Author's Notes and Acknowledgements: The story was inspired by Gordon Lightfoot's "Song for A Winter's Night." The lullaby sung by Sarah Larabee is actually a Welsh folk song, called "All Through The Night."

The world had turned white, and Chris Larabee, a man who always liked the dark, hated it. He wrapped the loosened scarf tighter around his near frozen face, with fingers that were already past that state, while his steed plowed wearily through the snow. They were both close to exhaustion, and Chris realized that finding shelter was now a top priority. Eyes peering out between folds of wool and a hat pulled low on his brow, he scanned the surrounding woods, but he saw only snow-laden pines before grey-spotted, rocky crags. The wind howled around him, throwing the snow all about, decreasing his visibility to almost nothing.

The fierce storm had broken suddenly and had caught Chris unawares in the mountain pass. It was early spring, and he had assumed that the worst of winter was over. It was a bad place to be proven wrong. His arms felt like dead weights, and he couldn't feel his legs as they wrapped around the belly of the horse he had purchased in Jordan's Ridge. He needed to rest and get out of the cold.

His head dropped down slowly as exhaustion beckoned him into the soft folds of sleep. After an undeterminable length of time, Chris jerked his head upright, hissing through his chattering teeth. The cold had almost taken him in its harsh embrace. He was so damn cold. He noticed his horse had stopped walking and was standing chest deep in the snow, its sides heaving and its flanks soaked.

"Damn it," Chris croaked, his lone voice barely noticeable against the shrieking wind driving through the blanketed woods. He decided to lead the horse. It would keep him awake and both of them moving. He dismounted, practically sliding from the horse's back. Unexpectedly, his legs collapsed under him as cold, aching muscles frozen to the bone refused to carry him. He struggled valiantly to his feet, grasping the stirrup for support. Through sheer force of will he managed to stand again, shaking and shivering. He pushed himself off, and stumbled through the snow till he reached the front and grabbed his horse's reins. If they didn't start moving again, they would both die. He tugged on the bridle, but the fatigued horse wouldn't budge.

"Come on!" Chris shouted harshly, cruelly pulling on the reins; the steel bit in the horse's mouth jerked painfully, but still the brute refused to move. Out of sheer panic and desperation, Chris threw all his weight back on the reins. Without the horse, he'd be dead inside an hour.

Finally, with stiff legs, the horse stumbled forward and Chris fell backwards into the snow, sinking below its soft surface. He struggled upright, trying to get his feet under him, afraid of being trampled beneath his own horse. He felt a numbing hoof strike his leg, but there was no pain, at least not yet. He stopped the horse, weaving wearily before it. Slowly, they began again, this time the horse following placidly.

Cursing, Chris dragged himself through the snow, determined to keep moving at all costs. They trudged for what seemed like hours, though in reality they had only managed a few hundred feet. The snow was just too damn deep. Chris ceased his forward crawl though the chest-high drifts, his horse stopping beside him. Chris dragged the frigid air desperately into his starving lungs, despite the agony it caused. He leaned on his horse's neck, his face pressed against its steaming flesh, and attempted to catch his breath.

They were going to die.

An angry snarl erupted from Chris' lips, startling his mount, but thankfully it had nowhere to run. He wasn't going to die! He would decide when it was time, not nature, not God, and not some damn blizzard.

Chris quieted the beast as his own eyes frosted with cold, firm determination. He pulled again on the reins, but this time the horse nearly collapsed. Chris turned to steady the animal and it was then that he caught a glimpse of darkness against the stone cliff that was on his left. Blinking hard in case it was a dream, he looked again. The patch of black remained. Chris smiled at the irony of an ebony shadow being his salvation in a field of white. Abandoning the horse, he trudged the last few feet to it.

It was a cave. Not an incredibly deep one, but a wonderful, beautiful shelter from the storm. It could even fit his horse near the front, if he could just get the stupid thing inside. He stumbled back out into the storm. The horse had not moved, but the brief rest had been enough for the animal, and the docile beast followed Chris back towards the cave.

Suddenly, at the sight of the cave, the horse balked and neighed in terror. The animal yanked Chris off his feet and onto the now packed snow. His breath rushed out in a hurry and he lay there gasping for a moment. Then he drew arms that felt like lead weights to his sides and heaved himself back up, his face screwed with fury. The horse stood there, head hung low but eyes still wild. Chris almost said to hell with the dumb beast, but he knew he needed the animal later, once the storm abated. He tried again, this time removing his scarf and tieing it around the animal's eyes, preventing it from seeing the cave.

The horse tossed its head a bit but finally calmed. Chris led it towards the cave, finally feeling victory since they were right on the entrance. Unfortunately, the top of the horse's head brushed the entrance and it reared back, screaming in terror. Chris tried to keep hold of the reins but his frozen fingers refused to tighten. The panicked animal backed off, flinging itself wildly about in attempt to dislodge the scarf, its frightened neighs echoing about the pass. Finally the scarf went flying and the horse stumbled to its knees.

Above Chris a low rumble began. Slowly, he raised his head to gaze above him. With a startled shout, he ran towards the cave's mouth as a barrage of snow and ice started falling from above. The roar of the avalanche filled his ears. It seemed as if the entire mountain was collapsing around him.

A piece of ice struck Chris on his left shoulder and he fell to his knees. He struggled to his feet, fighting to keep himself upright. He staggered forward and with the last bit of remaining energy and conviction flung himself bodily into the cave. Frozen debris rained down behind him with a terrifying rumble that drowned out all else.

An icy darkness greeted Chris. The earth was silent again. He coughed in the stillness, desperate to hear his own voice, anything to let him know he was alive. He didn't know how long he had lain there. Could have been hours, he thought, raising himself on his elbows. He tried to move his legs but couldn't. He twisted around and felt with his hands. His legs were buried under mounds of snow. He shoved his fingers into the hard material and with fervid desperation he dug himself free.

Pulling his long legs from the frigid snow's embrace, he scrambled deeper into the cave. His legs didn't seem broken, but he was too damn cold to tell. He could have multiple breaks and not even know it. His fingers were so numb he doubted he could even feel if the bones were broken. He needed to get warm fast.

His only glimpse of the cave's interior had been cursory and limited at best but he recalled there being some debris off to his right. He crawled along the wall till he ran up against a pile of branches and leaves. He prayed this wasn't some bear's hibernating den. It hadn't seemed big enough for that, but he wasn't really an expert either. Damn, he wished Vin were here. Hell, if the man had come along on this venture, he might have talked some sense into Chris before he had even attempted to cross the pass.

But those were useless thoughts and would not help him now. Chris struggled to form a small pile of brush and tinder. Thankfully, he kept his matches on his person and not in his saddlebags. It was easier to light up a cheroot that way. With trembling hands, he attempted to strike a match. He failed. He couldn't even feel the stupid thing between his fingers. He ripped off his gloves and then breathed deeply, calming himself. Scowling into the darkness, he determinedly tried again. This time he was rewarded with a blinding flare of phosphorous as the flame came to life. He eased his shaking hand down towards the dry tinder, and soon a small but illuminating fire bathed his new home.

The cave itself wasn't huge. It was actually quite small, but at least it was empty. Warming his hands, he added to the fire. There was enough wood in the cave to last a while. Probably some other lost soul had found sanctuary in this dwelling and had stocked it well. Wherever that person was now, Chris offered a silent prayer of thanks in their direction. It gave him a fighting chance, though he couldn't keep the fire going for long. The smoke would soon fill the cave and he would die from the fumes. Regardless, he would have to suffer for a bit till he warded off some of the possible frostbite.

Feeling was returning to his hands, and along with it came shooting needles of agony as the blood started moving again. He clenched and unclenched his hands and then with careful deliberation he checked the length of his legs. They were still numb but his hands could feel no broken bones within. His head dropped in overwhelming relief. He cautiously eased himself to his feet. Once he was satisfied that they would hold him, he moved about the small cave. He was a little tall for the cave, and even stooped over his shoulders still brushed the roof. But at least he was walking. He stamped his feet hard in an effort to restore the circulation to them.

The light from the fire also revealed a small cache of provisions, including a lantern which miraculously still had some oil. So even when the small fire soon died away he would still have some light, at least for a while. It was a precious comfort.

Without the wind cutting through him, Chris almost felt warm, but it was an illusion. He was in as much danger inside the cave as outside, not so much from the cold now but from another danger. He looked around, scanning the walls and roof for any other openings, hopefully an airhole, for without that the cold was a moot point. He wouldn't freeze to death, but he'd die from lack of air.

He couldn't make out anything that looked like an airhole, as the limited light only cast more shadows about the cave. He moved back towards the wall of ice that trapped him in this tomb. That was the only way out. The small fire behind him faded as its fuel became exhausted. Before the last of its light faded, Chris lit the lamp and then carefully extinguished the fire's embers, covering it in snow to wet the ash and prevent more smoke from filling the cave. His throat and lungs were already tortured earlier by breathing the freezing air outside; more smoke wasn't going to help the problem.

He picked up a stout stick from the pile of wood and began to dig in the snow at the cave's entrance. He had to at least get an air hole before his strength ran out. Forcing weary muscles to work again, he set about his task, knowing in the back of his mind that Death was most likely already hovering nearby, waiting impatiently for him to give in. It was nothing new to Chris.

Hours later, Chris slumped back in sheer exhaustion. His muscles had turned against him and he could barely control the tremors which gripped him. Shivering, he sat back from his work, his body covered in sweat, staring with glassy eyes at the hole. He had reached the cave's mouth, but still a solid wall of hard packed snow blocked his escape. Who knew how much more snow and debris lay beyond that.

He ran a hand over his sweat-drenched face. He just needed a little rest, then he would start again. He shook his head venomously. No, with sleep came death. He had to keep working. It was already difficult to breathe. A fit of coughing gripped him and left him gasping. As he struggled to catch his breath, a voice startled him.

"What are you doing, old pard?"

Chris jerked in the murky light, his head shifting quickly to look at the voice's owner. Through eyes that refused to focus, he squinted into the dark shadows. "Buck?"

"Right here." The tall cowboy sauntered into view and glanced around him. "Look at you, you're soaked to the skin. You need a break, Chris. You're always working too damn hard. Why don't you ride into town with me. There's a few ladies I could introduce you to."

"No . . . I can't. I have to . . ." Chris tried to explain the situation to Buck.

Buck interrupted him, his voice laced with regret. "That's the trouble with you, Chris, you never stop to enjoy the finer things in life. You never take time to remember you still have friends that care about you."

Chris sighed in exasperation. "Not now, Buck." He knew there was something more important to do, but suddenly Chris couldn't remember what it was. A brief rest did sound nice. "Where you headin'?"

"Oh, I'm taking JD out on the town." The scoundrel waved at a shadow standing behind him and JD sheepishly emerged.

He tipped his hat. "Evenin', Chris." With a nod towards the scoundrel beside him, he added, "Buck said he was gonna show me the ropes, though I'm pretty sure I know them already. Emily and I made . . ."

Buck interrupted, nudging the kid playfully in the ribs, emphasizing his vague point . . . "There are ropes, son, and then there are ropes. If you know what I mean."

JD's perplexed expression indicated he didn't but, he wasn't about to let Buck know that. "Of course I know what you mean, Buck. I'm nearly twenty." Buck just grinned widely, enjoying some private joke as JD slouched comfortably alongside his tall friend, his hand resting on the buckle of his holster in a near perfect, unconscious imitation of Buck's stance.

Chris winced at that. The kid was so full of hero worship. He had come to Chris, begging to become a part of his violent lifestyle, so anxious to be in a fight, so ready to fire his guns in the name of glory, so eager to die a lonely death.

That's all Chris saw when he stared at JD Dunne, another innocent soul lost by his hands. It was a responsibility which weighed heavily on Chris' shoulders. Buck probably thought of it more like a big brother thing, but the danger was all too real for Chris. Every second of every gunbattle, Chris had to force himself from thinking about it. His every instinct cried out to protect the foolish kid, to drive JD away from the violence before more blood stained Chris' hands. But deep inside, he knew he had no right to do that. JD was old enough to make his own decisions, even if some of them would only lead to tragedy. It was that above all else which Chris wanted no part of. No matter how Chris looked at it, there was just too much to lose and no one to blame but himself if it happened.

Buck studied his friend's growing depression and tried again to draw him away from his internal musings. "This could be a very entertaining evening. Sure you don't want to come, Chris?"

Startled slightly, Chris refocused on Buck. He wanted to say yes; if he could only find the strength to move. As it was, his limbs felt like lead. "I'll just rest here a bit," he told Buck instead, his eyes starting to slip closed as exhaustion dragged at him.

"Suit yourself." Buck shrugged, barely holding in his disappointment.

JD, eager to be on their way, slipped around Buck but then felt torn about leaving their leader behind. He whirled back to Chris. "It's gonna be fun. You sure?" He too felt Buck's need to urge Chris away from his heartache and dark ways. There were so many great things to see and do in the world. Why would anyone lock themselves away from experiencing it?

Chris' bloodshot eyes lifted towards the boy, seeing all the exuberance of untamed youth and remembered a time when he could have matched it, but right now he felt like an old man, weary in bone and in spirit. He merely shook his head.

Buck wrapped an arm about JD's shoulders and eased him away. It never paid to push Chris. Just before they disappeared into the darkness, Buck turned back to his long-time friend, his own eyes sad and melancholy. He seemed on the verge of saying something, but then decided against it. He stepped back into the shadows without another sound and was gone.

The silence left in their wake became almost deafening and Chris' head fell weakly to rest on the wall behind him. When had life ever been so simple for him? He had fought against darkness all his life, a darkness that had always been inside him. One he had never been proud of, but had never really tried to overcome, either. He always regretted the violent turn his life had taken. That and his grief had threatened to swallow everything. He looked at the shadows around him and realized that he looked a bit too much like them.

His reputation as a killer went back further than he cared to remember. It angered him to think that that was all he was known for. Even Mary Travis had labeled him a "notorious gunslinger" that made "the streets run red" with blood. It was articles like those that ate away at him. History would only know him for his quick hand and his deadly aim. He never went looking for a fight, but he never walked away from one either. It sickened him. He was ashamed. Maybe that was why he lingered in Four Corners. Maybe this was his last chance to redeem his soul, make something of himself that he could be proud of once more.

Chris barely flinched when Josiah's deep voice spoke right beside him.

"A righteous man will be forever remembered," the preacher quoted, as if reading the gunfighter's mind.

It took a moment before Chris replied, "Not usually in the eyes of man, Josiah."

The big man shrugged. "One shouldn't worry too much what mortal men think. Only one person you should be trying to impress."

Chris smiled, sort of, and then looked over at Josiah. Nathan sat beside him while Ezra, on the other side, toyed with a deck of cards.

Nathan's huge brown eyes met the man in black's. "You're a good man, Chris. What's printed in papers and dime novels don't mean nuthin'. You've helped alot of people over the last couple of months. They won't forget that. They've got nuthin' but admiration for you."

"I'm a man with a vile temper, Nathan. A bully, plain and simple. I just happen to be a bully who's good with a gun. Nothin' admirable about that."

Ezra snorted from the far side. "I've been trying to relate that particular analogy to you people for quite some time." He idly flipped a card across his knuckles.

Nathan cast him an irritated look, but then turned his attention back to Chris. "You know, there is the fact that you brought us all together. Who the hell would have thought such different people could act as one? Do you think that anyone else could have made us come together the way we did?"

Chris shifted uncomfortably. He didn't like analyzing himself like this.

"Honestly, Chris. Look at us. I'm a 'darkie doctor' that some people would just as soon hang as look at. Ezra's a cheater that no one would trust further than you can throw him." Ezra's eyebrow rose at the description, but declined a reply. Nathan leaned closer to Chris. "You're the one who had faith we could work as a team. We've done a hell of a lot of good out here. You think just anyone could have done that? Not likely. I'm damn proud of what we've done for Four Corners and so should you."

"All I know is that I shocked the hell out of my mother when she visited," Ezra added with an impish smile. "I've wanted to do that for as long as I can remember. You made that possible, Mr. Larabee. For that alone, I am indebted to you, sir."

"We follow you, Chris." Josiah's voice was firm and sincere. "And we do it because we want to, because you're an honest man trying to do something good out here in the forsaken wilderness of the west. If that's not the action of a righteous man, I don't know what is."

Chris' jaw worked painfully against the powerful onslaught of emotion. These men believed in him, evidence of the absolution he craved. He had never thought about his life in those terms before. He turned to say thank you, but he looked over only to see empty space beside him.

He shivered in the empty room and wrapped his arms around himself. The light of the lantern on the table was growing dim, and he knew he should put it out. It was growing late, and he should turn in. The house was so still, and wisps of snow could be seen drifting outside, some of it piling up against the window pane. He thought he could hear the wind moaning outside.

A quick-moving shadow topped with sun-kissed hair flew into his arms. "Da!"

Chris struggled to hold the mass of wriggling energy that was his son. "Shouldn't you be in bed, Adam?" he moderately admonished the boy. He knew he should be stern, but he found he couldn't. Something about seeing the boy withdrew any thoughts of parental bravado.

"Momma said I could wait for you." He looked quickly behind him and shouted. "Momma! Da's home!"

Chris' breath caught in his chest, and he couldn't say why, but when his wife stepped into the light, he was stunned. "Sarah," he whispered, his voice tight and almost guttural.

She beamed at him, settling herself in a chair beside him at the kitchen table and running a hand calmingly over Adam's tousled hair. Her emerald eyes never left Chris. "It's good tae have you home," she said in that wonderful Irish lilt of hers. She leaned over and kissed him.

Chris hesitantly touched her face, and when he was sure she was real, he pulled her lips to him again, irrationally terrified that she'd suddenly disappear. His fingers became entangled in her auburn ringlets and drew her tighter against his lips. She responded eagerly. Unbidden tears ran down Chris' face and he choked back a sudden sob, his tears in her hair.

Puzzled, Sarah Larabee pulled back, feeling the wetness upon her cheek. "Now, what's this about?"

Chris struggled with emotions that were running rampant through him, and he didn't understand why. He just knew that he loved her more than life itself. "I missed you," he finally whispered, and in his heart he knew that that statement didn't even come close to the truth.

She laughed lightly. "Aye, I missed you too, love." She kissed him hard on the lips again, and Chris became lost in the very essence of her, eagerly drinking in her lavender scent, her warm touch, her soft skin.

Then a small hand snaked between them and demanded attention. "Hey!"

Chris glanced down, and a genuine laugh burst from his own mouth. It sounded odd to Chris. He grabbed Adam even tighter, and literally hugged him till the small boy squeaked, kissing his temple tenderly. "It's good to be home," he said, his voice laden with sweet elation. "God, it's good to be home."

Sarah stared at him strangely. "It's only been a few weeks, Christopher. You're actin' as if it's been years."

Chris' throat tightened so much that he could barely get his next words out. "It feels as if it has."

Adam wriggled in Chris' arms in an attempt to get more comfortable, and bumped Chris' shoulder. Chris winced, and immediately Sarah became concerned. "What happened?"

Chris smiled tiredly in an effort to ease Sarah's mind. "It's nothing. Just wrenched it a bit." A cough built up in his chest and he struggled to suppress it. Sarah's hand slipped behind him and began working the aching muscles with strong fingers. Chris sighed with contentment, his mind drifting.

"You okay, pard?" Adam spoke in a perfect imitation of his foster uncle.

Chris glanced down at his son and laughed. "You've been hanging around Buck too much."

Sarah answered the boy's question even though she agreed with her husband. "Yes, Adam. Da is fine. He just needs you tae be still and he needs tae stay at home for a time." Her green eyes flashed a challenge at Chris. She hated when he was gone for so long. Now that she had him home, she wasn't going to give him up so easily again. Buck could take the next remuda over the border on his own. She got up to bring him something hot off the stove. It was a broth, rich and flavorful. "It'll calm that cold ya got brewin'."

Chris gave in to his wife's ministrations easily. He had no wish to go anywhere else, not now and not ever. He sipped at the broth.

"Can you tell me a story, Da?" Adam asked eagerly, knowing his parents would soon send him to bed.

Chris chuckled as a warm pleasant sensation washed over him, one that he hadn't felt in a very, very long time. Idly, he wondered why. He was growing drowsy and peaceful.

Sarah, as if sensing Chris' weariness, made another suggestion. "How about a song instead?"

Adam frowned, but conceded, nestling himself into the crux of his father's arm, his blond head resting against Chris' good shoulder. His mother's voice lowered and began a quiet, Irish lullaby, one that Chris had heard many times before when Adam had been just a baby.

He himself knew the words; they had become ingrained over the years, as the melody had continually drifted through the peaceful house.

Chris watched his wife as she sang, her beautiful oval face shining pale and luminous in the fading lamplight. His heart was gripped simultaneously with overwhelming love and a sudden ache. His teeth clenched against it. Sarah glanced momentarily at him and caught the look of sadness that flooded him, but she did not stop her singing. Instead, her hand sought his as it held his son, and she covered it with her own. It was like a touch of fire, and Chris drew in a sharp breath. He lost himself and fell away, past the sad and long-lost days, into a world in which he didn't belong anymore.

Adam shifted slightly, sighing gently, but his eyes remained closed, slipping farther into the gentle embrace of contented slumber, his father following close behind him, eyelids sinking. The last strands of the song faded away into the dark corners of the house. It had done its work. His sleeping son felt good in Chris' arms. He had always loved that simple pleasure.

"Christopher," his wife softly called. Her hair brushed his shoulders as she leaned towards him, warm, soft lips caressing his own icy flesh. Instantly, the cold faded with her touch, soothing away all his pain. She always could. She tended his suffering without even knowing her power over him. Or perhaps she did. Blinking, he turned glazed eyes towards her.

"You're tired," she remarked gently. "Let me take and put our son tae bed." She bent down and then stopped when their eyes were level, her voice dropping lower. "Then perhaps we can do the same." Her sweet breath flowed over him and the desire that flooded her eyes made his body ache. He had almost forgotten what it was like to lie down beside her. Something long dead stirred within him.

She lifted the slight figure from his arms and drifted slowly towards one of the darkened corners. Chris felt strange. The sudden absence of his son's weight frightened him. "Sarah," he called out, but it was time for them to go. He could feel it in the air. It was time for all of them to sleep.

Yet something held him in place. There was something he should remember, something left undone. Sarah called to him again, and he refocused his attention on his wife as she slipped further into the shadows.

Her departure from his sight, the way her body started to fade before his eyes, galvanized him into action. He stumbled to his feet, intent on following his family. He longed for his cold, cold body to be embraced by his wife's warm flesh, driving away the bitter storm, but another voice coming from the other side of the room stopped him in mid-step.

"I never took you for a coward."

Chris turned around, shock and anger displacing reason and passion. "I'm not a coward."

Vin Tanner materialized from the shadows, stepping into the small, homey kitchen. "Any man who turns his back on his friends is one in my book." He leaned up against the huge oak china closet that Sarah's parents had given them as a wedding present.

Chris shook his head. Maybe Vin didn't understand. "I've done my time, Vin. I'm tired. I want to be with my wife and son. I want to watch him grow into the man I always wanted to be. I want to know the joy of lying in a warm bed with the woman I love from now until the end of time. There's nothing cowardly about that. It's been a long time comin'. Let me go."

"What about Tascosa? You going back on your word?"

Chris' face fell. "No, I would never . . ." He turned hesitantly back towards where Sarah and the boy disappeared. His voice slipped lower, his will torn. A part of his mind screamed to follow, and yet another part questioned the verity of it. He rubbed a cold hand roughly over his bristled face. "I don't know what's real anymore, Vin. Maybe I don't want to know. All my life, I felt like I was floating face down in a pool of regrets. One built up after another. I was never whole . . . except for those few years with Sarah and Adam, and now I want it back. I want to be happy again. Don't I deserve it?"

"We all deserve it, Chris," Vin answered his friend softly. "Maybe some more than others, but there's a time and place for it. This ain't yours."

Chris stepped back from his friend, indecision raging at him. He didn't want to choose, but Vin made him.

"I never asked much from anyone in this life, Chris. I thought I could count on you. I guess I should have known better." The thin man straightened and walked away back into the shadows.

"Vin!"

Forgetting all else, Chris struggled to stop the man from leaving, forcing deadened muscles to move. Stumbling across the floor, he all but fell into the stone wall, solid and cold. "Nooo!" Chris slammed his fist into the unyielding surface. It was too late. Both hands clawed at the stone, refusing to accept the fact his friend was gone, gone to face his fate on his own. He had let Vin down. More guilt washed over Chris, another regret to add to his drowning pool.

"Vin! Wait!" he shouted, his voice rough and strained. A cough seized his chest and he shook with its force, his breath refusing to stay in his lungs. He hunched over, practically choking. Then he felt strong hands steady his shoulders, holding him against the wracking coughs. A quiet voice went with them.

"Easy, Chris."

Relief flooded through Chris. He reached up to grab the bounty hunter. "Vin!" he gasped out. He couldn't stop coughing.

"Right here," Vin assured the older man. "Get Nathan," he called over his shoulder. "He's awake again."

"Is he talking sense?" another voice queried anxiously. Sounded like Buck.

There were shapes moving about him in the darkness. Suddenly, it grew brighter as a lantern was lit. Buck brought it over. He looked drawn and tired, as if sleep was no longer a luxury. "How ya feelin', Chris?"

He was in another room, but he couldn't tell where. For someone who had just woken up, Chris fought desperately against his exhaustion, which wanted to drag him back under. He needed to know where and when he was. Had it all just been a dream? Was he still there on the mountain? "The cave . . ." he whispered, but even that low tone caused his chest to seize. Vin, his arm still around Chris' shoulders, braced him. "God, that hurts," Chris said when his breath returned.

"You've got pneumonia, Chris. You've been delirious for days," Buck said. "When we heard the blizzard hit the pass and you had already left Jordan's Ridge, we went looking for you." Buck had told Chris all this before, but it seemed Chris didn't remember much of it. The gunfighter had been consumed with other things. He had heard some of Chris' ramblings; the man's past had obviously reared its painful head again. It worried Buck that Chris never seemed to find any peace. He wished Chris would let go of the grief. Buck was ready to help him through it whenever he'd ask. Only Chris never did. Today was the first time in days that Buck felt he might have another chance.

"How long?" Chris croaked. Vin offered him a glass of water which Chris drank gratefully.

"It's been three days," the bounty hunter answered.

Chris choked on the water. "Three days?!"

"Yeah, you've been talking out of your head." Buck shifted his weight nervously as Chris' bloodshot eyes impaled him abruptly. Buck could see the sudden dread in them.

"What did I say?"

"Nuthin' that made sense," Vin assured him. He didn't let Chris see the deception in his face. There were moments in Chris' delirium that stabbed deep into the hearts of all of them, but Vin's small lie brought some relief to the gunslinger. At the moment, that was all that concerned Vin. He gained his feet in the dim light and moved towards the door which was obscured in the shadows.

"You leavin'?" Chris asked of him suddenly, rising half off the bed, a sense of apprehension filling him. The scene seemed familiar for some reason.

Vin stopped, half turning, "I'm not going anywhere."

Chris let out a slow breath, easing himself back down onto the bed, relieved, though he couldn't say why.

Buck, a little sad of eye, walked past the rooted bounty hunter. "I'll go get Nathan."

Vin stared at the scoundrel, knowing how worried Buck had been these last few days. He had hardly left Chris' side since they had found him. Between Vin, Nathan, and Buck, the gunfighter had never been left alone. Buck glanced at the bounty hunter, and finally smiled under Vin's scrutiny.

Buck didn't claim to understand the strong bond that had cropped up suddenly between the sullen shootist and the quiet bounty hunter, but it gave Chris a will to live, and therefore, Buck would never contest it. He only wished that the friendship that he had had once with Chris would have been enough.

Sarah and Adam's death made Chris forget that he still had another friend, one that would give his life for the man. Maybe someday the two of them could accept the pain of the past, but until then, Buck was satisfied that Chris accepted Vin Tanner as a friend. The bounty hunter sensed how important this friendship had become, and instead of shying away from it, as he was wont to do, he had accepted it completely to heart. For that, Buck owed him, though it didn't make Buck's disappointment any less. Chris' rejection of his friendship cut him to the bone all too often. He closed the door quietly behind him.

Chris' eyes were heavy with sleep, but he forced his exhaustion aside for a moment more and sat up in the bed, wincing slightly as his bruised shoulder ached. His leg felt stiff where the horse had struck him. Positioning himself carefully, he turned to Vin, who had resumed his seat next to the bed. "How did you find me?"

"There's only one way through that mountain pass. When the weather cleared the next day and you didn't make it back, we went after you. Found your horse frozen just past the peak."

"Did you know . . . about the cave?" Chris asked, his sentence interrupted by some muted coughing.

Vin fretted about wearing out his friend, but he opted to finish the story quickly before Nathan ran him out, which the healer had threatened to do on numerous occasions since the bedside vigil had begun. "No. It was actually Buck who noticed it. He found your wool scarf half buried under the avalanche." He paused. His jaw clenched at the all too vivid memory of the moment. "We thought you were buried under it." They had all thought Chris was dead. It had been a long time since he felt that kind of fear. It was an emotion he had long wanted to avoid. He hadn't expected to feel such things again. He swallowed carefully, finishing his tale. "It didn't take long to figure out there was a cave behind the snow. We broke through three hours later.

Chris suddenly realized how lucky he was. "You made good time," Chris jested.

"Helps when you got six friends digging," Vin pointed out.

It took Chris a moment to respond. "I'm beginning to see that now," he said softly, then coughed abruptly, hating the deep, wracking sound coming from his chest. Finally it eased, and he lay back, catching his breath.

Nathan came in with Buck, a smile breaking over his dark, drawn face. Vin got up, offering him the chair.

"Fever broke," he told Nathan. "He's coherent, too."

"Good," Nathan said, taking the seat next to his patient. "You had us all worried there for awhile, Chris."

When Chris didn't answer, Nathan went ahead and checked him over. The rattle in his chest was still in evidence, but that was to be expected. Chris was due for a long stay in bed, though he doubted he would get the man to listen. Thankfully, the six of them were all determined to make Chris well.

He glanced up from his musing, offering Chris a swallow of some foul-tasting medicine to ease his coughing. "The worst is over. As long as you don't tax yourself too much this spring, you should recover."

Buck failed to stop the laugh that burst from his mouth. The other people in the room glanced irately at him. He regarded them all with an exasperated look. "Oh, come on! I'd bet my next month's wages from the Judge that Chris will be out of this bed within the week."

"Not if he wants to recover fully, he won't. Pneumonia is nuthin' to fool with." Nathan eyed Chris determinedly. "You are a lucky man, Chris. Don't go tempting the fates again." He stood up and gathered the other two nursemaids. "All right, everyone out. The man needs his rest."

Buck slapped at Nathan's shooing hands, but reticently left; the healer followed, if only to make sure the scoundrel went all the way downstairs.

Vin paused at the door, his hand on the latch. He turned back to his friend. "If we're leaving for Tascosa this summer, you'd best make good use of the spring. I don't intend to leave without you."

"You won't have to, Vin," Chris told him with deep conviction.

Vin allowed a gentle smile. "I never doubted that." Taking the lamp, he slipped quietly out the door.

Chris settled down into the bed, listening to the fading footfalls, letting his muscles relax. The room was as dark as the cave had been but the difference was apparent. It was warm. The bitter cold no longer had Chris in its icy grip. His doubts about himself and his friends were fading.

It actually felt good to rely on someone other than himself for a change. He let the warm embrace of sleep envelope him, confident finally that it would soon release him back to the real world. As he drifted into slumber, the final refrain of the lullaby that he had long forgotten played in his head, and he fell into the waiting arms of soft, peaceful dreams and memories.