Vin woke to pain. The injured muscles in his leg had knotted into a fiery cramp, and his shoulder had stiffened and was aching fiercely. He sat up, fighting against the dregs of the analgesics in his blood. He felt thick-headed and dry-mouthed, hot and shivery at the same time. Chris had set a plastic pitcher of water and the bottle of Darvocet on the coffee table. Vin didn’t want to take more medication, but he poured a glass of water and drank it down.

Judging from the pale light leaking through the edges of the drapes, it was nearly dawn, and he knew Chris fed the horses before he went off to work for the day. He’d be coming in soon, and Vin hoped he could keep the pain inside so Chris would carry on as usual. Last thing Vin wanted was to hold him someplace where he didn’t want to be.

Pain made time pass slowly, and it seemed that with every second that ticked off the clock, he hurt more, until the world seemed to shrink down to the core of hurt that was his body. He lay still, trying to keep his breathing level and slow, trying not to move, trying to focus on something outside his body’s ragged nerves.

He heard a door open, water running, and knew Chris was up. God, help me hold on, he prayed. Just for a little while longer. All he had to do was be still and pretend that he was sleeping, and Chris would leave him alone. He felt tears burning in his eyes and squeezed them tight for a minute. He could do this ... he had to. He held on to that thought with all the strength he had.

Somehow he knew when Chris was there. He felt that presence as sure as if Larabee had spoken to him.

Chris stood over Vin for a minute, not liking what he was seeing at all. The stillness in that body wasn’t good, it wasn’t natural. He had been injured often enough himself to recognize the tension of a man determined not to aggravate pain by moving a muscle, and the consciously measured respiration of someone pretending to sleep.

"Vin?" Nothing.

"Vin?" he repeated gently. "I know you’re not sleeping. So you might as well stop playin’ ‘possum."

The hunched shoulder moved slightly. "Yeah?" Just a breath.

"Take your pills."

"Took the antibiotic," Vin rasped. "Leave me alone, Larabee. I feel like shit."

"That’s why Rain prescribed those painkillers, Tanner."

"No!" The edge of desperation was like a razor in Vin’s voice.

"Partner, is there some reason you don’t want to take them, other than proving how tough you are?" Chris asked, not understanding, but beginning to worry.

A faint, weary smile. "Yeah."

Silence. Damn Tanner anyway! "I’m waiting."

If Vin were any other man, that tone of voice would have set him upright into instant response. But Vin wasn’t any other man, and he was hurting to damn much for that threat to have much effect. But instead of anger, Chris put a gentle hand on Vin’s arm. "Talk to me, partner. I won’t sick Rain or Nathan on you, and I won’t force anything down your throat. I promise."

Kindness accomplished what rage had failed. Grimacing, Vin struggled to sit, his lips growing white with the effort; but when Chris tried to help him, Vin pushed his arm away. "I’m all right," he gasped.

Chris backed off. He sat in the armchair and waited until Vin was more or less upright. He hated seeing the pain etched on the younger man’s face, hated that he felt he had to hide it, and hated most of all, that there was nothing he could do to help.

"You tell me, Vin," he said quietly. "You have my word."

Vin moistened his lips. "Nightmares, most of all, I reckon. I mean -- when I take the pills, I git nightmares. And ..." He looked away from Chris, as if he were about to reveal a shameful secret. "I was hooked on ‘em once, Chris. Don’t think I could stand that again."

"When?" Shit. None of this had shown up on Tanner’s record.

"Before I’s in the army. I was jist seventeen and on th’streets." He gave Chris a wary look, and saw nothing that he needed to fear. "Hell, ya know what it’s like out there fer a kid. We see ‘em every day, livin’ like animals. That’s what it was like fer me. Hand ta mouth and day t’day. Tryin’ t’keep yerself safe, an’ not always succeedin’ too well." His voice died softly.

Chris knew. He tried to imagine Vin, slight as he was even now, surviving in those conditions, with predators on the loose, day after day. "Jesus ..." He didn’t know it sounded like a prayer.

Vin felt as if he was strangling on the words in his throat. He knew what Chris was thinking, and he could not deny that his life had been every bit as ugly and sordid as he was imagining it. Larabee was tenacious, though, and wouldn’t give up until the story was told. Vin didn’t know which was harder, not taking pain pills, or telling Chris the truth; but something in those green eyes kept him talking. "You fight ‘em off sometimes, sometimes ya give in. Ya try t’have a choice. Don’t always work. One a’ the times it didn’t work ..." Vin choked back for a moment. Chris was reaching out for him, and he flinched away. " ... Anyway, I’s beat up pretty bad, broke my leg. Shinbone -- jist snapped in two like a rotten twig."

It was Chris’ turn to flinch, and Vin couldn’t meet his eyes, ashamed of what he had just admitted. "First time they set it, didn’t git it quite right, and it got infected. So they had t’break it again." Smiled a bit at the wince that crossed Larabee’s face. "Least I’s off the streets for three months. The shit they gave me for the pain was too much. But I wanted it Chris. God, I wanted it so bad. Reckon I was too dumb to know what was happenin’ to me. Bein’ a charity case an’ all, when I overstayed my welcome, they jist put me out -- They never figgered that I was hooked on the drugs they’s givin’ me fer pain."

"Cold turkey?" Chris asked, appalled.

Vin nodded. "Cain’t go through that again, Chris. Hell, I don’t even like takin’ aspirin, you know that." He sank back on the couch, worn out.

Chris reached for the phone and called Rain. Vin closed his eyes, and only vaguely heard Chris asking for a prescription that wasn’t habit-forming. He heard him call Buck, and tell him that he wouldn’t be coming into the office. He was making another call, one that required a hushed tone, and Vin felt a little sick.

He added up all the things he had told Chris in that bleak recital of poverty, shame, and abuse. Maybe Chris wouldn’t want him on the team anymore. If he was very lucky, Chris wouldn’t tell the others, and he could stay on the job.

He wondered what to do now that Chris knew the truth. Leave the ranch and go home. Hope the elevator was working. Once he was up there, he’d be all right. Been hurt and alone before, and he’d survived. Chris would never ask him to leave, so he would have to convince Larabee that he was *able* to leave. He’d gotten as far as trying to swing his legs to the floor, when Chris bounded over, glaring at him.

"Where the hell do you think you’re going?"

*Shit.* Vin drew in a breath. "Home."

"I don’t think so, cowboy. You plannin’ on walking?" Larabee stood there, one blond brow aslant, hands on those slim hips. Vin’s throat got tight, and this time it wasn’t from reluctance or fear. Best he’d leave anyways, feeling as he did about Chris. One hint of that, and he’d lose everything.

"If I have to." He braced himself on the arm of the couch and forced himself to stand. He was able to maintain that defiant stance for all of five seconds before the world tilted beneath him and he sank back down with a gasp. He buried his head in his hands.

"Yeah, I can see you’re ready to run the Denver marathon, pard." There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but his eyes were sad. Vin couldn’t see that though. "Why leave?" Chris asked finally.

"Hell, ya cain’t want me here, not after what I jist told ya."

Vin’s drawl was getting the better of him; soft, slurred, and hopeless. It tore Chris’ heart out. "What -- what does that have to do with anything?" He tried to keep his voice even.

"I jist told ya that I been fucked six ways from Sunday, been a junkie, been throwed aside like trash. Ain’t exactly what you’d want fer a friend."

Those words hit Chris so hard that his knees nearly buckled. Then like a match igniting his temper, red rage burned so hot that he had to physically move away from Vin to expend it. He took two quick paces away, two quick paces back. "What the hell kind of man do you think I am? What kind of friend?" The rage curled in his voice, waiting to explode like wildfire, and Vin heard it and shrank away as if the heat of it scorched him.

"Chris ... ya didn’t know --"

"Damn right, I didn’t know! Jesus! You tell me what you were ten years ago -- and I’m supposed to throw you out on the streets, because I don’t like it?" Vin lifted his head, and the agony in those blue eyes took all the heat out of Chris’ anger. He ran a hand over his hair, took another two short paces, then sat down across from Vin, his wrists loose over his knees. He leaned forward and spoke softly, gently.

"Maybe I should answer my own questions," he said. "Maybe the kind of life you led, you don’t know the answers, and if I thought you did, maybe I was wrong." His green eyes darkened. "Vin, look at me, please." He waited for a moment, until he did. "I ain’t the kind of man who holds what happened ten years ago against a friend. I ain’t the kind of man who’s gonna hate you for what you were forced to do by circumstance, and I damn sure ain’t gonna hold you responsible for the acts of those monsters who abused you in ways I don’t even want ta think on."

"Wouldn’t blame ya if you did," Vin said breathlessly. "Wouldn’t blame ya if you walked away. Most ever’one else has."

"I ain’t the walkin’ away kind of friend, Vin. And what you told me stays in this room. I swear it."

Vin looked up, hope blazing. And then it was all too much; the strength of will and pride that had been holding him upright vanished like a wisp of smoke in a breeze. Chris saw that blue gaze go unfocused, saw the blood leave Tanner’s lips, and he moved to catch him as he fell forward. He cradled that slim body, his blond head bent protectively, his hands tangled in Tanner’s long hair. His lips brushed the soft curls. "It’s all right, partner. I got you. And God help me, I ain’t never lettin’ go."

**************************

Nathan arrived at the ranch an hour after Chris had called him, bringing the new pain medication, and worried about both of his friends. He’d been able to feel the tension in Larabee’s voice clear through the wires. Chris had told him not to knock or ring the bell in case Vin was sleeping, so he pushed open the door and quietly came into the hallway.

"Chris?"

No answer, and Nathan didn’t like that. He went down the hall to the den, and looked in. Saw Chris sitting in the armchair he’d drawn close to the couch, and Vin, curled on his side. Both men were sleeping, and judging from the hollows beneath Larabee’s eyes, he needed the rest as much as Tanner.

Nathan didn’t like waking either of them. He set the bag with the pills in it down on the coffee table, and went into the kitchen. There was coffee brewed in the pot, and he poured a cup and put it in the microwave. Driving for an hour back to the city didn’t seem too appealing at the moment. When the coffee was hot, he returned to the den and sat in the other armchair, waiting.

Gradually, the aroma of the coffee, and the instinctive knowledge of another presence, woke Chris. He opened his eyes, blinked at Nathan, and sat upright. "You been here long?"

"Half an hour. No more." He glanced over at Vin. "How is he?"

"Worn out, Nate."

"You check his leg yet?"

Chris shook his head. "I know it’s hurting him. I’m no doctor. I couldn’t see forcing more pain on him than he’s already carrying."

"He wouldn’t take the pills?"

"No. But at least I know why." His voice dropped, and he inclined his head towards the hallway. "I wouldn’t mind some of that coffee."

Nathan understood. Whatever Chris had to say, he didn’t want to wake Vin with it. He followed Larabee to the kitchen, sat at the table, and waited until Chris settled.

He sipped his coffee, trying to decide how much to reveal to Nathan, and then decided he didn’t need to say much. He told him about the broken leg, about the failure of the doctors to wean Vin from the drugs. "He must have gone through hell, Nathan. You’ve seen junkies in withdrawal. He was seventeen."

"Shit." Nathan shook his head sadly. "Explains a lot."

"You sure what Rain prescribed isn’t addictive?"

"Chris, that coffee you’re drinkin’ can be addictive. But the prescription is non-narcotic. Long as he follows the prescribed dosage, he’ll be all right. An’ knowin’ Vin, he ain’t gonna take it long enough t’develop a habit." He peered into Larabee’s haggard face. "What about you? You’re lookin’ ragged about the edges, yourself."

Chris smiled, denied it. "No, I’m just tired. And worried. Jesus, Nate ..." He scrubbed his eyes.

Nate grasped his forearm reassuringly. "You want me t’stay till he wakes up?"

Chris breathed a sigh. "Yeah, I would." He didn’t realize until Nathan offered, how much he was dreading changing that bandage. Didn’t know if he could stand that physical closeness, or the pain he would cause to that suddenly dear flesh.

"Then why don’t you git some rest? You been goin’ without fer two nights."

"Thanks." He got up and stretched the kinks from his lean frame. Before he went to his bedroom, he returned to the den. He stood looking down at Tanner. The sharpshooter’s forehead was creased in a frown, and his mouth was drawn with pain, but he still slept, as if that were the only refuge he had from hurt. Chris ran a light forefinger along the arc of one high cheekbone.

Nathan saw that gesture; the look of longing and tenderness on Larabee’s hard face, and retreated into the hallway. Chris Larabee was not a man to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and to see his heart revealed shook Nathan to the core. He waited until Chris had left the den before he stepped inside. Like Chris, he stood first over Tanner, gazing down at the sleeping man.

Man? He looked more like a weary, wounded boy, very slight under the covers, tumbled curls spilling over his face. Nathan thought of the ATF agent who seemed to be able to divorce himself from all emotion when he was taking a shot, who was willing to throw himself in harm’s way for the sake of his friends’ lives, who sat in silence so often, a silence that Nathan sensed held deeper secrets than he would ever reveal.

But from the beginning, Larabee and Tanner had seemed to *know* each other. Seemed to have a link or a bond between them. Like calling to like. Even Buck went so far as to call it spooky, and Josiah had just sighed and quoted Shakespeare: *"There are more things under heaven, Horatio ..."* his eyes gleaming with wise amusement. Well, Nathan sure wished he had some of that wisdom, because he didn’t know how to deal with what he had seen.

Didn’t know how Chris was going to deal with it either. But that wasn’t his call. That was between Chris and Vin. Nathan sat down and slid his spine into a slouch. He’d do his best to take care of Tanner’s body, but he had a feeling that Vin’s heart was in Chris Larabee’s care.

********************

Vin unglued one eye cautiously. Silence. He took a physical inventory. He still hurt, but the deep pain from his wound had faded to a bearable scream. His shoulder was stiff and sore, but that, too seemed tolerable. His gaze traveled up the form in the chair opposite him. "Nathan?" he croaked from a throat that was as dry as the desert.

"Hey there, Vin. How’re you doin’?" Nathan sat on the edge of the couch and poured a glass of water from the pitcher. "Take it slow, now. Don’t want it coming right back up."

"Thanks, Nate."

"Yeah, well, y’ain’t gonna be thankin’ me for long. We’re gonna take a little walk down to the bathroom so I kin change that bandage."

Vin’s mouth twisted into a grimace. "’S’all right. I’s gonna ask ya t’take me anyways." Somehow, having Nathan’s help with those intimate functions didn’t seem quite as embarrassing. Maybe because he’d been a medic and had seen pretty much everything a man could see and done worse than helping a friend piss.

He sat on the toilet while Nathan cut through the old dressing on his leg. The wound was swollen, bruised, and stitched. And it ached clear down to the bone, but Nathan seemed satisfied with the healing process. He cleaned it gently with an antiseptic wash, and then bandaged it again. "Looks good, Vin. Rain’ll want t’take a look at them stitches in a day or so."

"Okay."

"She gave me some non-narcotic painkillers. I want you to take them, you hear?"

Vin nodded. "Chris tell ya why I didn’t want to take the other ones?"

"Told me you’d been through a rough withdrawal when you were seventeen." He looked down at Tanner’s shin, where there was a scar and a slight, raised ridge on the long bone. That the leg?"

"Yeah. Reckon it’s marked me. Leg’s a bit shorter n’the other one. S’pose that’s why I’m always leanin’. T’even myself out."

"Your back bother you?"

"Some. " He was growing restless under Nathan’s medical scrutiny. "Ya finished, doc?"

"I am." He helped Vin stand and hitched up the sweatpants. "You hungry?"

"I could eat somethin’". Suddenly aware he asked, "Where’s Chris?"

"Sleepin’. Man’s wore out." Nathan gave Vin a sidelong look. "It ain’t your fault, so stop lookin’ guilty, Tanner."

Vin opened his mouth to protest, and then gave him a lopsided, wistful grin. "Jist wish I wasn’t so much trouble."

"Well, Larabee ain’t complaining, so jes’ let it ride, okay?" Vin nodded, and Nathan held up his hand. "Wait. I have something for you." He vanished outside the door, and popped back in a few seconds later with the crutches in his hand. "These weren’t doin’ you any good in Larabee’s truck."

Vin took one crutch and hitched it beneath his right arm. "Shoulder’s too sore fer the other one, Nate." The healer nodded, but he stayed close as Vin slowly made his way to the kitchen.

By the time he lowered himself into one of the ladder-back chairs, the effort of maneuvering the crutch and fighting off pain had left a light start of sweat on his skin. He was weak, but sitting around doing nothing wasn’t going to make him stronger. He wouldn’t use his own frailty as an excuse to be near Larabee. Chris might swear he wasn’t a walkin’ away friend, but that didn’t mean he wanted Vin, with his reminders of his ugly past, close for too long.

Nathan set a glass of water and three pills in front of him. "Two pain pills, and the antibiotic." He watched as Vin took them obediently. "Now, food. Let’s see what Chris has here ..." He rummaged through the refrigerator, grateful that Chris kept it well-stocked, and not with just frozen dinners. "Soup?" he asked.

"Had some yesterday."

Nathan sighed. "Vin, ya gotta have something." He opened up the plastic container of soup, put some in a bowl, heated it in the microwave, and set it in front of Vin. "Eat."

Not eating was more trouble than appeasing Nathan, so he ate, and after a few swallows, his appetite kicked in and he finished the bowl hungrily. Bread and butter appeared, and a jar of honey that the healer knew Vin liked.

Nathan poured them both cups of coffee, and they sat together, talking a bit about work, arguing genially about sports, trading a few stories from past jobs. As Vin talked, Nathan saw a side of the quiet sharpshooter he rarely revealed; quick wit and dry humor, an understated pride in his accomplishments, at times a wistful awareness in those blue eyes that he had lost much that he could never reclaim. And Nathan found that immensely sad.

Vin’s back was to the door, so he did not see Chris standing there, but Nathan did. He saw that Chris had seen and heard what he had heard; for a moment his dark eyes and Chris’ green ones met in perfect comprehension.

Chris didn’t know why that understanding should come as a surprise, or why Nathan’s knowledge didn’t cause him shame or fear; just a sort of peace that his secret was safe in the healer’s hands.

He coughed, stepped quietly into the kitchen, wandered over to the coffee pot. He poured a mug and joined Nathan and Vin at the table.

He fixed Vin with a look. "You feelin’ better?"

"Reckon so."

Nathan snorted. "Feelin’ better, ‘cause you took your medicine and ate a decent meal. Chris, you keep your eye on him. Make sure he keeps behavin’ himself." He looked at his watch. "I’m headin’ back to town. You need anything, call someone else." But he smiled when he said it.

Chris grinned. "Sure. We’ll call Rain." Nathan scowled, and Chris pushed himself away from the table. "I’ll walk y’out. I’ve got some paperwork for Buck to take care of."

The paperwork was a myth. The two men stood at the door. Chris waited until Nathan had buttoned up his jacket before he spoke. "Thanks, Nate."

"He’ll be fine, Chris. Try to keep him off that leg as much as possible for a few days. Make sure he takes his meds, gets his rest, eats right."

Chris nodded. "I’ll take care of him."

"Chris?" The hesitant tone in the healer’s voice made Chris suddenly wary. Nathan watched the green eyes harden. "He trusts you." That was all.

If Nathan had handed him a knife, he could not have given Chris a more lethal weapon. "You don’t have to tell me that," Chris said, his voice gone soft and desolate. Nathan didn’t know what to say. He nodded at Larabee, and stepped outside into the cold He was very glad that an hour away, Rain was waiting for him.

*****************

Vin sat in the kitchen, his hands wrapped around the slowly cooling mug. Now that the fog of pain and exhaustion was wearing off, he felt as if every nerve ending in his body was sensitive to the slightest stimulation: the brush of air coming through the registers, the sound of the refrigerator running, the rush of his own blood through his body. Vin drew a deep breath and held on tighter. Chris would come back to the kitchen, and he would have to hide every emotion, every thought, every impulse.

He could do that; he’d been doing it for most of his life. He had accepted that Chris would never be more than a friend, but that hadn’t stopped him from falling in love with the man. He didn’t doubt that what he felt for Larabee was love. The power of it was like standing with his face raised up to a thunderstorm with awe, fear, and exhilaration coursing through his veins. That was what he felt when Chris was nearby.

He would take his medications, he would obey Rain’s orders to the letter, he would rest and get well, and then he would light out as fast and as far as he could from Chris Larabee’s ranch and go back to Purgatorio where he belonged.

He was so deep in his thoughts that the touch of Chris’ hand on his shoulder made him gasp. It was like a bolt of lightning from that storm had struck to his heart. Startled, he had no time to compose his emotions, no time to veil his eyes. Wide and blue, unguarded, they met Chris’.

An ocean couldn’t have been deeper, the sky more clear than those eyes. To save his soul Chris couldn’t have looked away, any more than he could have stopped his heart from beating. His hand moved from Vin’s shoulder, to cup the back of his neck beneath the fall of curls. His thumb caressed the angle of Tanner’s jaw, and he bent his head and kissed him.

A soft moan escaped Vin’s lips and breathed its way into Chris’ mouth. Conscious of the softness of those lips framed by the rasp of beard, the taste of coffee, the tang of salt, the unfamiliarity and the familiarity of that kiss, the leap of the pulse in Vin’s jaw; Chris wanted more. His tongue rimmed Vin’s lower lip, and for a moment, he felt Tanner’s mouth yield in surprise. Suddenly, Vin twisted his head, breaking the kiss, leaving Chris bereft and breathless.

Vin pushed himself away from the table, reaching for the crutch and slipping it beneath his arm; haste making him clumsy and shock making him weak. He clung to the crutch and looked at Chris with startled, panicked eyes. Chris took a step towards him, and Vin held out his hand flat, warning him away. "No," he whispered hoarsely. "Ain’t lettin’ ya do this t’yerself. Or t’me ... cain’t take it, Chris. Jist stay away!" He wielded the crutch awkwardly but efficiently, fleeing the kitchen before Chris could catch his breath to ask him what he meant, or realize the impact of that kiss on them both.

Chris stared after him, then sank down in a chair and thrust his fingers through his hair. Dear God, what had he done? What had he destroyed with that unguarded action? His friendship with Vin, his trust, the bond that linked them to the other member of the team? Peace of mind, and ease of body? His immortal soul? It was all too much to fathom, and Chris suddenly had to get out of the house.

He grabbed his coat from the rack in the hall, then paused. He looked into the den. Vin wasn’t there. He knocked on the guest bedroom door. "Vin?" his voice sounded stiff and hoarse.

"What?" Terse.

"I’m goin’ out."

"I ain’t stoppin’ ya."

Chris’ heart sank "Vin?"

"What?" Impatience, a bite of anger in that raspy drawl.

"Be here when I get back, please."

Silence. He heard the creak of the bedframe, but that was all. He rested his splayed hand on the wood, laid his cheek against the door, and prayed that Vin would listen to him.

When he heard nothing else, he stepped away from the door. He went outside and got in the truck and drove. He wasn’t even conscious of the roads he took. When he pulled to a stop, he was in front of the halfway house where Josiah volunteered as a counselor. His mind had led his body where it needed to be. He turned off the ignition and sat, unwilling despite his presence to take the first step.

He was still sitting there when a heavy hand rapped on his window. Chris rolled the glass down, and Josiah peered in. "You sitting out here for a particular reason, brother?" Josiah grinned.

Chris smiled. "Thought I’d check this place out."

"Come on in, then. No sense in freezing." He opened the door, and Chris climbed out. He followed Josiah inside. It was quieter than he’d imagined. Clean and simply furnished. A couple of young men sat watching TV in a comfortable room off the central hall. Laughter came from the dining room where another counselor was eating with some of the residents. Josiah’s eyes gleamed with quiet pride as he showed off the facility to Chris. Eventually, they made their way to Josiah’s tiny office.

"Have a seat, Chris. Put down some of the load you’re carting around. Coffee?"

"Sure." He took a mug from Josiah. Sat staring into the depths.

Josiah waited patiently. There was something eating at Team Seven’s leader. He’d noticed it for several weeks -- not that Larabee had let it interfere with his duties -- and a less perceptive observer might not have seen it at all. He was also perceptive enough to let the words come to Chris, and not push him to talk before he was ready.

Chris drank a sip of the hot coffee. He didn’t look at Josiah, but some of the tension left his shoulders. "Josiah, is it ever a sin to love someone?"

"Only if you hurt yourself or someone else in that lovin’."

"Even if it’s something that others might not understand?"

"No one else can understand your heart, Chris. No one can say that your lovin’ is wrong or right but yourself. There’s some who’d say I was wrong to tell ya that, but I don’t believe the Lord would give us the capacity to love and then say we can’t use that gift ‘less someone gives us permission."

Chris nodded. "I loved Sarah with all I had in me, Josiah. And when she died, I thought I’d never feel that way again, never care again. I thought I could live like that."

Josiah laughed softly. "A saint couldn’t live like that, brother! If you were the kind of man that could, then I’d be willing t’bet Sarah wouldn’t have fallen in love with you in the first place. And I’m willin’ t’bet that she wouldn’t begrudge you fallin’ in love again."

Chris shook his head. "Wish I could believe that. The last thing in the world I want is to shame her memory." He sighed. "I’m tired of fightin’ against it, Josiah."

"Maybe she’s the one who put the love back in your heart." Josiah cocked a grey brow. "Stop fightin’, Chris. The more you fight, the more you hurt, and the more you hurt the person you love."

"What if they don’t know?" Chris whispered. He put the mug down on Josiah’s desk and scrubbed a weary hand over his eyes. "And what do you do if they don’t or can’t love you back?"

"Seems like a lot of ‘ifs’. Maybe you should try to get rid of a few before you start borrowin’ heartache."

Chris had to laugh at that pragmatic advice. "Damn, Josiah. You make it sound simple. And it ain’t. Not at all."

"I never said it was simple. You’ve got a complicated heart, Chris Larabee. So sometimes you have to smooth the way, is all."

Chris stood up. "Thanks, Josiah. I’ll think on what you said."

"Give up the power, Chris. Let your heart find its true path, and you’ll be all right." He laid his hand on Chris’ shoulder. "You tell Vin t’take it easy."

"I will." It wasn’t until he was back in the truck, that the significance of Josiah’s words struck home. Seemed like the whole world knew what was in his heart but Vin, the one person who *needed* to know. He drove back to the ranch in the fading daylight. The capricious weather had turned again, bringing a light rain and warmer temperatures. He started the wipers and turned on the radio. Garth Brooks, *Shameless.* He listened to the lyrics, the wipers moving in syncopation with the music, and the lyrics echoing Josiah’s words and his own life.

When he reached the top of the slight rise overlooking his ranch, he braked to a stop. The house was dark, but for one light in the den calling him home.

*********************

After he heard Chris drive away, Vin lay on his bed, hurting in body and heart. He still felt the touch of Chris’ mouth on his, tasted him, ached for him. Lord, how he had wanted to respond to that intimacy with all the ardor and love in him, but he had held back; first out of shock, then out of pride and a strong instinct of self-protection.

That heart-wrenching admission to Chris had only been one link in the chain of abuse and betrayal binding him to his past. He had been hurt badly, and it seemed that no sooner had his heart built up a layer a scar tissue, than someone ripped it away again, leaving him exposed and wounded. He couldn’t live like that, couldn’t trust anyone, couldn’t let another man take one more piece of him. Not even one he loved with his whole heart and soul.

That kiss which had shaken him so deeply, apparently had been nothing more than a sexual curiosity to Larabee. He’d been so repelled by it that he’d taken off like a shot. But at least Chris had asked him to stay and not ordered him out of the house. Maybe he could convince Larabee that it had been nothing to him, either. Maybe they could shrug it off and back away, and someday their friendship might recover. He was willing to give up a lot as long as he could stay with Team Seven, as long as he could be near Chris.

He got off the bed and limped into the den. It was growing dark, and the room was cold. There were logs and kindling in an old copper washtub near the fireplace, and Vin built up a fire and lit it. He turned on the lamp by the window, and settled on the couch, watching the dance of the flames and the play of the light on the walls.

He waited, tried to calm his mind and find the center of himself that he kept so closely guarded. Those walls had been coming down since he’d become a member of Team Seven, and now Chris Larabee in one moment of careless passion had breached them entirely, leaving him defenseless. It would take a while to build those walls up again, but he would do it piece by heartsick piece, until he was safe once more.

He heard the truck pull up on the driveway. The headlights did a sweep of the room before they were extinguished, and then he heard the slam of the door and Larabee’s boots on the porch. He sat still, waiting. The front door was opened and quietly closed. He knew Chris was standing in the doorway. His mouth went dry.

Chris’ breath left him in a whoosh of relief when he saw Vin sitting on the couch. He had been certain that he would either be gone or shut up in the bedroom. Moving carefully, as if Vin were a wild creature who would light out if startled, Chris made his way into the room and stood a bit uncertainly at the end of the couch.

"Vin, we need to talk," he said softly. "It’s important."

"Yeah, I reckon it is." He paused for a moment, steeling himself for what was inevitable. "You c’n sit down, Chris. I ain’t gonna shoot ya, ‘r nothin’."

Chris sank down in the chair and leaned forward. He was trying to work out how to approach Vin with his feelings; hesitant because he had no idea what Vin’s response would be, and afraid that no matter what he said, Vin would end up being hurt. He was past caring about himself -- he’d built up a pretty hard shell since Sarah and Adam had died. He’d survived that, and figured he’d survive this, too. There was no easy way to approach the subject but head on and eyes wide open.

"What happened earlier ..."

Vin’s heart thumped. "Why’d ya do it, Chris? Did ya think ‘cause I’s bent in some way that you could take what ya wanted?" He couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice. "I’s never a whore, and I ain’t about t’take it up t’satisfy anybody’s curiosity. Not even yours."

Chris’ stomach churned. "Jesus, Vin! What kind of man d’you think I am?" His green eyes flared with anger and hurt.

"I sure as Hell didn’t think you were that kind!" Vin shot back, fired by his own sense of hurt and betrayal.

That staggered Chris. Literally. He took a step back. "That kind?" he echoed.

Vin’s eyes darkened as he looked at Larabee, and a weary sadness came to him. "Chris, y’ain’t the first t’wonder what it would be like to be with another man, an’ ya won’t be the last. But it ain’t gonna be me. It cain’t be me."

"Why?" Chris was fighting to understand Vin, fighting for this new life he was facing, and very afraid that he was about to lose the one thing that made his existence bearable.

"Do I have to spell it out for ya?" Vin asked in despair. His hands moved restlessly, and if he had the strength, he would have fled without answering Chris’ question. But he had nowhere to go, and nothing to lose. "I cain’t let ya touch me again, Chris. Because if ya did, I wouldn’t be able to stop you. I’d let ya do whatever you wanted. But when it was over, I’d have nothin’ left, ‘cause you’d have taken it all from me. Every bit of pride, an’ respect, everything I’ve been fightin’ so hard to hold on to. I love ya, Chris. But I cain’t live that way." He reached for his crutches.

Chris’s mind was trying to wend through the maze of that speech, like following a thread through twists and turns and impossible dead ends. But somehow, he found his way to those words that meant the world to him. "Vin, wait!" He crossed to the couch, reached out a hand to take Vin’s arm, and then dropped it to his side, when he saw the startled light in his eyes. "Wait."

Vin waited. What else could he do? He sank down on the couch.

Chris returned to the chair and tried to breathe. "How long?" he asked.

"Since I loved ya?" He smiled wistfully. "I reckon from the first moment I saw ya. Didn’t know it right away, though. I didn’t want ta love you, an’ I thought I could maybe jist live bein’ your friend and partner. But I’s wrong. I love you, and I s’pose I’ll love ya ‘til the day I die." He sighed regretfully. "As soon as I’m up to it, I’d appreciate it if you’d put me in fer a transfer. I know I cain’t stay with th’team."

"Don’t you think I have some say in this?" Chris asked quietly. "Vin, I’ve been going around in circles for more weeks than I can count, thinking I was insane, thinking I was sick, because of what I feel for you. I’ve been arguing it away, denying it, I was afraid I was betraying Sarah. But I was wrong. I was fighting so hard not to love you, that I lost sight of the gift she was tryin’ to give me." He paused. "Vin, please look at me." Dazed blue eyes came up to his. "I’ve stopped fighting."

Chris’ words were making Vin dizzy. He passed a shaking hand over his forehead. "Chris ... I ain’t feelin’ so good, and maybe I need ya to slow down, ‘cause I think I heard ya say that you love me --"

"I did." Chris moved slowly to sit at Vin’s side. He took that trembling hand in his, brought it to his lips. "Think you can live with that?" he asked, his voice husky with emotion.

Vin pulled his hand away, tucked it close against his side. "No." He shook his head. "Cain’t be right, Chris. You could have anybody you wanted. Hell, I’ve seen ‘em lookin’ at you -- men and women, both." His mouth smiled, but his eyes were sad. "You cain’t want someone like me ..."

Chris wanted to reclaim that hand, but he forced himself to be still. "Um, partner. Seems we’re talkin’ at cross purposes, here. Maybe I could have any man or woman I want, but the truth is, I want you. That’s it, plain and simple. There isn’t anyone else, there won’t be anyone else. I don’t live in your past, Vin. Maybe it’s time you didn’t either." He brushed his thumb over Vin’s mouth, turning his face gently. "Believe me."

"Wish I could," he sighed and nestled his cheek against that warm palm. Larabee’s eyes were impossibly gold and green in the firelight, and the expression in them made Vin’s marvel at the softness in that hard man. "I want to."

Chris bent his head closer, and Vin didn’t pull away. He set his mouth on Vin’s, felt a quiver of uncertainty, then touched his lips with his tongue. A rough sigh of surrender and hunger purred in Vin’s throat. His lips parted, and Chris plundered his mouth. Their tongues danced and slid across each other, tasting, feeling, seeking. Chris lost himself in that kiss; doubts, preconceptions, fears, all reduced to nothingness compared to the sweetness of Vin Tanner. He tasted so damn good! The kiss which should have been awkward, was not. Like everything else, it felt right. Felt right that this man should be in his arms, that Vin’s hard, slim body should fit his embrace; that Chris could use his strength to seduce, not to subdue.

Vin wondered how much of this was a dream, how much of it was real. He’d been wanting this for so long, that now he was in Chris’ arms, he felt weak, dizzy, his physical body overwhelmed and his heart beating like the wings of a bird against his ribs. He let Chris’ tongue play over his, felt his hands weaving through his long hair, felt his breath mingling with his own. It would have been easy to surrender everything to this man he loved. He couldn’t, not yet. Not now ...

Even so, he was not sure who broke off that kiss; himself, or Chris. Larabee drew back, his green eyes blurred with desire. He brushed the hair from Vin’s face, kissed his forehead, the hard arc of his cheekbone, the angle of his jaw. He stroked his long throat with gentle hands. "Convinced yet?"

"Jist about." He smiled slightly before doubt crept into his voice. "Chris? I love ya, but I still cain’t let you ..."

Chris released him gently to lie against the cushions. "Partner, even if I was ready for this, you’re not. Let’s get you healed up first, and then take it real slow." He trailed his forefinger down a curl of Vin’s hair. "The learning of this is gonna be mighty interesting."

Vin sighed. His eyes closed and he felt Chris gather him close, hold him tucked against his chest. He could hear Chris’ heart beating, feel the rise and fall of his respiration, and the glide of muscles over bone when he moved. Chris’ warm, comforting hand began a gentle massage of his aching shoulder, and he slid crosswise over Larabee’s lap, turned his head into the curve of Chris’ body, and let the world drift away.

Chris looked down at the sleeping sharpshooter. It was the first time he was able to observe him with love and without guilt. He studied the hollows and angles of that fine-boned face; the sweep of the dark lashes against pale cheeks, the mouth that held him mesmerized with its contours and the expressions that shaped it, the waves of brown hair at Vin’s temples that caught red and gold sparks where the flames kindled the strands with light.

He was astonishingly content for somebody who had just turned his life upside down. The man sleeping in his arms was worth it all, and he would make sure that Vin never had reason to regret loving him. He’d waited a long time for Sarah, he’d wait as long as he needed to, for Vin.

Part 3 - Epilogue