He stood at the porch railing and leaned wearily against the support post, deeply grateful for the solid feel of the stout wood against his shoulder. Exhausted in body and soul, plagued by the aches from Vin’s beating the day before and thoroughly wrung out from this day’s events, he desperately needed rest.

He just couldn’t imagine ever sleeping again.

He rested his head against the post and stared out into the darkness beyond the circle of the security light, his hands stuffed into the pockets of the heavy denim jacket he’d donned to ward off the night’s chill. The wind, sharp and cold, had kicked up and now ruffled through his hair, eliciting a shudder from him as it prickled against his scalp and trailed icy fingers down the back of his neck.

Like somebody jist walked across m’ grave, Vin would’ve drawled.

Chris closed his eyes tightly, clenched his jaw hard and balled the hands in his pockets into fists. Shit. All they’d done today was walk across graves. And then dig them open. And he wasn’t sure they… Vin… he… could take any more of it. Not when they’d both worked so hard, so hard, to seal those graves forever shut…

Why, God, why couldn’t the dead just stay buried and leave the living in peace?

Goddamn Buck Wilmington to hell.

The man was right, but, Jesus, that didn’t make digging up the dead any easier. Not when it had taken everything that was in him to admit finally that they were dead and had to be buried, for his sanity and their peace. He’d dragged them around for so long, like his own personal cross, had found some sort of perverse pleasure in bearing that burden…

No, not pleasure. Not pleasure at all. Clutching that pain so tightly to him, refusing to let it go, had been… what was Josiah’s word? Yeah. Penance. His own modern version of self-flagellation. He’d never managed to find the bastards who’d killed them, so he’d taken their deaths out on himself instead.

One agonizing ounce of flesh at a time.

One agonizing ounce of liquor at a time.

Chris almost laughed into the night. "Messed up"? Shit, that didn’t even begin to cover what he’d been! "Messed up" was some high school kid after his graduation party. "Messed up" was a groom-to-be after his bachelor debauch. "Messed up" was…

A lonely, hurting kid in Texas who’d lost everything he’d ever known of home and happiness and had been screwed by The System six ways from Sunday.

"Messed up" didn’t come near describing the walking, breathing, hollow shell of a man that had been Chris Larabee after his wife and son had died in an explosion that had seared his whole existence to cinders.

Jesus God, he did not want to do this!

He pulled a hand out of his pocket and dug its heel into his forehead as a spasm of pain and shame racked his whole body. Since this whole ordeal had begun, Vin had looked to him, depended on him, for strength, and he’d offered whatever strength was his to give without a second thought. Hell, without any thought at all. He’d just done it because Vin had needed it and that was all that had mattered. But now he was being asked to offer his weakness, to put his own scars on display, and he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Couldn’t stop thinking about why he couldn’t do it. No matter that it was what Vin needed from him now…

Christ, he was pathetic.

"St. John of the Cross wrote of the ‘dark night of the soul.’ It seems a pretty apt description of what we’re all facin’ here."

The soft, deep voice behind him startled him badly and he whirled around, raising both hands and going instinctively into a fighting stance. But Josiah stood calmly a few feet from him, arms crossed loosely against the broad chest, graying head canted slightly to one side, blue eyes knowing and infinitely gentle. Chris exhaled sharply, raggedly, and deflated, shoving one hand back into his jacket pocket and raking the other through his hair. He turned away from the profiler and slumped once more against the post.

"I think it’s pretty clear that I’m no saint," he said bitterly.

Josiah stepped up to the railing and stood beside the younger man, joining him in staring out into the night. He’d been watching Chris for several minutes, knowing Larabee hadn’t heard him coming out onto the porch and debating whether he should reveal his presence or simply leave the man alone with his ghosts. But the pain radiating from him had settled the issue for him. Chris Larabee wasn’t always easy to help, and trying could sometimes get a man a busted lip. But, hell, Sanchez figured that these men were worth a little of his blood.

God knew they’d shed enough of their own.

"That’s the thing about saints," he mused. "With some of ’em, it wasn’t really clear that they were saints either. And quite a few of ’em would’ve scoffed at the very notion." He still faced straight ahead, but watched Chris from the corner of his eye. "You know what one of the most common proofs of sainthood is? A miraculous healing."

Chris snorted and shook his head. "Sorry, preacherman, but I’m fresh outta those."

"Oh, I don’t know," Josiah said softly, finally turning to face Chris. "Vin is in his room, still sleepin’ peacefully. Now, considering what his sleep is usually like," he arched two gray brows, "I’d say that comes pretty damn close to a miracle."

Chris scowled and waved a hand dismissively. "It’s the drugs."

"He had drugs in the hospital," Josiah pointed out evenly.

"I’m no fuckin’ saint!" Chris spat, his eyes blazing, his body tensing.

"No," Josiah remained calm in the face of the younger man’s sudden anger, "but you are a friend. And a man like Vin needs friends more than he ever will saints."

Chris exhaled sharply and ran a hand through his hair. "Talkin’ to you makes my head hurt!"

"Good," Josiah said with a broad, toothy grin. "Means I’m gettin’ through."

"Means you’re gonna get shot one day," Larabee grumbled. He sighed heavily and hung his head, closing his eyes and grimacing tightly. "I’m not sure I can do this," he rasped, hating himself for such weakness. Such cowardice. "I know I need to do it, I know Vin needs me to do it, but… I just… Shit!" he groaned in torment, bowing his head lower and thrusting both hands into his hair.

"You thought it’d be easy to cut open your own soul just because Vin needs you to do it?"

"Shouldn’t it be?" Chris asked, lifting his head and fixing anguished eyes upon Sanchez. "He’s my friend. Shouldn’t I be ready to make any sacrifice for him?"

"And we’re Vin’s friends," Josiah countered with a shrug. "But d’you think that made it easy for him to do what he did in there?"

Chris shook his head impatiently. "It’s not the same thing–"

"No?" Josiah met Larabee’s stare mildly and slipped his hands hands into the front pockets of his jeans, standing loose-jointed and relaxed. "You care ta tell me how it’s different?"

Chris waved a hand in dismissal and turned away, frustrated by the profiler’s calm logic. "It just is," he muttered.

"Thanks for clearin’ that up."

Chris rounded on him then with a furious hiss, his lean frame taut, his green eyes glittering. "You think this is a joke?" he spat.

Josiah’s calm never wavered and he never shifted from his easy stance. The only change in his demeanor was the sorrow and sympathy that crept into his eyes. "No, son, I don’t," he said softly. "I don’t think there’s a single thing funny about any of this, and I’m sure as hell not takin’ any of it lightly. There’s too much pain here for that, yours and Vin’s. All I’m tryin’ to do is to help you understand that you have no more reason to punish yourself for feelin’ that pain than Vin has to punish himself for feelin’ his. None of this is easy," he said gently, stepping closer to Chris, "none of this is right, and neither of you should be goin’ through any of it. You’re both bein’ made to face things that no one should ever have to face, and you’re both bein’ made to rip open wounds that no one should ever have to carry, let alone figure out how ta heal. Not wantin’ to do that doesn’t make you a coward, Chris, and it doesn’t make you any less of a friend to Vin. It just makes you human."

Chris exhaled defeatedly and slumped once more against the post, then slid down it until he was sitting on the porch. "Why is this so hard?"

Sanchez sighed deeply and sank down until he was sitting at Larabee’s side. "Because you’re being asked to give up a part of yourself, a part of your control, and that doesn’t come easily to you." He turned knowing eyes upon the younger man. "You just have to ask yourself if Vin’s worth it."

"You know he is!" Chris snapped at once.

Josiah smiled. "You see how easy that was? You didn’t even have to think about it." He shrugged. "Maybe that should tell you somethin’."

"Like what?" Chris sighed, resting his head against the post.

"Like maybe this doesn’t need thought," Josiah suggested, trying not to lose patience at Larabee’s dogged refusal to understand. "This isn’t a tactical operation, Chris, and you don’t have to figure all the angles. This is just you opening up to Vin. You’ve never needed to think about that before. I can’t see why you’d have to think about it now."

"Maybe because there’s so much at stake," Chris insisted stubbornly. "Maybe because I know how fragile he is and I don’t wanta do anything to shatter him. Maybe because–"

"Or maybe this isn’t about Vin bein’ shattered at all!" Josiah interrupted sharply, his irritation breaking free. "Maybe it’s some illusion you think Vin holds about you that you don’t wanta see shattered. Maybe you’re afraid of what’ll happen when he finds out that you’re not Superman after all. Maybe you’re afraid of what he’ll think about you when he finds out that you weren’t any better at putting the pieces of your soul back together than he was, that you’re ultimately not any stronger than he is. Well, I’ve got news for ya, Chris," he said harshly, leaning forward and jabbing a thick forefinger firmly into Larabee’s chest, "he already knows that! He’s known it from the moment you two met. And oddly enough he’s never thought any the less of you for it!"

Chris stared at Josiah in stunned silence, as taken aback by the man’s words as by his sudden anger. God, was that it? Was he really afraid that finding out he’d needed help to put his life back together would change how Vin thought about him? Vin Tanner, who cared less about appearances and image than anyone Chris had ever known?

Jesus, could he really be that stupid?

And could he really think that little of Vin?

"I’m an ass!" he breathed, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

Josiah relaxed and dropped his hand from Larabee’s chest, knowing the battle had been won. "Admitting the problem is the first step toward correcting it," he said.

Chris gave a wry chuckle and raised his head, opening his eyes and fixing a rueful gaze on the profiler. "Talkin’ with you is hell on a man’s ego, y’know that?"

"The truth can take its toll," Sanchez quipped, arching a brow. "And if it comes to a choice between Vin’s sanity and your ego, well…" His thick shoulders heaved in an eloquent shrug. "It’s all about priorities, brother."

"Yeah, it is. I guess I forgot that for a minute." He lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes slightly. "I won’t forget it again."

Josiah saw the determination in every line of Larabee’s face and permitted himself a small, satisfied smile. "Nope," he murmured, "I reckon you won’t."

7~7~7~7

Chris remained on the porch long after Josiah went back inside, smoking one last cheroot and trying to clear his mind. He tried to remember how it felt not to be gripped by constant worry, how it felt just to exist in the present moment without having to fear what the next would bring. Mostly he tried to remember how it felt to have Vin’s strong and steady presence at his side, how it felt to be able to draw upon that deep well of calm that so often had been his only saving grace.

Jesus, he missed that! And he’d kill or die to get it back.

Josiah had been right, he knew that now without a doubt. His own petty insecurities didn’t matter worth a damn here. If he had to give up some of his precious control, well, Vin was more than worth the sacrifice. What had Sanchez said? That he was afraid of Vin finding out that he wasn’t Superman after all? He had to laugh.

Like Tanner had ever thought that anyway!

No, others might think of him as inhuman, invulnerable, heartless, but Vin knew better. Had known better from the start. Had known him from the start. Tanner had turned those startlingly blue eyes on him and seen clear through him at once, taking in every strength and every flaw and accepting him without question for who and what he was. He’d never had to pretend with Vin.

Not that pretense would have done him any good anyway with the maddeningly perceptive Texan…

Goddamn it, he wanted Vin back!

He took one last puff at the cheroot, then dropped it to the ground and crushed it out thoroughly beneath his boot heel, venting some of his frustration on the helpless cigar. When the last spark had died, he rose to his feet and went inside the house, finding it dark and silent. Looking at the clock, he was surprised to find that it was well past midnight.

Time did fly when you were having fun…

He locked the door and set the alarm, then trudged with heavy steps through the den, fully intent upon going to his room and going to bed, as he presumed Buck and Josiah had done. Instead, and seemingly of their own accord, his feet took him the opposite way down the long hall to the room where Vin rested.

Where he hoped Vin rested.

He opened the door carefully, then, still without consciously intending to, slipped inside and closed it silently behind him. Weak light from the small lamp he’d found for the bedside table filtered over the bed – Vin was no better now at tolerating complete darkness than he’d been in the hospital – and Chris was relieved to see that his friend was truly sleeping. Vin lay curled on his side, huddled under enough covers to keep an Eskimo warm, strands of long hair falling over his face. He was pale and, God, so thin, but he did seem to be at peace.

Chris released the breath he’d been holding since opening the door.

He knew he should go on to his room now, knew it would be all right and was desperately aware of his own exhaustion. But he couldn’t leave. Something in him, whether the memory of Vin’s tortured nights in the hospital or just the simple need to protect his friend from the demons they’d awakened tonight, gripped and held him fast. He should leave; he could leave.

Except that he couldn’t. Not just yet.

Exhaling softly, he finally did as Josiah had suggested and let go. Abandoned thought for instinct. Having no explanation for what he did, and oddly enough never even trying to formulate one, he walked around the wide bed to the other side and eased himself gingerly down upon it. He removed his boots, socks, belt and shirt, then lay down slowly, careful not to disturb Vin. He stretched out on his back and folded an arm beneath his head, closing his eyes and listening to Vin’s deep, even breathing.

He’d just rest here a while, only long enough to convince himself that Vin really would be all right. A man should be able to do that for a friend, just watch his back. God knew Vin had done it for him often enough, and with far less reason. He willed himself to relax, but didn’t get beneath the covers.

He wouldn’t be staying that long. Just until he was certain.

But he was still there a few hours later, sound asleep, when Buck stopped by to check on Vin on his way back from the bathroom to his own room. The big man smiled at the sight of Tanner, still on his side but no longer tightly curled, deeply asleep and at peace, with his own guardian angel sleeping protectively beside him. Moving as soundlessly as a cat, Buck crept around to where Chris lay and gently pulled the covers over him as he’d done so often with JD. And he watched the two men, both shaken as deeply as he’d ever known them to be, yet still finding comfort and strength in each other. He straightened, smiled tenderly and nodded.

Oh, yeah. They were all gonna be just fine.