Most of Me

by Barb

WARNINGS: Angst. One little, itty bitty bit of non-con touching by an OC.
TYPE: Pre-pre-slash.
RATING: R

AUTHORS NOTE: My thanks to the incomparable Fara D for her wonderful beta work.

No one takes a tumble like Vin did down that hill and shakes it off for long.

Dry, brown grasses clicked and rustled in the early fall breeze as nine horses and eight riders made their way along the faint tracks left by the wagon train that had recently been left behind. The pack horse skittered suddenly as a rabbit burst away from the intruders. J.D. dropped back a bit to sooth the nerves of the pack horse and secure a sack of flour that threatened to slither out from under its bindings. It was an almost balmy afternoon, quiet except for the dull thud of horses hooves’ on hard earth, creaking saddles and the eerie summer-end song of hidden cicadas.

Chris Larabee turned in his saddle and looked back down the line of riders. They were spread out a bit, not willing to eat the dust of the horses in front of them. J.D., at the end of the disjointed line, was fiddling with the pack horse for some reason that escaped the gunslinger. A ways to the fore and right of him, Buck rode companionably by the side of Josiah. Both seemed to be nodding a bit in the saddle. Up and to the left of J.D. Ezra rode close by Nathan, heads bent toward each other in quiet conversation. Chris raised an eyebrow at that. You never could tell with those two. A little further afield Mary was holding a drowsing Billy before her on the saddle. Chris smiled. All of the excitement of the last few days seemed to have finally caught up with the young boy. He turned back again and looked up the trail to find that Vin had increased the distance between them. Vin had been subdued and distant since they had parted company with the homesteaders this morning.

Chris studied Vin for a moment. The tracker was leaning slightly to the left in his saddle, holding himself as still as possible on the moving horse. Once again Chris saw in his mind’s eye Vin’s ass-over-teakettle trip down the side of the steep hill and heard again his response to Chris’s question as to whether or not he was all right. “Most of me,” the young man had replied. Obviously he was being generous in his assessment. A hard tumble like that must have hurt like Hell. Chris jigged Pony just enough to speed him up a bit until the gunslinger drew alongside the young man.

“How you doin’ there?”

Vin slid his eyes momentarily to his friend’s face, then shifted his gaze out to the trail ahead. “Just a mite stiff. Nothing to worry on.”

Chris frowned for bit at the somber quietness in the tracker’s voice, falling into silence himself.

In truth, Vin hurt everywhere. Once the danger had passed, he’d started to feel every spot that had hit Mother Earth on his way to the bottom of that God-forsaken hill. His head was pounding, his back was on fire and his right knee felt like a spike had been driven through it. And his heart . . . well, that hurt worst of all. Chris interrupted his thoughts.

“What did you tell her?”

Vin studied the surrounding hills for a moment. “Told her I had changed my mind about the two of us,” he responded sullenly. Chris narrowed his eyes.

“And had you?”

The muscles in Vin’s jaw tightened as he shot Chris a dark, bitter look. “Yeah, Chris, I had. I made a mistake. Is that what ya want to hear? I wanted somethin’ that was never gonna be right, no matter what I did. I wanted her to fix somethin’ in me. Didn’t work. Ya happy?”

Vin glared at the older man, challenge in his features as he studied Chris. He dropped his gaze, then, and sighed, shoulders slumping. Chris frowned at the change. The usually rock-steady man next to him had been a jumble of conflicting emotions this entire trip and it unnerved him. The tracker’s cryptic explanation didn’t help. He tried again. “So you got it figured out?”

Vin laughed ruefully; bitterly. “Not that it’s gonna do me a God-damned bit of good, but yeah,” he turned his eyes once again to Chris’ and the gunslinger was mesmerized by the sorrow, despair and . . . something he couldn’t define in those wide, blue eyes. “I figured it out.”

With that, Vin mumbled something about scouting out the trail ahead, put heels to his horse’s flank and shot ahead, effectively ending the conversation.

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Dusk was just beginning to fall when the group pulled up to a small copse of cottonwood trees around a tiny pool. The leaves of the cottonwood whispered and shivered in the early evening breeze as the riders slowly dismounted. Vin hesitated a moment, eyeing the ground in trepidation. With a sigh he swung his leg around and tried to dismount. Immediately his back flared and he sucked in a low breath. Josiah cocked his head to one side, gazing at the tracker with concern. Vin hung motionless, half in and half out of the saddle, afraid to set his right leg to the ground, knowing that his knee probably wouldn’t hold him. His spine felt like a herd of buffs had stampeded over it and his head just wanted to come off all together. The young man looked up again and was surprised to see that Josiah had somehow gotten from across the glen to his side without seeming to move at all. With a wide, toothy grin the ex-preacher looked up at Vin.

“Can I give you a hand?” Kind eyes pleaded with Vin to say “yes”. The tracker sighed again and nodded his assent.

“’Preciate it, J’siah. I’m a mite stoved up.”

Josiah nodded and smiled, then gently assisted his friend to the ground, allowing Vin to set the pace and taking some of the younger man’s weight until Vin was comfortable enough to limp along on his sore knee. By this time, more heads had turned to take in the scene and Nathan was frowning.

“Ah, Hell.” Vin breathed softly as he limped slowly toward the assembled riders. Chris frowned, too, then turned toward the others.

“Buck, get a fire going. Ez, see what we have in the packs and lend a hand to Mary. Josiah, J.D, we’ll unsaddle and picket the horses. Nathan . . .”

“I got it.” Nathan answered with a shake of his head as he made his way toward Vin. Billy trailed after him, wide eyed with anticipation. The healer took Vin by the elbow and helped him limp toward a fallen log. Settling the young man there he went off to find his saddlebags. Billy stood in front of Vin and eyed the tracker with unmitigated curiosity.

“Did ya get hurt in the fight, Vin?”

Vin stamped down the urge to roll his eyes as, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chris drift closer, bedrolls in hand.

“Just took a bit of a spill, pard. Nothin’ to worry on. ‘Ol Nathan’ll have me fit as a fiddle in no time.” He was lying to beat the band and he knew it but he didn’t want Billy to worry and he didn’t want to give Chris the satisfaction of admitting that he hurt like Hell. Nathan plunked the saddlebag full of his medical wares down in front of Vin and ordered the young man to take his shirt off. Vin’s eyes widened.

“I ain’t takin’ my shirt off in front of a lady!” he hissed, totally scandalized by the request. Billy squealed with laughter. Vin’s head pounded harder. Nathan rolled his eyes.

“Well, Vin, we don’t have a lot of privacy here.” He turned to Mary. “Miz Travis, would you mind fixin’ supper with your back to us, if that ain’t too much trouble?”

Mary smiled sweetly and consented. With her back now turned to the trio, Nathan once again turned and glared at the tracker.

“Off.”

Vin slumped in defeat and tugged at his braces. Buttons followed, then the shirt, followed by the undershirt. Billy’s eyes widened in surprise at the colorful array of bruises covering Vin’s torso but he stayed silent. The tracker felt someone’s gaze upon him and turned his head slightly to catch Chris’s eyes, stormy and worried, sweeping across his battered back. If not for the presence of the young boy next to him, he would have bet a few choice words would have burst forth from the intractable gunslinger. Chris abruptly turned and stalked away as Nathan began to dab Arnica balm over the bruises, asking questions of Vin as he worked.

Vin was soon settled against his saddle, knee wrapped securely and sipping a cup of willow bark tea for his “bit of a headache”. He watched Mary expertly put together a supper of skillet biscuits, salt pork and gravy. Ezra ground coffee for the pot and J.D. took several apples down to the pond to wash. Chris eyed the scene with satisfaction before turning to Buck.

“You’ll have first watch, then J.D., Ezra, Josiah and Nathan, two hours each. I’ll take last watch.”

Vin’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

“What about me? I ain’t helpless, ya know. Just ‘cause I’ve got a coupla bruises don’t mean I can’t pull my fair share.”

Chris eyed the stubborn tracker evenly for a moment.

“We’ve got plenty of men to cover. Best you rest up that knee and that hard head of yours.”

Vin’s mouth tightened into a grim line. “Ya sayin’ ya still can’t depend on me?” He shifted uncomfortably under the combined stares of his friends now. Chris’s eyes flashed in the light of the campfire.

“I’m sayin’ that you took a hard tumble and you can do with the rest, Vin. You sayin’ you’re not hurtin‘? ‘Cause I know da . . . ,“ he paused, flitting a glance to Mary and her young son, “’cause I know otherwise. It’s gonna be a long day in the saddle tomorrow and if you think you’re stiff and sore today, you wait until tomorrow eve. You’ll be lucky if Nathan isn’t plyin’ you with laudanum by then.”

Vin turned his head away from the stares and gazed out into the gathering darkness. A few late season fireflies twinkled lazily and he tried to concentrate on their ethereal beauty. He wouldn’t press the issue in front of others and couldn’t press it with Larabee, for the bastard was most likely right. He’d be damned if he ever admitted it, though. He heard the others begin to move about again as Mary announced in a falsely bright voice that supper was ready. Vin accepted a biscuit and some coffee but declined the rest. His head pounded and his gut churned. It was going to be a long trip back to Four Corners.

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They rode into Four Corners on a warm, Indian Summer day that made the dying prairie grasses smell faintly of baking bread. Without the encumbrance of wagons, oxen, livestock and families, the Seven and Mary had retraced their steps in only three days as opposed to the twelve it had taken them to reach the homestead site.

Chris heaved a relieved sigh. It had been an uncomfortable three days for him. Vin had turned from his usual taciturn but companionable self into a moody, disagreeable asshole who had reduced his vocabulary to grudging monosyllables when prodded. Mary had hovered about Chris with bright smiles and longing glances, apparently waiting for the gunslinger to realize how lucky he was that she had chosen him instead of Gerard. That just made Larabee grind his teeth. He liked Mary well enough. She was attractive and mighty fine to look at. If he could have gotten under her skirts without the inconvenience of a wedding band, he’d have been there like greased lightning. Trouble was, he had no interest in marriage. Now the dang woman seemed to be hanging about waiting for him to realize how jealous he had been of Gerard and how close he had come to losing her. She was going to have a mighty long wait. Chris couldn’t wait to be shuck of all of them and reacquaint himself with a nice bottle of whiskey.

Vin looked about owlishly. He had been nodding off in the saddle shortly before they hit the edge of town. That bothered him. He was so tired the last few days. Sleeping in the saddle could get a body killed. His knee was much improved now that it had tight bindings to help support it. His back still hurt, but not the fiery agony of the first day or even the unbearable stiffness of yesterday. Now, if his head would just quit pounding, he would feel almost normal again.

Looking about him, Vin noticed he was the only one still in the saddle. He’d been woolgathering again. Swinging down quickly, the tracker stumbled momentarily as dizziness swept over him. Ezra put out a hand to steady him.

“Are you quite alright, Mr. Tanner?” the erudite gambler asked solicitously. Vin nodded and stepped away from his friend.

“Yeah, just m‘ knee. Thanks, Ez.”

They both raised their heads when a shout came from down the street. The McNally kid was running toward them, his red hair gleaming in the afternoon sun.

“Mr. Jackson! Mr. Jackson! Me Da sent me to town yesterday to find ye. He says to tell ye that he thinks me Ma’s got the lung fever. Can ye come?” the youngster huffed out as he slid to a stop in front of the healer. The Seven looked at each other. The McNally’s were an Irish family recently settled a good 4 hours ride out of town. Nathan sighed and nodded to the boy.

“Give me 10 minutes to round up what I’m going to need, son, and we’ll head out.” He turned to survey the others, his gaze finally falling on Vin. “You get plenty of rest and don’t be gettin’ up to anything while I’m gone, ya hear me?”

Vin nodded and watched his friend stride quickly toward the clinic steps a few yards away. He grabbed Peso’s bridle and, with a slight limping gait, made his way slowly into the stable. J.D. brought Mary’s horse while Buck led the packhorse in. Even with the two extra horses to untack, Buck, J.D. and the others were done and gone by the time Vin was finished. His fingers had felt clumsy and thick, fumbling with the buckles and cinches. He blew out a frustrated breath. He was pretty sure by now that he had a concussion. Nothing to be done about it, though. He’d had ‘em before and he knew he just needed some rest and a little time to clear his head. He didn’t remember this weakness in his limbs from his previous knocks on the head, however. Didn’t matter. It would pass, given time.

Vin exited the stable and squinted in the westering sun. The bright sunlight sent hot shards of pain shooting through his head. Lowering his head to bring his hat brim down, Vin considered his options. He could eat but the thought of food made his stomach churn. He could go to the saloon but the noise would be unbearable and he didn’t feel like company. Pretty soon, he had no doubt that the tale of his indiscretion with a married lady would be making the rounds. Vin had no wish to be more of an object of scorn and ridicule than he already was. He sighed heavily. Sleep was his best bet. He trudged slowly toward his wagon.

Inside the saloon, Chris peered out over the batwing doors, watching Vin cross the street. He frowned and turned away. The last thing he wanted was to put up with more of Vin’s lovesick peevishness. He had escaped Mary by hightailing it to the saloon. It was good luck on his part to escape Vin as well, wasn’t it? He mentally shrugged and forced his thoughts in a different direction. He’d come in here to get away from all that. After days of it, he’d had enough drama from those two to last him a lifetime. It irritated him as well that Vin professed to know he was better off without Charlotte but he appeared to be moping about after her anyway. Chris gritted his teeth in frustration. There he was, thinking on Vin again! He swung himself toward the bar, determined to drink himself into a pleasant stupor where clingy women and hangdog friends didn’t exist.

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Vin woke shortly before sunrise, jerking awake with the sure knowledge that he was going to be sick. Lurching out of the wagon, he dropped to his knees, ignoring the blast of pain that shot through the right one, and began to retch. There wasn’t much to bring up, but it made his head explode with pain. Vin staggered to his feet, kicking dirt over the little vomitus he had expelled, and sat on the tailgate of his wagon. Breathing heavily, the troubled man looked about him. No one was up and about yet; the eastern sky was just beginning to lighten. Knowing he wasn’t going to get anymore sleep, Vin grabbed some fresh clothes and made his way to the water trough behind the stable. It was good enough for him and didn’t cost like the bathhouse. Besides, the cold water would feel good on his head. Shucking off quickly, he was washed, dried and dressed in no time. Now shivering in the early fall air, Vin limped slowly to the jail, letting himself in and stoking up a fire in the small wood stove. He settled himself in the sheriff’s chair and drifted once again into a doze.

Vin wasn’t sure how much time had passed when Buck and J.D. burst into the jailhouse, engaged in a rambunctious conversation, as was their norm.

“There’s nothing wrong with taking a girl fishing, Buck.” J.D.’s annoyed voice washed over Vin like an irritating buzzing insect. He put a hand to his head.

Buck hooted. “Boy, you are never gonna land that filly if you keep courtin’ her like that! Ya gotta be smooth and . . . and, uh . . . what’s that word Ezra uses?

Suave! Yeah, suave. Ya gotta be suave. Ya gotta do romantic things with her, like a buggy ride in the moonlight or readin’ poetry to her. I don’t see any romance in a cold, slimy fish, do you?”

J.D. snorted as he moved farther into the room, nodding to Vin and stoking the fire up a bit. “I’m not courtin’ Casey, Buck. I’ve told you that before. She’s just a girl and we like to fish, OK? “ He tried to change the subject by turning toward Vin with a bright smile. “Vin! You really gotta go over to the Saloon for breakfast. Inez made fresh apple butter to go with the sourdough biscuits this morning.”

Vin just sat there peering at the young man owlishly, brows furrowed and hands clenched. He didn’t know why J.D.’s enthusiasm wore on him this morning but he could feel an uncharacteristic anger flaring to life in him. J.D. stepped closer.

“Vin, ya hear me? Inez has got apple butter this morning. One of your favorites!”

Vin looked up at J.D., standing over him bright eyed and smiling. “Fuck off, kid.” he snarled.

J.D.’s stunned face was replaced by Buck’s concerned one as the rogue stepped between his two friends.

“Hey, hey, hey now, there’s no reason to get your dander up,” he said soothingly as he shooed J.D. away and gave the tracker a knowing look. “If you’re hung over, it ain’t J.D.’s fault. You ain’t got no call to be mad at him.”

Vin shook his head, then regretted it. Why had he lashed out like that? His stomach churned again. “Sorry J.D.” he threw over his shoulder as he stood quickly and lurched toward the door. Vin made it as far as the alley before he had to bend over and retch again. Nothing came up this time. Dry heaves.

Behind him, in the jail, Buck and J.D. listened to the sounds in the alley. Buck shook his head. “I don’t remember Vin bein’ in the saloon last night. Must’ve been down at Digger Dan’s.” he frowned thoughtfully, “Vin usually ain’t a big drinker. Must still be moonin’ over Charlotte.”

J.D. agreed absently, a small seed of worry lodging in his breast.

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Chris strode into the saloon shortly after the sun had hit its zenith. The noon crowd was minimal for lunch today and that suited him just fine. That and he‘d spied Mary making a beeline for him just before he ducked into the saloon. Looking about, he spied Vin slouched in the far corner, back in the shadows. Sighing, he motioned to Inez and made his way toward Vin’s table. Sliding gracefully into the chair, he eyed the younger man. Vin’s face was pinched and pale, dark circles evident under his eyes. Chris opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the appearance of Inez at his elbow.

“What can I get for you, Senor Chris?” She smiled softly, eyes drifting over to Vin and narrowing as she got a good look at him.

“What have you got for lunch today?” Chris responded.

Inez shifted her attention back to the gunslinger. “I have made a fresh batch of tamales. I also have chipped beef on biscuits, bread with apple butter, fried apples and onions and pease porridge.”

Chris smiled slightly. “I’ll have the tamales and a beer. Thank you, Inez.” She nodded and left. Chris turned back to Vin. “You look like Hell.”

Vin remained slumped in his chair but acknowledged the remark with a grunt, then raised his head a bit. “Ain’t you just the flatterer.” His voice seemed even raspier than normal. When he tried to focus on Chris, the man wavered and split, sometimes forming into two Chris’s, sometimes back to one. That was humorous to Vin in a strange way. Two Chris Larabees. God help us. He smiled lopsidedly, suddenly in a fey mood.

Chris scowled at Vin irritably. “You done moping about now?”

Vin cocked an eyebrow, watching as Chris split in two again. “Nope. I’m gonna mope.” He grinned wider at his rhyme, watching in amusement as Chris scowled again. Vin felt strangely detached, watching the surrounding room double and reform again along with his friend. “What’s it matter? I’m gonna hang anyway.”

Chris startled at the comment, which seemingly had nothing at all to do with what they were talking about. He stared at his friend, unsure what to say. Where was this coming from? Inez appeared suddenly at his elbow, making him jump slightly. She glanced at Vin, then to Chris, frowning slightly.

“Here is your tamales and beer, Senor Chris.”

“Thank you, Inez.” Chris murmured absently, still staring at Vin. Inez nodded uncertainly and swept away in a swirl of her colorful skirts. Chris leaned over the table a bit and pierced Vin with a sharp look.

“What the Hell are you talking about?” he hissed.

Vin, his gaze back to his friend, was suddenly morose again. “They’re gonna hang me,” he opined gloomily. “ Even if I was makin’ a mistake, ya shoulda let me go off ta Brazil. Woulda been better fer everyone all th’ way around.”

Chris shook his head. “That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard. You gotta snap out of this, pard. She wasn‘t worth it.” He took an experimental taste of his tamales and raised his eyebrow in appreciation. Vin eyes wandered to the unlit kerosene lamps hanging from the ceiling. It was actually kind of interesting watching them split and reform.

“Guess yer right. I’d hang down there, too,” he mused quietly.

Chris put his fork down and stared at Vin in perplexed confusion. “I’m not following you today, Vin. You murder someone in South America I don’t know about? ‘Cause you ain’t makin’ a lick of sense whatsoever.”

Vin scowled at Chris in offense. “I ain’t murdered nobody. Ever. Killed me plenty of fellers, you know that. But never in cold blood. That don’t mean I’m not gonna hang.”

Chris glowered at Vin, angered by this entire conversation. “I’m not gonna let that happen. You know that.”

Vin just smiled in a sad, weary way. “You’ll be helpin’ ’em Chris. You’ll be right there helpin’ ‘em.” He rose a bit unsteadily to his feet and limped away. Chris stared, open mouthed in shock. A thousand things swept through his mind but, true to his nature, anger was what surfaced first.

“Vin!” he shouted across the room and was pleased to see the tracker turn and look back. “Josiah says there’s a cattle drive stakin’ out just outside of town. Those drovers will be in any time now. I need you to get your head out of your ass and be ready. You got that?”

Vin simply nodded as he raised a hand in acknowledgement and continued to make his way out of the saloon.

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Sitting in the shade on the porch of the saloon, Vin attempted to clean his gun. Hat pulled low over his forehead to block as much of the painfully bright sunlight as possible, Vin fumbled with the mechanisms of the piece. He paused momentarily as Ezra stepped out onto the porch as well. The gambler sniffed slightly.

“I can smell the effluvia from those cattle from here. Between the dust of this town and the undoubted squalor emanating from that herd, it is a wonder that I maintain any sense of health at all in this God-forsaken land.” He brushed a particle of the offending dust from his pristine jacket.

Vin just grunted, his head pounding too much to maintain polite conversation. “You won’t mind so much when those cowboys start losin’ all their money ta you, now ain’t that right, Ezra?” His clumsy fingers dropped the cleaning rod. Again. He sighed. His fingers just didn’t seem to want to work right anymore. Ezra stooped to pick the rod up, handing it back to the tracker.

“You seem most out of sorts today, my friend. Is there something amiss?”

Vin snorted derisively. “Nothin’ you can do anythin’ about. Just leave it, Ez. Got me a bit of a headache is all.” A bullet dropped from his nerveless fingers and rolled away, dropping down a crack in the floorboards. “Damn! That’s the second one today and them things are too ‘spensive to be awastin’.”

Ezra contemplated his friend for a moment. Vin was normally the most sure footed, capable, wily man he had ever met. As quick as a cat and twice as nimble. Today, however, he seemed unsure and inept.

Ezra reached out a hand to lay on Vin’s shoulder as the younger man bent to fish out a new bullet from the box at his feet. The gambler hesitated, then slowly withdrew his hand, unsure why he had the sudden need to reassure his friend. He shook himself. Why, you would think he was attached to this motley assortment of peacekeepers. Perish the thought! Ezra knew whom his first priority lay with, and that was Ezra P. Standish! Still, his thoughts were troubled as he tipped his hat to Vin and made his way to the General Store, intent on purchasing a few cigars before the rough hordes of prospective clients descended upon their little town.

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Josiah ambled slowly along the boardwalk in the late afternoon sun. The clouds of dust stirred up by the herd of cattle to the west of town was turning the setting sun red and hazy and the faint miasma of cattle dung hung in the cool air. At least it wasn’t high summer. The odor would have been so much worse in the intense heat.

Josiah spotted Vin sitting on a nail keg outside of the General Store, Mares Leg strapped to his hip, his Winchester .40-44 held loosely across his lap and a glass of water held in his other hand. Josiah came to a stop in front of the tracker.

“All quiet so far?”

Vin startled, sloshing the water and looked up at the big man, confusion writ large across his face. “Josiah! What’re you doin’ here?”

Josiah was just as confused now. “What do you mean, Vin? Where am I supposed to be?” His voice was soft, gentle. He sensed something was not quite right here.

Vin flung out an encompassing arm, indicating the town as a whole as water went flying out of the glass. “Here in Durango. What’re you doing here?” His voice faltered uncertainly as he began to peer around him more attentively. “Ummmm . . . “ He stared at the now empty glass and gently set it down.

Josiah perched himself onto an adjacent barrel of lime and studied the young man before him. Dark circles under slightly out-of-focus eyes, face pale and pinched. “Perhaps you should see Nathan when he returns. You looked a bit peaked.”

Vin scowled. “I don’t need Nathan. I was just daydreamin’ is all. Ya caught me out. I don’t want Chris thinkin’ he can’t depend on me. He’s pissed at me already.”

Josiah contemplated the young man uneasily. Vin was a fiercely independent person, unwilling to show weakness or fear and yet he was levelheaded enough to ask for help when he truly needed it. Apparently Vin didn‘t feel there was anything to be concerned about. He sighed. Something seemed off about Vin but he couldn’t quite place it. The least he could do was sit with Vin for awhile and make sure he was all right. He settled himself in as the two peacekeepers watched the sun slowly dip toward the horizon. 　

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The kerosene lamps did little to alleviate the gloom in the smoky, noisy saloon. Vin looked around him in confusion, unsure as to when he had arrived, why he was here or how long the half-finished beer in his hand had been there. Awhile, apparently, as it had gone warm. He eyed the mirror in front of him warily, relaxing a bit when he found the table in the corner containing Chris, Nathan, Buck and Josiah. A glance to his left revealed Ezra occupied in his usual pastime of fleecing a gaggle of unsuspecting cowboys. J.D. must have drawn the short straw for jail duty. Vin squeezed his eyes shut for moment, willing the ever present headache away before training his eyes on the mirror again. He could see Chris slouched easily in his chair, long fingers loosely caressing the glass of Red Eye in front of him and hat shoved up a bit to reveal glints of gold in the lamplight. A half smile ghosted across his face as Buck said something amusing.

Vin thought he was about the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He blinked slowly again and drifted into a reverie, his eyes resting longingly on the gunslinger. What sense of self preservation he had seemed to have fled with his ability to walk, talk or think straight.

Ralph Anderson surreptitiously watched the young man with the long hair from his seat at a table a few feet away. He was playing a desultory game of cards with some of his trail-hand buddies from the cattle drive. Ralph recognized the look on the young man’s face as he gazed at that dangerous lookin’ stud across the room. It took time and experience and a whole lot of caution but, after a while, he could recognize a fellow Sodomite like himself. Like called to like, he mused. It had been a long while since he had satisfied his “unnatural urges”, as his mother used to call it. Men like himself had to be damn careful. Their kind of lovin’ could get a man killed real quick. He was luckier than some, being built big and rough with none of that silly poncing about that could be seen in some of his “kind”. Suspicion rarely, if ever, fell on him for being “like that”. He would be risking a lot to make a play for someone here in this little dirt hole of a town but Damn, was that boy pretty!

Ralph folded his hand and bowed out of the game. His friends hardly noticed. They were enjoying the local rot gut a little too much. Ralph slid silently up alongside the young man and carefully surveyed him up and down. Yep, this one was a mighty fine prize. Lean and wiry with a rugged beauty that took his breath away. He could feel himself hardening at just the thought. Ralph leaned over slightly and spoke into the young man’s ear. “You want a drink?”

The young man slowly swiveled his head around and peered blearily at Ralph. “Wha . . ?” Ralph smiled. Roostered to boot! This was going to be easier than he thought.

Vin blinked his eyes and tried to sift his way through the confusion clogging his mind. A tall, darkly dressed man stood next to him, gazing down at him with a smile. Vin’s vision wavered in and out. “Chris . . .?”

Ralph nodded and smiled again. “Ya want to go out back with me?”

Vin cocked his head to one side and tried to let the words filter through his muddy consciousness. Chris wanted him to go somewhere. Yes, that was it. He nodded. He watched the man in front of him turn and walk toward the back door of the saloon, toward the privies. Vin faltered a bit, then made his way unevenly across the floor after him.

Ralph turned when he had exited the saloon and watched in aroused anticipation as the pretty young man followed him. Followed him just like a puppy! Ralph couldn’t believe his luck. Watching the young man stumble a bit, he reached out to grasp him by the elbow. “You got a name?”

Vin looked up in confusion. “A name? C’mon Chris, that ain’t fu . . funny. Vin’s always been good ‘nuff fer ya b’fore. Hate m’ full name,” he slurred out. He let himself be led past the privies, across the small side street next to Watson’s Hardware and two buildings down. They entered the alley between the Post Office and the undertaker’s. He didn’t know what Chris wanted out here but he figured the temperamental gunslinger would tell him when he was good and ready.

Ralph led Vin to a spot half hidden behind a stack of shipping crates. Here he pushed Vin up against the wall, leaning into him and feeling his lean, hard, young body. God, this was going to be so sweet! He reached down to cup his hand around Vin’s genitals, rubbing them through the rough cloth of Vin’s trousers.

Vin’s instincts finally lurched to life in his addled brain. He was being pressed into the rough wood, the heavy weight of a man pushing against him with a knee wedging itself between his legs. A man, who Vin now realized smelled of cattle, dust and sweat and nothing at all like the leather, gun oil and cheroots he had come to associate with Chris. A stranger who was fondling him in his most intimate of places. He began to struggle.

“Stop. What . . . what’re you doin’? Get off me!” He tried to push the weight away but found his reflexes slow, his muscles weak. Ralph turned him easily into the wall and placed his knee once again between Vin’s legs, reaching around to unbuckle the young man‘s gun belt.

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Chris lifted his head and studied the room. Something was off but he couldn’t place it. He had been listening to yet another of Buck’s long-winded tales of conquest and sipping his whiskey when something had niggled at the back of him mind. Taking another sweep of the room, he finally registered that Vin was gone. The tracker had been standing at the bar for the better part of the evening. Not that being gone was anything to be alarmed at. Vin had been so out of sorts the last three days that Chris was hoping the scrawny bastard had crawled off to get a good night’s sleep. Maybe he’d be in a better disposition tomorrow. Still . . .

Without really knowing why, he rose and strode toward the bar where Vin had been standing. Inez was in the process of picking up his half empty glass of beer with one hand and wiping a rag across the damp surface of the bar with the other. She smiled up at Chris.

“Senor Chris. What can I do for you?”

Chris frowned slightly. “Vin leave? He looked loaded to the gunwhales.”

Inez shook her head vehemently. “Senor Vin was not drunk. This is his first beer of the evening. He acted strangely, though. I think he is not right. I am worried for him.”

Chris felt alarm tingle up his spine. “Did you see him leave?”

Inez nodded, looking worried. “He followed a big gringo out back. This man came in with the trail hands. I have not seen him before.”

Chris’ alarm ratcheted up a notch and he nodded his acknowledgement to Inez as he headed for the door. Once outside, Chris scanned his surroundings. It was too dark to see much of anything. The moon shed a little light, as well as the watch fires out front and dim candle or lamp light from surrounding buildings. Nothing to be seen moving in the dim starlight. He made his way warily down the backsides of the building and across the street, then paused to listen. A faint voice made its way to him. It sounded like someone had tried to holler out “get off me!”. Vin! Chris sprinted behind the buildings toward the direction the sound had come from, then paused again, frantically listening. From the alley next to the undertaker he heard scuffling sounds and heavy breathing. A rough voice reached him.

“You sure are the prettiest thing I’ve seen in ages, boy. You know you want this. I seen the way you were lookin’ at that stud bull you got your eyes on. I know you. You ‘n me are alike. This is gonna be so good. You’ll like it.”

Ralph worked the buckles of Vin’s gun belt, dry humping himself against the tracker’s firm ass as he held Vin’s head against the wall with his other hand. Vin’s strangled “NO!” escaped out into the darkness. Ralph had the belt buckle undone! Now to get those trousers undone and down around Vin’s ankles where they belonged. He reached for the top button . . . and froze as the ominous click of a peacemaker sounded in his ear.

“Get off him.” The tone was cold, deadly and filled with a rage that turned Ralph’s bowels to water. He turned slowly to see the looming, dark-silhouetted outline of the gunslinger that his pretty boy had been eyeing earlier. Ralph gulped.

“I . . uh . . . it isn’t . . .” He stuttered to a stop as the faint moonlight caught a glint of that cold face. Chris placed his pistol squarely between Ralph’s eyes, an avenging angel sent straight from Hell with death in his glittering green eyes.

“You run. You run fast and you run hard. ‘Cause if I see you anywhere in the same county as Vin again, you’re dead. If you ever look at him again, you’re dead. If you even think about him again, you’re dead. You get my drift?”

Ralph nodded as warm urine seeped down his leg. He turned and ran as if all the hounds of Hell were on his heels. Chris spun and took the step needed to reach Vin, who was slumped against the wall.

“Vin! You alright?”

Vin’s head was spinning, sounds were muffled and warped. Nothing made any sense and he was scared. Hands had been on him and now were gone. His legs had gone numb. Suddenly there was that scent that he would recognize anywhere. Chris. Chris was here. He turned slowly and tried to make out the dark figure of the man he knew so well but everything was waxing and waning in and out of his vision. He took a step toward the scent that he associated with the man he . . . Oh God. He couldn’t think on that.

“Chris.” Vin slurred out. “Somethin’s wrong with me.” His eyes rolled back.

Chris caught him as he folded.

With a weary sigh, Chris pushed himself off the porch support and headed resolutely for his bed. 　

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Chris eased the clinic door open the following afternoon and peered inside. Nathan glanced up and, catching sight of his friend, gestured him onward into the room. Chris peered down at Vin, taking in the even breathing and peaceful sleep.

“He doing OK?” he asked quietly. The healer nodded.

“Yeah, I think so. Hasn’t had any more seizures. That’s a good thing. He was a little restless a while ago. That tells me he’s thinkin’ of waking up pretty soon. I sure hope that’s the case ‘cause I need to get somethin’ more down him than just a bit of water and broth.”

Chris nodded in agreement before moving to the chair next to the bed.

“You need a break, Nathan. I can sit with him for awhile.” Nathan considered the offer for a moment before smiling.

“I think I’ll take you up on that. I’m going to grab a bite to eat and then I do believe I’ll try to catch a little shut eye in Vin’s room. Come get me if you need me.”

Chris pulled a book from a pocket in his duster and settled back as Nathan exited. He opened the book to an earmarked spot and stared at the pages, trying to jump back into the story. His eyes, however, kept drifting back to Vin’s face, studying the planes and contours of the young man’s features. Someone had shaved him (most likely Ezra, knowing his finicky nature) and his features lay relaxed and open in sleep, long lashes fluttering occasionally on his cheeks.

Chris was struck for the first time with the realization of how young Vin really was. Intellectually, he knew that Vin was a good 10 or 12 years younger than himself but, truthfully, he had never really thought about it or acknowledged the fact. Vin had the wisdom and experience of a much older man and Chris tended to think of him as an equal in all things. This view of the younger man disturbed him.

Would he even be thinking along these lines if he had not discovered Vin’s “secret”? Would he be sitting here, staring at the unlined, handsome face of his friend if his thoughts had not been recently disturbed with this new aspect of Vin’s personality?

That Vin was a handsome man was already a given. Acknowledged in an aesthetic way and dismissed, until the incident in the alley had shaken Chris’ perspective. For the first time he truly looked at Vin. He tried to see what the man in the alley had seen. A “pretty boy”. Yes, certainly Vin was pretty, if he could admit such a thing to himself. Pretty and damn deadly! The tracker didn’t fit the idea Chris had in his head of what one of “those” kinds of men should look like.

His features were certainly striking enough. Vin was handsome in a classic Adonis sort of way with clean lines, long lashes and the most God-damned beautiful eyes Chris had seen on either man or woman. His lean frame was strong and wiry, muscled in a pleasing way but with an agility and grace that made him dangerous in a brawl and deadly in a knife fight.

This is where Chris’ mind took a detour from the pretty boy that that son of a bitch in the alley must have seen. He knew what kind of man Vin was. Deadly, calm, tough. A survivor. A man other men could count on in a fight and feel damn fortunate that Vin Tanner was on their side and training that eagle eye and lethally accurate rifle on someone else.

How to fit this new Vin into his view of the old? This was the problem that Chris struggled with. How could this tough, honorable man be a lover of other men? Chris’ preconceived notions were taking a beating and he did not appreciate it.

What bothered him even more was that, looking at the sleeping man in front of him, he could actually see what another man might see in the lean tracker. Maybe. He could definitely believe women of all ages falling all over themselves

to attract the attentions of a man like Vin Tanner.

A small voice in the back of Chris’ head said “if women, why not men?” but he ruthlessly squashed it. The fact that the thought even crossed his mind angered the gunslinger. Why the Hell did Vin have to go and upset what he considered to be a perfect friendship? From the moment they had agreed to go with that damned wagon train, things had started to fall apart. First that bitch, Charlotte, and now this. Why couldn’t things have just stayed the same? It was different now and nothing that Chris told himself was going to fix it. Not really. He could try to ignore it all he wanted but Pandora’s Box was open now and there was no closing it.

Damn.

When Nathan returned three hours later the sun was just beginning to set. Chris stood at the window gazing moodily at the long shadows creeping slowly along the street and barely acknowledged the healers entrance. Without a word he turned from the window and strode out of the room, heading determinedly for the saloon. Mary tried to summon the gunslinger to her side with a cheerful wave of her hand a bright “hello” from down the street but was doggedly ignored.

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Nathan entered the boarding house dining room the next morning as Chris, Buck and J.D. were tucking into their breakfast. There was a distinct nip in the air and the feel of autumn, such as it was in the Southwest, seemed to hang in the periphery of conscious thought.

Buck pulled out a chair for Nathan and smiled up at him. “How’s the patient this fine morning?”

“He woke up last night.” Nathan replied, a self satisfied smile gracing his features.

J.D.’s grin lit his face up. “That’s great! Gee, Nathan, I swear you’re as good a doctor as any of those fancy old guys back East with a piece of paper on the wall. Better even! I never heard of anyone ever drilling a hole in someone’s head. That’s like something out of a dime novel or something. Right, Buck?”

Nathan ducked his head and smiled at the young man’s effusive praise. It felt good, though. Damn Good. Buck was nodding in agreement and Chris’ gaze was full of respect. Nathan was filled with a proud satisfaction.

“It was a big risk, J.D., but I guess it paid off. He’s still pretty confused and groggy at the moment, but he was able to drink some broth and take some cornmeal mush. He knew who I was. That’s good. That’s real good.” Nathan signaled the waitress for service as Chris leaned in a bit.

“What happens now?”

“Well,” Nathan mused, “I’ll leave the hole open for the rest of today, then let it clot naturally. It ain’t very big so it’ll heal itself over and the bone will grow back. You’ll never notice it in a month or two.”

The waitress set a heaping plate of ham, fried potatoes and poached eggs in front of the healer before moving off to fetch coffee. Chris waited until Nathan had enthusiastically downed a few bites before continuing with his questions.

“You said Vin is confused. What did he say?” Chris’ stomach coiled in dread. Nathan frowned thoughtfully.

“Not much of anything, really. He just, you know, looks around like he doesn’t quite know where he is and all. Although he said my name, so I know he’s all there, if you know what I mean. It ain’t unusual for someone with a head injury to lose some time. I don’t know if that’s the case with Vin but if it is, he may never get back the time that he’s missing. Seein’ as he was in so much pain, I’m hopin’

He don’t remember the last coupla days. It would be a blessin’ for him.”

Chris slumped in his chair and wished fervently that it was he who could lose the memory of the last few days.

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Ezra shuffled the deck of cards efficiently without conscience thought as he studied their brooding leader. Chris sat apart from everyone in the smoky saloon, a silent but tangible barrier erected about himself that dissuaded anyone from joining him. The gambler turned to Josiah, his poker partner of the moment, and dealt the cards with an effortless precision.

“Our esteemed colleague seems to be struggling under a heavy burden. He has been out of sorts for several days now.”

Josiah glanced at Chris, then back to his cards, squinting in the dim light of the kerosene lanterns. “He’s worried about Vin. It’s only natural.”

Ezra shrugged, one elegant eyebrow raised. “But our young friend will be fine and Mr. Larabee continues to brood. He seems to prefer the company of his bottle to the company of our injured friend as well. I find it mildly . . . eccentric.”

“Chris is a complex man, Ezra,” Josiah responded, “and they were sparring with each other quite a bit during our sojourn with the settlers. I’m sure that whatever it is, they will work it out. I’ve never seen two men more in accord with each other than those two. They are meant to be boon companions for life, Lord willing.”

Ezra cocked his head and eyed Josiah skeptically. “I fear, dear fellow, that you have an over optimistic view of life. It has been my experience that such gifts as that which you speak of are not for the likes of men such as ourselves.”

Josiah simply smiled at the gambler. “Oh ye of little faith, my friend. There is none so blind as he who will not see. Especially something that is right in front of you, if you but hold out your hand.”

Ezra rolled his eyes at the whimsical preacher and discarded an eight and a queen.

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Buck stepped out onto the porch in front of the jail as Chris exited the saloon. He watched his old friend stride determinedly to the livery and exit a short while later with Pony in tow. The lean gunman swung himself up into the saddle and gigged the horse slightly to bring him up to the front of the jailhouse. Looking down at Buck, Chris face betrayed nothing but determination.

“I‘ll be back in a coupla days or so. If you need me, I’ll be in Purgatorio. You’re in charge.” And with that, he swung Pony around and headed out. Buck eyed his departing back curiously.

“Well, shit. What the Hell is that all about?” he murmured to himself.

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Vin’s eyes lifted slowly, waiting to test the light levels in the room before committing himself to full awareness and the possibility of stabbing pain through his eyeballs and tender head. He was therefore pleasantly surprised that the wicks had been turned down in the lamps and the soft glow that suffused the room bore no undue stress on his already overburdened brain.

A glance to his left also revealed two pieces of information. It was night, and probably very late judging by the diminished glow of the watch fires light through the windows, and Chris Larabee sat slouched in the chair next to his bed, bottle of Rye in hand.

Vin eyed the gunslinger silently as he was being eyed in return. This was the first he’d seen of his friend since he had awakened three days ago. He’d tried to ask the others when they visited about the gunslingers absence but they seemed to be as much in the dark as Vin, only stating that he’d lit out for Purgatorio. To Vin, that was never good news.

“Somethin’ up, Chris?” Vin croaked out, somewhat dismayed by the timber of his rusty voice.

Chris eyed his friend warily, looking for evidence that the man in front of him was still the man he had known just a few days before. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, really. Vin looked the same, despite the white linen bandage around his head and the rather pallid shade to his skin. He took another swig of the cheap Rye before offering it to Vin with a careless shrug.

The tracker’s eyebrow crept toward his hairline but he shifted himself carefully upward until he was reclining at a decent angle for drinking. Taking the bottle in a slightly shaky hand, he knocked back a slug of the fiery liquid, feeling the burn of it all the way to his stomach. He grimaced before turning carefully back to his enigmatic friend.

“That’s a better pain killer than the horse piss that Nathan was feeding me.” he said, eyes crinkling slightly in amusement. Chris only nodded, eyes on the wall next to Vin. The tracker frowned. “Everything all right? Everyone OK?”

“Everyone is fine, Vin. Except for you.” Chris answered uncomfortably. Why was he so ill at ease? He was acting like Vin was going to jump out of the bed and bite him. All he was doing was making the situation worse with his recalcitrant behavior. He force a smile, still not able to meet Vin’s eyes. “Just don’t like to see you layed up. Ain’t used to seeing you hurt, I guess.”

Vin nodded uncertainly. Chris was keeping something from him, he could tell. “Yeah, still cain’t believe it, although it sure feels like I been scalped sure enough.” He reached a hand toward the bandage swathing his head but dropped it back to the bed before touching it. “Gimme another sip of your rot gut?”

Chris obliged and watched surreptitiously as Vin’s lips wrapped around the bottle neck, then hastily averted his gaze in a panic. The room felt suddenly warmer and he shifted uncomfortably. When he looked back up, Vin had him pinned with a steely blue gaze.

“Out with it, Chris.” he ground out. “Somethin’s stuck in your craw so you might as well spit it out afore it chokes you.”

Chris tensed, turning his head away. Damn it, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his misgiving from this man, of all people. For the first time he cursed the complete empathy that sometimes seemed to lay between them.

“What’s the last thing you remember before wakin’ up here?” he questioned quietly. Vin frowned, thinking back.

“I . . . I remember leavin’ the wagon train.” he murmered hesitantly. “Riding. We stopped for the night . . . um . . .” Vin’s eyebrows crinkled in frustration, then rose in indignation. “Nathan made me take off my shirt in front of Mary!” His face tinged slightly pink at the memory and Chris grinned a small, genuine smile for the first time since this had all started. He watched as Vin struggled to retrieve another memory before finally sighing and shaking his head slowly.

“That’s it. Can’t remember anything after that.” Vin turned to face Chris squarely. “Why? What’d I do?”

Chris held up a hand. “Nothin’, unless you consider fainting dead away in my arms normal.”

Vin growled low. “I didn’t ‘faint’. Maybe I passed out but I didn’t faint. Ya make it sound like I swooned away like some silly girl.”

Chris grinned again. “Well, it sure as Hell looked like you were swoonin’ to me.” he teased. For a moment, everything felt back to normal between them, until the memory of Vin passing out in his arms after he had chased Vin’s would be rapist off flashed through his head. His grin faltered. Vin caught the change on his friends face and frowned.

“Chris,” he said in a low voice, “just get it over with. Somethin’ must a happened ‘cause it’s written all over your face.”

Chris looked away, studying the shifting shadows thrown by the lamps for a moment. Taking another swig of the Rye, he turned back to Vin and faced him squarely. “I found you in an alley fighting off some big cowboy from a passing drive. I sent him packin’ just before you took your nose dive.” He paused, uncertain on how to proceed. Vin furrowed his brows in confusion.

“So? I was fightin’ with some idjit. Why’s that got you all tied up in knots? Ain’t the first time I’ve brawled with some mouthy cowboy.”

Chris grimaced. “It wasn’t a fight he was wanting with you, Vin.” Just the memory of that moment, that bastard’s hands on Vin, shot such a brief and intense homicidal fury through Chris that it could still shake him all these days later. His emotions toward that event disturbed him almost as much as what it had revealed to him about Vin. He was afraid to pick them apart. Shoving the roiling thoughts back down, he turned to Vin, who had gone silent.

He watched the confusion on his friends face slowly give way to comprehension. Vin’s face drained of all color and a look of horror and fear crept over it. Chris was startled. In all the time he had known Vin, he had never seen stark fear in his friend. It was disconcerting. Vin was the strongest man he had ever met. This entire situation was showing him more sides to the man than Chris had ever expected, or wanted, to see. He hastened to reassure Vin.

“Nothing happened. I got there in time. You were trying to fight him, Vin, but you were pretty sick by then. He run off and you passed out.”

Vin raised a shaking hand and scrubbed it across his mouth, drained suddenly. He closed his eyes briefly, resting his head back on the pillow and trying to gather his scattered wits. The pain in his head, recently dulled to a low throb, ratcheted up a notch.

“That ain’t all, though, is it?” He stretched out a hand to the bottle of liquor and Chris obliged him, watching as Vin took a healthy swig of the fiery Rye. Chris wasn’t sure why he was doing this or why it had to be now, but it had been eating away at him and Chris was not a passive person. He liked to face things head on. He found this to be no different. A few days of rutting mindlessly with the whores in Purgatorio had done nothing to clear his head. He had come here straight upon his return, slipping in while the town slept. The gunman plunged on.

“When I was coming into the alley, he was talking to you. Saying things.” Chris watched as Vin’s face froze, a look of trepidation stealing across it. “He said you were ‘the same’ as him. He could tell.”

Vin’s previously white face suffused to red, his eyes narrowing dangerously. “What the Hell’s that supposed to mean, Larabee! You got somthin’ to say, you just spit it out ’cause I’m getting mighty tired of this dance.”

Chris knocked back another swallow of Rye, feeling a reckless irritation flooding his veins. Fuck this. Vin was right. He had been pussy footing around the subject for days now. He turned a hard glare on the younger man.

“Ok, Vin. You told me the morning we left the homesteaders that you had figured it out. What did you figure out, Vin? You got something you've been hidin' from me?”

Vin stiffened, then turned his face away, staring at the far wall as he responded in a low, dead voice.

“Get out.”

“I don’t think so. I think I got a right to know what kind of man I’ve been callin’ ‘friend’.”

“Fuck you, Chris. You ain’t gotta know nothing’. Get the fuck outta here.” Vin bit out, face still turned away. His hands were clenched into white knuckled fists, breath coming in short, angry puffs. Chris sneered at him.

“Only woman I ever seen you with was that wagon train whore and you been givin’ me funny looks these last few days. Saying things that don’t make any sense. Got something you wanna tell me, pard?” The last word was drawled out sarcastically, biting and bitter.

The knowledge that he may have acted in an inappropriate manner during the last few days horrified Vin. His heart felt like it was trying to split in two as a cold, oily fear swept through him. Chris continued, the Rye in his system adding a nasty bite to his words.

“Thought I knew you, Vin. Guess I was wrong. You hid it real well, too. I never would’ve guessed. Took a knock to the head to get your guard down. Now I’m thinkin’ that while you might’ve had my back, it’s been my backside you been wantin’ all along. That true?”

Vin’s head pounded and his vision swam but he ignored it. His life was crumbling around him and he could only think of one way to make it right.

“You ain’t gotta worry about nothin’,” he ground out, “cuz I’ll be gone by first light.”

Silence fell, Vin‘s heavy, pained breathing the only sound in the room aside from the steady ticking of the mantel clock. Chris blinked, confused, as the anger abruptly drained out of him. Vin leaving? Was that what he wanted? The problem solved, or at least removed. The gunslinger shifted uncomfortably at the thought of his life without Vin in it. Wouldn’t it be simpler? Easier? Or just more cowardly? The silence stretched uncomfortably.

Chris shifted nervously on his chair. “Vin . . .” he started, but nothing would come out. Vin was still turned away, staring morosely at the far wall, refusing to acknowledge Chris. The older man suddenly stood, feeling the need to pace.

“I . . . I didn’t mean . . . I just want to figure out what’s going on with you, that’s all. I want to understand, I guess. Maybe make some sense of it. What happened? Why’d you have to go and . . . and . . .” he trailed off uncertainly.

Vin’s head came up, his blue eyes blazing. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Chris! You think I want this? You think I just woke up one mornin’ and decided I wanted to be a Nancy boy? It ain’t a choice, Chris, it just is.”

Chris shook his head in bewilderment. “Maybe livin’ with the Indian’s . . .?” Vin sighed and looked down at his shaking hands.

“They didn’t do nothing’ to me to make me this way, Chris. I think I’ve always known, in a way, but I just didn’t want to see it. The People, they got different ways on lookin’ at it, maybe, but that don’t mean they helped me understand myself any better.” Vin looked up at Chris again, and the gunslinger was shaken at the misery in those big, blue eyes. “A lot of the People respect the choice of a man to go with another man. Some, like the Cheyenne, don't hold with it any more than the white folk. The Sioux think a winkte has special powers and the Kiowa would have accepted it easily enough but someone's got to be the squaw in the relationship and you know damn well it would have been the outsider and I sure as Hell ain't no ones squaw."

Chris was surprised that he could find amusement at the moment but the thought of the tough-as-nails, stubborn, irritating man in front of him being subservient to any man made the gunslinger lips curl up at the corners. Vin must have found some confidence in that small gesture because he continued.

"You might think it's funny, Chris, but the Two-Spirit has gotta do the woman's work and be with the maidens n' everything. It's downright embarrassin'. Tell you the truth, between the white man's ways and the different ways of the People, I'm still just as confused as ever. I’ve tried bein’ with women. It’s OK, I guess, but it don’t . . . it isn’t . . . ah Hell! I don't want to be this way but I don't know how to not be." He looked down at his hands again, falling silent again, face pinched and white. Chris pondered the situation for awhile before passing the bottle of Rye back to Vin again. The anger he had tried so hard to fan into flames before had receded to a weary resignation. This wasn’t going to go away and it wasn’t going to get fixed. He watched Vin take a large swig of the cheap liquor and wondered about the young man before him. Another stray thought chased itself across him brain.

"So . . . have you ever . . . you know. With a guy?"

Vin jerked his head up and stared incredulously at Chris. "Jesus, Chris!" His face burned. "No. No I ain't. I been tryin' too damn hard to be normal. I wanted it to be right between Charlotte 'n me so bad. Ya gotta believe that. It just wasn't. I been tryin' so hard to ignore this for so long that I thought I could make myself be what I'm supposed to be but it ain't gonna work. I know that now. I'm just gonna have to learn to live with it and if that means I gotta leave town, well . . . I guess I can learn to live with that, too." he finished in a whisper.

Silence reigned again as Vin passed the bottle back. The first faint signs of the rising sun began to present in the Eastern sky; a faint lightening of the darkness and a few stirrings of birdsong. The mantel clock ticked monotonously along.

Finally Chris sighed.

"I don't want you to leave, Vin. I've gotten too used to having you around. No one else has figured this out and I won't be lettin' on. I'll learn to get used to it, I guess. We'll just go on like this never happened.” he lied convincingly. Vin pressed a hand to his aching head and shrugged wearily.

“Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t think right now.”

“Well don’t. We’ll just forget about this. You just . . . “ Chris trailed off.

“Just what, Chris? Pretend that everything is good between us? That I’m ‘normal’ like you?” Vin whispered, slanting his eyes up at the gunman again.

Chris swallowed uncomfortably. “Yeah. Something like that. We’ll work it out.”

Before Vin could respond, footsteps approached steadily up the stairs. Both men looked at the bottle of Rye in Chris’ hand, then at each other before turning guilty faces toward the door.

“Shit.”

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Epilogue:

It took another week before Nathan would let Vin out of the clinic. Even then, the tracker found himself watched like a hawk by the other men. He wasn’t allowed to ride for another 2 weeks. Vin fell back into an easy rhythm with the other six men but, try as he might, he could not quite find that easy camaraderie with Chris again. Chris seemed to try, but there was a reserve now where there hadn’t been before. When Nathan’s Father was put on trial for murder, it was easier to ignore the tension between them as they dealt with the angry citizens of Eagle Bend. After it was over, Chris spent a lot of time out at his shack. Vin took to spending a lot of time out at Nettie’s, mending fences and enjoying the old woman’s company. When the next crisis hit town, Chris seemed happy to have Vin at his side again. Mostly. And so it went.

Every once in a while, however, Vin would catch Chris looking at him, eyes heavy lidded in thoughts that the tracker could not decipher. Inevitably, Chris would either pay court to Mary Travis soon after or (more likely) disappear down to Purgatorio for a few days. The strain in their relationship was subtle, but it was there and the others had noticed. Mostly they chalked it up to Chris still being angry with Vin for his behavior with Charlotte on the wagon train, but occasionally, Josiah or Ezra would watch Chris as Chris watched Vin and wonder if there was a deeper problem afoot.

Vin began to eye the far off horizon with a certain yearning, wondering if he had made a mistake in staying. He knew, deep in his heart, the reason he had. He’d have already left, not willing to torture himself with something that could never be, if it weren’t for that occasional curious glance, the tilt of a bemused head after one two many shots of rutgut or a lingering look from across the street. It had been enough to hold him here. Until that day on the street, with Josiah locked up in jail for the supposed murders of those girls and Chris had said “How well do we know anyone?”. He had looked right at Vin and they both knew it wasn’t Josiah they were talking about. Vin knew then that Chris wasn’t going to ‘get over it’.

Vin began to hoard his pay to buy supplies for a long trip up into the mountains, making plans and going over his equipment carefully. He figured with the next paycheck, 30 days off, he’d have enough to keep him decently supplied with dry goods through the summer and well into the Fall. His hunting skills would see to the rest.

When he stepped out of the saloon on that Spring day a good 6 months after he’d tumbled down that blasted hill, he was fairly reconciled with his chosen path. Mostly. He looked up to see a fine carriage outside of the hotel and a woman dressed in white talking to J.D. and Buck. Frowning slightly, he made his way across the street. Buck had on his usual dazzling smile, the one reserved for lovely ladies, and bobbed his head eagerly.

“Why sure, Miz Gaines, don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll have ol’ Chris back here in two shakes of a lambs tail, won’t we J.D.?” The young man in question nodded his head vigorously and added, “Yep, we sure will! Now don’t be giving that fifty dollars away to anyone else, cause me and Buck’ll take care of it for you.”

Vin frowned thoughtfully. Looked like another situation in the making and his skin crawled a bit. Chris was in Purgatorio. Again. He’d left abruptly the day before yesterday. Vin didn’t know why this time. He didn’t know if it was something he had done or said or for something else entirely. It didn’t really matter. The tracker made his way past the carriage and on toward the general store. He needed to price some bullets. Whatever was brewing with that woman and Chris wasn’t any concern of his anyway.

The End. For Now.