They had gotten Vin to his bed and he now lay curled tightly on his side, shaking uncontrollably despite the heavy comforter that covered him. His eyes were closed but he wasn't asleep, couldn't sleep, was too acutely, even painfully, aware of the people around him, touching him, for sleep to be possible. Nathan sat beside him on the bed and held his wrist to measure his pulse, Chris sat down by his feet, one strong hand resting on his leg, and Nettie ... oh, God, Nettie ... sat at his back, pressed up close against him, her hand either combing through his hair or stroking his shoulder and back, but never once leaving him.

Lord, how could she bear to touch him now? How could she even bear to be near him?

Shame flooded him anew and he tried to pull away from her, but, stubborn as stone, she would have none of it and simply moved with him. Her fingers again found his shoulder and squeezed, her touch gentle but unrelenting. He didn't understand it, couldn't understand it. He'd turned on her, attacked her, tried to kill her. By all rights, she should want to be as far from him as she could get, should've left him at her first chance. But she hadn't, hadn't once stopped touching him, acted like she couldn't get close enough to him, couldn't do enough for him. As he'd lain crying like a baby on the floor of Chris's den, she'd been right there, holding him and crying with him, telling him she loved him. When the full horror of what he'd done, what he'd tried to do, had crashed down upon him and literally made him sick, she'd held him through the violent bouts of retching, doing all she could to comfort him. Afterward, she'd cleaned him up, even changed his clothes, refusing to let anyone else do it for her.

And she'd never ever once stopped touching him.

Lord God, she'd truly meant it!

Nathan set Vin's hand back down on the bed and pulled the comforter up, tucking it close about the thin, shaking shoulders and gently brushing the sweat-damp hair away from Vin's bloodless face. He still didn't know what had prompted him to head out to the ranch after his call earlier. Josiah had assured him that everything was fine, and he knew the man would never say such a thing unless it were true. Even as he'd gotten in his Bronco and backed out of his drive, he'd chided himself for being an over-protective fool and told himself that everything these men had ever told him about his being a mama hen was true. But then he'd walked into Chris's den to find Vin hysterical, Nettie trying to calm him and in tears herself, and Chris, Buck and Josiah in shock...

And he'd decided then and there that he could live with being an over-protective fool.

"You just rest now, Vin," he urged quietly, his big hand resting with infinite gentleness against Tanner's head. "Let that pill I gave ya work." From the corner of his eye, he saw Chris flinch at the mention of the tranquilizer, but Nathan knew he'd had no choice. Larabee might not like sedating his friend, but he'd like having to tie him down later even less. "G'on ta sleep," he soothed. "We'll all be here when ya wake up." He slid his hand down to the back of Vin's neck and squeezed lightly, then rose to his feet and started toward the door.

Chris patted Vin's leg and leaned forward. "I'll be back in a while to check on ya, partner," he said in a low voice. "You just do like Nathan said, get some rest. It's gonna be all right, you'll see." Yet even as he spoke the words, he cast a desperate look at Nettie as if pleading with her to make that so. When she gave him a small nod, he patted Vin's leg again, then got off the bed and followed Nathan out of the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Vin tensed, fully expecting Nettie to make some excuse and leave him, too. When she didn't, when she only scooted closer still and rubbed a hand slowly up and down his arm, a hard shudder shook him, a wrenching gasp tore from him and he rolled onto his other side, buried his face in her waiting lap and sobbed out all his fear, shame and love.

And Nettie Wells, her own face streaked with tears, bowed low over him, spoke softly to him and never once stopped touching him.

7~7~7~7

Chris stood rigidly before one of the long narrow windows flanking the door and stared out into the twilight falling softly over his yard. Behind him, Josiah quietly related to the newcomers all that Vin had recalled last night and what had happened less than two hours ago with Nettie. He knew it probably should have been him telling them, had called Ezra and JD out to the ranch with precisely that intention. It was his responsibility; he was team leader and Vin's closest friend. But...

Jesus, but! Telling it once to Nettie had damn near killed him. To do it again, to look into Nathan, JD and Ezra's faces and inflict that hell, Vin's hell, on them...

Christ, he really was a coward.

Josiah's soft, sad rumble of a voice finally went quiet, the brutal tale at last finished, and a deep, horrified silence fell upon the room. Buck sat on the couch beside JD and the boy had collapsed into his arms, was huddled in them still, seeking a comfort that the man for once simply couldn't give. Nathan was in one of Chris's recliners, his big frame bent forward, his face buried in shaking hands, his soul in shreds. And Ezra...

Ezra stood behind Vin's rocker, his head bowed, his face deathly white, his familiar mask of cool indifference nowhere in evidence. A single tear tracked slowly down one cheek, and the long-fingered hands that could manipulate a deck of cards or a gun with such effortless skill now stroked slowly, lovingly over the curved back of the chair, his eyes jade oceans of raw pain. "My God," he breathed strickenly into the awful silence. "My God..."

"He's not crazy," Chris said harshly from his place at the window, never turning to face his friends. Not certain he could face them, or the pain in them that he knew would run as deep as his own.

"Of course he's not," Ezra answered without hesitation, his drawl far thicker than usual. "Though for the life of me I cannot understand why he's not. After a life like that..." He stared down at the rocker, thought of the man to whom it belonged, then thought of the boy that man had been and felt his heart twist agonizingly in his chest. "All at once I feel compelled to call Mother and apologize profusely for every mean-spirited remark I've ever made to or about about her," he breathed. "At her very worst, even she was incapable of ... that."

"Neglect is neglect, Ezra," Nathan said softly, raising his head from his hands and fixing tear-softened eyes upon the Southerner. "Vin didn't deserve the life forced on him. You didn't deserve the life Maude gave you. Don't no child deserve ta be treated like property. An' disposable property at that. She's the one oughtta be apologizin' ta you."

Standish stiffened and blinked rapidly, startled to hear such words from the man with whom he was so frequently at odds. He knew that Nathan didn't always approve of him or of the life he led. Yet it surprised him now to hear the man speak so harshly of the circumstances - and the woman - that had shaped that life.

"Children are resilient, Nathan," he said quietly. "We learn to make do-"

"Shouldn't hafta 'make do'!" Nathan shouted, lunging to his feet as fury ripped through him in hard, hot waves. "Vin shouldn'ta had ta grow up learnin' how ta keep himself from bein' hurt, an' you shouldn'ta had ta do it learnin' how ta figure all th' angles! Children ain't property ta be used an' thrown away at will!" He stalked over to Ezra, dark eyes burning, and jabbed a thick, dark finger into the smaller man's chest. "You don't owe Maude no damn apology, you hear me?" he seethed, towering over the undercover agent. "Maybe she didn't beat on ya like that sonuvabitch did Vin, but the hurt she done was just as real and just as wrong, and the scars she left are just as bad! And you, Ezra P. Standish, deserved better'n a woman who couldn't be bothered ta be a mama ta her own child!"

Ezra gaped at Nathan in outright shock, eyes wide, mouth open, brain too numb to form words. Like Vin, he'd grown up suspecting that he was somehow to blame for the childhood he'd had, or hadn't had, figured that he must've done something to drive his mother away, had somehow proved unworthy of her love. Even now, though maturity and reason told him it wasn't so, he found it difficult to fault her and much easier to excuse her.

Besides, she hadn't really been that bad a parent ... had she?

"Don't!" Nathan growled, seeing the familiar defense, the familiar excuse, rising in Standish and cutting it off before it was born. "She don't deserve it! You're a good man, Ezra, or ya can be when ya try, but ain't none of it because of her. You done ever' bit of it yourself, an' if you say one word in her defense, I'll beat the hell outta ya right here an' now!"

Before he could stop it - and appalled that he didn't want to stop it - Ezra felt a warm, bright smile spreading over his face, felt it lighting and lifting his heart. Damn these men and their bizarre notions of friendship...

"Thank you, Mr. Jackson," he breathed with absolute sincerity. "I am deeply touched that you care so much about me."

"Hell, yeah, I care!" Nathan snorted. "Wouldn't spend half my time wantin' ta strangle ya if I didn't think you's worth the effort! You're a good man, Ezra," he said again, his own sincerity obvious. "You just need ta stop fightin' it and let yourself be a good man!"

Ezra was stunned, touched and more confused than he'd ever been in his life by the wealth and depth of feeling the medic's fierce words unlocked within him. No one had ever believed in him as these men did; no one had ever worked so hard to get him to believe in himself. No one had ever considered him worth the effort.

"I shall ... certainly endeavor to ... to rise to your expectations," he breathed, startled to realize that he was speaking the truth. "I would hate to provoke you into an act of violence, however well meant, against my person."

Nathan's lips twitched in a smile and his dark eyes shone warmly. "Best you shape up then," he teased gently. "'Cause if I have ta beat you up, then I'll only have ta put ya back together after, and I won't be in no mood ta listen ta your whinin'."

Ezra drew a sharp breath and pulled himself to his full height, inclining his head and staring at Jackson in outrage. "I," he declared in a deeply offended tone, "never whine!"

"'Cept when he had ta wear that purple suit," Buck countered in a loud stage-whisper. "'Course, I guess that was nearer ta cryin' than actual whinin'."

Ezra turned slowly on the smirking Wilmington and fixed a murderous glare upon him. "You really are going to make me kill you, aren't you, Mr. Wilmington?" he asked coldly. "I gave explicit instructions that no one was ever to mention that sartorial violation again in my hearing!" He shuddered dramatically and lifted a hand to his forehead, as if near fainting. "My God, the damage to my fragile psyche may never be undone! Even now at the mere memory, I find myself in need of medicinal aid-"

"Stay the hell outta my good bourbon," Chris warned, turning back to his friends and pinning Standish in place with a glare. "I've started notchin' the bottle."

Ezra met that glare with an elegantly raised brow. "Run out of room on your gunbelt already?"

Chris's mouth curved into a thin smile. "I just went out and bought a whole new gunbelt." He winked. "Still waitin' for that first notch."

"Oh, very well!" Ezra huffed indignantly, rolling his eyes and shaking his head in disgust. "I shall content myself with a lesser brand, then." He shot a glare at Nathan. "Since I am such a 'good man'!" Jerking up his chin, he swept past the snickering medic and stormed to the bar.

Josiah watched and listened to the by-play with a deeply grateful heart, easily able to feel the friendship, the brotherhood, behind it. Vin wasn't the only one being shaken and torn here. As always with the Seven, what happened to one happened to all. They were all struggling to find and keep their footing in the quicksand. And, as always with the Seven, they found their surest footing in each other.

They were each other's greatest source of strength.

7~7~7~7

Nettie shifted slightly on the bed, careful not to disturb Vin but needing to get at least some of the circulation back in her legs. She knew she couldn't sit like this all night, knew her old bones simply wouldn't tolerate it. But she wouldn't be leaving anytime soon, either.

Her old heart wouldn't tolerate that.

She gazed down at Vin and tenderly brushed back the long hair that had fallen across his face. His slack, peaceful face; the tranquilizer had done its work. He was deeply asleep and completely relaxed, the former tight curl of his body given way to a loose sprawl. His head was still in her lap, though she'd managed to get a pillow beneath him, and one arm was draped across her thighs. He lay close against her, almost on top of her, but not for anything, not even her own comfort, would she move him. Instead, she merely slipped a hand beneath the comforter covering him and gently rubbed his back just below his shoulders, winning a slow, soft sigh from him even in sleep.

No, her comfort didn't matter at all.

She studied him, his pallor, his thinness, and thought again of the skinny, long-haired, haunted boy who'd ghosted into her classroom that evening all those years ago. He'd come so far since then, scratching and clawing to find his place in a world that seemed to have no room for him, struggling to rebuild a life that so many others had declared beyond salvaging. At times the fight had so beaten him down that she'd wondered how he'd ever find the strength and the will to go on waging it. But always, always he'd managed to lift his head, take one more step, reclaim one more piece of himself...

Her heart clenched in fear and pain as she felt the frailty of the body resting against her. Did he have it in him now to do it all again?

The door opened quietly and she looked up, expecting to see Chris. To her surprise, though, Josiah Sanchez stuck his head inside and peered around the door, a question in his eyes.

"Come on in," she invited. "It's all right, he's sleepin' sound. Tranquilizer's doin' its work."

He nodded and stepped within, closing the door softly behind him. His gaze went at once to Vin and a small smile tugged at his lips. The young man was sleeping peacefully, but Josiah had to wonder how much was due to the drug and how much to the loving presence of the woman cradling him to her. He could see the movement of her hand beneath the comforter and could well imagine what a balm her touch must be to Vin's troubled soul.

"Oh," he said softly, "I don't think it's the tranquilizer workin' on him now."

The gentle admiration in his voice and eyes brought a flush of color to her weathered cheeks and she bowed her head to hide it, uncomfortable at having so much made of something that came so naturally to her. "Just lettin' him know I'm here," she demurred. "Lettin' him know he's safe." She slid her hand up from beneath the comforter and gently stroked the back of Vin's head. "I reckon I've seen him through enough nightmares ta know what works."

"Yeah," he breathed, sorrow crossing his face, "I guess we've all gotten pretty good at that lately."

She lifted her gaze back to him, studied him a moment, then nodded to the chair set against the wall. "Why don't ya bring that over, sit down for a spell? You look worn ta the bone."

He gave a wry smile at her directness. "It has been a tryin' couple of days."

She arched a brow at that. "Only a couple of days?"

He went to retrieve the chair and dragged it to the bed, then sank down into it with a weary, grateful sigh, sitting back and scrubbing a meaty hand over his face. "When two days feel like two months," he said tiredly, "it's hard ta think back any longer. Vin just came home from the hospital - for the second time - yesterday. But with all that's happened since then," he shrugged, "feels like a helluva lot longer."

She continued watching him, easily able to see the toll all this had taken on him and vividly recalling the lines of exhaustion and strain carved so deeply into Chris's face. "How're you boys holdin' up?" she asked worriedly.

He shrugged again. "We're learning to live in the moment," he answered resignedly. "We take each new crisis as it comes, learn from it and move on. And we relish to the fullest the moments of peace between the crises. We relax when we can, fight when we have to." His pale blue eyes again went to Vin. "And we hold onto him with all the strength that's in us."

She smiled slightly, fondly. "Trust me, Mr. Sanchez, that's a powerful lot of strength," she said softly. "I'm not sure I've ever told you boys how glad I am that Vin fell in with you all. You've all done so much for him, given him so much-"

"Ma'am," Josiah broke in quiely, "anything we've given to Vin pales in comparison to what we've received from him. What I've received from him." He leaned forward in his chair and set his forearms on his knees, clasping his big hands together and gazing intently at Vin. "That boy sleepin' in your lap has every reason to be the hardest, bitterest, angriest man on God's earth. He should be filled with hatred and darkness and should spend his days cursing his life and the fate that inflicted it on him. But he doesn't. Somewhere, somehow, he's learned the secret of peace, of acceptance, of letting go. While the rest of us hoard our misery and pain and clutch them to us like priceless treasures, Vin simply throws his out upon the winds, refusing to be burdened by them. Refusing to be crippled by them. And without ever knowing it, he's been teaching us to do the same. That's his gift to us."

He rose to his feet and began pacing slowly about the room, his head bowed in thought. "I told you that we're learning to live in the moment," he went on, his deep voice quiet yet resonant with deep emotion. "In all my life, I've never seen a greater master of that art than Vin. Time and again I've watched in awe as he has simply stood there, wherever he is, immersed fully in one single moment of time and taking into himself everything that moment has to offer. Sometimes," he breathed in wonderment, "I'd swear I can actually hear his soul inhale!" He turned back to the bed, gazed once more at Vin and gasped audibly as a hard shudder of grief shook his big frame. "That's why it hurts so to see him tortured like this," he rasped in a rough and broken voice, unbearable sorrow flooding his face as he beheld the young man drugged into the peace that should have been his by right. "He's fighting so hard just to hold himself together, just to keep himself from bleeding out through the cracks in his own mind, that he can't spare the time or strength to take in those moments that he treasures so much. He's fighting so desperately against the ugliness within him that he can't look even for a second at the beauty around him." He shook his gray head slowly and a single tear slid down his face. "I can't remember the last time I heard that boy's soul inhale."

Nettie bowed her head and closed her eyes tightly as her own sorrow threatened to overcome her. She'd always known how much these men meant to her boy; she was only now starting to realize how much he meant to them. Their love for him was different than hers, was newer than hers, but it clearly ran no less deeply than hers. Neither did their pain. She could hear it now in Josiah's ragged rumble of a voice, had seen it - sweet Lord, had she seen it! - in the raw depths of Chris Larabee's eyes. If they lost Vin, they would all, every one of them, lose something infinitely precious in themselves.

"We can't lose him," she whispered, smoothing his hair even as her tears fell into the lank strands.

Josiah returned to the bed and eased himself onto it next to Vin, careful not to disturb him. But, unable to help himself, he stretched out an arm and laid a big hand gently on the sleeping man's covered back in something very like a benediction. "We will not lose him to the sorrow and violence of his past," he assured her solemnly, his eyes locked upon Vin. "We will not abandon him to the darkness in his mind, we will not sacrifice him to the demons in his soul. This boy is ours, and we will not let him go!"

7~7~7~7

Again Chris found himself standing before the long, narrow window, and again he found himself staring through it without actually seeing a thing. He'd tried sitting down to read the paper, but had abandoned that effort after reading the same headline at least half a dozen times without ever knowing what it said. At some point he'd ended up right back here, though he didn't exactly know when or why. Seemed his brain had finally shut down, for which he was oddly grateful. He was tired of thinking, tired of trying to anticipate each new crisis before it arrived and tired of trying to understand whichever one had just passed.

He was just goddamned tired.

He loosed a long, exhausted sigh and closed his eyes, letting his head drop forward. He was alone in the den and was grateful for that, too; no one around to ask him a question that might require him to think. Buck had wandered out to the porch and taken JD with him in a none-too-subtle effort to see how their youngest was dealing with everything that was happening. Ezra and Nathan had volunteered to cook supper and were in the kitchen, though Ezra's role would most likely consist of antagonizing Nathan and Nathan's of reining in Ezra's culinary excesses. Nettie and Josiah were still with Vin...

Chris's heart and gut clenched tightly, and he realized that his brain hadn't completely shut down yet after all. He was still capable of fear for his friend, was still able to wonder how much damage this latest "episode" - God, how he hated that word! - had caused him and try to figure out just where the hell they were supposed to go from here.

Vin had attacked Nettie.

His exhausted mind reeled before all the ugly possibilities conjured by that thought. Vin's attack on him had left the younger man in shock and sent him right back to the hospital, his mind barely able to cope with what he'd done. How in the hell was he supposed to deal with having tried to strangle the woman he loved as a mother?

Exactly how much longer was Vin supposed to go on tap-dancing in a mine field?

Chris winced and raised a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing the aching muscles there. Christ, he hurt all over, and from a beating at the hands of a man who'd been at considerably less than full strength. Vin could have killed him. Could have killed Nettie. Could kill all of them still.

He flinched violently at that and spun away from the window, as if some shadow outside had inspired that hideous thought. No. No. NO! Vin wouldn't ... couldn't ... Except that he could; he just hadn't.

Wouldn't, couldn't, hadn't...

Would he?

A low, wrenching groan of anguish ripped from the depths of his soul and he forced his exhausted, leaden legs to propel him to the bar, desperately in need of something that would finally, mercifully complete the deadening of his brain. He was sick of thinking, was horrified by the thoughts that refused to stop churning. He hadn't allowed himself to get even slightly buzzed since Castro had first taken Vin, much less cold, passed-out drunk.

Well, no time like the present to rectify that glaring mistake.

He stepped behind the bar and bent down, snagging a bottle of whiskey and pulling it out. Straightening again, he snatched a glass from the shelf to his right and set it down with a solid "thump," opened the bottle and poured himself a generous measure. Sobriety was highly over-rated.

"Well, if the bar is open I believe I should enjoy an evening libation as well."

Chris swore savagely under his breath as the honeyed drawl intruded upon his silence and turned to glare at the man striding into the den and shattering his solitude. "Aren't you supposed to be in the kitchen?" he growled.

Ezra clearly heard the hard edge in Larabee's voice, easily read the anger in the man's face, and merely arched one chestnut brow in cool unconcern. "I have been evicted," he announced, his voice as smooth as silk. "Mr. Jackson took umbrage at my attempts to enliven his nutritious but rather unimaginative menu choices." He slid onto one of the cushioned bar stools, glanced at the bottle gripped so tightly in his boss's hand and heaved a resigned sigh. "Still not the good stuff," he lamented.

Chris grit his teeth but got a second glass and set it down hard in front of Standish. "I'm goin' for quantity, not quality."

"I see that," Ezra observed wryly. He nudged his glass forward with a slender forefinger. "Very well then, bartender, hit me. I believe the 'buddy system' prohibits me from allowing you to go swimming alone."

Chris narrowed his eyes and stared at the Southerner for long moments, but could read nothing in his placid face. Irritated at himself for even trying, he exhaled sharply and poured Standish a portion equal to his own.

Ezra raised his glass and shot Larabee a dimpled smile. "A votre sante," he toasted, then put the glass to his lips and shot its contents down in a single swallow.

Caught by surprise, Chris stared blankly at the man, his own glass still untouched.

Ezra noted the look and arched a brow. "Did I misunderstand you?" he asked in innocent bewilderment. "Is inebriation not our goal?" He slid his hand over the polished bar top and tapped Larabee's glass. "By all means, drink up. Vin is safely sedated and the indomitable Mrs. Wells is here. Surely you are now free from any obligation to remain vigilant?" He waved an elegantly manicured hand. "There are others here who certainly wouldn't mind stepping up in the event that Vin should need ... someone."

Chris's whole body jerked as the trap snapped shut around him. Ezra's glib words struck him exactly where they'd been aimed and he stared at the man in horrified recognition of his own weakness. Oh, God, he really had been ready to dump Vin into the first available set of hands just so he could dive into the nearest bottle!

Ezra saw that recognition flooding the man and gave him a sympathetic smile. "Take a drink, Chris," he urged gently. "You've earned it. But you know as well as I do that there's no real escape to be found in that bottle."

"I was gonna try, though," he whispered harshly, still staring strickenly at Ezra.

Standish's smile turned sad. "No, you weren't. Not really. Oh, you thought you were. Probably even looked forward to it. But we both know that something would've stopped you. The very same thing that's kept you from doing it long before now." At Chris's puzzled look, he arched a brow and said patiently, "Abiding concern for a friend who needs and trusts you completely. You aren't capable of turning your back on that. On him."

"I almost-"

"Almost only counts in hand grenades and horseshoes," Ezra intoned.

Chris gave a small chuckle. "Hell, now you even sound like Vin."

Ezra's eyes widened and he sat up straight. "And now you are bein' insultin'!"

Chris didn't take the bait, but continued to study the man before him. "What made you so sure I wasn't gonna really get drunk?"

Ezra returned that regard steadily and with a slight shrug. "Simple logic, really. A man who wants to get drunk and who knows how to do it," the subtle tightening at the corners of Chris's mouth was the only sign that his words had struck home, "would certainly not choose to do so in a house filled with people who could be counted upon not to let that happen."

Chris lifted his chin slightly, his eyes hardening. "You sayin' you boys could stop me?" he challenged.

One corner of Ezra's mouth quirked upward in a smirk. "We don't have to," he drawled. "You stopped yourself." The smirk faded and he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar and gazing at his boss with a rare openness. "Face it, Chris," he said quietly, "you are not a man who runs from responsibility, and you have made it abundantly clear that you consider Vin's well-being your most dearly-held one. A part of you might believe that you want to escape, but another part, the greater part, would never let that happen. You're not weak, Chris," he said gently. "You're just tired."

Chris stared for long moments at Standish, his jaw set hard, then relaxed with an audible sigh and bowed his head, running a hand through his hair. "Tired," he breathed, closing his eyes and feeling the weight of that word to the very center of his bones. "Hell, Ez, right now 'tired' would be an improvement." He rubbed a hand over his eyes, then dropped it, opened his eyes and lifted them again to his undercover agent. "You wanta tell me what makes you so sure of yourself?"

Ezra drew back from the bar and dropped his gaze to its polished top. "I believe," he said softly, uncomfortably, "that I may speak with some authority on the subject of running away."

"Maybe once," Chris agreed quietly. "But you seem to have gotten out of that habit."

"Yes, well," Ezra threw a weak smile at him, "if memory serves, you made quite clear what would happen if I did not. And because I hold my own well-being in such high regard-"

"Bullshit," Chris interrupted, green eyes gleaming warmly. "Wasn't me who made you stop runnin'. It was you." He lifted his glass and winked. "We're both frauds."

"Yes," Ezra grumbled as he watched Larabee finally take a drink. "But I used to be so much better at it!"

7~7~7~7

Even with six of the seven present, supper was an unusually subdued affair. They sat at the mahogany table in the dining room, Nettie ensconced like a matriarch at one end and flanked by three men on either side. It was not her presence, though, that oppressed the six, but the glaring absence of their seventh. It was too quiet without him, the quietest man any of them had ever known. Sitting three to a side, they faced each other in perfect symmetry, yet without that extra man to one side they were badly off-balance.

Without Vin, they were just wrong.

In less than twenty minutes they were done. No conversation, no seconds; plenty of leftovers. They'd all eaten mechanically, little caring and never tasting what they'd put into their mouths. Of them all, only Nathan could have said what the fare had been, and that only because he'd fixed it. Rising almost in concert from the table, they quickly and tersely claimed various means of keeping themselves occupied. Josiah and Nettie took clean-up duty. Buck volunteered to feed and bed down the horses for the night and JD immediately offered to help, desperately in need of some occupation for his hands and diversion for his mind. Nathan slipped immediately out of the dining room to check on Vin again, followed by grateful gazes and several audible sighs of relief. Ezra and Chris merely drifted out of the dining room and back to the den, neither able to think of anything to do.

Hell, Chris realized tiredly, he could barely think, period.

Ezra paced idly about the den, but kept glancing longingly at the door that led out onto the porch. As much as he complained about the "rustic environs" of the ranch, he truly did find the nights out here strangely soothing. Far removed from lights, sounds and distractions of the city he could relax, let down his guard, contemplate his thoughts without worrying about having to fit them into any pre-arranged pattern. Out here he could simply be himself, and while he hadn't always known exactly who that was or why it was even important, he was learning it now with - and from - these men.

They really were a terrible influence upon him.

"I believe I shall take in a bit of the night air," he said at last. "Perhaps it will help settle my thoughts." He turned to Chris, saw again the man's complete exhaustion and felt a sharp twinge of worry. "Unless there is something I can do for you?" he asked hopefully.

"I wish there was," Chris sighed. He read the concern in Standish's eyes and realized he must look every bit as bad as he felt. Jesus, when had they all gotten so damned transparent? "But what I need..."

"I know," Ezra breathed when Larabee's words trailed off into silence. He went slowly toward the man who looked so helplessly lost in his own home. "He'll be all right," he said quietly, startled by the certainty in his own voice. "It won't be easy and it won't happen quickly, but he will be all right." He stopped just before Chris and stared compellingly into the taller man's face. "Consider all that he has survived to this point," he urged softly. "With little or no help along the way, with no one's strength to call upon save his own, with nothing but his own stubborn will to guide him and to goad him, look at what he has survived!" He took one step closer, then, completely contrary to his own nature and to Larabee's, he reached out and grasped the man's upper arm firmly, pouring every ounce of conviction he possessed through his touch, his eyes and his words. "So when he now has all of us here with him, when he is surrounded on every side by our help, our strength and our will, when he finally knows what it is to have others, to have us, fighting not just with him but for him, how, you tell me how, in God's name he could possibly not be all right?"

"I don't know," Chris murmured, weighed down by utter weariness. "He's lost so much... I guess I'm just not sure that we'll be enough to help him get it back."

"Believe me," Ezra assured him softly and with heartfelt sincerity, "when it comes to helping a man reclaim himself, you, all of you, are more than enough."

Chris smiled slightly at that, knowing the man was no longer talking about Vin. "Anything for a friend." Ezra's eyes widened at the words, and the truth behind them, and Chris was again reminded how very much alike the cultured Southerner and rough Texan really were. Neither really yet understood how much he meant to the rest of them, how much he gave to them. They were still struggling to find their places in the circle, not yet realizing that those places had long since been assured. Not yet realizing that without them that circle would never, could never, be complete.

Well, hell. Maybe a little convincing was in order.

"I was wrong," he said quietly. When Ezra stared at him in confusion, his smile widened. "There is somethin' you can do for me." He turned and started toward the bar, then glanced over his shoulder to see Standish just standing there, still frowning. "C'mon. Got somethin' you can help me with."

Ezra followed without a word, his confusion, and his curiosity, deepening by the moment. When Chris stepped behind the bar and bent down, Ezra shrugged and stopped trying to figure it out. The man was clearly addled by his exhaustion...

Moments later Chris straightened and set a distinctive bottle on the bar, then retrieved two glasses from the shelf, setting one beside the bottle and handing the other to Ezra. With unhurried movements, he opened the bottle, half-filled the glass on the bar, then reached out and filled Ezra's. A slow smile curved about his mouth as he noted Standish's expression. "Wild Turkey Kentucky Spirit," he announced needlessly. "One hundred and one proof, drawn from a single barrel selected by Jimmy Russell himself." Setting the bottle back down, he picked up his own glass and raised it to his undercover agent. "Here's to the good stuff, and to those who know it when they see it."

Ezra didn't say a word, didn't take a drink, merely stared at his boss and let the respect, the friendship, in the warm green eyes wash over and through him, anchoring him more firmly than ever to this man and to the five others who looked at him the very same way. He'd never had this before, this complete acceptance not in spite of who and what he was, but because of it. The knowledge that he had it now was as rare and as rich as the bourbon he held. At long last he raised his glass and took a sip, exhaling slowly in deep appreciation.

The good stuff, indeed.

7~7~7~7

Nettie left Vin's room silently, grateful that he was still resting peacefully. Nathan had said that between the tranquilizer and his own exhaustion he'd almost certainly sleep through the night, but she couldn't help checking to be sure. In the past, with the memories locked away, his nightmares had been bad enough; she could only imagine what they must be like now. But it seemed he'd be spared that tonight at least.

She entered the den, tired but not yet ready to turn in herself; not until her thoughts had settled some. Vin's rocker sat near the hearth and she started toward it, craving both the warmth of the fire and some connection, however slight, with her boy. And as much as he loved that chair, she had to believe that she'd feel some trace of him, of the way he'd been, lingering there.

Approaching the sofa, though, she stopped short, concern filling her at the sight of this day's other casualty. Chris had finally given up the battle and was stretched out upon the couch, sound asleep. A long sigh escaped her. She'd seen the weariness, the worry, in all the men, but in none so deeply as Larabee. He checked on Vin even more frequently than Nathan, stayed with him longer, and always looked a little more bowed down, a little more in pain, each time he came back out.

And the fight had barely begun...

She shook her head slowly, her eyes sad, and went with silent steps to the couch. Leaning over, she pulled the heavy afghan from the back and spread it over Chris's long body, tucking it close about his neck and shoulders. Then, with a small smile and a mother's tenderness, she reached down and gently pushed back the lock of blond hair that had fallen across his forehead, her fingers brushing against his skin in a loving caress.

Strong men every one of 'em, and each one as fragile as china.

She straightened and glanced around the room, absently pressing a hand to her lower back as a twinge of pain bit through her. Old bones weren't what they used to be, and today she'd put a strain on 'em that would have a much younger woman groaning. She went to Vin's rocker and settled herself in it with a sigh, sitting back and closing her eyes as she began to rock slowly.

Her sister had asked her yet again to move down to Tucson, said the climate there did wonders for old bones. She had a little shop she ran, selling handmade crafts to tourists, had said Nettie could throw in with her. The old-fashioned quilts she made were in high demand, and her sister had assured her that she could make a comfortable living selling them.

The old woman snorted in disgust. Sounded much too much like retirement to her! And having to deal with tourists on a daily basis... Thank you kindly, but no. She had short patience with folks' foolishness, had never been good at holdin' her tongue or her temper. Let Molly coddle and cater to the tourists in Tucson; she'd always been the sweet-talker in the family. Nettie... well... Nettie was Nettie and that was that.

Besides, she couldn't leave now even if she wanted to; too much held her here. True, Casey was near grown, one year of school remaining and an internship waiting for her at a local veterinary hospital. But she wasn't that grown yet and still needed the woman who'd been the only mother she'd ever known. And Vin...

Another sigh escaped her, carrying the sound of her crushing sorrow upon it. Lord, Vin! Her boy was in a bad way, drowning in darkness and with a terrible long way to go before he saw sunlight again. He needed her now as he never had before, and she'd die before leaving him in that darkness alone.

A small smile graced her lips then. No, not alone; not anymore and not ever again, not with these six men ringed about him like a stone fortress. And especially not with Chris planted so solid and sure at his side. She'd wondered at their friendship at first, couldn't for the life of her see what the two had in common. She'd thought Larabee a hard, cold and solitary man, locked deep inside some prison of his own making, cloaking himself in the black of his mourning as if it were his armor. She just couldn't imagine how such a man could give her boy anything he needed.

But, Lord, how wrong she'd been! Something inside Chris had called to Vin's lonely soul and drawn it to him, just as something in Vin had given Chris peace and the healing he so desperately needed. From the first day they'd met the two had been bonded at their souls, each learning from the other, each leaning on the other, two men battered and scarred and broken in so many ways and places yet somehow made whole again. If she lived to be a hundred she'd never understand it.

If she lived to be a thousand she'd never stop giving thanks for it.

She heard a sound from the sofa and opened her eyes, startled to find Chris's open and fixed on her, a confused frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. She smiled at him and nodded reassuringly, hoping he'd go back to sleep. Her hopes were dashed in the next moment as he struggled to sit up.

Damn stubborn men...

Chris finally raised himself, then turned and slid his feet to the floor, groaning deeply as his aching body protested every movement. He lifted his head and squinted up at the clock on the mantel, then gasped in horror when the numbers finally slid into focus.

"Shit!" he hissed in anger and fear. "Two hours?" He lurched to his feet and turned unsteadily, his thoughts immediately going in one direction.

"He's all right," Nettie assured him firmly, rising from the rocker and going to him before he could get away. She stopped beside him and took his arm, holding him in place. "I just checked on him, and he's still asleep." She inclined her head to meet his bleary gaze and arched one iron-gray brow. "I reckon you could take a hint from him," she said pointedly.

He shook his head and glanced over his shoulder in the direction of Vin's room. "No, I gotta ... I gotta go see-"

"You don't 'gotta' do anything except sit back down before ya fall," she informed him sternly, never loosing her grip on his arm. "Might as well do it, son. Wouldn't be dignified, you wrestlin' with an old woman." Fierce eyes bored into his. "Be even less so when ya lost."

The combination of her will and his weariness won out and he sank heavily back to the couch. As she settled beside him and turned to face him, he leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands, his elbows on his thighs. Christ, his head hurt!

She set a hand on his back and rubbed gently. "Everybody else is driftin' toward their beds," she said quietly. "Maybe you should do the same."

"Can't," he rasped. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and sat back, letting his head fall against the sofa. "After what happened today..." He winced and stared up at the ceiling. "After ... after these ... episodes ..." Shit, they really needed to come up with a different word! "Hell, you saw how he was!" he breathed, turning anguished eyes upon her. "He just gets lost! Gets so scared and pulls away inside himself ... or spends the night screamin' and cryin'." He swallowed hard at the hideous memories that arose. "In the hospital they'd restrain him, tie him down. I swore I'd never let anyone do that to him again!"

"Nobody's gonna do that to him here, Chris," she said softly. "You know that, don'tcha? Nobody here's even thinkin' about doin' that! He's restin', son," she told him, slowly stroking his arm. "He's asleep, at peace. Nathan said the tranquilizer-"

"They gave him tranquilizers in the hospital," Chris interrupted bitterly, abruptly leaning forward. "Supposed ta knock him out good. All they did was confuse him, keep him lost in a world filled with shadows and voices. Half the time he didn't know where he was. The other half he just didn't care." He turned and fixed suddenly blazing eyes upon her. "I'm not gonna let that happen again!"

She exhaled slowly, choosing her words carefully. She had to admire such devotion; it was the stupidity accompanying it that galled her. "You're not gonna help him by killin' yourself," she said evenly. "Look at yourself, Chris. You're so exhausted you can barely stand. You're in pain from a beating he gave you, and we both know that even at half strength and with only half his wits, Vin Tanner knows how ta throw a punch. You need rest, son," she said gently. "If you can't take care of yourself, how can you hope ta take care of him?"

He rose to his feet and walked away, stopping after only a few steps; he needed to pace, but just couldn't summon the energy. "I'll find a way," he said hoarsely. "I owe it to him."

She sat back and stared at him in surprise. "You wanta explain that ta me?"

He exhaled sharply and bowed his head, closing his eyes tightly as guilt flooded him. "If we'd been takin' care of him at the first like we should've been, watchin' out for him like we should've been, none of this ever would've happened. But we ... got careless ..." He raised his head and turned to stare at her, green eyes glittering starkly in his white face. "We failed him!" he whispered brokenly, the pain and shame of it raking through his soul. "I failed him! I swore I'd watch his back ... We took our eyes off him for just a few minutes, and we lost him. Castro got him-" He stared at her in agony, his heart shattered. "He's in hell now because I failed him!"

The pain in his voice and eyes, in his whole being, broke her heart. She wanted to go to him, to take him in her arms and comfort him as she would Vin. But she held herself back, suspecting that a different tactic might be in order here.

"I see," she said at last, sitting back and crossing her arms against her chest. "So you're doin' all this for Vin, takin' him inta your home and tendin' him, because you feel ... obligated." She managed to make the word sound somehow distasteful.

He heard that and blinked rapidly, trying to decipher her meaning. But his brain was so tired... "I am obligated," he rasped, not liking at all the way she was looking at him, but not at all sure why. "He ... he got hurt on an operation that went bad. He's a member of my team, he's my responsibility. I failed him, we failed him, and this happened. I have to take care of him!"

"No, you don't," she said crisply, lifting her chin and impaling him with a piercing stare. "And come tomorrow mornin', I'll be relievin' you of your 'responsibility,'" again she made the word sound loathsome, "and takin' him home with me."

"What?" he gasped in shock, taking an unsteady step toward her. "You can't-"

"I can and I will," she informed him firmly. "Vin's been somebody's 'obligation' or 'responsibility' for most of his life. It's what kept him in all those foster homes, it's what landed him in that hell-hole where he had ta kill a man ta save his own life." She rose to her feet and marched straight to Chris, glaring up at him with anger pouring from her. "If that's all he is ta you, Mr. Larabee, it's not enough, so I'll be takin' him with me. I don't owe that boy a thing. What I do for him, I do because I want to! Because he needs it and I can give it. Right now he needs love and care and friendship." She raised a hand and jabbed a bony finger hard into his bruised chest. "He doesn't need ta be one more do-gooder's act of Christian charity!"

He stared down at her in horror, never feeling the pain in his chest, conscious only of the pain in his heart. "Oh, God!" he whispered strickenly, finally realizing what he'd said and how it had sounded. "Nettie, I ... I didn't mean ... I'd never do that to Vin!"

She arched a brow, still holding his pain-riddled eyes with her own. "Then stop talkin' about him like he's some account ta be settled," she said sternly. "Either he's your friend or he's not. Either you're doin' this because you want to or you're not. Ain't no owin' in friendship, Chris. Ain't no ledger keepin' track of debts owed and paid. Vin's been society's 'debt' before and it damn near killed him. I won't have anybody doin' that to him again! Especially not you!"

He stared at her a moment longer, then gasped and shuddered as the last of his strength deserted him. He made his way on shaking legs back to the couch and dropped helplessly down upon it, leaning forward and burying his face in trembling hands, almost sick with shame. "Oh, Jesus," he moaned weakly, "Jesus, what am I doin'?"

Her anger fled as if it had never been, replaced by a deep worry and even deeper affection. Going to the sofa, she sat down close by his side and reached for him, circling her arms about him. "That's what I've been tryin' ta tell ya, son," she breathed, resting her head against his bowed shoulder. "You're so tired you don't know what you're doin', and that's not good. We both know that right now, in the shape he's in, Vin needs the most careful handlin' we can manage. One wrong word, one misstep, and we could shatter him beyond anybody's ability ta fix." She lifted one hand and ran it gently through his hair, sighing as she felt the uncontrollable shaking of his exhausted body. "You have ta rest, son," she told him. "Vin needs you, but he needs you at full strength. Otherwise," she winced and shook her head, "well, the 'otherwise' just don't bear thinkin' about."

"It's not obligation," he whispered thickly, raising his head with an effort and turning tear-filled eyes upon her. "I swear to God it's not that! I do owe him; Jesus, Nettie, I owe him more than I could possibly ever repay! Not because of what's been done to him, but because of everything he's done for me. But havin' him here now, wantin', needin', to take care of him ... This isn't obligation. It's just ... it's just because ..." The tears slid slowly down his pale, haggard face. "They hurt him, Nettie," he whispered in torment. "So many times, so many ways ... All those people have hurt him over and over again just because they could. I just wanta help him!"

"I know, son," she groaned, pulling him to her and cradling him close against her, rocking him as his sobs broke from him. "I know ya do. And I'm more thankful than I could ever say that he's got you and all the boys with him. He's gonna need ya, Chris, gonna need all of us. And we have to be strong for him."

"I just want him back, Nettie," he wept against her heart. "He's so lost, so scared ... I just want Vin back!"

"We all do," she murmured, aching for the strong man falling to pieces in her arms. "And we'll get him back. But we can't do it at the cost of ourselves."

"I don't care-"

"But Vin will," she pointed out gently. "D'you really think he'd want ta come back if it cost him you?" She took his head between her hands and lifted until she could see into his eyes. "He needs ya, Chris," she said softly. "But not just ta get him through this. He's needed ya since the day you two met, and he'll need ya 'til he dies. Not just for what you can do for him, but for what you are to him. You're his friend. And my boy," her voice broke and a tear slipped down her cheek, "hasn't had so many of those in his life that he can afford to lose one. Especially not his best one."

He wiped away her tear with a trembling finger, then leaned forward and kissed her wet cheek. "He won't lose me," he whispered, "I promise." He leaned back, studied her a moment, then smiled tiredly. "You're somethin' else, Nettie Wells," he breathed. "Vin's lucky ta have you."

She lifted her head proudly. "He's lucky ta have all of us," she declared. Again that imperious gray brow shot up, but a faint smile pulled at her stern mouth. "Even the ones too mule-headed ta know when it's time ta go ta bed."

He chuckled and shook his head. "All right, all right, I'm goin'. I know when I'm beaten."

She snorted sharply. "No, ya don't. And neither does Vin. But," her eyes gleamed, "likely that's what's gonna get him through this."