Chris raised his head groggily, realizing that he was no longer moving. Groaning he straightened in the saddle and looked around to find that he had arrived at his little shack. Slipping from the back of the black gelding, he nearly fell to the ground. Grasping the saddlehorn, he held on tightly, leaning against the saddle. Panting harshly for several minutes, he finally managed to stand away from Pony, then with an apologetic pat, the injured man released the horse into the corral. He hadn’t the energy to remove anything but the saddlebags; those he dragged behind him as he stumbled on quivering legs toward his home. Groaning, the man in black managed to open the door and cross the darkened room to his bed.

Dropping to the thin mattress, Larabee fought unconsciousness and unbuttoned his sweat-soaked shirt. The blond could no longer hold back the pain as he peeled the clothing from his bleeding back, the bandages pulling away from his torn flesh as he did.

Anguish. Blinding white lights flared and died before his tear-filled hazel eyes.

Agony. He screamed with every ounce of strength he had left.

Oblivion. He dropped bonelessly to the narrow bed.

----------

"Now gentlemen, are you all sufficiently calmed down so that we may discuss matters at hand?" Standish asked as soon as the last emptied mug hit the wooden table. The only answer he received was the cool glare of three pairs of eyes. "I will take this as an affirmative as long as you give me no reason to re-evaluate my conclusion."

"We’ve gotta figure out how we make things right," Buck said, doing his best to ignore the Southerner.

"Well, I reckon that’s obvious Buck," Tanner said with only a hint of his earlier anger.

"If only the answer were as obvious," Sanchez added. "Brothers, I believe that what has occurred may very well be irreparable. The things that Chris said to Nathan back there have opened long-festering wounds for him. The guilt that Chris feels for having to say those things to him is almost as damaging. If we aren’t able to get the two of them together long enough to talk --"

"Yeah, well Tanner helped take care of that," Wilmington growled. "Lettin’ Chris leave town –"

"I told you Wilmington – "

"Stop it!" Sanchez growled. "If the two of you don’t stop your bickering, I’m going to bang your heads together."

"Ah, hell," Ezra grumbled. Waving the other three off, he stood and strode from the saloon. "I suppose I shall have to do what I can to rectify the situation on my own." He stopped outside the batwing doors, contemplating his next move. Finally he made a decision and made his way purposefully toward the little clinic. Reaching the bottom of the wooden stairway, he looked upward, sighing as he considered the upcoming encounter. How would he, a Southerner, face Nathan Jackson and ask to discuss this issue? How could he look Nathan in the eye and ask him to forgive the ugliness that he had experienced for so many years?

"Well Ezra," he sighed, "it would seem that you have your work cut out for you. Asking a former slave to ignore the years of intolerance, bigotry, prejudice and ignorance in a Southern accent. I feel that I may do more harm than good. How do I ask him to forgive the nightmare that I helped to create for him…for all slaves? How do I ask him to forgive what I can no longer accept within myself?"

The gambler hung his head, a sound that mixed sigh and groan escaping his lips. Memories were called up by the current situation that he had only recently come to find repulsive. Visions crossed his mind’s eye that made his flesh crawl. It was a sensation that, some months ago, he would have never known. Guilt, a conscience, compassion. "Damned inconvenient for a purveyor of the confidence game. I really must make a visit to Mother soon…I feel that I am losing my edge."

Despite his jest, he continued to see the ugliness of his past, like so many gruesome portraits. Men and women, different from him only in the ethnic heritage, subjected to tortures too vile to imagine. He saw them being flogged, beaten, maimed, raped. He saw families torn asunder, forced into a separation as if they were dogs in a litter. Memories of pushing slaves from the walkway into the mud when they failed to step aside quickly enough; hitting them when they failed to satisfy his orders. While Ezra could take some comfort in the knowledge that he had done nothing worse than strike slaves with his hand, it was cold comfort. They had been punished because he had been unable to see them for who and what they were; human. It was only when he met Nathan and come to know him that he was willing and able to recognize the humanity of the race. Pressed into a relationship that he had been unwilling to accept for some time, he learned that invaluable lesson.

Then perhaps it was time to re-pay that lesson. Taking a deep breath and straightening his jacket, the gambler moved slowly up the stairway.

Above the ruminating man, Nathan Jackson had yet to move from where he had set since returning to the little town. He looked up as he heard footsteps on the wooden landing outside, coming toward the door he faced. The footsteps came closer, stopping only at the closed entrance to the little clinic he had once been so proud of. The books, the herbs and other medicinal paraphernalia mocked him now. He would never look at these things the same way again, their meaning had changed.

"Go away." He said tiredly in response to the rapid and heavy knock at the door.

"It’s Ezra, I wish to speak to you," came the answer.

"Ain’t in th’ mood for any of your fancy speeches right now, Ezra. Just leave me alone." He glared angrily when the smaller man easily managed the door’s lock and entered the clinic. "Damn you Standish, get the hell out of here."

"I fear I cannot oblige you right now, Nathan. Someone needs to speak to you and I seem to have been elected, if only by default." He didn’t elaborate, but continued. "It would appear that someone must ask you to do the impossible."

"And what would that be?"

"To put aside the pain and bitterness of years spent being treated as less than human."

"Ezra, that ain’t what’s going on here."

"Are you certain?"

Tortured dark eyes flared with both anguish and anger. "You’re a fine one to question me ‘bout this. How do you expect to understand what I’m feeling right now?"

"Perhaps I am the perfect one to discuss this with you Nathan," Standish said softly. "Who has a better understanding of what a victim has gone through than the perpetrator of that crime?"

"Now look, Ezra, I can’t say I figure you’re blameless. Reckon I know you well enough now, though, that I know that you weren’t bad as most."

"You place too much faith in me, Mister Jackson," the smaller man hung his head. "I am guilty of every crime visited on your race…by passive acceptance in nothing else."

Surprise crossed the handsome face of their healer. Nathan Jackson could barely believe the admission he was hearing. Ezra Standish, sounding regretful for being a member of the race that had enslaved his own? He wondered when that had happened, and why he hadn’t recognized it before now. Perhaps his own prejudices had blinded him to the fact that the conman had changed in the months that they had been together. Could he really have been so oblivious to who Ezra had become?

"Look Ezra, I appreciate what you’re saying here, but this ain’t about those times. This is about the fact that…" his voice broke and he continued in a tremulous whisper. "I picked up a whip, and I beat Chris Larabee with it. A man who waded in and saved my live before he even knew who – or what – I was. A man who’s been responsible for more good things in this town than anyone could have thought possible. I did the same sort of things that…that I’ve hated other men for doing. The things that were done to me…to my family…I did those things. Don’t you understand? I did those things…how do I live with that?" He broke down then, sobbing softly as he covered his face with his hands.

Standish sat down on the edge of the bed. He wanted to reach out to the other man, but was not certain that Jackson would tolerate the touch right now. He settled for reaching out to him with words. "Nathan, as inadequate as this sounds, no one blames you. Not even Chris. If anything, our Mr. Larabee blames himself for the things he said to force your hand. He was cognizant of what he was doing. Nathan, Chris said those things to help you do what had to be done. He did those things to protect the life of your young woman."

"Ezra, I know that. I understand that he did those things for Rain, to protect her. Believe me, I don’t hold any of it against Chris. What is tearing me apart is that I allowed myself to sink to the level of those… of those monsters, of all the ‘masters’ who destroyed so many lives simply because of the difference of color."

"You thought yourself above that sort of evil," Ezra stated.

"Well yeah," Nathan said with surprise in his voice. "I never thought I could do something so vile."

"You thought that you were better than those other men…your masters."

His eyes snapped as Jackson glared toward the other man. He expected to here some sort of discriminatory retort. But when he heard the next comment, he felt embarrassment for his assumption.

"You are better than those men, Nathan. Far, far better than any of them. There is no question in anyone’s mind, with the possible exception of yourself." Tentatively he reached out and touched the other man’s hand. "Nathan Jackson, you are more worthy of life than 100 of those despicable creatures. My lord, man, don’t you understand the good you’ve done for the people of this town…this territory…me? Just your ability to open my eyes to the ugliness that I once accepted as natural is an amazing feat." He grinned at the dark man.

A short laugh escaped the former slave. "Yeah, reckon if I never did another thing in my life, that ought’a secure me a place in heaven," he quipped.

Laughing, his dimples deepening, Standish said, "that it should Sir, that it should." Then sobering, he said, "What you did out there, was an awful thing Nathan, and no one expects you to be able to simply forget it. You would not be the compassionate man you are if you could put it aside so quickly. However, we also do not expect you to throw away the rest of your life because of a single…forced…act of violence. We expect you to depend upon your friends to assist you in going forward."

His head dropping back to his knees, Jackson said, "don’t know if I’ve got it in me to do that."

Ezra squeezed his friend’s shoulder now. "I know you do, Nathan. I know. You are a strong man, but for now you need to be strong enough to lean on those around you…those who care about you."

----------

He felt the heat surrounding him, but couldn’t see the fire. He wanted to go in search of the heat’s source, but found himself without the energy to move. He wanted to call out, but wasn’t for certain that he had the strength for that, either. There was pain…so much pain. At times he thought that pain was the source of the heat; it seemed to emanate from within. At other times he felt it surround him, wrapping him in heat and flame. None of it made any sense.

"Papa!" The word was filled with panic. "Papa, help!"

"Adam?" He whispered.

"Chris! Help us, please!"

"Sarah!"

"God, help us…Chris, please! Where are you? Why won’t you help us?"

"No! Sarah…I…" he stopped. What did he say? He hadn’t been there when they had needed him. He had failed his wife and son, left them alone to burn to death. "I’m…sorry, Sarah…I’m sorry." He felt tears rolling from beneath closed lids as the pain of the past and the present melded together in his fevered mind. "So…sorry."

"Chris." The voice was different now, there was no hint of fear. There was only the sound of love in his wife’s voice. The sound he had longed to hear for three years.

"Sarah?" He struggled to open his eyes, to look for his beloved wife, but could only lay there, his mind trapped by a failing body.

"Yes, darlin’," she whispered softly. He felt her touch on his cheek. "It’s time to stop feeling this guilt Chris. You’re not to blame for what happened, and neither Adam nor I have ever blamed you. That blame has always been in your mind, and your mind alone. The only thing your son and I feel for you is love, Chris Larabee."

The shadow of a smile touched the handsome face at the words. Hearing his wife speak to him of love was something he had longed to hear for three years, knowing it was hopeless. "I love you to, Sarah Larabee…I love you and Adam so much… I miss you…"

"We’re always near, darlin’, and we always will be. You’ve never been alone, no matter how lonely you’ve felt. But now you’ve got other folks to consider, other lives depending on you. You’ve got to stay alive for them…don’t give up. There’s one life in particular that’s depending on you right now. One friend who’s life might very well end if you die."

"Nathan."

"Yes darlin’. You’ve got to hang on, for Nathan."

"But…so tired…I don’t know if…I can."

"You’ve got to Chris. I know it’s hard, but you’ve got to fight to stay alive. Can you do that for me sweet man? Can you hold on to life? You’re doing so much good, darlin’, please don’t give up now. Don’t give up." Her voice grew fainter, becoming more and more difficult to hear.

"SARAH!" Chris cried out, his body arching off the bed. Then he collapsed, falling into the darkness as he crumpled to the mattress.

----------

Ezra leaned against the wall as he watched Nathan shuffle around the room, seeming to be sorting out his feelings as he touched books, herbs, and other medicinal elements of the clinic. The conman watched as the healer seemed to contemplate each item, as if sorting out its significance to his life.

After nearly an hour, he said quietly, "don’t reckon these feelings are gonna go away anytime soon, but you’re right Ezra…hard as it is for me to admit to that. I’ve gotta find a way to get past this, and I can’t shut out those close to me either." He looked with something akin to amazement in his face as he said, "thank you Ezra Standish."

His dimples making another appearance on the handsome, boyish face, Standish said simply, "you’re welcome, Nathan Jackson." Then his face grew somber. "However, I must address something that must take precedence over anything else at this time."

"Chris."

"In a word, yes."

"I’ll go over to his room as soon as I can gather up some stuff –"

"He is not in his room, Nathan."

The former slave grew pale, afraid of that those words might mean. "What are you saying?" He whispered.

"He’s gone out to his cabin, bent on recuperating there in the wilderness." Standish shook his head, obviously finding the gunslinger’s actions incomprehensible.

The fear lessened but did not leave the handsome face. Chris was alive, but there was no way he was strong enough to be on his own as yet. "What were y’all thinking, lettin’ him go off alone? Damn it Ezra, he ain’t well enough to be alone."

"You know our morose leader, Mr. Jackson. He asked no man’s permission, but did exactly what he wished to do. I will not lie to you, his departure did play a part in my visiting you so quickly. If the circumstances had been different – "

"Ezra, explain later," Nathan said shaking his head. "Right now I’ve gotta get out there as quick as I can. Can you go down and ask Yosemite to saddle my horse for me while I get things gathered up?"

With a nod, the southerner said, "it would be my pleasure, Mister Jackson."

----------

"Nathan!" The young woman who had stolen his heart ran toward the healer as he reached the bottom of the stairs. She stopped tentatively a few paces from him, uncertain as to his disposition. With a quick smile, the big man wrapped his arms around her.

"I’m sorry girl, I… I just couldn’t… "

Placing a finger on his lips, she said, "no, do not apologize. I understand, truly I do. I only wanted to be certain that you understood as well."

With a quick kiss on her finger, he took her hand clutching it against his chest. Looking over her head, he saw Ezra leading Able from the stable. "I do understand, Rain, thanks to what a good friend told me."

Looking behind her, she saw the gambler approach; recognized the horse. "Where are you going?"

"Chris took off to his cabin alone. Reckon I’d better do my job and go tend his wounds." Gazing into her beautiful face, he continued, "can you stay until I get back? I’d like to escort you back to your village."

She glowed as she said, "I will be here when you return."

Kissing her on the forehead, the big man said, "I’m glad you’re okay girl." With that he turned, taking the reins from Standish. "Thanks Ezra."

With a tip of his hat, the southerner said, "you’re welcome. And if you will permit me, I shall escort Miss Rain to the restaurant for dinner."

Trying to look stern, the former slave said, "you gonna be on your best behavior?"

Laughing heartily, Standish replied, "I shall be a perfect gentleman, Sir." Offering his arm to the young woman, he looked up at his friend. "Do you trust me, Mr. Jackson?"

Smiling, his eyes betraying his gratitude for the other man’s earlier show of compassion, Nathan said, "of course I trust you." He made a formal gesture, handing the young woman over to the gambler. As he watched the two start off, he couldn’t help but add, "’course Rain’s pretty good at handlin’ herself with a knife, y’know."

Laughter followed the man and woman down the street.

----------

Nathan rode as quickly as possible from the little town to the man in black’s little shack. He had managed to keep the thoughts of what he might find to a minimum; trying not to dwell on the possibilities, or the feelings of guilt that threatened to overwhelm him. If he had been stronger, none of this would have happened. He should have been able to find a way to keep those men from hurting either Rain or Chris. He had failed them both; had not been strong enough to protect them.

Pushing Able faster, he finished his trip with the horse at a dead run. Chris had suffered enough because he had not been available, he would not allow him to suffer any longer. He reached the little house, reining in at the corral. Spotting Pony, he saw that the horse still wore it’s saddle and tack; not a good sign. Releasing his own horse into the corral as well, he grabbed his saddlebags and rushed toward the house. The door stood open, yet another sign that something was very wrong.

"Chris?" He called out. There was no answer, and he tried again. "Chris!"

"Na-Na…than…I…oh…I," the voice was strangled, filled with pain and tinged with fear.

He entered the little house, the darkness hiding his friend from him until his eyes adjusted. "Chris?" he knew the one room home well enough to be at the bed before he could see the blond in the darkness. Kneeling, he gently touched the man’s fevered brow.

Larabee replied with a soft moan. "Nathan…hurts…hot," he whispered.

Flinching at the heat he felt emanating from Larabee’s face and neck, he said softly, "I know it does, Chris. Just hang on an’ let me get some light in here, then I’m gonna get those wounds tended to. Alright? You hear me?"

"Y-yeah," the answer came.

Stroking the fevered brow, he said, "Alright then, you lay still and I’ll be right back." With that he stepped quickly to the table and lit the lantern he knew Larabee kept there. Once the room was bathed in soft lantern light, he grabbed the bucket sitting nearby, and literally ran to the nearby creek. Once the container was filled with cold water, he returned to the shack, and the injured man. He moved the table closer to the bed, then lay his supplies out before turning back to his friend.

Still lying on his stomach, it was easy to see that Chris had been bleeding, the stains soaking through the roughly bound bandages. Dry blood was mingled with fresh, until there was barely a hairsbreadth of cloth untouched. He was drenched in sweat, his face flushed. Nathan took this as a promising sign; at least the infection hadn’t had time to take a serious toll. If he could get enough fluids into the gunslinger, and clean the wounds well enough, Chris would have a good chance of making a full recovery. Taking up a cloth, he dampened it and bathed the other man’s face. "Take it easy Chris, it’s gonna be fine. Just lay still and let me take care of everything. I’m going to give you something for the pain now, then I’ll tend your wounds. It’s gonna hurt Chris, I ain’t gonna lie to you. I’m sorry…reckon I’m gonna have to put you through even more pain than I already have. I’m sorry Chris…I – "

A trembling hand reached up and touched the healer’s hand as it continued to stroke the cloth across his face. "No…N-Nathan…my…f-fault…not…y-yours," he whispered the words, the pain still raw in his voice. The effort taking its toll, he sighed then, drifting into unconsciousness.

Lifting the man’s head, Jackson fed him a liberal dose of Laudanum. Easing him back to the sweat-soaked pillow, he mixed the ingredients to make a poultice while he waited for the opiate to take effect. Several minutes had passed before he continued his work on the injured man. Taking his sharpest knife, he began cutting away the sodden strips of cloth. Even unconscious the removal of the bandages elicited deep and heart-rending moans from the blond.

"I’m sorry Chris, I’m sorry," the former slave said softly. He wasn’t certain that Larabee could hear him, but he felt the need to say the words. "None of this should have ever happened. If I could’a figured out something sooner, I could’a kept you safe…kept Rain safe. Neither one of you should’a been hurt by…by me."

Words failed him then, and he worked in silence and with speed. Removing the bandages, he gently probed the other man’s wounds. The others had done a good job at cleaning the wounds, but infection had set in. Carefully prodding the wounds, he cleared the infection as well as he could. Then, wishing he had help, he applied carbolic acid to the wounds.

The moans escalated toward a scream, Chris bucked then went rigid as the pain coursed through him. Remaining as steady as possible, Nathan continued, knowing that he had to finish once he had started. As the shock wore off, the injured man once again succumbed to the darkness, making Jackson’s job somewhat easier.

----------

"May I inquire as to where the two of you are absconding at this late hour?" Ezra asked drolly from the open doorway of the livery.

"Reckon that’s our business," Buck said curtly.

"It is not that difficult to ascertain that you and Mr. Tanner are preparing to leave for our Mr. Larabee’s little home. Do you think it wise for the two of you to travel unescorted?"

Vin walked into a nearby lantern’s light, turning toward the gambler. Ezra could see a burgeoning black eye on the youthful face. "Reckon we’ll be fine," he said quietly.

Coming closer to the gambler, Buck displayed a swollen lip and a blood-crusted nose. "Me an’ Vin worked it all out, Ezra. Ain’t nothin’ t’ worry ‘bout now." With that, he mounted General and started out the door. Vin was quick behind him, astride Peso.

----------

By the time he had managed to re-bandage the cleaned wounds, the healer was exhausted. Settling Chris back onto the bed, he sat back on his heels, leaning forward against the bed. Folding his hands as if in prayer, he watched the bandaged back rise and fall slowly. Another good sign perhaps, he was no longer panting with pain and fever. Jackson felt a twinge of frustration at his inability to be sure. He felt the heavy burden of his ignorance weigh on his shoulders once again.

Rubbing a hand over his face, the dark man shut away his own pain and the doubts that accompanied it. Time enough for that later, after he managed to get Chris back on his feet and on the road to recovery. Then he would sit down and consider his place in the town; in their little brotherhood; in the world. He would make a decision as to what he wanted to do next. For now, he would concentrate solely on helping the man regain his strength. It was the least he could do, considering he had been the one to injure him.

A knock on the door drew Jackson from his musing. Walking softly across the room in just a few steps, he eased open the door; two familiar silhouettes stood outside. "Wondered when y’all would be showin’ up. Could’a used extra hands ‘bout 20 minutes ago." He motioned the men back out, following them and closing the door. "He’s sleepin’ right now, but restless. I’d rather not have him disturbed by us talkin’."

Grinning, Buck yelped and held his kerchief to his mouth. The movement had re-opened the split he had received in his fight with the rangy tracker.

"You walk into a wall, or an angry husband?" Nathan asked.

"Try a stubborn tracker," Wilmington said ruefully.

"Yeah, well you ain’t ‘xactly one t’ listen t’ reason without a few knocks on th’ head, Bucklin," Vin responded.

"Alright you two, don’t get started again, I’ve got a sleepin’ man in there, and I’d just as soon keep him that way. I’d appreciate it if you’d both stay out til mornin’."

Looking first at Wilmington, then at Jackson, Tanner replied with a nod, "reckon we can oblige y’ there Nathan. Reckon I’ll just go sleep under th’ stars…if y’ need me sing out."

"Yeah, me too," Buck agreed. He walked with the smaller man back to the corral where they had left their gear, along with the saddles and tack they had removed from both Pony and Able. Ever mindful of how well an animal was treated, Vin rubbed down each animal in turn, while Buck saw to the feed and water. Both men were anxious to see their friend; to confirm his health with their own eyes. But they also knew that Nathan didn’t request their absence lightly. If Chris needed sleep more than he needed his friends, than they would stay out of the way for now. It was enough that they were nearby, ready to lend assistance as soon as it was requested.

Nathan watched the other two for a few minutes, then returned to his charge. Chris lay as still as he had for some time, only the occasional soft moan escaping his lips. Pulling one of the straightback chairs near the bed, he sat down, watching the other man sleep.

Outside, the other two men finished caring for the horses in the bright moonlight. The sun would be rising in just a few hours; it would be a very long few hours however. Although they expressed it differently, neither man was long on patience, especially when it came to their friend. By silent agreement they spread their bedrolls out just beyond the house. They could be inside within seconds if Nathan should need their help. Neither man expected to sleep, but the slipped under the blankets in the hope that they could catch a few minutes sleep to make the night pass a little faster.

----------

The sun was just beginning to hint at its appearance on the horizon when Nathan Jackson stepped out onto the small porch. Chris had slept quietly through the dark hours, giving the healer even more hope that the ordeal would be short-lived. Finally he gave into the long hours of sitting on the hard chair seat and decided to stretch his legs. As he stood watching the sun’s ascent he heard a soft rustling nearby.

"I smell coffee," Vin said quietly.

"Just made a pot, if you’re interested."

"I know I am, ‘specially if this ‘n didn’t make it," Buck chimed in. Both he and Tanner appeared around the corner of the house to join Jackson, the younger man smacking the older on the shoulder.

"Least when I make it, a person can drink th’ damn stuff," he groused. He stepped past the other men and went to retrieve the coffee, leaving the other two men to talk. He had more interest in seeing Chris right now.

Entering the dimly lit room, he walked quietly, stopping at the bed only long enough to reassure himself that Chris Larabee still breathed. Allowing himself a small smile of relief, he gathered up the coffee pot and two mugs, returning to the porch. Buck had slumped to one of the chairs, talking quietly with Nathan, who leaned against one of the uprights. Tossing one of the mugs to Wilmington, Tanner filled the other and then sat the pot on the table.

Turning to Nathan, he said quietly, "he looks peaceful, is that a good sign?"

Smiling, Jackson said, "yeah, seems to be mostly just sleeping now. His fever broke ‘bout an hour ago – "

"Thank God for that," Vin said with a relieved grin.

"Thank Nathan for that," Buck disagreed.

"NO!" Jackson’s voice shook with the pain and guilt he continued to feel. "Don’t nobody go thankin’ me for none a this. If I’d done right by Chris…by anyone…he wouldn’t have had to go through any of this."

"Nathan, you’re blaming the wrong person here, " Buck said. "You didn’t have a hell of a lot a choice here. Those crazy bastards forced your hand… they forced Chris’ hand. Neither of y’ had any other options in this pard. If y’ hadn’t done what y’ did, Rain’d be dead, or hurt a lot worse ‘n what happened t’ Chris."

"Yeah, well the difference there is that I did that to Chris. Not those other men – "

"They made it all happen, Nathan, all of it," Vin added. "They gave y’ no choice… none. Rain’s life was at stake. Chris understood that; he did the only thing he could to keep her alive."

"I know all that," Nathan said with a sigh. "All of it. I think part of me knew it even when it was happening. But… I don’t know, I just – "

"Y’ know it in your head," Vin said, looking into the pain-filled dark eyes. "But y’ haven’t accepted it in your heart yet. When y’ do, you’ll be able to forgive yourself."

"No…won-der…you’re a…p-poet…" a breathless voice greeted them all. As one they turned to find Chris Larabee, dressed only in his familiar black jeans, his upper body swathed in bandages, standing in the doorway. More precisely, he was weaving dangerously in the doorway, each movement threatening to pitch him to the ground.

Reaching him first, Nathan grabbed his friend just as his knees buckled. "What the hell do you think you’re doing Chris Larabee?" He reprimanded. "You get back in that bed, y’hear?" The three men managed to get the man in black to one of the chairs and Jackson quickly stripped and changed the bed while Vin and Buck supported the injured Larabee. While Wilmington stood next to him, Tanner squatted before him, giving the blond someone to lean on.

"Gotta say you’re lookin’ a bit better pard," the tracker said as he looked up into the other man’s face.

"Must look…better’n I…feel," Chris jibbed in a trembling voice.

Vin smiled; he felt the older man squeeze his shoulder. "Don’t reckon it’d take much," he replied.

"Okay, let’s get him to bed," Jackson had cleaned the bed up as best he could given the gunslinger’s limited supplies. Together, they managed to get Chris back into the bed without causing more than a minimum of pain. At Nathan’s request, Buck brought the bedrolls in and, using the blankets, they packed them in front of the injured man, leaning him forward against them. "How’s that feel Chris?" the healer asked.

"’kay," Larabee breathed the word, his voice still trembling with pain.

"This oughta be more comfortable than layin’ on your belly. You get uncomfortable, you let me know. I’ll roll y’ over. Don’t you go tryin’ t’ move ‘round on your own. Hear me?"

"Uunh," Chris mumbled, nearly unconscious now.

Turning toward the other men, Nathan said, "reckon he’ll sleep for awhile. Why don’t you fellas go back into town, ain’t no reason for you to sit around here watchin’ starin’ at him."

"Reckon I just see t’ th’ horses and such," Vin said. "Chris’ll need some help ‘round here for awhile anyway, I’ll just get a head start." Before the others could answer or argue, the buckskin-clad man left the little house.

With a shake of his head, Wilmington said, "man’s ‘bout as easy t’ see through as a whore’s petticoat. Reckon I’ll let him hang ‘round here an’ bother y’. I’ll head back int’ town an’ let th’ others know what’s goin’ on." He tipped his hat, gave a final glance at his long-time friend, and left.

As he watched the big man retreat, Jackson quipped, "thanks. Havin’ these two around’s gonna be about as lively as watchin’ paint dry."

With a chuckle, Buck waved over his shoulder and continued on.

----------

The day had passed uneventfully. Vin had stayed outside most of the time, doing odd jobs that he deemed necessary. He checked in from time to time, helping Nathan when needed, but mostly simply watching his friend for a minute, making certain he was still alright. After they had managed to get Chris to take a bit of broth and ate their own dinner, Tanner convinced Nathan to catch some sleep. The healer had made him promise to wake him at midnight, but Tanner had no intention of doing so. He knew that the past several days had taken a toll on the former slave and he needed rest as much as Chris did. Shooing the big man out to sleep in the bed of Chris’ wagon, he sat up watch over the blond. Larabee lay almost too still, but Vin was rewarded by easy rise and fall of the bandaged chest.

A new day was dawning when the former buffalo hunter heard footsteps approaching the door. He turned to find a still-groggy Jackson shuffling into the shack. "Mornin’," Tanner said with a smile. He poured the former stretcher bearer a cup of coffee.

Looking at the mug suspiciously, Jackson said, "you make this?"

Nodding, his blue eyes shining brightly, Vin replied, "ain’t nothin’ll wake y’ up as good ‘s m’ coffee."

Unconvinced, Jackson continued, "thought you were gonna wake me up last night."

"Wasn’t sleepy, figured you could use the rest." Vin answered with a shrug.

"Thanks," the healer answered, making a face as he swallowed some of the bitter brew Vin Tanner claimed was coffee. He couldn’t understand how the tracker could complain about his medicinal teas; they didn’t taste nearly as bad as the tracker’s coffee.

"He slept real well most a th’ night," the tracker reported. "Got restless a time or two, but calmed down as soon ‘s I gave him a drink a water or washed off his face."

"Good news," Jackson replied. "Look, I’ll get some breakfast going. After we eat, why don’t you go catch some sleep. You’re not lookin’ too spry yourself right now."

Any reply was cut off by a yawn. "Yeah, I reckon I could use a couple hours sleep. I’ll go check on th’ horses while you fix breakfast, okay?"

"Anything to keep you from cooking," Nathan joked.

Feigning a hurt look, the smaller man left the little house.

"Good…move," a hoarse voice whispered from the bed.

"Mornin’ Chris," Nathan said, kneeling down next to the gunman. "How are you feelin’?"

"Better…I th-think," the blond replied. "H-how…are you?"

Jackson started to pretend ignorance, but one soul-reading look of those hazel eyes left him unable to do anything but tell the truth. "I’ve been better, Chris, I won’t lie to you. What I did to you…" he shook his head, the words failing him.

"What you had…to do, Na…than," he said softly. "I forced…your hand. Those b-bastards…forced mine. Reckon we both…did what we…had to."

Dark eyes searching the pain-lined face, the ex-slave said, "Chris, I am so sorry…I don’t know how you can ever even look at me after what I did to you."

"Y-you’re as stubborn…’s Buck is Nathan. I don’t blame…you for…this. You o-only…did what you…had to. D-don’t blame…y’self." The blond’s strength was waning.

Dropping his head to the mattress, the healer heaved a deep sigh. When he raised his head once more, he was almost smiling. "Tell you what, Chris Larabee. I’ll try forgivin’ myself as long as you forgive yourself. We got a deal?"

With a smile, his eyes drooping closed, Chris nodded. "Deal," he agreed.

The End.