Editors' Note: The original gen version of this story first appeared in the Mag 7 zine Let's Ride #9, published by Neon RainBow Press, Cinda Gillilan and Jody Norman, editors. It was then slashed and appeared in Seven Card Stud #15. 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 Michelle Fortado are the primary authors of this story, and Lorin Zane did the slashy bits, 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 Wilson, and Lorin and Mary Fallon Zane. Story lasted edited 7-8-2011. Art by Shiloh (shigal13@excite.com)

Sunday morning

Vin watched as the man he loved limped stiffly across the kitchen, heading for the coffeepot. He winced in sympathy when Chris sucked in a soft hiss after putting a little too much weight on his injured leg, the sound sending a sharp stab of pain right through the sniper's gut.

"Want me t' get that?" Vin asked, starting to stand up from the table. He needed to help – needed to do something, anything, to assuage his building guilt.

"Naw, it's okay," Chris replied, gesturing for him to sit back down as he inched closer to his goal. "The doctor said I needed to move around, put more weight on it."

Vin nodded, but he couldn't drag his gaze away from the suffering man. This was all his fault. Their last assignment had gone sour, and he'd let his temper get the better of him. Ignoring protocol, he'd left his position and, as a result, Larabee had gotten shot.

The man they had been after was a predator, an animal that traded guns for children. He just couldn't take a chance on the bastard getting away.

And Chris had paid the price.

Thank God the bullet had passed through thigh muscle, missing bone and artery, but Larabee was still hurting, and each flinch, each grimace, each grunt of pain sent a new stab of guilt and remorse straight through Vin's heart, leaving him feeling miserable. It didn't help that he'd fallen in love with the blond, a fact he was still trying very hard to keep hidden.

And, if that wasn't bad enough, the firefight between Vin and Thomas Carroll had ended up taking Ezra down as well, leaving the undercover man with a sprained wrist and a nasty bruise on his cheek from where he hit the curb while diving for cover.

I should've just stayed where I was supposed to. We would've gotten him…

But the images of Carroll's last victim, a beautiful, four-year-old Asian girl, had filled his head, blotting out reason. And it still haunted him. Even in death her face had remained angelic, but what Carroll had done to the rest of the child's body was beyond imagining.

Vin shook his head slightly, chasing the gruesome memories away. I did what I had to t' stop the bastard, he told himself sternly.

Y' let Chris get shot, an' y' got Ezra hurt, too, the more critical side of his mind chastised him. Helluva a way t' show somebody y' love 'im.

But he knew Chris could never know how he left…

"Vin?"

The sniper's head snapped up, his blue eyes haunted. "Y' need something?" he asked, starting to stand again.

"No, I'm fine," Chris said, waving for Tanner to sit once more. He carried his coffee cup over to the table and carefully eased himself into the chair. "Listen to me, okay? It's just a little sore, so stop beating yourself up over it. It's over."

Vin dipped his head and stared into his empty cup. "Just feel—"

"Responsible," Chris interrupted him. "Yeah, I kind 'a figured that one out," he said, reaching out to rest his hand on Vin's arm. The touch felt like the sting of a hot iron on the sniper's skin. "Look, I know it didn't go down the way we wanted it to, but we got the bastard. He's not putting any more guns on the street, and he sure as hell isn't going to hurt any more kids."

"I should've stayed where I was," Vin mumbled, shaking his head. He wanted to jerk his arm away, but he couldn't. He'd been satisfying himself with all the little consolations like this for a while now, and he knew he couldn't give them up. "Y' wouldn't've gotten shot if I had."

"Maybe, maybe not," Chris countered. "But sometimes we have to go with our gut; you know that. How many times has one of us acted on instinct in the middle of an assignment?"

Vin shook his head. "Ain't the point. If I'd been where I was supposed t' be—"

"Then Carroll might've gotten away, and there might be another family out there, mourning another dead kid."

Vin sighed heavily and leaned back, reluctantly breaking contact, but he was afraid if he didn't, he might just reach out and grab Chris' arm, pull him over and— "Y' could 'a died if that bullet—"

"I didn't. Hell, Vin, given what that little girl looked like—" Larabee broke off, shaking his head. "I would've done the same thing you did."

Vin's pale blue eyes rounded slightly.

"There's no way I could've let that bastard get away, either," Chris admitted.

Larabee's words eased a little of his guilt, but not all of it, not by a long shot. Vin smiled his thanks, but then his expression turned serious again. "Ezra—"

"Is doing just fine, thank you very much," Standish finished as he walked in to join the two men, the rest of the team trailing behind him.

"Hope you boys don't mind," Buck said, grinning. "We knocked, but I guess no one heard. We let ourselves in."

Larabee nodded that it was all right, and the other men immediately began raiding his kitchen. JD and Nathan started setting out the bagels they had picked up at Mo's on the way over for a day of poker and football.

"How's your wrist?" Vin asked Standish, noting that the bruise that covered most of one side of the man's face had reached the ugly green-and-yellow stage.

"It feels considerably better, thank you," was the immediate reply. "In fact, I believe I'll be permitted to remove the brace in a day or two."

Vin nodded, but he still looked like a little boy who had just broken his mother's favorite vase.

Walking to the Mr. Coffee machine, Josiah poured himself a cup, then carried it back to the table and sat down with Chris and Vin. He glanced at the sniper and said, "I was going through the mail that's stacking up on your desk Friday afternoon, and I noticed a letter from the Department of Motor Vehicles…"

Vin rolled his eyes and moaned, "Ah, hell, I forgot all about that."

"You also forgot to send in your CPR and first-aid-certification renewal, too," Nathan added, his expression apologetic for bringing it up. He knew how rattled Tanner had been lately. "Alexis Dixon called Friday, right before we left…"

Tanner groaned again, louder this time, then leaned over the table and rested his forehead on his folded arms.

"I'm afraid it only gets worse," Ezra added, a touch of sympathy in his voice. "Mr. Dutton also called on Friday. He is demanding you remove the weapon prototypes you are storing at the range. He says he needs the space, posthaste."

"An' I have t' testify Monday… at two," Tanner moaned pathetically, rolling his head back and forth on his arms.

"Prosecutor is coming by the office at nine on Monday, ta go over some stuff with you, too," Buck tossed in.

A soft whimper escaped from Tanner.

Buck met Larabee's eyes as he grinned and shook his head. "Junior, why don't you ever ask for help?"

Vin lifted his head, a pathetic hang-dog expression on his face. "There ain't nothing—"

"Yes, we can," JD interrupted him. "Me and Buck can drop by the DMV for you on Monday. It's right on our way home."

"And Nathan and I can escort your renewal paperwork to Mrs. Dixon's waiting hand Monday afternoon," Josiah offered. "She likes Nate. She'll listen to him when he tells her how busy it's been."

"I'm meeting Travis for an early lunch on Monday," Chris added. He glanced over at his undercover man. "Ezra can swing by the range after he drops me off and pick up the prototypes for you."

"But your leg," Vin argued. "Y' can't drive back to the office."

"Travis can drive me back," Larabee replied. "Besides, the Ram's an automatic. I can drive it if I have to, or Ezra can pick me up after he's finished at the range."

"Reduced to chauffeur and errand boy, is this what my career has come to?" Ezra muttered under his breath, making the others grin, except for Vin.

The sniper glanced around at his friends. They were going to help him out, whether he wanted them to or not. And he wanted them to. Hell, he needed them to. He hadn't been good for much this past week, and he had to get back on track, or they were going to start wondering why he'd been so rattled, and that didn't bear thinking about. He sighed, giving in as gracefully as he could. "All right," he said with a heavy sigh, then met Larabee's eyes, "but y' take it easy, all right?"

"You worry too much," Chris scolded him. "Just make sure you're ready for court."

Vin nodded his agreement. That was the very least he could do.

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

Monday

A little after one o'clock, Vin stood in the offices of Team Seven, nervously straightening his tie while JD arranged the paperwork for the various trips the others would be taking on Vin's behalf. Tanner tugged and pulled, yanked, then pulled the knot out and started all over again. On the third try, he was finally satisfied.

Tugging down his suit jacket, he turned to Ezra. "This look all right?"

Ezra looked up from the paperwork he was working on and grinned. "You appear to have mastered the basics of a civilized wardrobe, yes."

Vin peered at the man, looking for any signs that he'd just been insulted. "Y' sure?"

"Very sure," Standish told him, then went back to his paperwork.

"Thanks," Vin said, running his hand over his hair. He tugged at his tie again.

"Looking pretty slick there, Junior," Buck said, maneuvering around desks and chairs to join his friend. "Knock 'em dead in court."

Vin grinned. "Should 'a just shot 'em when I had the chance, would've saved me a lot 'a time 'n' trouble," he said, only half in jest.

"Okay," JD cut in, "I'm just double-checking here, to make sure I have everything covered. I have the plates off the Jeep, the registration receipt, your current registration, and your driver's license. Oh, and the power of attorney for this. Do you think they might need anything else?"

Vin shook his head. "Ain't anything else, JD. Can't believe they want t' recall m' personal plates," he added in a mumble. "I've had 'em for years! Whoever this asshole is, he's the one who's gotta come up with a new one. This one's mine, JD. Y' make sure y' don't let 'em take it away from me, understand?"

JD nodded as he handed Nathan several sheets tucked into the second file folder. "That's Vin's paperwork on the CPR and first aid classes."

"Great," Jackson said, accepting the proffered file. He turned to Tanner. "You want me to run you over to the courthouse?"

"Why?" the sniper asked, confused.

Josiah grinned indulgently. "The Jeep won't have any plates, and you won't have a driver's license. If you get stopped—"

Vin dismissed the older man's concern with a wave of his hand. "It ain't that far. I'll be careful."

"Okay," Nathan said, but his tone was dubious. "I still think you should take a cab or something."

"A cab?" Vin echoed. "Y' know how much that'd cost?"

Nathan shrugged. "Just be careful, okay?"

"I will. And, guys…?" He waited until he was sure they were all paying attention, even Ezra. "I really appreciate this."

JD smiled. "We're partners, friends, right? That's what—"

"You can take us out to lunch at Chad's, if you want to say thank you good and proper," Buck said, interrupting JD.

"I'll do that," Tanner agreed with a thankful grin.

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

As he walked to his Jeep, Vin's thoughts drifted to his upcoming testimony. It should be pretty straightforward, but he knew he had a tendency to let defense attorneys get under his skin. He couldn't let that happen this time. The accused was a local thug who was trying to claim that Vin had assaulted him when the agent had stopped him from selling stolen guns to students at a high school in Purgatorio. Vin shook his head, anticipating the questions he would face.

It was not going to be a good day.

Anger bubbled to the surface. It wouldn't be so bad if they knew who Deevers worked for, but the little punk refused to say, convinced that his boss was going to get him off.

Ain't gonna happen, Vin decided. I'm gonna stay cool 'n' that little sunuvabitch is goin' t' prison. Those kids have enough t' worry 'bout without half the damn student body walkin' around armed with Deevers' guns.

Still lost in thought, the agent ignored the distinct clack-and-rattle sound of an approaching skateboard. During the day, kids used the empty area of the garage where service vehicles parked at night to practice their moves.

When Tanner was hit in the shoulder, he jumped back, yelling, "Hey, watch where you're goin'!"

The teenager on the board ignored him, speeding away, his leg pumping.

Tanner took three more steps toward the Jeep before he noticed something was wrong. His hand automatically reached back for his ID, but it was long gone.

"Damn it!" he hissed. Doesn't that kid know the mountain of paperwork I'll have to fill out to get my ID replaced? He checked his watch. There was no time to worry about it now; if he didn't leave – right now – he'd be late for court.

He took a moment to memorize the kid's description: about five-foot-six, 120 pounds, long, sandy blond hair, mismatched high-top shoes, and shabby clothes that were a mix of army green and bright tie-dye.

Probably a street kid, he decided, shaking his head. They were seeing more and more runaways hanging out downtown, and they tended to pick up skateboards as a mode of transportation. "Rainbow children," they were calling themselves. Most of them were under sixteen – skinny, dirty, their eyes a disturbing mix of apprehension and defiance.

Vin sighed, wishing he didn't have to report the incident, but he didn't have a choice. Reaching the Jeep, he climbed in and checked his watch again. He started the engine and headed for the quickest route that would take him to the Lakewood courthouse.

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

Behind the wheel of his beloved Jeep, Vin's anger dimmed, replaced by a steely determination that his testimony would put Larry "The Bug" Deevers behind bars – right where he belonged.

Then we're goin' after your boss, y' bastard, he promised the absent thug. An' we'll find him, too, sooner or later. No way 'm gonna let some assholes like the two 'a you t' take over my neighborhood – no way, no how.

Vin's thoughts continued to wander during the drive to the courthouse, shifting from Deevers, to the rainbow kid who had lifted his ID, to Carroll and, finally, to what he didn't want to think about: Chris Larabee. The guilt began nibbling at the edges of his thoughts, slowly taking larger and larger bites out of his attention.

He sighed heavily and shook his head. "Too close, Cowboy," he said softly. "It was too damn close."

The image of Chris going down flashed through Vin's mind and he cringed. He had taken Carroll down before the man could kill Larabee, but it had been close – so damn close. A second or two more and there would have been a funeral. But he still wasn't sure how that had happened. He'd seen Carroll headed away from Larabee, away from the scene, which was why he'd gone after the man. And then he'd heard Buck's call on the radio. He'd cut back, moving through the old apartment building, which was where he'd found the girl's body… That had slowed him down a bit. But when he'd heard the shot, he'd bolted forward, stepping into that room just in time to pull the trigger on Carroll, who was about to shoot Chris a second time.

A cold chill snaked down Vin's back, settling deep in his gut. Why do we do it? he asked himself. The rush? The thrill?

He rejected the idea. What we do is important.

But it was also dangerous. And dirty. They saw some of the worst humankind had to offer of itself. Can't help gettin' a little stained, he thought. Y' end up thinkin' like the bad guys t' catch the bad guys.

Y' get numb… Hell, maybe 'm just feelin' a little burned out.

But he knew that was just an excuse. He was feeling guilty about what had happened to Chris, and to Ezra, but for different reasons… And it was how he felt about Chris that was the hardest to deal with. He'd promised himself, and Chris, as he'd ridden with the blond to the hospital, that, if Larabee survived, he'd tell him the truth, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

He smiled thinly; the blond's willingness to forgive and forget kindled a warm glow in his chest. They were good friends. But that was all they were. All Chris was, anyway.

He'd known from the start that this might happen, but he'd told himself he wouldn't let it. But how could you stop yourself from falling in love?

Still, it was wrong. How many times had his grandfather said something about "those damn queers"? And the foster father who'd abused him—

Vin cut the thought off abruptly. He tried hard to avoid thinking about those dark days.

Gay was wrong. He'd been taught that and he believed it.

Not that he hated gays, but he wasn't gay. And, if he was, he wasn't ever going to let anyone else know it, especially not Chris Larabee.

He wasn't really in love with Larabee, he couldn't be. That would be wrong… Right?

Yes, he told himself. Gay is wrong…

Next time I'll stay up top – where I belong. If he had, he would have seen the confrontation between Carroll and Larabee, and he would have dropped the man before he'd been able to shoot Chris.

M' friends are too few 'n' too far between t' put 'em at risk. I was stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid. An' it ain't gonna happen again. 'M not gonna get any of 'em killed… especially, Chris… Couldn't live with that.

A flash of bright blue cut along Vin's peripheral vision a moment before he felt a glancing but hard impact along the right side of the Jeep. The vehicle jerked and bounced, Vin's head snapping forward and back as his right front wheel popped off the pavement, then bounced back down. The Jeep groaned as the suspension twisted. The car struck him again, and Vin bucked forward, his shoulder and seat belts holding him in place as the steering wheel was nearly yanked out of his hands.

The Jeep skidded sideways, inching closer to the cement median that separated him from the lanes of oncoming traffic.

"What the hell're y' doin'!" he yelled at the driver, but his attention was on getting the Jeep back under control.

Before Vin could pull the Jeep off the shoulder and into his lane, the blue car struck again. He felt the Jeep's left fender slam into the cement barrier, the impact whipping the vehicle's rear end around. The torque threw him forward, his head impacting solidly against the windshield. The last thing he heard was the squeal of brakes before everything went dark and silent.

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

"Holy shit!" Callie Brin squeaked, jerking her wheel and stomping on her brake to avoid colliding with a bright blue Mustang as it sideswiped a Jeep, then darted across her lane and away.

The car behind her honked, then sped around her, not having seen what had just happened. "Asshole!" she yelled at the driver.

Braking to a stop on the far left shoulder, Callie backed up, stopping just in front of the Jeep. Climbing out of her car, she darted to the vehicle.

Seeing the blood on Vin's face, she paled as she stumbled to a stop. "Oh, God," she breathed, bolting back to her Honda and grabbing her cell phone out of her purse. She called for help.

With the state patrol and an ambulance summoned, she returned to the Jeep, trying to remember the details from the first aid class she had taken during high school.

"Ohh," she groaned, "what good was taking the class if I can't remember anything?"

Her gaze swept over the interior of the Jeep, looking for something she could use as a bandage. Finding nothing, and not knowing what else to do, she pulled off the well-worn flannel shirt she was wearing over her T-shirt and used that to apply pressure to the bleeding gash on the man's scalp.

With trembling fingers, she sought for a pulse on the man's neck while making sure she didn't move him. She found a beat, but couldn't tell if it was weak or strong. It was, however, very fast.

"Just don't die, okay?" Callie begged the unconscious man as she continued scanning the traffic for the patrolmen. Drivers and passengers slowed down, staring at her as they passed.

"Thanks for all your help!" she yelled at two young men who pointed and laughed as they rolled by. "Assholes," she grumbled.

The sudden whoop of a siren reached her ears and she sighed with relief. A couple of minutes later, two state patrol cars pulled up and parked behind the Jeep, the officers immediately heading for her and the injured man.

"I called for an ambulance," the younger of the two officers said when he reached her. "But they're already on the way."

"I called them when I called you," Callie said.

"You know this guy?" the older officer asked, already examining the Jeep.

Callie shook her head, then had to reach up and tuck her loose, dark auburn hair behind her ear. "I saw the accident happen. There was this blue car, a Mustang, I think. It hit him and he crashed into the median."

The two officers immediately went to work, the younger man working with Callie on Vin, the older man beginning to take notes and make sketches.

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

Callie stood by her car, watching while the ambulance attendants prepared to load Vin into the back of their vehicle. The older highway patrol officer was with the medics, the other one headed her way.

The young man smiled at her. "Uh, Miss—?"

"Brin. Callie Brin," she said, still watching the medics who were working on Vin.

"Miss Brin," the officer said, "I need to get a statement from you."

"Is he going to be okay?" she asked, nodding in the direction of the ambulance.

"I don't know, but they seem to think so." He reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. "Good thing you stopped and called for help, though."

Callie looked from the man on the gurney to the officer. She smiled thinly. "I guess so. I just hope he's okay."

"Uh, Miss Brin," the officer said again, "did you see any papers, or a wallet maybe, when you walked up to the car?"

She looked confused. "No," she said, shaking her head. "I was looking for something I could use to stop the bleeding. I didn't see anything. That's why I had to use my flannel."

"Okay," the officer said, his tone slightly dubious. "Can you tell me everything you saw, from the beginning?"

She nodded and started talking, explaining the bright blue Mustang's attack on the Jeep, the older vehicle's collision with the cement barrier, and her own near accident as she'd tried to avoid the fleeing attacker.

"I stopped. I saw he was bleeding, and I ran back and got my cell phone and called for help," she said. "Then I went back and looked for something to stop the bleeding. I ended up using my shirt. Then you got here."

"That's it?"

She nodded.

"Did you happen to see the license plate on the Mustang?"

"No," she said apologetically, "I wasn't even looking for it. I was just trying not to get hit."

The officer nodded. "Okay, I have your phone number and address. We'll need to ask you to look over this report when it's done and sign it."

"Sure, no problem," she said.

The young man smiled. "And you're sure there was no ID? We couldn't find anything to tell us who he is."

She shook her head. "I didn't look, but I didn't see anything like that."

"Okay," the officer said. "You're free to go, Miss."

"Where will they take him?" she asked as the ambulance pulled into traffic, siren wailing.

The patrolman waited until the sound faded before he answered, "Denver General," he said. "You going to drop by?"

She nodded. "After work. I want to know if he's okay."

"I'm sure he'll be happy to meet the beautiful young lady who saved his life."

She blushed and dipped her head, feeling her cheeks go rosy. "Thanks."

He grinned. "No problem."

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

"What do we have?" the ER doctor asked when the two paramedics rolled Vin into a treatment room and transferred him to a waiting treatment table.

"Car accident. Head trauma. His Glasgow's an eight," one of the medics related. "BP's one-sixty over a hundred, pulse is ninety-four. Pupils are equal and responsive, no lateralizing symptoms, but he's been out cold about twenty or thirty minutes."

"Get set up for a skull series and X-rays," the physician called out.

"I've got it," someone replied.

In the room, several nurses took over, working around Vin while the doctor began irrigating the agent's scalp laceration with a large dose of normal saline solution. With the majority of blood removed, he examined the wound with his gloved finger, looking and feeling for a fracture. He found one.

"Definitely need that X-ray," he said. "And set up a CT scan." He looked back at the remaining paramedic. "Any med alerts?" the young Hispanic man asked.

"Not that we know of," the medic replied. "There was no ID."

The doctor looked up, his dark-brown eyes curious. "Nothing?"

The medic shook his head. "He's a John Doe, Doc."

"Madre de Dios, just wonderful. Nurse, suture his scalp closed and get me that X-ray ASAP."

"Yes, Doctor," one of the nurses replied as the Latino physician moved to examine Vin, rechecking his Glasgow scale score and probing for any other possible injuries.

A short while later, another nurse handed the doctor an X-ray film. Walking to the view box, the ER physician shoved the film into place and turned on the light. A short, fine, dark line snaked through the whiteness of the surrounding bone.

"Simple linear skull fracture, but it's close enough to the temporal bone to worry me," he stated. "Let's get him admitted on a seventy-two-hour hold, just in case, and call Dr. Trang for a neurological consult."

His patient stable, Dr. Randy Ortiz exited the treatment room, only to find a Highway Patrol officer waiting for him in the hallway.

"Doctor," the officer greeted. "You working on the John Doe?"

Ortiz nodded.

"How is he?"

"I think he'll be okay. He has a skull fracture, but I'm thinking mild concussion. We have a few more tests to run, and I've called in a neurologist. We're going to monitor him for a while, make sure he's out of danger."

"Listen, Doc, I think we might be dealing with a felon here."

Ortiz's eyes widened. "A felon?"

The officer nodded. "No plates, no registration, and he wasn't carrying any ID, either. Sounds suspicious, don't you think?"

"I suppose it does. The paramedic told me he had no identification," the physician said. He looked down at the chart he'd been handed on his way out of the treatment room. "We have him listed as John Doe number thirty-one."

"Until we get this worked out, we'd like him admitted to a secure ward. I'll see to it he's guarded until then. We don't know if he's dangerous."

The doctor nodded. "I'll see to it. But he's not going to be much of a threat to anyone for a while."

"Appreciate the cooperation, Doctor," the patrolman said. "These days, you can't be too careful."

"I understand," the ER physician said.

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

In the treatment room, Vin moaned softly, the sound vibrating through his body like fingernails scratching across sandpaper. He forced his eyes open with a shudder. He was cold… and his head hurt… badly.

He swallowed. Nauseous, too, he realized. What the hell happened?

Glancing around the room, he blinked rapidly, trying to clear the foggy veil that blurred his vision.

"Sir? Sir, are you awake?"

The voice was tinny, and it sounded far away. Vin frowned, his head beginning to pound like storm-blown shutters against a wall. He swallowed again, feeling sicker to his stomach.

"Sir?"

He turned his head, seeking the source of the voice. Maybe it held answers to the questions that flooded his mind, most of them getting lost in the pain and confusion.

"Sir, can you hear me?"

Vin carefully continued to roll his head toward the voice. When he found the source, he asked thickly, "Where 'm I?" as he watched the woman's face contort like it was made of soft rubber.

"You're in the hospital," she said. "You were in a car accident. Do you remember?"

"No," Vin said, swallowing again. The press of bile surged slowly up his throat. "Feel sick."

She grabbed a kidney bowl, just in case. "What's your name?"

Vin thought for a moment, but nothing surfaced. "I— I don't know." He felt a wave of panic surge through his body, leaving him weak and trembling.

The woman, a nurse, he realized, reached out, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze. "That's okay. You hit your head in the accident. Don't worry, you'll remember in a little while."

"What's m' name?" he demanded, fear pushing back the nausea for the moment.

"I don't know," the nurse admitted. "The paramedics didn't find any identification. Now, listen, I want you to lie still; I'll get the doctor. And don't worry, you'll be just fine."

Vin closed his eyes, fear prickling his skin. Who am I? he demanded, but a damning silence, backed by pain, was the only answer.

Despite the nurse's orders, he tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness swept over him, forcing him back down. His fingers curled around the edges of the table and he groaned.

Who am I? he demanded again.

Voices drifted in from behind the closed door of the room and he looked, hoping whoever was out there had an answer for him. For a brief moment, he felt like he was falling into a bottomless well, dread and loneliness swallowing him whole. Who? Who? Who? he chanted silently with the throbbing inside his head.

Vin's breath caught, a stab of pain shooting from temple to temple like a spear penetrating his skull. His stomach rebelled, bile climbing up the back of his throat once again. His mouth watering uncontrollably, he sucked in a deep breath and willed his stomach to settle as he swallowed convulsively.

He shivered, the icy cold creeping further into his bones and making them burn. Who, damn it? he demanded silently. Answer me!

But there were no answers forthcoming, so he closed his eyes again and tried to rein in the terror that sparked in his chest, making it hard to breathe. Then, finally, he heard the door swing open.

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

"Dr. Ortiz," the nurse called as soon as she stepped outside the treatment room.

The physician turned.

"Mr. Doe's awake, but he has amnesia," she said.

"Amnesia?" the patrolman echoed. "Terrific. Could he be faking?"

"Maybe," Ortiz said, "but it's not uncommon for an accident victim to be confused, especially given the nature of the trauma this man sustained."

"But he's awake?" the officer confirmed.

The nurse nodded.

"Can I see him?" the officer asked.

Dr. Ortiz thought for a moment, then nodded. "But just for a moment," he cautioned, escorting the officer into the treatment room.

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

Vin forced his eyes open when he heard the door swing inward. The first thing he noticed was the state patrolman. Images of cells flashed through his mind and Vin felt his fear escalate another notch. 'M I a criminal?

"How are you feeling?" asked a young Hispanic man who was wearing a white lab coat.

"Head hurts…" Vin admitted. "Feel sick."

"I'm Dr. Ortiz," the young man continued. "And your name is…?"

"Don't know," was Vin's immediate reply. "What's wrong with me? Why can't I remember?"

"You took a nasty blow to the head," Ortiz explained. "You have a skull fracture. Do you remember the car accident?"

"No," Vin replied, his fear making his answers short and curt.

"What's the last thing you do remember?"

Vin searched his mind, but it was curiously empty. "I— I don't know," he half-moaned. "Can't remember nothin'. I—"

"Take it easy," the doctor said, reaching out to rest his hand lightly on Vin's arm. "Don't try too hard; let whatever images there are surface naturally."

"There ain't nothin'!" Vin declared, his voice rising. "I told y', I don't know!"

"Easy," the doctor soothed again. He looked at the nurse. "See if you can find Dr. Trang for me."

She nodded and left.

"Do you know what city you're in?" Ortiz asked him.

Vin began to pant when he realized he didn't know. His gaze darted around the room, searching for some clue. "No," he said thickly.

The patrolman took a step closer, and Vin immediately felt defensive.

"You were driving an old 80's Jeep. That ring any bells?"

"No," Vin said, looking back at the doctor. "How long's this gonna last?"

"I'm not sure," the man admitted. "But I want you to relax, okay? Things should start filtering back pretty quickly."

Vin looked back at the officer. "What's goin' on? Why are y' here?"

The patrolman hesitated, then explained, "You weren't carrying any ID, and the Jeep you were driving didn't have any plates or registration." At Vin's confused expression he asked, "Did you steal that car?"

"N-No," Vin replied, but he could hear the doubt in his voice as easily as the officer did.

"But you don't remember," the officer pressed. "Right?"

"I don't remember, but—"

"I think this should wait until later," Dr. Ortiz interrupted. "Mr. Doe needs to get some rest."

Doe? Vin echoed. John Doe? Great, just great…

The patrolman headed for the door, but the doctor remained. "We're going to get you moved to a room," he explained. "A specialist is going to take a look at you. He should be able to answer your questions."

"I doubt that," Vin grumbled, the pounding in his head escalating again. Did I steal a car? he asked himself.

More images assaulted him: fast-moving cars, being chased, sirens, the jail cells again. Ah, hell… he groaned silently, squeezing his eyes shut.

He saw the doctor stop a nurse at the door. There was an exchange of whispers, but Vin heard "psych evaluation" and "secure ward" mentioned.

'M not crazy! he argued silently with the physician. 'M not crazy. An' 'm not a thief, either…

He looked back at a nurse, who was arranging his IV for the move. I've gotta get out 'a here.

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

Monday evening

After work and their errands, Team Seven met at Larabee's ranch, each man toting a bag of Chinese carryout. They needed to discuss how they were going to go after Deevers' boss.

The blond was the first to spot the police unit waiting for them in the driveway.

"I wonder what that's all about?" JD muttered, frowning as Buck pulled his car in behind Larabee's Ram and parked. Chris was already headed for the cruiser, still moving slowly with his cane.

"Officer," Chris acknowledged as he reached the side of the car.

The officer climbed out, glancing down at Chris' leg for a moment, then said, "Okay, Hopalong, where's that hippy you call a sniper?"

The corners of Chris' eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Hell, Doug, you know Tanner… He's probably swinging from the rafters someplace."

The officer chuckled and grinned. "Probably is. But he missed his court appearance today, and Judge Morris wasn't too happy about it."

"What?" Chris asked, his expression going stony. "Vin didn't make it to court?"

"Nope," Officer Doug Newman said. "Deevers walked."

Chris met Buck's concerned gaze, then looked back at Newman. "Look, Doug, Vin left for the courthouse with plenty of time," he said. "If he didn't get there, then something's happened to him."

The officer looked concerned. "Judge Morris wanted me to let him know he wants to see him ASAP. He cost the DA the case, and—" He shook his head. "Let's just say there's a few folks who are more than a little pissed with him at the moment."

"I'm sure there's a perfectly good explanation for Mr. Tanner's absence," Ezra said, frowning. He looked as concerned about the news as the rest of the team did.

"Well, maybe you can give the DA a call, huh?" Doug suggested. "Smooth some ruffled feathers?"

"I'll do that," Chris said.

As soon as the officer had climbed back into his car and pulled out, Larabee turned to the others. "Something must've happened," he said, worry making his voice tight.

Chris headed straight to the house, moving as quickly as his injured leg would allow. Dropping the bag of food he carried onto the coffee table, he headed straight to his home office and the computer at his desk.

Turning it on, he checked his work and personal e-mails for a message from Vin. There was nothing. "JD!" he bellowed.

The younger man appeared in the doorway. "Yeah, Chris?"

"Start looking for Vin."

JD hesitated for a moment, a little confused. "Where should I start?"

"The usual, JD," Chris said softly. "Hospitals, police…"

Dunne nodded and sat down, taking Larabee's place, his fingers tapping across the keyboard at top speed.

After just a few minutes, the noise was driving the blond crazy. Luckily for JD, Buck had come in to wait as well, and the ladies' man recognized that Chris was nearing a meltdown. "Hey, stud, we're all hungry," he said to Larabee. "Let's go grab something, huh? Let JD concentrate on workin' his magic."

JD shot the man a grateful look, his fingers never slowing.

Larabee hesitated for a moment, but then he nodded.

"I'll fix you a plate and bring it in to you," Wilmington told JD as he followed Chris out.

"Thanks," JD replied. "I am hungry, and this might take a while."

The ladies' man nodded, following his longtime friend to the kitchen where they each grabbed a plate and dished up some of the food. They headed back to the living room where the others had gathered, Buck detouring just long enough to drop off JD's dinner. Someone had turned the television on and the local news was playing silently in the background, just in case.

Josiah and Nathan were both on their cell phones. Ezra was working on his laptop.

His leg aching more with each step he took, Chris carried his plate over to his recliner and sat down. Laying his cane on the floor next to the chair, he asked, "Anything?"

"Hold on," Nathan said to whomever he was speaking, then related, "Security has Vin leaving the federal building at 1:37 p.m. Cameras have him pulling out of the parking garage at 1:42. He was alone."

Larabee nodded. So far, so good…

"No messages at the office, or on his answering machine," Josiah added. "He's not picking up his cell phone."

"He didn't take it," Buck said. "It's in his desk at work. Judge Morris gives community service ta anyone who has a cell phone go off in his court."

"I checked our current cases," Ezra added, "and, as far as I can tell, there are no recent releases we need to be concerned with."

"Past cases?" Larabee asked him.

The undercover man offered an apologetic shrug. "It's going to take some time to determine that."

Damn it, Vin, Chris thought as he took a bite of the Mongolian beef, where the hell are you? He ran through the possible enemies who might have struck: Deevers' boss, someone acting on Carroll's behalf, whoever it was who had sent him and Ezra to the Woverton Penal Facility along with Vin, or any number of others. The possibilities were alarming.

Damn, damn, damn, he thought. Call, Vin. Call, damn it.

He paused as he raised a second bite to his mouth, remembering his Sunday morning conversation with the missing man. Green eyes narrowed dangerously. Vin, if you're holed up someplace, feeling guilty, I'm going to personally kick your butt all the way up the nearest fourteener. He sighed. No, that wouldn't have stopped the man from testifying.

"You need your pain pills?" Nathan asked him.

Chris shook his head. "It's gonna be a long night. I need to keep my head clear." Come on, Vin, call, damn it. Where are you? There was no answer to the question, but the dull, constant buzz in his gut was telling Larabee that his friend was in trouble.

He'd been worried about Vin for a while, ever since he'd been shot, really. Tanner had been twitchier than a cat on a static pad, and he just hadn't been able to figure out why. He'd told the man, numerous times, that he didn't hold him responsible. That he understood why he'd done what he'd done. Hell, he'd meant it when he'd said he'd have done the same. But nothing seemed to help. It was like Vin was feeling guilty about something else, but he was using Chris getting shot as a cover for it. But that made no sense. What could Tanner be feeling that guilty about?

Whatever it was, he hoped it hadn't just popped up and bitten Tanner right in the ass.

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

Almost four hours later, Chris eased down into a chair in his home office. JD was still hunched over the keyboard, grumbling softly under his breath.

"Find anything?" the blond asked hopefully.

"No," Dunne admitted, looking up. "I've checked the morgues, jails, hospitals—"

"Morgues?" Chris interrupted, his face going pale.

JD dipped his head. "I'm sorry, I just thought…" He trailed off, shaking his head.

Chris took a deep breath, letting it out in a long sigh. "No, JD, you're right. We had to check."

The man's expression brightened slightly. "But there was nothing, not even a John Doe."

"Nothing in any jails or hospitals?"

JD shook his head, then added, "Well, there are seven John Does who match Vin's general description either in jail, or in the hospital. I'm following up with those right now, but some of the info hasn't been added to the databases yet, so it might take a while to run them all down."

"Stick with it," Chris told him. "You want some coffee?"

He shook his head. "Too much caffeine already, but a glass of milk would be nice."

"I'll get it," Larabee said, turning.

"No, Chris, you should be off that leg. I'll go get it," JD told him.

"I'm fine," the blond assured the younger man, his tone warning JD not to press the issue.

"No luck with the calls?" JD asked before the man could leave.

"Nothing, and we've called everyone we could think of," Chris replied, his voice turning slightly rough. "No one's seen him."

"We'll find him," JD said quietly.

The blond nodded, then turned, limping out to go get JD his milk.

"Chris!" JD called excitedly, stopping Larabee three steps beyond the door.

Backtracking, the blond reentered the room, his expression and posture hopeful. "You found him?"

"No, but I thought I should start looking for the Jeep, too. And I think I've found it… in an impound yard, in… Lakewood. It fits the description, and with the route he probably took from here to the courthouse—"

"Let's go see," Chris interrupted.

"It's after nine o'clock," Dunne reminded him. "There won't be anyone there."

The blond stopped on his way to the door. "Nine?" Where had the time gone?

"What's going on?" Buck asked, coming to a stop next to Larabee.

"JD thinks he might have found Vin's Jeep," Chris supplied.

"Where?" the ladies' man asked.

"Police impound lot in Lakewood," JD answered. "It's closed now, but we can head over there first thing in the morning," he suggested.

Chris looked like he wanted to argue, but, after a moment, he nodded. "First thing in the morning."

"I'll tell the others," Buck said, adding, "Why don't you go get some sleep, stud? You're not gonna help Vin any if you make yourself sick, or end up back in the hospital because you're on that leg too much."

The blond shot his friend a hot glare, but it quickly fizzled out. He nodded. "Come get me if you find anything."

"We will," JD promised.

Wilmington watched Larabee limp off, knowing he was going to have to keep a close eye on the blond or Chris would end up right back in the hospital.

"He's really upset," JD said.

"That surprise you?" Buck asked, unsure why JD would think that was strange.

JD thought for a moment, then shook his head.

Buck smiled. "Ol' Chris is a lot more bark than bite, kid."

That made JD grin. "Says you."

"Yeah, well, I say so."

"Uh, Buck, can you grab me a glass of milk?"

"Milk?"

JD rolled his eyes.

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

Earlier that night

Vin stumbled to a stop in the shadows of a nearly empty alley. Dizzy, his head pounding mercilessly, he slowly fumbled his way to the first Dumpster he saw, sinking down behind it and hoping that he was hidden from sight. Taking several deep breaths, he tried to keep from getting sick, but his stomach was too upset to be denied and he leaned forward, heaving onto the dirty pavement.

Every contraction of his stomach set off explosions of agony inside his head, some of which nearly swamped his tenuous consciousness. Tears leaked from his eyes, unnoticed.

When the heaves finally stopped, he crawled to the next Dumpster and curled up in the space between the container and the dirty wall of the building behind it. A soft whimper escaped his still-burning throat as the pain inside his skull reached a crescendo, forcing more tears past his closed eyelids. He pulled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his legs and resting his forehead on his knees, rocking slightly as soft whines continued to escape his throat.

When the pain finally subsided to a tolerable level, he was able to uncurl, his abused muscles protesting every movement he made. Fear caught in his throat, making it almost impossible to breathe. He didn't know where he was, or how he had gotten there. He didn't even know who he was.

Then a collection of memories returned in a rush: hospital… Dr. Ortiz… the police…

A nurse had been planning to move him to a room in some kind of prison ward or something. He could just imagine the room, too – small, cramped, with bars on the windows. There was already an officer standing out in the hall, to make sure he didn't escape.

Then he'd heard something about handcuffs.

But she'd had to take him someplace else first, before the room. A CT scan, he thought remembered them saying.

An Asian man had spoken to him somewhere along the way, but the conversation was just a blur. All he could think about was the room with the barred windows, and the officer.

Trapped; he was going to be trapped.

So, when the Asian had left to get the nurse, Vin had pulled out his IV and staggered to a small closet, where he'd seen a nurse hang up a lab coat. But there was nothing else there. Returning to the gurney that they had wheeled him in on, he had spotted a plastic bag, resting on the bars at the bottom.

He had opened that bag and found his clothes inside. He'd left the bloody suit jacket and tie in the bag. The shirt he'd pulled on was only slightly stained. But, looking down at himself now, he found both his pants and his shirt smudged and grimy.

Another explosion of pain inside his head forced him to press back against the wall. He ground his teeth and rode it out.

How'd I get here? he wondered. Where am I?

Concentrating was almost impossible, but he squeezed his eyes shut and forced his thoughts free of the burning agony inside his skull, trying to remember.

Once he had dressed, he had somehow made it out into the hallway, into another room, and then through an open window. He had fallen into the landscaping outside the hospital, cutting the palms of his hands on something, but he had ignored it. He had to get away. He couldn't let them cage him.

So he had staggered along the side of the hospital building, using the wall to steady himself, until he'd seen a delivery truck. The driver had been standing not too far away, smoking a cigarette and talking to a young woman wearing green scrubs.

Vin had crossed to the truck and waited until the man dropped his cigarette butt, grinding it out with the toe of his shoe. When the driver had turned and started to cross back to the truck, Vin had opened the back door and climbed inside the vehicle, closing the door before the man had noticed anything was amiss.

He couldn't remember where or when he'd finally gotten out of the delivery truck, but he had, at a red light. Then he'd walked, and walked, and walked, trying to remember where he was, and who he was, but neither question had been answered, and it didn't appear they would be any time soon.

Now, sitting in the dark, rank alley, his head trying to crack itself open from the inside out, he allowed himself to cry.

What's happening t' me? he moaned silently. Why can't I remember?

Knifelike thrusts of torment continued to rip through his skull, bringing with them more disturbing images of guns… a sniper's scope… a target, going down… being interrogated by cops… a prison of some kind…

I've gotta be a crook… a thief or something. Must've stolen that Jeep 'n' cracked it up…

But that don't feel right… I don't feel like a bad person…

He snorted derisively. Oh, man, 'm a crook with a freakin' conscience.

More images assailed him: shooting… men falling… him, leaping across the open space between rooftops…

Oh, shit, I kill people, he silently choked. What kind 'a monster am I?

Vin closed his eyes again. Who am I? Who the hell am I? he pleaded silently, but there were still no answers.

With an effort, he managed to struggle to his feet. He eased around the end of the Dumpster, and checked the space. It was empty, so he continued down the alley.

It was dark, and he knew he needed to find someplace safe to hole up until he could figure out what was going on.

He paused where the alley intersected another street and, peering out at the neighborhood, knew he wasn't even close to someplace he could call "safe." The neighborhood was dirty and rundown, most of the street lights apparently shot out to give the drug dealers the shadows they needed to operate in. Definitely not the kind of place a "normal" person would want to be, but he wasn't a normal person, he was… What am I?

A killer, he answered himself and, in his gut, he knew it was true. He had killed people.

Why? he wanted to know, but the answer remained as elusive as his name.

"Well, well, well, look who's back in the neighborhood," a smooth voice taunted him.

Vin turned, too quickly, and had to stagger back to sag against the wall of the alley as waves of vertigo nearly swept him off his feet. Pressing back against the graffiti-covered concrete, he stared at the man who had spoken to him.

Pimp, he recognized, and felt the short hairs at the back of his neck rise. White suit, open green silk shirt, white fedora, several thick gold chains draped around his neck; an oily throwback to the age of disco, but Vin's gut told him that the man was more dangerous than he looked.

"Who are ya?" he demanded.

"Everyone 'round here calls me the Reverend," the man replied with a sinister smile. His dark eyes remained cold, calculating.

"You— Y' know me?" Vin asked him, his gaze sweeping over the man, looking for any potential weapons.

"Oh, I know you, yeah, that's true," the man replied, his tone almost singsong in nature. His eyes narrowed like a predator, sizing up its prey. His gaze took in Vin's dirty clothes and the bandage on his head.

"Who am I?" Vin demanded.

The Reverend grinned, starting to enjoy the encounter. "Now, that's a very good question… friend."

Grabbing the man's snowy lapels, Vin swung the Reverend around and shoved him up against the wall – hard. But the motion and the impact caused the pain in the sniper's head to flair again and he grimaced, his knees starting to go weak.

"Take it easy, friend. I'm not going to hurt you. In fact, I owe you a favor," the pimp said, watching as Vin continued to fight to remain on his feet. When the agent's grip lost all its strength, the Reverend broke free.

Vin took a step back, one hand coming up to cradle the side of his head though the bandage. "A favor?"

The man nodded, a dangerous smile curling his lips off his smoke-stained teeth. "You made me the number one man in this neighborhood. And for that I'm… grateful."

"How'd I do that?" Vin asked, not believing a word the man was saying. He didn't hang around with lowlifes like this.

"You're the man who took down Eddie Flesh."

The name felt familiar, and Vin's thoughts tumbled after the feeling, searching out a memory. He found it: a gunfight, a large Black enforcer, a Latino pimp, a knife…

When Vin finally blinked and looked around the alley, the Reverend was gone.

You're the man who took down Eddie Flesh…

Who am I? Vin pleaded with himself.

A killer, some part of his mind replied.

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

The Reverend sat in the Top Hat Lounge, sipping on a glass of white wine and pondering the vagaries of fate. He looked up when the door opened. Another man entered the dimly lit room, taking a seat at the bar, reinforcing the Reverend's faith in kismet.

Picking up his glass, the Reverend walked over and sat down next to his biggest rival, Robert "Dickie" Ward.

"Reverend," the handsome, bald Black man said without looking at the pimp.

The bartender set a glass of beer in front of Ward and moved off, not wanting to get involved with the business of the two men.

"D," the pimp replied. "How's tricks?"

"Fine, just fine," the man half-growled, not amused by the pun. "Why do you ask? Thinkin' about takin' me up on my offer and sellin' out?"

The Reverend laughed. "Hardly," he said. "Just curious."

"Well, I'm doing fine, just fine, thank you very much. Now, go away."

"With Eddie gone, we're all doin' fine," the Reverend continued with a soft chuckle. "God rest his twisted, greedy soul."

Dickie chuckled, then took a sip of his beer. "Yep, all us little fishes are swimmin' in a happy little pond."

"'Til one of us becomes another big fish," the Reverend acknowledged, his tone carrying a vague threat.

The man's eyes narrowed. "Why the trip down memory lane, Rev?" Ward asked, wishing the other pimp would take a hike.

"Ran into the man who did us all the favor, that's all. It left me in a… nostalgic mood."

"We talkin' about Tanner?" Ward asked, his forehead wrinkling.

"Mmm-hmm," the Reverend replied, nodding. He worked on his own drink, but watched Dickie in his peripheral vision.

Ward's eyes narrowed. "You saw Tanner?"

"I just told you, didn't I?"

"You find him again, you let me know," Ward growled, his voice cold and hard. He meant business.

The Reverend's eyes widened. "Oh?" He could smell money in the man's interest, money that might line his pockets if he played his cards right.

"Hear there's someone who's willin' to pay some serious cash for the man."

"And who would that be?"

Dickie chuckled again. "No way, Rev. You find him, you give me a call. We'll work out a deal."

The Reverend took another sip of his wine and then tapped his glass against Ward's. "I might just do that." Then, draining what was left of his wine, he set the empty glass on the bar and, with a tip of his hat, he left, wondering how a man like Dickie Ward, who was known for his ability to provide "unusual" merchandise to his johns, could be connected to anyone who might want Tanner's head on a platter. He shook his head and grinned. It didn't matter. If there was money to be made in it, that was all he was concerned about.

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

With nowhere to go, Vin finally slipped into one of the many strip joints just off Lincoln Avenue. The music was too loud, and the lights were too bright for his still-pounding head, but he was able to find a small table in a dark corner on the second level where both were tolerable.

Sliding his chair back into the corner, he leaned his head back against the V of the two walls and closed his eyes. His headache was getting worse, the dizziness and pain swelling to almost unbearable limits sometimes. He knew he should be in the hospital, but that was a one-way ticket to jail, if that cop he'd seen was any indication.

No, he needed to be out here, looking for who he was, and what was going on.

"Can I get you something?"

Vin opened his eyes and stared up at a young woman standing in front of his table. She looked too young to be working in a place like this, but he couldn't bring himself to ask her about it. He had plenty of his own problems at the moment.

"Uh, can I get you something?" she asked him again.

His stomach growled and, reaching around to his back pocket, Vin found it empty. He fished into both of his front pockets, finding a ten-dollar bill, and thirty-seven cents in change.

"You serve food?" he asked her.

"Just peanuts, pretzels, and popcorn," she said, studying him more carefully now that he was leaning forward a little more. "Hey, are you okay?"

Vin shrugged. "M' head hurts."

"Look, why don't I get you a beer and some stuff to munch on, okay?"

Vin nodded and handed her the money. "'M really hungry," he mumbled absently.

"I'll see what I can do," she promised, tucking the money into her pocket.

When she left, Vin closed his eyes again, ignoring the topless dancers performing on the small stage a floor below him. A handful of hooting, ogling men cheered them on, waving dollar bills at them.

More images flashed through his mind: riding a big black horse up into the mountains… gunfire… a fist fight… an explosion…

The stream of images picked up speed, tumbling through his mind one after another, most of them violent, none of them telling him what he wanted to know: who he was, and how'd he'd gotten hurt.

He wasn't sure how long the barrage lasted, but the images shattered like a bullet-struck windshield when someone said, "Here you go."

He jerked and opened his eyes again. The waitress was back, her short blonde hair reminding him of someone, but who, exactly, remained a mystery. Her green eyes also seemed familiar, and he struggled to call up a face, or a name, to match with the feeling, but nothing materialized, just a flash of fear… and shame.

The girl set a beer in front of him, along with two small baskets, one filled with popcorn, the other with pretzels. Then she handed him a plastic container full of steaming spaghetti.

"Where'd this come from?" Vin asked her, confused.

"My dinner," she said with a small smile.

He looked up at the woman, his eyes wide with surprise. "I— I can't eat yer dinner."

She smiled, the expression making her look even younger than she already did. "That's okay. I need to lose some weight, anyway, and I've been snacking on popcorn all night."

She definitely did not need to lose weight. "But—"

"You look like you could really use it, so, go on. What you gave me is more than enough to cover it. I can grab a burger on my way home."

"You sure?" he asked, admitting to himself that it did smell wonderful.

She nodded.

"Thanks."

"No problem… sir."

"Uh, John," he corrected her. "My name's John."

"Okay, John," she said, smiling at him. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"Got a killer headache," he admitted.

"Looks like you hit your head or something," she said, nodding at the bandage.

"Yeah, I was in a car accident."

"I've got some stuff that might help; I get these migraines sometimes – from the music."

"No, thanks," Vin replied automatically.

"I mean over-the-counter stuff. You know, extra strength, quick release."

Vin tried a bite of the spaghetti. "This is really good, thanks."

"I'll get you some, okay? Maybe it'll help your headache."

He nodded. "Yeah, okay, maybe it will."

"You eat that. I'll get you another beer, too."

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

Tuesday morning

Chris sat in his Ram, Josiah behind the wheel. Behind them, Buck and Ezra sat in the ladies' man's Trans Am. JD and Nathan had gone straight to the office, to see if they could turn up anything on Vin from there.

"Looks like his Jeep from here," Josiah commented. "But there's no way to know without checking the VIN. Looks like it took a pretty hard hit, too."

Chris nodded. His first look at the battered vehicle had almost knocked the wind out of him. It was Vin's Jeep; he knew that. "Let's go talk to the attendant."

The two men climbed out of the Ram, Buck and Ezra joining them on the sidewalk. They crossed the street and entered the lot.

Chris drew himself up, squared his shoulders, and led the way across the lot, still using his cane to help take some of the weight off his aching leg. The rest of his team followed him.

Reaching the small shack that sat along one chain-link fence, Buck pulled open the door and entered. Inside, a young man in coveralls looked up from the magazine he was reading: Soldier of Fortune.

"Can I help you?" he asked suspiciously.

Ezra flashed the man a professionally cool smile. "I certainly hope so," he said, handing over his identification as he continued, "I'm Special Agent Standish, and these are my associates. As you can see, we're from the ATF." Ezra extended his hand, but when the young man reached for it, he quickly pulled it back and smiled apologetically. "Grease… You understand."

The man did, and he wasn't impressed, but he was sure Ezra and the others were important. He wiped his hand on his pant leg and asked, "What do you fellas need?"

"We're here about the Jeep," Buck explained. "When was it brought in? And from where?"

The man, whose name patch on his coveralls read "Tom," reached for a clipboard, then stopped. "You have a release form?"

"You saw it," Chris said, his head jerking to indicate the ID Standish was still holding in his hand. "So, Tom, we're not here to collect the vehicle; we just want to know where it was brought in from, and when. And we'll need to take a look at it."

"But—" the man began.

"You don't want to interfere with an ongoing federal investigation, now, do you, son?" Josiah asked him.

"Federal, huh?" Tom asked, not sure if he believed these guys, but he was too afraid of them to do anything about it.

"We don't have all day," Larabee told him.

"We only need to examine the vehicle, verify the VIN. And obtain the information mentioned," Ezra prompted the man. "Then we'll be out of your hair."

Tom pulled the clipboard over and checked the first page, then folded it back to the second. "Uh, here it is. The Jeep— Looks pretty bad. They brought it in yesterday, around three-thirty in the afternoon… It was in an accident on I-25, at the junction with the Six." He grabbed a piece of paper and wrote down the VIN, handing it to Standish.

"Excellent," Standish said, flashing a smile at the man. "Well, not that the car has been damaged, of course, but that it was here. We appreciate your assistance, Tom."

"Yeah, sure," Tom replied. "It's out by the garage if ya want to check that number."

"You said it was damaged," Josiah said, pushing his glasses back in place and leveling a curious if bored expression on the man. "Any idea what happened?"

"Report said it was involved in a hit-and-run on the freeway," Tom told him. "Pretty much totaled the left front end. Some damage to the rear as well."

"Hit-and-run?" Chris echoed, his voice taking on a concerned tone.

Tom looked at him. "That's all I've got here. Sorry." He paused a moment, then queried, "Can I ask what this is all about?"

"Ya can," Buck told him, "but we're not free to tell you anything at this time."

"I was talking to one of the officers…" Tom offered. "He said a blue sports car, maybe a Mustang, hit the Jeep. The driver of the Jeep lost control, hit the median." He was hoping to wring more information out of the agents. At least this was more interesting than most mornings.

"What happened to the driver?" Josiah asked him. "In case we have to interview him, you understand."

Tom shrugged. "Don't know. Officer didn't say."

"Well, you've been a great help," Ezra said. "Now, we should go look; they're expecting us back in the office by ten to finish another investigation."

"Go out, take a right. Left around the garage when you get there and you can't miss it."

"Thank you," Ezra said, extending his hand only to pull it away again. "Sorry… You understand."

"Yeah, you're welcome," Tom said, reaching for his magazine. He was reading again before they were out the door.

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

"It's Vin's Jeep," Chris said as soon as he saw it. He didn't know how, but he could feel Tanner's presence attached to the car.

"We still need to check the VIN," Buck said softly.

The blond nodded, waiting while Ezra made the check.

"It's Mr. Tanner's," the undercover man said a few moments later, his voice tight with worry.

"We have to find out who responded to the accident."

"It was probably the state patrol," Josiah offered.

"Let's go find out."

As they started back to their vehicles, Buck asked, "Your leg hurting?"

"What?"

"You're limping," he explained.

Chris nodded. "Yeah, it's sore."

"Maybe we should stop, get something to eat so you can take some pills?"

Larabee shook his head, his lips set in a thin line of determination. "Not until I find out what happened to Vin." He wasn't sure why, but he knew he needed to find the younger man, the sooner the better.

The fear that was beginning to haunt him confused Chris, but he didn't question it. Vin was in trouble. He was sure. And that made him more anxious than he expected.

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

After working their way through three different people, the agents finally found somebody at the State Patrol office who could help them.

"Chris? Chris Larabee?"

The blond turned, then smiled as he recognized the speaker. "Kathy Corke?"

The woman smiled back, giving Larabee a quick hug. "Chris, it's so good to see you! But it's Kathy Karon now, Captain Karon, actually."

"You two know each other?" Buck asked, his gaze sweeping over the forty-something woman with short, reddish-blond hair and freckles. She was wearing a State Patrol uniform and carrying a file folder.

"Chris and I went to high school together, back in Indiana," Kathy explained with a smile. "We spent a lot of weekends, hanging out at the lake."

"Kathy dated my best friend," Chris added.

"How is Hound these days?" she asked him.

"Hound?" Ezra echoed.

"Brian 'Hound' Harrison," Chris clarified. "I don't have a clue. I lost track of him when I went into the Navy."

"The Navy?" Kathy asked, her eyes rounding in surprise. "Boy, we do have a lot to catch up on!" She shook her head, then continued, "I understand you want to know about an accident that happened yesterday afternoon?"

Larabee nodded. "Yeah, between one and two p.m. It involved a Jeep on I-25. A possible hit-and-run."

She nodded and offered, "Why don't you come to my office?" As they headed off, she looked down at the cane and Chris' limp. "War injury?"

He grinned. "Just a slight accident on a case."

"A case?" she repeated. "Don't tell me, you're a cop now?"

"Was," he told her with a grin. "DPD for a few years, but now I'm with the ATF. These are some of my team. The driver of the Jeep is another one," he said as they reached her office.

The agents followed Kathy into a small but comfortable office. Chris sat down across the desk from her; the others remained standing. "One of your team, huh?" she asked.

Larabee nodded. "Yeah, he was on his way to testify in a criminal case, but he never made it to the courthouse. We're hoping you can tell us what happened to him," he said, his tone and expression imploring.

She hesitated a moment, then opened the file, commenting as she skimmed it, "Looks like two of our officers responded to a 911 call at 1:52 p.m. They arrived on the scene to find a Jeep with no plates involved in an apparent hit-and-run accident."

"They saw the incident?" Ezra asked her.

She looked up, meeting his eyes. "No, but there was a witness who had stopped to render aid," Kathy said.

"Who was that?" Buck asked her.

Kathy flashed him an indulgent smile. "Callie Brin, a good Samaritan," she told him.

"What about Vin?" Chris asked. "What happened to him?"

Kathy looked back down at the file. "The driver, a male, was unconscious and had no ID. He was taken to Denver General. The officers on the scene thought he might've stolen the Jeep."

"It's a long story," Chris said, "but that was Vin, Vin Tanner, and it's his Jeep, so, if you're looking for him, you can call that off. Can you tell me anything about the hit-and-run?"

Kathy looked back at the report. "According to the witness, a bright blue sports car, probably a Mustang, purposefully struck the Jeep, then sped off when the Jeep collided with the concrete median."

"Does it say what's wrong with Vin?" Josiah asked.

"No, I'm sorry."

Chris stood. "Come on," he said to his men, "we're going to the hospital."

"Good luck," Kathy said. "And drop by when you have time so we can catch up."

"I'll do that," the blond promised, picking up his cane and hobbling toward the door, the others right behind him. That fear was growing, getting stronger. He wanted to find Vin, right now. But he knew that wasn't going to happen.

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

Less than an hour later, the agents were sitting across from Dr. Ortiz as the doctor explained, "Mr. Doe, uh, Tanner, that is, was brought in with a linear skull fracture and a concussion. He was unconscious for less than an hour, and when he woke, it appeared he was suffering from amnesia."

"He's lost his memory?" Chris asked, his face paling slightly.

Ortiz nodded. "Amnesia with rapid recovery isn't uncommon with this kind of head injury. However, at the time, Mr. Tanner couldn't recall his name, or where he was."

"Can we see him?" Buck asked the physician.

"I'd like nothing more than to say yes," he replied, "but Mr. Tanner snuck out of the hospital sometime yesterday afternoon."

"Snuck out?" Chris repeated, leaning forward in his chair, his face now a distinctive ash-gray color. "When?"

"Around three. He was left unattended for a short period of time and—"

"Doctor, is he in any danger?" Ezra interrupted, the concern clear in his voice.

Ortiz's expression turned troubled. "To be completely honest, I don't know. He does have a concussion, and there are potential complications. I'd feel better if he were back here so we could keep an eye on him for a day or two. If he should sustain another impact to the head, it could cause brain swelling."

Chris swallowed hard. "Worst case, Doctor, if he takes another hit and it—? How soon do we have to find him?"

"Minutes, a couple of hours," Ortiz replied. "But that's a worst-case prediction. I don't think he's in any immediate danger. And the police are looking for him; they said something about him stealing a car?"

Buck shook his head. "Vin didn't—"

"He didn't have any ID," Josiah interrupted the ladies' man.

"Damn," Chris breathed. "But Kathy should've already taken care of that."

"That's too bad," the doctor said. "The more people looking for him, the faster he might be found."

"There is that," Ezra replied, nodding thoughtfully.

"Do you have any idea what he might do?" Chris asked the doctor.

"Even though he's lost his memory, his knowledge is still in his head," Ortiz explained. "You're his friends; you might be able to anticipate where he might go. He's likely to be attracted to familiar places. If you do find him, please, bring him back here, or get him to another hospital as quickly as possible; have him checked out, just to be safe."

"We will," Chris promised, standing. He shook the physician's hand. The others thanked him as well.

In the hallway, Buck asked, "Where do we start?"

Chris thought a moment, then said, "Purgatorio."

As they headed out, Ezra pulled Larabee to a stop.

"What?" the blond asked.

Standish nodded at a young woman standing at the information desk, arguing with the volunteer on duty. "I told you, I don't know his name," she said, "but he was brought in yesterday, around two-ish. He was in a car accident."

The aide behind the desk shook her head. "If you don't have a name, I'm afraid I can't help you."

"Uh, excuse me," Chris said, limping over to the young woman.

She looked up. "Yes?"

"Are you asking about a man who was hurt in an accident, he was driving a Jeep…"

Her green eyes widened and she smiled. "Yeah, I am. How did you know?"

"Can we talk someplace?" Chris asked her.

She shrugged, eyeing the four men cautiously. "Uh, yeah, I guess so. What'd you have in mind?"

Chris glanced around, thinking as he removed his ID for her to see. "How 'bout the cafeteria?"

Relief flashed across her face and she nodded. "Sure, I can do that." Then she hesitated. "He's not in trouble, is he?"

"No," Chris said. "He's one of my team."

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

In the cafeteria, Chris treated the young woman to a cup of coffee, the other agents picking up drinks for themselves as well. As they sat with their drinks, Josiah asked her to tell them about the accident.

When she was through, Buck reached out and squeezed her arm, saying sincerely, "We really appreciate you stopping to help our friend."

Chris and the others nodded their agreement.

"I was on my way to class… I just wanted to find out how he is," she said. "That's why I stopped by…. So, how is he?" Callie asked them.

The agents exchanged concerned glances.

"To be perfectly honest, Miss Brin, we don't know," Ezra admitted.

"Excuse me?" Callie asked. "You mean you haven't seen him?"

"Vin, uh, left the hospital yesterday," Buck told her, not sure how much Chris would want him to tell the young woman.

"Left?" she echoed. "But he was bleeding so badly…"

"The doctor said he lost his memory," Chris explained. "He thinks Vin might've panicked and left because he was confused about what had happened to him."

"Oh, my God… Will he be okay?" she asked, her honest concern clear in her voice.

"The doctor thinks so," Josiah assured her. "We're going to see if we can't find him."

"We just wanted to hear about the accident from you," Chris told her.

"Why don't you give me your phone number?" Buck suggested. "I'll give you a call and let you know how it works out."

"I'd appreciate it, thank you," Callie said, waiting for the ladies' man to pull out a small notepad and a pen before giving him her number.

Buck smiled. "So, you said you were on the way to class?"

She nodded. "I'm a grad student at CU, but I work in Lakewood."

"What field?" Buck asked, his attention focused on the young woman.

She blushed slightly. "Anthropology."

"You mean like digging up old bones?" Buck asked her.

JD rolled his eyes and Josiah and Nathan exchanged amused glances.

She nodded and glanced at her watch. "And if I don't get going, I'm going to miss my seminar." She looked up, meeting Buck's eyes. "Sorry."

"No problem!" Buck told her. "You get on the road and we'll give you a call once we find our lost lamb."

"I'd really appreciate it," she said, grabbing her backpack and heading out.

When she had left, Ezra turned to the ladies' man, saying, "You do realize that she probably has a boyfriend, don't you?"

Buck grinned. "Maybe, but I never pass up the chance to add a pretty girl's number to my little black book."

"You're hopeless," JD told his roommate.

"What?" Buck asked as the others stood.

"Just his nature," Nathan told Dunne.

The six men headed for Purgatorio to begin their search for Vin.

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

Late Tuesday morning

Vin woke slowly, then glanced around, studying his surroundings: a small bedroom. There was a simple dresser and nightstand, and a full-length mirror in one corner. The walls were a utilitarian cream color, the carpet a mixture of warm earth-tones. Several small Victorian paintings hung on the walls, their surrounding frames gilded and lacy. It was all clean and neat, but none of it looked the least bit familiar.

He frowned, trying to remember how he had gotten there.

"You're awake!"

He blinked and turned his head, staring at the young blonde woman who stood in the doorway of the room. He frowned and tried to remember who she was, then it came back to him… The strip club… The waitress. "How'd—?"

"You almost passed out at the table in the club. I had Sam help me get you into my car. I was going to take you to the hospital, but you refused to go, so I brought you here. It's, uh… it's my apartment," she explained.

"Did we…?"

She blushed and giggled. "No. I slept in the living room, on the sofa. You were out as soon as your head hit the pillow."

Relief swept over Vin, although he didn't know why. She was pretty enough, thin, with short blonde hair and pale green eyes – more than pretty, actually, and he wondered why he wasn't more attracted to her. She obviously had a good heart, too. He paused, staring at her again for a long moment.

She looked familiar last night, too, he reminded himself. Why? Who does she look like?

"Look, uh, your clothes… They were, uh, pretty dirty. I borrowed some things from my neighbor for you. I hope you don't mind. You didn't have anything in your pockets."

Vin nodded, slowly sitting up in the twin bed, but making sure he kept the sheet over his lap, even though he was still wearing briefs. She handed him a pair of worn jeans, a faded flannel shirt, and a pair of white athletic tube socks. She dipped her head, saying, "Uh, all Tony wanted for the clothes were your shoes."

"My shoes?" Vin echoed, a little worried.

"Yeah, but Tony gave me some money to get you a new pair. We can stop at Payless and pick up something, okay? How's your head feeling?"

"Better," Vin lied, reaching up to touch the bandage. "C'n I borrow the shower?"

"Sure," the woman said. "Out the door and to your left."

She turned to leave, but Vin stopped her, saying, "Hey, I don't even know your name."

"Stacy," she said and smiled. "I'm going to go get breakfast started. Toast and eggs sound okay?"

"Sure," Vin replied, his stomach grumbling.

He waited for her to leave before he climbed out of the bed. He reached out and used the dresser to steady himself. His head pounded almost as fiercely as it had the night before, and the dizziness still haunted him. He sighed. But at least his stomach wasn't doing backflips at the moment.

In the tiny bathroom, Vin stared into the mirror as he tugged the ends of the bandage up, then removed it. Gingerly feeling along the stitches, he grimaced. It wasn't as bad as he'd expected, given how much his head hurt.

Then, climbing into the shower, he washed away the dirt and hospital smell.

As he scrubbed, his thoughts drifted, first to Stacy, but it wasn't long before the images in his mind shifted to a blond-haired man with green eyes…

When Vin realized he was absently stroking himself to hardness, he jerked his hand away, disgusted with himself, but still aroused. Who the hell was he thinking about? And why?

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

Tuesday afternoon

"Nothing," Chris grumbled. He sighed and dropped into Vin's chair in the office, his leg throbbing painfully.

"Me, either," Buck admitted, leaning against his own desk.

"I started a search for that blue Mustang," JD told them.

Buck looked skeptical. "Kid, you know how many blue Mustangs there are in the Denver metro area?"

"Over fifteen thousand, actually," their computer expert admitted. "But only seventeen were reported stolen as of this morning."

Buck's expression brightened. "Good idea!"

JD looked pleased with himself as he said, "I'm running those down as best I can."

"So, where do we look next?" Nathan asked his boss.

Chris thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I have no idea. He's been in Purgatory ever since he got to Denver. We hit every place I know that he might hole up at."

Buck huffed out a long sigh. "Maybe Josiah and Ezra are having better luck than we did."

"I called all the places in Purgatorio where Vin spends time: gym, rec center, St. Philip's, and his apartment building," Nathan told them. "They'll call us if they see him."

Larabee nodded, but he was still worried. That little voice he'd learned to listen to was still telling him Vin was in trouble and they needed to find him, and the sooner the better.

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

After stopping at a Payless shoe store, where they picked up an inexpensive pair of shoes for him, Stacy drove Vin to a small community clinic. After a two-hour wait, he was taken in so a doctor could examine his scalp wound.

"Have a seat on the table," the young Black man said.

Vin walked as normally as possible to the examination table and eased himself up onto it with a grunt. The movement triggered a wave of dizziness and nausea, but both quickly faded once he was settled and and not moving anymore.

The doctor pulled on a pair of latex gloves, then maneuvered an overhead light over and turned it on. Leaning close, he inspected the wound.

"Well, whoever fixed you up did a good job," he said as he probed. "I'm just going to clean this up and put some antibacterial cream on it. I'd like to put another bandage on it as well."

"Sure. Thanks, Doc," Vin replied, trying to ignore the pounding inside his skull. He just wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

"I noticed you gave your name as 'Doe,'" the man said casually as he worked.

"Uh, yeah," Vin said. "Not too original, huh?"

"We don't ask any questions here, Mr. Doe," the doctor assured him. "I just want to make sure you're not having any other, more serious problems… Any headaches?"

"No," Vin lied, wincing as the man worked.

"Dizzy?"

"No."

"Stomach upset?"

"No."

"Double vision?"

"No."

"Well, then, I guess you're okay," the physician concluded. "But if you did happen to have any of those symptoms, it'd be a real good idea if you checked yourself into a hospital."

"I'll keep that in mind, Doc," Vin replied.

A few minutes later, his new bandage in place, Vin and Stacy left the clinic. In the car, he asked her, "Y' think we could just drive around a little?"

"You want to see if you remember anything?" Stacy asked him.

He nodded.

"Sure, I don't have to be at work until five."

"Thanks. I really appreciate all your help."

She smiled. "That's okay… To tell you the truth, you kind of remind me of my brother. Do you have any brothers or sisters?"

Vin thought for a moment, then mumbled, "Wish I knew."

She flashed him a sympathetic smile. Vin watched her for a minute, trying to remember why she looked familiar, attractive, but wrong… He just couldn't remember. And that damn blond kept getting in the way…

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

Tuesday, 5 p.m.

The Reverend stopped, watching as Vin climbed out of a small silver Honda that was parked in the lot of the Jeweled PussyKat. Stepping back into the shadows, he watched Tanner follow one of the new waitresses inside. He smiled and headed for a phone booth.

Dropping in the correct change, he punched in a number. "Dickie?" he asked when someone picked up.

"Yeah?" came a sleepy voice.

"It's me, Reverend. I found Tanner for you. So, let's you and me discuss my finder's fee."

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

Sitting at the same table he had used the night before, Vin tried to sort through the images that had been assaulting him as they had driven around: the mountains… Football games with a group of rowdy guys… A large black horse… An older woman… A man with a gold tooth that flashed in the sunlight when he smiled… A smiling man with a mustache… Guns, firefights, fistfights, car chases, and a big man with blue-grey eyes… A Black man who might be a medic or a doctor… A young man playing video games… A rundown apartment building with a mural painted on one side…

The images left him feeling weak and troubled. A fine film of sweat coated his skin, and his chest felt heavy.

There were other images, too, ones that were sexual in nature… And, in particular, that face that haunted the edges of his memories, but refused to surface, coming into his awareness. He was pretty sure it was a man, maybe the blond, but he couldn't be sure. Something about the man made him feel guilty, and he was afraid it might be someone he'd killed.

The evening passed slowly, Stacy stopping by occasionally to deliver a new beer and a snack, along with more of the over-the-counter painkillers. He thanked her each time, took the pills, drained the drinks, ate the food, and then closed his eyes again, willing the images to make some kind of sense. But they remained disjointed and scattered, as if he was looking through a stranger's photo album.

As the hours passed, the pain in his head slowly swelled in intensity, eventually making it impossible for him to think. He gave up trying to fit the images together into some kind of mental jigsaw puzzle and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes, hoping sleep might free him from the pain for a while.

"Tanner?"

The agent's eyes opened and he looked up at a White man who was standing in front of his table. The guy was in his early thirties, well dressed in a business suit. His short brown hair was conservatively cut, and muddy brown eyes peered at him with disconcerting intensity.

"Who?" he asked, unhappy about needing to concentrate past the thrumming agony raging inside his skull.

"Vin Tanner. That's you."

Vin could sense the man's barely hidden hostility. "An' who the hell 'r' you?"

"Don't play games with me, Tanner. You know who the hell I am."

Vin's eyes narrowed. Tanner. It sounded familiar… important, somehow… "Tanner, that m' name?"

The man's eyes narrowed, but he grabbed a chair and sat down at the table. Leaning over, he asked, "What's the matter with you?"

Vin didn't trust the man, but he seemed to know more than he did, things Vin needed to know. "Was in a car accident, hit my head; can't remember anything."

The man studied Vin's face, noting the bandage, the dark circles under the man's eyes, and the pain lines that puckered the corners of Tanner's eyes and mouth.

"Do y' know me?" Vin demanded.

The man nodded once.

"Who am I?"

"Vin Tanner."

Vin hesitated, then he asked, "What do I do? Fer a livin', I mean."

The man didn't answer, leaning back in his chair, muddy brown eyes regarding Tanner like he was sizing him up for a coffin.

His headache flared, and Vin's eyes narrowed. "Listen, ain't got time fer games here. Answer the damn question."

A ruthless smile lifted the corners of the man's mouth. "You really don't know who the hell you are, do you?"

"Told y', I can't remember," Vin half-growled. His eyes narrowed farther and he snarled as menacingly as possible, "But yer gonna tell me."

The man nodded, beginning to smile. "Sure, why not?" He bent forward, resting his forearms on the small, round table, his expression predatory. "You're a killer, Tanner, that's what you do. You kill people," he said softly.

Ah, hell, Vin thought, feeling his breath catch and his stomach fall. "And— And I… Who do I work for?" he asked the man.

There was a hesitation, then a nod. "Yeah, guess I can see why you need to know… Well, you're in luck. You work for me."

"Who the hell are you?"

"Carroll. David Carroll. Ring any bells for you?"

Vin sat up straighter. The name did sound familiar, but he had no idea why. God, did I already agree t' whack somebody fer this guy? Or already did? That blond…

"I hired you," Carroll said, smile turning nearly feral, "to take out some troublesome ATF agents for me."

Fuck, I did. "Why?" Vin demanded.

"Does it matter?" Carroll returned, his expression going hard. "Look, you kill people and you get paid for it… I paid you. You took my money. Now I want to see the bodies. I want the job I paid for done – the sooner, the better."

Vin swallowed thickly. This couldn't be happening. What the hell was he going to do? "What'd they do?" he insisted.

Carroll was silent for a moment, then said, "They killed my brother. I want revenge, pure and simple."

"Look, I don't—"

"You were paid, Tanner," the man snarled, leaning closer, eyes flashing. "You are going to finish the job, or— or your family's going to pay." He watched as a shocked expression flashed across Tanner's face, quickly suppressed, but not quickly enough.

"Family?"

The man's eyes narrowed, another predatory smile curling the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, a wife," he said, "and a… daughter – sweet little thing, too… so young and innocent. They won't die quickly, either, Tanner. I promise you that. I'll see to it they die slowly – very, very slowly. There are plenty of other people out there just like you who'd be happy to do it, for the right price."

Images of the mutilated body of a young Asian girl flashed through Vin's mind and he shuddered, his stomach almost emptying on the table. Then the faces of other children flashed through his mind. They were happy, smiling. Were they friends of his daughter? But what did she look like?

What did her mother look like? Why couldn't he remember?

"You want to back out," Carroll growled, his mind racing with a plan, "fine, you give me back the twenty grand and I'll get someone else to do the job. But if you keep the money, you damn well better finish the job."

Vin frantically sought for the location of the money amongst his shredded memories. If he could give it back, get this guy off his back… But there were no images, no hints where the cash might be. "Where are these ATF agents?" he asked in a raspy voice.

"Denver," Carroll supplied. "I'll take you."

Vin raised his hand, trying to slow the man down. "Look, I don't know if I c'n do this right now. I—"

"You don't and—"

"Listen t' me, y' bastard," Vin hissed, reaching out to grab the man's arm. "M' head's killin' me, y' hear me? I can't see straight. Maybe in a day or two—"

"Tonight, Tanner. You kill them tonight or, so help me, you and your family will die."

The expression in the man's eyes told Vin that Carroll meant every word he said. He nodded, not knowing what else to do. What've I got m'self into? Killin' people? I can't, I—

He shut the thought off. It was too painful, too confusing. He'd go along, see what the score was. Then, if he had to do the agents to get Carroll off his back, he would. He knew – with absolute certainty – that he'd killed before. Then, he'd get Carroll to tell him where his wife and daughter were. If he could find them, maybe he could finally get the answers he really needed.

The image of the blond flashed through his mind, followed immediately by a surge of desire – the desire to be held in the safety of the man's arms. The power of the mental picture surprised him, frightened him. He wasn't gay. He couldn't be, not if he was married with a kid… right?

He sighed, his head throbbing enough to make him see spots. Who the hell was the blond? And why the hell did he want him?

"Tanner?"

"I heard ya," Vin moaned. He signaled for Stacy, asking her for more of the painkillers.

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

Tuesday night

The team sat around Larabee's living room, all of them too tired to eat the hamburgers and fries that they had picked up on the way back to the ranch.

Giving up on his rapidly cooling meal, Chris leaned back against the sofa cushions and sighed heavily. "Where the hell can he be?" he asked tightly, frustration rounding his shoulders and aging him.

"Hiding, more than likely," Josiah said softly. "He's hurting, and he's confused. He's going to go to ground somewhere he feels safe, and stay there until he's feeling better, or until he gets his memories back."

"We'll never find him if he doesn't want to be found," Buck said, shaking his head. "That boy spent too damn much time living on those streets."

"How's your leg, Chris?" Nathan asked when he saw the blond absently rubbing at it.

"Sore," Larabee admitted, too tired to lie.

"You're pushing yourself too hard," Jackson warned him.

"What choice do I have?" Chris snapped, his voice loud and strained. "We have to find him before—"

"The doctor did say that he should be fine," Ezra interrupted, trying to smooth the waters. "I'm sure Mr. Tanner's memories will begin to return soon, and, if he is in hiding, he's not going to get hurt. I was reading—"

"And what if they don't come back?" Chris cut in angrily. "What if we can't find him? What if he's gone for—?" He stopped himself, realizing how desperate he sounded. Hell, it hadn't been all that long ago Vin had been in the hospital after their stay in that damn work farm. If he didn't know better, he'd swear Tanner was trying to drive him into an early grave.

The others knew they didn't have any answers to satisfy Larabee, but Nathan said, "You should eat something, keep your strength up. We all should," he added, glancing around the room at each of his friends.

Chris glared at the Black man, his anger shifting to understanding and then to concern when he saw that Nathan hadn't really touched his food, either. None of them had. "Nathan's right," he said. "We all need to eat, then get some sleep."

The men lapsed into silence, picking at their food, none of them able to make it even halfway through their meals. After another round of coffee, they headed off to get some much-needed sleep. Chris retired to his bedroom. Josiah and Nathan took the guest room, Buck and JD opting for the sofas. Ezra stretched out in one of the recliners, without a single complaint for once.

In his bed, Chris lay, staring up into the darkness. Vin, take care of yourself, you hear me? He sighed… Something inside him told him that Vin was still alive, but, whatever that instinct was, it was also telling him Tanner was in trouble… That, if he didn't find Vin, and soon, he might lose the man for good. And he just couldn't allow that to happen.

"Call us, Vin… please… just pick up a phone and call me…"

Slowly, he fell into a doze, images bubbling up from somewhere deep in his mind. He watched them unfold like he was floating above his bed, looking down at… himself, and Vin?

They were naked, touching each other, and it felt good. At first he couldn't understand what it was he was seeing, but because it was Vin, he didn't shy away from it, letting the dream play itself out.

Below him, he and Vin continued to hold, touch, explore. His own fingertips tingled as he watched himself stroking Vin's chest. Then he glanced down and saw Vin's arousal and he jerked with surprise, waking up with a gasp.

It took him a moment to catch his breath and, as he did, he realized he was aroused, just like Vin had been in his dream. He huffed out a breath, confused. Then, after scrubbing his hand over his face, Chris took a deep breath and settled once again, willing himself to sleep. He wasn't ready to think about the dream. Not yet. After they had Vin back, then he'd deal with his growing… what? Attraction?

The thought was foreign, odd, and yet not. It was too confusing. One problem at a time, he told himself.

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

Three hours later, and despite the drugs easing the pain in his leg, being exhausted and emotionally drained, Chris still couldn't get to sleep. He rose and padded into his office, heading straight for his computer, hoping there might be something helpful waiting for him there.

Logging in, he waited for the information on the stolen Mustangs to come up before skimming it. He frowned. There didn't appear to be anything to tell him who might have been driving the car that had hit Vin. None of the theft victims was anyone he recognized.

He sighed, printing off the information so they could check it over again later, then turned off the computer and went back to bed without bothering to undress this time.

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

Wednesday morning, 1 a.m.

Sitting in Carroll's CRV, Vin stared at the dark ranch house in the distance.

"That's Larabee's place," Carroll said, reaching into the backseat and grabbing a case. He lifted it into the front and handed it to Vin.

Tanner opened the container, finding a TEC-9 inside.

"Six men," Carroll said. "I want them all dead."

Vin picked up the gun, the feel of it familiar, even comforting, in his hand. Then images of the dead Asian child flashed through his mind again. He looked up at Carroll, asking, "Y' said I have a daughter…"

Carroll smiled, but the effect was nothing more than a condescending sneer. "You won't, not if you don't do what I paid you to do."

Vin looked down at the gun, his hand shaking slightly.

"Look, you take care of this for me, I'll see to it you get out of town, get some medical attention," Carroll promised him. "Then you can go back to your family and lead whatever kind of life you want."

"They know what I do?" Vin asked in a choked whisper.

Carroll scowled. "How the hell should I know? I just hired you to kill six men, not be your best friend."

A wave of dizziness washed over Vin, nearly causing his stomach to rebel. He reached for his head, saying, "Look, I can't—"

"You will, Tanner, or, so help me, I'll see to it your wife and daughter end up in pieces." The last came out as a hiss.

Vin swallowed and drew a deep breath, willing the pain and dizziness away. He had no choice. He had to do what the man said; he couldn't put his family in danger, even if he couldn't remember them. He glanced up, peering at the ranch house, something familiar tugging at his gut, but he didn't want to think about it,, he just wanted to get this over with, and the sooner, the better.

Maybe I already cased the place. Maybe I already worked out how I was gonna do this, he rationalized. But that didn't feel right.

"Go on," Carroll snarled.

Vin opened the door and climbed out. He took one unsteady step toward the house, then another. He stopped, an explosion of agony in his head making him sway on his feet. He reached out, bracing himself against the split-rail fence that ran along the side of the driveway.

Carroll pulled a Browning nine-millimeter out of his jacket pocket and stepped up next to Vin. "All right, damn it, I'll go with you, but you pull the trigger, understand? I paid for that much." Then, grabbing the agent's arm, he hurried Vin along toward the house.

By the time Tanner stood inside the kitchen, his head was pounding, bright white and yellow lights erupting in front of his eyes like a mix of strobes and Fourth of July sparklers. A barrage of images passed through his mind so quickly he couldn't even begin to interpret them. But his breath caught, and his stomach almost emptied itself. How had he known the code to bypass the security system?

"Go on," Carroll hissed. "Find them and kill them – quickly." He gave Vin a small shove to get him moving.

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

Chris lay on his side, dozing once more until some internal alarm began to sound. He grunted and jerked awake. Groping in the dark, he found his.45 and grabbed it. Something was wrong. He could feel it, even if he didn't know exactly what it was yet.

Rolling out of bed, fully awake, he crept silently toward the door. He opened it a crack and waited, listening. Then he eased into the dark hallway and started toward the living room, but, as he neared the doorway that would take him down another short hallway to the kitchen, he heard a man whisper, "Go on. Find them and kill them – quickly."

Who the hell's that?

Taking a deep breath, Chris waited to meet the intruders, knowing he was the only thing that stood between the enemy and the rest of his men.

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

Vin shuffled slowly down the short hallway, but stopped when he saw Chris emerging from the shadows, his gun up and ready to fire.

"Vin?" the blond said, no louder than a whisper. His expression was one of total confusion.

"Kill him!" Carroll hissed, stepping in behind Vin so he could use the sniper as a shield.

Vin brought up the TEC-9, aiming it at Chris' chest. For a moment it was a standoff, both men covering each other, then the blond whipped both his hands up, making it clear that he was no threat, even if he was still holding a gun.

"Vin, it's me," he said at the same time. "What's wrong?"

Images stormed through Tanner's mind, ransacking his resolve, but he still couldn't remember who the blond-haired man was, or how he seemed to know him.

"Shoot him," Carroll commanded. "Do it, or so help me, your family's going to suffer."

Chris' gaze slipped from Vin to Carroll, then shifted back again, green eyes locking on pale blue in an unbreakable bond. "Vin, I don't know what Carroll told you, but we're your family – me and the rest of the team. We've been looking for you. You were in a car accident, remember?"

"Can't remember nothin'," Vin growled, his shoulders pinching in an attempt to ward off the agony that threatened to tear his head apart from the inside out.

"You're hurting, I know that," Chris soothed. "We talked to the doctor who treated you. A Latino guy, right? Ortiz? He said you have amnesia."

"Are you going to let this bastard get your family killed?" Carroll snarled, his own gun coming up to cover Chris. "Where are the others?" he demanded.

Chris' eyes narrowed, knowing some of them were probably watching the unfolding scene from the shadows along the hallway. "Sleeping," he lied.

"Get in the kitchen," Carroll demanded, gesturing at Chris with his Browning.

Larabee limped slowly down the hallway.

Vin frowned, more images flashing through his vision: a fight, a gunshot, a murdered Asian child, the blond, lying on the ground, clutching his leg while it bled. Guilt and remorse exploded in Tanner's chest, competing with the agony in his head for a brief moment.

"Do it now," Carroll panted, dark eyes wide and wild. "Do it, or when I get back to your daughter, I'm going to shove this gun inside her and pull the trigger." He giggled at the thought, a high-pitched titter that caused both agents' skin to pucker with goose bumps. "I'll— I'll burn her, Tanner. I'll burn her with cigarettes, cut her. You watch me, I'll do it. I will do it."

As the man ranted, Vin could see the images of the same kinds of wounds on the little Asian girl's body. He started to shake and the room began to tilt dangerously. I can't kill this guy. I don't know who the hell he is, but I can't kill him. I just can't.

"You're sick, Carroll," Chris hissed, anger sweeping over his face as he glared at the man.

But Carroll didn't reply, lost in his own world now. "She's bad, you know. She's very, very bad. Just like Mommy was bad, but we can fix that. We can make sure she's never bad again. She won't be bad anymore."

"Vin—"

"Kill him!" Carroll screamed at Tanner.

Vin's finger tightened on the trigger, but the blond's face faded from sight, lost in the exploding lights that flashed in front of the sniper's eyes, nearly blinding him. He groaned and choked back a longer, louder cry, as it felt like someone was drilling straight into his brain.

"Kill him!"

Vin took a step closer to Chris, then swung around with a pain-filled snarl, the TEC-9 coming up on Carroll in a two-fisted grip that still shook uncontrollably.

"What're you doing?" the man screamed at Vin. "Kill him! Now!"

"No," Vin growled, the sound coming from deep in his throat, his vision beginning to narrow dangerously as a band of black worked its way in from his peripheral vision.

Rage twisted Carroll's face into an unrecognizable mask that was no longer human. He screamed, his weapon shifting from Chris to Vin.

In Tanner's mind, the events that unfolded next did so in slow motion. He watched as Carroll pulled the trigger. But someone was lunging forward, striking Carroll between the shoulder blades, sending the man stumbling forward as his finger tightened on the trigger.

Vin fired as well, just before he felt Carroll's bullet strike his upper chest.

A third report echoed in the kitchen as Chris fired on Carroll, who was on his knees then, bringing his gun up to fire at Vin once again. The blond's shot killed the man and Vin watched as Carroll dropped to the floor in a contortion of death, then he staggered back himself, his knees buckling. As he fell he saw the fear and concern on the blond man's face, but the image was quickly erased when Tanner struck the back of his head on the edge of the counter.

"Vin!" Chris shouted, lunging to Carroll and kicking the man's gun away as Nathan arrived, bending over to check Tanner for a pulse. There was one, but it was rapid and weak.

Buck grabbed for the phone, plucking up the receiver and punching out 911. "Hello? I need police and an ambulance immediately; a man's been shot." He gave the 911 operator the address, and identified himself and the victim as federal agents. "Hurry," he added.

"Josiah, get me a towel or something to stop this bleeding," Nathan snapped.

Sanchez was moving before the Black man had finished speaking, disappearing down the hallway like he had suddenly grown wings.

Chris knelt on the other side of the fallen sniper, reaching out and gripping his friend's shoulder with a trembling hand. "Vin? Vin, can you hear me? Come on, Vin, don't you die on me, damn it. Not now."

There was no response.

"Josiah, hurry up!" Larabee snapped.

"Here," the profiler said, rushing in with an armload of towels.

Nathan grabbed one from the top of the pile, then carefully lifted Vin to check for an exit wound. He was surprised to find only a slightly larger opening in the man's back. Pressing the cloth against the bleeding wound, he let Vin roll onto the cloth, his own weight putting pressure on the injury. Then, grabbing a second towel, he pressed it against the entry wound, while Ezra knelt at Tanner's head and checked Vin's airway.

"He's breathing fine," Standish reported.

"Where are they?" Chris asked, glancing up, willing the sound of sirens to materialize.

"They're on the way," Buck said. "Do you think he remembered?"

Chris shook his head, looking back at his fallen friend. "I don't know… maybe. He seemed to realize that Carroll was the real threat, not me."

Nathan pressed harder against the cloth as blood began to soak through.

"Hang on, Vin," Larabee said.

"Hurts," Tanner whimpered, his eyes closed.

Chris' breath caught painfully in his chest when Vin gasped in a short breath and moaned. The sound ended with a sharp grunt of pain. "Vin, listen to me. You have to fight. You have to hang on. Help's on the way. Just hang on, pard."

Dark eyelashes fluttered against bloodless cheeks before pain-glazed blue eyes opened halfway.

"Vin?" Chris asked, his voice catching.

The sniper tried to focus on Larabee's face, but his eyes refused. "Wh—?"

"What?" the blond asked. "Vin?"

"Who… am… I?"

"Not now, Vin," Nathan said. "Right now you concentrate on stickin' around so we can tell you everything you want to know, okay?"

Vin stared up at Chris for a moment, still trying to remember who the blond was, and how it was possible that he loved the man. "Who?" he whispered airily just before his eyes began to drop closed again.

"Easy, Vin, easy. Don't give up, you hear me? Hang on. Just a little longer; the medics are on the way."

In the distance, the sirens could finally be heard.

"I'll go open the front door," JD offered from where he stood by Josiah.

"Vin?" Chris called, but Tanner was unconscious. Hang on, Vin, he exhorted silently, for me. Please…

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

5:50 a.m.

Sitting in the waiting room, Chris ran his hands over his hair and sighed heavily. He wanted to get up and go ask the nurse what was going on, but Nathan had done that less than ten minutes ago. There was no word. He huffed, trying to force his anger and frustration back to manageable levels, but they pressed against his breastbone, trying to claw their way out.

"Damn it," he breathed, shoving back against the sofa seat.

"Chris?" Buck asked worriedly from where he sat in one of the comfortable chairs in the room.

"Nothing," the blond said and sighed, waving his hand to fend off any more questions. He felt his jaw muscles start to twitch. "I just want someone to tell us something. It's been damn near four hours, for Christ's sake!"

"I'm sure we'll hear as soon as there's something—"

"I know, JD, I know, all right?" Chris interrupted, then added more kindly, "I just hate waiting."

"Us, too, brother," Josiah admitted.

Chris offered the older man a brief, reassuring smile he didn't feel.

"He'll be fine," Ezra stated. "The paramedics arrived quickly, and they reached the hospital swiftly."

The blond nodded, worried anyway.

"How's your leg?" Buck asked him.

Chris thought about lying, but he wasn't in the mood. "Feels like someone's trying to cut it off."

"I could ask the nurse—" Nathan started.

"No!" Chris snapped, then he forced himself to stop before he said something he'd immediately regret. "Yeah, okay, maybe that would help."

Nathan stood, the sympathetic expression on his face making Chris feel like a heel. "I'll be right back," the man promised.

Larabee waited until Jackson disappeared around the corner before he shook his head. "Shouldn't take it out on him, but if Vin—"

No! he shouted at himself. You think like that, you're just inviting the worst. Vin'll be fine. He has to be.

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

7 a.m.

Almost an hour later, the agents were still waiting when a young African-American woman stepped into the waiting room.

"Mr. Larabee?" she called.

Chris stood, a twinge of pain racing from his healing wound down to his heel and up to his hip. He winced, but said, "I'm Chris Larabee."

The women smiled, her practiced eye taking in the condition of his leg. "I'm Janique Oba, Mr. Tanner's doctor."

"How is he?" Chris asked, starting to limp over to her.

"Stable," she said, gesturing for him to sit back down.

Larabee hobbled back to the overlong couch and dropped back down with a grunt.

The woman sat down next to him, glancing from Chris to the others as she spoke. "First, I want you to know that the bullet caused minimal damage. It was slowed by a rib, which was fractured, but should heal just fine with time and rest. Mr. Tanner has a lung bruise under the fracture, and we're monitoring that closely."

"What about his head?" Chris asked her. "The doctor said if he hit his—"

Dr. Oba shook her head. "Our neurologist has already examined Mr. Tanner. It was just a glancing blow, in an area removed from the original injury. There's no sign of second-impact syndrome, but we are keeping a close eye on that, too, just in case."

"When can we see him?" Buck asked her, relief making him slightly lightheaded.

"Not until later today. He'll be in recovery for another hour or so, and then we'll get him moved to a post-op ward. We're going to be running some tests for a while. If you can give us until one, we'll be able to accommodate you."

Chris nodded. "It was Dr. Ortiz at Denver Community who saw Vin after his car accident."

Oba noted that on the chart she was carrying. "Thank you. I'll have Mr. Tanner's records transferred over here."

"They'll be listed under John Doe," Nathan told her. "Vin lost his memory in the accident."

The young woman's eyes widened slightly. "Okay, I'll pass that along to the neurologist." She stood. "He's in good hands, gentlemen. Why don't you get some rest? You all look like you could use it. Mr. Larabee, I can have someone take a look at that leg, if you'd like."

"No, thanks," Chris replied. "I just need to rest it some." He stood and shook her hand. "We appreciate all your help, Doctor."

She smiled understandingly, then headed back to call Denver Community Hospital.

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

12:58 p.m.

That afternoon, the team walked back into Summit at two minutes before one. The men still looked tired and haggard, and Chris' limp was more pronounced, the blond leaning heavily on his cane as he proceeded slowly with small, shuffling steps.

After obtaining a room number from an older man who was volunteering at the information desk, the agents crossed the lobby to the elevators and rode up to the fifth floor. Stepping out into the hallway, JD checked the numbers and led them to Vin's room.

Stepping inside, the six men paused. Vin was lying in a small bed, the guardrails pulled up on both sides. Two IV's hung on a single pole, dripping fluids into the back of his left hand. His head sported a new, smaller bandage, in addition to another one that was partly visible on his side. The man's skin was pale and damp, accentuating the dark circles under his eyes. A nasal cannula delivered oxygen to the unconscious agent.

"Maybe we should come back later," JD whispered.

Chris shook his head. "I'm staying."

Half an hour later, Dr. Oba arrived to check on Vin's progress. She smiled at the six men scattered around the room. "Good afternoon," she greeted. "He had a quiet morning. No complications."

Nathan smiled, the news cheering him. "Has he woken up?"

"Not yet," the doctor said, checking the chart where the floor nurses had recorded Vin's vital signs. She made a note on the chart she was carrying, then set it on the bedside table and picked up the neurologist's chart, reading the notes there.

Chris had read both documents earlier, but he couldn't make heads or tails out of the information, most of which appeared to be written in some kind of physician's code. Even Nathan hadn't been able to tell him much.

"Well, everything looks as good as we could expect."

"What does that mean?" Chris asked, his temper still a little frayed.

Oba smiled. "That he's doing very well." She turned back to Vin. "Mr. Tanner?" she called. When he didn't respond, she reached out, squeezing his right hand. "Mr. Tanner, can you hear me?"

The dark eyelashes fluttered and Vin's eyes opened. He blinked owlishly as his vision slowly cleared.

"Hello. I'm Janique Oba, your doctor. How're you feeling? Any pain?"

"M' head hurts," Vin said, his voice thick and slightly slurred.

Reaching for a glass of water sitting on the nightstand, she bent the straw over and held it up to his lips. He took three swallows.

"Thanks," he said.

"You're welcome. Your head hurts?"

Vin nodded slightly.

"Any other pain?"

"M' side," he replied.

"Are you having any trouble breathing?"

"No."

"How many fingers am I holding up?" she asked, holding up two.

"Two. C'n see just fine, Doc."

"Any nausea?"

Vin hesitated a moment, then said, "Don't think so."

"We'll be keeping you here for a few days, to make sure everything's fine. If your chest starts to hurt too much, just press this button," she explained. "That will release a painkiller into your IV."

Vin stared at the button, then reached out and pressed it once.

"And if you start having any trouble breathing, I want you to call for a nurse, okay?" she asked, pointing out the red button within easy reach.

"Okay," he echoed, already feeling the medication beginning to erase the pain in his side. His head still pounded, but he didn't care as much about that, either.

"You feel up to some visitors?" Oba asked him.

Before Vin could reply, Chris and the others moved in closer to the bedside.

"Hey, Vin," Larabee said, trying to smile, but his anxiety made it impossible.

Vin stared up at Chris, then looked at each of the other men in turn, but there was no recognition in his eyes. "Don't know these guys," he muttered dismissively, wishing everyone would go away so he could go back to sleep.

"Yes, you do, son," Josiah corrected him. "You just don't remember."

"Want t' be alone," Tanner told them, his eyes closing. "'M tired."

Chris' expression turned hard. "Fine," he growled, "we'll come back later."

"Whatever," was Tanner's mumbled reply.

Oba watched the men leave, then looked back down at Vin, her expression concerned. "You want to talk about it?"

"No."

"All right," she said, making a mental note to have one of the psychologists drop in on Tanner later in the day. "But you should know that they were here most of last night, waiting to hear how you were. It took a real effort to get them to go home and get some rest. And they were back first thing this afternoon. You might not remember them, but they know you, and they care about you – a lot."

Vin cracked his eyes open, watching as the woman left, then sighed. He felt a connection to the men, but it had no foundation in his memory. He couldn't even recall their names. And, as much as he wanted to know more about himself, he wasn't ready to let anyone inside his defenses. Not yet, anyway.

Maybe not ever, he thought. Not even the blond, whom he knew he loved. But something told him that his feelings were not returned, and wouldn't be.

Besides, those feelings were wrong… weren't they?

He wasn't sure, and it hurt too much to try and sort it all out, so he closed his eyes again, sleep quickly claiming him once more.

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

Eight days later, Vin was released on the promise that Chris would take him home and make sure his recuperation proceeded smoothly. Tanner protested, but Dr. Oba and his neurologist, Dr. Carlson, were adamant. He gave in to their demands in order to escape the mind-numbing routine of the hospital, but he still didn't know who the six men were, or who or where he was, and that made him nervous, and irritable.

And, after just a couple of days out at Larabee's ranch, Vin was sullen and withdrawn, only opening up to the psychologist he was required to visit twice a week. Dr. Milton Davidson was an older man who looked like he would be more comfortable living in a log cabin somewhere in the woods than sitting behind a desk all day.

Davidson had a low-key approach that put his patients at ease and made talking easier. Vin was no exception. And Tanner did talk, telling the psychologist about his confusion and fear, and about the embarrassment he felt, living with Larabee, but not remembering anything about their shared past together. He kept his sexual feelings for the blond to himself, however.

Milt told Vin at each visit that amnesia was an uncommon reaction to an accident, beyond the permanent loss of short-term memories around the time of the incident that was normal and explainable. But, after almost a month since he had left the hospital, Vin appeared no closer to remembering his past than he had been right after the accident, and that suggested something else – something psychological –was getting in the way of his recovery.

At first Vin resented the diagnosis, telling the man in no uncertain terms that he wasn't "fuckin' crazy."

But, after a while, even the stubborn sniper had to admit that something wasn't right. After that, he had been able to give in and answered all of Davidson's questions.

They talked at great length, trying to uncover what might be keeping Vin's memory from returning, but nothing conclusive rose to the surface, and the sniper's hidden feelings never came up.

Hoping that a steady diet of "normalcy" would eventually begin to erode the problem, Davidson encouraged Vin to resume his ordinary life, to the extent that was possible. Tanner agreed, but he wasn't particularly happy about it. And he was especially unhappy about returning to work.

It wasn't that he didn't think he could do the job, but he'd have to spend so much time with the other six men, and that scared him, although he wasn't sure why.

Davidson thought facing that fear might begin the slow work of healing, so he encouraged Vin to plow ahead, and Tanner had little recourse other than to go along.

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

After a long day looking for Larry "The Bug" Deevers' boss, the drive back to Larabee's ranch was made in silence. Chris had given up pointing out familiar landmarks to Vin. The sniper's only response was either a nod or a grunt. Tanner had heard it all before, and it obviously wasn't helping him in the slightest.

When they reached the ranch and had changed clothes, Larabee encouraged Vin to wander through the rooms – again.

Vin wondered briefly if Davidson had put Chris up to the refresher course, but it didn't really matter who had thought up the tests; the bottom line was, they weren't working. He only agreed to the demand to get Larabee off his back, but his examination was lackadaisical, at best.

Back in the living room, he asked the blond, "How much time I spend out here, anyway?"

"Enough so the rest of the team calls the guest room your room," Chris told him. "You keep your horse out here, too."

"Yeah, y' told me 'bout that."

Chris shrugged. "Just reminding you."

"Guess we knew each other pretty good, then, huh?" Vin commented, curiosity getting the upper hand on his fear for once.

"Yeah, you could say that," Chris replied, but the hopeful edge to his voice rubbed Vin's already strained nerves raw.

"How long have we known each other?"

"Not as long as you might think," Chris said softly, sitting down on the second sofa to give Vin some space. "You were working with the US Marshals Service when we met. I was in the process of putting Team Seven together, and I asked you to come on board. That's been… a little over two years now."

Tanner's eyes widened. He didn't remember a single thing about his friendship with Larabee. Two years? That's all? Damn, they act like they've known me m' whole life, especially Larabee!

Chris didn't look at Vin as he added, "It might not sound like much, but we're close, Vin, we're all close – family."

Vin turned away. "I'm, uh, kind 'a tired. Think I'll go take a nap."

"Okay," Larabee said, defeat ringing in the single word. He stood and walked out of the room, leaving Vin alone.

The blond's sagging shoulders told the sniper Chris Larabee was slowly but surely giving up on him. He was torn about that. Part of him wanted Larabee to give up, to tell him to get on with his life – someplace else. But another part was sacred shitless Larabee might do just that. But he didn't know why. He knew he was attracted to the man, and he strongly suspected that his feelings might have run even deeper than that, but there was nothing Larabee had done or said to make Vin think he might be interested in him in that way.

Tanner pulled off his shoes and stretched out on the sofa, but sleep refused to come.

He could lie there, staring at the ceiling, or he could do… something. On impulse, Vin stood and pulled his shoes back on, lacing them up and heading outside to the barn. Peso was supposed to be his horse; the least he could do was brush the animal. Besides, Peso wasn't going to be asking him any damn questions.

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

Vin stopped just outside the doors to the barn when he heard Larabee's voice inside.

"…don't know if I can take much more of this," Larabee said quietly, his eyes bright. Sitting on a bale of hay, the blond shook his head as he spoke into his cell phone. "He's not even trying anymore."

"I'm sure he's trying, Chris," Josiah assured him. "But the doctor said it might take some time. There's some reason why Vin doesn't want to remember."

"It's been five weeks," Larabee said and sighed. "Five weeks, Josiah. Why wouldn't he want to remember? It's not like he's had a bad life with us. We're best friends, for Christ's sake. I know Vin better than I know myself most of the time. But this guy's not Vin; I don't know who the hell he is. And, to be honest, I'm getting tired of having to deal with him."

"We have to give him some time," Josiah argued. "He'll come around; I know he will."

"I just don't know how much I have left to give," Chris replied tiredly.

Vin felt like he'd been punched in the gut. I've let him down, he thought. I do that a lot…

He stopped and turned that idea over in his mind. I do that a lot, he silently repeated. Why does he put up with me?

There was no answer to be found for that question.

Well, there's something I c'n do about it, Vin concluded.

Larabee said, "Yeah, thanks, Josiah, I've gotta go," and slipped the cell phone into his pocket just as Vin stepped into the barn.

Tanner shuffled uncomfortably from foot to foot, his gaze focused on the ground as he said, "Look, I, uh… I really appreciate what y' been doin' fer me, but this just isn't workin', y' know?"

"It's too soon to give up, Vin," Chris said, sitting forward, his expression becoming worried – and scared, the sniper noted.

Tanner shook his head, the muscles in his jaw working furiously. He hated to see that look on the blond's face. "Don't seem t' be much use like this, so, uh, I think it'd be better if I went back t' my apartment."

"Vin—"

The sniper cut him off, saying, "Maybe m' memory'll come back if I stop tryin' so hard t' remember."

Larabee nodded thoughtfully, having thought the same thing himself more than once. "You might have a point. Some of the stuff I've read says memory recovery is aided when subjects stop trying to remember; when they accept their situation." He sighed. A part of him wanted to shoot the idea down, but another part was just too tired to care anymore. "But you sure you want to go back to your apartment? Purgatory is a dangerous place."

"Can't be that bad," Vin grumbled.

"Only you would say that. And the heat's out in your building. The apartment manager called me a couple of days ago, said it won't be back on for another few days."

Tanner shrugged. "Weather's nice enough." His head came up, a challenging tilt to his chin. "It's m' home, right?"

"Yeah, it is, but I don't like it," Chris admitted. He was getting mad, but he refused to let Vin see that. "I can't stop you, Vin. You can do whatever you think you have to."

Tanner nodded, his lips pursing briefly when he realized Larabee wasn't going to talk him out of it. He was going to let him go. Guess I wasn't that much of a friend even when I could remember. "Good," he said out loud. "I'll, uh, get m' stuff together."

"You don't even know what your stuff is," Chris said, his tone making Vin feel like he was five years old.

"Yer wrong," Tanner snapped back, his accent suddenly getting thicker. "Y' keep pointin' it out t' me all the damn time."

When Chris didn't say anything, Vin turned and angrily stalked away.

Larabee sat in silence, watching as Tanner went back inside the house. He pulled out his cell phone again, called Josiah, and told him what had just happened.

"Was that a good idea?" the profiler asked quietly. "Letting him go home alone?"

"What else can I do?" Larabee demanded, tone sharp. "I can't lock him in the damn guest room, now, can I?"

"But—"

Chris shook his head, the anger he felt slipping free. "It's his choice, Josiah. If he wants to bail out on us, that's his right."

"He's not himself," Josiah argued. "You can't expect him to act like Vin when he doesn't know who Vin is."

Chris pushed to his feet, his leg aching for the first time in several days. "I know he's not Vin," he snapped.

"I'm not so sure."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Larabee demanded, his free hand coming up to rest defensively on his hip.

"Chris, you've been pushing him away, and I think he knows that."

The blond paced inside the barn, then dropped back to sit on the hay bale again. "I don't know," he said, his voice catching.

"Maybe you're mad at him?"

Chris snorted, then laughed, the sound rough and half-wild. "Oh, yeah, I'm mad, all right. He's acting like a— like a—"

"Stranger?"

Chris thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah."

"But he is a stranger. He can't remember who—"

"I know that, Josiah, but it's Vin. He's—"

"Listen to yourself, Chris," Josiah interrupted him. "You're mad at Vin because he can't remember us – remember you. You're hurt, I understand that, but you're taking it out on him. It's a natural reaction, but—"

Green eyes widened. "I—" he interrupted, then dipped his head. "Christ, you're right," he said and sighed. "I'm being a damned idiot, aren't I." It wasn't a question.

"It's understandable."

"No, Josiah, it's not. He's my friend, my best friend, and I want him to get better, but you're right: I can't expect him to act like himself when he doesn't know who that is." He paused, looking out at the mountains. "I guess it just feels like I've lost him, and that—"

"Feels a little like it did when you lost your wife and son?" Josiah asked softly.

"More than I would've thought, to be honest."

"Maybe we should go talk to Dr. Davidson. He might know something we could do."

"Yeah, maybe so," Chris said, feeling helpless, and hurting more than he expected.

"It can't hurt," Josiah encouraged.

After a deep breath, Larabee nodded. "You're right. It can't hurt. We'll go. Call him, okay? Set up something as soon as you can."

"I'll do that."

Chris slipped his phone into his pocket and ran his hands over his hair, lacing his fingers behind his neck and sighing heavily. What was his problem? Why was he pushing Vin away?

The answer surfaced slowly, and he wasn't at all sure he wanted to believe it, but he knew it was true. He was mad because he knew Vin had fallen in love with him, and now that was gone.

But was that fair? He'd decided a while back that he wasn't going to encourage Vin, but…

But he'd been having second thoughts. And he wasn't comfortable with that. Wasn't really comfortable thinking about loving a man. But this was Vin. And he knew he loved Vin, but did he love him that way?

That was harder to wrap his brain around, although he was pretty sure some part of his brain had managed it, given his dreams.

"Damn," he said softly. What the hell was he supposed to do?

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

A week later

Lying in his own bed, in his own apartment, Vin drifted off to sleep, but the dreams were lying in wait for him, just like they had been for the last six nights.

Chris and the others were key players in the nightly sagas, all of them getting hurt, dying, all while Vin stood back and let it happen.

Sometimes they were in the city, sometimes in the mountains, but the men were always getting hurt and killed, and it was always his fault.

Waking with a start, Vin sat up and rubbed his trembling hand across his face. He sighed heavily, his stomach grumbling, but he was too tired to see what was left in his refrigerator. It wasn't a new story. Even when his stomach demanded attention, his head didn't feel hungry, so he refused to eat. Over the past week, he'd lost nearly ten pounds.

He didn't care. He passed the time sitting on the roof of his building until the cold drove him back inside, or trying to sleep, or just sitting in his living room, staring at nothing. Images continued to assail him, but he made no effort to sort through them anymore.

He had also refused to go see Dr. Davidson again, even after Larabee had come by several times, asking him to do so.

Why don't they just leave me alone? he wondered. 'M worthless t' 'em.

He shook his head. Why did they keep stopping by, trying to talk him into going back out to Larabee's ranch?

Okay, so they're friends 'a Vin Tanner's, but so what? I ain't him.

He looked up at the ceiling. Ain't never gonna know who I am, he decided.

Sighing heavily again, he forced his eyes to close, hoping the dreams wouldn't find him again tonight, but they did, and, once again, he had to watch his friends die, he had to watch the man he loved die…

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

The next day, the weather turned bad, growing cold and damp. And then it snowed, and snowed, and snowed some more.

Four days into the deep freeze, the heat only working a little, Vin thought about going to a hotel, but he couldn't work up enough energy to gather up a few belongings and get himself over to one. Instead, he lay in his bed, listening to the snow pelt the windows while he shivered and coughed.

How long had he been sick? He couldn't remember.

He sighed softly. Can't remember nothin'…

He coughed again, pain ripping through his lungs as it became harder and harder to breathe. He was hot.

Another chill attacked his body, making him feel like his bones were caught in vices, and he moaned.

What's goin' on? he wondered.

Some part of his mind registered the fact that he was sick and needed help, but there was no place to turn to. Besides, getting help meant he had to move, and he definitely did not want to do that.

He tried closing his eyes, but another cough tore through his chest, curling him into a ball on his side.

Get up! some part of his mind commanded.

He groaned and tugging the blankets tighter around his shoulders. "Go away," he mumbled to the voice inside his head.

Get up!

"Go away," he moaned louder.

Go t' the ranch – now!

Another cough, and this time he thought he tasted blood, but he didn't bother to check.

Chris'll help ya. Go t' the ranch – now!

Vin groaned, but he sat up, unable to ignore the drill-sergeant-style commands. His whole body was shaking, sweat dripping off his chin and onto the blankets.

"Larabee's not gonna help me," he mumbled. "He hates me now."

He doesn't hate y', y' damn fool. He'll help y'. Now, move!

With a frustrated moan, Vin inched to the edge of the bed and weakly climbed out. He pulled on an extra layer of clothes, then his brown leather jacket, and headed to the parking lot. He'd been told his Jeep was totaled, but he still had his motorcycle. He didn't look forward to using it in this weather, but he had no other options.

A few minutes later, with a howling wind whipping the snow against him, he climbed onto the bike. He cursed softly as he started the engine.

Get yer ass in gear and move, damn it!

Vin pulled on his helmet and maneuvered the bike out onto the deserted street.

The ranch, get t' the ranch!

"I'm goin', 'm goin'," he mumbled, starting off a little wobbly.

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

Vin hit a patch of ice and nearly lost control of his motorcycle as he reached the turnoff for Larabee's home. He managed to wrestle the bike back under control, pulling over and stopping when he reached the end of the driveway leading to the house.

Climbing stiffly off his bike, Vin started down the gravel road on foot, stumbling and wheezing his way toward the house. The lights were all off, telling him that Larabee was already in bed.

Slipping where some ice had frozen under the fresh dusting of snow, Vin fell to his knees, the impact triggering another round of coughing that nearly drove him unconscious.

Get up! Get up and get in there now!

With strength he didn't think he had, Vin managed to struggle to his feet, continuing on to the front door. He checked the knob, but it was locked, just like he knew it would be. But he had a key.

He fished into the pocket of his leather coat, pulling out his keys. But his fingers were numb, fumbling, and he dropped them.

His hands shaking, Tanner bent to pick up the key ring, but the move triggered another round of coughing. He dropped to his knees, the force of the coughs making his stomach heave, but there was nothing there to expel except a small amount of bile.

For a few moments, it felt like he was going to choke to death as he coughed and retched at the same time. He could feel the sweat dripping from his face, running into his eyes, making them sting.

"Chris," he gasped softly, his gaze lifting to the doorknob, which seemed impossibly far away.

He sagged, leaning heavily against the wall and staring at the keys, lying just beyond his reach. "Can't," he rasped, shaking his head.

Yes, y' c'n! Come on! Move, damn it! Move!

Forcing his arm to rise, he reached for the keys, finally managing to fumble them into his palm. Then, wheezing terribly, he located Larabee's key, no longer caring how he knew it was the right one.

He looked up at the doorknob again and knew he had to lift his arm in order to insert the key into the lock, but he was just too weak.

Still, he had to try.

His mouth open as he gulped for air, Vin forced his arm to rise. When he reached the knob, he tried to insert the key, but he was shaking so much he couldn't thread it in. Slumping back against the wall, he called, "Chris…" before another round of coughing tore at his lungs with fiery, sharp claws.

Move!

"Can't…"

Call fer help! Call fer Chris!

Following the internal instructions, Vin called as loudly as he could, but he could hardly hear himself over the sound of the wind whipping through the pines near by. There was no way the blond could have heard him.

"Chris," he wheezed again, pounding weakly against the door until darkness stole away his consciousness.

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

Lying in his bed, Larabee stared up at the dark ceiling. With a sigh, he turned over and forced his eyes closed, willing himself to sleep.

Chris….

He rolled onto his back again, staring up at the ceiling once more. After a minute, he sat up with a frustrated huff. "Damn you, Vin," he whispered, shaking his head. What the hell was he going to do about that man?

Knowing he wouldn't be able to sleep until he at least called Tanner and made sure he was all right, Chris tossed the covers back and stood. Reaching for his clothes, he pulled on a pair of thick sweatpants and an equally thick sweatshirt. Socks and fleece-lined moccasins followed.

Dressed, Chris headed for his office, where his cell phone was charging.

He stopped as soon as he stepped into the hallway and peered around, puzzled. Something wasn't right. Taking another step toward his office, he was forced to stop again.

Chris…

"What the hell?" he muttered softly, frowning. "Vin?" he called. "Vin!" He started down the hallway with long, purposeful strides, checking in the guest room, the bathroom, the kitchen and, finally, the living room.

Larabee stood in the foyer, his hands on his hips. He could have sworn he'd heard Tanner calling his name, but there was no one here.

A soft thumping sound reached his ears and he turned, staring at the closed front door. "Vin?" he murmured as he lunged forward, deactivating the alarm and twisting the dead bolts open before yanking the door wide.

He found Vin curled up on his front porch beside the door. What sounded like a soft moan echoed out of the darkness, followed by an ominous-sounding cough that seemed more like the man was choking than breathing.

How did he get here? Larabee wondered as he bent down. "Vin?"

The man didn't move or respond.

Squatting down next to his friend, Larabee could hear the wet, labored breathing. "What the hell've you done to yourself?" he asked, shaking the man's shoulder. "Come on, Tanner, wake up!"

"Huh?" was the answering wheeze.

"Come on, we have to get you inside."

"Can't… too tired."

"Yes, you can," Chris insisted, pulling his friend up so he was sitting back against the wall.

"Tried… can't," Vin argued, weakly trying to fend off the hands that were moving him.

"I'll help you," Larabee urged, standing and forcing Tanner to his feet. "Grab my arm."

Vin reached out, his fingers grabbing, but then slipping off the soft material.

"Grab my arms!" Larabee commanded.

Vin tried again, his numb fingers curling into the thick fabric this time.

"Now, move your feet!" Chris yelled, already starting to shiver from the cold.

Vin shuffled unsteadily forward, Chris pulling him along and, together, they made it into the house and then into the living room.

Larabee's eyes went wide when he finally saw Tanner in the light he turned on. "Shit," he hissed, then snapped, "Don't move." He hurried to the phone in the kitchen, calling 911 and requesting an ambulance.

He rushed back to Tanner. "Vin!" he snapped, his hand pressed against the man's icy, almost white cheek. "I called for the paramedics," he said. "They should be here soon. Vin, can you hear me?" he called, as he checked the man for any injuries. "Christ," he breathed, "you're burning up."

Vin sucked in a shallow, rattling breath and tried to force his eyes open, but they steadfastly refused to comply. "I'm gonna go get a blanket," he heard Chris say. "Stay there."

Stay here? Where the hell was he going to go? He couldn't even open his eyes, let alone get up and walk someplace.

Larabee hurried to the hallway closet, grabbing two spare blankets and taking them back to the living room. He gathered Vin up and maneuvered him around so he was propped up at the end of the sofa. "Hang in there, Cowboy," he said. "You're gonna get through this, I promise."

Glad y' think so, was Tanner's unspoken reply.

Then, Larabee carefully undressed the sodden man and bundled him up the best he could in the blankets.

"Vin, are you having a hard time breathing?" Chris asked, watching the water dripping off the man's hair.

Vin managed to nod.

"Hang on, okay, the paramedics will be here anytime. I'm going to go grab a towel."

Chris hurried to the bathroom, coming back and drying Tanner's hair as best he could. "Jesus, Vin, you've lost a lot of weight."

"Tired…" Tanner wheezed.

"You look like shit," Chris snapped, angry although he didn't know why.

The distant wail of a siren told Larabee that help had finally arrived.

"Vin," he said, leaning close to the man's ear. "You listen to me. You die and so help me— Just don't, okay?"

Vin wished he could laugh, but he knew what would happen if he triggered another round of coughing. It felt like he was floating, images drifting past him, memories… good memories… memories of Chris and his other friends… And, for the first time since the car accident, he didn't feel alone and lost. He still couldn't string two coherent thoughts together, but he knew he wasn't alone, and, for now, that was enough.

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

A couple of hours later

"Didn't we just do this?" Buck muttered as he sank back against the overstuffed chair in the hospital waiting room, watching as Chris absently rubbed his leg. He leveled a concerned look on his friend. "You okay?" Larabee had called him on his cell phone as the blond had pulled out behind the ambulance and he, in turn, had called the others, who had now joined them at the hospital.

"It'll be fine," Larabee stated flatly.

Wilmington frowned, but there was nothing he could do. Chris hadn't said more than three words since he'd explained to the ladies' man how he'd found Vin earlier. Buck had passed that story on to the others when they had each arrived.

Then they had settled into an uneasy silence while they waited to hear from the doctor. Josiah and Nathan were both reading. JD had managed to doze off. And Ezra was playing a game of solitaire, which left Buck with nothing to do but watch Larabee.

After an hour or so in the silence, Buck sighed and said, "I think this is some kind of a record."

"Oh?" Josiah mumbled, blinking sleepily as he looked up from the book he was holding.

"Yeah," the ladies' man replied. "The way I figure it, Vin's been in three different hospitals in less than a month."

Ezra grinned thinly. "We will have to come up with an appropriate reward for our resident overachiever."

"Reward?" Larabee snapped.

Standish was about to reply when a young man walked in and asked, "Excuse me, but are you all waiting for word on Mr. Tanner?"

"Yeah," Chris said, his attention diverted from the undercover man. He stood.

"Dr. Sommers would like to see you in her office. If you'd just come with me?"

The agents rose and followed the man to an office, where they were met by a middle-aged woman with grey-streaked, short brown hair and cinnamon-colored eyes.

"I'm Dr. Sommers," she greeted them, shaking hands with each of the men as they stepped into her office. She gestured for them to use the two available chairs while she walked around her desk and sat down.

The young man stepped inside, handing her a chart. "Thanks, Tim," she said with a smile. Opening the file, she said, without looking at it, "First, the bad news. Mr. Tanner has one nasty case of pneumonia."

"Pneumonia?" Chris echoed, a sudden chill snaking down his back and pooling in his guts.

She flashed him a reassuring smile. "The good news is, he stabilized quickly, and he's already responding to the antibiotics we've put him on. However, he's running a pretty high fever, but we're monitoring that closely. I think he should be through the worst of it in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Buck's cheeks puffed in relief. "I suppose we can't see him until tomorrow, right?" he grumbled, annoyed by the usual hospital rules.

Dr. Sommers shook her head. "Nope, you can see him right now if you'd like. We have twenty-four-hour visiting hours here at Summit, unless we just don't have room for you while we're doing procedures. In fact, there's a pull-out bed under the sofa in his room, if someone wants to stay with him tonight."

Buck's eyes widened. "You're kidding, right?"

"Not at all," she assured him.

"Can we all see him?" JD asked her hopefully.

"I don't see why not," Dr. Sommers replied. "The pull-out's only big enough for one, but if you'd all like to stay I'm sure we can come up with something to accommodate you."

Nathan beamed. "We really appreciate that."

"I don't think we all need to stay the night," Chris interrupted. "But if we could check in on him, that'd be great."

Dr. Sommers looked down, checking the chart. "He's in room 313. Turn right out of the elevators. It's toward the middle of the hall. He'll probably be here for a couple of days, but I wouldn't worry."

The men stood. "Thank you, Doctor," Larabee said, leaning forward to shake her hand again.

"You're quite welcome. I'll be by to check on him around midnight, then again in the morning."

The agents headed straight from the doctor's office to the elevators. On the third floor, they turned right, but still managed to take the wrong hall. They backtracked and found Vin's room.

Inside, they found the sniper hooked to an IV, and an oxygen cannula rested across his upper lip. The tableau was far too familiar, but there was something new: a soft scraping sound that accompanied each breath he took, although it sounded better to Larabee's ear than the earlier rattling wheezes had.

"Vin?" Chris said quietly as they reached the bedside.

Tanner's eyes blinked open, but they remained glazed and unfocused.

"Hey, Cowboy, how're you doing?" Larabee asked.

Vin's head rolled to the side as he sought out the source of the voice. The sniper's face was damp with sweat, and when Chris reached out to grip the man's arm, he could feel the heat radiating off Vin's skin before he even touched him.

"Vin, you awake, pard?"

Blue eyes slowly focused on Chris' face, and Tanner smiled weakly, saying, "Chris…?"

The blond felt his heart jump. There was something about the way Vin had said his name, or maybe it was the expression in the man's eyes… "Vin?"

"Guess 'm… pretty sick, huh?"

"Vin, do you know who I am?" Chris asked him, squeezing his friend's arm a little harder.

The sniper's forehead wrinkled. "Feel kind 'a funny…"

Larabee squeezed the man's arm again. "Don't worry about it," he said. "They're taking good care of you. You just work on getting better, okay?"

Vin closed his eyes. "'Kay… 'm really tired…"

The disappointment was strong, but Chris let it go for now. "Get some rest," he told Vin. "Don't worry about anything," he added, his voice gentle with affection. "I'll be right here, okay?"

"'Kay…"

Chris huffed out a soft sigh as he watched Vin drift back to sleep. Still, there had been a glimmer of recognition, he was sure of that. But he was afraid to hope.

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

The next day, Vin's fever peaked and broke. He slept for eighteen hours straight, while Chris and the others took shifts, sitting with him and encouraging him to get well and wake up. Almost twenty-four hours later, he did just that.

Vin groaned, eyebrows arching as he pulled his eyelids open. Peering around the room, he saw JD sitting in a chair, GameBoy in his lap. "What're y' playin'?" he asked, his voice raspy.

JD's head snapped up. "Vin?"

The other man nodded and tried to swallow. "Water," he choked out.

"I'll get it," Dunne said, setting the game aside and standing. It took him a moment to locate a glass and fill it at the sink in the room. Carrying it back to the bed, he rummaged in the rolling bedside stand for a straw. He bent it over and held the glass for Vin, who took several sips before saying, "Thanks."

"No problem," was the immediate reply. "How're you feeling? How's your chest? Are you in any pain? What can you remember?"

Vin grinned slightly as he thought for a moment, then replied, "Pretty good… Sore… Not really… Some, I think."

JD beamed. "Really? That's great! Do you know who I am?"

Tanner thought for a second. "JD…"

The smile that split the young man's face was huge. "That's right! That's a great start, Vin!"

"Hope so," Vin sighed, then coughed. The grimace on Tanner's face, and the sudden loss of color in his cheeks, was sufficient to prompt JD to ring for the nurse.

"Easy," JD said soothingly.

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

A couple of hours later

"Vin, you awake?"

Blue eyes blinked open. "Chris?"

"How do you feel?" the blond asked, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to the sniper's bedside.

Tanner frowned. "Why's that the first question anyone 'round here asks me?"

"Hospital rule," Larabee offered with a straight face. "Any more memories come back?"

Vin shrugged. "Lots 'a violent stuff," he admitted. Sexual, too, he added silently and, feeling slightly uncomfortable, he glanced away.

"You have to expect that. You were in the Army, worked as a bounty hunter, then in the US Marshal's Service. Now you're an ATF agent. You've seen a lot of violence."

"Guess so."

"Come on, Vin, what's really wrong?" Chris prodded, leaning closer to the man. "Talk to me. You used to."

Vin rolled his head to the side so he could meet the man's troubled gaze.

Talk t' him, said the now-familiar voice inside his skull.

"Keep seein' times when y' got hurt – you 'n' the others."

Larabee frowned. "That's just dreams, Vin. We haven't been dinged up all that much."

"But when y' are, it's m' fault," Vin told him, earnestly believing it.

The blond cocked his head to the side. "I don't know what you're seeing, but I can tell you this, you've saved my life more times than I can count – the others', too. And we've saved your scrawny ass a few times, too. There's never been a time when you were to blame for one of us getting hurt."

Vin's eyes narrowed. "What about—? What about—? Ah, hell, I can't remember!"

Chris leaned forward, deciding to go for broke. "Davidson said amnesia fades slower when the person has unresolved issues they're grappling with."

"Then this must be one hell of 'n issue," Vin scoffed.

Chris stood, looking down at his friend as he said seriously, "Vin, I want you to listen to me, okay?"

Tanner nodded.

Larabee drew a deep breath and began. "The last case we worked on involved a missing child, Alisa Poon, a four-year-old—"

"Asian girl," Vin finished for him, but it felt like the breath had suddenly been sucked from his lungs and he blinked rapidly, gulping for air.

Larabee nodded. "Turned out she was one of five kids who had been abducted and—"

"Killed," Vin finished again, the images of the girl's body racing through his mind. He recognized them. "She was tortured t' death."

"Yeah," the blond replied softly. "But we didn't know about that at the time of the bust. We were just looking for a man who was trading stolen guns for kids like Alisa."

"C-Carroll," Vin whispered, his gaze turning inward. "David Carroll."

"No, not David Carroll… Thomas Carroll. Thomas Carroll was the man who actually tortured those kids to death." Chris reached out and squeezed Vin's arm, bringing him back from the morass of memories that were rapidly bubbling to the surface. "Thomas was David's twin."

Vin blinked, tears welling up in his eyes as he remembered the child, and her family's reaction. "He shot ya."

Larabee nodded. "We found out where Thomas Carroll was staying. We went to bring him in."

"I left m' position!" Vin said, remembering.

Larabee nodded again. "When we got there, we found Carroll had already swapped a crate of handguns for another child, a little Mexican girl."

Vin nodded, the events playing out like a movie in his mind.

"You did what you had to in order to get Carroll. If you hadn't, God only knows how many more children might have died."

"But y' got shot," Tanner said softly.

"I'm fine," Chris added, meeting the man's guileless gaze. "Like I told you the day of the shooting, you did the right thing."

"But y' got hurt," Vin argued.

"Vin…"

Larabee's tone was threatening, but Vin knew the blond didn't mean it. He smiled thinly. "'M afraid 'm gonna get y' hurt," he muttered. "You or one of the others… 'M gonna make a mistake out there, 'n' one of y' are gonna pay the price."

Chris thought about that for a moment, then said, "Vin, I can't promise what you're saying will never happen. Hell, I can't say I won't make a mistake and get one of you hurt, either. But I can tell you this: We're a good team – the best. We work well together, and I think we're better together than we are apart. In this line of work, we sometimes have to play things by ear. And sometimes we have to take risks to get the job done. I trust you to take the right risks, Vin, and so do the rest of the boys."

Vin blinked rapidly, trying to control the emotions that battled for release.

"I'd be willing to bet that you were worrying about the Carroll case when the accident happened."

"Don't remember, but Dr. Davidson said it was probably somethin' like that. Said m' subconscious thought it could keep y'all safe by keepin' me from rememberin' who y'all were."

"Well, it was wrong," Chris said softly. "We need you out there, Vin. We need you watching our backs and backing us up."

Vin nodded again and Chris took another risk, leaning over to give his best friend a hug. Tanner returned the gesture, holding on tighter than Larabee expected. "'M really sorry, Chris."

Larabee had a feeling that Vin was apologizing for more than the amnesia, but he didn't think this was the right time to press him on it. "Just get better so we can get back to normal, okay?"

Vin nodded.

Chris stepped back when Vin's grip finally loosened.

Tanner looked up at him, his expression thoughtful. "Guess I just got caught behind the walls."

"The walls?" Larabee echoed.

Vin nodded tiredly. "Walls in m' head. Built 'em up when I's a kid. Used t' be I could slip behind 'em 'n' hide from… whatever I wanted to."

"Guess we all do that," Chris replied softly, remembering the months following the deaths of his wife and son.

"Y' ever get trapped?"

"Not recently. But after Sarah and Adam were killed… Well, let's just say I had my own demons to fight in order to escape from behind those walls…"

A small smile lifted the corners of the sniper's mouth. "Guess the trick's t' work 'em out with somebody who cares 'bout us, huh?"

Chris smiled and nodded, reaching out to rest his hand on Vin's shoulder. He squeezed, saying, "Yep. Look, I'm gonna go grab a cup of coffee, and when I get back, we're gonna talk. Okay?"

Vin shook his head, the words making his stomach churn. "Don't reckon 'm ready," he said, then watched as Larabee walked to the door. "Chris?"

The blond paused in the doorway. "Yeah?"

"Maybe later," he said softly, "when 'm out 'a here?"

Chris nodded, feeling his throat tighten. He had come so close to giving up – they both had. Vin wasn't back yet, but he was on the road now, and that was all that mattered. The rest would work itself out. "I'll be back in a few minutes," he promised.

Tanner nodded. "'Kay." When Larabee was gone, he closed his eyes. How in the hell was he going to explain his feelings to Chris? He couldn't. And if he did, he'd just lose the man…

And then he knew why he'd lost his memory. Oh, yeah, he'd been feeling guilty about Chris and Ezra getting hurt, but it was his feeling for Chris that he'd really been trying to avoid.

So what he going to do about it? What could he do about it?

Talk t' the man, the voice told him.

"Easier said 'n done," he mumbled in reply, but he knew he had no other choice.

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

A couple of days later

Vin stepped into Larabee's home and glanced around. What had seemed so strange, so foreign just a couple of weeks ago now hummed with familiarity. Stopping, he drew a deep breath and let it out in a long, contented sigh. He was home… but for how long?

Continuing on into the living room, he stopped again to gaze around the room. He remembered which chair he usually used, remembered who had bought what, for whom, even recognized the minor changes that had been made over the past month and a half. He smiled. He was almost back to "normal."

There were still occasional holes in his memory that he stumbled across, but they were usually filled in fairly quickly when he stopped and concentrated.

The day of the car accident still remained a complete mystery, but that was perfectly normal, according to Dr. Davidson, so he had stopped trying to recall the events that had led to the amnesia in the first place.

The team was still trying to determine who had been responsible for the hit-and-run. David Carroll categorically denied any involvement.

Vin didn't expect the investigation to bear fruit. It could've been anyone, including a complete stranger who was drunk, or stoned, or just pissed off at the world. All he cared about was that it was over. Well, almost over. He still had his bombshell to drop on Larabee, and then it might, quite literally, be over.

He could easily imagine the blond giving him his walking papers once the revelation was out.

Walking over to the sofa that faced the fireplace, he sat down, enjoying the sensation of being home for as long as it lasted.

He closed his eyes, remembering how he'd met the young woman who had stopped to help him after the car accident. Callie Brin was cute and perky, and she had been very embarrassed when he had spontaneously given her a hug and kiss. He wasn't sure the young State Patrol officer she was now dating had approved, but he didn't really care. He'd wanted to say thank you, so he had. He grinned, remembering the disappointed look on Buck's face when the ladies' man had seen whom the girl was dating.

Tomorrow he was planning to see if he could find Stacy, so he could thank her for all her help, too. Dr. Davidson thought that the alcohol she'd given him might have been one reason his memories hadn't returned more quickly, but she couldn't have known about the risks. And she had saved his butt when he'd needed help the most. He owed it to her to find her and say thank you, and to return the clothes she'd borrowed for him.

Leaning back against the cushions, he listened as Buck and JD came in, carrying groceries that they took straight back to the kitchen. A few moments later, Josiah and Nathan came in with sodas and more food. Ezra was the last to arrive, and he wasn't carrying anything, which, Vin knew, was not unusual.

Vin closed his eyes, letting the waves of ordinariness wash over him. God, it felt good. And he forced himself not to think about what life might be like without it again. He'd be all alone again…

Tomorrow he had to go get his Jeep. Chris had already warned him about the extent of the damage. He'd probably have to write it off, get a new one. Well, he decided, it was probably time. His baby was always breaking down, and the heater wasn't really able to chase away the cold anymore.

It was a small price to pay for getting his life, and his family, back.

Provided he managed to keep them…

And then there was the Carroll arraignment. Thinking about the twin brothers made Vin's skin crawl. Severely abused as children, the twins had ended up in several mental institutions over the years, that is, until the federal funding had run out and they had been put out on the streets. David had plotted the abductions, but Thomas had carried them out. Well, not anymore. Thomas was dead, and David in jail – where he would, no doubt, remain for the rest of his life. It was where they both belonged.

He heard Chris come in and stop. He knew the blond was looking at him, trying to determine if something was wrong. When he heard Larabee moving closer, Vin opened his eyes and smiled up at the man. "Good t' be home," he said.

Chris nodded in reply. "Good to feel like things are finally back to normal."

"Normal?" Vin questioned with a soft snort. "'Round here?"

"You've got a point," Chris mumbled, frowning slightly.

Vin chuckled.

The others joined them in the living room, Buck dropping onto the sofa next to Vin. "Well, you're all stocked up," he said, then glanced at his watch. "Uh, Chris, I think it's about time."

"Time?" Vin asked suspiciously. "Time for what? Don't tell me the doctor sent a bunch 'a pills fer me t' take."

"Nope, nothing like that," JD assured him.

"Reservations," Josiah explained.

"Reservations?" Vin echoed.

"At Morton's," Ezra added.

The suspicious look on Vin's face deepened. "Since when do we go t' Morton's? Ain't forgotten everythin', y' know. What're y' guys up to?"

JD grinned. "Hey, that's good, Vin!"

"It's a celebration," Chris told him.

"A celebration?"

"What, you didn't hear me the first time?" Larabee growled. "Hell, now his hearing's going."

"Jeez, Vin, you're startin' to sound like a parrot," Buck complained as he stood and offered Tanner his hand.

Letting the ladies' man tug him to his feet, Tanner huffed, "Just tell me what the hell's goin' on."

"A party," Nathan supplied.

"A—?"

"Junior!"

"Sorry," was the sniper's sheepish reply. "But—"

"Come on," Chris said. "You'll see when we get there."

Vin sighed, but he went along, knowing there was nothing else he could do. Besides, if his days with Team Seven were about to come to an end, well, he might was well go out on a high note. A final celebration with the men he called his family was in order, wasn't it? It would give him something to remember, and he had a new appreciation for memories…

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

At the well-known LoDo steakhouse, Vin wasn't all that surprised to find a bunch of people waiting for them: Raine, Nettie and Casey, Callie Brin and her new boyfriend, Captain Kathy Karon, and Stacy. He walked up to the waitress first, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

"How are you?" she asked him, her serious expression not masking the twinkle in her eye.

"Fine," Vin said. "Rememberin' more every day – like all y' did for me."

She blushed. "It wasn't that much."

"Yes, it was," Chris said, stepping up to join the pair. "I want you to know how much we appreciate everything you did for Vin."

She nodded, blushing more before Nettie interrupted, giving Stacy an opportunity to escape.

"So, ya got your memory back, huh?" the older woman asked him.

"Most of it," Vin replied, a little self-consciously.

"And me?" she asked him.

Chris shook his head, saying, "Nettie, you know Vin could never forget you."

Vin blushed. "Not fer long, anyway." He gave her a hug. "Never for long."

Nettie smiled and patted his cheek, saying softly, "Glad to hear that, son – very glad." She moved off to make sure JD wasn't getting too fresh with Casey.

Vin watched her go. "Y' know, there are some things we never should forget," he said softly.

"I know what you mean," Chris said, resting his hand on Vin's shoulder and guiding him over to meet Kathy Karon.

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

Three hours later, Vin was pleasantly tired and very content. Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the buzz of the conversations, but he wasn't paying attention to any of them in particular. The ring of a knife on a water glass broke through his reverie.

Chris stood, glancing around the table. "I just wanted to thank all of you for coming tonight," he said, then glanced down at Vin, who was sitting next to him. "I think Vin would agree that this has been a great welcome home."

Tanner nodded. "Absolutely, thank you." The guests applauded and he dipped his head to hide the stain of color on his cheeks.

"Vin, I just wanted to say… It's good to have you back, pard. And I'm sorry I wasn't a better friend to you when you needed me."

Vin felt his eyes begin to burn. "Chris–" he said, but his voice caught. Pushing himself to his feet, he shook his head. "It was me," he said to their assembled friends. "I was tryin' t' make sure I didn't get hurt, 'n' I did it by runnin' away from the people I care about the most. But y' can't run from your friends. They always know where t' find ya. Can't run from home, either, 'cause it keeps pullin' y' back… Guess it comes down t' this: y' can't run from love, 'cause you're always carryin' it with ya in yer heart."

Larabee took a step, putting him face to face with his best friend. He could see Vin was anxious, and a little embarrassed. The blond reached out, grabbing Vin's shoulders and pulling him into a hug. "You mean more to me than I can say, Vin," he said quietly, for just Tanner's ears. "And nothing's ever going to change that."

Vin returned the hug, unshed tears stinging his eyes. Guess we'll see, he thought.

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

Later that night

The party had wound down and the guests had headed off to their homes. Chris and Vin were the last to leave, the two men heading out to the parking lot, where the Ram was parked. They climbed into the pickup, Larabee pulling out onto the road and heading for the freeway.

The drive back to the ranch was quiet, both men lost in their own thoughts. But it was a comfortable silence, one both of them could relax and revel in, although for Vin it was bittersweet, knowing he was probably going to lose all he'd just regained.

When they arrived at the ranch, Chris asked Vin if he wanted some coffee, the sniper nodding that he did. It would give Vin the time he needed to build his courage.

A few minutes later, they were both sitting in the living room, cups of coffee in hand.

"So, you going to tell me what's been bothering you?" Larabee asked.

Vin sighed softly and nodded. "Didn't mean to put this off so long…"

That didn't sound good to Chris' ears. "What?"

After another, slightly louder sigh, Vin said, "I think I know the real reason for m' memory gettin' lost."

Chris nodded and waited to see what Vin would say. When the words came, they weren't a surprise.

"I know it's wrong, but I fell in love with ya."

"Why's that wrong?" Chris asked.

It wasn't the question or comment Tanner had expected. "What d' ya mean?"

"Why is it wrong to fall in love?"

"Ain't. Unless yer a man 'n' ya fall in love with another man."

"Happens every day."

"Not t' me."

"Why?"

"'Cause I ain't gay, and neither are you."

"You sound pretty sure of yourself."

"I am."

"And if I told you I loved you, too?"

Vin snorted. "I'd tell y' it ain't funny."

"And if it's true?"

Vin stopped, lifting his gaze to meet Larabee's. He frowned. The blond wasn't joking around, or teasing him. He was serious. "That what you're tellin' me?"

Chris nodded.

Vin opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, his frown creasing deeper. He shot Larabee a confused look. "You—? With me?"

That forced a small smile onto Larabee's lips. "Damn, Vin, love isn't a four-letter word. I mean, it is, but— You know what I mean."

"But you're not gay."

"No, I'm not, but I guess I'm not as straight as I thought I was, either."

That put the brake on Vin's thoughts. He had been thinking about things in black-and-white terms. A man was either straight or he was gay, but here was Larabee, telling him things were more complicated than that.

The blond was right. And he'd known that all along, but he hadn't wanted to think about it. Hell, he hadn't wanted to think about a lot of shit recently, and look where it had gotten him.

"You sayin' y' love me?" Vin asked. "Like y' did yer wife?" He just couldn't imagine that was possible.

"I'm saying I love you. And if you mean do I love you and want you in my life, for the rest of my life, then, yes, that's what I'm saying."

Vin's mouth opened and closed again.

Chris' expression remained serious as he asked, "What about you?"

Vin nodded.

"Tell me."

Vin sucked in a deep breath and said in a rush, "I fell in love with ya, y' damn bastard."

A small smile curled the corners of Chris' mouth. "Well, nobody's going to accuse you of being a romantic," he drawled.

Vin blushed and dipped his head.

"So," Larabee continued, "you love me, I love you… Where do we go from here?"

"Loony bin, most likely."

"I'm serious."

"So 'm I."

"You want to just forget we had this conversation, go back to the way it was before?" Chris asked.

"Reckon I do, but I don't think I c'n."

"Good."

"Why?"

"Because I can't, either," the blond said. "I don't want to, and I don't think you do, either. You tried running away from this, Vin – look where you ended up."

Tanner's shoulders slumped. "I know…"

Chris pushed to his feet and walked over, sitting back down next to Vin. "Look," the blond said, "when I lost Sarah, I figured love was something I'd never feel again. I didn't want to. It was easier to hide behind that wall of pain and anger, but…" Larabee huffed out a dry laugh. "But then I realized a certain pain-in-the-ass sniper had put a hole in that wall."

Vin's cheeks turned a deep red as he grinned. "Guess I am a pain, huh?"

"Sometimes," Chris allowed.

"Yeah, well, y' ain't no bed 'a roses yerself, Larabee."

Chris laughed. "Yeah, so I've been told."

The two men fell into silence for several minutes, then Chris said, "So, like I said, where do we go from here?"

"Bedroom, I reckon," Vin replied somewhat flippantly.

Larabee thought for a moment, then replied, "Guess that would make sense."

Tanner's eyes rounded. "What?"

"Well, we need to find out if we can… you know…"

It was Vin's turn to laugh. "Yeah, I know."

"So…?"

Vin took a deep breath and nodded. "So, I guess yer right. I mean, if this is gonna work, then we gotta know if…" The sniper's cheeks went the darkest red Larabee had seen so far.

"If we like being together."

Tanner nodded. "If I c'n get y' off."

"And vice versa."

"Reckon," Vin replied, but he had little doubt Chris would be able to turn him on, or get him off. After all, he'd been doing it for almost two years in his dreams. He looked up, meeting the blond's eyes. "Y' sure 'bout this?"

"Sure? No. But close enough, yes."

Taking another deep breath to steel his nerves, Vin pressed his hands to his thighs and pushed to his feet. "No use draggin' our feet…"

"Nope," Chris said, standing as well. The nervousness he'd felt just a moment ago faded, a slow-building desire taking its place. He didn't understand it, but he didn't need to, either. All he needed to know was that he wanted to be with Vin, wanted to feel him, touch him, pleasure him. How, he wasn't so sure, but he'd figure it out, of that he was confident.

Turning, Larabee set his empty coffee cup on the mantel, and headed straight for his bedroom, hoping Vin would follow. He did.

In the bedroom, Chris undressed down to his T-shirt and briefs, then slipped into the master bathroom to complete his nighttime rituals. When he was finished, he returned to the bedroom. Vin must have used the guest bathroom, because he was already lying in the big king-sized bed, waiting.

Chris' nerves faltered, but he only hesitated for a moment, then pulled off his T-shirt and stepped out of his briefs, dropping them in his dirty-clothes basket on the way to the bed. He turned back the covers and slid in, his half-filled cock bouncing against his thigh as he did. There was no way Vin could have avoided seeing his arousal.

He reached up to turn off the light over the bed, but Vin stopped him with a softly spoken, "Leave it on, Cowboy."

Just the tone of Vin's voice was enough to fill Larabee's cock to near fullness. He wasn't exactly sure what he ought to do first, but he was saved from guessing when Vin scooted closer, his hand coming up to rub lightly over Chris' chest. The touch sent a shiver of desire coursing through the blond's veins and he closed his eyes and groaned softly, "Damn…"

Vin continued to explore the older man's chest, fingertips skimming lightly over sensitive skin and nipples. Just being able to finally touch Chris was enough to make the sniper hard with want. Dipping his head, Vin licked one of the hard nubs, Larabee's immediate reaction an arch of his back and a sucked-in breath.

Vin grinned, more than a little amazed that he was able to touch the man so freely. There was still a part of his brain that was telling him this was wrong, but he suspected it was the ghost of his grandfather's hatred and prejudice, because everything he was doing and feeling was good – very damn good.

Then he felt Chris' hand on him, and, a moment later, Vin was lying on his back in the bed, the blond's hands exploring him, making him writhe and squirm.

"Oh, Jesus," the sniper gasped as Larabee's hand dropped lower, rubbing across his lower belly. A moment later, Vin yelped when Chris' fingers closed around his throbbing cock. He arched his back, his hips thrusting up, and he warned, "Ain't gonna last at all."

"I can see that," Chris teased, enjoying the feeling of power he felt, watching Vin surrender to his touch. He stroked the younger man's cock a couple of times, spreading the precome that was leaking from the slit over the man's shaft. When he rubbed this thumb over the tip, Vin shuddered all over and moaned, begging, "Do that again."

Chris did.

"Oh, God," Vin breathed, "'m close."

Chris grinned, rubbing over the sensitive head a couple of times and then squeezing it.

That was all it took. Vin's body shook and he was coming, his seed landing on his chest and belly.

Chris watched the sniper come, captivated by the raw sensuality of it. His own cock throbbed, demanding attention, but he refused to reach down and touch himself while Vin lay, panting for breath, recuperating.

When Tanner's blue eyes opened, Chris smiled down at him and asked, "Good?"

Vin flashed him a crooked grin and replied, "Yep."

"You always had that hair trigger?"

"Fuck you, Larabee."

"Well, something like that," the blond purred.

Vin's gaze shifted to the blond's hard-on and he grinned. Before Chris knew what was going to happen, Tanner had him on his back, the sniper's mouth capturing his aching cock.

"Oh, fuck!" Larabee growled.

Vin chuckled, the vibration enveloping Chris' cock and making the man groan as he thrust into the sniper's mouth. Tongue, teeth, suction and heat all combined to drive Chris right to the edge and over. He came in Vin's mouth, the sniper milking him dry.

A few minutes later, they were lying together in the dark, Chris' arms around Vin, the sniper's head on Larabee's shoulder.

"What were y' sayin' 'bout a hair trigger?" Vin drawled.

Chris chuckled. "Yeah, well, guess we were both a little quick on the draw the first time."

"Reckon there'll be a second time?"

"Mmm," the blond replied. "Count on it."

Vin snuggled closer. "Y' sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure… You?"

Vin thought for a moment, then said, "Yeah, me, too."

"Good," Chris said, stroking Vin's shoulder. When he felt Tanner's cock begin to stir, he chuckled. "Reload pretty quick, though, don't you."

Vin smiled. "Just feelin' good, is all."

"Glad to hear it."

Vin gave Chris a squeeze as he asked, "Y' really thnk y' c'n be happy with me? I mean, you were a dad, and—"

"Vin, over the course of this… well, whatever the hell we call it. The point is, I realized you'd fallen in love with me. When I did, I couldn't understand how I'd missed it for so long."

"Sorry…"

"Don't apologize, damn it. Love is a gift, Vin. Believe me, I know. When you're lucky enough to find it, you do every damn thing in your power to hold on to it."

Vin nodded. "I just don't want t' hold y' back if ya—"

"What? Want to be a father again?"

Vin nodded in the darkness.

"Hell, Vin, if I do, and if you do, there's nothing stopping us from adopting, or whatever same-sex couples do."

Vin hadn't considered that. "I'm just sayin'—"

"I'm just saying I love you, Vin Tanner. This is it. What we do now, well, that's something we'll decide – together. That's what it's all about, you know."

Vin swallowed, forcing the lump in his throat to let his words pass. "Just never thought you'd want me like that."

"You thought wrong."

"Damn, Cowboy," Vin whispered, "it's like wakin' up in a dream."

"This isn't a dream, Vin."

"I know," he replied, "but it feels like it… Hell, me and happy endings just don't fit together."

"Do now."

"No, can't be me, gotta be us…"

Chris smiled. "Well, guess I can live with that."

Vin's hand slipped down, cupping Chris' soft cock. "Ain't gonna be able t' keep m' hands off 'a ya."

"Mmm," Chris replied, his hand sliding down to cup Vin's ass. "I hear ya."

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