Disclaimer: The Magnificent Seven do not belong to the author of this work
of fiction.  They are the property of Mirisch and CBS and a multitude of
others. No money was made nor were any infringements intended. Thanks to
Mog for allowing us access to her wonderful universe so we can play.
Rating: PG 13, language and violence
Author’s Notes:  In a recent survey, men across the US were asked what they
believed made a man ‘sexy’. Over 3/4ths of those interviewed believed that
the ability to express their feelings openly and express emotion for
another was the key to being sexy. Hmmm, most women could have told them
that a looonng time ago.;-).

‘A man ain’t made of stone, a man ain’t made of steel.
The way I feel right now, I thought I’d never feel.
Sometimes all it takes, is facing the night alone.
That’s when you know, a man ain’t made of stone.’

- Randy Travis, ‘A Man Ain’t Made of Stone.’

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

The phone is ringing.

Damn it.

I drag my way back into consciousness and glare at the glowing alarm clock
on the night stand. Two A.M.
 

I only went to bed an hour or so ago, after a ten hour stake-out with the
team, and now someone was willing to take their life into their hands and
call me.  It must be important.

For a moment the thought that it could be Buck or JD crosses my mind and I
burrow my head beneath two pillows, and hope they’ll go away.  I can’t take
another ‘bat’ incident like last week, when one of the flying rodents found
its way into the kid’s open window.  The creature of the night had Buck in
an uproar, yelling something about the kid getting rabies, and me driving
across town to play exterminator. That earned them the current  nicknames
of Batman and Boy Wonder, and won me a new office arrangement. Fifty or
more plastic bats hanging from my ceiling greeted me the next morning,
thanks to an innocent looking sharpshooter and southerner, no doubt.

The phone is still ringing.

“F**k!” I untangle myself from the sheets and throw my pillow to the floor
before grabbing the handset. If it’s the caped crusaders, I vow that
they’ll die horrible, miserably slow deaths.

“Larabee!”

At first, there is no reply and I start to slam the offensive object
against the wall when a child’s trembling voice speaks up. “Mr.
Larabee....Chris Larabee?”

My heart quickens and a chill passes over me, not unlike the sensation I
had experienced more than five years ago when I’d recieved a fateful call
at work. “This is Chris Larabee,” I take a breath and will myself to calm
down, “who is this?”

“Alyssa....Alyssa Montez.” The girl finally managed. It was obvious she was
crying and I feel lightheaded as the name registers. Alyssa is one of the
children from my best friend’s neighborhood. In fact, I’m pretty sure her
and her family live in the same run down building. I vaguely recall meeting
the ten year-old at one of the ‘clean-up’ operations that Vin had organized
and roped the rest of us into.

“What’s wrong, Alyssa?” I ask, my chest tightening.

“It...it’s...Vin, Mr. Tanner...he..”

“He what?!” I demand.

“He’s hurt...he.told me  to call..you.”

Shit.

“What do you mean he’s hurt? How?” My voice grows harsh and a part of me
realizes that I’m speaking with a child, but another part, the biggest
part, screams at me to find out what I need to in order to help Vin.

“There was a fight tonight,” she whispered, “between the Sangrias and the
Demons. He had been talking with Carlos and trying to convince him to break
from the gang. The leader of the Demons found out and he came after
Carlos.” She paused to take a shuddering breath. “Vin was in the middle of
them when it started. He was stabbed when he jumped in front of Carlos.”

“Alyssa, where are you?”

“At Mr. Tanner’s apartment. My mom and Carlos brought him here.”

“Did you call an ambulance or the police?” I ask, knowing how the natives
of Purgatorio felt about the law.

The little girl didn’t reply and I could hear her whispering something on
the other end. “Alyssa?”

“No, Mr. Larabee.  Vin says only you. No police.”

“Shit,” I growl, realizing exactly why my best friend doesn’t want anyone
else involved. He doesn’t want more trouble for the ‘kids’ he’s always
trying to protect. Well, the police are the last ones he should be worrying
about.  If I get a hold of them, they’ll wish someone had put them behind
bars a long time ago. “Alyssa, you tell him I’m on my way. Tell him to hold
on, damn’it.”

I slam the phone down, struggle out of bed and grab the same jeans I had
tossed to the floor just a short time ago.  It’s like my body has kicked
into automatic pilot, the old familiar feeling of adrenaline pumping
through my veins. “How many times are we going to go through this , cowboy?”

I don’t even bother with socks as I pull my boots on and slip my grey
sweater over my head.  A lump springs to my throat as I remember last
Christmas when Vin had given it to me.  I push the surge of emotions back
behind my usual stone defenses and grab my cell phone and keys. I haven’t
got time to feel, I’ve got to get to Vin.

Hitting the speed dial for Nathan as I pick up my gun from the kitchen
counter, I head for the back door.  Jackson answers on the second ring and
he doesn’t sound much happier than I had earlier. “Buck, I swear the kid
don’t have rabies,” he mumbles, and I remember that I wasn’t the only one
our fun-loving, over protective ladies man summoned last week.

“Nate, it’s me.”

“Chris?” I hear a tinge of fear behind his voice and a crash as he
apparently reached for the lamp and missed it.

“Vin’s hurt. I’m coming to get you. Bring your medical bag.” Without giving
him a chance to reply, I click the power off and jump in the Ram. For a
moment, I consider calling 911, but even my worry won’t let me break a
trust that has saved my own life countless times.  As much as I hate it,
I’ll just have to have faith that it will also be enough to save my best
friend.

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

I jump out of the truck before Nate even has a chance
to get out of his seatbelt.  The ride from his apartment had been a short
interrogation, him asking me what Vin's injuries were, how long ago they
happened, and why in the hell weren't we calling the
paramedics.

What could I tell him?  Some would say that I am
tight-lipped in the best of moods, so throw in a
situation like the one at hand, and I'm reduced to
grunts and growls. Still, I try.

"He was stabbed. No more than an hour ago. It has to
do with some of the neighborhood kids."

Short and anything but sweet.

Jackson's only other words had been reassurances that
Vin would be fine.  We both knew they were unfounded.

This was Vin we were talking about, after all. The
only person I know who can attract more trouble is
tucked safely away right now, in a loft across town,
under the watchful eye of his big brother.

As I slam my door shut, I wonder if there is anyway I
could convince Vin that he would be much happier
living at my ranch.

With that irrational thought swirling around in my
brain, I take off at a run, not even paying attention
to the usual patrons of the stoop outside of Tanner's
apartment.

Little Al, a seven year-old boy with an
attitude from hell, calls my name but I continue on in,
and up the stairs.  There is no time to spare for his
password games.  He's one of the many of my best
friend's rehabilitation efforts, a good example of
what one caring person can mean to a child's life, but
at the moment, the only person I care about could be
bleeding to death because of his damn selfless nature.

That thought propels me up the last flight of stairs
and the first person who greets me as I rush through
the fire door is a little dark-haired girl, with a
dirt-smudged face and wide, unblinking eyes.

"Mr. Larabree."

"Alyssa." I nod, but keep up my momentum to make it to
Vin's door. Still, even in my rush, I don't miss the
haunted look on her face.  I've seen less suffering
and turmoil in the eyes of a soldier. It's then I realize
that Vin will never leave this place for my ranch.

A tall lanky teen in a Denver Broncos jacket is
standing sentry at the entrance. It's Joseph, one of
the few boys in Purgatorio who has refused the
Sangrias, the Crows, and the Demons; choosing rather
to help Vin and his patriots clean up the place.

"It's about time," he tells me, a look of relief
slipping past his tough exterior. "He's messed up bad,
man."

I choose not to comment on his last sentence. Instead,
I place a hand on his shoulder and nod in the
direction I had just come from. "A friend is on his
way up. Make sure he gets here."

I do this partly to give the boy something to do and
partly because Nathan isn't a regular around these parts.  The
locals recognize me and JD, Buck too, since he rarely
lets the kid come to this part of town alone.

Can't really blame him.  Just as Robin Hood was hated
by the Sheriff of Nottingham, Vin is despised by the
local drug dealers and other predators. After all, he
does steal from them in a way. He does it by taking
away their biggest revenue- the future users and
pushers they plan to create from innocent children.
That's why although being Tanner's friend may get you
access to the place, it could also get you killed.

The impact of that steals my breath as I enter my
friend's home and instantly catch sight of his
motionless form on the couch.

A slight, older Latino woman is leaned over him but
her frightened gaze locks on me as I quickly stride
towards them.

"Don't be scared, Mrs. Lopez. He's not as mean as he
looks."

The Texas drawl is softer than usual, weak even, but
the hint of humor behind it is music to my ears.

Some of my relief fades, however, when I round the
coffee table and spot a pile of towels on the floor.

Blood-soaked towels.

Towels soaked with Vin's blood.

“Hey, cowboy. Took ya’ long enough.”

His words bring my eyes from the mess on the floor up to meet his.

Our silence communication never fails to amaze me.  With a shared look he’s
answered about twenty questions.

“You know me,” I reply, sidestepping Mrs. Lopez to take a seat on one edge
of the sofa, “I had to stop for gas, a midnight snack, Nate, all the
essentials.”

He forces a smile. “I told Mrs. Lopez you’d be here.”

“Lo siento, senior,” the woman says when I look at her. She doesn’t meet my
eyes as I gently remove her hand from the towel that she is holding against
Vin’s side and replace it with my own.  I’m sure she is Carlos and Alyssa’s
mother.  The look of guilt and remorse on her face is a dead give away.

“It’s all right, Teresa,” Vin starts, but his words are cut off by a gasp
of pain as I push much harder on his wound than Mrs. Lopez had been willing
to.

“Shit, Chris!” He tries to sit up to push my hand away, but I use my free
one to shove him back to the couch.

“Easy, cowboy.  I’ve got to get this bleeding stopped. Now.”  A lump
springs to my chest, threatening to steal my breath, as he reluctantly
relaxes back against the cushions but gains a death grip on my arm in the
process.

“Damn, that hurts,” he hisses, as I lean in closer to him to add more
pressure.

“I know, I’m sorry.” My voice is a whisper now, although I don’t know why.
Mrs. Lopez has moved away from us now, wearing the same dazed expression on
her face that her small daughter had displayed earlier.

Vin opens his eyes and stares up at me. “Serves me right, huh?”  A small
hint of his usual grin plays at the corner of his mouth and I shake my head.

“Damn straight. I can’t believe you got me out of bed this time of night.”

He winces again and I swear I feel a sharp pain lancing through my own gut.
“’Least you won’t need your cross and wooden stake this time.”

Before I can reply to his ‘bat’ reference, Nathan bursts through the door
startling the both of us.

“Took you long enough, Nate,” I growl, stealing Vin’s words from before.
The sharpshooter squeezes my hand as if to tell me to , in JD’s words,
‘chill’.

“What’d he do, doc, make you park his truck on the better part of town and
walk.”

Jackson sighs as he slides to a halt beside of me.  “Hardly, I’d probably
still be down on the sidewalk trying to guess the secret password , if that
kid, Joey, hadn’t come and pulled that pint-sized door man off of me.”

“Capone,” Vin and I tell him the magic word at the same time and he throws
us a withering glare.

“That explains the accent,” he says, as he opens his medical bag and kneels
in front of the couch.  His dark eyes rest on Vin and he instantly
transforms from our good-natured partner to the hard as nails medic that he
can sometimes be.  “Tell me exactly what happened.”

Jackson nudges me out of his way, and although I gladly relinquish my task
of hurting Vin, I don’t release his hand as I move around behind the sofa.

“Some of the kids were fighting, I got in the way,” Tanner replies
casually, and Jackson looks up to gauge my reaction.

“So what you’re saying is the gangs were having a little territorial battle
and you overstepped your boundary.”

“Something like that.” Vin grins, but flinches when Nathan pulls the towel
away from his side.

God, I hate to see him in pain.

“I need some water,” Jackson looks at me again, but my best friend seems
reluctant to let me go.

“I will get it, senior,” Mrs. Lopez speaks up softly, and I watch her
disappear into the kitchen.

“This wound is deep. It’s going to need quite a few stitches.  We should
take you to the hospital.”

“No.” Vin tries to sit up again, and it is Nathan who pushes him down this
time.

“Lie still.” Jackson shakes his head at me as if I could control the
patient. I’ve seen him give Buck that look before, but this isn’t JD we’re
dealing with. “You’re going to start bleeding again, then we’ll have no
choice but to take you to a 'real' doctor.”

“There’s always a choice,” Tanner sighs, and I don’t miss how quick he gave
up his struggles. “Besides, Nate, you’re practically my family physician.
How much more real can you get?”

Nathan gives him a stern look. “You know my training, Vin. I was a medic,
not a doctor.”

Teresa returns with a pan of water and some more towels, sitting them at
Jackson’s feet, before scurrying back to the corner.

“I trust you , doc,” Vin gasps, as Jackson pours some of the liquid over
the gash in his side. “It’s just a scratch.” He jerks away as Nate repeats
the action, this time using gloved fingers to probe at the wound.

“Take it easy, Vin.” I let my free hand rest on his forehead and he glances
up at me.

“I'm okay, Chris. You know I can’t go to the hospital, right?” His eyes
leave me for a moment and he looks toward Teresa Lopez.  “Carlos is on
probation. One more strike and he’s gone. He’s all that Alyssa and Teresa
have.”

Nathan is staring at me also, as if I have the final say.  I want to
reassure Vin, to let him know I understand he wants to protect the people
here, because he was once where they are; but my first priority is his well
being.

Doesn’t he realize, he’s all that I have.

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

to be continued....
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