Dr. Stone stood at the nurses’ station and read carefully through her patient’s file, studying his charts, lab results, the notes she’d made on her observations, everything. All the while, she chewed absently at one corner of her lower lip and drummed the fingers of one hand against the desk.

This wasn’t a decision she wanted to make now.

She read through the folder, then went back to the first page and started again, her teeth now working at the other corner of her lip as she searched intently for some reason, some excuse, any excuse, to delay the inevitable. Christ, whatever happened to the practice of giving patients time to heal? When had hospital beds turned into conveyor belts?

"Doctor?"

She looked up sharply at the summons, startled, but relaxed and smiled as she recognized the familiar form of Chris Larabee. Her patient’s shadow, guardian angel and watch dog. Right now, though, the man looked to be in little better shape than Tanner, and she wondered briefly what he’d do if she slipped him a sedative.

Probably shoot her when he woke up…

Chris was just as surprised to see her, not expecting her still to be making rounds this late in the day. As he went to her, he saw Vin’s name on the folder she’d been studying, and felt a sharp twinge of anxiety.

"Everything all right?"

She closed the folder and smiled slightly at him. "I was just going to call you." She arched a dark brow. "You been psychic long?"

"I just came to see Vin."

"What a surprise," she chuckled. Her gaze went to Sanchez. "Aren’t you tired of this place yet? Or have you just been here so long you’ve forgotten the way home?"

He looked shocked. "You mean, this isn’t my home?" He looked around in feigned confusion. "I could’ve sworn I lived here!"

"You practically do," she quipped.

Chris cut into the pleasantries. "Why were you gonna call me? There somethin’ I need ta know about Vin?"

She sighed, her good humor fading, her shoulders slumping. Generally, directness was a quality she liked. But, at the end of a long, tiring day, Chris Larabee’s brand of directness was about as welcome as an oncoming train.

"Let’s go in the lounge," she suggested, closing and picking up the folder. "I don’t know about you two, but I could use some coffee."

A knot of dread built in Chris’s gut as she ushered them into the nurses’ lounge. He was still reeling from his and Josiah’s talk, and he wasn’t sure he was up to another intense discussion about Vin. Though lately that seemed to be all there were…

Dr. Stone dropped Tanner’s file onto the table and went straight to the coffeepot, little caring how old the brew was. Right now, she was in it strictly for caffeine, not taste.

"Either of you like a cup?" she asked. They both said yes, and she took out three cups, filling them all. From the smell, the coffee was fairly fresh, a pleasant surprise. She turned and handed out two cups, then picked up the third and went to the table. "If you need sugar or creamer, it’s over there." She smiled slightly as they both took seats across from her. "Gotta warn you, the nurses make a pretty stiff brew."

Josiah smirked. "We’ll have to introduce you to Vin’s coffee some time. It doubles as battery acid."

"Everything all right with Vin?" Chris asked quietly, unable to conceal his worry. He’d always found the doctor a very straightforward person; it was one of the things he liked about her. Now, though, she seemed a bit too eager to avoid whatever subject was on her mind.

She sighed and sat back, fixing her dark gaze on Larabee. "What would you say if I told you that I’ll probably release him tomorrow?" she asked softly.

He stared hard at her, startled. "Tom…" He glanced at Josiah, who appeared equally shocked, then returned his gaze to the doctor and studied her closely. And, all at once, he recognized her ambivalence. "I’d say you should probably look and sound a whole lot happier about it than you do," he said at last. "What’s wrong?"

"Wrong?" she repeated wryly, arching a dark brow. "There’s nothing wrong. That’s why I have to release him. There’s no trace of infection, his kidney is functioning, his lab results are acceptable – just barely, but acceptable nonetheless – and he’s ambulatory." She shrugged. "He’s getting better."

"You’ve got to be kidding!" Chris protested sharply, appalled by her words. "How the hell could what he is right now possibly qualify as ‘better’? Better than what? Dead?"

"Better than when he was brought in," she defended coldly. "Better than he was this time last week, when he still had a tube in his chest and almost everywhere else. Better than when he was running a fever of 103 or 104 and pissing more blood than urine. Better than he was when the six of you refused to leave because you didn’t want him to die alone." Her dark eyes bored into Larabee’s. "Think about how he was then, and tell me he’s not better now," she challenged.

He sat back in his chair and returned her stare evenly, searching her eyes, her face, her posture, watching as the long fingers of one hand fidgeted with the papers in the folder. "You don’t like it anymore than I do," he said in a low voice.

She grimaced deeply and shook her head. "No, I don’t. He’s not even near where I’d like him to be right now, and, frankly, I don’t think he’s going to get there for a good while. Unfortunately, my standards are not the prevailing ones, and, unless I can produce some compelling medical proof to the contrary, he is, however marginally it may be, well enough to be released."

"He can barely walk," he reminded her in a tight voice, unable to believe they were discussing this now.

She stared down at the table top, frowning and turning her coffee cup in her hands. "He’s ambulatory. He can’t run a marathon, but he can get up and move around. I have a report from the physical therapist that says he’s responding to therapy." She shrugged again. "It’s not a glowing report, but it doesn’t have to be–"

"He can barely walk!" Chris repeated in a shout, unable to believe what he was hearing. "He lives on the fourth floor of a six-floor walk-up. What does your goddamn report have to say about just how the hell he’s supposed to get up those goddamn stairs when he can barely fuckin’ walk? Jesus!" he snarled, lunging to his feet and staring furiously down at her. "Why don’t you people just throw him out into the street? God knows, you won’t be the first ones ever to have done it! Set him out on the curb with the rest of the trash. At least he won’t be your problem anymore!"

"How dare you!" she spat, shooting to her feet and returning his glare with one of her own. "How dare you suggest–"

"I’m not suggestin’ a thing!" he snarled. "I’m sayin’ straight out–"

"Stop it, both of you!" Josiah thundered, rising to his feet and sweeping his gaze back and forth between the two. "Chris, sit down and shut up. Dr. Stone, sit down and shut up, please. You two rippin’ each other’s throats out isn’t gonna help Vin at all. And, last I heard, he is the issue here, right? Right?"

They continued to stare angrily at each other for long moments, then, grudgingly accepting the truth of Sanchez’s words, broke eye contact at the same moment and dropped sullenly into their respective chairs. He scowled at them both and shook his graying head angrily, wondering just when the hell he’d signed on as a referee.

"You can’t send him home," Chris said at last with a forced evenness, trying to rein in his temper. "He can’t take care of himself, you know that! He couldn’t possibly get up or down four flights of stairs. If anything happened, he’d be stuck up in his apartment–"

"I’m sorry," she murmured, "I am. But my hands are tied. You’re right; in all reality, there is simply no way he can take care of himself right now. But we’re not dealing with reality. We’re dealing with hospital and insurance guidelines, and, according to those guidelines, he can. I don’t have a choice," she said softly, sadly. "Depending on how he does the rest of this afternoon and tonight, I have to release him tomorrow."

"Then maybe we should pray for a setback," Chris said in a flat, hard voice.

"One more setback will kill him," she answered ruthlessly, dark eyes snapping. "Are you that opposed to his leaving here?"

"Shit!" he breathed, bracing his elbows on the table and dropping his face into his hands.

Josiah laid a big hand on the younger man’s back and patted gently, then looked at the doctor. He could see her concern and helplessness as clearly as he could sense Chris’s, and he felt for them both. They, however, were not the ones at stake here.

"All right," he said firmly, "why don’t we stop sniping at each other and figure out what ta do for Vin–"

"Hell, that’s easy," Chris breathed, raising his head and fixing tired eyes upon Sanchez. "He’ll come to the ranch with me. He’s comfortable out there, and won’t have to worry about any stairs. And, God knows, it’s quieter than Purgatorio."

"He lives in Purgatorio?" Dr. Stone asked, appalled. "Good God, why?"

"He grew up there. Like I said," bitterness and pain for his friend colored his voice, "he’s been tossed around before. And Purgatorio’s where he happened to land."

"Chris," Josiah growled warningly.

"No," she breathed, shaking her head, "it’s all right. I understand how he feels. Hell, I feel the same way. Believe it or not," she fixed a dark, sad gaze on Larabee, "I don’t like sending patients home in Vin’s condition. But I don’t have the same leeway I used to. I’ve got more pencil-pushers and bean-counters looking over my shoulder than you could possibly imagine, and they’re the ones who make the decisions these days. I’d love to keep him longer, but, like I said, unless I can come up with a sound medical reason, I can’t. And ‘he’s just not ready to go home yet’ doesn’t qualify. I’m sorry."

"No," Chris murmured, raising his head slowly, "it’s not your fault. I’ve been through this often enough to know how things are." He rubbed his hands over his face and tried to think clearly. "All right, barring any catastrophe tonight, I’m takin’ him home tomorrow. What does that mean?"

She shrugged and lifted her hands. "It means he’s gonna need a lot of help. Like you said, he can’t get around very well on his own. His body’s still healing, he’s still weak, he’s still in a lot of pain. I’ll send pain-killers and antibiotics. The facial fractures make chewing painful, so that means a lot of soft foods. The knife wounds still need care. You’ll have to change the dressings, and, believe me, it’ll hurt him. You’ll have to watch him for any sign of infection, especially in that kidney. I want him drinking fluids constantly, and I want you to make sure he takes his meds." She stared long and hard at him, appraising him through a physician’s eyes and not liking what she saw. "You sure you’re up to this?"

"I don’t have a choice," he answered in a low voice, his green eyes dark in his lined and haggard face. "Vin’s in no condition to take care of himself. I promised him I’d help him through this, and I don’t intend to go back on my word. Not to him."

She sat back and tilted her head slightly to one side, frowning slightly. "It’s gonna be a helluva responsibility, y’know. He has no strength, and he still has periods of confusion. It’s not going to be easy, and it’s not going to clear up overnight. We’re not talking about putting band-aids on a few cuts and scrapes here–"

"He’ll have help," Josiah assured her before Chris could answer. "We’ve never yet turned our backs on one of our own, and we certainly don’t intend to start now."

She winced at the gentle rebuke in the deep voice, but could not dispute it. Not when she knew that was just what the hospital was doing.

"I’ll see him again in the morning, around nine," she said softly, sounding every bit as tired as she felt. "I’ll make the final decision then." She glanced at Chris and gave a wan smile. "I really am sorry. In a perfect world, I’d be able to keep him here until we were all satisfied."

"Hell," he growled bitterly, "in a perfect world, he wouldn’t need to be here at all!"

7~7~7~7

Chris stood just inside the doorway of the small room for the longest time, simply staring at the man on the bed and trying to reconcile what he saw with his memories of his closest friend.

This wasn’t Vin. The thin, frail figure who started at every sound and flinched away from every touch, who huddled under the covers as if trying to hide from the world… he couldn’t be Vin Tanner. This was a shattered, broken creature, a wraith-like imposter with no more substance than his own shadow.

Then, as if sensing his presence, the shaggy head turned upon its pillow and the tired gaze homed in on him. Blue eyes, wide and dark with shadows, locked on his, riveting him in place. And, haunted though they were, there was no mistaking those eyes, or their effect upon him. As on the first day they’d met, and every day since, those eyes grabbed him, gripped him, looked into him and laid him bare, knew him at once and forever and revealed to him a soul as familiar to him as his own. Whatever else had been taken from him, the power of those eyes remained, and, for this little while at least, Chris knew the friend he lived in daily fear of seeing slip away had not left him yet.

Would never leave, if Larabee had even the smallest say in the matter.

"Hey, cowboy," Vin greeted, raising a noticeably unsteady hand in invitation, "y’ jist gonna stand there all day?" His voice was softer, raspier than usual, as if it required all his strength just to speak.

Chris forced a smile that never reached his eyes and went at once to the bed, perching on its edge and taking the thin, pale hand in his own. He searched Vin’s face, saw the deep lines of pain and exhaustion carved into it, and felt his heart clench in fear.

Jesus, how could they even consider sending him home?

"You stayin’ outta trouble, pard?" he teased, praying Tanner was too tired to notice the thickness of his voice.

Vin smiled faintly and nodded. "Reckon so." His heavy-lidded eyes tried to close, but he wrenched them back open. "They took the catheter out. No more peein’ in a bag."

Chris had to chuckle at that. "Doesn’t take much ta make your day, does it?"

Vin sighed and shrugged one shoulder, and his eyes drifted closed. "These days I take what I c’n git," he murmured drowsily.

"You all right?"

"Mite sleepy’s all," he slurred, his drawl thick. "They gimme somethin’ fer pain."

Before Larabee could answer, the door opened and JD came back into the room. "Oh, hey, Chris," he greeted, smiling broadly at his boss. "Just stepped out for a minute." He held a can aloft. "Had ta get a Coke."

"Y’ bring me one?" Vin asked, again forcing his eyes open.

"You want ’em ta put that catheter back in?" Chris countered.

Vin scowled weakly. "Ain’t fair. Man c’d die of thirst ’round here. Mouth feels like cotton… Ain’t had coffee in a coon’s age."

"Someday," Chris said, "you’re gonna have ta tell me just how many years make up a coon’s age."

Vin gave a shadow of his familiar smirk. "Cain’t be nearly’s many as makes up yer age, old man."

Chris narrowed his eyes and glared down at the sharpshooter. "Shouldn’t you be goin’ ta sleep or somethin’?" he growled, desperately grateful for the flash of humor.

"’M thirsty," Vin breathed.

JD immediately came forward and poured a cup of water, then handed it to Chris. Larabee held the cup to Vin’s lips, waiting patiently as he slowly downed the water. When he was finished, Chris handed the cup back to JD, then laid one hand against Vin’s shoulder, still holding his hand in the other.

"Go on ta sleep now," he urged gently.

Vin’s eyes closed helplessly and he nodded. "You g… gonna stay?" he whispered.

"Yeah. I got the night shift. So you’d best watch yourself."

A breath of laughter fell from him. "Ain’t scared’a you, Larabee. C’d take ya any damn day’a the week."

"Yeah, I know. But not right now. You sleep now, and you can kick my ass later."

"’S a deal," he sighed almost inaudibly, slipping into sleep.

Chris continued to hold his hand, needing to maintain that contact, needing to know that Vin was still here. JD settled himself into the chair beside the bed and sipped from his Coke, startling Larabee with how at ease he looked there. The boy who was the very definition of restless energy sat still and relaxed, never fidgeting, as if content simply to watch Vin sleep. Chris suddenly realized that, like them all, the young agent had had way too much practice at keeping bedside vigils.

"Thanks for stayin’ with him, JD," he said softly. "I know it’s not the most exciting duty in the world–"

"Aw, heck, Chris, I don’t mind." The boy’s gaze went to Vin, and sympathy flared in his expressive hazel eyes. "I know how much it means to have somebody with you when you’re sick or hurt, how much it means just to know you’re not alone. And," he shrugged, "considerin’ what he’s been through, I figure sittin’ with him’s the least I could do."

"Still, I appreciate it." He glanced at Vin, watched the even rise and fall of his chest, then looked back at JD. "How’s he been?"

The boy frowned and shook his head. "’Bout the same, I guess. Restless in his sleep, woke up scared a few times, but he settled when he recognized me." He grimaced. "The nurses had him up and walkin’ around a little while ago, and he’s been hurtin’ ever since. They finally gave him a shot of somethin’ just before you got here. That’s what’s knockin’ him out now. Maybe he’ll finally get some rest," he added softly, his concerned gaze still resting on his sleeping friend.

"God, I hope so!" Chris sighed fervently. Then, remembering JD likely hadn’t heard yet, he said, "Speakin’ of rest, Travis has given us all at least a week off, startin’ Monday. Be sure and tell Buck when you see him."

JD snorted. "You mean if I see him." His bright eyes gleamed wickedly. "That French stewardess is back in town. He made a date with her for tonight, and I don’t recall him sayin’ when he’d be back."

Chris gave a low chuckle. "May have ta put out an APB to get the ol’ dog back." He winked at JD. "If you don’t hear from him by Tuesday, let somebody know. Meanwhile, you get outta here, go do somethin’ fun with Casey. Just… not too fun," he warned with mock-sternness.

"Do I look like Buck?" the boy shot back, winning another laugh from the older man. Then, seriously, he said, "Look, Chris, I’m still good for a little while here if you wanta grab somethin’ to eat–"

"Don’t worry, I got somethin’ on the way from the office. You go on."

"Okay. But if you need anything, just call. Casey and I are gonna order pizza and watch movies at the loft."

"Thanks. Oh, one more thing." He grimaced deeply at the very thought. "Dr. Stone’s talkin’ about releasin’ Vin tomorrow."

JD stared at him in frank disbelief. "You’re kiddin’?" he gasped. "In his shape? Jeez, why?"

Chris’s frown deepened, and anger glinted in his eyes. "Because she said she has to. Apparently this," he waved a hand over Vin to take in his condition, "is considered well enough to go home."

"On what planet?" JD asked caustically, his eyes flashing. "I saw him when those nurses were workin’ with him. He had tears in his eyes, he hurt so bad!" His anger rose as he remembered what he had seen, and as he recalled how desperately Vin had clung to him each time he had awakened from one of his nightmares. "I can’t believe this!" he snapped, impatiently brushing his errant black bangs out of his eyes. "She can’t possibly think he’s well enough–"

"She doesn’t," Chris said softly, bitterly. "Unfortunately, the bureaucrats do, and they seem to have the final say. So, barring some catastrophe tonight, he goes home tomorrow." JD’s expression showed plainly what he thought of that idea, and, at that moment, he looked so much like Buck that Chris almost had to laugh. "Don’t worry, son, I’ll be takin’ him to the ranch."

"Well, duh!" JD retorted without thinking. Then, at Larabee’s arched eyebrow, he blushed furiously and bowed his head to escape that sharp green stare. "I mean, uh… that’s probably best," he amended lamely.

Chris did have to laugh then, and blessed the boy for inspiring it. JD Dunne might be a top ATF agent and one of the brightest computer whizzes in the bureau, but, at heart, he was still a kid. And Larabee hoped to God that never changed.

"I think I’ll just go now," JD said, quickly gathering his belongings and shoving them into his backpack, looking for all the world like a student going off to cram for a big test. "Y’know, before I have to start borrowin’ feet to put in my mouth."

Chris chuckled again. "Don’t worry about it, son. Just have a good time tonight. You’ve earned it."

"Okay." He got up, slung his backpack over his shoulder, then moved to the bed and looked down at Vin. He dropped a hand to the sleeping man’s shoulder and squeezed gently. "’Night, Vin," he murmured. "Remember what I told ya earlier – we’re not goin’ anywhere, and we’re not lettin’ you go, either. I’ll see ya tomorrow." He squeezed again, then glanced up at Chris, nodded slightly, and walked out of the room.

Chris watched him go, shaking his head and smiling, then turned back to Vin. "You listen ta me, Tanner," he urged softly. "You got some powerful angels on your side, and we’re all in this for the long haul." He thought again of JD’s attentiveness to Vin, of Josiah’s fierce protectiveness, of his own determination to see his friend made healthy and whole. "We’re gonna get you outta this quicksand, cowboy. You got my word on that."

7~7~7~7

Chris shifted unconsciously in his chair, moving his long legs in his sleep and sending the hardback book slipping from his lap to the floor with a solid "thud." The sound only vaguely registered in his sleep-thickened brain, but Vin’s reaction brought him to immediate wakefulness.

The sharpshooter sat up with a hoarse, stricken cry, ripped from sleep by the sound. He looked around wildly, as if trying to find whatever threatened him, wide eyes glittering in the dim light, his face a white mask of terror. Instinctively, he raised his hands and held them as if ready to fend off an assailant.

"Easy, pard, easy," Chris soothed, rising slowly from the chair and stepping to the bed with careful, deliberate motions. He held his own hands up before him to show he meant no harm, and stopped when that frantic, fearful gaze landed on him. "It’s only me," he said. "I dropped my book. I’m sorry, pard, I didn’t mean ta scare ya."

Vin stared without recognition at the man before him, mind and heart racing in tandem as adrenalin pumped through him and kicked his system into overdrive. Fear held him in a cold, vise-like grip, and his every nerve was stretched almost to breaking. For long, agonizing moments he crouched there, suspended between flight and fight.

"It’s all right, Vin," Chris said in a low, calm voice. "You know me, pard, you know me. And you know I’d never hurt ya." He snared that frightened gaze and poured every ounce of comfort and assurance he could muster into it through his own. "It’s all right, cowboy," he murmured. "You’re safe. Ain’t nobody gonna hurt ya while I’m here."

Finally the voice, and the security it offered, reached him, penetrated his fear and stripped it from him. He gave a harsh, shuddering gasp and slumped forward, but was caught before he fell in strong arms that closed protectively about him.

"Chris," he whispered, collapsing into that embrace and knotting shaking fingers in the fabric of Larabee’s shirt. His whole body began to tremble in violent reaction as the adrenalin deserted him and took with it every last vestige of his strength. "Oh, God, I thought…" A face tried to break through to the surface of his mind, but he pushed it back with a physical effort, tearing a hand from Chris’ shirt and pressing to his aching head. "Stupid," he breathed bitterly.

Chris gently pushed him away and stared into his startled face. "It’s not stupid, Vin," he said firmly. "Your fears aren’t stupid, you’re not stupid. You’re allowed to be afraid, y’know. You don’t have to be in control of every emotion all the time. You’re allowed to hurt, and you’re allowed to be scared. And you’re allowed to ask for help."

Vin stiffened, then drew away from Chris and wrapped his arms tightly about himself. Out of long, painful habit, he began pulling in his fear, his hurt, gathering them to himself and shoving them back behind what remained of the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.

Chris saw what he was doing, and ached for him. "Don’t do this, Vin," he pleaded softly, watching as the pale and battered face before him was composed into the familiar stoic mask. "You don’t have to do this, cowboy! It’s okay. You don’t have to be strong all the time. You don’t have to hide from me."

"Don’t know… what yer talkin’ about," Vin rasped. He swallowed hard, then licked his lips and lifted his chin. "Don’t need help. I’s jist… startled, is all." He grimaced and shook his head. "Damn drugs keep me off balance, keep m’ damn head in a fog… I’ll be fine once they stop pumpin’ this shit into me."

Chris studied him closely, noted the nervous flicking of his gaze, saw the frequent working of his throat, watched the long fingers digging ever more deeply into his arms, and understood how perilously fragile Tanner’s thin veneer of control was. Pushed too hard, the man would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"What excuse are you gonna use when they send you home?" he asked quietly, never taking his gaze from Vin. "It’s not the drugs, and you know it. There’s somethin’ goin’ on inside you, somethin’ that’s tryin’ to come out, and, if you don’t let it, it’s gonna tear you apart. Hell, it’s tearin’ you apart right now."

Vin shook his head slightly. "Don’t know what yer talkin’ about," he said again.

"No?" Chris reached out and grabbed Tanner’s hands, prying the man’s fingers away from his own arms and exposing the dark red blotches that by morning would be deep bruises. "Then tell me what the hell this is about!" he growled, raising Vin’s arms so the marks were clearly visible to them both. "Wasn’t what that bastard did to you bad enough without you addin’ to it yourself?"

Vin’s head snapped up at that and his blue eyes widened, his face draining of what little color it had. "B… bastard?" he whispered weakly, his mind catching and hanging on the word. He began to tremble again and his eyes darted around the deeply shadowed room. "H… he… was here?"

Chris could see the panic building, could feel it building, and knew he had to stop it before it swept his friend away. "No, Vin, nobody was here. Just me." He rubbed Tanner’s arms gently. "You did this, pard. You hurt yourself, remember? You did this–"

"’Cause I’m stupid," he breathed faintly, eyes wide and unblinking. "Don’t learn… cain’t learn… Brung it all on m’self…"

"No!" Chris said sharply, gripping him harder. "No, that’s not what I meant! You’re confusin’ everything together. You have to think, Vin. Think!"

"All gits tangled…" He closed his eyes tightly and raised shaking hands to his head, driving his fingers into his hair, then closing them about the long strands and pulling. "I try… but I cain’t get it ta lay straight–"

"Stop it, Vin!" Chris ordered harshly, grabbing the younger man’s hands to keep him from pulling his hair. "You’ve gotta stop hurtin’ yourself, you hear me? If the nurse comes in and sees this, you know what she’ll do!"

He went completely still at that, his face flooding with terror. "No," he moaned strickenly. "No, don’t… don’t let ’em… Please, Chris, don’t let ’em do that ta me!"

"Then settle down," Larabee urged gently, laying comforting hands on Vin’s shoulders. "It’s all r–" He stopped abruptly, remembering Josiah’s words from earlier, and sighed heavily. "No, it’s not all right," he amended sadly, "and we both know that. But it can be all right, if you’ll just let me, let all of us, help you. You gotta stop punishin’ yourself, Vin," he said softly, searching his friend’s ashen face intently. "None of this is your fault, and you don’t deserve any of it. You didn’t bring it on yourself. You haven’t done anything to deserve bein’ hurt like this. There’s not a thing in the world that could possibly justify what’s been done ta you."

"You don’t know that," Vin whispered. He bowed his head, unable to bear the trust he saw in Larabee’s eyes, a trust he knew wasn’t merited. "You don’t know half of what I done–"

"No, I don’t," Chris admitted. "But I know you, and I know you’d never do somethin’ you didn’t truly believe you had to. I know that, Vin. I’d stake my life on it."

"You’d lose," he breathed miserably. He pulled out of Chris’s grasp and turned away. "’N I’d lose… I done lost already. Ain’t no escapin’ what’s meant ta be."

Chris shook his head slowly, stubbornly, refusing to believe those soft, anguished words, refusing even to hear them. "No," he said firmly. "No, no, no. You haven’t lost and none of this, none of it, was ever meant to be!" He studied his friend closely, saw again the exhaustion that went far beyond mere physical weariness, the pain that had nothing to do with his bodily hurts, and felt his own heart aching unbearably at the evidence of such suffering.

God almighty, just how much could one man endure?

"Listen to me," he urged quietly, again taking Vin’s hands in his and holding tightly to them, wanting – needing – his friend to know he was not alone. "I know you’re tired, I know you’re hurtin’, and I know you’re scared. I know you got things goin’ on inside your head that you don’t understand, and don’t even wanta understand. And, to be honest, I don’t really wanta understand it, either. But we don’t have a choice anymore. You’re right, there is no escapin’ this. Whatever it is, it’s not goin’ away, and you’re not gonna get any better until you start facin’ it and dealin’ with it. But you won’t be alone, Vin," he said softly, urgently. "You hear me? We’re gonna be with you every step of the way. I’ll be with you. You are not in this by yourself!"

Vin tried to follow Chris’s words, but, as with so much else, they kept getting lost or tangled in his tired, confused mind. He tried to raise his head to meet Larabee’s gaze, but found that too difficult, as well. Finally, unable to do anything more, he simply pulled his hands out of Chris’s and lay down, turning on his side and wrapping his arms about himself, cold and drained of all strength.

Chris sighed heavily and rose off the bed, pulling the covers over Vin and tucking them close, then setting a hand on one thin shoulder. He knew he hadn’t gotten through, but had no idea whether it was because of exhaustion, the lingering effects of the skull fracture, or sheer Tanner stubbornness. He was finally beginning to understand what Josiah had said about this being a difficult battle.

"We’re not through, Vin," he warned quietly, watching as the bleary blue eyes closed, "not by a long shot. And I’m willin’ to bet you’re just not strong enough to fight me and whatever it is that’s ragin’ in your head. So I’m not givin’ up, y’hear? You can turn away, you can tune me out, you can go to sleep for a whole fuckin’ year, but I’ll still be here when you wake up. Count on it."

"Why cain’tcha jist leave me be?" Vin whispered. "’S all I ever wanted, fer folks ta let me alone. ’N most have. Why the hell cain’t you?"

Chris leaned close above him, his face only inches from Tanner’s. Scowling fiercely, he said in a low, harsh voice, "Because I’m not most folks, Vin! The way I see it, you’ve been let alone too much as it is. You’ve been tossed around, neglected, ignored, forgotten about, abandoned and abused by too many other people in your life, and it’s past time somebody finally stepped in and said, ‘Enough.’ Well, guess who that somebody is, pard? Hell will freeze before I let you alone, Tanner. Get used ta that idea."

"You got no right–"

"I’m your friend; I got every right in the world." He straightened, still scowling. "And I’ll tell you somethin’ else. Dr. Stone’s talkin’ about releasin’ you tomorrow, and I’m–"

"She’s sendin’ me home?" Vin asked softly, startled by the news.

Chris hesitated a moment, then said, "No. I said she’s releasin’ you. I didn’t say anything about you goin’ home. I’ll be takin’ you out to the ranch–"

"The hell you will!" Vin spat, sitting up abruptly and glaring at the older man. "I don’t need you hoverin’ over me, makin’ sure I don’t go crazy! I wanta go home–"

"Tough," Chris said coldly. "You’re in no shape to go back to your place, and you know it. You couldn’t possibly manage those stairs, and there’s no way in hell you’re up to takin’ care of yourself. You can barely stand up, Vin. How’re you gonna cook? Hell, what are you gonna cook? How’re you gonna change all those dressings? What about laundry? Who’s gonna pick you up when you fall on your ass after tryin’ to do too much?"

"I done it before!" Vin shot back hotly, infuriated by Larabee’s arrogant presumptions. "Hell, I’s takin’ care of myself long ’fore I ever knew you–"

"Well, you know me now," Chris retorted, "so you can forget all about this takin’ care of yourself crap." He set his hands on his hips and arched a golden brow, eyeing Vin scornfully. "Hell, look at yourself, Tanner," he rapped out, green eyes raking over the sorry, slumping figure before him. "You can barely hold yourself up! How the hell are you gonna take care of yourself when it’s all you can do to sit up in bed?"

Vin closed his eyes tightly and dropped his head into his hands, then, without realizing it, slid his fingers into his hair and began pulling it again. He didn’t want to go to the ranch, didn’t want Chris hovering over him every minute, didn’t want to be reminded that he was losing his mind. All he wanted was to go home, to hole up and deal with this in his own way.

Maybe once he’d thought that being left alone was a bad thing, maybe once he’d wished for someone to come and take away his pain; but not anymore. He’d learned the hard way that didn’t happen. No one ever came, and the pain never really went away. So he’d learned to ignore it, to forget about it as others had forgotten about him, and just go on as if it weren’t there. It was the only way he knew, the only way he’d ever known.

Why couldn’t Chris see that?

Again Larabee reached out and unwrapped Tanner’s hands from his hair. "Stop it," he ordered gently. "Enough people have hurt you already. I’m not gonna let you do it, too."

Vin tried to pull his hands out of that grasp, but couldn’t. "Lemme go," he growled, tensing at his captivity.

"No," Chris said calmly, maintaining his hold on Tanner’s wrists. "I want you to see just how weak you are; I want you to understand what kind of condition you’re in. And I want you to know that there’s absolutely no way in hell I’m lettin’ you crawl off inta some hole like some kind of wounded animal. You’re not alone, and you’re not gonna be alone. And if I have to drag your sorry ass kickin’ and screamin’ to the ranch, then so be it."

Vin raised resentful eyes and a sullen face to his friend. "Arrogant sonuvabitch, aren’t ya?" he seethed.

"So I’ve been told."

His pale mouth curved into a sneer. "I’ll fight ya–"

"You can try," Chris cut in, his voice conveying a steadiness he simply did not feel. "On a good day, Vin, you might be able to take me. But, let’s face it, pard, you ain’t had a good day in a long damn time, and you ain’t gonna have one any time soon. And I am not gonna be just one more in that long line of people who’ve turned their backs on you and left you on your own."

"Why not?" Vin demanded in a shaking voice, his whole body beginning to tremble as his strength deserted him. The anger faded from his eyes, leaving only confusion and a deep, instinctive fear in its place. "It’d be easier. Why the hell should you be any differ’nt from anybody else I’ve ever known?"

Chris sighed heavily and bowed his head, staring down at the thin, frail wrists he held. His anger, too, was gone, replaced by weariness and an aching sorrow. "Because you’re my friend," he answered softly, "and because that means somethin’ to me. You mean somethin’ to me." He raised his head slowly and met Tanner’s gaze with his, searching blue eyes that seemed to have so little understanding of what he meant. "I don’t know what makes you think it’d be easy for me to turn my back on you," he said in quiet puzzlement. "I don’t know what makes you think I can let somebody into my life and then just shut ’em back out because I don’t wanta be bothered. I don’t operate that way. I never have, and I hope ta God I never will. No, helpin’ you through this isn’t gonna be easy, and it’s not gonna be pleasant. But I’m gonna do it anyway. Because I can’t not do it. Not and still call myself your friend."

Vin tore his gaze away and stared down at the bed, tired to his very soul. "Jist wish I c’d say I’s worth th’ effort," he breathed.

"You are," Chris assured him, squeezing his wrists gently. "I wouldn’t do it if you weren’t. And I wouldn’t have five others chompin’ at the bit to help me if you weren’t. Listen to me, Vin," he urged softly, releasing one of Tanner’s wrists and setting his hand under the man’s chin, lifting his head until their eyes met again and aching at the uncertainty he saw in his friend’s. "Whatever happens, I want you to remember one thing – you’re not that scared kid who had to survive on his own anymore. We’re not gonna kick you out when this gets hard, we’re not gonna abandon you just because you’re too much trouble, and if you ever try to run away from us, we will come after you, we will find you, and we will bring you back. You’re ours, Vin, you belong to us. And there is nothing, nothing, in your past that is so bad it can possibly change any of that. You can fight me all you want, but I’m here ta tell you, pard, this is one fight you simply cannot win. You’re one of ours, Tanner, and we don’t turn our backs on our own!"

7~7~7~7

Nathan stood with his back to the window and watched the activity centered about the hospital bed, his smoldering dark eyes following every action directed at Vin, his mouth set in a thin, tight line, his powerful arms crossed against his broad chest. He couldn’t believe Dr. Stone was actually going to release Vin today, and hadn’t stopped fuming over the decision since Josiah had called him last night to tell him of it. He’d come up this morning, half-convinced that Sanchez had merely misunderstood, that no one in their right mind could possibly believe Vin was ready to go home, and determined to find out just what the hell was going on. When Chris had told him Josiah hadn’t misunderstood at all, his blistering response had nearly peeled the paint from the walls.

And the team leader, whose own temper had been known to send big men hunting for cover, had been forced to take a step back to escape the heat of the black agent’s explosion.

Now, though, Nathan kept a tight rein on his temper and seethed in silence as he watched the swarm of medical personnel clustered about Vin’s bed. Tanner wasn’t exactly cooperative, and Dr. Stone wasn’t exactly happy.

And Jackson wasn’t exactly surprised.

There were too damn many people crowdin’ Vin; he’d tried to tell ’em that, but they had chosen not to listen. After all, they were doctors, nurses, and he was just a federal agent with EMT training. What could he know that they didn’t?

Well, for starters, he knew that Tanner was about one minute from punchin’ somebody out.

He could see it in the glitter of the blue eyes, in the hard set of that square jaw, in the tight fisting of white-knuckled hands into the sheets. Vin’s entire body was a single, rigid line of anger, of embarrassment, of fear, and Nathan knew it wouldn’t be much longer before the sharpshooter snapped.

But they were the doctors and nurses. Let them deal with it when the man came flyin’ off that bed and went for one of their throats. At least they’d know how to stitch up their own wounds.

Vin clenched his jaw harder and drove his head back into the pillow, trying not to scream as hands gripped him, groped him, held him down and forced him back into every nightmare he’d ever had. He tried tearing away, but they only held him harder, tried pushing them away, but they only imprisoned his hands. They were hurting him, but far worse was the fear, the sheer, cold, black panic rising through him in a swelling wave and crushing the air from his lungs, threatening to drown him.

Oh, God, God, why couldn’t they let him be?

The door opened, and Nathan looked up, hoping to see Chris returning from breakfast. But it was a technician, heading straight for the bed and equipped to draw more blood. Jackson snorted sharply and shook his head in exasperation at the blindness of such "professionals." He saw the tech stop at Vin’s side, saw the sharpshooter’s gaze snap to the syringe and vial the young man held, and winced at the visible tremor that ran through Tanner’s body.

Pursing his lips, Nathan began to count silently. Five, four… a gloved hand reached for Tanner’s arm, and the prone body tensed further… three, two… the syringe descended, a low sound of warning broke from deep in Vin’s throat, and the hand about his arm tightened… one…

"Git the hell away from me!" Vin cried hoarsely, lunging upright and shoving the technician away, into one of the nurses.

Bodies fell back, and a vast assortment of medical instruments flew into the air. Dr. Stone stumbled and nearly fell, but caught herself at the last moment and rushed back to the bed. Just as she reached Vin, though, his left hand snaked out and caught her hard around the throat, his thumb pressing ruthlessly against her larynx. His right hand closed mercilessly about her left arm, his fingers digging into her flesh.

"Ain’t nobody else layin’ a hand on me!" he snarled through clenched teeth, blue eyes glittering wildly in his white face. "Y’hear me?"

"Jesus!" Nathan cried, leaping toward the bed. Tanner could snap her neck or rip out her throat, and Jackson knew the man had absolutely no control over his killing instincts just now. "Let her go–"

"VIN!"

All movement, almost all breathing, in the room stopped at that hoarse shout, and all eyes, except Dr. Stone’s, swung to the tall blond who had suddenly materialized in their midst. Vin, too, stared at Chris, though he never moved his hands from the doctor, and never loosened his grip.

Chris saw the panic in those wide eyes, could almost feel it pouring from his friend, and forced upon himself a calm he prayed he could maintain. Tanner was perilously near shattering, and Larabee feared he’d take the doctor with him if he went.

"Let her go, cowboy," he urged softly, moving slowly, slowly toward Vin. "You don’t wanta hurt her, I know that. We all know that. So why don’t you just let her go, and relax."

"Make ’em leave me be!" Vin demanded in a hoarse, shaking voice. "They been holdin’ me down… hurtin’ me… I jist cain’t take it no more!"

"You won’t have to," Chris assured him. "You’re gettin’ outta here in a few hours, and nobody’ll hold you down or hurt you again. But you’ve gotta let go of her, or all bets are off."

Vin stared at Chris, his heart hammering wildly against his ribs, his blood pounding in his head. He was shaking all over, felt cold and hot at the same time, could barely breathe for the painful tightness in his chest. He was sinking, could feel himself being dragged under, and knew he didn’t have it in him to float.

"Quicksand’s got me good," he whispered brokenly.

And then Chris was there, slipping strong arms about him and holding him up. He gave a harsh, shuddering gasp and collapsed into those arms, releasing his hold on the doctor.

"Easy, ma’am, I got ya," Nathan soothed, catching her as her knees buckled and helping her to the chair. He eased her down into it and knelt before her, gazing anxiously up into her dazed eyes and gently rubbing one of her hands between his larger, darker ones. "You all right?"

She nodded wordlessly and raised a shaking hand to her throat, still easily able to feel that hard grip around it. She breathed in deep draughts of air, and began to shake violently in reaction.

Nathan leaned over and gathered her into his arms, holding her close against him. "Ssh, it’s all right now," he soothed. "It’s over. You’re all right." He turned slightly and gazed over the top of her bowed head at Chris, his eyes questioning.

But Larabee had no answer for him. Vin was in no better shape than the doctor, simply huddling against him and clinging to him, trembling and breathing harshly, heavily, but not speaking a word.

"Hey, pard," Chris called softly, "I need you ta talk to me here, tell me what happened. Dr. Stone’s only tryin’ ta help you, y’know. Why’d you wanta hurt her?"

Vin shook his head slightly and closed his eyes tightly, clutching desperately at his friend’s shirt. He tried to speak, but no words would come. Another shudder racked him.

"It was… my fault," Dr. Stone answered hoarsely. She slowly raised his head from Nathan’s shoulder and smiled wanly at him. "Thank you."

He studied her closely. She was deathly pale and red marks showed where Vin had held her, but she seemed unhurt, for which he gave fervent thanks. He knew Tanner was as deadly with his hands as he was with any gun.

Chris watched her just as carefully. They’d had their run-ins, and he wasn’t always thrilled with the stern, overbearing demeanor she could adopt, but he also knew she cared deeply about her patients. If nothing else, she’d saved Vin’s life, and for that he owed her more than he could ever repay.

"You mind tellin’ me how you almost gettin’ choked to death is your fault?"

She smiled weakly at him, a faint glimmer of humor showing in her dark eyes. "If I said it was because of my arrogance, would you believe me?" She saw one corner of his mouth twitch in an ill-concealed smirk, and had to laugh. "I thought you would." She turned to Nathan and sighed. "And I owe you an apology. You tried to warn me something like this might happen, but I got so caught up in procedure I didn’t notice what was happening with my patient. That’s an unforgivable mistake."

"Don’t know of too many mistakes that can’t be forgiven," he told her. "Long’s you’re sorry for ’em and learn from ’em, you can be forgiven."

"Somebody mind tellin’ me just what the hell happened?" Chris asked in a low, warning voice, his green eyes shifting between the two of them.

Dr. Stone sighed heavily and sat back, feeling as if she’d been wrung out. Which, she supposed, wasn’t far from the truth. "I told you I wanted to examine him again before I released him," she explained, her gaze going to Vin and softening. "I just wanted to be sure he was well enough… And, please," she added firmly, holding up a hand, "let’s not get into a discussion of exactly what ‘well enough’ means. We all know where each of us stands on that issue."

She reached up to push a lock of dark hair off her forehead, trying to gather her thoughts. "Anyway, I let my zeal for thoroughness run into overzealousness, and…" She winced. "I didn’t take into consideration Vin’s current emotional state. We weren’t… I wasn’t as gentle as I could have been, and there were probably more of us around him than there should have been." She lifted tired eyes to Chris and shrugged. "We crowded him, we scared him, and we hurt him. Nathan warned me to be careful, but I didn’t listen. And when the tech came in to draw blood, it was more than Vin could take. He snapped, and I have only myself to blame."

Chris exhaled slowly and nodded, his mouth tightening. Then he looked around, and saw the two nurses and the lab tech still hovering near the door. "Can they leave?" he asked tersely.

She followed his gaze, and noticed them for the first time; they looked as shaken as she felt. "It’s all right," she assured them. "I don’t think he needs all of us in here right now."

They nodded, and left in silence. When they had gone, Chris gently pushed Vin back against the bed, then took his hand and held it firmly. "You all right, pard?" he asked worriedly, searching the younger man’s ashen face intently.

Vin opened his eyes and stared fearfully up at Larabee. "They g… gonna t… tie me down?" he whispered faintly.

"No," Chris said with a quiet force. "Nobody’s gonna tie you down, I promise."

Vin shivered and closed his eyes, clinging to Chris’s hand. "I wanta go home!" he said in a broken voice.

The plea tore at Chris’s heart and brought tears to his eyes. "You will, pard," he said roughly, squeezing Tanner’s hand reassuringly. "As soon as we can get you sprung, I’ll take you out to the ranch–"

"Wanta go home–"

"You can’t," Chris said, wishing he couldn’t see the anguish those words caused Vin. "You’re not strong enough to be on your own yet. We talked about this last night, remember? Besides," he forced a smile, "you’re not gonna be doin’ much but watchin’ TV for a while. Wouldn’t you rather watch my big screen than that little nineteen-inch of yours? I got satellite, y’know. And bein’ out at the ranch has gotta be better than bein’ stuck in Purgatorio."

"My TV’s fine fer me," Vin snapped defensively, opening his eyes and staring resentfully up at Larabee. "My apartment’s fine. I know it don’t seem like much ta y’all, but it’s mine. It’s home. Maybe I ain’t got a big fancy house or a big screen TV, and maybe my neighborhood ain’t the best in the world. But what I got’s good enough fer me, it’s mine, and if ya don’t like it you c’n go ta hell! I don’t recall ever askin’ fer the Chris Larabee seal of approval on my life, anyway!"

Chris was startled by the outburst, by the anger that seemed to come out of nowhere. But as he forced himself to think about Vin’s words, he slowly grasped the meaning behind them, and could have kicked himself for his own careless words.

No, Vin didn’t have much, because he’d never been allowed much; couldn’t have more than he could pack up and carry from one foster home to the next. Never had much he could call his own, and certainly never had a place he could call his own. Until he’d found a shabby little apartment in a run-down building in the hell-hole that was Purgatorio and made it his own. Nothing in that apartment was rented. Much of it had been bought at estate sales or from second-hand stores, but it had all been bought. And the few real treasures there – framed Western prints, the small collection of books, Native American art and objects – had all been lovingly accumulated by a man who put no store in "things" but cherished what he did have because every piece meant something.

No, Vin’s home wasn’t much. It was everything, especially to a man who’d gone most of his life without anything.

"I’m sorry," Chris said at last, locking gazes with Vin so his friend could see he understood. "I had no right to make your home sound like it’s less than mine. I know what it means to you, and I shouldn’t have put it down. And I know you wanta get back there–"

"Please?" Vin whispered, his anger gone as if it had never been. He just wanted to go back to his place and start putting the pieces of his life back together.

Again, tears stung Chris’s eyes, and he shook his head slowly. "I’m sorry, pard," he said in a thick voice, "you know you can’t. Maybe when you get a little stronger, but not right now. But, look," he added, forcing himself to brighten, "if you want, we can swing by there on the way to the ranch, and I can pick up a few things for ya. You know, just so you’ll have somethin’ of yours around. You tell me what you want, and I’ll get it. How about that?"

"No," Vin sighed, turning his face away from Chris, "’s okay. I don’t need anything. It’d jist be in the way."

Chris winced at the defeat he heard in that soft voice. "Vin–"

"When can we leave?" he asked, still not facing Larabee.

Chris sighed and bowed his head, hurt by and hating this spiritlessness in Vin. He’d rather have Tanner fighting him at every turn than simply… giving up.

"That’s up to the doc," he answered at last. "And I gotta get you somethin’ to wear. I need to pack a bag for you to take to the ranch… Are you sure there isn’t somethin’ I can bring for you? Anything at all, pard. You name it."

"’S all right," Vin murmured, his face devoid of expression. "Don’t matter none. Ain’t like it’s important."

Chris exhaled heavily and ran a hand through his hair, knowing he’d just hit one of Tanner’s walls. "It is important, Vin," he insisted. "If it helps you, then it’s important. If it makes you feel better, then it’s important. You know, you do matter. You are allowed to need things. Hell, you’re allowed to want things! You don’t have to be able to cram your whole life into one suitcase anymore!"

"Please," Vin whispered, raising a pale hand and pressing it to an aching temple, "don’t. I ain’t… I cain’t… Jist don’t, please?"

Chris swallowed hard and nodded. "Okay, I won’t push, I promise." He drew a deep breath and nodded again. "Lemme go get some clothes for ya, then I’ll be back and we can get you outta here. You just… get some rest while you’re waitin’, okay?"

"’Kay."

"I’ll stay with him," Nathan volunteered quietly, winning a deeply grateful look from Chris. "That’ll give me time ta talk ta Dr. Stone, get that whole long list of instructions he ain’t gonna follow."

"I’ll get his prescriptions written out," the doctor put in. "Also, I’ll get you information on how to clean and dress his wounds, what you can expect, and what to look out for. Does he have a primary care physician?"

Chris snorted. "I believe that would be the on-call in the emergency room."

She shook her head. "All right, then, barring any complications, I’ll want to see him in three days. We can go ahead and set up an appointment for that, too. If there are complications," she rose to her feet and arched a brow at Larabee, "I understand Good Shepherd across town has a wonderful emergency room!" She smiled at his chuckle, then went to the bed and looked down at her patient. She reached out and laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, but withdrew it when he flinched. "I’m sorry," she said softly.

He knew he should probably look at her, but couldn’t muster the energy to turn his head. "Fer what?"

She sighed and shook her head slowly, frowning. "Take your pick. Your having to be here in the first place, my having to let you go before you’re ready, startling you just now, scaring you earlier… Give me time, I’m sure I could think of something else. Most of all, I’m sorry you’re in pain and that I can’t help you."

He shrugged one shoulder. "’S all right."

"No, it’s not," she said firmly. "None of this is all right. None of this will ever be all right. And none of this should seem all right to you. There is nothing anywhere near ‘all right’ about someone having been through what you have. No one deserves this."

He did turn to look at her then, searching her dark eyes intently and seeing that she meant every word. She was angry, but for him, not at him. And suddenly he remembered what he’d done. He sat up slowly, frowning, and reached out with a slightly unsteady hand to touch her throat. Pain flooded his blue eyes, and shame flooded his soul.

"I’m the one who’s sorry," he rasped, withdrawing his hand and closing it tightly into a fist. "I didn’t have any call ta do what I done. I coulda hurt ya bad, killed ya…" He bowed his head and stared down at his hands, then thrust them under the covers and out of sight. "You should be glad ta see me go," he said hoarsely. "Reckon you’ll all be a lot safer then. ’Least out at the ranch, there won’t be nobody fer me ta hurt."

She saw the bruises he’d inflicted on his own arms, remembered the cuts he’d left in his palms, and knew that wasn’t quite true. "Except yourself," she reminded him.

He winced and looked away. "Well," he murmured, his blue eyes clouding, "’least I’m used to it."

She knew he was telling the truth. And wanted nothing more than to go somewhere and have a good cry at the heartbreaking sadness of it.

7~7~7~7

Buck met Chris at Vin’s apartment. Chris hadn’t asked him to, had simply called the loft to say that Vin was, indeed, going to be released in a few hours. He’d expected JD to answer, hadn’t thought Buck would be home from his rendezvous with the French stewardess yet. But Wilmington had answered, and explained that Ninheve had been called in to cover for another attendant who’d called in sick.

And when the big man had heard the tired, almost defeated, tone of his old friend’s voice, he’d said he was on his way.

So now here he was, sitting on Vin’s comfortable, if worn, sofa with its hues of desert sand, navy, maroon and sage, his feet propped on the scarred but solid coffee table, his dark blue gaze riveted to the man before him. Chris was pacing, but not with his usual firm, purposeful stride. Instead, he seemed merely to be wandering about, moving slowly, aimlessly, one hand thrust deep into the pockets of his black jeans, the other raking frequently through his disheveled blond hair. His green eyes were clouded, confused.

He looked like a man who’d been hit head-on by a train and still hadn’t a clue what had happened.

"Wanta tell me about it, pard?" Buck asked softly, gently. He knew without a doubt what – who – had Larabee in such a state, but knew also that the man would never open up on his own. Pulling words out of Chris could be worse than pulling teeth, but Buck figured his long years of friendship with the man had given him more than a few lessons in the fine art of dentistry.

Chris shrugged, winced, and shook his head, then again dragged a hand through his hair. "I took this onto myself, Buck," he murmured. "Can’t see burdening you with it."

Buck arched two dark brows and sat back. "I got broad shoulders, stud. Be a shame ta let ’em go ta waste. ’Specially when you look about bowed over right now with that load you’re carryin’."

Chris stopped his pacing and turned to face Wilmington, looking at him almost in wonderment. He never ceased to marvel at the man’s capacity to care for others, at his inability simply to stand by and watch others hurting without lifting a finger. Buck did have broad shoulders, but their breadth came nowhere near matching the depth of his heart.

"What if I’ve taken on more than I can handle?" he asked softly, only now allowing himself to voice the fear that had become a permanent knot in his gut. "What if I’ve gotten in over my head?" He exhaled unsteadily, his eyes wide and dark in his lined face, his whole being radiating a helplessness that was totally alien to him. "Vin’s so fragile right now. One wrong move, even the smallest push in the wrong direction, and I could shatter him forever. He trusts me," he breathed, that knowledge a blade in his soul. "How do I live with myself if I end up destroying him?"

Buck exhaled slowly and leaned forward, lowering his feet to the floor and propping his forearms on his knees. "Sit down, Chris," he urged quietly, his handsome face unusually somber, his blue eyes filled with sympathy and sorrow. "Sit down and listen to me."

Chris did as told without argument, settling his lean frame into the heavy wooden rocker across the table from the sofa and easily able to feel strong traces of Vin in it. He remembered when Tanner had come across this chair, how he’d immediately gone so still as only he was capable of going, blue eyes widening and filling with a longing so intense it had taken Chris’s breath away to see it. They’d been at a farm sale, had gone ostensibly seeking some equipment Chris needed for the ranch. Instead, all they’d come away with was this damned rocker.

Chris could still see Vin’s long, slender fingers running slowly, lovingly over the heavy oak frame, tracing the delicate tangle of vines and flowers carved into the wood, stroking the wide, thick slats that made up its back and following the long, curved sweep of the arms. It had been painted a hideous shade of green, but Vin had seen through that to the real beauty of the wood beneath, and had spent an entire weekend at the ranch stripping and refinishing it himself. And finally sharing with Larabee over a few cold beers why he’d been so taken by a mere piece of furniture.

"My mama had one jist like it," he’d breathed in that soft, raspy voice, his blue eyes staring back at a time that had been all of happiness he’d ever known. "Cain’t recall a lot about where we lived, but I ’member that rocker. She’d take me in her lap ’n rock me when I’s sick or hurt or scared, jist wrap her arms around me and hold me like she wasn’t ever gonna let go. Lord, I c’n still hear that creak – ain’t a proper rocker ’less’n it’s got a creak – and feel her fingers in my hair, still hear her singin’ and tellin’ me stories. I always felt safe in that rocker, like nothin’ on earth could hurt me."

Larabee had said nothing, had simply nodded in understanding. He had an old quilt of Sarah’s, and felt about it the same way. He kept it in a trunk at the foot of his bed, and, when he took it out, he could still smell the rose sachet she’d put in with it, though he knew the true scent had long since faded. But when he needed her, all he had to do was open that trunk, finger that quilt and breathe in that long-gone fragrance, and she was there.

"None’a the foster places I’s ever in had a rockin’ chair," Vin had added more softly still. "Reckon that’s how I knew they wasn’t home. Ain’t heard that creak since Mama died. It’s amazin’ what a body misses."

He hadn’t had words to answer Vin then, still didn’t have the words now. All he could do was rest his hands lightly, lovingly, on the wide arms and rock, listening to the creak and knowing it wasn’t what Tanner missed at all.

"Chris?" Buck called softly, watching the play of emotions over his friend’s face as he rocked. "You all right, pard?"

"No," Chris admitted, raising his head and meeting Buck’s anxious gaze. "I’m not. I thought I would be when we found him, when we got him back, but… He’s not back yet, is he? And I can’t help thinkin’… we might never get him all the way back again."

"I’ve thought about that," Buck sighed. "Hell, that night he held that gun on me, I didn’t think about anything else. Ain’t thought about much else since. And it scares the hell outta me."

"So what do we do?"

Buck raised two dark brows and stared steadily at his friend. "Same as we’ve always done, pard," he said firmly, "same as Vin’s always done for us. Be there, hang on tight, and fight like hell. Gather up all the broken pieces and fit ’em back together again. Mostly, though, give that boy what he ain’t ever had before – somebody to believe in and to lean on. No, we may never get him all the way back, and that’d be a damn shame. But even half gone, I’m willin’ ta bet he’d still be worth the fight."

"Josiah says it’s Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Chris said slowly, watching Buck carefully for any reaction. "Says he’s gonna need help."

"You mean professional help?"

Larabee tensed, waiting for some sign of derision, but Buck only shrugged.

"Sounds reasonable," the big man allowed thoughtfully, nodding slightly. "Vin’s carryin’ a heavy load, got a terrible weight on his soul, and, right now, he just ain’t up ta carryin’ it alone. We can help him, but he’s gonna need more than us. If it really is that Post-Stress-Trauma-Whatever, then there’s more wrong with him than we can handle. And why are you lookin’ at me like that?" he asked suddenly. "What the hell did you think I was gonna say?"

A guilty flush colored Chris’s face, and he swallowed hard. "I… I just… I don’t know."

"You thought I was gonna say somethin’ about Vin bein’ crazy, didn’t you? Thought I was gonna make some smart-ass remark about him needin’ a shrink. Hell, Chris, don’t you know me better’n that? I want that boy well as much as you do, and if it takes a psychiatrist, a psychologist or a voodoo witch doctor, then, hell, I’m all for it." He eyed Larabee sternly. "Or have you forgotten who it was who finally talked you inta gettin’ some real therapy when you discovered the liquid kind didn’t help?"

Chris winced at that, suddenly remembering, and ashamed that he’d ever forgotten. It had taken nearly two years, God knew how many hangovers and some hellacious knock-down, drag-out fights, but Buck had finally convinced him he needed something more than liquor to help him through the agony of having his life literally blown apart. And had even gone with him to that nerve-wracking first visit.

"I’m sorry," he murmured. "I should’ve known better…"

"Yeah, you should’ve," Buck agreed quietly, but without rancor. "Hell, I got nothin’ against therapists." The familiar twinkle kindled in the blue eyes. "Kinda like the idea of layin’ on a couch and lettin’ it all hang out."

Chris laughed and shook his head at his incorrigible friend. "You got no shame, Buck," he chided fondly.

"Aw, hell, Chris, I got tons of shame," Buck protested. "And," he winked, "soon’s I do somethin’ ta be ashamed of, I’ll bring it outta storage."

Chris gave an exaggerated, martyred sigh and hung his head, but couldn’t smother his smile. "You gonna help me get some clothes for Vin and spring him, or you just gonna sit here and admire your own wit?"

Buck rose to his feet with a grin. "No reason I can’t do both, stud." He wagged his dark brows and leered comically. "Might’s well let all them nurses have a chance ta say goodbye t’ ol’ Buck." He exhaled sadly and shook his head. "Gonna be like a light goin’ out in their worlds when I walk out them doors. Don’t know how they’re gonna cope."

"They’ll manage," Chris retorted, rising from the rocker. "At least now they’ll be able to shower in peace."

"Now, I told ya, Chris," Buck sighed, going toward Vin’s bedroom, "walkin’ in on ’em like that was an accident. I was lookin’ for coffee, just got turned around. All them rooms look alike, you know that. Could happen to anybody!"

Chris followed behind, laughing softly. And giving fervent thanks for Buck Wilmington.

7~7~7~7

Vin sat on the edge of his bed and nervously twisted his fingers together in his lap, his head bowed, as Chris took various items of clothing out of the gym bag he’d brought. He was breathing too fast, too deeply, knew that from the pain of his protesting ribs, but couldn’t help himself. The room was too small, filled with too many bodies, making the walls too close. Josiah had joined Nathan, and Buck had come in with Chris. A nurse hovered about, too, giving detailed instructions on care and medication. He couldn’t follow all of what she was saying, caught half of it at most, and found himself answering questions he didn’t fully understand. Everyone was staring at him, their eyes pricking his skin like needles, and he felt the panic rising again.

Oh, God, what if he answered wrong? Why couldn’t he understand what she was sayin’? Somethin’ about the pills… Jesus, there were so many bottles! He’d never keep ’em straight. He was gonna fuck this up, too…

Lord God, why couldn’t he think?

Chris looked up at the soft, wordless cry and saw Vin thrusting his hands into his hair and pulling. Immediately, various men started toward the ailing sharpshooter, but Larabee waved them away and went to Vin himself.

"Ssh, easy, pard," he soothed, standing just before his friend and gently untangling his fingers from his hair. "I’m right here."

Vin closed his eyes tightly and clung to Chris’s hands. "Make ’em go away!" he pleaded in a broken whisper. "They’re starin’… I c’n feel ’em… I cain’t breathe with ’em all so close!"

"I guess it is a bit much, huh? All of us, all of this… Gotta be overwhelmin’." He turned to the three big men looking on anxiously. "Why don’t you fellas wait out in the hall. His nerves are a bit raw."

Nathan considered that an incredible understatement; Tanner’s nerves weren’t raw, they were ruined. But he nodded his compliance, and ushered Buck and Josiah out of the room.

"Better?" Chris asked.

Vin exhaled unsteadily and bowed his head lower, his long hair veiling his face. "They must think I’m pretty pathetic!"

"Nobody thinks you’re pathetic, Vin," Chris assured him, freeing one hand to grip a thin and shaking shoulder. "We all know how you are about bein’ closed in. We understand; nobody looks down on you for it."

"Y’ain’t gotta do this, y’know," he murmured in a ragged, unsteady voice, slowly raising his head and fixing deeply troubled eyes on Larabee. "Ain’t gotta mess with me." He swallowed hard. "Jist take me back ta my place, please! Ain’t no sense in lettin’ my craziness mess up yer life."

Chris gazed steadily into those eyes, his own gentle. "First off," he said quietly, "you’re not crazy, and I don’t wanta hear you say that again. Second, you’re goin’ to the ranch. End of discussion. Third, I don’t give a rat’s ass about messin’ up my life; I’m more worried about straightenin’ up yours. And, fourth, you’re wrong. I do ‘gotta do this,’ Vin. I gotta help ya, I gotta take care of ya until you can take care of yourself. You’re my friend, and that doesn’t give me a choice in the matter. No more than it would give you a choice if it was me needin’ help. So let’s get you dressed and get you outta here, okay? I don’t know about you, but I’ve had about all of this place I can take."

"Don’t know if I can," Vin whispered, again bowing his head as the thought that had preyed upon him all morning again pushed its way forward. "How’m I s’posed ta ride in that elevator? Don’t know what I’m gonna do when them doors close on me. What if… what if I… do somethin’…"

"Dr. Stone thought of that." He picked up a small paper cup from the bedside table and held it out to Vin. "It’s a mild sedative, not enough to knock you out, but enough to keep you calm." He smiled encouragingly. "It should make the elevator ride bearable."

Vin stared at the paper cup, at the pill it held, and felt a crushing wave of helplessness sweep through him. Jesus, was this what he’d come to? Havin’ to be drugged just so he could leave the hospital?

"Do not ever," Chris growled in a low, hard voice, "say that about yourself again, do you hear me?"

Vin looked up in shock, suddenly realizing he’d asked the question aloud. Larabee’s anger took him aback, and, for a single, searing instant, he expected a blow, and flinched away from it.

Chris saw him jerk away, watched him throw up a hand to protect his face, and felt almost sick. All the color drained from his face, all the air leaked from his lungs, and he sank weakly onto the bed at Tanner’s side, staring numbly at the nurse.

Vin had been afraid of him. Had been looking right at him, knew who he was, and was afraid of him nonetheless. Vin Tanner, the only man he’d ever known who wasn’t afraid to challenge him, to provoke him, to stand up to him and call him down, the only man alive immune to "the Larabee Glare" and the Larabee temper, had just flinched from him in fear.

For the first time since this whole ordeal had started, Chris truly realized the hideous enormity of the damage that had been done to his friend.

Vin chewed his lip and bowed his head, knotting his hands into fists in his lap. He’d fucked up. He’d shown Chris just how crazy he was, and now Larabee wouldn’t want any part of him.

Couldn’t blame him, really. Taking care of a friend who’d had the hell beaten out of him was one thinking; taking care of a friend who’d lost his mind was another. Wasn’t his job; wasn’t his responsibility.

And he was used to it, really. Hell, he’d lost count of the people who’d decided he was too much work to mess with. What was it the foster care folks had called him? A "special needs child"? Yeah, that was it. Hell, who wanted to mess with anybody who had "special needs"? He’d run through the gamut of foster parents who did pretty quick, then had been passed through the ranks of those who didn’t. And it’d sure been hard to find anybody who wanted him after… well, after.

So he couldn’t expect Chris to take this on himself. He’d tried. Lord, nobody’d ever tried as hard as Larabee. But, then, that was his way. Still, even he had his limits, and if there was one thing Vin Tanner was good at, it was pushin’ folks to their limits.

He sighed. Looked like he’d be goin’ back to his place, after all. Strange how that hurt. That’s what he’d wanted all along, just to go home, be left alone. Like always. Hadn’t wanted to go to the ranch, be in Chris’s way, mess up his life like he’d messed up his own. Larabee didn’t deserve that.

Except that a small part of him had wanted to go; or had at least liked knowin’ Chris cared enough to make him go. Had liked knowin’ there was one thing he hadn’t fucked up yet. Had liked knowin’ there was somebody who maybe hadn’t given up on him yet. Who didn’t seem to mind about Vin Tanner’s "special needs." He hadn’t had that in so long, he’d forgotten what it felt like. It had sure been nice havin’ it again.

Until he’d fucked it up. But it’d be all right. He was used to it.

Really.

Chris reached out and gently pried Vin’s fisted hands open, shaking his head at the sight of the blood spotting his friend’s palms. "You gotta quit doin’ that, cowboy," he said softly. "How’re you gonna get any better if you keep bleedin’ yourself dry?" He leaned forward and snagged a couple of tissues out of the box on the bedside stand, then gently wiped away the blood. "You gonna take the sedative?"

Vin said nothing, merely stared down at his hands as if they belonged to somebody else. "Special needs." Yep, that was him all over.

Chris exhaled slowly and rubbed his forehead. "I want you to listen to me, Vin," he said in a low voice. "Got somethin’ to say, and I need you to hear it, okay?"

Vin tensed, preparing himself for the words he knew were coming, and would have clenched his hands once more had Chris not held them open. But not even Larabee could stop the clenching of his soul.

"All right, here’s the deal," Chris sighed. "Somewhere in your past, somebody beat the shit outta you on a regular basis. And I just don’t have the words to tell you what knowin’ that does to me. See, I keep thinkin’ about Adam." His voice quavered slightly, grew a bit rougher, but he went on. "I keep wonderin’ how I’d feel if I knew somebody was doin’ that to him. And it just… kills somethin’ inside me," he rasped. "To think of somebody hurtin’ my little boy…" His voice broke, and he had to stop, had to swallow, had to run a hand across wet eyes. "But, y’see, pard," he whispered tightly, "you were somebody’s little boy, too. Whenever that sonuvabitch beat you, he was hurtin’ Grace Ellen Tanner’s little boy, was doin’ things to her son that she never meant for anybody to do. And I can imagine how she’d feel if she knew that. Because when I saw that fear in your eyes just now, I honestly thought I was gonna be sick."

Vin nodded slightly, understanding. Seein’ him put Chris in mind of his dead son, made him think on somebody beatin’ Adam. And it was too much. Even Chris Larabee had his limits.

"Don’t ever flinch from me, Vin," Chris urged in a low, gentle voice. "You don’t have to. I’ll never hurt you, I’ll never do to you what that bastard in your past did. You don’t have to be afraid of me, pard. I don’t want you to be afraid of me. I can take a lot of things, but I just don’t think I could take that, okay?"

"’Kay," Vin whispered.

Chris nodded and patted Tanner’s shoulder once. "Okay." He slid from the bed and retrieved the dark blue sweatpants he’d brought. "Let’s get you dressed now, get this pill down you, then get you down to the truck. It’s a long ride to the ranch, and the sooner we get started, the better."

Vin lifted his head sharply at that and stared at Chris in startled disbelief, not at all certain he’d heard him right. "The r… the ranch?" h repeated softly, fearfully. "Y’ mean you… you’re still takin’… But…" His words trailed off and he simply stared, not understanding this at all. Chris couldn’t possibly still mean to take him to the ranch.

Could he?

Chris sighed heavily and shook his head, mistaking the cause of Vin’s confusion. "Goddamn, but you’re a stubborn one, Tanner!" he breathed. "Get this, and get this now. You’re goin’ to the ranch, you hear? So forget about your apartment. You’re not goin’ back there yet, and that’s final." He arched a golden brow at his gaping friend. "Anybody ever tell you that you’re an awful lotta work, pard?" he teased.

Vin’s look of stunned surprise slowly faded, replaced by a gradually spreading smile. "Yeah," he breathed, "reckon I’ve heard that once ’r twice."

But never before from someone who seemed to think he might actually be worth it.

7~7~7~7

Even with the sedative, he was deeply unnerved by the elevator ride. The car looked spacious enough when empty, but was immediately made much smaller by his wheelchair, the orderly behind him, Chris at his right, and Nathan at his left. Josiah, hearing the sharp, hissing breath that escaped Vin, and seeing the panic that flooded his eyes as the space around him shrunk, stepped back out of the car, pulled Buck with him, and told Chris they’d meet them in the lobby. The team leader shot the profiler a look of deepest gratitude, easily able to feel the agitation that was already settling on Vin and knowing it would only get worse.

And it did. The moment the doors slid shut, he was acutely aware of bodies pressing against him and walls closing in upon him, depriving him of much-needed air. As the car started down with its familiar little shudder, he felt his whole world abruptly constricting to this tight, hot, airless space. The sensation of being confined wrapped itself around his mind, body and soul and squeezed, awakening dark, dreadful memories of other times he’d been imprisoned within walls that were much too close. By the time the doors opened onto the lobby, he was deathly pale and trembling violently, light-headed from near hyperventilation. Sweat stood out in beads over his ashen face, and his heart throbbed heavily in his chest and head.

God, he hated this! Hated feeling so brittle that any sound might shatter him, hated feeling like his every nerve had been scraped raw and left painfully exposed, hated that every emotion was so close to the surface he couldn’t hide or control it if he tried. And hated most of all that he didn’t even have the strength to try.

"It’s all right," Chris had said on the endless, agonizing ride down, "it’ll be over soon." Words meant to help, to comfort, but that only added another twist to the hard knot in his stomach. In his soul. Because he knew that Larabee wanted desperately to believe them, but couldn’t quite do it.

And neither could he. He wanted to; God, how he wanted to believe that all this would just go away and leave him be! That he’d be rid of the nightmares, of the paralyzing attacks of panic, of the fear that never really left him. That all this would end and he really would be all right again. Be free again.

He’d gotten free once, hadn’t he? If he’d done it then, didn’t that mean he could do it now? How many times in his life was a man permitted to put the pieces of that life back together?

And, God, why, why couldn’t they stay that way once he did?

The orderly pushed his chair to the end of the walk and stopped it before the big black truck that sat waiting in the wide, brick-covered drive. Vin lifted his head and stared dully at the Ram, watched as Chris opened the passenger door, and knew he was somehow supposed to get himself up and inside. At the moment, though, with the sedative making his mind sluggish, and knowing what pain would erupt the moment he moved even one part of his battered body, the "how" of it escaped him. And anger at his helplessness flared through him.

"C’mon, pard," Chris said quietly, stepping to Vin’s side and setting a hand to his shoulder, "let’s get you in the truck."

"I c’n do it," Vin growled, shrugging off that hand.

Chris studied him a moment, saw the pale face drawn tight in pain, anger and frustration, and warred with himself. He knew how weak Vin still was, how unsteady on his feet, and how deeply humiliated the proud man would be if he fell out here, in full view of countless strangers. But he also knew how badly Vin needed to try.

This was an attempt by Tanner to try and exercise some measure of control over his life. For so long now, he’d had no control, had been at the mercy of his caregivers – waked when they needed him awake, sedated when they needed him knocked out, even restrained when they couldn’t deal with him any other way. An endless parade of people had streamed in and out of his room at all hours, poking him, prodding him, turning him, attaching this tube or removing that one, pumping in medication or taking out blood, monitoring and scrutinizing his every bodily function as if he were no more than a lab rat. Everything had been done on their schedule, at their will, by their order, and he had not had the smallest say in any of it. And for a man who cherished, who needed, his independence and privacy as deeply and as fiercely as Vin Tanner, that complete loss of control had been brutal.

And even before the hospital staff had taken it from him, Charlie Castro and his thugs had. He’d been held, tied, beaten and tortured for three days, his life in the hands of men who did their level best to destroy it. And came within a hair’s breadth of succeeding.

God, no wonder Vin wanted just to stand up and walk a few feet on his own. Larabee vowed to shoot the first person who tried to interfere.

"All right," he said at last, his voice firm and showing no trace of the uneasiness he felt. He stepped back, and gestured the others back, as well. "Just take it slow and easy. We’re in no hurry."

Vin gave a soft, bitter laugh at that. Take it slow. Like he was capable of anything else! With that damn sedative workin’ on him, it was all he could do to figure out where his arms and legs were and how to move ’em. Took all his concentration just to slide his feet from the supports on the chair to the ground, and then to figure out how to get his butt out of the seat.

God, he hated this!

Four men watched in tense and anxious silence as their friend struggled to lever his wounded and drugged body out of the wheelchair and stand on his own two feet. Chris felt himself literally digging in his heels to keep from rushing forward, had his hands clenched so tightly into fists his wrists ached, and would’ve sworn everyone could hear the gritting of his teeth. Buck had to thrust his hands deep into his pockets to keep from reaching out to grab Vin’s arm, and had his upper lip so far between his teeth he was chewing on his mustache. Nathan was chewing on his bottom lip, his worried dark eyes following Vin’s every halting, labored movement, his mind cataloguing the thousand and one ways the man could fall and hurt himself again. Josiah alone seemed to stand impassive, except for the constant rubbing of his thumb against the St. Jude medal on his key ring.

Lord, with friends like these, it was a pure wonder he hadn’t worn that medal smooth.

Inch by painful inch, Vin pushed himself to his feet, clenching his jaws tightly against the pain and breathing heavily from the effort. Every muscle screamed in protest, countless stitches pulled, and his head ached hideously. White spots danced at the edges of his graying vision, his mouth and throat were dry, and the truck suddenly seemed two miles away. Nonetheless, with nothing but sheer determination to support him, he took an unsteady step forward, then realized with a stab of terror that the ground was not where it should have been. A wave of dizziness hit him, and a choked gasp of terror escaped him as he stumbled. But, even as he started to fall, strong arms closed about him and held him upright.

"All right, cowboy," Chris soothed in a low voice as Vin slumped, shaking, against him, "it’s all right. You got yourself on your feet, now let’s see if we can’t keep you there." He looked over Vin’s shoulder to the truck and narrowed his eyes, silently calculating. "I’m thinkin’ we’re lookin’ at about five steps here," he said. "You can do five steps. We’ll just take ’em one at a time, and go real slow. Okay?"

Vin said nothing, merely hung his head and clung to Chris, knowing he’d fall the moment the man released him. His soul writhed in humiliation, and anger swept through him at his body’s betrayal of him.

One step at a time, Chris led him forward, stopping when Vin faltered, never once lessening his hold on his friend. He could feel Buck, Nathan and Josiah straining to rush forward, knew any one of them was fully capable of simply lifting Vin and carrying him to the truck, but not unless Tanner actually passed out would he do that to his friend.

"All right, here we are," he breathed as they reached the truck. "Now, reach out, put your hand on the seat. Use it for leverage." When Vin did so, shifting his weight, Chris released him and turned to face him, then bent over slightly. He kept his left hand on Vin’s right hip to steady him, and slipped his right hand to the back of his friend’s left knee. "Okay, pard, here’s the deal. I need you ta lift this leg," he gently patted the bend of Vin’s knee, "and put your foot on the floor. Can you do that?"

Buck saw the uncertainty flicker across Vin’s face, and it was too much for him. Desperate to spare his friend any more pain, any more embarrassment, hurting deeply for the confused and wounded creature before him, he rushed forward, having to shove past Nathan and Josiah’s restraining hands to do it.

"Chris," he called, his blue eyes dark with pain for Tanner, "let me lift him in. Hell, it won’t be any trouble! He hardly weighs anything right now–"

"No," Larabee said, straightening and fixing a compelling gaze on the big man. He knew how Buck felt – hell, he felt exactly the same way – but he also knew what Vin needed. "He can do this. May take a while, but that’s all right. I got nowhere else to be, and all damn day to be there."

Buck saw Vin’s head lift at that, saw the clouded blue eyes drift to Larabee and the slumped shoulders straighten, and had to smile in wonder. Chris’s faith in him and patience with him was like a healing balm on Tanner’s ravaged soul, the team leader’s confidence infusing the sharpshooter with a fragile one of his own. As Buck watched, Vin bowed his head and stared down at his feet, then, with the familiar scowl of concentration, slowly lifted his leg and swung it awkwardly into the truck, and smiled as his foot settled on the floorboard.

"That do?" he asked softly.

Chris straightened and gripped Vin’s shoulder, smiling broadly. "Hell, yeah, that’ll do," he beamed. "Now let’s see if we can’t get your sorry ass up there, too. Rockies are playin’, y’know, and you’re makin’ me miss the game."

"Hell," Vin grunted in disgust, the feeble spark of his spirit igniting with his small victory. "What kinda name fer a baseball team is the ‘Rockies,’ anyways? Now, take the ‘Rangers’…"

"Hate ta tell ya, pard," Chris interrupted, "but everybody’s takin’ the Rangers right now. They’re bottom-feedin’." He smirked. "Not a good year for Texas, Tanner. Between the Rangers and the Cowboys–"

"Don’t be sayin’ nothin’ against my Cowboys," Vin growled, glaring with a ferocity that all about him were thrilled to see. "Jist ’cause they’re in a bit of a slump–"

"Slump?" Chris hooted. "Shit, Tanner, they’re not in a slump! They’re fuckin’ comatose!"

Vin’s eyes narrowed and his lips thinned into a wolfish snarl. "They’re in a rebuildin’ year–"

"That’s whatcha said last year, pard," Chris sighed. "And the year before. Face it, Tanner, Quincy Carter is Travis, Texas Stadium is the Alamo, and the rest of the NFL is a shitload of Mexicans pourin’ over the walls."

"No respect," Vin growled, gripping Larabee’s shoulder tightly and leaning heavily on the blond as he gathered his strength and levered himself into the truck. "Got no respect – Jesus, that hurts! – fer tradition." He collapsed onto the seat and fell back, eyes closed, face pale and tight, his chest heaving, pain hurtling through every part of his body. "’At’s… yer trouble," he gasped.

Chris chuckled and carefully slipped the seatbelt across Vin’s chest and over his hips. "Nope," he answered as he clicked the buckle into place, "my trouble is a goddamn mouthy Texan who ain’t got the sense God gave a rock. You in?"

"I’m in. Go ta hell."

"Such gratitude," Chris quipped, gently moving Vin’s right foot out of the way of the door. "I’m givin’ you my best guest room, and this is the thanks I get."

Vin cracked one eye open and turned his head toward Chris, a scowl on his face and a gleam in his eye. "Ain’t like folks is linin’ up fer that room, Larabee. Hell, if it wasn’t fer hospital rejects, you wouldn’t have no guests at all."

Chris arched a blond brow. "You keep it up, and I’ll toss your ass out on the road somewhere and make you walk to the ranch. Now, say goodbye, Vin."

"G’bye, Vin," Tanner cracked, closing his eye and smiling as Chris shut the door.

"He’s ba-ack," Buck crooned, grinning broadly and brilliantly at the exchange he had just witnessed.

"Not yet," Chris said, a small but satisfied smile on his face. "But, with any luck, he will be. Now, let’s get to the ranch and get him settled. See if we can’t start haulin’ his scrawny, infuriatin’ ass outta that goddamned quicksand."