floor. The belt landed across his naked ass. He screamed...

His foster father leered down at him. He reached down to cup himself through the fabric of his pants, and Vin knew one of them would be violated tonight...

But then he was... someplace else...

Someplace familiar...

Someplace frightening...

The ranch. He was out at the ranch, with Chris. The handsome blond was working out in front of the barn, his shirt off due to the heat of the day. Vin felt his mouth go dry as he stared at the man. He stared at the way his muscles moved under his skin... The way the sweat was trickling down his back, into the crack of his—

"Oh, shit," he moaned softly to himself, feeling his cock beginning to swell.

And then Chris was in his face, calling him ugly names, asking him if he thought he was ever going to fuck him...

He pleaded for understanding, but Larabee was livid. He punched him in the face, knocking him down, stomping on him, like his foster father...

Then, Chris pulled his gun, pointed it at him, morphing into the enemy sniper just before he pulled the trigger...

But he was... someplace else...

Someplace familiar...

Someplace frightening...

Back at the unfinished business park, and he was pulling the trigger, but his bullet didn't hit the man threatening his team, it hit Chris Larabee...

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

16 December 1999
Thursday

Vin yelped and bolted upright in his bed. Gasping for breath, he sat, shaking. Sweat ran into his eyes, making them sting, or maybe it was the tears that threatened.

Using the sheet, he wiped his face, silently cursing himself. He had known this was going to happen, had seen it coming, and he hadn't done a damn thing to stop it.

He sighed heavily. How the hell had he let Larabee talk him into this in the first place? But he knew how. He'd taken one look at the man and he'd... He'd what?

Lost his soul in those damn green eyes? Yeah, probably. Lost his sanity? Oh, yeah, definitely.

But why had he agreed to join another team? At least in the Federal Marshal's office he'd worked alone, but now... Hell, now he was right back in the same situation he'd been in during his Army hitch - a team member, a sharpshooter for another group of men who depended on him to watch their backs.

And there had been some close calls, just like he'd had with his Ranger unit. But this was different, too. At least in the Army he hadn't been working with someone who...

Made him hard every time he let himself stop and think about him.

No. He was not going down that road.

An explosive sigh burst past his lips. He knew it didn't help that Christmas was getting closer. Everyone seemed so damned happy about it, and they were all trying so hard to make it fun for him, too. But this wasn't a fun time of year for him, and watching them try to make it so just left him feeling more and more edgy.

And they were starting to notice.

He had to get his shit together, and in a hurry. He'd already seen the way Larabee was starting to watch him, with that, What are you thinking, Vin? question in his eyes. But there was no way in hell he was ever going to tell the man.

No way, no how.

But sooner or later, if he didn't get his shit together, Larabee was going to ask him that question, or one just like it: What's bothering you, Vin? Something on your mind, Tanner?

He was already dreading the meeting he had with the man later today. What was Chris going to say? Or, worse still, what questions was he going to ask?

Vin knew he couldn't explain his recent mood, not without breaking out some memories and some feelings he'd promised himself he would never revisit.

But they kept coming back in his dreams, forcing him to remember, and to feel them one more time.

And that was something he just wouldn't allow to happen. He wouldn't. Couldn't.

Team Seven was his family, and he wasn't going to do anything, feel anything that might endanger that.

He flopped back on the bed with a huff and shook his head. He had to stop thinking about Larabee - had to. He had to get his attraction to Larabee under control. Right damn now, before his secret slipped out, before he ruined the best friendship he'd ever had. Before he did something he'd sworn he'd never do.

He wasn't gay. He wasn't sure what the hell he was, but he wasn't gay. He wouldn't let that be the case. Chris was his best friend, a brother, and that was all he was ever going to be, period, end of freakin' story.

But he still didn't know how to stop the dreams.

And, if he was completely honest with himself, he was glad he didn't know how to control them. They were his only escape, his only outlet, but lately they had gotten all twisted around. Now they were riddled with violence, with old fears, old horrors. They weren't safe anymore, and that meant that the one distraction he'd had was gone, and he honestly didn't know if he could survive without it.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

18 December 1999
Saturday, 1:15 p.m.

Vin Tanner rode along a ridge above Eldorado Canyon. The former bounty hunter turned U.S. Marshal turned ATF agent looked out over the rolling pine-covered mountains, broken occasionally by rock, stands of naked aspen and poplars, and an occasional patch of snow, and nodded. It was rugged land, but startlingly beautiful, and it felt good to be back in the mountains again, to be alone again.

With only a week to go before Christmas, the air was crisp and cold, the pervasive scent of pine mixing with the smell of leather and sweaty horse.

He smiled. Maybe his friends had come up with a good idea after all.

Glancing down at the experimental digital compass/homing beacon hanging from around his neck, he grinned. Even though no one had said anything about it, his friends were all still worried about the injuries he had sustained just before Thanksgiving. The device was their way of keeping an eye on him while still being able to call it a "field test" of something they might one day use in their work.

Well, he couldn't really hold their concern against them, now could he? But it was taking some getting used to. He hadn't had anyone care about him like that since his grandfather was alive, and now he had six anyones. It was a little mind-boggling at times.

Now, if he could just keep his feelings about Chris limited to friendship and brotherhood, he'd be okay, but that was proving to be a lot harder than he'd expected.

Checking his watch, Vin estimated that he'd reach the small cabin outside of Nederland in less than an hour. He patted the neck of the mixed-breed gelding he rode, pleased with the animal's performance. Not for the first time he wished he was riding Peso, but the big black gelding was still recovering from a knee strain and the rough terrain would have been too much for him right now. The smaller, trail-smart buckskin was willing, quick, and sure-footed, so he'd made good time. But then again, he wasn't fighting bootleggers, gun-runners, or fugitives along the way, either. In fact, there was nothing at all to distract him except the simple beauty of the landscape, and that was more than enough for the weary man.

He needed the time away from the city, away from the other men, and most especially away from Chris for a while.

He wasn't actually that far from Denver - something he had insisted upon when Larabee demanded he take a short "vacation." No matter what he was dealing with, he wanted to get back in time to help finish the Christmas preparations, not to mention do his own shopping. He might not enjoy the season, but he'd be damned if he wasn't going to hold up his end of the festivities.

Thoughts about the upcoming holiday made his skin tingle. Christmas... He was going to have a real Christmas for the first time in years and years and years, and he wasn't quite sure how to feel about it, or how to act. All of his friends, even Chris, who had every reason to ignore the holiday, had thrown themselves into the preparations.

And he knew at least one reason for their enthusiasm - he had let it slip that he hadn't had a real Christmas since he was ten - so long ago... more than a lifetime, really.

Vin thought about the six men and what they would probably be doing, and urged his mount down the trail and over another section of rough shale. Behind him, he could hear the angry calls of a mockingbird, his activity disturbed by horse and rider passing.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Tanner muttered to the bird. "We're goin' as fast as we can."

Sunlight filtering through the pines caught his attention and he pulled the gelding to a stop, staring at the sight, reveling in the sheer beauty of it. Then the guilt began to nag at him again.

Why, if he enjoyed working with, and being with, his friends so much, did he also long for moments like this? Why did he still need to get away from them and spend time alone? It just didn't seem right. If he cared that much, then he shouldn't mind being around them, shouldn't need to escape. Should he?

Damned if he knew.

The members of Team Seven had become so much a part of his life over the past twenty-four months it was hard for him to believe he'd been alone two years ago. And they had all seeped into his soul somehow. It had been slow at first, his defenses still securely in place, but the eventual outcome had been inevitable. Inch by inch, day by day, they had each found their places within his heart until, finally, he had realized it was too late - he had allowed himself to care.

They were his friends now, his family. And no one had gotten under his skin quite like Chris Larabee, his boss and his best friend.

Ever since he met the blond, it had felt like he had discovered some missing part of himself. His friendship with Larabee completed him in ways he'd never experienced before, and never expected to again. Some missing part of his soul had been returned to him the first time he'd caught and held Chris Larabee's eyes. He didn't understand it, and he'd stopped trying to reason it out, just accepting it as a fact. It was the most important fact in his life, the one that framed everything else he did and thought and said.

And it had only taken about six months before he'd started having dreams... impossible, stupid dreams, but, God, how he looked forward to them, to being able to be with Chris, even if it was just in his mind every few nights.

It had been hard, at first, wanting Chris like he did and knowing that he'd never have him. But it had gotten easier over time. Their closeness made it more tolerable. In fact, he had gotten so he could basically turn off his attraction around Larabee, he just couldn't keep it turned off.

And, at this moment, riding through the mountains, alone, it felt as if he were a hundred years and miles away from the crazy turns his life had taken since he met Chris Larabee. It was easier here to imagine that his attraction was just a dream, that he didn't actually feel those things himself, but he knew he did, right down into the centers of his bones.

Even now they were lurking at the edges of his awareness, tantalizing thoughts and images that threatened to send his libido spiraling out of control. And he knew, without a doubt, that he would spend some part of his evening, thinking about what it would be like if he could be with Chris, love him, be loved by him...

His cock twitched in response and he abruptly turned the thoughts off, calling up the simple phonic chant of centering his grandfather had taught him when he lived with the old man on the Kiowa reservation, forcing the gnawing need back into the cluttered corners of his mind.

He concentrated on his objective - the summit of the jagged ridge he was riding along. When he reached the top, Vin decided, he would sit and spend some time not thinking. He would clear his mind and, hopefully, lay some ghosts to rest - once and for all, if he had anything to say about it.

He remembered his grandfather standing on the summit of a different mountain far away from this one, a seven-year-old Vin beside him.

"Mountains are wise teachers, boy," the old man had told him. "If we're wise enough t' listen an' t' learn. Y' listen, boy, 'n' learn. Only way y'll survive in this world."

Vin wondered if this mountain had a lesson it might share with him, and hoped it was one of acceptance, of family and friends, and finding his place among them. Of making peace with a love that could never be spoken of out loud.

He inhaled a deep breath, savoring the clean air, the peace. Then another pang of guilt crept back into his thoughts. He really should be back in Denver. He still had Christmas shopping to finish, and there were all the activities the others had planned - decorating at Larabee's ranch, and at Nettie's house, picking out a tree for the ranch and dressing it up, wrapping the gifts for the women and kids up at the Longmont shelter where Rain worked... And here he was, enjoying himself, alone, out in the middle of nowhere, getting nothing done.

But God, he was glad to be away, even for just a short while. Sometimes it felt like he was going to just explode inside, like all the things he was feeling just kept building up until he couldn't contain them anymore. Even when he had turned off his attraction he could still feel it, moving inside of him, growing...

And he really didn't want to spoil the holiday for the others, not in any way. And he especially didn't want to ruin things for Chris. If his feeling slipped out... He'd lose his place on the team, lose his... family, his home.

Vin hadn't felt like he had a home since his grandfather's death, but now he had one. And he could lose it... or worse, he could end up being the cause of his own loss.

All his life, Vin Tanner had been more or less alone. His grandfather had died when he was almost eleven, just like his mother had when he was only five - unexpectedly - and Vin had been handed over to the foster care system, and his life had quickly become nothing less than a living nightmare of epic proportions.

School had been his only escape, and he had done his best, but without the support his grandfather had given him, his grades suffered and he fell further and further behind his classmates. Desperate, he had finally run away when he was fifteen, but life on the streets in Purgatory had almost been as bad as life in his foster home - almost.

But then he'd met Tom Redbear, a Comanche bounty hunter, and he'd found he had family again. Tom had forced him back into school and ridden his ass, making sure the teenager did his homework and stayed out of trouble until graduation. He'd also taught the young man a trade - bounty hunting.

An unfortunate run-in with the law while on a hunt had landed Vin in front of a juvenile court judge. It was just a few weeks shy of Tanner's eighteenth birthday and the no-nonsense ex-Marine, Judge Harold Oxford, had offered the teen a choice - County Jail or the military. Tom had been an Army Ranger during Vietnam, so Vin had jumped at the chance to make his mentor proud and picked the military.

In basic training, Vin had endured the hazing and pain dished out by his drill instructors without complaint or visible anger. The harder they tried to break him, the stronger his resolve grew to not be touched by their words or their actions.

The DIs had quickly gained a grudging respect for the young man's resolve, control, and strength - both mental and physical, so when he finished bootcamp, they had recommended him for additional training, and by the time it was all over, he had been an Airborne Army Ranger and a budding sniper.

Vin smiled to himself. The Army had been the greatest positive challenge he'd ever faced, and he'd conquered it, thrived. And along the way he'd learned more about himself than he wanted to face.

Vin had never expected to be popular with the other men in his unit, he'd just wanted to keep them alive and accomplish the missions they were given. But it wasn't long before the majority of his squad saw through the quiet exterior to the man beneath. And they had learned a trick that the members of Team Seven had mastered as well - no matter how neutral Tanner's expression might be, he couldn't hide the truth in his eyes, not when it really counted.

In the Army, Vin had felt like he was a part of something bigger than himself, something worth dying for. But Army life, with its endless rules and regulations, didn't really suit him, so he'd left the service after his four-year hitch was up, returning to bounty hunting.

With Redbear and other mentors, Tanner had honed his skills and quickly gained the respect of the other hunters he crossed paths with. Just before he died, Tom had introduced Vin to an old friend of his, Jack Terrier, U.S. Marshal.

Vin had let himself be talked into joining the service, mostly because he knew Tom was dying, and that was what the man wanted for him. The older bounty hunter wanted him to have the safety net the government provided, and bounty hunting didn't, but Tanner had quickly become restless, as if sensing that something else was waiting for him.

It was that feeling which had prompted him to take the small steps that had eventually brought him closer to the men he now called his family. He'd completed more sniper training and started looking for openings in other agencies. And that had landed him in Larabee's office as Chris was pulling together what would become Team Seven.

The first time Vin looked Chris in the eye, he'd known he belonged at Larabee's side. He wasn't sure why, wasn't even sure it was a good idea, but he'd known he couldn't say no if Larabee offered him the job, which he did.

As Vin had gotten to know the other men on the team, he had known there was no going back. He had finally found someplace where he truly belonged.

Buck Wilmington, an old friend of Larabee's, had taken to him almost immediately. For the longest time there was something in Buck's eyes that had disconcerted Vin, but then he'd realized that it was gratitude. The ladies' man was grateful that Vin had somehow put the spark back in Chris' eyes; had given Chris back something he had lost when his wife and son were killed. Vin still wasn't sure how or why that had happened, but he was glad it had, and so was Buck.

Josiah reminded Vin of Tom, and their friendship had become deep, with paternal overtones Vin had so dearly missed after the Comanche died.

Nathan had been easy-going and open, making it easy to build a rapport with the man. Good thing, too, since as the team's medic, Vin had had to rely on the man's talents more than once already. But he was like an older brother, someone who looked out for him. And JD was everybody's little brother.

Ezra had been an enigma at first, but as soon as Vin had realized that they were both hiding things from their pasts, it was easier to take the man's dictionary speech and fancy clothes in stride. It was all a cover, and the few times Vin had met the man's gaze, letting Standish know he saw right through it, had been enough to cement their friendship.

Six men, strangers at first, then friends, had quickly grown into the brothers they were now. Vin smiled. A band of brothers, yep that was what they truly were to one another. Well, all of them except Chris. Chris was more than a brother, but that was his secret - one he vowed he would take to his grave with him.

Still, given their bond, it really shouldn't have come as a surprise to him when Chris noticed his growing discomfort. Larabee had even bluntly asked if Tanner was getting bored with the job, or the company.

"No, course not!" he'd replied indignantly.

"Then what is it?"

Vin had turned away, pacing across Larabee's office. He didn't want to talk about it, but the more he tried to avoid it, the more Chris was going to push him until he surrendered and gave him what he wanted, and that was impossible.

"Vin," Chris had chided. "What is it?"

Damn, damn, damn, Tanner had thought. But it was no use. He had to come up with something plausible, divert Chris before he got too close to the truth, or he slipped and gave it away. "It's just... Ah, hell, Chris, I could just use some time t' clear m' head, is all. What with the holidays gettin' close, it just feels so damn... crowded."

"That's it?" Larabee had asked suspiciously.

"Ain't that enough?" he'd snapped back, desperate.

"You mean to tell me you've been acting like a damn wolf in a cage because you need some time alone?"

Vin had stiffened. "Don't need it," he'd snapped. "I-"

"Why don't you just take a few days off? You've got the time."

Tanner's blue eyes had narrowed. "We're workin' a case, Larabee, an' I'm responsible for coverin' yer sorry ass - them, too. If y' think-"

"Oh, come on, Vin, I'm not suggesting a six-month sabbatical, just a day or two someplace close by. There hasn't been any activity in over a week, and it's almost Christmas. Our guy's probably closed up shop until after the first of the year."

Vin had argued the same points in his own mind, but his responsibilities were far too great for him to just pack up and take off for a few days. Not when they might end up going after a gun-runner with at least two former Marine snipers on his payroll. If something were to happen to one of the team because he wasn't there.... "No."

"I have a friend who has a cabin up near Nederland—"

"Chris, I know y' mean well, but—"

"Look, I'll make it an order if you want me to. I am your boss, right? So, I'm ordering you to take a couple of days off. It'll improve your disposition, clear your head."

"What the hell's wrong with m' disposition?" Vin had demanded, his voice rising.

Chris had fought back a grin when Buck asked, "You want a list, or just the highlights?"

Tanner had turned to glare at Wilmington as he strolled in to join the pair in the office.

Chris had flashed Buck a covert thumbs-up.

"There's nothin' wrong—"

"Vin, you've been acting like a damned bear with his paw caught in a trap the last few days. You thought about takin' a few days off?" Buck had asked the sniper.

Vin's hand had risen and fallen with a wave of frustration as he glowered at the two men. "It's a damned conspiracy, that's what it is."

"Think of it this way," had come Josiah's voice from the doorway, "we're not doing it for you, we're doing it to give ourselves a vacation from all that Tanner brouhaha."

"Brew-what?" Vin had snapped.

"That right, Junior," Buck had said. "That's it exactly."

Vin had sighed and rolled his eyes. Why couldn't they just speak English?

Later that same day, when Ezra, JD, and Nathan had all told him more or less the same thing, Vin knew it was a conspiracy. He also knew he was going to lose the battle. They had decided he needed a vacation, and they were determined to see he got one - whether or not he agreed with them. And he did agree with them, he just didn't want to admit it. Seeing the concern in Chris' eyes was almost his undoing. He had to get away from the man for a while.

So, he'd agreed to go, with a few conditions.

"Conditions? Like what?" Larabee had asked suspiciously.

"I decide where I'm goin'."

"What else?" the blond had asked him.

"'M only goin' for forty-eight hours."

"Sounds like you've got someplace in mind," Nathan had said. "What's it going to be?"

"Short trip up Eldorado Canyon," Vin had said succinctly, shooting Larabee a look.

The blond had smiled, obviously glad Vin was going to take him up on his offer of a cabin. Damn the man anyway.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

17 December 1999
Friday, 6:25 p.m.

"Here you go, Vin," JD said, holding up a small black box about the size of a cell phone. It was dangling from a nylon cord. "This is experimental, so be careful with it, okay? It's a GPS-based tracking device so we can keep an eye on your progress. You just wear it around your neck. It also has a built-in digital and lensatic compass so you won't get lost."

"I won't get lost," Vin said confidently.

"Humor us, Junior," Buck said, patting Tanner's shoulder.

"Besides, it's all part of that stuff we're supposed to play with and then send back with completed surveys," Chris told the sharpshooter.

JD continued, ignoring the interruption. "This..." He held up a second small instrument that was slightly larger than a cell phone. "...is a high-powered radio you can use to reach us - in case there's trouble."

Vin nodded. "Trouble" was a two-way proposition as far as he was concerned. "Just be sure you give me a call if there's any movement on the Gomez case."

JD nodded that he would.

Taking the two devices, Vin slipped the tracking beacon around his neck with a sigh, then tucked the radio into his backpack.

"Be careful, y'hear?" Nathan said. Heading into the mountains in late December sounded like anything but a vacation to him. Still, the weather reports were calling for clear skies over the next few days. Vin should be fine, and the rest of them would have the time they needed to get his presents wrapped and put under the tree at Chris' ranch without any worries about getting caught.

"And you'll be back by Christmas," Buck said. It wasn't a question. This would be their first Christmas spent together as a team and the ladies' man was determined that they were all going to spend it together, mostly for Chris' sake. This was the first year since Sarah and Adam died that Larabee had actually been willing to celebrate the holiday.

Tanner nodded, understanding the ladies' man's feelings. "I'll only be gone two days."

"Where, exactly, are you planning to go, Mr. Tanner?" Ezra asked him. "It is winter out there, you do realize that, correct?"

Vin smiled at the well-dressed man. "Chris is gonna drop me off in Rollinsville tomorrow morning. I arranged with I guy I know up there to have a horse waitin' for me." He walked over to Larabee's picture window and pointed to one of the mountains that they could see in the near distance. "Gonna take a ride up the ridge of Eldorado Canyon and head over t' Nederland. I'll spend the night there, an' ride back t' Rollinsville where y'all c'n pick me up. I'm thinkin' it'll be 'bout thirty-four hours, round trip, so I'll be back by dinnertime on Sunday."

"I see," Standish said, satisfied. Leave it to Tanner to make it back in time to eat. The man was the proverbial bottomless pit.

"Hey, Vin?"

"Yeah, JD?"

"Think you could bring back some pinecones for us to tie on the Christmas tree?" he asked almost shyly. "My mom and I used to do that and it makes the tree look really nice."

Tanner smiled. "Sure. Go grab me one of them plastic bags they use to line the trash cans so I have someplace t' put 'em."

Chris watched as Vin attached the sheath for the knife he carried on these kinds of outings to his belt, then the holster for his Glock. With that done, Tanner checked and readied the weapons as well. He shook his head. Well, Tanner was a federal agent, and a former bounty hunter. It was probably better if he went armed, just in case. After Christmas, when they finally ran Gomez to ground, he would see to it that they all got some much-needed vacation time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

18 December 1999
Saturday, 3:25 p.m.

Vin shifted his weight to aid the sturdy gelding as he maneuvered sure-footedly down a section of loose shale. It felt good to feel the horse moving under him. As a boy, he'd often wished he'd been born a hundred or more years earlier. Living in the Old West would have been really something, especially if he'd had friends like he did now to watch his back.

That thought gave him an idea for a gift he still needed to buy, and he grinned.

A sudden, sharp pain exploded inside Tanner's skull just before he heard the crack of a rifle. Knocked from the buckskin's back, Vin found himself sliding down the shale embankment.

Trying desperately to stop his fall, he locked his knees and dug the heels of his cowboy boots into the loose rocks. One heel caught, but it wasn't enough, and he continued forward, painfully wrenching his ankle in the process. He picked up speed, rolling farther down the slope.

A few moments later, Vin was lying on his back, waiting for the world to stop tumbling as he forced air back into his burning lungs. A second rifle shot rang out, the bullet sending shards of rock flying. Covering his face to protect his eyes from possible splinters, he rolled awkwardly away. A sharp stab of pain in his calf preceded the third crack of the rifle.

Vin ground his jaws together and scrambled as fast as his already-swelling ankle and numbed leg would permit, aiming for the cover of some evergreens growing nearby. The drop-off, obscured in the shadows of the tall trees, caught him completely by surprise. He tumbled into space, arms flailing.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Back at Larabee's ranch

"Chris!" JD yelled, bolting up out of his chair and racing to the doorway of the living room.

The blond looked up from where he had been trying to untangle a strand of Christmas tree lights with Buck's help.

"What's up, JD?" Wilmington asked, grinning at Larabee, who was draped with several feet of colored lights.

"It's Vin's tracking light," Dunne stated.

"What about it?" Chris snapped, a cold knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He'd been worrying about Tanner for almost an hour, but he'd dismissed the feeling as foolish.

"His signal just died."

Larabee felt his stomach clench into a tight fist. He shrugged the lights off and stood, following JD back to the laptop computer that was set up on the dining room table. Buck was on his heels.

The other men had headed out after Chris and Vin left for Rollinsville that morning. They were picking up food and presents, which had left Dunne in charge of monitoring Vin's progress over the course of the day while Chris and Buck carted down the decorations from the attic and got started on that.

When Chris had returned from dropping Vin off, he had a beautiful, full, eight-foot blue spruce for them to decorate.

Checking on the blinking cursor as it slowly progressed along the topographical curves outlined on the screen had helped JD pass the time while he supervised Chris and Buck as they started in on the tree. After hearing some of the conversation passing between the two men, he'd headed into the dining room and, bringing up a second screen, entered his gaming group and picked up where he'd left off while he kept an eye on Vin's progress. That had been about an hour ago.

Larabee checked the glowing computer screen. The flashing blip was definitely absent.

"What now?" Buck asked, the serious tone of his voice telling the two other men how worried he was.

"Hey, what's up?" Nathan asked, walking in with Josiah and Ezra. "Vin leaping mountain peaks with a single bound?"

"We've lost his signal," JD said worriedly.

The medic frowned. "What?" The three men joined their friends as JD typed out a series of commands.

A few minutes later Dunne looked up, concern shining in his hazel eyes. "Nothing. There's absolutely nothing wrong with the computer, or the program. The transmitter's failed for some reason."

"He has the radio," Josiah commented to no one in particular.

"So why doesn't he use it?" Buck asked him.

"Maybe he doesn't know he's not transmitting," Nathan offered. "Could there be something wrong with the device?" he asked JD.

"I suppose elephants might've trampled it, but I doubt it. I checked all that stuff over real close before he left, and they were supposed to check it before they gave it to us to test."

"But it is an experimental device, is it not?" Ezra said. "This could easily be another fine example of the lowest bid at work, or not, as the case may be."

"If there was trouble, he'd call," Josiah said.

"Unless the radio isn't working either," Buck added.

"Find out," Larabee stated.

JD nodded and opened an equipment box sitting next to his chair. Pulling out a matching radio, he opened it and keyed the mike. "Vin, do you copy?"

The silence that filled the room left each of the men feeling anxious.

"Can you call up the topographical map and show me exactly where his last transmission came from?" Chris asked.

JD nodded and hunched over the keyboard. Less than a minute later, the screen shifted, showing a section of a three-minute map with a stationary blinking cursor marking Vin's last known position.

"He made good time," Buck commented when he saw how far Tanner had gotten.

"That's pretty rugged terrain. Lot of things could happen out there. He's what, about an hour from Nederland?" Nathan asked the others.

Buck nodded. "What are you thinking, Chris?"

Larabee paused, but couldn't bring himself to voice his worst fears. He shrugged and huffed out a sigh.

"Do you believe Mr. Tanner has met with an accident?" Ezra asked the man.

"Maybe."

"I don't think we're dealing with equipment failure," JD said, his gaze meeting and holding Chris'. "Not unless it got damaged somehow."

Chris knew he had to find out, and as quickly as possible. He had a terrible feeling he might have lost the one thing that had made life worth living again.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

It was almost dark when Vin finally awoke. His head and leg throbbed in painful harmony, his chest burned, and a general ache everywhere else made his return to consciousness about as unpleasant as it could get. Checking the position of the sun, he estimated that he'd been unconscious for an hour or so.

Too long.

Somewhere in the back of his mind the eight steps of survival began to echo, sounding just like Sergeant Sampson when he had drilled them into him during his Ranger training.

Step One: size up the situation. Piss poor, Vin concluded.

He wanted to survey the area for whoever had shot him, but the second step of survival interrupted: undue haste is unhealthy. The immediacy of his injuries made a search impossible, so he inventoried.

Ankle: wrenched, but not broken. The cowboy boots he was wearing had held the swelling in check so he left it alone.

The wound in his upper calf had dumped what looked like a lot of blood onto the ground, and he moved slowly, away from the pooled liquid, which he covered with a few handfuls of loose dirt and some pine needles, spreading the debris out evenly to - hopefully - keep his attackers from finding him too quickly. The cold weather was aggravating the problem, thinning his blood and making it harder for the wound to clot.

At least he was still wearing his backpack, which held a first aid kit and the radio JD had given him. He smiled thinly. It was too late for a chopper to fly in and get him tonight. One way or another, he was stuck out here until morning, but if he didn't get the bleeding stopped, he wouldn't last that long.

He used his handkerchief to bind the wound, then carefully made his way over to the side of the cliff face. He leaned against it, grateful for the rocky shelf above him. It would hide him from sight if anyone looked down from where he'd fallen. He shrugged the pack off with a grimace and removed the first aid kit. Then, using his knife, he cut his jeans open from the ankle to the knee along the seam, peeling the denim off the entry wound. There was no exit wound.

"Great," he breathed.

His hands trembling slightly, Vin untied the cloth and opened the plastic box and removed the bottle of povidone-iodine. Pouring it over the seeping opening caused him to suck in a sharp breath. When the wave of pain subsided to a tolerable level, he removed several of the individual dressing pads, opened them and pressed them against the injury, hoping the force would be enough to stop the flow of blood.

He was down to the last of the dressings before the bleeding finally stopped, and he tied the compress bandage down tightly over the wound, hoping he wouldn't have to make any long hikes.

His inventory continued. Hips were fine.

He probed his abdomen, finding it bruised, but there were no internal injuries as far as he could tell. That was good.

Ribs? He touched them gently. "Ahhhh," he hissed. Just bruised, though.

Opening his jacket, he unbuttoned his thick flannel shirt and carefully pulled the blue thermal T-shirt up to find a large, purple bruise spreading along his right side.

Rest of his upper body was fine, and his back seemed okay.

Eyes: fuzzy.

Ears: ringing.

Neck: feels like somebody tried t' twist it off.

He gingerly probed the side of his head, just above his left ear, with his fingertips, and they came away sticky with blood. He wasn't sure if it was from a graze or if he'd hit his head in the fall.

Could he have a concussion? What were the symptoms? He'd definitely lost consciousness, and there was the headache slamming against his temples...

His teeth chattered, scattering his thoughts.

The third step of survival asserted itself: remember where you are.

He glanced around. He'd been about an hour away from Nederland and the cabin, now he was about ten or twelve feet below that last position.

Past time t' get movin'.

Reaching for the compass/homing beacon hanging around his neck, he managed to grab it before a wave of nausea forced him to lean back. Holding the device up, Vin scowled at the smashed face.

"Ah hell."

Closing his eyes for a moment, he concentrated on slowing his breathing, then tried to gently push the queasiness away, but it refused to go and he bent over, his stomach emptying. When he could rise again, he sagged back against the cliff face and closed his eyes, wishing he had the strength to dig his canteen out of his pack so he could rinse his mouth. He shivered again and forced his eyes open.

Survival, step four: vanquish fear and panic. Easier said than done, but what choice did he have? He had to find shelter. Not only might the person or persons who had taken a shot at him show up to see what they'd hit, but the temperature was dropping rapidly.

Sun's just set, he concluded, noting the scattering of stars twinkling above him in a pale, violet sky. And clouds were building in the west. He thought about the borrowed gelding and the tent and warm sleeping bag tied to the back of the animal's saddle, but he knew there was no use wanting what you didn't have.

Sitting up as carefully as he could, Vin repacked the first aid kit in his backpack and pulled out the canteen. He rinsed his mouth, then put the container back.

Using the stained handkerchief, he tied the bloody gauze pads up in it. The ground was too hard to dig a hole to bury the materials, but he hobbled over to a nearby pine tree and tied the handkerchief to the underside of one of the boughs so it would be hidden from view in case the shooters arrived, not to mention away from some of the curious noses of the local inhabitants.

The others have got t' be worried, he knew, glancing around. Ah hell, I've got a damn radio!

He dug into the backpack, finding and removing the second device. He opened it. Inside was the small two-way radio and it appeared undamaged. He turned it on and listened to the static. Glancing around, he wasn't sure if it was the ravine he was in that was blocking the transmission, or if the radio itself had been damaged somehow.

"Figures," he muttered, shoving it back into his pack. The others had to know something was wrong. His beacon had probably cut out as soon as he'd broken it, so they ought to be ready to come looking for him as soon as they could in the morning. The certainty with which he knew that was both frightening and far more comforting then he'd ever imagined it could be. "Just don't be late," he told them, then forced himself to his feet, slipped the pack over his shoulder, and hobbled off.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"I don't think the radio's working," JD grumbled. "What good is this stuff if you can't use it?" No one bothered to answer - two hours of waiting had left them all on edge.

Chris turned and stared at Dunne.

"What?" the youngest member of the team asked, afraid he might have inadvertently angered the man.

"Why wouldn't the radio work?"

JD's brow furrowed. "Well, I guess the most obvious answer would be it's broken, like the tracking device."

"What else?"

The young man's brow wrinkled more, then smoothed when he finally realized what Larabee was fishing for. "I suppose there might be some sort of interference..."

"That's it!" Buck said, moving swiftly to the computer. He tapped the screen emphatically. "Look, Vin was here, right?"

JD slid back into his chair and checked. "Yeah," he agreed, not sure what had the ladies' man so excited.

"JD, look," Wilmington insisted.

Dunne leaned in closer to the screen and Larabee joined him, peering over his shoulder.

"A ravine," Chris said a moment later, nodding.

"If he ended up down there, it could explain the radio silence," Buck said. "I don't think a signal could get out; it's too steep, too deep."

Larabee nodded. "He's down there. Don't ask me how I know, but I do. And he's in trouble."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin limped into the cover of the trees, the fifth step of survival whispering in his ears: improvise.

He actually knew what he was looking for, and it wasn't too long before he smiled weakly and hobbled over to a large pine tree that fit the bill. In years when the summers were dry and the winters particularly hard, the local deer population resorted to eating the evergreens to stave off starvation. The trees, stripped of their lowest boughs, still sported long, thick limbs just out of reach of the animals, some of which had grown back to their full length as the deer were thinned out by hunters or had their diets supplemented with hay air-dropped by concerned State Park officials.

Pulling up one of those long boughs and ducking beneath the lowest branches, Vin found himself in a perfect, if short, ring of space, protected by the thick pine boughs. Lowering himself to the ground, he was relieved to find it almost dry. Interweaving the prickly smaller branches above him created a workable temporary shelter.

When he finished, he slumped back against the trunk of the tree and panted, trying to catch his breath while not drawing in much air at a time. Along the peripheral rim of his vision, blackness began to draw a tighter net around his consciousness.

He shook his head. No. I can't pass out now.

Reaching up, he pushed the hair off his forehead. He was sweating, but his skin felt cool and clammy. Ah, hell, ain't that a sign of shock?

The sixth rule of survival stated itself with authority: value living. Vin did, and he quickly set his mind to recalling everything the Armed Forces Survival Guide had said about shock.

He closed his eyes and noted that it was getting harder to concentrate, but he forced himself to focus and to remember. His instructor's voice suddenly became very clear in his mind. Early symptoms of shock included... Rapid pulse?

Check.

Pale skin? Tanner almost giggled. He'd always thought of himself as a pale-skinned Indian, being a quarter Kiowa on his mother's side.

"That does it," he mumbled aloud, "if 'm ready t' laugh at that, I have t' be in shock."

An' 'm definitely cold an' clammy an' short 'a breath, he acknowledged silently while he waited for a chill to subside.

He contemplated building a small fire in the shelter for warmth, knowing he needed to make sure he didn't add to his problems with a case of hypothermia. The temperatures would drop into the upper 20s or low 30s, and the wind had begun to pick up, whiffling through the small space, first from one direction, then from another.

That was a bad sign, he knew. The weather was changing. And, given the clouds he'd seen earlier, he guessed it meant some snow had snuck past the weather models the network weathermen used to forecast the next couple of days.

Having convinced himself it was necessary to build the fire, Vin reached for his backpack, but stopped when he caught the sounds of someone moving through the trees.

"Damn," he breathed, listening as the noises drew closer. He could clearly make out the sounds of two voices, but their words were lost to distance and the wind.

So much for a fire.

Vin reached to ease his Glock out of its holster, but the weapon was gone, probably lost in his mad tumble down that shale slope earlier. He settled on the knife.

A second giggle made an attempt at bubbling over Tanner's lips as his favorite rule of survival, number seven, flashed through his mind: act like a native.

Remembering how his grandfather had told him about the Plains Indians willing themselves to blend into the tall grasses while they waited for the grazing herds of mustangs to wander close enough to lasso one, Vin willed himself to merge with the old pine and disappear.

The voices grew progressively louder until they passed by him and faded into the gathering darkness. Only then did Vin allow himself to relax again. If he could stay where he was, Chris and the others would find him in the morning. They would start at his last known position at first light and, if they could find where he had taken his fall, should have no trouble following the signs he'd left for them.

He shivered. It was getting colder, but a fire was too dangerous now. He'd just have to tough it out and hang on until daylight.

Reaching up, he quietly unzipped his jacket, opened his shirt collar, and loosened his belt. He didn't want to sweat if he could help it; the moisture would steal away his body heat.

Now, how he was supposed to treat shock? His head was elevated, and he tucked his hands under his armpits, hoping it wouldn't get so cold he'd need to worry about frostbite. The mild nausea was still with him, but he hadn't eaten since he left Rollinsville, plus the two power bars he'd eaten around lunchtime, so there was nothing left for him to get rid of.

Glancing at his backpack, he considered trying some water, but if it made him sick, he might give his location away. Pass, he concluded. Last thing I need is a case of the heaves givin' m' location away.

Needing to concentrate on something to keep himself awake, Vin settled on a list of Chris Larabee's most annoying habits.

He's a damned squid...

He's the only man I know who c'n read m' mind...

And why the hell didn't y' listen t' me? I told y' this was a bad idea. But no, y'all knew what was best. Don't have any clue it's just lookin' at y' all the time, wantin' y' and knowin' I'm never gonna have y' that's drivin' me crazy... Damn, Larabee, you're the best lookin' thing—

Ah hell, look at me, I can't even stop doin' it out here!

Just come get me t'morrow, okay?

This is gonna be m' first real Christmas since I was a kid. It took me weeks t' figger out what t' get all 'a ya...

Wish I was back at the ranch, helpin' y' with the tree. Shit. Guess 'm not gonna get those pinecones for JD...

Sorry, kid.

Hey, Chris, if y' c'n hear me, I just want t' say thanks... for givin' me back somethin' I guess I thought I wasn't supposed t' have - family. Means more t' me than I'll ever be able t' say. But I guess y' already know that...

Wish I could turn off these damn feelin's I have for y', but I can't. Guess I'm gonna have t' find a way to deal with 'em. Jerkin' off regular hasn't done it. Neither has workin' out, or helpin' around the apartment building... Hell, I even tried hookin' up with a couple of guys who look like y' and all that did was make it worse, which just sucks, y'know?

Fallin' in love with y' is probably the stupidest thing I've ever done, but I couldn't help it...

Hope y' don't hate m' guts when y' find out...

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Standing at the window, looking out at the night, Chris tugged at his itching earlobe and sighed, deciding it was time to check-in with JD. He turned and started past the sofa in the living room, smiling encouragingly at Buck. "You okay?"

The ladies' man nodded. "Just hope he's all right out there. Damned storm came up out of nowhere..."

Chris' head dipped. "Yeah, I know what you mean," he said softly. But he knew Vin was alive - in trouble, but alive.

Larabee cast a worried look at the other men sleeping scattered throughout the room. Knowing they were in for a long night, Nathan, Josiah, and Ezra had quietly stolen off and, taking the two sofas and a chair, had gotten comfortable and finally fallen asleep.

When Buck had found them there later, the ladies' man didn't have the heart to wake them. Instead, he'd taken some extra blankets from the hall closet and covered the three, leaving them to sleep. And, after adding a log to the flames in the fireplace, began his vigil from the unoccupied end of the larger sofa. Chris had come in to join him about a half hour ago.

JD had stayed with the computer and the radio, just in case Vin tried to contact them, and when he'd grown tired, he'd leaned over, laying his head on his folded arms that were resting on the tabletop, and fallen asleep.

Chris had been busy then, arranging for them to fly out to Vin's last known position in the morning, but once he finished with that, he'd split his time roaming back and forth between the living and dining rooms. Never good at waiting, Larabee knew he was probably driving his friends crazy, but he just couldn't sit still and do nothing, not with Vin out there in trouble.

Larabee smiled apologetically at Buck, and headed off to wake JD.

Wilmington watched him go, worried about how Larabee would take the news of Vin's death, should things go badly for the man. Tanner could be a pain in the butt sometimes, but he was their pain and, damn it, Wilmington didn't want to lose him. For whatever reason, Vin had touched something deep inside Chris, bringing Larabee back to life. And even if the stubborn blond wouldn't admit it, he relied on Vin's quiet strength and steady determination to keep his world grounded these days.

Buck suspected that what Chris had found in Vin was the family he'd denied himself since his wife's and son's deaths. Not that they weren't all family, but there was a special bond between the two men.

He heard Larabee stop by the front door, pausing without exiting. Perhaps Vin was more than a friend, more than family, Buck decided. He and Vin were close, the ladies' man considering himself one of the sniper's best friends, but Chris' relationship with Vin was something more, something... deeper. There were times he wished he understood it better - like when they appeared seconds away from killing each other, only to shift gears and move on, joking and congenial again.

He smiled to himself. Hell, he usually wished he understood one of the two men almost all the time, when you came right down to it.

Still, whatever bond the two men shared, it was obvious that it was precious to both of them. He just hoped they could find Vin and bring him home for Christmas. Chris had suffered enough loss in his life already, the last thing he needed was more. Because Buck seriously doubted Chris would survive it this time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Anything?" Chris asked JD softly.

JD jerked and sat up, rubbing his eyes as he replied, "What? Oh. Uh, not a peep... I hate this," he added in a whisper.

"I'm not too thrilled about it myself. I never should've pushed him into—"

"We all talked him into it, Chris, so don't blame yourself, okay?"

Larabee smiled his thanks to the younger man. "I've got the chopper lined up for the morning. If we leave at dawn, we'll be at Vin's last known location by the time the sun's really up."

"Can we all go?"

Chris hesitated for a moment, then nodded, adding, "If there's room; otherwise you'll wear a path into my carpet, pacing between here and the living room. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised Buck hasn't tied me down yet."

"The idea's crossed our minds, more than once," JD told him, a thin smile on his lips. "But, right now, I think it'd be pretty hard to pin any of us down for too long."

"Yeah," Chris agreed. "Look, why don't you go crash in the guest room? I'll sit with the computer for a while."

"You sure?"

Chris nodded.

JD stood and stretched. "Come get me if you hear anything, okay?"

"I will."

He reached out, giving Larabee's arm a light pat as he passed, heading for the guest room and some much-needed sleep.

Chris dropped down onto the chair and sighed heavily. Damn it, Vin, you better hang in there. You hear me?

I've got something special for you for Christmas and I damn well better get to give it to you. Trust me, it's something you want. But you've got to be here to get it. So find someplace to hole-up and hang on until we can find you, okay?

He reached out, running his finger over the touch pad to bring the map back up on the screen. Willing the homing beacon to reappear accomplished nothing, so he leaned back and stared at the screen until it went blank again.

A shiver shook his body as he thought about the missing man, and he wondered if Vin was cold. He would have to be...

I don't get it, he thought. I just don't get how I feel about you, Vin. It makes no sense to me. If you were a woman, I'd ask you out... try to get into your pants... But you're not a woman.

Kind 'a scares me, the way you look at me sometimes... like maybe you're thinking the same thing...

Have to admit, it's made me kind of... curious - what it would be like...

I've never told anybody - not even Buck - but I know what it's like, to be with another man... Bet you never would've guessed that, right?

Back when I was in the SEALs... a good buddy of ours, Daniel Phillips, he was... Shit, I'm not sure what the hell Bull was - het, gay, bi, or just so damn horny all the time he didn't give a fuck.

He got me drunk one night, took me to this brothel he knew about... I guess you'd have to call what we ended up in the middle of an orgy... First and only time I was ever with another man, but I'll admit it wasn't all that bad... It was pretty damn good, actually... But sex for me has always been just... sex, a release, unless it was with someone I love.

I never had sex with Sarah. We make love...

You ever love somebody like that, Vin?

And sitting there, waiting, Larabee had the unsettling feeling that, just maybe, Vin might answer that question with a yes - that was exactly how he felt about Chris.

And what the fuck would I say to that? he wondered.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Very early the next morning
19 December, Sunday

Vin's head jerked up, a vise of unsettling agony tightening around his skull and causing him to moan softly. He had been sleeping.

Stupid, stupid move, Tanner, he chided himself.

The wound in his leg burned, and it was getting harder to breathe. Checking his watch, he found the face distorted and unreadable. He closed his eyes and tried to refocus, but the only thing he found on the glass face were images from his past, reflected back to him in the dim light falling through the pine boughs.

He gasped, squinting through the higher branches, watching as a wave of white descended lower and lower... He blinked. Snow. It was snowing. That was where the dim light came from.

Holding his wrist with his other hand, he forced himself to stare at the watch face until a time emerged - 4:15 - Chris and the others would be leaving just before first light.

Come on, concentrate, he chided himself. Dawn, when is it?

'Bout 7:30... Three hours, then time for 'em t' find me, so... four, maybe five hours t' go.

Piece 'a cake.

The snow, heavy with moisture, collected on the branches of the pines, weighing them down, and Vin watched as the boughs he sat under drooped lower, closing in around him. He fought back an urge to bolt from the shelter, shaking his head. This was not Amarillo. This wasn't a closet, or a storm cellar; his foster father was nowhere around...

He forcefully remade the image - a sweat lodge, warm and safe. He closed his eyes and felt the call of sleep. No, damn it, stay awake, he commanded himself.

Piece 'a cake.

Needing something to think about he turned again to Larabee... Not all of the dreams he'd been having lately had been nightmares. Some had been... breathtaking.

Dreams where the naked blond writhed under him... Dreams where he was being taken by the man... Dreams where they lay in the same bed, pressed close to one another, holding and being held at the same time, just content in being close to each other... All dreams... All impossible to imagine in the daylight.

But oh, how he wanted them to be.

Was it too much to ask, for someone you love to love you back?

But it must be. Still, the dreams were better than nothing. They would have to be enough.

He wished he had the energy to masturbate to the memory of one of those dreams - it would help warm him up - but he knew he didn't.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Larabee's ranch
7:20 a.m.

The members of Team Seven sat or stood in Larabee's living room, trying to force down yet another cup of coffee.

"Chris, Search and Rescue should be here soon. Why don't you sit down?" Buck suggested pointedly.

Larabee shot his friend an indulgent look. "Why? Because I've got enough caffeine and adrenaline in my system to give Vin a run for his money," he explained.

Josiah smiled. "I just wish they'd hurry. I'm getting too old for this kind of waiting."

Nathan grinned. "We all are."

"I looked it up online," JD said distractedly as he peered out the window, staring out at the mountain where Vin waited for them.

"What's that?" Buck asked him.

"Sunrise today, it's at seven forty-two."

"Oh," Wilmington said, noting the dark circles under JD's eyes. "Well, that's only twenty minutes." A knock at the front door ended the conversation.

Larabee stalked over and opened it. He smiled when he recognized the man standing outside - Jake Carmell, a Search and Rescue pilot.

"You and your men ready to go?" Carmell asked the blond.

Larabee nodded. "More than."

"Let's roll, then. I've got a chopper waiting for us, a big one, since I thought we might have to winch your man out, and that's the only way you're all going to fit in."

Ezra turned slightly pale as he and the others reached them in time to hear Carmell's comment. Nathan patted the dapper man's shoulder reassuringly, knowing Standish wasn't thrilled with heights. "You can stay on board. It's not likely—"

"I'm going, Mr. Jackson, I assure you," Ezra stated, and no one argued with him.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

In the air
8:05 a.m.

The ATF agents sat along the sides of the old Bell UH-1 Iroquois chopper. Larabee scanned the faces of his men. Buck was checking a printout of the topographical map JD'd had up on his computer screen. Josiah sat quietly, his gaze fixed on the floor of the helicopter, probably praying. Ezra and JD talked quietly, and Nathan rummaged through the first aid kit he was holding, reassuring himself that everything was in order. It would be a forty-five minute flight, slower than they anticipated due to the heavy moisture in the air, but at least the snow had stopped falling.

Chris cleared his throat and five heads turned to stare at him. "I know we're going to find him," he said over the mike that allowed his voice to carry over the noise of the engine.

"Damn straight we are," Buck agreed emphatically.

"But with the snow last night..." Larabee studied his hands for a moment before continuing. "It's going to be harder to track him."

"We'll find him, Chris," Nathan said.

Buck smiled thinly. "I've never told y'all this, but I guess it's time. You don't have to worry, we'll find him... I'm part bloodhound."

The others chuckled and Chris offered his old friend a grim smile. "Glad to hear it, ya old dog."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

At the same time

Two men moved silently through the pines, stopping occasionally to survey the landscape that was now covered by several inches of heavy, wet snow.

"You sure he's here?" the taller of the two men asked, his face red from the exertion and the cold.

"Yeah, I'm sure," his companion replied. Removing his camouflage-colored baseball cap, he pushed his sweaty blond hair off his forehead. "I know I hit 'im - twice. Damn half-breed bounty hunter probably crawled off and found himself a cave or something, but we'll find him."

"Then what, Hank?"

"Then we can have us a little fun, Daryl, just like we did down in Gallup. You remember that ol' Indian we found that night?"

Daryl grinned and nodded. "Yeah... Sure was funny, watchin' him runnin' along the freeway buck naked. That trucker sure as hell didn't expect to hit a naked Indian that night."

"Old fool should've run the other way," Hank said, snickering. "He was like a damned rabbit, headin' straight for the headlights like that."

Daryl nodded.

"Come on, let's find that damn squaw," Hank directed. "Fucker hunted me once, put me in prison down in Arizona. He's gonna pay for that."

"What're you goin' to do?"

"I'll come up something, don't you worry."

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin sat, his back pressed against the tree trunk, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs, and his forehead on his knees. Shivering, he concentrated solely on remaining awake. It was slowly growing light. Chris and the others would be there soon and he had to stay awake until they were.

How'd I let this happen? he questioned himself.

How'd I let Larabee talk me int' leavin' when I knew better?

And I rode right int' an ambush! Got myself shot...

Couldn't stop m'self from slidin' down that damn embankment, and t' top it all off, I stepped off the side of a fuckin' cliff!

This is gonna make for a helluva Christmas. How the hell could I screw up a two-day vacation?

Above the sound of his own breathing Tanner heard the crunch of snow, warning him something or someone was nearby. Looking up, he focused on the sound, willing all other distractions away.

It was a deer, a young doe that had gotten caught before she could get out of the mountains before the snow hit.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The two men stood near a large pine, silently watching a young doe as she moved through the trees.

"Come on, Hank," Daryl said, "it's just a doe. What d'you care about her?"

"Look at her, Daryl," Hank hissed, his attention riveted on the animal.

Daryl watched as the deer cautiously approached one of the larger pines, her neck stretched out, her nostrils flared, testing the air. She shook her head from side to side, her tail flicking up to reveal two pure white flanks.

"What the hell's she doin'?"

"Smells something she don't trust," Hank whispered. "You think maybe she's found our bounty hunter for us?"

The deer stopped, large brown eyes watching one evergreen with suspicion. She cocked her head, snorted, then dipped her head and walked off.

"See?" Hank asked his companion, his voice dropping to a whisper as he pointed to a small puff of steam that curled up from the snow-covered boughs.

Daryl shrugged.

"He's in there, and he's still breathin'," Hank said, his face twisting into a sadistic mask of pleasure. Lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he aimed for a spot several feet above the lowest branches and squeezed.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin stilled, willing the deer to move on. He didn't know if it would work, but he didn't want the animal giving away his location if the shooters were still looking for him.

He knew that, in the mythology of some Native people, Deer symbolized gentleness, the power to touch those who had been wounded in heart or mind. When Deer came, she carried with her a gentleness of spirit that healed all wounds.

Vin wondered briefly if she wasn't asking him to accept the new home he'd found; to accept the others as the family they were, and let his feeling for Chris go.

Or she could be warning him that he wasn't willing to love himself enough to let his old fears go.

Maybe he was projecting his fears onto the others?

It was too confusing in his present condition, and Vin tried to turn off his meandering thoughts.

Love was Deer's gift, love and compassion, he concluded. Fear can't live where love is - unconditional love, like what he felt for Chris, and Larabee for him, he thought.

It was a weird feeling, to connect with someone like that, and he probably wouldn't have thought it was even possible if it hadn't actually happened to him. But it had happened. One look and he knew he'd found a friend, a brother, who would always be there to watch his back.

But would that love survive if Chris learned about Vin's true feelings? He just wasn't sure. And he simply couldn't take the chance. He couldn't give up what he had to get what he wanted. He just couldn't.

The animal moved off and Vin let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh.

Moments later, an explosion in the boughs above him sent huge clumps of snow raining down on him and Vin lunged painfully, pressing himself flat against the cold ground.

So much for love and gentleness.

"Hey, Tanner!" a masculine voice called. "Come on outta there, boy!"

"Ah hell," Vin breathed, then ground his teeth together, his eyes narrowing to thin slits. The man knew his name... An old bounty? Someone from his days as a Marshal, or some of Gomez's men, maybe?

"Now, squaw, or we start shootin' up that pine 'til it's kindling."

Ah hell...

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

From across the chopper, Nathan gave Ezra a thumbs-up, then stepped clear of the open door. Each of the ATF agents descended on ropes connected to a winch inside the Huey.

When they reached the ground, they quickly detached their lines and the chopper swung off to the south, heading for a small clearing a few minutes away where Carmell could wait until they located Vin.

Since they had no idea what was going on, Larabee had insisted that he and his men conduct the search for Vin. There was no reason to risk the lives of the Search and Rescue crew if this was Gomez, or one of their other cases, come back to haunt them.

The others followed Larabee as he led the way to the location of Vin's last transmission. Standing there on the ridge, they surveyed the beautiful, rugged terrain around them. There were millions of places for someone to hide, or disappear. Chris shook off the negative thoughts and glanced back at Buck, who, it appeared, was thinking the very same thing.

Movement in the trees upslope had the agents dropping automatically into defensive postures, their weapons coming up in their hands as they prepared for a fight.

With a snort, Vin's buckskin gelding stepped out of the evergreens, his ears pricked forward as he nickered at the humans. The animal took a tentative step closer, then stopped, unsure if the men were friends or not.

JD straightened and walked slowly toward the animal, talking softly. The horse watched him, snorting and bobbing its head as he approached.

When he reached the animal, JD gathered up the trailing reins. A quick inspection revealed a perfectly healthy, if somewhat nervous, horse. Vin's tent, sleeping bag and saddlebags - full of food and equipment - were all undisturbed. Then the younger man scowled.

"Steep embankment," Josiah said, looking down at the disturbed rocks on the down-slope side of the trail.

"I'll go take a look," Buck said, and started down, slipping and sliding.

"Oh shit," JD hissed.

"What is it?" Chris asked, striding over to join Dunne. He gently patted the gelding's neck.

JD had stepped around the animal and found a small drop of blood on the gelding's neck. He held up a blood-smeared fingertip, saying, "Trouble, I think."

"Hey, I've got something!" Buck called up from below, causing JD to jump.

"Easy," Chris said, patting Dunne's shoulder.

"Come on," Wilmington called again, waving for them to hurry. "I found something."

They each made their way down to the bottom of the shale embankment, joining Buck and following him into the trees where the ladies' man crouched down in an area that was still basically snow-free, the tightly-growing tall pines sheltering the ground.

"What is it?" Nathan asked, glancing around.

"Looks like Vin might've taken a tumble down that hill, then went over the side here." He pointed out the prints he'd found, and the marks where it looked like someone had tried to stop, but hadn't been able to do so in time.

Nathan and Josiah both leaned over the edge of the overhang, looking for Vin, but there was no sign of him.

Chris squatted down, touched the ground and then rubbed at the blood on his fingers so Buck could see it. "Maybe he didn't fall."

Ezra stepped up to join them, but still kept a fair distance from the edge. "What's going on?"

Chris showed him his bloody fingertips.

"I found some blood on Vin's horse, too," JD said softly.

"I'm going down to see if I can find anything," Buck said, standing.

Chris nodded. "Be careful." He looked over at Nathan and Josiah, adding, "You two cover him, just in case."

Chris, Ezra and JD anchored the ladies' man as Buck used a coil of knotted line to make an orderly descent over the side. At the bottom, he found Vin's Glock sticking halfway out of the snow, and held it up for the rest of them to see.

"We're going down," Larabee stated, then knotted a second coil of line to the first and anchored it around the trunk of a pine. It was only ten, maybe fifteen feet down, and they made their way down quickly. Due to the steepness of the overhang and the trees growing out of the cliff edge at a sharp angle, some of the ground below was still almost snow-free. Buck scouted ahead to see which direction Vin had taken.

Nathan turned a frightened gaze on Larabee when he found the pool of blood, uncovered by several sweeps of his gloved hand when he'd spotted the disturbed ground. Chris nodded and set out, a look of grim determination on his face.

A loud crack from a rifle shattered the silence and the agents dropped to the ground. They lay for a moment, setting the direction and distance, then rose and headed out at a fast trot.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

"Now, squaw," the voice commanded. "Crawl on outta there, nice an' slow."

Vin knew his options were limited. He could stay where he was and get shot when the man carried through with his threat, or he could try to escape out the far side of the boughs, but with his leg in the shape it was, he doubted he'd get too far before they shot him down. The last option seemed the only reasonable one - do what they wanted and hope he could find an opening for escape. As long as he was alive, there was hope.

Not the three best choices he'd ever had, but not the worst, either.

Being as careful as he could with his injured leg, Vin moved out from under the boughs on his hands and knees, the two men snickering as he did.

"See, what'd I tell you, Daryl? There's our squaw now. He even knows when it's time to crawl, don't ya, Tanner? Stand up, bounty hunter."

Guess that answers that one. Tanner fought his temper down and tried to stand, but the injury and the stiffness from a night spent on the ground made it impossible.

Hank stepped forward and grabbed Vin's jacket, jerking him upright.

Stifling a grunt of pain, Tanner planted his feet, but was unable to stop himself from swaying slightly as a bolt of molten agony shot up his calf and into his hip.

"Looks like you were right, Hank," Daryl said. "You got 'im a couple times."

Hank nodded proudly. "Should've put that leg wound higher, would've made it easier t' track him down."

"You remember him, bounty hunter?" Daryl asked Vin.

Tanner met the man's question with an icy blue stare that prompted the bigger man to take an involuntary step back.

Hank noticed the look, too, but he was unwilling to turn back from the murder he'd been planning since he spotted Tanner riding along the ridge. It was God's gift to him, and he planned to enjoy his revenge. He had too many memories of pain and suffering at the hands of two Apache inmates at the State Prison in Casa Grande, Arizona, and it blinded him to the dangerous nature of the man they had cornered.

"Come on, squaw," Hank sneered, using the same slur he had been given while in prison and the "property" of the two Indians who had abused him. This was his chance to wipe those memories clean, and the ex-con wasn't about to squander it. The fact that he'd ended up in prison after raping a fourteen-year-old Pima girl never crossed his mind.

Vin silently sized up the two men. The one called "Daryl" was a follower, and more than a little scared of Tanner and what he might do if given the chance. "Hank" was a different story. The hate burning in that man's eyes was greater than any Vin had seen since he was nearly beaten to death by his foster father.

Hank was dangerous, and Vin knew he'd have to wait for the right opportunity before he tried to escape or he'd end up dead, and he knew if he got himself killed out here, Larabee would kill him all over again, if he could figure out a way to do it - and he might just do that.

He couldn't remember Hank's last name, but he remembered the face, and the crime that had gone with it.

"That way," Hank said, jerking the gun in the direction he wanted Tanner to take.

Vin hesitated for a second, his mind on the knife hidden at the waist of his jeans. If he could kill Hank, Daryl might be frightened enough to—

Hank stepped forward and shoved the end of his rife barrel into Vin's stomach. Tanner dropped to his knees, a wave of agony wrapping around his midsection as his injured ribs were squeezed by constricting muscles. The ex-con flipped the rifle over in his hands, holding the weapon by the barrel, and slammed the stock into Tanner's wounded calf.

Vin couldn't stop the cry that tore free of his throat as he folded into a ball and dropped into the wet snow. The cold moisture soaked his jeans and jacket, and he fought from choking as chills and heaves struck at the same time.

"Get him on his feet," Hank snapped at Daryl, enjoying Tanner's pain. It didn't make up for the many times he'd ended up on his hands and knees while in prison, but it was a start.

Daryl approached the fallen agent fearfully, but he reached down and grabbed two handfuls of jacket, pulling Vin to his feet.

The look in Vin's eyes made the man jerk his hands away like he'd been burned.

"Walk, squaw, or so help me, I'll gut-shoot you right here," Hank growled.

Vin turned and hobbled off in the direction the man had pointed, waiting for the opportunity to use his knife. An' when I do, it'll be with pleasure, he thought grimly.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The team found the tree where Vin had holed up for the night. Chris disappeared under the boughs, emerging a short time later carrying Vin's backpack, which he handed to Nathan.

"The first aid kit's been used," the medic announced after few moments.

"The radio's in here, too," JD added, having taken the pack from the medic and rummaged through it, "but it's just static."

"Over here," Josiah called.

They joined the big man on the other side of the tree where blood was splattered across the white snow and the signs of a struggle were clearly evident.

"Whoever shot him must've found him," Buck commented, studying the ground and wishing he could read it like he knew Tanner could. He thought it was two men and Vin, but he wasn't sure.

"They can't be more than ten or fifteen minutes ahead of us," JD offered.

"Let's go," Larabee said, his stomach a solid knot of worry. Vin was in danger, serious danger, and he wasn't at all sure they could reach the man in time.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin was wheezing by the time they reached a small cabin, and lost in a swirl of disorienting pain. His entire leg felt like it was on fire, and his chest burned with almost the same intensity. But it was the pounding in his head that blocked out everything but the need to survive.

The ex-con watched Tanner struggling to stay on his feet. The bounty hunter was a fighter, and Hank felt a tingle of triumph as he contemplated what it was going to feel like to destroy that will. Reaching out, he grabbed Vin's hair, forcing the man's head back. The move unbalanced the agent and Vin dropped to his knees in front of the man.

Growling, refusing to submit, Tanner fought to stand again, but he was too weak to overcome the gloating man.

"You're gonna die, squaw," Hank hissed at him. "You're gonna die slow. I'm gonna take my huntin' knife and gut ya, squaw. You think you're tough? You're gonna beg me to shoot you before this is over."

Hank laughed, but Daryl took a step away, not sure if he wanted to be a part of the man's plans.

"Go get my knife," Hank snapped at him. "Now, damn it!"

Daryl stumbled back a few steps, then turned and retreated into the small cabin.

Vin's mind was racing. He had to act - now - while one of them was gone.

Hank solved his first problem - getting him back on his feet - when the man knotted his hands into Vin's jacket and yanked him up.

"Can't you talk, squaw?" he snapped. "You dumb or something?" He struck Tanner's face, once, twice, three times, determined to make the man speak.

Movement at the corner of his eye stalled the retort on Vin's tongue. It was Chris. He knew that with absolute certainty, although, in his mind, he saw the man as a glowing cougar loping through the snow. But Larabee was still too far away to help him. He was on his own. And he couldn't let this son of a bitch kill him. That would hurt Chris, and he'd be damned if he was going to let that happen.

Then everything slipped away, lost in the pain of his injuries and the chaos of months' worth of working and living in the city, trying to make a place for himself with Larabee and the others, fighting his fears and memories and feelings.

Daryl was back, handing Hank a hunting knife, his face white with fear. The ex-con took the long blade, his lips curling off his teeth in a snarling smile. Jerking Vin's jacket open, he let his gaze drop to Tanner's midsection as his arm drew back to strike.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The team moved steadily through the recent snowfall. In the distance an angry voice rolled through the trees. The words reached them, intact, on the still air, the content chilling Larabee more than the cold.

"You're gonna die, squaw. You're gonna die slow. I'm gonna take my huntin' knife and gut ya, squaw. You think you're tough? You're gonna beg me to shoot you before this is over..." A laugh rolled out after the words. "Go get my knife. Now, damn it!"

They pushed themselves to a run, struggling through the snow.

Reaching the edge of a clearing where a small cabin sat, they froze, watching in horror as a large blond man handed a hunting knife to his companion. The second man was holding Vin on his feet. Tanner's face was bruised and bloody, his body swaying unsteadily. The stranger yanked Vin's jacket open and his arm drew back, making it clear he intended to carry through on his threat.

Chris was about to yell when Vin's voice slashed across the landscape - a war cry, as sharp and cold as breaking ice.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Vin saw the blade change hands. With a cry, he lifted his injured leg and drove his foot into Hank's abdomen like he was trying to ram it right out the other side.

Hank fell back, knife flying into the snow.

Daryl took a hesitant step toward Vin, unsure what to do.

Vin, turning on unsteady legs, growled as his gaze fixed on the other man's. His hands snapping out, the former bounty hunter trapped the man's face with one hand, his elbow colliding with the opposite temple. Daryl dropped, Vin collapsing into the snow beside him with a grunt. Only the agent's weakened condition saved both ex-cons from being killed in the attack.

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