Author: Ruby J

Rating: NC17. Slash. C/V. Explicit M/M sexual situations. ATF A/U

Disclaimer: ((Sob)) Don't own 'em, can't claim 'em, and I sure ain't making any money off them.

Note: Thanks as always to Sue N. for being my Comma-wrangler extraordinaire and friend. And a special thanks to everyone for their prayers and support during the last few weeks. This one's for y'all.

Monday, 5:00 pm

Vin Tanner lay prone on the rooftop of the Denver Central Bank. His rifle was snugged into the crook of his shoulder, the telescopic sight to his eye, the cross-hairs fixed on a window in the building across a tiny courtyard where the aspen trees were dropping golden leaves. His blue eyes were so intent in their focus that when a fly landed on his cheek, he didn't twitch. His patience would outlast the fly's. Eventually, the insect lost interest and took off.

He could stay like that for a long time. He had been trained as a sniper in the Army, his skills well-learned and sharpened at Quantico, honed by his time with the ATF. You could tell him to make a shot, and, ten times out of ten, he could do it. He was proud of his skill; not proud that the end result was the loss of a human life. At the beginning, he'd gone to church and tried to confess his sins, but absolution could not cleanse the blood from his hands or his soul, and he'd given up, figuring that what he did was between himself and God, and no priest in his confessional could understand why a man killed when his government said that was his job.

His job. To line up those crosshairs, squeeze the trigger, to take a life, to save a life. To save his lover.

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

That Morning. Monday, 6:00 am

Vin cracked open a reluctant blue eye and focused on the numerals on the bedside clock. Chris's side of the bed still held the warmth of his body, but he was gone, out taking care of the horses before it was time to head into Denver. Vin would have crawled out of bed to help him, but Chris had told him to stay put, and Vin hadn't argued, hoping that he could lure Larabee to join him when he had finished. The weekend deserved a good wrap-up.

Ten minutes later, Chris strode into the room, stripped off his shirt, trousers, and boots, and dove back under the covers. Vin yelped as Larabee's cold body came in contact with his. "You decide t'take a quick dip in ice water b'fore leapin' back in here?" he grumbled.

"Just for you, partner." Chris wrapped him in long, chilly arms.

Vin ran his palm down Larabee's chest to the warmth of his groin and closed his fingers over his cock. "Didn't dip this in the cold," he whispered huskily, his fingers stroking the hardening flesh. Chris's eyes darkened with desire. His mouth slanted over Vin's, and his tongue flicked quickly, seeking entrance. Vin groaned as his lips parted. He stroked his tongue against Larabee's, reveling in the taste and texture of his lover. Chris's hands roamed over his body, teasing his nipples to taut buds, raking lightly down his ribs, seeking his aroused shaft. His thumb slid over the fluid gathering at the tip, and he smiled into Vin's eyes at that sign of his readiness.

"We ain't got much time, cowboy," Vin drawled. "Don't waste it."

Chris laughed. "We could do two things at once --" His brow arched. "Got a nice warm shower just waitin' to be used."

"Damn!" Vin rasped as Larabee's fingers got busy on his cock. "Won't make it there, you keep that up."

"Just heatin' you up, before I drag ya from under the blankets." Chris suddenly tossed back the covers, and, leaving Vin gasping, went into the bathroom and turned the shower on full.

By the time Vin made it into the bathroom, Chris was in the shower, the lean form of his body visible through the frosted panels and rising steam. Vin paused for a moment drinking in that alluring vision, then slid the door open and stepped inside.

The steam curled around Chris, the water ran in rivulets down his body, sleek and shining, stunningly made. He caught Vin between his arms, his back to the tile wall, and kissed him with warm, wet lips. Trapped, but not trapped, Vin let Chris move in close, so that his heated flesh pressed the length of his body. Larabee ground his pelvis against Vin's, bringing their cocks together and making him gasp at that intimate contact. The water cascaded over Chris's back as he broke away from the kiss and began working his way down Vin's throat, to his nipples, to his groin, and then took his shaft into mouth.

Aroused and sensitized by the warmth, engulfed by Chris's mouth, teased and stroked by his tongue, Vin thought his knees would give way beneath him. He closed his eyes, then, suddenly, Chris's wet, slick finger was at his hole, seeking entrance. As he was penetrated, as Chris's fingers played devastatingly inside his body, brushing again and again against his gland, long shudders of ecstasy rocked Vin's body. His blood was on fire, boiling through his thighs and the base of his spine in an ache so intense that it made him sob and beg to be brought to climax. Chris's tongue swirled around his cock, his fingers fluttered rapidly inside his body, until with a guttural cry of release, Vin's seed erupted into his lover's mouth. Larabee licked and sucked every drop of that stream until Vin had nothing left, and only Chris's strong arms wrapped around his body kept him on his feet.

For long moments, he luxuriated in that boneless pleasure, until Chris stood, releasing him only to capture him between his arms once again, kissing him with lips that tasted of water and sex. Vin savored that sweetness, taking time to recover from the shuddering pleasure coursing through him. Chris's cock was hard against him, his heart was pounding, and he was starting a sinuous motion, rubbing his shaft against Vin's groin. He hardened again quickly, aroused by Larabee's movements, touch, and mouth.

Vin ducked out of Chris's embrace, snaked a lean arm around Larabee's torso, and turned him so that his back was against Vin's chest. With his other hand, Vin found the bar of soap, ran his fingers over it until they were slippery, then wrapped them around Larabee's cock. He sucked and bit at the tender juncture of neck and shoulder until he felt Chris shiver with pleasure, and he began thrusting into Vin's fist. As he did, Vin slid the soapy fingers of his other hand between Larabee's ass cheeks, feathering lightly around his hole. He slipped them inside Larabee carefully, felt the heated channel clench around them; then as he scissored them, stretching the ring of muscle, the tension eased, and he moved in deeper, seeking the hard swelling of Chris's pleasure spot, knowing by his lover's gasp that he had found it. Chris shook beneath that double onslaught, but it wasn't enough. Vin wanted more for himself, and for Chris, wanted them to be one flesh, complete. It was how he stayed alive.

"I want ta be inside you, Chris," he said. "Let me be inside ya."

Chris bent forward, braced against the shower wall, and Vin pressed his cock, now slippery with soap and the semen gathering on the head, against the sensitive flesh. Chris cried out at the pressure as Vin entered his body. Vin withdrew slightly, then, when the resistance eased, began the rhythmic motions that brought Chris to the edge of pleasure and pain, before the darkness behind his eyelids exploded into a thousand shards of light. He screamed hoarsely, gasping, felt Vin empty into his body at the same time he came to climax, ejaculating into Vin's hand, and then the only sounds were of their hard breaths and the rush of the water on the tiles.

The water was cooling, playing over them like rain. Vin's cock slid from Larabee's body, and Chris gathered him into an embrace .They were both shaking; Chris from the lassitude of passion, Vin from the decreasing temperature of the water. Finally, when the water edged from cool to cold, Chris reached over and turned it off. He slid the door open and snagged a bath sheet from the towel rack, wrapping it around Vin's slender, shivering frame.

"Damn thin-blooded Texan," he said softly.

"Hell, ya drained jist about every bit a' warmth outta me, cowboy," Vin spoke through chattering teeth. "Ya need a bigger hot water tank."

Chris laughed. "Any bigger, and the county would be payin' me." He dried himself off swiftly. "I'll get the coffee started." He gave Vin a quick, hard kiss.

"Hope ya got some bacon n' eggs t'go with that. I need 'em ta rebuild my strength," he called after Chris, admiring the curve of his lover's tight ass beneath the towel as he walked away.

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

Monday, 9:00 am

J.D. Dunne examined the paper-clip and rubber band contraption he had constructed, held it to his eye, took careful aim, and released it. The rubber band snapped loudly against Buck Wilmington's computer monitor, making the tall agent leap up, curse, and then apologize to the party on the other end of his phone line.

"I'll call you later, darlin'. I promise." J.D. groaned as Buck made a kissing sound into the mouthpiece of the phone, then, when Wilmington crossed the room in three long-legged strides, squeaked in alarm and took off towards the hallway. He would have reached it, too, if Chris Larabee's black-clad form hadn't suddenly materialized in front of him.

J.D. pulled up short, just avoiding the enormous error of plowing into his boss, and the slightly secondary error of nearly tipping a steaming mug of coffee over Larabee's sleeve. He drew himself up to his full height, thrust a hand through his dark hair, and grinned sheepishly. "Morning, Chris."

Chris raised a blond brow. "Mornin', J.D.." His green eyes rested on Buck, nearly convulsed with laughter as he watched the young agent try to recover his dignity. "Buck."

"Chris." Buck grinned. "How'd the weekend go?"

"It went," Chris replied. He was guarded, quiet. He'd dropped Vin off at his own apartment a few minutes earlier, so the sharpshooter could drive to work in his Jeep. His relationship with Vin was new enough that he was very cautious around the other members of Team Seven. Neither he nor Vin was willing to disturb the equilibrium the seven men had achieved through a melding of personalities and skills. Chris was proud of his team, and aware that their mutual respect was of profound importance. If challenged about his relationship with Vin, he would be honest, but until that happened, his private life would remain a jealously kept secret.

A few minutes later, Ezra strolled in, fastidiously brushing off an imagined speck of dust from an immaculate lapel. "Good morning, gentlemen." He took the cover off his latte and slid into his chair. He raised a chestnut eyebrow at J.D.'s flaming blush and at Buck's stifled laughter. He shook his head, easily interpreting the wry twist of Larabee's mouth at the antics of Wilmington and Dunne. "Or perhaps gentlemen is too generous a description for the present company."

"Usually is," Vin seemed to materialize out of thin air. He wafted in, hitched his hip on Ezra's desk and nodded to Chris. "Morning, chief."

"Vin."

Ezra nearly choked on his latte. Both men had such cat in the cream expressions on their faces that they might as well have announced to the world that this was not the first time they'd seen each other that morning. He gave Buck a sidelong look, but Wilmington was too busy regaling J.D. with a judiciously edited version of his weekend escapades to notice the sparks flying between Larabee and Tanner. And then those sparks were gone from both men as their practiced masks were suddenly in place, and Ezra wondered if he had ever seen them to begin with.

When had he first noticed the shift in Tanner and Larabee's relationship? Right after Vin had been wounded during a raid, and Larabee had taken the sharpshooter to his ranch to recuperate from his injuries. For weeks prior to that, Larabee had been tense as a panther waiting to spring, and Tanner had been walking around like the ground beneath him was mined and ready to explode.

Then a few weeks later, when Vin was well enough to return to work, that tension and unease between the two men was gone. Always close, their communication, which had hardly needed words before, seemed to be on an entirely different plane. At first, Ezra had thought it was merely the result of two weeks spent exclusively in each other's company. But one day, following an action in which Vin had deliberately placed himself in a position of extreme danger, he had come across the two men engaged in what was, for them, a highly emotional discussion. He hadn't heard Larabee's words, but at one point, he had raised his hand to touch Vin's shoulder, and the tenderness in the gesture, combined with the look in Tanner's eyes, had revealed everything to Ezra.

To say he was startled was a gross understatement of his reaction. For a moment he had simply refused to believe what he had seen, but the more he thought about it, the less shocked he was and the more logical that relationship seemed. Ezra might be a snob, but he was no prude; he was not judgmental, and he was wise in the ways of the world. He also believed that no one had a choice in whom they loved. If they did, the world would be filled with far less heartbreak, but also with far less passion. Larabee and Tanner had suffered enough losses in their lives; if they found love and ease with each other, it was no concern of Ezra's as long as it did not affect the team.

Ezra found himself being oddly protective of his knowledge, and of his two friends. So he watched them, occasionally catching Larabee in an unguarded moment. Tanner was more elusive, but the signs were there, like that heated spark that lit his eyes when he spoke to Chris that morning. He only wanted them to be more cautious, for he couldn't bear to see either of those hard, vulnerable, lonely men hurt by the love that had healed them.

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

11 AM

Chris sat staring at the piles of folders on his desk. Paperwork. He was old enough to remember the great promises of a paperless society, where computers would be the guardians of all knowledge. Hell! Now he not only had to enter all the damn records in the computer, but keep track of the hard copy as well, just in case the computer crashed. His gaze went to the city skyline beyond his window. It was a perfect autumn morning; blue skies, hardly any smog, the air crisp and sweet. And here he was, stuck behind a desk. He thought wistfully of Josiah and Nathan, off on a well-deserved fishing trip. They all needed a vacation, but only the two agents could be spared.

If his desk weren't piled brow high, he'd be tempted to cut out of work early. It was a rare slow period. Two major investigations had wrapped up, and the city had been quiet since late August. Chris didn't like quiet. It made him nervous.

As he looked through the glass windows partitioning his office from the squad room, his eyes lit on Vin, leaning against his desk, examining the sidearm in his hands. He was obsessive about his weapons, cleaning and checking them daily, and nearly as obsessive about his skills, going to the firing range, after hours if he had to, honing those skills that had already made him a legend. Chris had always been appreciative of that care, and of the sharpshooter's talents. Vin was unique.

Unique.

Chris smiled slightly and his study went from focused to tender. His gaze drifted down Tanner's slim frame, from the golden-brown curls that brushed his shoulders, to the narrow bend between waist and hip, followed the length of slender legs, and returned to Vin's face. There was a frown of concentration between his brows. His vivid blue eyes, downcast beneath the thick lashes, were narrowed like lasers on his gun. The edge of his lower lip was caught between white teeth as he worked out some real or imagined hitch in the firing mechanism. Lord, he could look at Tanner forever and a day and still not get enough of him.

Chris sighed. His hand reached out to pick up the uppermost file on his desk. At that moment, his pager went off. His eyes caught a flicker of motion from the outer office as Buck, Vin, J.D., and Ezra all looked down at their own pagers. All of them. Action. Chris gestured to his team through the glass that he would make the call, and dialed.

Vin watched as Chris's blond head nodded, watched the silent movement of his mouth, saw the bright flicker of excitement in his green eyes. His hand went reflexively to load a clip into his Sig-Sauer. He bent and took his .22 from its ankle holster, checked it, replaced it. He carried a knife in his boot, and patted the hilt. He looked up, blue eyes hard and eager, waiting for word from Larabee.

He wasn't alone in his actions or in his eagerness. He sensed Buck's nerves were thrumming as hard as his, and Ezra, outwardly calm, was betraying his tension by the fluttering of his long, agile fingers against the desktop. J.D. was rocking on his heels, like a sprinter in the blocks. But when Chris opened his door, all motion stilled and their eyes were riveted on their leader.

Larabee was checking his own weapon as he returned to the squad room. "Holdup, hostage situation, possible bomb threat." His gaze met each of his men's, pausing last on Vin's. There was no doubt, no fear in them. Those emotions were left to curl unpleasantly in the pit of Chris's stomach. He could not deny them, but they had to be suppressed. "Let's ride," he said grimly, and led them out of the room.

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

The Denver Central Bank Plaza was constructed around a small park-like space where office workers from the surrounding buildings could sit outside on the concrete benches and enjoy the warm days still remaining in the autumn. The leaves of the trees were turning gold and drifting to the ground in the light breeze that found its way through the narrow entrances to the courtyard.

It should have been a tranquil oasis in the midst of the city. Instead, yellow crime scene tape cordoned off the streets surrounding the office complex, and the bronze-tone windows reflected the flashing lights of the police cars that had sped to isolate the area. Behind those windows, hidden by the mirror-like surface, three gunmen held at least ten people hostage. Vin wondered whose brilliant idea it was to install reflective windows in a goddamn bank.

"Tanner?" At the sound of Larabee's voice, Vin turned to where Chris, Buck, and several members of the Police Hostage rescue team were gathered around a schematic spread over the hood of a police car. He stood next to Chris, leaned against the fender and studied the map.

Larabee glanced at him, knowing the reason Tanner was at his side; Vin was dyslexic; maps could leave him disoriented and confused. He had an innate sense of distance and direction. Buck said it was like he had a genetic GPS system in his brain, but to see schematics on paper threw those instincts off. He trusted Chris to guide him through the maze of blueprints and tiny print. "What've I got t' work with?" he asked.

Chris pointed to the four square blocks on the map. "Denver Central Bank is the primary tenant of buildings one and two. Two is the branch, one is the main offices. Buildings Three and four are general office space leased to individuals -- lawyers, accountants, small businesses. There is a restaurant and a coffee shop in the fourth building as well. Building one is the tallest, eight stories, building two is the two-story annex, three and four are five stories, flat roofs."

He waited a moment to give Vin a chance to fix in his mind the relationships of the buildings, the heights, the angles, the way the sun would strike the windows as it set. Vin shook his head. "Cain't shoot what I cain't see."

Chris frowned. "The windows facing the courtyard aren't reflective. If we put you up here ..." he tapped the rectangle representing the one of the five-story buildings. "You'd be able to see in through those."

Vin nodded. "Maybe. I'd be a hell of a lot happier if y'all could get some of those hostages released before we hafta start shootin'." He gave the police officer in charge of the negotiating team a hard blue study. "They makin' any demands?"

Lt. Lewis shrugged, a frown creasing his forehead and making him look older than his years. "No. We've tried to get a phone line going, but so far, no one's responding. We have the get-away man in custody. The little prick tried to ram a cruiser. Ended up with the grill of his car against a phone pole, and a pissed off cop on his tail. We're getting some names from him now. That's all we know. At least they haven't started shooting, yet."

Vin gave a small derisive snort. "An' how long d'you think that'll last?" He gave Chris a level look. "They've been in there two hours, Chris. They're gonna start gittin' itchy fingers real soon."

"What about the explosive?" Chris asked Lewis.

"Unknown," the lieutenant said "We can only assume that they were going to use it to blow the safe. But what sort of device it is, how big, how much damage it could do, we haven't figured out yet."

"We need t'get a man inside," Chris said softly. "Someone with experience in both hostage situations and with explosive devices." His eyes narrowed, his intent clear to every member of his team.

Buck set his hands on his hips and shook his head. "Chris .."

Larabee glared. "No discussion, Buck."

Vin's head came up sharply, knowing what Chris was suggesting. He couldn't make a sound, couldn't voice his objections, couldn't speak his fears. Not without exposing all his feelings for the man at his side. "Give me time t'set up, Chris," he said. "You cain't go in there without somebody watchin' yer back."

He couldn't argue with that, at least. He turned to Lewis. The chief nodded. "You'll be our primary negotiator, then. Who's your intelligence man?"

Chris turned to J.D. and grinned. "He looks a little green, but there's none better at putting all the bits and pieces together. Unfortunately, my profiler is unavailable. J.D., you go with Lt. Lewis and see if we can't get some information on these guys. Ezra, you're liaison between me, the Lieutenant, and Vin."

As the others moved off, Vin stood silently as Chris handed him his ATF jacket and buckled on the Kevlar body armor. It was hot and heavy, but it would give Larabee a bit of breathing room if things got out of hand, protecting the vital organs, if not the entire body. Vin held the jacket open to let Chris slide his arms in the sleeves. A faint drift of the shampoo Chris had used earlier came from his hair, and Vin inhaled it, tried to imprint it in his mind.

"You be careful, partner. I'll be keepin' an eye out fer ya, but there's only so much I can do."

Chris brow shot upwards. "Haven't reached your limits yet, pard." And grinned when Vin's cheeks colored with a blush. "Save it for later, Tanner." Then Ezra appeared with their mikes, and they wired up. They went through their sound checks solemnly, even Ezra clearly worried, and moved into position. It was going to be a long afternoon.

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

3pm

Vin had picked his vantage point after a careful reconnaissance. There was a place on the roof at just the right angle to give him a good view of the interior of the bank. It faced north, the glare was minimized by the shadows of taller buildings rising on the next block. An hour ago, the gunmen inside had released five hostages, after tense negotiations between Chris, Ezra, and the police team. When he had seen them leaving the bank, his heart had nearly burst out of his chest, hoping that Chris would be following them, but he had remained behind with the bank employees. The gunmen had confiscated his microphone, and his negotiations from that point were by telephone. Vin could hear the conversation between Ezra and Lewis, but could not hear Chris, and the absence of that voice made him feel very isolated.

He raised the telescopic sight of the sniper rifle to his eye, and suddenly the view into the bank building became startlingly intimate. He could see Chris, sitting on the floor, his hands open on his knees. One of the gunmen was crouched next to him, speaking. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, dark-haired, olive-skinned, either Mediterranean or Latino extraction. He was medium built, wearing a black T-shirt and blue jeans. He looked like a thousand other young men in the city of Denver. He also looked twitchy, and that made Vin's heartbeat quicken. The hostage situation had been going on since 11am, and everyone was strung about as tight as a high-wire.

He didn't like the tension in the man's body; didn't like the expression on his face as he was speaking to Chris. "Loot?" he whispered into this mike. "Things ain't lookin' too good in there." He gasped as the gunman lifted his hand and struck Larabee across the cheek, hard enough to snap Chris's head back. "Shit, he just backhanded Larabee."

Lewis' voice crackled in his ear. "Don't -- I repeat -- Do not do anything, Tanner."

Vin cursed under his breath. What kind of idiot did Lewis think he was? The sort to take action that would endanger the life of the man who was dearer to him than his own flesh? When his anger was under control, he spoke softly into his microphone. "I ain't doin' anything, sir. But seein' as I'm the only man with a view as to what's goin' on in there, I think y'oughtta know it's gittin' ugly."

"Tanner, as soon as we get those other hostages out of there, you'll get the go ahead to take them down, but not before then. Is that clear?"

Vin closed his eyes for a moment, seeing Chris's head snap back, the fall of the blond hair over his forehead, and cursed beneath his breath. "Yes, sir."

He resumed his prone position, the butt of the rifle tucked into his shoulder, the stock brushing his cheek, the eyepiece of the scope tight against his eye socket. And he waited, flat and still, scarcely seeming to breathe.

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

5pm

How long would he have to wait? Vin wondered. His back was aching, pain was working its way from arms and shoulders to his neck, and a headache was blossoming behind his eyes. Chris and Buck had negotiated the release of two of the bank tellers, one pregnant, and a diabetic man. That left one teller, the branch manager, and Chris in the bank with the gunmen. Vin knew their names now, through Ezra's and J.D.'s research. The Vargas brothers, and Tommy Kilbane. They all had rap sheets a mile long. The Vargases had been linked to several DEA investigations, and Kilbane was on parole following a manslaughter conviction.

It had been Chico Vargas, the little shit, who had hit Chris so viciously. Given a choice, he'd be the first one Vin would take down. A grim smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Most times, he didn't like to think on his ability to kill. The government had trained him as a sniper, in hand-to-hand tactics, in lethal weapons skills, until he was as dangerous as any man-made instrument of death. They'd subjected him to any number of psychological tests, and he'd passed them all, never mind that he woke up gasping for air in the middle of the night, or that at times he would huddle under his blankets, shivering with an internal chill no physical heat could drive away. Even now, years removed from the Army and what it had done to him, it seemed the only time he was warm was when he lay sheltered against his lover's body.

"Tanner!" Lewis' whisper made him draw in a sharp breath.

"Yes, sir?"

"What the hell is happening?"

Vin forced his eyes to focus on the scene behind the windows. Chris was still sitting on the floor, but even as he watched, Chico Vargas pulled him roughly to his feet. Ramon Vargas took him in a choke-hold, a pistol held at his temple. Chris didn't struggle, and Vargas unzipped the ATF jacket he wore, and pulled it down his arms.

"Aw, shit," Vin breathed. "Chico Vargas found out Chris is wearin' a vest. He's takin' it off a' him." Vin's voice dropped to a whisper. The scene was unfolding like a silent movie before his eyes. "Loot, I think they're plannin' on makin' a break for it. You mind tellin' me why they think they can do that?" he asked, as a cold feeling took hold in the pit of his stomach.

Ezra's voice spoke in his ear. "One of the demands was the availability of an escape vehicle, which has been provided." His tone betrayed his own low opinion of the deal.

"You can't let 'em take Chris!" Vin gasped. "That's signin' his death warrant!" Before he could argue his point, he saw Ramon Vargas turn to Kilbane, and Kilbane cross over to where the bank employees sat, the manager with his arm around the young teller. He related what he was seeing: "Looks like Kilbane gits t'take the bank folks out the front door," he whispered. "Don't know what that's about." He watched as Kilbane, still holding a gun on the hostages, moved them towards the door. It was frustrating, five stories up, unable to hear what was happening, having to keep an eye on the hostages in case he had to take a shot at Kilbane, and knowing that Chris was the lone bargaining chip in the Vargases' hands.

Ramon Vargas opened the door, and Kilbane was out. Then, in a slow-motion nightmare, Vargas's gun swung up, he took aim at Kilbane's back, and fired. Even on the rooftop, Vin heard the hostages scream. Kilbane's momentum dragged them to the ground. The bullet ripped through his spine and struck the branch manager in the upper shoulder. He fell to the pavement, his mouth open in a howl of pain that Vin couldn't hear. At that violent flashpoint, the SWAT team opened fire on Ramon Vargas. Bullets shattered glass, blood erupted from Vargas's chest as he was flung backwards by the shock of the gunfire.

Reflexively, without thinking, without waiting for an order to fire, Vin turned his rifle on Chico Vargas. The bastard was wearing Chris's bulletproof vest, had Larabee in a choke-hold, and held a pistol pressed into the vulnerable flesh beneath his jaw. Vin's own throat closed as he thought of what Chris must be feeling; the nausea, the anger, the fear that he would never allow to control him, but which was there, nonetheless.

Vin took two breaths, willed his heart to beat slowly so the pulse wouldn't shake his body. He narrowed his gaze through the sight, brought the crosshairs to bear on Chico Vargas. Chris's blond head was terribly close to his captor's in the scope, and Vin prayed, sending thoughts to the man who could so often read them. Drop, Chris. Just drop. And as if on cue, Larabee's head dipped slightly down, and Vin's trigger finger squeezed so gently that a feather resting on the scope wouldn't have shivered when the rifle barked out Chico Vargas's death.

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

Bone, blood, and brains exploded from Vargas's skull as Vin's bullet ripped through his temple, spattering Chris with sickening gore. The hot wind of the bullet passed so close to Chris's cheek that it left a slight burn, and his body collapsed, unable to separate psychological shock from physical trauma. He dropped into a fetal curl, confused, thinking he had been shot, that he was the one dying.

The bank was suddenly filled with SWAT team members, rushing towards him where he lay near Chico Vargas. He closed his eyes, began shivering. Then a familiar voice, strong arms holding him, a cloth wiping the bloody matter from his face.

"Chris, ol' pard, you OK? Jesus, let me take a look here." Buck's hands moved over his body, patting him down, feeling for wounds.

As the reality that he wasn't injured finally registered, Chris began to push against Buck's restraining arms. "I'm all right. Just need to sit up."

"You stay down, Chris, 'til we get the medics in here t' look at you."

"Shit." Chris pulled away from Buck's hold, feeling weak and disoriented. "What happened?"

Buck lifted a brow at Vargas's corpse. "Looks like Junior really is as good as he claims."

Before the import of those words sank in, an EMT knelt at Chris's side. He saw the blood streaking Larabee's face and soaking his shirt. "Was he shot?" he asked Buck.

Chris pushed the man's hand aside. "No. Let me up."

"Now, Chris. You just let this fella look ya over, alright? Won't take a minute." He nodded to the paramedic. "Go on."

Chris felt the blood pressure cuff inflating on his arm. A penlight in his eyes made him blink. A hand on his wrist took his pulse. He lay still for the examination, struggled to sit up when it was finished, and was surprised when his body betrayed him with weakness. He sank back in Buck's arms. "Shit."

"What's wrong with him?" Buck asked the EMT.

"His pressure's pretty low. He's dehydrated, needs fluids. Probably a mild case of shock." He coiled his stethoscope. "Think a trip to the ER is in order."

"I'm fine." Chris argued weakly.

"You ain't," Buck said genially. "We'll see ya at the ER, boss." He clapped a hand on the paramedic's shoulder. "Take good care of him." He handed Chris off to the men who came over with a gurney. It wasn't until Chris was on his way to the hospital that Buck realized that Larabee hadn't asked about Vin.

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

Vin knew he had killed Chico Vargas. There wasn't a doubt in his mind that his shot had been true. But he'd also seen Chris collapse, and was horribly afraid that Vargas had managed to get off a shot before he died.

He ran down the five flights of stairs, across the courtyard, flashing his ATF badge, his rifle tucked under his arm. He stopped cold, his chest heaving at the sight of three paramedics wheeling a gurney out of the bank building. The last of the afternoon sun glinted off a shock of winter-wheat hair. Chris's hair. Vin's heart nearly stopped. Three burly cops, seeing only a thin, long-haired man, a menacing weapon under his arm, and obviously distraught, suddenly stepped in front of him. Vin flipped his ATF badge at them, and started to push through, only to have them form a united wall. Frustrated, he jammed his arm forward.

"ATF." Trying to see around them, impatient while they examined his badge, seeing only the gurney disappearing into the ambulance bay, and the vehicle pulling away, sirens blaring, as the barrier parted. He growled an obscenity at the policemen and slipped between their stocky bodies.

"Buck!" he called out to the tall agent. His anxiety was only slightly alleviated by the expression on Wilmington's face. Not distress. Relief.

"Why're they taking Chris to the hospital?"

Buck set a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, Vin. Chris is gonna be just fine." Buck glowed with admiration. "That was some damn fine shot, Vin ... ain't never seen anything like it."

Impatient and not caring that his own skill was appreciated, Vin shrugged off Buck's hand. "Was he shot?"

"Who?"

"Chris! Damn it, Buck!"

Buck's eyes had been wandering over the chaos until he spotted J.D. and Ezra. "Shot, no. Just dehydrated. Should be out of the hospital in a few hours."

"I'm outta here," Vin said shortly. He strode over to the SWAT team and handed his rifle to Lieutenant Lewis.

"You can't leave, Tanner!" Lewis ordered.

"Stop me," Vin challenged over his shoulder, and was gone, leaving the fuming Lieutenant Lewis for Buck and Ezra to deal with. In the logical back of his mind, he knew he might be writing his own resignation letter from the ATF, but all he could see, all he could think of, was the man on the stretcher, who was his entire world.

The emergency room at Mercy Hospital was busy, but not chaotic. After pacing for fifteen minutes, nearly driving the admitting clerk to distraction, he was let into the treatment area. He hated hospitals; the scents of disinfectant and ozone, the tension that spoke of frayed nerves and uncertainty.

Vin waited as the nurse pulled the curtain aside, then tilted her head towards him. He stepped inside. Chris was laying back on the slightly raised bed. He seemed to be asleep. An IV was dripping a clear liquid into his arm. He was wearing one of those God-awful hospital gowns over his black jeans, and his blond hair was damp, as if he had just washed it. Belatedly, Vin realized that he probably had, given the exploding mess his bullet had made of Vargas's brain. There was a bruise on his cheek where Vargas had struck him. Vin reached out to touch it, then pulled back, not wanting to disturb Chris's rest.

He sank down in the single chair at the side of the bed. It was the first time since that morning that he hadn't been wound up so tight that it hurt. He leaned forward and rested his aching head in his hands. He felt that if he let down that one last layer of tension he would start shaking and not stop. It had been a long time since he had been forced to make a shot that was not out of an imperative need for defense, or self-defense, but calculated, where risk was measured in millimeters, and success in life or death. And he had never had as much to lose as he had in those seconds. He opened his hands and stared at them, then clenched them so tightly that the nails dug into his flesh. He couldn't think of that. Couldn't allow himself to believe he might have missed.

Chris opened his eyes. He knew Vin was there. He'd known from the first moment when Vin had come into the cubicle. He saw him sitting in the chair, hunched over with that tension in his shoulders that betrayed his pain. Chris looked down at his own hands. The nurses had washed his hair -- he had insisted on it, nearly wild with the need to be rid of Vargas's blood -- but a rusty streak still smeared across his hand, and made him feel sick. He closed his eyes, and the horrific image replayed itself in his head. He could feel everything: Chico Vargas's moist, rank breath on his neck and the side of his cheek. The press of the gun barrel beneath his jaw. The certainty that he was going to die. He had been ready to die. And then there had been that voice, Vin's voice in his head telling him to look away, to move an inch. He had trusted that voice enough to do it, even knowing it could cost him his life. But he had never expected that shot, the heat of the bullet in the second before Chico Vargas was turned into a bloody mist.

Chris gagged, fumbled for the kidney-shaped emesis basin at his side, and spat out the bile that had risen in his throat. Vin was at his side in an instant, but Chris held him off, ashamed of his weakness, and unable to stomach the thought that this man who would offer him comfort had so calmly fired a bullet into Chico Vargas's brain. A man who could risk missing the millimeters between Vargas's head and his own. His lover, who could have so easily been his killer.

"Get out," he rasped, unable to meet Tanner's eyes.

"Chris --"

"Get out of here. Go home." He fell back against the pillows. "Go home ..."

Vin didn't think "home" meant the ranch. Larabee wouldn't look at him, so he couldn't see the hurt, the defeat, and the sad comprehension in his lover's eyes. Vin left the cubicle silently, but Chris knew he was gone, his absence an ache no medicine could soothe.

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

Buck and Ezra arrived at the hospital an hour later. The nurse was taking out Chris's IV when they entered the cubicle. She smiled at them, and put a dressing on Chris's arm. "Remember, you still need to rest for a day or so. Make sure you drink plenty of fluids, but stay away from alcohol and caffeine. If you have severe headaches or blurred vision, contact your doctor immediately."

"I will."

"All right, then. You've signed the release papers, so you can leave whenever you're ready." She left, and Buck looked around.

"Where's Junior? He off chasin' nurses?" He held out the dark T-shirt he was carrying, knowing Chris wouldn't want to wear the bloody one again.

"No."

"Lookin' fer food?"

"He left."

Buck blinked at Chris. "Left? As in left you alone?"

Chris snatched the T-shirt from Buck. "Let's get the fuck outta here." He pulled it savagely over his head, wincing when it caught on the dressing on his arm. Then stalked out of the ER, with Buck and Ezra at his heels.

Chris drew up short outside the ER entrance. He didn't know where to go. Buck came beside him. "Ya wanna explain where Vin is, Chris?"

The light hurt Chris's eyes. He closed them for a moment. "I sent him home. That's all. Are you gonna drive me back to the office?"

"Larabee, have you forgotten what that nurse just told you?"

"She said to take it easy, not to crawl into bed. I know Lewis and Orrin are going to have a lot of questions, and I'd just as soon get them out of the way." He glared at Buck, who glared back, but realized that if he didn't yield, Chris would just call a cab. There was no way he could drag an unwilling Larabee back to the ranch and remain in one piece.

"All right, but ain't no one gonna pick you up off the floor when you collapse in a heap." Buck gave Ezra a look. "You comin'?"

"I'll walk you to the car." Ezra turned to Chris. "Mr. Larabee, at least sit here out of the sun. Unless of course, you relish the thought of returning to the tender mercies of the medical profession."

He didn't. He sank down on the bench to wait for Buck to bring up the car. Maybe making his report to Orrin and Lewis would help him make some sense of the storm of emotions raging in him. Maybe it would explain to himself, why he had sent Vin away. He buried his head in his hands. God, Vin ...

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

Ezra hated driving into Purgatorio. Every time he parked outside Vin's building, he was certain that when he came down, this car would be either stripped or gone. So far, Vin's reputation had proven more of a deterrent than any anti-theft device. As he wheeled into the lone space, Ezra hoped that was still true. He activated the alarm, gave a regretful pat to the shiny fender, and steeled himself for the run up five flights of stairs.

By the time he was standing outside of Vin's apartment, even his superb conditioning was tested. He shrugged out of his suit coat, loosened his tie, and knocked. "Vin? It's Ezra."

After a series of bolts being thrown, the door opened. Vin stood there, not exactly inviting Ezra in, but not blocking the way, either. "May I come in?" he asked.

Vin nodded. "Yeah."

"I just came from the hospital."

"Is Chris all right?" Breathless worry roughened Tanner's voice, and Ezra hastened to reassure him.

"Seeing as they released him, I'd say so. Buck and I were surprised that you weren't there."

Color overspread Vin's cheekbones. "Chris didn't want me there. Sent me home."

"So he said." Ezra moved a folded stack of clothes off an armchair and sat down. "And I was wondering, why would he do that?"

Vin stared at Ezra. Of all the Seven, Ezra was the one man who could confuse Vin with a look, a word, a movement. Vin supposed it was because the undercover agent had so many different personas that he was never sure which one was the real Ezra. Standish had always been cordial, even in the early days of their acquaintance, but he always seemed to be watching the others from a distance, which made Vin wary beyond his usual caution. Right now, all of Vin's warning bells were going off.

Ezra saw the tension in Tanner's slim body and the hurt in his eyes as he searched for the answer to the question. At that moment, Ezra would have cheerfully throttled Chris Larabee for what he had done to the young man who loved him. He gazed at Vin, one chestnut brow raised in an inquiring arch.

Simple was best. Simple might work. "Don't know. Reckon you'll have to ask Chris."

Ezra sighed. "I doubt Mr. Larabee knows the answer to that himself." He looked at Vin with those sharp green eyes. "But maybe I do."

"What the hell does that mean?" Instant suspicion and a hint of panic.

Ezra rose and paced, framing his words. "I couldn't see what you were seeing, so I'm only guessing how close Chris was to Chico Vargas when you took your shot. I'd say, inches."

Vin shrugged. "Something like. But I didn't have much choice, Ezra. He was wearin' Chris's vest so I couldn't take a shot at his heart, and I couldn't risk jist woundin' him. I figured it was the head, 'r watch Chris git killed, and I couldn't do that. I couldn't. So, I took the shot. I ain't sorry, Ezra. Even if Chris never looks at me again, I ain't sorry I took the chance."

If Ezra hadn't known the truth before, he would have known it then, because Vin had just stripped his heart and soul naked, letting love shine through. Ezra found himself speechless, one of the few times in his entire life when words had failed him. Eventually, he found his voice.

"Maybe you ought to tell that to Mr. Larabee. He doesn't seem to realize how fortunate he is to have someone care that much."

Vin drew his breath in sharply, afraid that he had revealed far more than he should have. Confused by Ezra's apparent knowledge, he didn't know how he should react, or what he should say. Chris had said he would not deny the relationship if the others found out, but Vin had never thought it would be like this, with his world in shards, when there might be no relationship left to defend, only the trail of blood from his heart. "Ezra, it's not --"

Ezra shook his head. "I know, Vin."

"How long?" Vin whispered after a pause.

"A while."

Vin looked at the elegant, impeccably dressed agent. There was no shock or disapproval on his handsome face; sympathy, perhaps curiosity, and a slight smile. He cleared his throat. "Nathan knows, and I reckon Josiah. Never thought you did, though."

"I am capable of discretion in certain matters," Ezra said with a wry smile.

"Better'n me and Chris, apparently."

Ezra shook his head. "Not at all. If I weren't accustomed to studyin' human nature, as it were, I would not have noticed in the least. For example, I take it Mr. Wilmington is unenlightened regarding you and Mr. Larabee?"

"Far as I know," Vin couldn't help the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He sobered suddenly. "Might not matter anyway. Might not be any me 'n Chris fer him to notice." He wandered over to his window, looking out at the horizon as the sun began setting over the mountains.

Ezra watched as Vin trailed slender fingers down the cool surface of the glass, a touch as gentle as tears. "There won't be, unless you tell him what you told me," Ezra said. He picked up his suit coat. "My mother, as much as she can drive me to the brink of insanity, has always said that there is only one thing in this world worth risking everything to keep, and that is love. I haven't found that true for myself, but I believe you have." He left, closing the door quietly. Vin watched with a smile as Ezra chased several youths away from his car, disarmed the security systems, and drove off with an almost audible sigh of relief to get his treasure away from Purgatorio.

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

"I ever tell you, you're the most God-awful stubborn cuss I ever come across?" Buck asked Chris as he held an icepack against his friend's bruised cheek. "Told you, you was gonna end up in a heap on the floor, but ya wouldn't listen t'ol' Buck. Sometimes I think you're worse'n J.D.."

"You're full of crap," Chris snapped. He grabbed the icepack away from Buck. "I wasn't in a heap." He tried to glare at Wilmington, but it was hard to do when he was lying prone on the couch in his office, after nearly passing out during the debriefing with A.D. Travis and Lt. Lewis.

"Damn close," Buck muttered. "If Orrin hadn't seen you swaying like a tall tree in the wind, you would've been."

Chris groaned. "Go back to the debriefing, Buck."

"Orrin called it off. Said we needed Vin there to wrap things up."

At the mention of the sharpshooter's name, Chris winced and moved the icepack from his cheek to his forehead. "Jesus. Then find him. The sooner the better."

Buck paced to the window. "I sent Ezra after him a while ago. Vin was real worried about ya, Chris. Damn near took three cops down with him when they tried to keep him from seein' you. And they was all twice his size. Never saw three big men jump aside so fast once they figured out who he was. Junior can be real scary sometimes."

"Yeah." A shudder worked its way down Chris's spine and his stomach clenched. He turned his face away from Buck. "Did you write up your report?"

Buck gave his friend a hard look. "Fuck the report! What's going on, Chris? Every time I bring up Vin's name you put up a brick wall. Same as you did --"

"Don't say it!" Chris snarled. "Nothing's the same!"

Buck's brows went up, and he retreated a step from the blaze of anger in Larabee's eyes. "Hey there, pard. Don't know what Vin did or said -- or what you think he did or said -- t'make you turn on him like this. But maybe you should clue me in on it."

"It ain't your business, Buck," Chris said, suddenly weary. "Write up that report so we can get out of here."

Buck crossed his arms and frowned at his boss and oldest friend. There was no point in arguing until Chris was feeling better. He'd had a rough day. No wonder he was tied in knots. Though why he was taking that out on Vin, Buck couldn't imagine.

He left Chris's office, and was startled to see Ezra waiting in the squad room. "Hey there, Ez. You find Vin?"

"I found him."

"He say anything about Chris?"

Ezra shook his head. "Aside from bein' concerned for the well-being of his ... his best friend, not really."

"Shit. What's goin' on?"

Ezra wasn't about to try to explain. He shrugged, and Buck cast his hands up in defeat. "I've got a report to finish, and then I'm takin' Chris home." He looked at his watch and cursed. "Looks like I'm about to stand up a real lovely lady."

"Why don't you let me drive our esteemed leader home?"

Buck staggered back, his hand over his heart. "You'd do that for me? Is this the same Ezra Standish that walked in the door this mornin'?"

"Yes, and yes." Ezra's gold incisor flashed out. "You have caught me in a rare charitable mood, my friend. I suggest you take advantage of it."

Buck frowned. "I don't know, Ez. Chris is mighty skittish when he don't feel well."

"I thought I might be able to, shall we say, smooth the waters between our esteemed leader and our resident sharpshooter. Do any of us care to spend time with those gentlemen in their current estranged situation?"

"Hell, Ezra. If you can work out those wrinkles, we'd all be grateful." Buck's eyes were still a bit puzzled, but he didn't need too much persuading to agree. "I reckon I'm outta here, as soon as I finish this." He waved the file folder. "I'll just pass this on to Orrin. Thanks, Ezra."

As soon as the big man had ambled down the hall, Ezra slipped inside Chris's office. Larabee was flat on the couch, but his eyes caught the glint of light from the squad room. He looked pale, and the bruise had darkened considerably since that afternoon. His mouth curled in a half-smile when he saw Ezra. "Visitin' the sick, Ez?"

Ezra leaned casually against the desk. "Is that a reason, or an excuse, Mr. Larabee?"

Chris groaned. "I'm in no mood for a cross-examination. Just spit it out."

"Is your physical state the reason or the excuse for what you did to Vin Tanner this afternoon?"

Chris came upright too fast. The room spun around, and he grasped the back of the couch in an effort to stay vertical. "Damn, Ezra. You sure know how to hit a guy when he's down."

Feeling only a slight twinge of guilt, Ezra filled a glass of water from the cooler in the corner of the room and handed it to Chris. "I apologize, Mr. Larabee. But it is no more brutal a blow than the one you dealt Vin this afternoon."

The nausea turned in Chris's stomach and he lay back on the couch. He fumbled for the icepack. "Speak your piece, and get out of here."

Ezra resumed his lean against Chris's desk. For a man who had an endless supply of multi-syllabic words at the tip of his tongue, he chose this once, to speak plainly. Chris Larabee might be his boss, he might be as capable as Ezra of speaking and writing the language of bureaucracy, but he knew the value of simplicity. He must, if he cared for Vin Tanner, a man whose simplicity was overt, but whose depth was like the ocean.

"I wasn't standing in your shoes this afternoon, so I can only imagine what you felt, and I imagine you thought you were going to die. I also imagine that you figured that Chico Vargas was the one who was going to take you down -- and I think that you were looking for an opportunity to foil that intent. You certainly weren't expecting Vin Tanner to take a shot at Vargas when there was no margin for error. It was undoubtedly a shock."

Chris stirred and gave Ezra a grim smile. "A shock?" An ironic brow slipped up. "A man's brains get splattered all over my face -- Jesus, Ezra. Yeah, it was a shock."

"Less of a shock than realizing who fired it?"

Chris's handsome face closed down fast. "What?"

Ezra folded his arms. "That is the only explanation for your actions, Mr. Larabee. Why you would deliberately turn Vin Tanner away -- why you would care so little for what he did to save your life."

Chris rose from the couch, staggering a bit, but growing steadier on his feet as he came close to Ezra. "See this?" he rasped, pointing to the red burn streaking across his cheek. "That's how close I came to dying. If I had twitched my head, that bullet would have gone through my skull instead of Vargas's."

Ezra met those hard green eyes calmly. "But it didn't," he said quietly. "If it had been any one of us in your place, would you have trusted Vin to make that shot? Would you have asked him to take that risk?"

"Hell, yes." The words were out before Chris could consider their import.

"Then how can you blame him for protecting the man he loves?" Ezra asked simply.

Chris made a grab for his chair, the world having taken to spinning like a globe on its axis. "Ezra ..." His knees started buckling.

Standish took his arm in a firm, gentle hold. "I believe I have rendered you speechless, Mr. Larabee. And you can deny it until Doomsday; it won't change what I know, any more than it will change what you feel." He smiled at Larabee's astonishment, as pleased as if he had played the trump card. "Now, I promised Buck that I would see you safely home, considering your fragile state of health."

Startled, out-argued, and enlightened, Chris nodded. "Fine. But there's a stop I want to make, first."

"Lord, does that mean I have to park my car in Pugatorio again?" Ezra groaned.

Chris gave a tired chuckle. "With any luck, you won't have to wait for me."

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

As much as he appreciated Ezra's advice, Vin knew there was a lot more going on in Larabee's head than could be fixed with three little words. He went to the refrigerator and took out a beer. He sorted through his CD's, found one full of blues and hard living, and turned it on low. Then he sat and watched the sun set.

He didn't know how long he had been sitting there in the dark when he heard a knock at his door. He padded over to it, leaned close. "Yeah?"

"It's Chris. We need to talk."

Vin sighed and sagged against the door. He didn't know if he had the strength for this right now. He hurt as if his heart had been bruised, and he was in no shape to take another blow. "S'late," he said wearily.

On the other side of the door, he heard Chris clear his throat. "Too late for an apology?"

How could he refuse? He slid his locks aside, and opened the door. "Maybe not. Don't know if I done anythin' requirin' an apology."

Vin stood there, hip-shot, the wry twist to his mouth making Chris dizzy with longing. His natural instinct was to reach out and fold his arms around those slight, tense shoulders, but he was no longer certain that he had the right to make that gesture.

"I'm the one apologizing, Tanner." He stuck his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stood just inside the door. "Mind if I sit down? My head's about ready to part from my shoulders."

Vin tilted his head towards the sofa, and Chris sank down into the cushions gratefully. He looked played out, and for Larabee, that was alarming. Vin knew every line, every hollow of that beautiful face, and he was seeing shadows and pain-carved weariness that had never been apparent before. Larabee's head fell back against the cushions and a glint of green showed beneath his lashes. "You got any aspirin?" he asked.

"Yeah." Vin disappeared down the hallway, while Chris tried to figure out what to say that would make the hurt vanish from those blue eyes that watched him so warily. He hadn't thought it would be easy to ask forgiveness, but he had never expected it to be so hard.

"Here." Vin set the aspirin on the table. "I'll get ya some water."

"Wait." Chris clasped Vin's wrist, and felt Tanner flinch as if he had been burned. "I want to get this out first." His eyes were blurred with exhaustion and pain, but they held Vin's gaze. He stood still, looking down at Chris, waiting. "Thank you for saving my life. I didn't say that earlier, and I'm sorry."

Vin's shoulders lifted in a shrug. "Didn't do it 'cause I expected thanks. Or because it was my duty, or t'show off what I c'n do. Only one reason I did it, Chris."

"Why?" The word hurt, forced from his aching throat, but he had to hear it. Had to know that there was still hope.

"I couldn't let that little shit Chico take you away from me," Vin whispered. "I couldn't risk losin' ya, Chris." He tugged his wrist out of Chris's grip and walked away towards the tall windows. "And, maybe I have, but at least yer alive. I never wanted more'n that."

"Oh God, Vin." Chris's pain, his fears, his doubts, were forgotten in the tide of love that swept through him at those words. He rose and crossed the floor to stand behind Vin, his hand just poised over his shoulder; hesitant, yet yearning to feel those bones, that flesh. "You haven't lost me. You never could. Even if I was dead, I'd be yours."

Vin didn't look at Chris. Just stared out the window. "Why'd ya send me away, Chris? I been hurt before, but not like that. Not by you." His hand crept over his heart, as if the beating of his pulse hurt him.

Chris caught that hand, and held it gently for a moment, then released it when the tension in Vin's body ran like a current through to his. "I'm not making excuses for what I did. Hell, I don't even understand it myself. Maybe if I tell you, it'll make some sense to me." His head was throbbing, and he rubbed shaky fingers over his forehead. "But, partner, I gotta sit down." He made his cautious way back to the couch, and didn't see Vin, keeping no more than two paces from his back, a shadow to support him, should his strength fail. He sat down, his hands drooping over his knees, his head bowed so that his blond hair tumbled over his forehead.

"I thought I was a dead man, Vin. Vargas was going to kill me. I could see that in his eyes. I thought maybe I could get away. That's when I lowered my head. That's when you fired. I went down. It was like my body wasn't my own ... and then, when I knew what had happened, I couldn't understand what you had done. Still don't know if I do." His eyes were frank as they met Vin's.

"Was simple enough," Vin rasped. "Been trained t'do it all my grown life, Chris. D'you think I would've done it if I didn't know that I could?" He shook his head sadly. "Wish you'd had the same faith in me, that's all." He paced away, back to the windows.

"I do," Chris said. "I just didn't realize it until Ezra asked me if I would have ordered you to make the shot if it had been any of the others. I would have, without reservations. I was a Goddamn fool."

There was a long silence. Tanner's slim frame was silhouetted by the fading blue light coming through the window. So near, so distant, and Chris thought that if Vin didn't make a move soon, he might as well have taken that bullet in the brain, because life just wasn't going to be worth living without that man's love. Chris's heart was pounding so hard it shook his entire body. "Vin?" The whisper lingered in the air.

The shoulders shifted. The beautiful, fine-boned profile turned slowly. "Hell," Vin said, in that voice of smoke and honey, "yer a Goddamn fool. But I reckon I love ya, anyways, so that makes me a Goddamn fool right along with ya." His eyes were as blue and as fathomless as the twilight. He seemed to glide towards the couch, then knelt in front of Chris and took his hands. "Next time ya send me away, I might not come back," he said.

Chris's fingers shifted, so that Vin's hands were folded in his. He raised them to his lips. "There won't be a next time, partner. Until death." He bent and captured Vin's lips in a tender kiss.

Vin leaned into the kiss, his seal on the pledge Larabee had made. He felt Chris sigh as he broke away reluctantly. Felt that silky, golden hair brush his cheek as he laid his head on Vin's shoulder. Vin folded his arms around Larabee's body. "How long is Ezra gonna stay parked out there?" he whispered.

Chris smiled. "Don't know. Said he'd stay 'til we got it figured out." His voice was a tired thread of sound.

Vin took his shoulders and gently set him back against the sofa. He rose and went to the window. Ezra's car was still parked outside, and the agent was leaning against the hood, his jacket negligently opened to reveal just a glimpse of a leather shoulder holster. He looked up, as if Vin had called out to him. Vin raised his hand like a cavalryman signaling to his troop, and Standish sketched an answering salute. Vin watched until he pulled away before he turned back to Chris.

Larabee was slouched down low, his head back, long legs stretched out. His eyes were closed, and Vin sat beside him. The aspirin tablets were still on the table. Vin touched his shoulder. "C'mon, cowboy. Wake up, take your pills, and let's get you into bed."

Chris opened his eyes. "You propositionin' me?"

"In yer dreams," he grinned. "And that's all it's gonna be tonight." He went to the kitchen and reappeared with a glass of water.

Chris swallowed the aspirin. He let Vin hoist him up, his shoulder tucked beneath his arm, and leaned on him, trusting the strength in that wiry body. He didn't remember walking to the bedroom, just the sudden sensation of falling, the tug of his shoes being removed, the boneless maneuvering to get him out of his clothes. Vin's hands were gentle and warm moving over his skin, and the sheets that were beneath him and around him carried the scent of Tanner's body. Lights were turned off, and a few minutes later, Vin slid in beside him, a strong, slender arm bringing him close. Chris's body relaxed, and his breathing deepened and slowed as he drifted into sleep. Vin felt the throb of Larabee's heart, the heart that had come so close to being stilled, and knew that he had made the right decision that afternoon.

The siege was over.

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

Chris woke to darkness, his eyes adjusting slowly to the unfamiliar city illumination that leaked through the window blinds. It took a moment to recall where he was. Vin's room. Vin's bed. He reached over, seeking Vin's body, and instead found empty space. He sat up, expecting pain, and was relieved to discover that his headache had faded to a dull throb. He was thirsty, he needed to use the toilet, and where the hell was Tanner?

He slipped from the bed, managed to find his way to the bathroom, and then went to the dark, quiet living room. Vin was standing at the window, the quilt Nettie had made for him wrapped around his shoulders. The glow from the outside lights framed him in a pallid halo; leached his skin of color, touched his hair with silvery glints.

Chris coughed softly, a warning to the edgy sharpshooter. "You all right there, pard?" he asked.

"Sorry, Chris. I didn't mean t'wake you."

Not sensing any reluctance to be approached, Chris stood behind Vin, wrapped his arms around his shoulders and rested his head against the soft hair. "That ain't an answer to my question."

Vin shook his head. "Jist a dream. Nothing to worry about."

It had been enough to drive Tanner from his bed to seek solitude. "You wanta tell me about it?"

Those shoulders shrugged beneath his touch. "I don't rightly remember details. Jist woke up shakin'. It's happened before ..." His voice faded diffidently. "S'pose it'll happen again."

Chris sighed. "Yeah. Some dreams have a way of staying with you -- and they ain't always the dreams you want to remember." His arms tightened. "But you don't have to be alone with them, Vin. Not anymore."

"Don't want to burden you with 'em. Seems you've had enough troubles of yer own."

He couldn't deny it. But his demons came less frequently, since Vin had become his friend, his lover. Tanner carried his own calm with him, as soothing as a gentle wind through the aspens, and Chris wondered how someone who had led the sort of life Vin had, filled with more betrayals and hurt than one man should bear in a lifetime, could achieve that calm, that stillness that he sensed at the heart of the sharpshooter.

He drew a breath. "Partner, we've both had troubles enough, but that doesn't mean we have to bear them alone. There'll be times when I'll carry you, and times when you've got to carry me. Sarah taught me that's what people do when they love each other." He turned Vin to face him, looked into those moonlit blue eyes. "I love you. But that doesn't mean that I can't be a Goddamn fool, and it sure doesn't mean that I'm any kind of saint. Think you can live with that?" He gently cupped the wide angle of Vin's jaw, waiting a bit breathlessly for a response.

Vin nestled his cheek into Larabee's palm. "Reckon I'll hafta, since I cain't live without ya, cowboy." He paused for a moment, his eyes brilliant. "It wasn't jist your life I was savin' this afternoon. Was my own." His voice broke slightly, and at that, Chris tipped his chin up and brought his lips to Vin's in a deep, aching kiss.

The quilt Tanner had wrapped around his shoulders slid to the floor as Larabee stroked down the slim, strong shoulders and hard biceps. He trailed kisses down Tanner's throat, across his collarbone. He tongued the notch at his clavicle, felt Vin's pulse leap in response. "Let's take this back to bed, partner," he rasped, his voice rough and deepened by passion.

"You up fer this?" Vin asked.

Green eyes glinted in the light, feral in their intensity. He caught Vin close, so there could be no mistaking the strength of his need. "You tell me," he said.

There was nothing between them. Chris was hard, the heat of his groin rushing Vin to arousal. "Reckon, y'are." He caught Larabee's lower lip in his teeth, running his tongue along the edge. Nails raked down Chris's pectorals, teasing his nipples to hard peaks and making the older man quiver with anticipation. Vin released Larabee's lip and began biting and lapping down the strong, beautiful throat to the muscled chest, aware that with every caress he was igniting a fire in this man he loved, and had so nearly lost. His warm palms drifted down Chris's torso, down the ripple of hard ribs, narrow waist, and came to rest on slim, bone-girdled hips.

Chris tangled his fingers in Vin' hair, drawing him up, seeking his mouth. His tongue plunged inside, stroking, seeking, tasting. He had never thought a man could taste so sweet. His lips roved over Vin's eyelids, his temples, high cheekbones, and back to that maddening mouth. He wanted to drown in the flavor and scent of his lover. He wanted to be one with Vin, he wanted to be inside his body. He wanted that now.

"Bed," he murmured against Vin's ear. "Now," giving voice to thought.

"You issuin' orders?" Vin growled. His hand closed over Chris's cock. "Ya might wanta rethink that, pard." His thumb flicked over the head, and Chris gasped at the electric charge that zinged up his nerves. Vin traced his forefinger down the thick vein, then took Chris's balls in his hand. The flesh was warm, heavy, and, as his fingers closed over the sac, Larabee's breath caught in his throat, and his eyes blurred with pleasure.

"Now," he said thickly. "I want to love you, now."

Vin's expression went from dangerously playful to dead serious. "T's what I want, too," he said. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yeah, I'm sure."

"Then let's make it happen." Vin held out his hand.

They went to the bed. Chris stretched out over Vin. There was such beauty in that slender frame; strong in bone and muscle, yet finely made. Chris skimmed his palm across the hard bow of Vin's clavicle, down the length of his arms. Capturing his wrists lightly, he nibbled and sucked on Vin's inner arm, marveling at the contrast of the soft skin covering the hard muscles, then kissed his way across Vin's chest, seeking the peak of his nipple and taking it into his mouth. He tongued the nub and Vin arched up with a gasp. He turned his attention to the other nipple, laving it, blowing across it, making it harden. Vin shivered beneath him.

Chris's lips trailed down to Tanner's navel, nipped at the vulnerable flesh just beneath it, and drew a sharp, quiet cry from the Texan. The musky scent of sex rose from his heated skin. Chris breathed it in, swirled his fingers in the rough curls of hair surrounding Tanner's cock, then took the head in his mouth, suckling on the cum welling at the tip.

Vin's breath was coming in short gasps and he thrust his hips upward, willing Chris to take him in more deeply, to bring him to orgasm. "Yer killin' me, Chris," he moaned, then yelped as Larabee slid his tongue the length of his shaft.

"Not yet, partner," Larabee laughed softly, and continued his loving assault. He spread Vin's legs wider, exposing the pale, sensitive inner thighs, nuzzling into the crease between thigh and groin, exploring every inch of skin, the rasp of his stubbled cheek setting every nerve alight with sensation.

Vin writhed with the pleasure of being loved. "Cain't breathe, cain't think," he gasped.

Chris just lifted his head slightly and smiled. "Don't want you t'think 'r breathe."

"Hurts!"

"Shh." Chris laid his finger across Vin's lips. "Wait ..." He knelt on the bed, opened the night stand drawer and found the tube of lubricant Tanner kept there. He squeezed a generous amount into his palm, coated his hand and closed his fingers around Vin's cock.

Vin cried out as Larabee smoothed the cool gel on his heated, swollen flesh. Chris closed his fist over the length of Tanner's sex and stroked until Vin began thrusting into his fingers. He reached towards his cock, urging Larabee to move harder, hold tighter.

Chris caught his hand, folded the fingers closed. "Easy, easy ... soon," he whispered. He laid his palm flat against Vin's abdomen. The slick fingers of his other hand slipped between Vin's ass cheeks, rimming his hole. The Texan cried out softly, wanting, needing, waiting for Chris to fill him. Chris's finger penetrated him. God, Vin was so tight, so warm. He moved in deeper, brushing his fingertip over Vin's gland. The Texan's eyes opened. Blue, wide, unfocused, lost in sensual ecstasy. Sweat gleamed on his cheekbones, on his forehead, on his torso.

Chris's own need was raging in him now; his cock wept and burned, and he pulled his fingers from Vin to squeeze out more lube. He coated himself, nearly sobbing at the coolness of the gel, then eased his fingers back into Vin's body, preparing him; massaging and scissoring the ring of muscle until the resistance eased, and he knew he could enter without harm.

Vin raised his hips, felt Chris's cock hard and hot against his entrance. "Jesus, Chris! Now ..." he begged, unable to bear the physical and emotional ache Larabee aroused in him. And then he was impaled, the cramping pain of the intrusion becoming an entirely different sort of pain -- edged with unbearable pleasure. Chris began slow, rhythmic thrusts, raking across his prostate with ever deepening movements while his hand worked Vin's shaft at the same pace. His climax built with excruciating slowness, flesh burning from within, a heated boil of blood coursing through his thighs, his back, his groin. At the moment before it released, Vin opened his eyes and saw Chris raised over him, silver and gilt, somehow radiant through the tears that were gathering in his eyes. It was only a second, and then with one last thrust, Larabee sent Vin over the edge of sensation into a vast, velvety darkness.

Vin's channel clenched hard and Chris went deep. He pounded into Tanner's body, felt every muscle tighten, felt the Texan's balls contract as his orgasm pumped into his hand, spurting hot seed against Larabee's chest. Chris screamed as his climax was wrenched from him, as he emptied himself in a flood of pleasure. Vin was so tight, his body seemed to hold Chris inside, and, for an instant Chris lost himself as he never had before. Blood, semen, bone, muscle, breath and heartbeat, all belonged to Vin. He was spent, exhausted. He had nothing more to give.

His arms gave way and he sank down, his softened flesh slipping reluctantly from his lover's body. His head dropped down on Vin's shoulder, cool and hard beneath his heated cheek. He was shaking, and Vin reached down to pull the sheet and blanket over them both, coccooning them in warmth. Chris sighed deeply. "Jesus, Tanner. What've you done t'me?" he asked in wonderment.

Vin brushed the lank strands of blond hair from Chris's forehead, and wrapped his arms tight around his lean shoulders. "Loved ya, is all. Nothin' more, nothin' less."

Chris chuckled. "Felt like a whole lot more."

"Felt like that t'me, too." He was silent for a while, listening to Larabee's breath come and go, feeling his body slowly relax and warm. "Chris?" he asked.

"Mmm?" A low, drowsy rumble of a reply.

"It ain't like this always, is it?" His voice faltered as the words he sought eluded him. "I mean, this lovin' between us ... it's diff'rent ... not like anything else."

Chris pushed himself up on his elbow and gazed down into Vin's blue eyes. He smiled gently, smoothed back the ruffled brown hair. "Not like anything else I've ever known. What we've got here ..." he touched Vin's breast. "... and here ..." he touched his own. "Is more love than I'd thought I'd ever deserve."

"Then ya know why I took that shot," Vin said, reaching to caress the man he loved beyond all else.

Chris caught his palm to his lips. "I know."

"Could've saved us both a lot a' heartache if you'd admitted that earlier, Larabee." Wry amusement softened his rough voice.

Chris gazed down at his amazing lover. "Maybe. But this was one hell of a reminder," he drawled.

Blue eyes glinted wickedly. "Must be yer gittin' old, cowboy. Might have t'remind ya more often."

"Anytime, partner. Anytime." He kissed Vin and tucked him close. Their bodies settled into comfortable curves. He stroked Tanner's smooth shoulder. "It's been one hell of a day. I can't say I'm sorry it's over."

"Finished up all right, though." Vin's voice was a weary drawl, drifting away into a sigh of contentment.

"Yeah, it finished up all right." Chris kissed the tumbled brown curls that brushed against his chin. He cherished that slender body and the heart that throbbed against his hand. For a long while he lay awake thinking of what he had almost lost, and of what he had found. Mostly he thought of the man he held in his arms and the courage that came with love. Eventually, he slept, dreamless and deep.

The End