Seeing the Indian walk boldly down the street was interesting. Watching the way the townsfolk reacted was just plain fun. Smirking to himself, knowing himself to be an evil-minded son of a bitch at times, Chris just stayed put to watch the show. The men were angry, but too scared to do something. The women went between indignant and afraid, and the kids, what few were in town with their parents, looked like they wanted to go over and ask a million questions.

Tilting his head back on the outside of the jailhouse wall, Chris called, “Vin.”

“Yeah, cowboy?” Vin called back in a lazy drawl.

“What tribe’s this fella from?”

That got Vin’s attention, because a few seconds later, he stood beside Chris. After giving him a slow smile of greeting, Vin shaded his eyes against the sun and looked down the street.

To Chris’ great surprise, Vin paled. He looked dumbstruck for a good ten seconds, then all expression vanished. Frowning at the reaction, Chris prompted, “Vin?”

Vin ignored him, in itself an unusual thing, and strode to meet up with the Indian.

Equal parts alarmed and angry, Chris walked after him. When Vin stopped in front of the stranger, Chris was right behind him, hand on his gun.

The brave was tall and broad-shouldered, a strong, handsome man with the long black hair of his people. There was a scar puckered over his left face that cut his lip, but it only seemed to add to his compelling look. His voice was smooth and even, but filled with an undercurrent that Chris couldn’t figure out.

There was a serious, short conversation of which Chris understood absolutely nothing. He grew even more tense at the way Vin’s hands kept clenching and unclenching, as if the tracker wanted to do violence, but was restraining himself. The only times he ever saw Vin that riled, was when one of the Seven, or an innocent, was in trouble.

It was over, suddenly, and the Indian just walked away. Vin stared after him for a long time, oblivious to the looks the townsfolk gave him. Chris wasn’t, though, and his jaw tightened in further anger that even after almost three years in Four Corners, people barely tolerated Vin’s presence. As if he were some wild thing that could turn on them at any time.

Chris was about to ask what was going on, when Vin turned on his heel and walked straight to the saloon. Bemused, Chris followed more slowly. He arrived just in time to see Vin toss back a shot of something, and took the stool beside him. He waiting, knowing the other man would tell him if there was going to be trouble. And even though he wanted to offer his help on what was clearly a personal situation, Vin would never accept any offer made. It just wasn’t his way.

“I’m takin’ off for a spell,” Vin finally said, voice low and rough.

Chris nodded. “I figured.”

Vin poured another shot, but then just stared at it like it might hold answers that he really needed. “Would you come with me?”

If the world didn’t stand still at that soft request, it should have. Gathering his composure as quick as he could, glad that at least his jaw hadn’t hinged open, Chris nodded again and answered, “Wherever you need to go.”

That seemed to relax Vin, and he offered Chris that shy smile of his that reached all the way to his eyes. “Thanks.”

And damned if Chris’ heart didn’t skip a beat at the nameless emotion shining from those brilliant blue eyes. Could’ve been gratitude, could’ve been love, but it was gone too fast to tell. All he did was ask, “Where we headed?”

“Kiowa reservation. Got an old friend I need to see.”

Given the tone of voice, cold enough to break steel, Chris sure didn’t want to be that ‘friend’ when Vin finally caught up to him.

* * * *

After Chris told Buck and JD that there was some business that Vin needed to take care of, and no, they didn’t know when they’d be back, he met back up with Vin in the livery. Chris was hoping it wouldn’t be longer than a couple of weeks, but Vin had pretty much shut up after his last comment in the saloon, so he had no idea. The only assurance he could give Buck was that they would, eventually, be back.

They rode at a steady pace out of town, heading east, and met up with the Indian about a mile down the ‘road.’ Reining up beside Vin, Chris watched as the two of them talked in that same, serious tone as before. If they were friends, he couldn’t tell, but they didn’t seem like rivals or enemies. Not any kind that he’d seen before, anyhow.

Finally, Vin shifted his attention to Chris, reining up with them following suit. He introduced them with, “This is Bright Wind, but most white folk call him Frank.”

Chris looked him askance and repeated mildly, “Frank?”

“Long story. If you two get on, you can ask him about it,” Vin answered with a shrug. “It’ll be about another four days to the Rez, if we get good weather.”

“Will we?” Chris questioned.

Casting his gaze skywards and holding still a moment, Vin nodded. “Yeah. We should.”

And with that, they started riding again. Frank proved to be as chatty as Vin, which was to say not at all. Chris didn’t know if that was because he was white, or the Indian just wasn’t a talkative fellow. Either way, it was a silent ride and that was fine with Chris. He took the time to study Frank and keep an eye on Vin for extra stress. He knew that long rides bothered his friend, thanks to his back problems, though Vin would never complain. Well, not where anyone could hear him, at least.

Frank handled his horse well, riding a lot like Vin did; intuitively, like the animal was an extension of himself. Whatever he was thinking, didn’t show up on his face. Looking at the man showed that he could just be out on an afternoon ride without a care in the world. That wasn’t the case, of course, but no one would know it from the occasional twitch of lips almost into a smile.

When they made camp shortly after dark, Chris was more than ready to call it a day. Usually, he found that he like the quiet between him and Vin, but with someone else around, things just felt strained. He sighed and thought, Maybe they are. Probably are. I wish he’d just tell me what’s going on, so I’d know how to help, once we get where we’re going.

Supper passed in the same quiet and road rations settled heavy in Chris’ stomach. He sat beside Vin and felt like they were a hundred miles apart instead of half a foot. It was rare that they were ever more than eye-to-eye on something, and while this wasn’t an argument, they weren’t at their usual level of being in-tune with each other.

Frank said something and Vin translated, “He’s going to take first watch.”

Nodding, Chris asked, “Starting off at first light?”

“Yeah,” Vin confirmed. “You should get some sleep.”

“So should you,” Chris said pointedly.

Vin’s lips briefly curved into a smile and he touched Chris’ shoulder as he said, “I ain’t likely to get much sleep until this is settled, but thanks.”

Thanks for worrying, or thanks for not asking questions, or both? Chris wondered. Sighing to himself, Chris just nodded and rolled out his blankets. He settled onto them quick enough and stared at the starlit sky for a long time. He listened to Vin and Frank talking quiet in Kiowa and wished he knew what they were saying. It seemed like they grew easier with each other the longer they were rubbing shoulders, and that disconcerted Chris. He wasn’t used to Vin getting on with anyone else, not like the two of them did.

After what seemed a long time, Chris let the voices lull him to sleep.

* * * *

The next three days were a repeat of the first afternoon. Long stretches of complete silence that wore Chris out more than any gunfight. Watching Vin and Frank talk across the campfire at night soured him. It should have made him happy, knowing that Vin had someone else out there who understood, or at least accepted, the younger man. It didn’t, though, and Chris turned in each night as uncomfortable as he could be, and even more out of sorts than when he’d started the day, because he had no right to get that way.

On the fourth night, the routine changed, to Chris’ surprise. He’d thought that Frank would just ride into the Rez with them, but of course he couldn’t. The Brave had sneaked out of there without any permission and so had to go back the same way he’d left. So that last night, it was just Chris and Vin, but that didn’t make things any more comfortable.

Staring into the fire, engrossed in blinding himself, he was startled when Vin touched his thigh to get his attention. Blinking the light from his eyes, Chris looked over at his friend and asked, “Yeah?”

Vin paused for a long moment, then said, “This fella we’re going to see tomorrow ain’t exactly a nice guy.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Chris told him.

“Bright Wind didn’t say much about it to me, said that it wasn’t his place, but I know one thing. It’s going to be a fight, Chris, and only one of us’ll still be breathing at the end of it.”

Chris kept his face immobile as the words ripped through him. He wanted to shout there was no way that he was going to let Vin go into a fight alone, especially not one that he could die from. He wanted to demand to know what the hell was going on. He wanted to shake some sense into Vin and then kiss him until he changed the other man’s mind about fighting.

In the end, he did none of those things, knowing that Vin’s honor was just as important to him, as it was to Chris. And this had to be a matter of honor, because nothing else would have Vin so quiet. It was something deeply personal that he didn’t want to share with anyone, not even Chris. So after a few seconds of silence, Chris simply nodded and replied, “If that’s what it’s come down to.”

“Yeah,” Vin confirmed, looking away with a sigh. “Only…”

Chris quirked an eyebrow at him. “Only what?”

Picking up a stick, Vin drew slow circles in the dirt and explained, “Only now that he’s called for my blood, I don’t know that I want to give it to him.”

That startled Chris. Vin was the one being called out?

As if reading his mind, Vin flashed him a wry grin and tossed the stick into the fire. “This is going to take some explaining, but I guess you should know from the start what happened, just so’s you don’t get it into your fool head to interfere.”

“You don’t have to,” Chris offered sincerely. As curious as he’d always been about Vin’s past, it was his own and Chris didn’t need to know, if Vin didn’t want to tell him. “If you tell me this is what you need to do, and not to stick my nose in it, I won’t.”

That too-rare, brilliant smile blossomed on Vin’s face and his hand lifted to rest on Chris’ shoulder for a long moment. It was like Chris couldn’t look away from his friend’s eyes, entranced by the way the fire lit them into a shimmering, fluid blue, like a clear mountain pool.

Taking his hand away, Vin said, “Thanks, Cowboy, that means a lot to me, it really does. I think…I think I need to tell you about this, though, so someone remembers me for who I really am, if the worst happens.”

The almost casual way those words fell from Vin’s lips frightened Chris, but he didn’t interrupt. This was Vin’s story, and if he needed to be heard, then Chris would damn well listen without complaint.

23 Years Ago

Vin looked solemnly at the grave where his Mama had been buried. He didn’t shed any tears, men didn’t do that. And he knew he was a man, even at five, almost six, because there was no one else to take care of him anymore. He’d not been allowed to see his Ma at the last because of the fever, but he kept a picture of her in his head; in color, not black and white.

“Boy.”

Looking to the new voice, Vin found a man about his Ma’s age, with dark hair and pale eyes, staring back at him. There was something in those colorless eyes that made him straighten up, well, as much as he could.

“The church gave you to me to look after. If you don’t want to go to an orphanage, get your scrawny ass in my wagon.”

It was said in a flat voice, sure not a welcoming one, and Vin hesitantly asked, “Do you know if...”

A large hand came out of nowhere to slap him so hard across the face that Vin landed on the ground. Stunned, he didn’t move for a few seconds, then slowly picked himself off the ground.

“Don’t talk unless you’re asked a question. Ever. It’s me or the orphanage, boy. Take your pick.”

Face throbbing and tears kept back only by force of will, Vin followed the man mutely to the wagon. Anywhere was better than an orphanage. He’d heard his Mama say they were nothing but a hell on earth. And if they were bad enough to make his Ma curse, he didn’t want any part of them.

* * * *

With the lesson not to talk beat into him, it’s no wonder Vin is such a quiet man, Chris thought furiously, fists clenched in silent rage for the boy Vin used to be.

“I was with Max nigh on four years and even today, I wished I gone to the orphanage,” Vin finished up. “He beat the tar out of me on a regular basis, but I’d’ve been okay with that if he’d showed me any scrap of kindness or let me keep my books.”

Chris gave him a surprised look.

Half-smiling, Vin nodded and said, “My Ma’d taught me my letters and I had a couple of Readers to practice on. They were in the fire a few weeks after I got to Max’s place. The old bastard said he didn’t want me shirking my chores.”

It was a hard thing to keep his anger in check, but he managed it. If barely.

“Here.”

Chris took the bottle Vin produced and took a healthy swallow, not even caring there was no cup to drink from, then set it aside. He definitely needed to keep his head, because he was sure the story was only going to get worse.

“So I ran away when he went on some kind of trip. Must’ve thought that I’d been cowed and would just stay put ‘til he got back. Found myself on the streets of some no-name town in Texas, stealin’ food to live. It wasn’t so bad, not ‘til I got caught...

Chris wanted to tell Vin that he didn’t have to go on, but it seemed that once started, the other man just couldn’t stop. And maybe it was cleansing, in its way. Like ripping off an infected scab and pushing on it ‘til the puss was gone and clean blood flowed free instead.

“That man didn’t have any right to be Sheriff. He...he used me, a boy of ten, and kept me locked up like an animal for months. He was the first man I killed, even if it was by accident,” Vin mused. “I wound up shooting him with his own gun one night, after he was done with me. I didn’t even mean to, but it went off when he grabbed me. If he’d let me go, he’d still be alive. Not that I’m sorry, ‘cause you damn well know that I wasn’t the first, and wouldn’t have been the last.”

Chris silently held out the bottle, but Vin shook his head with the wry, bitter smile of his. Setting it back down, Chris stared into the fire, wondering how Vin had come to be such a good man, after living through all that.

As if reading his mind, Vin said, “It wasn’t all bad. I got taken in by a good family after that. Man and wife by the name of Baxter, who couldn’t have any kids. Lived with them until I was fourteen. It was the best I’d had since my Ma died and things might’ve turned out okay, but we got hit by bandits. Mrs. Baxter made me hide, made me promise not to come out until they were gone. I’m glad, now, that they made it quick. They didn’t rape her. Poor Mr. Baxter came back from town to find his wife dead and me about struck dumb in the root cellar with guilt and fear. He couldn’t really look at me after that, even though he never said a word against me.

“When he went back east about a year later, he gave me some money and I went in the other direction. I was okay for a few months, but then I fell in with a bad gang, when the money ran out. The murderin,’ rapin’ kind who liked to do both as often as possible. Fancied myself grateful to the leader because he saved my life. Didn’t take more than a couple of hours to realize just what they were, but it was too late.”

Vin paused, lost in the memories, and Chris reached out to grip his thigh, offering whatever comfort he could, as inadequate as it had to be.

A faint smile lifted Vin’s lips and he briefly covered Chris’ hand with his own before continuing, “When I ran, it was in the middle of the night, into the desert, and on foot. I only had a knife with no clear idea how to use it, other than the obvious. I was about half dead from exposure and hunger, when Raven found me.”

13 Years Ago

Vin stayed limp on the ground, hand gripping the knife that was under his body. He knew someone was watching, even if he couldn’t hear them. He’d been stared at so many times, that it was a survival instinct to scrunch down and be as invisible as possible. Damned curved back helped with that, anyhow.

He was too weak for a long fight, so he knew that he had to kill whoever it was fast. Jump them, stick them with the knife, and then see if they had any food. Even after all this time, the thought of killing in cold blood made his stomach clench sickly. Vin couldn’t rightly remember what his Ma looked like, but he remembered her fiercely honorable nature and how uncompromising she’d been. He was pretty sure that she was spinning in her grave at what he was about to do.

When a foot gently nudged his shoulder, Vin launched himself with a yell, hoping to surprise the other man. He barely managed to touch his opponent, though, and found himself flat on his back in a couple of seconds. Pinned to the ground, Vin struggled for all he was worth, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t get free. Sagging, he spat, “Go ahead! Ain’t nothin’ that ain’t already been done to me!”

To his surprise, the gentle voice that spoke couldn’t be understood. The knife was taken from his hand, still held to the ground with a...moccasined foot? Dread filled Vin as he realized he was being held by a savage Indian. When the hold was released and he turned over, his fears were confirmed.

An Indian, probably a good ten years older than himself, looked down at him. For a long time, all Vin saw were the weapons; the bow and arrows, the knives, the gun belt and colt sitting inside it, and even a sling shot stuck in the belt. Then he noticed how big and strong the man was, towering over him and outweighing him by at least fifty pounds. Not to mention he looked rested and fed.

It took all his courage to raise his eyes the rest of the way. For another long pace of time, all he could see were the alien features and copper skin, so different from his own, framed with long black hair. Then he looked into the dark eyes and saw something that he hadn’t in a very long time...

Kindness.

* * * *

Chris was startled when Vin chuckled and so prompted, “What?”

Shooting him a rueful look, Vin explained, “Raven had himself a handful in me, no doubt about that. I was one pissed off and bitter kid. Still don’t rightly know what he saw that first day that made him cart my sorry ass to the village. He never said.”

Chris noted the past tense.

“Anyhow. That first year, Raven took care of me at a distance. Brought me to a shack, once I was fed and rested up. Kept me supplied with food and sat with me for hours without speakin’ a word. If he did talk, it was for language lessons in Kiowa. When he didn’t show up for a day, I got worried. When that turned into a week straight, I went looking for him. Just about pissed myself with fear, walkin’ into an Indian village alone.”

12 Years Ago

Vin kept telling himself that Raven hadn’t spent the last year keeping him alive only for Vin to get killed by his people. He’d told someone about feeding the white boy, if only to explain where he spent all his time. He had to have told someone. Looking around the unfamiliar people and homes, Vin had never felt so very...white. It was a different kind of alone than when he actually was alone, though. He stopped in front of an old man and said Raven’s name in Kiowa.

The old man stared at him from a sea of wrinkles. It was several moments later before he stood and motioned for Vin to follow, which he did, right inside one of the tents.

Raven lay on the floor, asleep and heavily bandaged, looking weaker than Vin had ever seen him. Shock and worry leapt through Vin and he dropped to his knees beside the fallen warrior. He reached out and touched the grimy black hair, petting it gently.

Looking back at the old man, Vin said in English, “I’ll take care of him now.”

The old man finally cracked a smile and nodded.

* * * *

Staring into the fire, Vin continued, “It’d been so long since I’d been part of a family, I’d just about forgotten what it was like. But they took me in like I’d been born there. Taught me to hunt and track, how to speak their language and make sign with the other tribes. And Raven...well...he was...we became real close.”

“Lovers,” Chris murmured.

Something relaxed in Vin when he saw it didn’t bother Chris and he nodded. A shy smile surfaced as he replied, “Raven was lamed in that battle and couldn’t do more than walk slow, but I didn’t care. He was my world and, well, I guess you could say he doted on me. We were real full of each other, always together.”

Chris didn’t interrupt the silence this time. He took a pull from the bottle as he thought on Vin’s words. All those half-formed hopes of his suddenly seemed in reach with this revelation. He wondered if that was partly why Vin was telling him so much. To gauge Chris’ reactions in order to find out how Chris might feel about him.

“I’d’ve been happy to spend the rest of my life there,” Vin said, wistful.

Chris had to ask, “What happened?”

Vin snorted, only a little bitter. “Life happened. The only person in that whole village who didn’t cotton to me was Raven’s younger brother, Storm. Maybe it’s ‘cause we were the same age. Maybe it was just because I was white. Or maybe he just didn’t think I was good enough for Raven. I used to call him Squall to piss him off.”

Shaking his head at the thought of a young Vin antagonizing his erstwhile brother-in-law, Chris muttered, “You would.”

“Yeah well, as Nathan would say, I’m not the brightest bulb in the bunch sometimes, and I was even less so at seventeen.”

Jesus. He was only just seventeen then, Chris thought in shock.

“We tangled, now and again, but popular opinion was that I was good for Raven, even for a white boy, so Storm steered clear mostly. Spent the next couple of years being really alive, for the first time since my Ma’d died. Then the Reservation happened and those damned soldiers thought I’d been kidnapped. Didn’t matter what I said or did, they took me away anyhow.”

And suddenly, Chris knew what had happened. Feeling sick inside, he guessed, “Raven went after you and got killed doing it.”

Vin’s face was a mask of remembered pain as he whispered, “They showed me his body and told me that I didn’t have to be scared no more. That no more savages would chase me, once they brought the body back as an example.”

Chris’ heart went out to the broken-hearted youth Vin had been. To have survived such hell and find happiness, only to have it ripped away again and by his own people. Chris’ already sky-high respect for Vin ratcheted up another few notches.

“Storm had a problem with all of that, of course, and I got word not to show my face, unless I wanted to lose my head,” Vin finished.

Nodding slowly, Chris said, “He’s the one calling you out.”

“Yeah.”

“Why now? After all this time?”

Vin sighed and poked at the fire with a stick. “I don’t know. Probably no one does but him, but we’ll find out tomorrow.”

“So when did you spend time with the Comanche?” Chris asked, knowing Vin was about done talking and that he might never find out more.

That they might not have another chance for him to learn more.

With a shrug, Vin said, “After my rescue from the Kiowa, I went on the trail, not really caring what happened. Then I crossed paths with a Comanche brave being chased by Union soldiers. I hid him in my lean-to and went home with him. We became good friends. His name is Bright Wind.”

And we come full circle, Chris thought, sighing.

They were silent for a long time, then Vin said, “I’m going to turn in. You mind?”

Chris shook his head. “Go ahead.”

Stretching out on his blankets didn’t take long and, when they were settled, Vin asked, “Chris?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For everything.”

Chris half-smiled in Vin’s direction, even though he knew the other couldn’t see it. “You’re welcome, partner.”

* * * *

The Kiowa Reservation was an ugly place, around the official, squat buildings. Vin practically turned his nose up at the plain, square structures, angry at seeing these proud people brought to this by a government who didn’t understand at all about them, and cared even less. To his surprise, there were a number of people who greeted him with smiles and kind words. It seemed like the years between had never been, aside from the fact that Raven wasn’t beside him, and Chris was.

They were stopped at the entrance, of course, soldiers asking their business on the reservation. He’d barely listened as Chris went on about looking to buy items for selling back east, impatient to get on with things. He’d slept fitfully the night before, more worn out from telling his whole life to Chris than after a long gunfight, and that made him ornery. He’d been thankful not to find any change in how Chris looked at him that morning, more than thankful, really. They were finally let through, with suspicion, and rode a good ways in before stopping.

Bright Wind, who had taken a wife among the Kiowa and moved in with her family as custom dictated, waited for them in front of a large tee-pee. Beside him was a tall, old man, still strong, and a cut across his forehead that Vin would recognize anywhere. Smiling, Vin dismounted and greeted the old man respectfully, “It’s good to see you again, Father.”

“And you, Son of my Heart,” Satanta replied, his own face serious.

Turning to Chris, Vin introduced, “This is Raven’s father, Satanta.”

Chris nodded with respect to the old man. “Afternoon, Satanta.”

Vin continued the introduction to Satanta in Kiowa, “This is my brother warrior, Chris Larabee.”

Satanta inclined his head to Chris and said quietly to Vin, “He guards your heart now.”

Startled, Vin didn’t answer at first. He finally had to answer, “Yes.” Because even though he and Chris weren’t lovers, his heart belonged to Chris as much as it ever had to Raven. Possibly more, given how much he’d grown in the time he’d known the gunslinger.

“What?” Chris questioned, sensitive as always to Vin’s mood.

Clearing his throat, Vin said, “Nothing.”

Chris’ eyebrows rose, but he didn’t question it.

“Come. We must talk.”

They followed Satanta into the tent and sat where he indicated. It itched something fierce for Vin to just sit there, waiting for the news of the coming fight. Chris’ presence was as solid and comforting as it ever was, but Vin had never wanted to fidget this bad since he was a boy; when he’d been allowed to fidget. He was a little surprised to find that Storm wasn’t there waiting for him.

“It isn’t what you think,” Satanta announced. “He has not come to shed your blood, nor have the chance of his own shed.”

Well knock me down with a feather, Vin thought, stunned. Out loud, he managed, “Then why has he called for me?”

“To make peace with the only love of his brother’s heart.”

That sure didn’t sound like the man he knew. Then again, it had been almost fifteen years and they were both different now, both grown men. Sure as hell, Storm hadn’t faced a kind life in the years between.

“Before he dies.”

Oh. Well. That explains it, Vin continued silently. Forcing himself to show nothing, Vin questioned, “What sickness does he have?”

Satanta sighed. “We do not know, it is something deep inside that cannot be cleansed. Perhaps the root of his hate from over time, took root and he only too late, tried to rid himself of it.”

Vin nodded slowly and asked simply, “Where is he?”

A brief smile surfaced on Satanta’s face. “Come with me.”

They stood and went back outside. Chris walked with him to the tent Satanta stopped in front of, but Vin stopped him there and said, “I should do this alone.”

“You sure?” Chris questioned softly.

Knowing it was an offer of support, Vin smiled briefly, gratefully, and nodded. “Yeah.”

Chris looked at him a long moment, as if he wanted to say something else, but ultimately stayed silent as he turned away.

Taking a breath, Vin stepped inside the tent. It took a few seconds for his eyes to get used to the darkness, but when they did, he found an old woman tending Storm on the other side.

She looked up at him and said in Kiowa, “He has waited for you,” and slowly got to her feet.

After she left, Vin looked down at the wreck of a man in the blankets and felt nothing but compassion. This was the man who’d made his life pretty much a living hell and had rooted him out from the one place he’d felt at ease in his life, but all the arrogance and anger was gone, as was the physical prowess. Storm was gaunt, ribs easily counted beneath the thin shirt that was soaked with sweat, and looked fragile enough to break just by breathing on him.

Crouching beside the dying man, Vin picked up the cloth and soaked it in the bowl of water before rubbing it gently across Storm’s forehead. “Storm.”

Dark eyes fluttered open to show nothing but pain. Storm looked at him a long moment, frowning, then recognition lit his gaze and he gasped, “You came.”

“You demanded me to come, I am here,” Vin answered simply. “What can I do, to ease your passing?”

“After all I did,” Storm murmured, wonder in his voice.

Vin shrugged. “You’re not that man anymore. Any fool can see that.”

Thin lips twisted and Storm sighed, agreeing, “He has been dead many months. Now it is time to follow.”

“May you know only peace, my brother,” Vin whispered. “Remember me with kindness to Raven.”

Storm smiled at that, a genuine smile that reminded him viciously of his lover, and Storm sighed, “Thank you.”

And with that final exhalation, he was gone.

* * * *

Chris had been restless since they’d crossed into the reservation, but that had changed into active discomfort. The funeral that, of course, Vin stayed for, was perilously close to provoking memories and feelings that Chris really didn’t want to have again. It had been five years, but he could still get blindsided by grief at moments like this.

Seeing Vin so serious and sad, regret plain on his face as he helped with the ceremony and then lighting the burial pyre, made him want to tug the other man close and offer comfort to them both. He knew that Vin wasn’t the only one who needed it. The difference being that Chris would never ask for comfort, nor even imply that he needed it. He just couldn’t do it. Sarah always had said his pride was his downfall, and she’d been right, no doubt about that.

They rode away from the Reservation while the pyre was still burning, and Chris knew the younger man was anxious as he was to get back in the open, though for different reasons. Being on what was, essentially, a prison, was probably too close to comfort for the tracker. After Vin had said his soft and respectful goodbyes, they were mounted and off the Rez in a matter of minutes.

It was a quiet, slow ride for the first couple of hours. Chris accepted his friend’s need for a quiet space to think, giving it to him without hesitation. His own thoughts were wrapped up in Vin, trying to figure out a way to help with his grief, though he wasn’t all that sure it was possible. In his own experience, grief was what it was, for however long it lasted. Hell, his own loss still burned the edge of his soul sometimes, even with his feelings for Vin to soothe them away.

Darkness had long since fallen by the time Vin pulled up and said, “Reckon we should make camp.”

“If you like,” Chris replied, agreeably. “Moon’s bright and the land’s clear. We can keep riding.”

Vin flashed a brief smile. “Thanks, Cowboy, but I’m gettin’ kinda hungry.”

Nodding, Chris dismounted as Vin did the same, and they set about making camp and taking care of the horses. It was a good half-hour later that a fire was going and they sat before it, chowing on hardtack and biscuits. The quiet continued while they ate, and Chris let it be, content just to be at his friend’s side.

He couldn’t explain in words how much the other man did for him, just by being there, and probably never would, but he knew that he’d be a sorry bastard without Vin’s influence. Buck was great, but in a different way. And maybe it was because seeing him brought back memories of before, with Sarah and Adam, but Chris didn’t get the same kind of…calm…he felt with Vin. Like he could be a real man again, some day, instead of a hurricane of rage and violence.

“Wasn’t what I expected,” Vin announced, unexpectedly. “Seein’ him brought low like that.”

Chris nodded, understanding. “Never is.”

Canting his head at Chris, Vin asked, “You all right, bein’ around all that wailin’ and grief?”

Trust Vin to think of that, Chris thought, offering a smile to his friend. “I’m fine. How about you?”

Shrugging, Vin said, “I’m not grieving, not really. We never did get along, told you that. Thing is, now I got all these…thoughts…from before. They’re mixing up in my head and I don’t rightly know what’s what anymore. If that even makes sense.”

“Sure it does,” Chris assured him.

Vin sighed, picking up a loose stick to poke at the fire, then stared at the smoldering end of it. “One thing this brought clear.”

“What’s that?”

Still staring at the burning stick, Vin said slowly, “To tell you how I feel about you, before something does happen I can’t stop. If I died with this unspoken...don’t rightly think I’d make it out of purgatory, assumin’ that’s where I’m heading.”

Christ paused, then asked cautiously, “How do you feel about me?”

“Don’t think you got to change how you act around me, Chris, or that I’m gonna change just ‘cause you know how I feel. I know you ain’t for that kinda thing and I’d never press myself where I wasn’t wanted, especially not on you. You mean too much to me. Just bein’ your friend is good enough for me, but I love you, Cowboy. The kind of love I only ever felt once before in my life, and that’s only half of what I feel for you.”

Feeling distinctly like a heel, keeping Vin in the dark about how he felt while the other freely shared his heart, Chris shifted slightly closer and said softly, “S’okay, partner. I feel the same.”

Vin’s head whipped over and pale eyes regarded him in pure astonishment. “You do?”

Smiling a bit, Chris nodded and confirmed, “I do. Just…didn’t think I had anything you’d want from me, not like that.”

A slow, seductive smile blossomed over Vin’s face as he said, “You sure do, Cowboy, you got a whole lot of what I want, and then some.”

Heat ran suddenly through Chris at the pronouncement and he swallowed against a dry throat, scooting even closer, so that they were only an inch or so apart. Licking his lips as he eyed Vin’s mouth, Chris asked, “So you think we could maybe…make an exchange? ‘Cause I know you got what I need, Vin.”

Vin unexpectedly closed the scant distance between them, capturing his mouth in a long, deep kiss; the slow kind that just about melted Chris from the inside out. Groaning, he leaned forward, taking control of the kiss to taste as much of the other man as he could. Vin’s hands gripped his jacket to keep from falling back to earth and losing contact, returning the kiss with ardor and need.

Chris straddled Vin’s lap in order to get full contact, and they both groaned when he sat on Vin, the kiss picking up heat and fury. Hands busy on Vin’s shirt, he unbuttoned it as fast as he could while treated to the same by Vin’s hands, both shrugging out of jackets and shirts and then undershirts without care.

Rubbing his hands over the flat, muscled planes of Vin’s chest, Chris rocked back and forth on the strong body. He knew that all they were going to do was get off here, they didn’t have supplies for more than that, but that was better than anything he’d felt in a long damn time. It was like their bodies were made for each other, Vin fitting perfect against his chest and breaking the kiss to suck on his throat. Chris shuddered in sensation and arched back, fumbling for the ground so that he didn’t tip them over.

Vin’s arms wrapped around his waist tight, holding him steady as the slender man gasped and jerked his hips up under Chris, grinding his cock against the ass on him. Knowing that Vin had come so fast, and hard enough that his eyes had clenched shut, mouth gaping open as Chris leaned over him again and sucked and bit on his lips, was enough to push Chris over the edge as well. One more savage, rocking movement against his lover and Chris moaned loudly, spilling in his pants and seeing stars.

Vin dropped backwards, bringing Chris with him, and they lay panting in the dirt for a few minutes, collecting themselves.

Finally, Chris had enough air to chuckle and observe, “Neither of us have any spare pants.”

Vin cursed fluently, then said, “I forgot.”

“Me, too,” Chris echoed, still chuckling. The light mood faded quickly and he brought his hands up, one to card gently through Vin’s longish hair, the other to cup his face. His heart was full and on his sleeve for the first time since before Sarah’s death as he offered slowly, “I don’t…I probably won’t say it often, can’t convince myself that it won’t jinx us, but I do love you, Vin. More’n I thought possible to love anyone, ever again.”

Swallowing convulsively, eyes bright in the moonlight, Vin whispered, “We’re gonna be together a long time, Cowboy, just you wait and see. Two old coots out at that shack of yours, watchin’ the horses that are too much for us to handle anymore run around the paddock.”

Chris grinned, liking the image, and corrected, “Cabin, not a shack.”

“Maybe in a few decades or so,” Vin countered, impudently. “C’mon. Let’s get some shuteye.”

They rearranged their bedrolls together, then set about cleaning out their pants as best they could. Deciding it was warm enough to sleep naked, they curled up under the blankets while their pants dried, Vin curled up over Chris’ chest.

Keeping his fingers twined in Vin’s hair, Chris sighed in deep contentment and pressed his mouth to Vin’s temple, lingering there before saying, “Night, Vin.”

“Night, Chris,” Vin replied, kissing the bare skin under him.

It was more than Chris had ever thought to have again in his life and he prayed to a God in whom he hadn’t believed since the War, that nothing would take it from him. Chris knew that he wouldn’t survive losing Vin. If anything ever happened, and it could in their line of work...

“Stop your fussin’ and get some sleep,” Vin ordered, tender. “We got a long ride back.”

Pleased, and not, that Vin knew him so well, Chris nodded with a half-smile and closed his eyes.