"Mr. Tanner? Vin? Time to wake up. Come on ... I know you’re in there." The warm hand moved from his wrist to his cheek. He tried to lift his arm to brush the touch aside, and couldn’t. Aw, hell.

His eyes slitted open. He knew where he was. Hospital. Wasn’t quite sure why, though. His side hurt. That’s right. He’d been shot by ... Gianni D’Amico? His head moved restlessly on the pillow. Couldn’t be right ... Images flashed through his mind.

He was running up a flight of stairs, blood was seeping through his fingers. Troy D’Amico in his grip, a wild look in his eyes, and then he was falling ... And Chris –

"Chris!" Vin gasped and his eyes flew open wide. "Larabee! I gotta see him! He’s hurt —" He fought to sit up, fear giving him strength to fight hard against the restraint.

The hand on his shoulder held him back ruthlessly. "He’s all right. Vin, look at me. He’s all right. Take it easy."

That compelling voice forced its way into his awakening mind, and he fell back against the pillow. He knew that voice, knew it would bring him back safely. He opened him eyes and looked up into Dr. Elizabeth Stone’s tired face. "Doc?"

Her brows were knit in a frown, but her mouth smiled. "Yes?"

"Is Chris okay?"

"Turn your head to the right."

He did. Larabee was in the next room. His face was heavily bandaged and one green eye was completely obscured, the other was fixed on Vin. Chris’s smile was weak and his fingers barely twitched when he tried to signal to him, but he was alive.

"See?" Elizabeth Stone nodded to Chris.

"What time is it?"

"Just after midnight. You, Buck, and Chris were brought in around four this afternoon."

Vin’s eyes closed again. "Jesus. Bucklin, too?"

"He’s fine. In fact, he’ll probably be released in the morning. You and Chris, on the other hand, will be our guests for a while."

"Shit," Vin groaned and then looked instantly contrite. "Sorry, Doc. It ain’t a reflection on you."

"Oh, I know. You just love all the attention you get in here, right?"

Vin’s mouth twitched in lopsided smile that didn’t quite erase the concern in his eyes. "Doc, is he ... I mean his eye’s all bandaged up. And his face was bloody. Is he gonna be bl —" He couldn’t even say the word. "He’s gonna be able to see?"

"Well, all I can really tell you is that his cheekbone was fractured and pretty swollen. Dr. Reinhardt is going to take a look at him tomorrow. But so far everything seems normal for the kind of abuse he’s taken."

"But that ain’t the reason he’s in ICU."

Dr. Stone sighed. Tanner had been here so often he might as well have the letters M.D. after his name. "Not entirely."

"S’that ulcer a’ his, right?"

"Aren’t you the least interested in your own condition?" she asked, exasperated.

"Nope. But I reckon yer gonna tell me anyhow."

She pulled up a chair to the bedside. "You have to take better care of yourself, Vin. Why didn’t you tell anybody that you were having pain and fever?"

"I figured I’s jist healing slow. And I didn’t know I had a fever. Didn’t feel like it."

"Your Superman act didn’t help. You could have killed yourself."

"And D’Amico could’a killed a lot more folks. He was gonna do it, too. I couldn’t let him. Nearly killed Ezra twice, and Chris. Maybe that ain’t a price I’s willin’ to negotiate," he said stubbornly and closed his eyes. "I’m tired. Jist wanta sleep."

"All right, Vin. But you, me, and Larabee are going to have a talk once you’re both out of ICU. And you’re not going to dodge it, you hear?"

"Yeah," he sighed. "I hear." He turned his head towards the glass wall and watched as a nurse fussed with Larabee’s IV’s and bandages. When she moved aside, Chris was sleeping. Vin didn’t take his eyes off his friend until they closed, and he, too, drifted to sleep.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Ezra arrived at Mercy General the next morning, went up to the ICU, walked confidently over to the cubicle where Vin had been a few hours earlier and looked in on an empty and stripped bed. A quick glance to the right revealed that Chris was also gone, which was good news, he hoped.

A light tap on his shoulder made him turn quickly. One of the floor nurses stood there, smiling. "If you’re looking for Mr. Tanner and Mr. Larabee, they’ve been moved to the surgical floor. Room 1098."

"Together?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yeah. Like we could separate those two without one or the other raising a ruckus."

"It seems their reputation precedes them," Ezra sighed. "Thank you." He gave her a smile that had all the respect and deference of a courtly bow, and she sighed after he had gone. The floor was a lot drearier without the presence of Tanner and Larabee. Calmer, but certainly less interesting on a number of levels.

Room 1098 was a large, sunny corner room, the sort that was usually reserved for VIP patients. Ezra wondered if Rain and Nathan had the pull to get it for Chris and Vin, or if it was somebody higher up pulling the strings ... like Orrin Travis. It seemed the least he could do, seeing as it was partially his fault that they were in the hospital to begin with. Ezra found it hard to sympathize even though he knew Travis would have done anything to avoid causing harm to his agents. Hindsight was twenty-twenty, though, and no semi-private room with a view would entirely assuage the man’s guilt.

The door was partially ajar. Ezra paused with his hand raised to knock, but there was no sound from inside, so he pushed the door open and peered around the corner. Chris’s blonde head was turned away from the door, so Ezra couldn’t tell if he was awake or not. He entered and looked around the slight curve of the room. Vin was sitting up, gazing out the window.

"It is refreshing to see you upright for a change Mr. Tanner." Ezra sauntered into the room. "I was beginning to wonder if being prone was a permanent condition."

"M’head hurts enough without twenty-five thousand dollar words, Ez. But thanks fer the thought. I ‘preciate it."

Ezra studied the still form in the other bed. "How is Mr. Larabee?"

"Been sleepin’ pretty much ever since they brought him down. Reckon he needs it." Vin’s gaze lingered a moment. "How’re you doin’, Ezra?"

"I am not a patient in this facility, therefore, I am grateful."

Vin raised his bed a bit more. "You mind handin’ me some water?" he asked. Ezra poured some water from a plastic carafe into a glass and handed it to him. It was awkward with the IV tubing in his arm, and he was still appallingly weak. The thin plastic glass seemed to weigh a lot more than it should. He took a couple sips and set the glass down before he lay back against his pillows, exhausted.

Ezra picked up the glass and slipped his arm beneath Vin’s head. "Let me do the work, all right?"

Vin drank several swallows before he refused more. "Thanks, Ez. You been t’see Buck?"

"Our friend seems to be in clover, as ever, with the fairer sex. I left him in the company of a charmin’ lady named Kerry."

Vin laughed. "Evidence tech Kerry?"

Ezra groaned. "Mr. Wilmington obviously has not considered the drawbacks in such a relationship."

"Drawbacks?"

"Would you date a woman who makes a career of gathering evidence of covert activity? And who is licensed to carry?" He shuddered. "What *is* he thinking?"

"Buck thinks when there’s a woman around?" Vin chuckled softly. "C’ain’t say I’ve noticed." That small movement made his side twinge and his mouth draw in a thin line. Ezra shook his head.

"You my friend, need to get some rest."

"Ya don’t have t’leave, Ez. I’m all right."

"You will be better for sleep." Ezra rose and offered his hand. "Considerin’ that Orrin Travis will undoubtedly be knocking on your door with too many questions that need answers."

"Thanks fer the reminder, Ez." Vin gave him a small, dour smile and closed his eyes. Ezra was not a man to open his mind or heart to others; but despite his self-sufficiency and independence he considered Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee to be among the few people in this world he trusted and respected unconditionally. As he looked at his two wounded, weary friends, he wondered how on earth Travis could justify the decisions that had led them to this place, to this fragile state of being. To Ezra’s mind, he couldn’t.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

It was late in the afternoon before Orrin Travis could escape from the office and the telephone that had seemingly been glued to his ear for the last twenty-four hours. So many questions, false assumptions, accusations ... and no one wanted to take responsibility in the end for the monumental fuck-up this operation had become.

Then at 4pm, when he was just about to take out his own gun and shoot himself just to get rid of the headache that had been plaguing him since dawn, a package FedEx-ed overnight from Treasury headquarters in Washington had landed on his desk. In it were letters of commendation for the members of Team Seven. He doubted any of the seven men would be honored to receive them, not when they had been used with brutal disregard for their safety in the interest of an internal investigation. But the citations gave him a good excuse to stop dodging his own conscience and go to the hospital.

He called Evie, told her he would be late, and the reason why. He wondered if he was imagining the faint disapproval in her voice – not at his tardiness, but at the poor judgments he had made over the last few weeks.

He didn’t know what he expected to find at the hospital; certainly not Vin Tanner sitting in a chair next to Chris’s bed, his hand cupped lightly over Larabee’s, speaking in that soft rasp of a voice, urging him to wake up.

Larabee was nearly as pale as the bandages on his face. A bag of blood was dripping steadily through an IV line, piggybacked with some sort of clear hydration. Tanner didn’t look much better despite being upright. But evidently one of his teammates had taken pity on him and had dropped off some of his own clothes. Flannel pajama bottoms and a worn blue terry robe. God, he looked young. Too young to have the sort of record that Travis knew he had; Army Ranger, sniper, bounty hunter, U.S. Marshall, ATF. And he had survived them all ... barely.

"How is he?" Travis cleared his throat and entered the room.

Vin looked at him a moment before speaking. "Been drifting in and out all day. They got him on painkillers, and that stuff they give him before he gets blood puts him out like a light."

"And you?"

"Reckon I’m on the mend." He pushed himself to his feet, reached for his IV pole, swayed a bit. Travis took his arm and helped him back to the bed. Tanner didn’t refuse the help, but as soon as he could, he pulled away from the support. Getting his legs up on the bed seemed beyond his strength, so without speaking or waiting for Tanner to ask, Travis carefully lifted his legs and covered him with the light blanket.

Vin’s eyes widened at the kindness, and he nodded a brief thank-you. Travis reached into his suit coat pocket and pulled out one of the letters. "This came from Washington this afternoon. I thought you should have it."

Vin looked down at his casted hand. "You mind openin’ it?"

He didn’t mind. He broke the seal and took out the letter, snapping it open. "It’s a citation for conspicuous bravery above and beyond the call of duty."

Vin gave an exhausted sigh and his head wilted against the pillows. "I’s jist doin’ my job."

"There is one for every member of the team."

"Reckon ya gotta salve every wound." He closed his eyes. "I don’t mean t’be rude, sir, but I’m tired now."

"Yes, son. I imagine you are." A gentle hand rested for a moment on his shoulder. The citation fluttered to the blankets, but Tanner didn’t move. Travis went to Chris’s bedside and set the citation on the nightstand. Larabee’s blond hair was matted and flecked with dry blood, his lip was swollen and cracked, and a dark bruise spread across his cheekbone. Travis didn’t want to know what damage lay beneath the thick padding of bandages. A dry prickling behind his eyelids and in his throat took him by surprise. He looked away, blinked, and when he looked up, Ezra Standish was standing in the doorway.

"Ezra."

"Director Travis."

The exchange had all the warmth of greetings between warring treaty negotiators. There were words to say on both sides, but neither man was sure this was the time or place to say them.

Travis cleared his throat. "I was just leaving." He reached into his pocket. "But I have something for you." He held out the envelope. Ezra looked at it distrustfully, as if it contained a pink slip, or worse. "It’s not bad news, Ezra."

He took the envelope from Travis, opened it and read the words. "Very complimentary. I suppose there is one for all of us?"

"As a matter of fact, yes."

"Of course."

"Standish, this is supposed to be an honor!"

"It is salt rubbed into a wound, and you know it!" Ezra hissed furiously. "And it is an insult to these two men to see it as anything else!" With an expert flip of his wrist he sailed the envelope into the waste basket, turned crisply, and walked away.

Travis stood like stone. He had expected this to be difficult. He hadn’t expected it to hurt quite as much as it did. Sighing, he bent and took the envelope from the wastebasket. He would deliver it at a later date when all of this had come to some sort of resolution. Meanwhile, he had some choice words for the brass in Washington, and this time, he wasn’t going to choke them back.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

He felt like he had been asleep for a hundred years; old, stiff, hurting, weak. He opened his undamaged eye with an effort and blinked at the dim light overhead. He wondered how long he’d been out of it this time. The last thing he remembered was a nurse giving him two Benadryl capsules before she hung a bag of blood. He turned his head towards the IV pump. The blood was gone, just hydration and the small bag of antibiotics. He moved his free hand to his abdomen and felt the bandage over the small incision. Ten years ago, he would have had a scar slashing across his belly; now, just this pad of gauze the size of one he’d put on a child’s skinned knee. He fumbled for the remote with the buttons to raise his bed. It responded with a low hum and creak of springs. When he was more or less upright, he raised the light level and looked around.

Vin’s bed was empty but rumpled. Chris hoped that meant he was up and moving around. The clock on the wall opposite read 10pm, not late by any standards, particularly Vin’s. There was a carafe of water on the bedside table and Chris’s mouth felt like it had been swabbed out with cotton. He pushed the call button and a few minutes later, a nurse came through the door.

"Mr. Larabee, I’m Winnie. I’ll be your nurse for the night. Lynn will be back in the morning. How can I help you?"

"I’m thirsty but I didn’t know if I’m NPO."

Her brows flew up. "How much time *have* you spent in the hospital?"

He grinned. "More than I like."

"You can have clear liquids by mouth. We’ll move on to soft foods in a day or so." She poured some water into a glass and handed it to him. "Do you feel like getting out of bed?"

"Yeah, I do. Umm, where’s my roomie?"

"Mr. Tanner is in the lounge watching TV. He didn’t want to wake you up." She stood by the bed as he swung his legs over the side and stood up. He was grateful for her shoulder while he grew steady on his feet. He got a grip on the IV pole and managed to make his way to the small bathroom. "Can you manage?" she asked tactfully.

"I’ll let you know." When Hell froze over unless he dropped on the floor in a faint. He didn’t. And she was waiting with a bathrobe over her arm when he came out. His own bathrobe. "Where’d that come from?" he asked.

"I believe your friend Ezra Standish brought it for you when he dropped off some things for Mr. Tanner." She helped him slide the sleeve over the arm that was unencumbered by the IVs, draped it around the shoulder that was, and then tied the belt loosely around his waist to secure it. "There. Ready?"

"How far is it to the lounge?"

"Down at the end of the hall. Think you can make it?"

"You’ll be the first to know if I can’t."

Small steps, and far too many it seemed, but it was good to be moving on his own steam, even if it felt like his stomach was going to fall out of his abdomen, and his depth perception was thrown off by the bandages. Winnie held the door for him and he looked inside. The room was dimly lit by a lamp and the glow from the television. Vin was sitting cross-legged on the couch. One arm was in a cast, but other than that, he seemed in pretty good shape. A lot of tension that Chris had been carrying around inside of him uncoiled and he walked slowly over to the couch and eased himself down.

Vin turned to him with a smile. "Hey, pard."

"Hey, yourself." Chris leaned his head back against the cushions. "Damn, that’s a long walk."

"Yer jist gettin’ old, Larabee." Vin held out his good hand. "But I ain’t gonna say I’m not glad t’see ya."

Chris gripped it with all the strength he had. Not even enough to make Vin wince. Now that was sad. He studied his friend’s drawn face. Vin looked exhausted. Pale. Not at ease despite the apparent end of the case. Or maybe not so apparent, Chris wondered. "How are you, Vin? Seriously."

"Seriously?" He shook his head. "Been better. Been worse, too. Doc Stone is gonna read us both the riot act t’morrow."

"Great ..." Chris groaned. "Just what I need." He scrubbed a hand over his forehead. "You mind tellin’ me just what went on up there on that rooftop? I’d like to know."

Just looking at the bruises on his face and the way he was protecting his abdomen made Vin hesitate, uncertain that Chris should be taxed with the details just yet. But Larabee just lifted that one blond brow and Vin surrendered. "Well, after Buck was shot –"

"What?"

"Sorry, Chris. I fergot ya didn’t know that part." He took a breath. "Well, Buck got shot, but he’s all right. They discharged him this afternoon. JD took him home to the loft an’ I reckon he’s doin’ fine. Guess he’s got Kerry there, waitin’ on him hand and foot."

Chris was distracted from the hard facts by that bit of information. "Evidence tech Kerry?" he asked, incredulous.

"Yeah." Vin chuckled. "Think she c’n handle him?"

"Question is, can he handle her?"

"Think it matters?"

"Nope." Chris smiled. "Not one bit. Now get back to the official story, Tanner. How did Buck get shot?"

"That bastard Fazio wasn’t as dead as I thought he was. He pulled a gun on Buck, got off one shot b’fore ..." Vin’s voice faded.

"Before what?"

"B’fore I gutted him."

Chris’s mouth hardened. "Good. Go on."

Vin sighed before he continued. "Well, anyways, after I saw Buck was okay, I went up ta the roof, saw D’Amico beatin’ on ya. I shot him Chris. I wasn’t aimin’ t’kill him, not at first, not even after what he done t’ya. I wanted ... Jesus, I jist wanted him t’suffer half a’ what he made me, you, and Ez suffer. I wanted five minutes alone in interrogation with him." A peculiar savagery glittered in Vin’s eyes and made his rough voice deadly quiet. "But seems like the Lord had other plans." His jaw knotted and he retreated into silence.

"But he’s dead, right?" Chris frowned, troubled by too many loose ends in Vin’s narrative, but not wanting to press him when he was on the edge of violence as it was.

"Yeah. He fell. I swear t’God, Chris. I didn’t want him t’fall. I tried ..." he choked back a sob of helplessness and rage. "Tried t’hold him, but I had a gun in my good hand, and all I could do with this one was t’try to grab his jacket ... I couldn’t hold him. I tried, but I jist couldn’t hold him. I’m sorry." A broken sob tore from his throat. He leaned forward, his head buried in his hands, his shoulders bowed.

Something wasn’t right here, but Chris was dammed if he understood. Why was Vin wasting tears and anguish on scum like Troy D’Amico? He’d figure that out later, but right now, Tanner was bleeding in his heart and Chris had to stop that hemorrhage first.

Chris laid a cautious arm around Vin’s slender, shaking body, and realized how thin Tanner was, how steep the price was he had paid over the last weeks. His head ached, his abdomen hurt, and that too was part of the cost of this case. Chris was suddenly weary beyond his wounds to his very soul. He moved his hand in slow, soothing circles on Vin’s back, speaking quietly, gently.

"It’s okay, partner. You did what you had to do. And to tell the truth, I ain’t sorry D’Amico’s dead. I hope he had a lot of time to think before he hit the ground and I hope every second seemed like a thousand years."

"But what’d he *die* for, Chris? Seems like the bastard got the easy way out, and all the folks he hurt an’ harmed are still sufferin’. Sure we got rid a’ two snakes but the rest of the vipers r’ still in the nest and we ain’t gonna flush ‘em out. Not now. They’ll jist burrow deeper underground, lie low, and come crawlin’ out t’do more evil when it’s safe. What did we do this for?" Anguish made him curl even tighter around his pain until Chris’s hand gripped his shoulder and compelled him to straighten up. His eyes were brimming with tears he couldn’t hold back and they slipped down his face, hot at first, then cold as ice.

Chris looked into those deep wells of pain and guilt and felt sick. Damn Travis for this! Damn the whole bureaucracy for thinking a few words of praise could even begin to atone for what had been done to his team in the name of "The Job."

"This isn’t your fault, Vin. It’s not my fault, or Ezra’s or Buck’s. We did our job, even with all the shit that was piled on us from the beginning. And we aren’t the ones the stench is gonna cling to. I swear it."

Vin dragged his sleeve over his eyes and shook his head. He pulled two envelopes out of the pocket of his robe. "Travis dropped these off earlier. One fer me, one fer you. One fer all God’s chil’n."

Chris unfolded the letter and read it in silence, all the while aware of Vin breathing beside him, waiting. He turned to Vin, his eyes hooded and dangerous. "‘Not all the perfumes of Araby ...’"

"Hmm?"

"Macbeth. Ask Ezra, he’ll explain. Think of spraying Lysol into a charnel house."

"Chris, I ain’t up to riddles."

"I know, partner," he sighed. "I’ll take care of this. Meanwhile, let’s get healed up and outta here." He grabbed his IV pole and pulled himself upright. He held out his hand to Vin, helped him stand. They stood there, rueful smiles on their faces at their own weakness. Vin slipped his good arm around Chris’s waist, and Chris leaned on Vin’s shoulder as they made a slow progress back to their room.

As they passed the nurses’ station, Winnie called out, "You boys going to make it all right?"

Vin looked over his shoulder. "I reckon’ ever’ cripple’s got his own way a’ walkin’."

She shook her head, let them proceed. She’d check on them in a few minutes to make sure neither of them was passed out on the floor. Men!

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chris didn’t take the sleeping pill they brought him that night. He stared at it, in the little plastic cup, and thought of the oblivion it would bring him. He turned the overhead light down and listened to Vin’s quiet breathing. He’d worn himself out emotionally and physically earlier and no pill had been necessary for him to slip into a deep sleep almost the instant his head had hit the pillow.

Chris wanted to fall into darkness, but he needed to think clearly; without drugs, without extraneous distractions. The pain forced him to focus, the same way music on the truck radio kept him sharp when driving long distances. He leaned his head back and thought. There were too many unanswered questions, too many doubts. Pointless to try to fit the pieces of the puzzle together when half of them were missing. He had promised Vin he would make things right. Or at least make them level. Hell of a thing to promise a friend when he had no idea how to fulfill it.

Reluctantly, he reached for the phone and punched in a number, then waited. He didn’t expect to get a live person on the other end, and he didn’t. "Orrin, Chris. We need to talk. You know where you can find me."

He hung up. Eyed the sleeping pill and took it. If he was going to have it out with Travis, he’d need his rest.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

The morning started not with Orrin, but with Dr. Ann Reinhardt, the ophthalmologist. She took the bandage off Chris’s eye, examined him, and seemed pleased with the result. "Good. Your pupil is reactive, there’s no bleeding in the retina, and your vision is clearing, right?"

"Still a bit blurry, but better than it was."

She nodded, and to his relief left his eye unbandaged. "Good. I’ll order a head CT for later this afternoon to check on that orbital fracture now that the swelling is down." She made some notations on his chart. "I’m ordering a consult with a plastic surgeon. Whether or not you’ll need any work on that cheekbone will depend on how he reads the scan." She tilted his head to the light and smiled. "You have a spectacular shiner, Mr. Larabee."

Vin chuckled from the other bed. "Looks real nice with that green glare, don’t it, Doc?"

"In a few days it will coordinate beautifully," she said. "No wild parties, no chasing nurses, no fistfights. Take it easy, you hear?"

"Hell, Doc, he ain’t Buck Wilmington!" Vin laughed. "Though he ain’t ‘xactly the most patient feller."

"If he misbehaves, Elizabeth Stone *will* hear of it," Dr. Reinhardt warned, her gray eyes twinkling.

Chris held up his hands in mock surrender. "I promise."

A shadow darkened the doorway. "Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep," Dr. Stone warned, and Chris sank down deeper into the bed.

"Mornin’, Doc." Vin said brightly.

"Feeling better?" She picked up his wrist and felt his pulse. "How did you sleep?"

"Real good."

"Any pain?"

"I’m f –" He broke off when he saw the warning look on the doctor’s face. "No, Doc. No pain but the one in m’wrist from yer fingers pinchin’ me."

She gave him a look that clearly indicated she didn’t appreciate his wisecracks. "Good. Temperature, almost normal. BP is fine. Excellent. You’re going down to Radiology now for an MRI to make sure that abscess is healing."

Vin’s mood suddenly faded and he paled. He hated MRIs. The tiny, dark chamber, the noise and the isolation wreaked havoc with his claustrophobic tendencies. Elizabeth Stone felt the pulse suddenly leap beneath her fingers and ached for the young man in her care. "I can prescribe a tranquilizer, if you like."

Vin swallowed. "Don’t know which I hate worse."

She felt a sharp sympathy for him, understanding his fear and reluctance, but also couldn’t back down from what was best for him. "Take the pill, Vin. You’ll doze through most of it," she advised, and was relieved when he nodded reluctantly. She crossed the room to Chris’s bedside. "Now, Mr. Larabee ..."

He sighed wearily. "Go on, Doc. Kick me while I’m down."

"Not right now. Maybe when you feel better and you’ve got farther to fall."

"Thanks," he said ruefully.

She did a quick exam. Raised the bandage on his incision and seemed pleased with his healing process. "Your morning labs were good, Chris. No more bleeding. I’ll save the lecture for later. For now, get your rest and try to leave the job behind you for a few days."

"Right." He wilted against the pillows. She didn’t have to know about Travis. And he had no intention of telling her.

Her hand rested lightly on his wrist. "Chris, I’m serious. You were very lucky. You could have bled to death, you could have developed peritonitis. The antibiotics you’re getting are to fight any possible contamination of the peritoneal cavity, but will also kill the bacteria that cause ulcers. You will be as *cured* as we can make you, but you are going to have to take steps to prevent it from happening again."

He sighed. "That doesn’t sound good."

"It’s not as bad as you think. Life will go on. And unfortunately, so will that job of yours."

"Would you give up medicine if it gave you an ulcer?" he asked, perceptive enough to see the similarities in their temperaments and lifestyles.

"I don’t have an ulcer," she said evenly. Apparently the subject was closed. "Vin, the orderly will be here in a few minutes. I’ll have the nurse bring you the tranquilizer and I’ll see you later. Chris, you’re scheduled for that scan around 2 this afternoon."

"It’s a date, Doc."

She gave a ladylike, derisive snort. "In your dreams, Larabee." Then she was gone in a rustle of white lab coat and the staccato click of her heels.

Chris closed his eyes. His head hurt. He heard Vin give a slight hiss of laughter. "Oh man, Larabee. Has she got yer number!"

Chris gave him a crooked smile. "Jealous?"

"Hell, no. She gives me drugs, all you git is lectures."

"Asshole."

"Anybody ever tell ya yer a crotchety bastard?"

"Yeah." Chris fell silent. "Vin, take the tranquilizer, okay?"

"Ain’t got much choice, bein’ stuck between a rock an’ a hard place." The lightness in his voice was forced, the strain evident. "Reckon I’ll be all right." The nurse came in with his medication and Chris watched as she injected it in an IV line. It took less than a minute to quiet Vin down. His eyes closed and his hands relaxed at his side. An orderly arrived with a gurney, transferred his limp body from the bed, and wheeled him out of the room. Chris hoped that drug-induced haze would last through the MRI.

Restless, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, feeling stronger than he had the night before. He wished he could lose the IV, but as long as he was on IV antibiotics, it looked like he and the pole were dancing partners. He managed to put his robe on and headed down the hall.

It dead-ended at the elevator bay and a wall of nearly floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city. It was one of those days when Denver sparkled, the smog banished by a front that had swept through and cleared out the haze and heat. Chris wished life could be as simple; as if D’Amico’s death could wipe the present clean of his foul misdeeds. Instead, one woke with the same clouds hanging overhead, the same darkness, the same shadows. And more questions than Chris cared to answer.

"Chris?"

Travis. Chris turned slowly from the window. "Orrin. Didn’t think you’d come this early."

"I had to. The rest of the day is booked. I’m flying to Washington later tonight."

"I see." More lies? More excuses? Chris swayed slightly.

Travis raised a hand as if to take hold of Chris’s arm, then let it drop to his side. "Is there someplace we can talk?"

"My office is right down the hall," Chris said ironically. His stamina was still frail enough that he was grateful to reach the room. He would have sat in the chair and let Travis use the one on Vin’s side of the room, but figured if he was going to play the guilt card, he might as well play it to the hilt. He took the bed and waited for Travis to settle uneasily in the chair.

Travis’s eyes flicked towards Vin’s bed. "Where is he?"

"MRI. He won’t be back for a while. They had to sedate him." He let the accusatory implication hang in the air.

"How ... how are you, Chris?"

"It could have been worse. My vision’s clearing up enough for me to read between the lines."

Travis cleared his throat. He didn’t know what to say. Chris still looked like Hell; gaunt and attenuated, pale beneath the bruises and healing abrasions. Lines of stress bracketed his mouth and scored his drawn cheeks. He was thinner than Travis had ever seen him; a sharp reminder of the ulcer that had nearly been his death. Travis added that tally to his account.

"I take it Vin gave you the citation?"

"Is that what this is all about?" Chris pulled the envelope from his pocket. "A pat on the head for a job well done? ‘Thanks, fellas for risking your lives. Now go away and forget this happened?’"

"It is an official recognition!"

"It’s bullshit!" Chris threw the letter down in disgust. "How stupid do you think I am, Orrin? How stupid do you think Vin and the others are?"

"Chris, let me explain –"

"Save it. I’m tired, Orrin. I’m tired of explanations, of excuses, of tap-dancing around the real issues. I’m tired of being shot at, beat on, betrayed. I’m tired of seeing my team bleed for scum like Williams and for faceless bureaucrats a thousand miles away. We *aren’t* talking about figures on paper, about columns on a ledger. We’re talking *lives* here! And maybe I’m thinkin’ it’s time I had one."

"Chris ..." Travis hoped it was Larabee’s exhaustion and over-wrought nerves talking, and not his heart. "You’re too good of an agent to talk like that."

"Well, that just it, Orrin. I am a good agent. And so are the others. Too good to be used like we’ve been used from the day this whole thing was set in motion. Maybe you didn’t know the whole story, but you knew enough to play along with it. Only you forgot one thing. You forgot to tell *me.*"

"I couldn’t –"

"Don’t give me that excuse. When have I ever betrayed you?"

"Never," Travis admitted. "Not once in all the years I’ve known you."

"I used to be able to say the same," Chris said softly.

Travis leaned forward and set his hands over Chris’s. "I won’t ask more of you, Chris. Just this, while I’m away, think about what you’ve done with your life, what you’ve built over the years. Don’t walk away from it due to my misjudgments and failures. If, after I get back, you feel the same way, I’ll accept your resignation without prejudice."

Chris looked into Travis’s sorrowful, honest eyes. "I can’t ask for more than that," he agreed.

"I am sorry. For everything." He rose stiffly. "Get your rest."

"I will." Despite everything, Chris gave Travis a slight smile and a nod. Then past weariness, he closed his eyes. Travis watched him for a moment before he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. Right about now, he was angry enough to reclaim those citations and cram them right up the asses of his superiors in Washington. He intended to come back to Denver with a lot more than empty words in his hands.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Buck came later that afternoon, looking a bit pale beneath his tan, but aside from his arm in a sling, seemed little worse for the wear. Chris was reading a newspaper, Vin was a small, curled shape in the other bed.

"Hey, Cowboy, how’re ya doin’? Buck slouched in and dropped in the chair, his long legs stretched out. "Ya look like ten miles a’ bad road."

"Thanks, Buck. And it’s nice to see you too."

"Didn’t say it wasn’t nice ta see you. Just that I’ve seen ya lookin’ better." Buck cocked his head. "Seen ya look worse, though."

"I’m fine."

The stock answer made Buck grin. "Ya know, I thought I heard that nurse a’ yours sayin’ the same thing. Though I think she said it a mite different. Kinda like ‘He’s soooo fine,’" Buck sniggered.

"You are *so* full of bullshit," Chris laughed. "Glad to see your sense of humor didn’t bleed right out of you."

"Hell, it takes more than a bullet hole to put me off my feed." His blue eyes narrowed. "Speakin’ of which, when are you gettin’ out of here?"

Chris shrugged. "A few days."

"When are you gonna be back at work?"

"I may not be back."

Buck sat up straight in the chair at that. "What? Whaddya mean, you might not be back? What’ve those docs been tellin’ you?"

"It ain’t the docs, Buck. It’s me. It’s something I need to think about."

"Why?"

"You, Ezra, Vin ..." Chris’s eyes went to the other bed, to the bit of Vin’s hair he could see spread across the pillow. "I don’t know anymore if the job is worth losing friends."

"Come on, Chris. You n’me have been through wars t’gether. Junior ain’t exactly had a peaceful time of it, Ezra’s been undercover fer nearly as long as we’ve been with the ATF. It ain’t never spooked ya before."

"There’s a difference between putting yourself in the line of fire and having somebody else shove you in the path of a bullet to save their own asses. I’m not made for betrayal. I never have been."

"Chris –"

"I’m tired, Buck."

"Sure you are, partner. You’re tired and maybe ya aren’t thinkin’ too clearly right now."

"Or maybe I’m thinking clearly for the first time in a long time."

Level green eyes met Wilmington’s. There was hurt there, and grief, but they were clear enough. Buck sighed. "Old pard, don’t jump any guns here, okay?"

"Sure."

"How’s Junior?" Buck asked, changing a subject that was painful to him.

"He had a rough afternoon. Had to have an MRI."

"Shit. I’ll bet that went over well."

"Stone knows what she’s doing. She drugged him up."

"And we all know how he loves that." Buck grimaced.

"At least he’s sleeping. He needs it."

Buck nodded. "Yeah, he’s had a real rough time. And so have you." He stood up slowly. A thought occurred to him and he paused. "Has Travis been to see you?"

"This morning."

"Hmmm."

Chris raised a brow at that non-committal sound. "So?"

"Nothing. Just explains a lot."

"Don’t give it more weight than that, Buck. My mind’s my own."

"Rest up, partner. I’ll talk to ya later." He paused at the doorway and winked. "I’ll stop by the nurses’s station and tell ‘em t’treat you an’ Junior real good."

Chris groaned. "Don’t do us any favors."

"Have you out of here in no time." He ducked out of the way as Chris pitched a plastic cup at him. "Some folks jist don’t know gratitude unless it bites ‘em in the ass!"

Chris laughed, hands pressed to his stomach as his stitches pulled. There were times he wanted to kill the man, and times he wondered what he would do without him. If he left the job, would Buck follow as he had so often? Would he want to? Chris wasn’t ready to face that possibility. He turned his attention back to the paper, looking for distraction.

"So, the Rockies win?" Vin’s voice cracked and broke. He turned from his side to his back, his arm thrown over his eyes. "I feel like shit."

Chris got out of bed and went to Vin’s side. "You need a nurse?"

"Nah, jist some water ‘r somethin’."

Chris raised Vin’s bed slightly and held the straw to Vin’s lips. "Better?"

"Fergot that stuff leaves ya with a mouth like cotton." He took a few more sips and struggled to sit up. He looked out the window. "Lord, how long’ve I been out?"

"A good while, now. Long enough for me to get a scan and have a visit from Buck." He deliberately omitted the visit from Travis. He’d talk to Vin about that when the Texan was stronger, when *he* was stronger. Right now, he just wanted them both to heal up and get out of the hospital.

"He’s okay?"

"He’s discovered the value of a sling when it comes to getting sympathy from women."

Vin rolled his eyes. "It figures. Guess ulcers and bum livers jist ain’t got the same romantic appeal."

"Guess not. Tell you what. I’ll get something for you to drink with a little more flavor than water, okay?"

Vin nodded but gave him a sidelong look. "When ya git back we c’n talk about what you ain’t tellin’ me, Larabee."

There were times when that one-brain thing he had going on with Tanner was downright scary. He didn’t want to discuss this with him, though. He wanted to hold it close to the vest like a bad hand of cards and see if he could bluff his way into convincing himself that leaving was really a good idea.

Chris brought two bottles of ginger-ale from the vending machine in the hall and returned to the room. Vin was out of bed and sitting in the small bay formed by the window and a bench seat. The emerging lights of Denver formed a backdrop for his silhouette. Chris handed him a bottle and sat down.

"Wish it was a beer out at the ranch," he said.

"Yeah. Well, I reckon we’ll have time fer that."

"What?"

Vin’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t know about you, but I don’t see myself sittin’ b’hind a desk fer a week or two. Don’t think Doc Stone has that in mind fer either of us." He paused. "That ain’t what you thought I meant." He gave Chris a one-sided smile. "You gonna spill it?"

Chris sighed. "Travis was here."

Vin’s soft snort of derision was indicative of his opinion of the situation. "He leave here with ever’thing intact?"

"More or less."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Chris didn’t answer that question. Instead, he asked another. "What would you do if you couldn’t do this job?"

"Couldn’t, or didn’t want to?"

"Either, I guess."

"Don’t know. But then I git the feelin’ y’ain’t talkin’ about me."

Chris sighed and leaned his head against the glass. "Shit."

Vin studied him. He hadn’t known Larabee long by the calendar, but he could read his heart as if he’d known him for more than a lifetime. "Ya wouldn’t be happy, Chris."

"This isn’t about happiness. It’s about survival."

Vin nodded. "Survivin’ an’ livin’ ain’t the same thing. You’ve survived b’fore."

Chris leaned forward dropped his head in his hands. Tanner knew too much, saw too much, and the damnable thing was that he was right. Chris had *survived* Sarah and Adam’s murders. He had *survived* his own dependence on alcohol. But he hadn’t started living again until he had established this team, and he hadn’t come to relish his life until Vin Tanner had walked through the door and completed his resurrection.

"You got any more pearls of wisdom?" Chris sighed wearily, but with a slight smile.

"Yeah. Go t’bed." A warm hand spread across Chris’s back. "C’mon."

Chris stood slowly. "Vin, I don’t know what I’m going to do."

"Sure ya do. You jist ain’t seein’ it clearly. Must be all them drugs they got pumpin’ through ya." The warm hand exerted pressure to get him moving, and Chris, for once in his life, let somebody else guide him. He sank down on the bed, felt Vin lift his legs and then pull the blanket over him. His eyes closed, and he was down for the count.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chapter 37

The lights of metropolitan DC dropped away as the plane banked west. Orrin Travis stared blindly out the windows; not seeing the familiar landmarks, but replaying in his mind the meeting he’d had with the directors of the ATF and Treasury departments. The acrimony still lingered in his craw ...

He should have known better than to expect full contrition for the debacle, he should have realized that passing the buck had been perfected to an art form in the higher echelons. He should have ...

He sighed heavily. The stewardess hovering over him asked if he was all right and he nodded. When she asked if he would like a drink, he nearly kissed her. It was a long trip back to Denver and he needed some anesthesia. But when the drink came, he stared down into the amber depths and thought of Chris Larabee.

He was a good man, a better friend, an outstanding agent and team leader. His record spoke for itself. Travis had laid his case before his superiors, had argued that to lose somebody like Larabee was an incalculable error. He had told them that if they lost him, they might well lose the entire team. And if they lost the team, they would lose Travis as well. And he wouldn’t be shy about going to the media with the reasons why.

That had let the foxes loose in the henhouse. A grim smile touched his mouth. Mary would be pleased that the power of the press had accomplished more than the threat of losing an entire team *and* an assistant director. Damned bureaucrats. It had been too long since they had been in the field and faced live fire.

He didn’t have an apology, but in his briefcase he had the entire file on the D’Amico case. He would give it to Chris, and after he had read it, they’d talk. It was the only concession he could get, it was all he could do. The final decision rested with him. It always had.

Travis raised his glass in a silent toast to the men of Team Seven and drained it. Then he settled in for the long flight home.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chris had always believed you could tell a lot about a person by looking at their office. He didn’t exactly want to reflect on how that psychology applied to himself, but it was interesting to use it to analyze Elizabeth Stone. And it kept anxiety at bay while he waited for his final consult at the hospital. He figured since she had suggested her office instead of his room that he was going to hear things that weren’t good news.

His gaze roamed the spartan room. A desk as cluttered as his own, but with an obvious method. A comfortable and utilitarian brown leather couch old enough to sag a bit. A sink, naturally. And on the counter nearby, a stained and well-used coffeemaker. The walls were the ubiquitous Band-Aid beige. But the drapes at the window looked expensive and handmade, patterned after a Navajo blanket. The plants on the sill were thriving and glossy. A small brass watering pot reflected the scattered light from the window overlooking the city. One wall was crowded with Dr. Stone’s framed diplomas and licenses. The lady had paid her dues, that was certain.

Chris’s fingers drummed nervously on the arms of his chair. He wished he had a cigarette ... or a drink ... and grimly thought neither of those was going to be an option in the near future.

He turned when the door opened and Dr. Stone came inside. She took off her lab coat and hung it on a wall hook, then sat at her desk. She looked tired, her eyes shadowed. "I’m late. I’m sorry."

"It’s not like I had any pressing engagements. Kind of surprised you wanted to talk here."

She sat back in her chair and studied him for a moment before she spoke. "I’m going to release you and Vin in the morning and I thought you’d rather have our talk in private."

Chris scowled. "I haven’t had a *talk* since my dad did the obligatory sex lecture."

She laughed. "This isn’t going to be nearly as embarrassing. Aren’t you pleased by the news?"

"The going home part sounds good. It’s the talk part that I’m not too keen to hear." He sighed. "Come on, doc. Give it to me straight."

"O-kay ... three simple rules. No smoking, no drinking, take your medication. See?"

She said it like it was as simple as A,B,C. Maybe for her, it was. Chris gave her a hard, unhappy look. "For how long?"

"Preferably for the rest of your life ... which will be much longer if you obey those three rules."

He gave a brittle laugh. "I never figured on havin’ much of a long life, doc. It kind of comes with the territory."

She smiled. "You’ve got what, thirteen years to retirement?"

He groaned. "So what’s your point?"

She looked at him, at the fire in his green eyes that was banked but never entirely extinguished even in pain and exhaustion. At the way his fingers were never still, and knew that for this man, retirement might never come, and if it did, it would be as unwelcome as death.

"Would you walk in the path of a bullet?"

"I’ve done it," he said. "That’s my job."

"Sorry, bad analogy. You would at least wear a bulletproof vest given the option, right?"

He was too tired to argue the point with her. "Maybe."

She shook her head. He was the most maddening man she had *ever* met. "Look, Larabee, you’ll do what you want no matter what I say. So just pretend to listen to me, and what I don’t know is only going to hurt you."

He grinned at that. "Go on, doc."

"Okay, ideally you’ll take my advice. You’ll eat sensibly, stop smoking and drinking. Get lots of rest, and stay away from stress. In real life, you’ll try to eat regular meals and take your medicine if you need it. You’ll save your beloved cheroots for special occasions ... like weekends. You’ll limit your alcohol intake to wine with dinner – since you can justify that as medicinal, and maybe a couple bourbons a week. You’ll try to moderate your schedule, *delegate* some of your tasks to Buck, Nathan, and Josiah –"

"Not Vin?" His mouth quirked in a smile.

"Please! Like he needs any more problems!" Her gaze softened. He looked like he had just reached the end of his stamina. "I think you get the picture."

"Yeah, I got it." He pushed himself upright, wincing as his sutures pulled. "When do these come out?"

"Just a few more days."

"Thank you, Dr. Stone."

"What?" She wasn’t sure she had heard him correctly. Had he *thanked* her?

"For what you’ve done for me, for Vin. I reckon most of the time we’re real thorns in your side, but we do appreciate what you do to keep us alive."

Elizabeth Stone’s smile came as rarely as Chris’s, but this time it blazed out. "It’s always a challenge, Chris. Always a challenge." She took his elbow. "C’mon, I’ll walk you to your room."

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Vin sat in the alcove and stared out at the rainy twilight. He was cold, not outside, but inside, like there was a heavy chunk of ice in his middle. He’d felt it often enough in his life – when his mother died, when his grandfather passed on, when he’d been moved from foster home to foster home – like it was a harbinger of change and disaster.

He had forgotten what it was like to have that congealing chill in the pit of his stomach during the months he had been with Team Seven. It had thawed entirely the instant his eyes had met Chris Larabee’s and forged that connection of friendship and faith. The thought of losing that was more painful than thinking of his own death.

He sighed and leaned his head against the cool glass. He wasn’t a praying man; never seemed like the Lord had paid much mind to him, but there was a stubborn corner of his heart that still spoke to Him. A flicker of hope that not all was lost. He clung to that hope with all the strength he had. The hope that Chris would see his way clear to staying with the ATF. Because if Larabee didn’t, Vin wasn’t sure what his own future held.

There was a soft knock on the door and Vin looked up. "C’mon in. Join the party."

"Seems like a pretty somber celebration," Josiah said. He came over to the window. "Kind of matches the view. Where’s Chris?"

"Chattin’ with Doc Stone." Vin rose slowly and made his way back to the bed. He sat on the edge, braced on his arms. "Should come back in a *real* good mood."

Josiah chuckled. "We all have our crosses to bear, brother." He folded himself into the cramped chair at the bedside. "Some of us bear ‘em gladly, some of us are more like Gladly, the cross-eyed bear."

That brought a rare grin to Vin’s pale face. "Reckon that describes Larabee." His smile faded. "’siah, you ever think about retirin’, leavin’ the job?"

The older man arched a brow. "Well, seeing as I’ve got less than five years to that mandatory date, sure I’ve thought about it. That’s why I’m plantin’ my garden today."

Vin nodded, thought a minute before he spoke again. "You ever think Larabee’d quit?"

"I always figured they’d have to carry him out boots first. Are you thinkin’ something different?"

"I wasn’t, but I think he is. I think he might quit, Josiah, and if he does ... well, I can’t see my way to stayin’ in without him." Vin’s eyes darkened. "Would you?"

Josiah leaned back in the chair, making the back creak dangerously under his weight. "Without Chris, those early retirement incentive packages would look mighty attractive."

Vin was silent, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head and shoulders bowed. Even though he was wearing his own sweatpants, t-shirt and robe, he looked thin and vulnerable. Josiah knew he’d lost weight, and he wasn’t a man who could afford to lose much; all his body mass being in sinew and muscle.

Josiah pushed himself out of the chair and sat next to Vin. He set a broad hand on Vin’s shoulder, and his heart ached at the feel of the bone so close to the skin. He firmed his grip slightly. "You’ve been through a lot, Vin. You’ve been badly wounded, had an infection. You’re exhausted and run-down –"

"It ain’t that, Josiah!" He shrugged off his friend’s hand, even though the touch had been comforting. "I keep seein’ D’Amico fallin’ away from me. I was lookin’ into his eyes ... and he could ‘a held on. But he jist leaned back and let go. Like he wasn’t afraid a’ dyin’."

"He wasn’t." Vin’s eyes widened and Josiah smiled. "He was afraid of livin’." Josiah set his hand back on Vin’s shoulder. "Would you have let him live, Vin?"

Vin’s head lifted slowly. "Ya think I’d a’ kilt him right there?" His blue eyes were troubled. "I don’t know. Mebbe I would ‘a kilt him fer what he did t’Chris. But I wanted *more*, Josiah. Chris an’ me ain’t the only ones hurt by him. I keep seein’ the kids dyin’ on the streets ‘cause they got guns he brung in ta town. Cops, firefighters ... maybe even us, dyin’. Lord, Josiah, we don’t know half a’ where he was funnelin’ his weapons and money." His passion faded and he sighed desolately. "I should a’ had him, but I couldn’t hold him. I *couldn’t.* An’ that’s what hurts more ‘n anything."

"It’s not your fault, Vin. Ya gotta let it go. Move on."

"That’s what I’m afraid Chris is gonna do. Let go an’ move on." Vin swallowed. "He’s holdin’ back on me, J’siah. He ain’t never done that."

Josiah stroked Vin’s hair, comforting and gentle as the father he’d never known. "Son, I don’t think Chris even knows where this is gonna lead. As Ezra says, he’s holdin’ his hand close to his vest, that’s all. Why don’t you lie back down, Vin? You’re runnin’ on empty, here."

He was. He didn’t even have the strength to comply with Josiah’s request. The big agent sighed, stood up, and gently forced Vin back to lie on the pillows. He swung his legs up on the mattress and pulled the blankets up, tucking them close. "You just rest up, son. Let all those worries and fears just drift away. The Lord’ll take care of you ..." He continued to talk in that rich, quiet, voice until he felt the tension leave the slim body beneath his hands. Then he settled as comfortably as he could into the excruciatingly uncomfortable chair and took up a watch over the sleeping sharpshooter.

He was still sitting there in the half-darkness when Chris returned to the room. He looked first at Vin sleeping quietly before he acknowledged the big man’s presence. "Josiah, is everything all right?"

"You tell me, Chris."

Puzzled, Chris studied him. "I’d say so. Me and Vin are both being released in the morning."

Josiah shook his head. "That boy ain’t in any shape –"

"Well, the docs say he is. And judging from the way he feels about being cooped up in here, he’s bound to heal better at home." And when Josiah lifted a brow, Chris amended. "Or at the ranch."

"He’s scared to death, Chris."

"Vin?" Chris was startled. His eyes went to his partner’s thin form. Tanner wasn’t a man who gave away emotions easily, and he wondered how the profiler had come up with that analysis. "Vin’s not afraid of the devil, Josiah."

"Oh, he’s too stubborn to give it that name, but he knows it. Probably better than he ought to, given the life he’s led." His gaze rested sorrowfully on Tanner’s face. "An’ maybe he ain’t afraid of the devil, but he is afraid of is losing what he’s found with this team ... with you. He thinks you’re leaving the ATF. That true?"

Chris sighed and pulled his bedside chair next to Josiah. "I don’t know. Honestly, Josiah, this case has me so turned around inside, I don’t know what to think. I know we were betrayed. And the stink of that isn’t something a few words of commendation are going to sweeten."

"Chris, I know you’ve got to do what is right for you ... but don’t make a decision without thinking of the impact your leaving will have on the team. You *are* the heart of us."

Rare color rose in Chris’s face. "What is that saying about the whole being only as good as the sum of its parts?"

Josiah grinned. "A painfully neat sidestep, Chris. However, I won’t press you with it any further. At least not tonight." He stood, laid a hand on Chris’s shoulder. "It’s true what I said. You think long and hard on this one, y’hear?"

"That’s a hell of way to talk to your boss, Agent Sanchez."

"He’s a hell of a boss. And a hell of a friend. But right now, he looks like hell." Josiah’s bright eyes softened. "Git your rest, Chris. Sounds like you’re going to have a busy day tomorrow."

Josiah swung his coat over his shoulder and gave Chris a salute. Chris sighed and leaned his head against the back of the chair. If he opened his eyes just a slit, he could watch Vin sleeping. The florescent light washed out what little color there was in his face, made him look pale and pinched. His own hands looked like they belonged to somebody else. The veins were ropey, the skin pallid and dry. He sighed heavily. He and Vin would both do better away from this place.

Suddenly, he wanted to be out at the ranch so badly he was tempted to call Buck and tell him to get his ass over here to take him home. *Get a grip, Larabee. Ten hours. You can take ten more hours.* For Vin’s sake, if for nothing else. Still, to be sitting out on his deck, to breathe air that didn’t smell like ozone and antibacterial cleanser, to eat food that had taste and texture ... It sounded like heaven even if the vision didn’t include a tumbler of whiskey and a good cigar.

"Chris?" Vin whispered sleepily.

"Yeah."

"Ya fall asleep in that chair an’ yer gonna be in traction fer a week."

"Thanks, pard." Chris raised his aching bones out of the chair. "This time t’morrow we’ll be home."

"Home?" Vin’s eyes opened wider. "Doc Stone is gonna let us out?"

"Yeah. That’s why you need t’get some sleep tonight. Vin, stay out at the ranch for a few days, okay?"

"You askin’ or tellin’?"

"Maybe a little of both."

"Sure." Vin’s voice was sleepy, like Adam’s had been when he was just on the verge of drifting off. Chris turned the light off over Vin’s bed, then climbed into his own, wishing his stitches didn’t pull every time he moved. He heard the whispers of the nurses, the sound of medication carts being wheeled down the corridor.

"Mr. Larabee, would you like something to help you sleep?" Winnie’s concerned voice made him open his eyes.

"Sure. My last night, might as well make it memorable." Chris pushed himself upright and took the pill from the nurse. "Thanks."

"It’s my job." Winnie dimmed the overhead light and with a deft touch smoothed the covers, tucking in the sheets where they had pulled out near the foot of the bed. "Goodnight, Mr. Larabee."

"’night." The door closed slowly, blocking out external sounds. Chris listened to Vin’s quiet breathing, then he heard nothing.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Fog in St. Louis delayed Travis’s flight for nearly three hours. By the time he got into Denver, it was too late to do anything but call for a cab and go home. He fell into exhausted sleep so quickly and soundly that he scarcely noticed Evie’s soft kiss to welcome him home.

He dragged himself out of bed when the alarm sounded at 7am, showered, gulped down a mug of coffee and was out the door by 7:30. While he was driving to work, he got a call from his secretary, Gloria, who reminded him of a conference call with the director of the Phoenix office and his SAC, and that if he didn’t take it there would be hell to pay. So, instead of driving to the hospital, he had to get to the office and spend an hour on the phone talking about a coordinated training seminar scheduled for the following month. Travis didn’t tell Phoenix that there was a very real possibility that he might not have a team to send to the damn seminar. No use borrowing trouble.

Ten o’clock found him finally charging down the hospital corridor to Larabee’s room. He checked on the threshold. Two empty beds stripped of sheets greeted his eyes. He groaned and sat in a hard chair. *God damn.* His cell phone beeped and he answered to Buck Wilmington’s cheerful greeting.

"Good morning, sir. I thought I’d catch you before you went over to the hospital –"

"You’re too late."

"I am sorry about that, sir. But I’m real glad to tell you that Chris and Vin are outta the hospital and here at the ranch."

Travis closed his eyes. "Good. They’re all right, then?"

"Just fine, sir.

"Are they up to a visit?"

"I reckon that depends, sir." Wilmington’s voice sounded suddenly cautious.

He couldn’t blame Wilmington for his protectiveness. He rubbed his hand over his forehead. "I just want to drop something off for Chris and to check up on the team. When would be a good time?"

"Well, just getting here took the starch outta both of ‘em. This afternoon would be better than right now."

"How are you doing?" he asked, remembering that Wilmington had been wounded as well.

"Oh, I’ve still got plenty of starch in me." The tone was jocular, but there was a hint of warning there and Travis had no doubt that it was fueled by anger and resentment. "Glad to hear it. I’ll be there around three?"

"We’ll be looking for you." Buck’s end of the phone line cut off and Travis sighed. What did he expect? Open arms and warm smiles? Hardly. Tired, and feeling every one of his years, he called the office, said he was taking the rest of the day off to recover from jet lag, and went home.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chapter 38

Vin woke to the sound of voices. He was momentarily confused by his surroundings; he remembered being in the hospital, but the voices there did not sound familiar, laughing, or warm the way that these did. The mattress was comfortable, the linen beneath his cheek was smooth and cool. The air drifting through the window was scented with hay and horse and sweet grass. He sighed, stretched. He remembered. He was out of the hospital and at the ranch. The voices belonged to Buck and JD. They were on the deck, the angle of the house funneling the sound of their voices to his window. He couldn’t hear the exact words, but he basked in the knowledge that he was safe, in the place he loved most in the world and in the company of friends.

The one voice he didn’t hear was Chris’s. That absence was what eventually forced him upright. He sat up, didn’t even bother looking for his boots, but padded into the hall. Across the way, the door to the master bedroom was closed. Vin carefully eased it open. The blinds were half-closed and the dim light just bright enough for him to see Chris stretched out on the bed. There was an ease in that long frame that he hadn’t seen in a while. He backed out and closed the door softly. He made his way to the den, then slid aside the screened door to the deck.

"Hey, Vin!" JD jumped out of his chair. "C’mon, sit down. I was just savin’ your place."

"I’ve heard that b’fore," Vin grinned at the young agent and eased down into the Adirondack chair. JD slid the ottoman under his legs. The sun was warm, but he was anemic enough yet that the slight breeze made him shiver.

A soft weight settled over his shoulders as Buck tucked an afghan comfortably around him. "That better? You warm enough, Junior?"

He grimaced slightly at the affectionate nickname. "Yeah. Thanks, Buck. Bet I look like yer old granny."

Buck laughed. "You do at that, Junior. Only her whiskers was gray."

"Geez, Buck! Thanks for that visual!" JD said in disgust. "You want something to drink, Vin?"

"Ginger ale?"

"You got it."

Buck waited until JD was inside before he spoke. "Travis is comin’ over later this afternoon."

Vin sighed. "So?"

"He said he had something for Chris."

"Like another one of those commendations?" Vin’s disgust soured his voice. "Cain’t see Chris fallin’ fer that."

"I don’t know. He sounded ... well, not like he would sound if he was angry. He sounded ... tired, I guess."

Vin tipped his head back. "Hell, we’re all tired, Bucklin. I’m so tired right now I could lay down and die and it would feel good compared to the way I’ve been livin’ fer the last two months."

Buck knelt at the front of the ottoman. "Don’t you say that!" he spoke sharply. "Y’ain’t gonna die, and Chris ain’t gonna quit on us."

"I never said I’s gonna die. Jist that I’s tired enough," Vin said patiently. "And I don’t know ‘bout Chris. He ain’t talkin’ much lately."

"Lately?" Buck stood up. "Try never." He stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the rail of the deck. "And I gave up tryin’ to mind-read him long ago."

Vin nodded, though for a long time, he had been able to read Chris’s mind. He didn’t know if that was because Chris had let him and was now choosing to block him out, or if his own weakness was responsible for the rift in their usually seamless comprehension. Whatever it was, it left him feeling cold and lonely. He sat in silence until JD returned with a glass of ginger ale, a glass of water, and one of his antibiotics. Vin raised a brow at the sight of the pill.

JD grinned. "Before he left, Nathan wrote out timetables for you and Chris with all your meds and when you’re supposed to take them."

"Figures," Vin grumbled, but he took the pill and chased it with water, followed by ginger ale. He was absurdly touched by the concern and care from his friends. He had grown up with so little of either he occasionally found the attention overwhelming, but he was never ungrateful.

JD settled on the steps, Buck on one of the cushioned lounge chairs. Vin sat quietly absorbing the tranquility and warmth. For the first time in weeks he felt the spring of tension slowly releasing. He closed his eyes and floated away. He didn’t hear the bell ring, didn’t hear Ezra join the group followed by Josiah and Nathan’s return. Buck steered them all to the den to keep them from disturbing the sleeping sharpshooter.

Ezra stood at the screened door and looked out. He could barely see Vin’s profile, but if the lax, long-fingered hand negligently draped over the arm of the chair were any indication, he was lost to the world. Ezra shook his head and turned back to the others.

"I ..." He shrugged, words not willing to come for one of the few times in his life. "Our friend seems to be resting comfortably."

Nathan nodded. "He needs all the rest he can get. Needs t’heal."

Ezra thought of the damage that had been done that went beyond the physical; the stress that could break a man in two, the betrayals, the distrust, the lies. Would rest heal those wounds?

"There’s wounds inside that don’t heal easily." Ezra startled at Josiah’s voice echoing his thoughts. "And scars that run deep and cut to the heart."

"B-but Vin and Chris ... they didn’t *do* anything wrong." JD sounded puzzled.

"Never said it was something *they* did," Buck said bitterly. He hadn’t said much to JD about Chris. Had said even less about Orrin’s role in the travesty this case had become. He took a breath, knowing that he had to tell the others that Travis was on his way. Wouldn’t be right not to let them know, and he wasn’t so charitable towards Orrin that he’d begrudge the others a chance to express their opinions of those damn commendations that were burning holes in their pockets.

"Orrin’s on his way over. He said he had something to give to Chris."

"Another attempt to appease our less than appreciative natures?" Ezra drawled. "I fear that if presented with another one of those noxious documents I shall be unable to resist the temptation to tell the gentleman where to stuff it." Sudden tension turned his soft voice ugly and harsh.

"Wait! What’s going on?" JD asked. "Did I miss something here?"

"JD ..." Buck sighed.

"No! Now, I know that this is an insult." He took the commendation out of his jeans pocket and crumpled it, tossing it on the coffee table. "But that’s the way the system works. Don’t you all know that?"

"Chris is this far from quittin’," Buck hissed, holding his forefinger and thumb a scant half-inch apart. "That’s what I know."

JD sat down like he’d been deflated. What Buck had said was wrong, totally. JD shook his head. "Chris quit? No. No way." A flicker of movement in the doorway caught his eye and he went pale, his eyes wide. "C-Chris?"

"You fellas mind not talking about me behind my back?" Chris stood in the doorway. His blue shirt was untucked, half open, his hair damp, like he’d run a wet comb through it. The black jeans weren’t nearly as tight on him as they had been a week ago. "Close your mouth, JD. I’m not gonna shoot you." He smiled slightly and walked slowly over to one of the big recliners, lowering himself cautiously. "Where’s Vin?"

"Out on the deck, sleeping." Nathan said, his eyes narrowed.

"Good."

"You look like you could use some more rest yourself."

"I’m f –" He stopped at the sight of Nathan’s glower, raised his hands in mock surrender. "I’m just gonna sit here and let you tell me what to do."

"Wonder how long that will last?" Nathan grumbled. "I’ll get your meds while you’re still bein’ tractable."

JD sat, his leg jiggling with impatience and nerves. "Is it true?" he finally asked, unable to contain himself any longer. "Are you leavin’ the ATF, Chris?"

Buck’s hand came down on his shoulder, cautioning him. "This ain’t the time," he said in a low voice.

Chris sat forward. "Nothing’s been decided, JD."

"But you thought of it? Chris, you can’t – I mean you wouldn’t ..."

"Nothing’s been decided," Chris repeated. "That’s all I’m saying for now." His eyes went to each man’s in the room. "I’ll let you know when that changes."

"Orrin’s on the way over," Buck said, watching Chris’s face for clues to his feelings on the matter. Nothing, not even a flicker of his eyelids. "You all right with that?"

Chris lifted a brow. "Do you think I can stop him?"

"No ... but I could tell him not to come."

"Why?"

"I think what brother Buck is tryin’ to say is that if you’re not up to it, we can do this another time," Josiah said gently. "Are you up to this, Chris?"

Before he had a chance to answer, the crunch of gravel on the driveway made him straighten in his chair. "I reckon I’ll have to be." He started to stand, but JD beat him to it.

"I’ll get it, Chris." He disappeared into the hallway.

They heard Travis’s gravelly voice and JD’s lighter tones. Their voices grew louder, were joined by Nathan’s. Ezra drifted imperceptibly towards the screen door, casting a look to see if Vin was still sleeping in the chair. Buck moved to stand next to Chris’s chair. Josiah felt the circle closing. He looked at Chris; pale, still, the muscle jumping at the angle of his jaw.

Then Travis was standing in the doorway, a thick manila folder tucked under his arm. Too thick to be more pointless commendations. He went right to where Chris sat and silently offered him the folder. "It’s not enough, but I hope it helps."

Chris stood. He made no move to take the folder. Five pairs of eyes were focused on the two men, nobody noticed the hiss of the screen sliding open.

"Sounds like yer offerin’ blood money," Vin’s soft rasp of a voice startled everyone. He stepped over the threshold, paced over to Travis and halted in front of him, standing shoulder to shoulder with Chris.

Orrin had no doubt that no matter how weakened Tanner was, he was still lethal. There had always been that fierce heart of him barely restrained by his quiet civility. Orrin wouldn’t deny him his anger, wouldn’t spare himself from the hot, blue flame that burned in the sharpshooter’s eyes.

"It’s the official report on the D’Amico investigation going back ten years. If that’s blood money, then so be it. You’re entitled to the information."

"Is this the unexpurgated, un-Bowdlerized version or has it been sanitized for general consumption?" Ezra drawled. Distrust shone in his green eyes, and he moved from his position near the door to join Vin, Chris, and Buck.

Travis had the unsettling feeling that he was standing on a dusty street facing a team of gunslingers. These four agents were the men who had born the brunt of the violence, the pain and the damage caused by the investigation. They had every right to their anger and he deserved every harsh word and every hard look they were giving him.

"It is complete. Background, IAD investigations, Treasury, ATF. Everything. I read it before I left DC. If it weren’t complete, I wouldn’t have brought it to you."

Chris took the folder. "We’ll read it." Not, I’ll read it.

Travis nodded. "Take as much time as you need. I’ll wait." And then because there was nothing else to say and nobody seemed about to offer him a drink, or even speak to him, he swept his gaze around the room. "I’ll see myself out." And he left.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Through the silence, Chris heard a faint buzzing in his ears and part of him said he ought to move, breathe, act, but he couldn’t. He was vaguely aware of Vin’s shoulder against his, of Buck’s solid strength next to him. But that seemed as unreal as the rest of the world around him. His hand holding the file was numb and the stiff folder started to slide from his fingers. He made no move to stop it, watched it fall in slow motion, saw JD grab for it and catch it by a corner. Then his knees folded and if not for Buck’s quick catch around his waist, he would have been on the floor. Instead, he was lowered to the chair and Nathan was at his side, his fingers on Chris’s pulse. He ordered JD to get the medical kit he kept in the linen closet.

The others watched in silence, worry written on each face. JD returned a bit breathlessly and shoved the apparatus into the medic’s waiting hands.

"You in any pain, Chris?" Nathan asked, fastening the Velcro blood pressure cuff around his arm.

"No." Chris’s head was clearing, he started pushing Nathan away. "I’m fine. I was just standing too long."

"Yeah, yeah." He scowled at the digital read-out. "That’s why your pressure’s in the gutter an’ your heart’s gallopin’ a mile a minute." He stuck the digital thermometer in Chris’s ear, grunted in satisfaction. "Ya don’t have a fever. Buck, get Chris some water."

"Told you I’m fine," Chris insisted.

Vin’s hand hadn’t left Chris’s shoulder since he’d collapsed. "Seems like I heard that b’fore, cowboy."

Nathan glared up at him. "You set yourself down, Tanner. I ain’t scrapin’ your skinny ass off the floor, too."

"I’m f ..." He took a look at Nathan’s stony countenance and meekly moved back and sat in the second recliner. No sense in getting him any more riled than he already was. An irritated Nathan Jackson was likely to carry tales to Doc Stone or Rain, and the last thing Vin wanted was to irritate either of those formidable women.

Chris downed the water Buck brought to him, and when Nathan took his blood pressure again, he nodded, pleased. "Better. But you get yourself to bed. You ain’t nearly as healed as you think you are. Shouldn’t have been out here in the first place."

"Where was I supposed to be, Nathan?" Chris said irritably. "It’s my house and I’m not a prisoner or your patient, so back off."

Nathan recognized frustration and barely disguised rage. He laid a hand on Chris’s arm. "Okay, you stay here, keep your legs elevated. You need somethin’ t’eat anyway. Josiah got Doc Stone’s approval, made some chicken soup and some bread. You up to it?"

Chris wasn’t. But common sense told him he had to eat even though the file JD had set on the table lingered at the corner of his vision. He wasn’t sure he had the stomach to face it just yet. He took a breath, nodded. "Yeah, sounds good to me. Vin?"

Tanner looked like he could use some nourishment; too pale, too thin; curled in the frame of the big recliner. "Sounds good," he said, but his eyes were locked on Chris’s, concern furrowing his forehead. He figured if he ate, Chris would eat. What would happen after that, he didn’t know, didn’t want to speculate.

It seemed neither did any of the others. They made a meal of Josiah’s soup and bread complimented by salad and followed by coffee and chocolate cake Ezra had purchased on the way to the ranch. Chris skipped the cake and the coffee, but he had to smile at the expression on Vin’s face as he tucked into a piece of the lavishly frosted confection; sheer, childlike delight that did more good for Chris’s heart than a whole wall of commendations and apologies.

After dinner, they watched TV, flipping between the baseball game and a slate of old westerns on one of the cable channels. When Vin fell asleep in the recliner, Josiah carried him to the spare bedroom, waited while Buck persuaded Chris it was time for him to do the same, and caught a ride home with Ezra. Nathan would stay out at the ranch for a few days to make sure that Chris and Vin didn’t have any medical setbacks. Buck and JD stayed on long enough to finish the ball game and then left for town.

After a final check of Chris’s BP and temperature, Nathan finally got him settled in and went to shut down the house for the night. He carried the last of the dishes into the kitchen, loaded the dishwasher, turned it on. He returned to the den and sank down on the couch, took out his cell phone, and called Rain.

"Hey, hon." She sounded tired. "How are things out there?"

"Quiet."

"Think it will stay that way?" Amusement crept into her voice.

He laughed softly. "I wouldn’t play poker with Ezra on it." He heard her muffle a yawn. "I’d better let you get some sleep."

"I’d sleep better with you next to me," she said.

"Honey, if I was next to you, sleepin’ would be the last thing we’d be doin’."

"Come home soon."

"Day after tomorrow, I promise. Jes’ as soon as I know these two won’t be relapsing."

"Love you."

"And I thank God for that every single day." He sighed, reluctant to end the conversation but knowing his wife was on the verge of drifting off to sleep. "Love you, Rain." He hung up, turned off the lights and retired to bed.

7*7*7*7*7*7*7

Chris thought he’d sleep solidly his first night at home without the interruptions and noise of the hospital environment. Instead, he was wide awake at 3am, not tired and not in any particular pain. The thought of that folder nagged at his mind and he knew he wouldn’t get any rest until he sat down with it and puzzled it out. He got out of bed and put on his robe. The hallway was dark, but a faint glow of light showed from the kitchen. He headed that way, wondering if Nathan had left the light on for a particular reason.

It wasn’t Nathan, it was Vin, sitting at the table with a plate of chocolate cake and a glass of milk. He gave Chris a sheepish look when he saw him standing in the doorway. "M’own stomach woke me up."

Chris laughed quietly and sat down. "Got news for ya, pard. That cake ain’t gonna help you sleep."

"Hell, I spent the last week sleepin’." He pushed the plate over. "You want some?"

Chris shook his head, then reconsidered. Took a bite, and then a second one. "Good."

Vin got up, poured a second glass of milk and set it in front of Chris. He held up his casted hand and grimaced. "This is gettin’ to be old news real fast," he sighed. "Reckon I ought ta be grateful it’s not my right hand."

"You shouldn’t have to be grateful for anything that bastard did to you." Anger poured through Chris and he pushed his chair back. Let’s take this into the den." Chris carried both glasses and set them down on the coffee table. He and Vin sat on the couch, not saying much. Chris stared at the folder.

"It’s jist paper and words."

"Men have died for words and paper. We nearly died for words and paper."

Vin looked at him intently. "What’re you afraid of, Chris?"

"What?" Chris almost jerked away from him, but found he couldn’t refuse to meet Tanner’s study. Vin had seen things in Chris that he had never known existed, and he saw this, too.

Fear.

Why? What was he afraid of? Not Travis or Williams, not D’Amico and whoever was left behind to run his organization. Not even of death – he had faced it often enough in his life and since Sarah and Adam had died, he feared it even less. He looked at Vin, his eyes dark; their depths hiding nothing.

"I’m afraid that if I read this, I will find something I missed. Something years ago when I was in Phoenix that might have prevented all this from happening. I’m afraid I’ve failed." The last word was bitter and choking as ash.

Vin made a dismissive tcha in his throat. "So what? Say ya did find somethin’ like that – ya cain’t change it, ya cain’t fix it. If ya told somebody back then, would they have listened to ya?" He leaned forward, facing Chris squarely. "Would you be here? Would ya have the team? Would I be here, talkin’ to ya?" He shook his head. "Chris, life goes the way it wants ta go and it ain’t always the way ya want it to head. I tell ya straight, if ya’d never come t’Denver, most likely I’d be dead, ‘r lyin’ disgraced somewheres in an alley." He took Chris’s arms in his hands. "Y’ain’t never failed at anything, partner. Ya ain’t never failed at life."

Chris felt tears burning behind his eyes, but he couldn’t look away from Vin, couldn’t turn away from that faith, that trust he saw shining in the blue depths. It was just about the longest speech he’d ever heard Tanner make. Vin didn’t waste words any more than he wasted a shot, and every syllable was weighted with sincerity.

He closed his eyes, felt the moisture gather beneath his lids and gave up trying to stop the tears from falling. Vin’s hands stayed on his arms. Chris let him hold on and hold him up until he steadied. He drew back and dragged the sleeve of his robe across his face. Vin went to the bar and filled a glass with water. Chris took it, drank it down. "You tell anybody about this and you’ll be ridin’ a desk for the next six months."

The threat was an idle one, a standing joke. Vin’s mouth turned up in a crooked grin. "I’m shakin’ in m’boots."

"You aren’t wearing boots."

"And I ain’t shakin’ neither." His hand rested lightly on Chris’s shoulder. "There ain’t nothin’ in that report that’ll change the team, change us. Yer my friend, Chris. But y’ain’t no saint and ya ain’t perfect – hell, I reckon I’m no poster child fer livin’, either – but we’ve come this far t’gether and I’ll be here with ya fer as long as I’m breathin’."

Once again that damnable prickle behind his eyes. This time Chris willed it away. He managed to take a breath and speak in a steady voice. "Thanks, partner." There were other words that he might have said, but they weren’t important, not between him and Vin. What they owed each other was freely given and received. It always had been and always would be.

Chris looked at the folder again, but made no move to pick it up. That was for later, when he would be stronger, when the faith Vin had placed in him would be rooted firm and able to withstand the doubt and self-abnegation that Chris knew would hover over his memories like gathering storm clouds.

 Tbc...