Josiah lay still and frowned into the darkness, not sure what had awakened him. He listened intently for long moments, subduing even his breathing, before recognition dawned. Slow, shuffling footsteps in the hallway outside the room – Vin’s room – he’d taken for the night. The only other bedroom down that hall was Chris’s.

With a heavy sigh, he sat up and flung the covers aside, then turned and dropped his feet to the floor, his gaze alighting on the clock nearby. 2:53 a.m.

Lord, would this day never end?

With another sigh, he forced his tired body off the bed and went to the door, opening it just as Larabee hobbled into view, his lean frame hunched over with pain. Chris stopped at the older man’s appearance, and Josiah raised two heavy brows at him.

"Goin’ somewhere, brother?" he asked softly.

Chris scowled and tried to pull himself upright, but just couldn’t manage it. His bruised ribs were aching fiercely, his head was pounding, and his face hurt like hell. And all this the result of a beating from a man who wasn’t even at full strength.

Giving up his futile attempt at toughness, he sagged against the wall and grimaced, pressing a hand to his ribs. "Couldn’t sleep," he admitted. "Figured a pain pill might help."

Josiah smiled gently. "You go on back to bed. I’ll bring you the pills and some water."

"One oughtta do it–"

"You’ll take two," Josiah interrupted firmly. "Nathan said two, and you know as well as I do that he keeps track of how many are left. You wanta piss him off, that’s your business. Me, I’m a peacemaker. So you’ll take two. And you’ll like it."

Chris would’ve argued, but two pain pills did sound pretty good. Hell, just now, three sounded appealing!

Josiah watched him turn and shuffle back to his room, the absence of a protest bringing a worried frown to the profiler’s face. Shaking his head slowly, he left his room and went to the kitchen, certain that a large part of Chris’s pain was beyond the ability of any pill in the world to ease.

Good thing he was a believer in early mornin’ talks…

7~7~7~7

Josiah entered the bedroom and found Chris slumped over on the edge of his bed, his elbows on his thighs, his head in his hands. Every line of the man’s body screamed of pain and dejection.

"Might feel better if you’d lie back," he said quietly.

Chris lifted his head from his hands and raised dull green eyes to the older man. "Anybody heard from JD?"

Josiah heard the worry in the raspy voice and gave a slight, reassuring smile. "He called just before ten, said Vin was sleeping."

"Peacefully?"

Josiah nodded. "Yeah. He said Vin had waken up earlier from a nightmare, but that he was doin’ fine. Dr. Stone prescribed a mild sedative, and it helped. Now, how about seein’ if we can’t do the same for you?" He held out the pills and a glass of water. "Take ’em, Chris. No need in sufferin’ when you don’t have to."

Larabee took the pills and swallowed them, then chased them down with a drink. With Josiah’s help, he eased himself back into bed and lay down, closing his eyes and exhaling deeply, exhaustedly.

"All this… it’s my fault," he murmured as Sanchez spread the covers over him. "I thought he was ready to talk… I fucked up."

"Yes, brother, you did."

Chris’s eyes snapped open and he glared up at the profiler. "You got a helluva bedside manner!"

Josiah shrugged and sat down on the edge of the bad facing Chris. "You want me to lie to ya?" he asked, arching silver-flecked brows and crossing his arms against his broad chest. "Thought we were all pretty well past strokin’ each other’s egos by now. But if that’s what you want–"

"Hell," Chris breathed, his anger fading. "The only thing I want right now is for Vin to be all right. Tell me how to make that happen," he pleaded, helplessness in his voice and eyes.

Josiah sighed and bowed his head, his blunt features creased with sorrow. "I wish I could. I wish I had the magic words to make all this right. But it’s not that simple." He lifted his head and looked back at Larabee. "And you know that better than anyone else. Because you know Vin better than anyone else."

"Wouldn’t know it from what happened today," Chris murmured bitterly.

Josiah shrugged again, then crossed one leg over the other. "Today was a mistake," he said calmly. "Recognize it for what it was, and let it go. Or, better yet, learn from it." He smiled wryly. "Thanks to you, we now know what not to do."

"Thanks," Chris snorted.

"Don’t knock it, boss. Sometimes knowing what not to do is as valuable as knowing what to do. Gives us parameters."

"Okay, make a note: no more grabbin’ Tanner and holdin’ him down." Chris gingerly touched his bruised and swollen nose and winced. "He really hates that."

Josiah grinned and winked. "So noted."

Chris sighed and let his gaze drift past Sanchez. He could feel the medication kicking in, but denied his body’s need for sleep. He was too consumed in worry for his friend to care about himself, was too racked by fear and guilt to be able to relax. He couldn’t help feeling he’d failed Vin, and that feeling gnawed cruelly at him.

"He trusted me," he breathed, his eyes filling with pain. "He trusted me not to hurt him, and I betrayed that trust. Just like the bastard who’s still hauntin’ him. I plunged him right back into that hell–"

"But now he needs you to pull him out," Josiah counseled. "I can’t tell you what to feel, Chris, but I can tell you this: Vin doesn’t need your guilt. Likely he’s gonna be carryin’ a big enough load of his own once he realizes what he did. And that’s on top of what he’s probably still carryin’ from what happened when he was a child. He just can’t take any more–"

"Wait a minute," Larabee interrupted sharply, his gaze shooting back to Sanchez. "What d’you mean, guilt from when he was a child? What the hell has he got to feel guilty about? He was the one bein’ beaten half ta death–"

"It’s a common factor in child abuse cases," Josiah said solemnly, sadness heavily tingeing his deep voice. "The victims are made to feel that they are responsible for what happened, that the beatings were their fault, that they deserved what they got. If they’d been better children, more obedient, more attentive–"

"If they’d been smarter, or less clumsy," Chris breathed, remembering Vin’s rambling words from that afternoon. Horror filled and chilled his soul. "Jesus Christ," he breathed, "he still believes those things! Goddamn it, battering his body wasn’t good enough for the bastard? He had to batter his spirit, too?" He thought of Tanner’s dyslexia, of how the man struggled with and against it, of how frustrated he grew with it, of how ashamed he was of it, and suddenly understood. "He still believes it," he said again, appalled by all the harm that had been done to his friend. "My God, I hope that bastard’s dead!" he snarled.

Once again, Josiah put together the clues he’d gathered from listening to Vin, and winced at the terrible meaning that seemed only too clear. "I think," he breathed, "we can assume he is."

Chris started to ask, but quickly closed his mouth. This was one of those answers he didn’t want to hear. Each time suspicions formed in his mind, he ruthlessly shoved them away, determined to insulate himself for as long as he could against the complete and hideous truth. He wanted desperately to believe that there were limits to what his friend had suffered, and would believe that for as long as he could.

Josiah saw that barrier slam into place behind the green eyes, and gave a slow, tired sigh. He knew Chris would have to hear the truth at some point, and supposed the man would only accept it from Vin. He just hoped the telling of it didn’t further damage Tanner’s already deeply wounded psyche.

"I want you to listen to me," he said at last, a subtle edge of anger creeping into his voice. His gaze caught and held Larabee’s, refusing to let it go. "I know there are things you don’t want to hear, truths you don’t want to know, questions you don’t want to ask. But what you want, Chris Larabee, no longer matters. Hasn’t mattered from the start. All that matters now is Vin. So, if that boy starts to unburden himself, if he starts to tell you something, no matter how ugly, no matter how painful, no matter how appalling it is," he leaned forward and jabbed a thick forefinger into Larabee’s chest, "you let him talk. Do you hear me? I don’t care what illusions it shatters, I don’t care how sick it makes you, I don’t care what kind of nightmares it gives you. You listen to him, and you encourage him, and you do not stop him. Because what are only nightmares for you was brutally real for him. It was his life!"

Chris shook his head unconsciously. "I can’t… I don’t…"

Josiah leaned closer still and snarled, "Fuck what you ‘can’t’ or ‘don’t’! Vin could and did, and if you want him back, you’re going to have to listen to every goddamn gory detail, you got that? Because the last thing that boy needs right now is to think that his life, the life he had no choice in, the life that was forced on him, so upsets your delicate sensibilities that you can’t even bear to hear about it. But if that is the case, if you’re really not tough enough to handle the truth about what your best friend, your brother, has suffered, then maybe you should just step aside and let us take care of him. And you’d better decide now, before you make a mistake that shatters him completely."

Chris was startled as much by Josiah’s subdued but unmistakable fury as by his uncharacteristic profanity. The man had just put him on notice that he’d be held accountable for any further damage to Vin.

"I don’t know," he sighed dispiritedly. "I don’t know what made me think I could help him. I don’t know what makes anyone think I can help him! Especially him!"

Josiah arched one heavy brow and sat up, staring down at Larabee as if he’d just sprouted a second head. "You’ve got to be kidding, right?" he asked in unabashed amazement. "Who else would he look to, Chris? Why wouldn’t he turn to you? You said yourself he trusts you–"

"I said he trusted me," Chris corrected archly. "I probably destroyed that today–"

"Bullshit!" Josiah barked. "That’s self-pity and denial talkin’, and, frankly, Chris, those two things are so far beneath you I won’t even dignify them by arguing. You wanta wallow? Do it later, when Vin’s sanity isn’t at stake. But right now he doesn’t have time for that little bit of self-indulgence. He needs you, he needs you, and if you’re not there, then he won’t be, either. And we will have lost him for good."

Chris sat up sharply, ignoring the pain the movement caused him, and spat, "But I don’t know how! Don’t you get it?"

"No," Josiah answered calmly, again crossing his arms against his chest and staring coolly at Larabee, "I don’t. You two know each other better than any two men I’ve ever seen. You know all there is to know about each other. Oh, maybe not the details, but you surely know all the essentials – who and what the other is straight down to his core. You do know what to do, because you’ve been doin’ it all along. Okay, today you messed up. You listened to your head instead of your heart, your soul, your instincts. Fine. Learn from it and move on. Next time, if you’re as smart as I think you are, as I hope you are, you’ll do better. You’re the one he turns to, Chris," he said, his voice gentling considerably. "And we both know there’s only one reason Vin Tanner turns to someone instead of away from them. Because he trusts them completely. And there just aren’t that many people that boy trusts completely. So you tell me, brother, if you’re not the man for this, then just who in God’s holy name is?"

Chris slumped back against his pillows exhaustedly. "I just don’t wanta hurt him," he whispered plaintively, fear showing plainly on his face. "So many others have, so many others who should’ve been lookin’ out for him… God, Josiah," he choked out, his voice breaking, "he’s been betrayed by so many people–"

"But never once by you," the big man said softly, reaching out and taking Larabee’s hand in a firm grip. "That’s the truth and the hope he’s been clinging to since his whole world turned to darkness. And it’s the truth and the hope that will lead him back into the light." He released Chris’s hand, but turned it palm-up. "The moment you became his friend, Vin put his whole trust, his whole soul, right here," he breathed, gently tapping Larabee’s palm with a finger. "Imagine what courage that took for a man to whom hands have only meant hurt and betrayal. Yet there they are." He frowned. "You ever wonder why he did that?"

Chris stared at his hand, as if he could see resting in it the very treasures of which Sanchez had spoken. "More times than you could imagine," he whispered unsteadily, his gaze still riveted to his palm.

Josiah smiled at the sight. "Vin’s a smart man. I reckon he knew he’d found the one hand that would never turn against him, the one hand that would never fail him. The one hand that would guard those precious, battered and fragile things as if–"

"They were my very own," Chris breathed, closing his hand in an instinctively protective gesture.

"Yeah," Josiah said with a knowing smile. "Now, I wonder just where in the hell he’d get a strange idea like that?"

Chris looked up, saw that smile, and scowled. "Pretty damn smug, aren’tcha, Preacher?" he growled, using the team’s nickname for the big man.

"Well," Sanchez raised two eyebrows, "I’ve been takin’ lessons from Ezra. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned from him," his grin grew broader still, "it’s to recognize a sure thing when I see it." He winked. "And I do believe that Vin knows that, as well."

Larabee tried his best to scowl menacingly at the older man, but the warmth in his green eyes gave him away. "You gonna get outta here and let me sleep?" he growled, the smile tugging at his mouth robbing his words of their sting. "If Vin comes home tomorrow, I’m gonna need to be rested so I don’t make any more fool mistakes."

"I was just leavin’," Josiah said, rising to his feet with that smug smile still firmly in place. "Lord knows, you can use all the beauty sleep you can get." He winced and shook his head. "Vin ain’t big, but, God help us all, he knows how ta use what the good Lord gave him!"

Chris sighed and closed his eyes, finally giving in to his need to rest. "Hell," he breathed. "You think it looks bad from that side, you oughtta try feelin’ it from here. Now, get out and go back to bed before I show you some of what the good Lord gave me."

Josiah gazed down at the battered, exhausted man on the bed and chuckled softly. "Y’know,’ he laughed, "as bad as you look, I believe you could. You and Vin are definitely two of a kind!" He walked out and closed the door softly, still chuckling.

And, behind him, left in the dark, Chris fell almost at once into a deep and dreamless sleep.

7~7~7~7

"C’mon, Vin, you gotta eat," JD urged, sitting on the edge of the bed and watching his friend picking disinterestedly at the oatmeal he’d been served for breakfast. "Dr. Stone will keep you in here if you give her the slightest reason."

"Ain’t hungry," Vin sighed, letting the spoon fall to the tray. "This ain’t how I like it."

JD gave him a conspiratorial smile and dug into the pocket of his jacket. "I bet I can fix that," he said with a wink, bringing out his hand. "Look what I got." He opened his palm to reveal four packets of brown sugar. At Vin’s look of wonderment, he leaned close and whispered, "Coffee shop across the street. Figured you’d be needin’ a fix right about now." He nodded sagely and dropped three packets onto the tray table, then opened the fourth. "Nobody needs to know."

A childlike smile slowly spread over Vin’s face as he watched JD pour all four packets and half a glass of milk into the oatmeal, then stir it all together for him. "’M obliged to ya," he said softly, his eyes shining.

Under normal circumstances, JD would have shrugged his actions off as nothing, but he wouldn’t – couldn’t – do that now. The delight in the faded blue eyes was too important to him, and the simple pleasure written all over Vin’s face touched him too deeply. This wasn’t nothing, and he wouldn’t belittle his friend’s happiness by pretending it was.

"You’re welcome," he said quietly, handing the spoon back to Vin with a warm smile. "I know it’s still not gonna taste anything like Nettie’s, but I thought I could at least try to improve it some. And, knowin’ you, I figured brown sugar’s the best place to start." He frowned and shook his head. "Just wish I coulda found some raisins…"

"That’s all right," Vin assured him, still smiling. "Ya already done more’n I expected." His smile faded and he swallowed hard, then fixed a steady gaze on the boy. "I wantcha ta know… how grateful I am… fer all you’ve done. I mean," he winced and bowed his head, "I know lookin’ after me ain’t the easiest or best job these days…" He swallowed again and raised his head, his eyes again seeking JD’s. "I don’t think I coulda got through last night without ya," he said softly. "I was gettin’ lost in it all again, ’n if you hadn’ta pulled me out…" He nodded once. "Jist wanted you ta know how grateful I am, ’n how much I appreciate you bein’ with me."

Tears welled in JD’s eyes and, for long moments, his voice wouldn’t come. He knew how hard it was for such a proud man to admit his need, to acknowledge how dependent he was on another’s strength, and it meant more to him than he could say that Vin had just done so to him. It was a testament, he knew, to the depth of the sharpshooter’s respect for him, and proof that while Vin might call him "kid," he regarded him as much more.

When at last he could speak, he did so quietly, but firmly, his voice without so much as a quaver. "I want you to understand something," he said, his gaze holding Vin’s. "I was exactly where I wanted to be last night, exactly where I needed to be. And not just for you, but for me, too." At Vin’s startled look, he sighed and shook his head. "Don’t you get it? I didn’t come here with you because Chris asked me to, I came because I volunteered. I was worried about you, Vin, and I wanted – no, I needed – to be sure you were all right. There was no way in hell I was gonna leave you here by yourself, you understand? Because I needed to know they were takin’ care of you, because I needed to be sure you were gonna come back to us. You’re my friend, Vin," he said softly, "and as much as you needed someone to pull you out, I needed to be the one doin’ the pullin’. Because I needed to be sure you had somebody here who’d rather die than let you go. And I needed to be sure you knew you had that."

Vin stared intently at the boy – no, the young man – before him, easily able to see the truth of his words shining in those expressive eyes. Yet the true wonder of it came from his realization that it was not just JD who felt that way, but five other men with him, each one of whom would gladly, and without being asked, put his strength, and his very life, at Vin Tanner’s disposal.

"I cain’t help but wonder," he mused softly, "what woulda happened if’n I’da had that back then, back when… back when it all went ta hell." He shrugged and frowned, dropping his gaze from the boy’s. "Reckon I wouldn’t be such a mess now." He sighed and ran his good hand through his uncombed hair. "I jist hate seein’ y’all caught up in all this! I wanted ta keep y’all out of it–"

"You can’t," JD said simply. "If you’re in it, we’re in it." He shrugged easily. "That’s just how it works. You’ve been caught up in our messes often enough that you should know that by now." He gave a slight, sly grin. "I mean, how many times have we had to clean up after Buck? Or Ezra, when one of his fancy schemes backfired? Or, hell," his eyes gleamed wickedly, "how many times have you had to step in and clean up the mess left by Chris’s, uh, ‘diplomacy’?"

Vin laughed at that, and years instantly vanished from his face. "Aw, hell, now don’t even go there, kid!" he protested. "The only thing Chris Larabee knows about diplomacy is what he reads in the dictionary! That man’s about as tactful as a B-52 with a full payload. And Bucklin ain’t much better. Shee-it," he drawled, shaking his head and laughing again, "it’s a wonder them two ever managed ta get grown, ’specially hangin’ out with each other!"

"Yeah, well," JD snorted, delighted to hear that laugh, "I don’t know about Chris, but the jury’s still out on whether Buck ever got grown. And, between you and me, I don’t think the verdict’s gonna be favorable to him."

"Well, then," Vin sighed, humor still dancing in his eyes, "I reckon it’s up ta us ta raise them two right, then." He winked. "’N make sure civilization survives their growin’ pains."

7~7~7~7

Dr. Stone stood outside the door, startled to hear laughter inside the room. A weight lifted off her shoulders at the sound, for she’d already decided that if Vin’s state of mind hadn’t improved since she’d ordered him sedated last night, she wasn’t about to release him.

God, would these men ever stop surprising her?

At last, she knocked on the door and pushed it open, stepping into the room. Tanner and Dunne were snickering over something, and she had to smile at the change that had come over her patient. He was still pale, much too pale, but his blue eyes had lost the dull lifelessness she’d seen in them last night and now gleamed with a welcome light. For the first time since she could remember, he didn’t look like a lost, helpless soul.

"You boys up to something I should know about?" she asked primly, arching one dark eyebrow at the twittering two. "We’re not gonna find all the floor’s bedpans in the closet, are we? Or the empty carcasses of a hundred pudding cups stolen from last night’s dinner cart?"

"Last night was tapioca," Vin informed her with a grimace. "I hate tapioca. Puddin’ ain’t s’posed ta have bumps in it."

"I see. Does that mean you didn’t eat your breakfast? Or does the ‘no bumps’ rule apply to oatmeal?"

"Nope, I ate ever’ bite!" he announced with a wink at JD, who nudged him back with an elbow.

She frowned worriedly at the by-play between the two. "If I find it in the heater, Tanner, I’ll bill you personally."

His face fell, and he fixed wounded blue eyes upon her. "Ya don’t trust me, Doc?" he asked in a hurt tone. "I swear it, I ate ever’ bite!"

"Yeah," JD added with a laugh. "If you don’t believe him, check his blood-sugar levels!"

She held up a hand. "I don’t want to know." She looked at Vin. "And you can turn off the baby blues. Unlike the nurses, I’m immune."

Vin cocked his head and frowned at her. "Now ya sound like Larabee. Y’all ain’t related, are ya?"

"God forbid," she grunted. "But I can see how he got those scowl lines." A slight smile tugged at one corner of her mouth. "Well, you’re certainly feisty enough today. You feel like goin’ home?"

A true, bright smile creased his face and flooded his eyes with light. "Ya mean it? Y’ain’t gonna keep me?"

"Not one minute longer than I have to," she assured him. "I like a peaceful hospital, and you two are havoc just waiting to happen."

"Yep," JD said in a stage-whisper, "she does sound like Chris."

"Whatever happen ta ‘innocent before proven guilty’?" Vin huffed, crossing his arms against his chest and glaring at her.

Again, she arched a brow at him, though she was delighted by his spirit. "I know you guys, remember?" She shifted her gaze between the two, and shook her head. "If I call the ranch, will anyone come to claim you?"

"Nathan would," Vin said, nodding. "He’s soft-hearted."

"Or soft-headed," she quipped. "All right, Tanner, here’s the deal. The nurse and a tech will come in, do all the unpleasant but necessary tests, and you will let them, do you hear? And if you behave, and if all the results are favorable, I’ll release you after lunch. Okay?"

Vin narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "What’s fer lunch?"

She heaved a sigh and bowed her head. "Why do I try?" she muttered. Drawing a deep breath for strength, she raised her head and stared at him. "I don’t know, but I’ll make sure you don’t get tapioca pudding, all right?"

"Chocolate?"

"I’m not the dietician," she said through clenched teeth.

He shrugged. "The nurses’ve got a stash–"

"That," she interrupted, again holding up a hand to silence him, "is between you and the nurses. I’m not about to touch their chocolate. I have to work with them."

"I’ll talk to Lynda," JD whispered to his friend. "She’ll see to it."

Dr. Stone shook her head slowly. "You two are dangerous," she breathed. "All right, tests, lunch and, if we’re all very lucky, release. Deal?"

Vin nodded firmly. "Deal. Jist remember–"

"I know," she sighed, "no tapioca. God forbid, you should have to eat bumpy pudding."

7~7~7~7

Ezra hung up the phone, and immediately thrust a fist into the air. "Yesss!" At the sound of a throat being cleared behind him, he stiffened, his eyes widening, then composed himself and turned to meet Buck’s laughing gaze. "You did not see that," he said pointedly, slipping his wayward hand into a pocket.

"Oh, I don’t know, Slick!" Buck laughed, rubbing his hands together gleefully and wagging his dark brows. "I reckon there’s a few folks here and there who’d be glad ta know you ain’t always as genteel as you let on."

Ezra sighed and hung his head. "How much?" he groaned.

Again, Buck’s eyebrows danced up and down. "I’ll letcha know. Now, what lit the fire in your shorts?"

Green eyes narrowed to disapproving slits. "You, sir, are an unrefined lout."

"You needed somebody to call and tell you that?" Nathan asked, coming into the kitchen. "I thought that was pretty much common knowledge."

"Hey," Buck yelped, "what’d I do ta deserve this?"

Medic and undercover agent stared fixedly at the big man’s incredibly loud Hawaiian shirt, with its glaring mix of blues, greens, reds, yellows and, here and there, a vibrant splash of purple, worn over bright red jogging shorts with the words, "They call me the fireman" printed across one leg.

"One could argue," Ezra said stiffly, "that blinding us was a start."

"Doesn’t that hurt, Buck?" Nathan asked worriedly.

"You two gotta learn ta loosen up," Wilmington counseled, shaking his head at Nathan’s khaki walking shorts and white Polo shirt and Ezra’s dark gray silk slacks and neatly pressed black designer T-shirt.

"Not if that is the fatal fashion error to which it leads," Standish sniffed. "Coffee? Or can your system stand another jolt?"

Buck glanced warily at the coffee pot. "You make it?" When Ezra nodded, he chewed one lip in consideration. "You make it from Chris’s coffee?" When Standish looked as if he’d been knifed, Buck nodded. "Figured as much. All right," he sighed resignedly, "which Third World hole did this batch come from?"

"Kenya," Ezra answered primly. "It is the finest blend of–"

"I don’t care, just pour me a cup. I’ll pick the mosquitoes outta my teeth later."

"Philistine."

"Priss."

"Cretin."

"Fussbudget."

"Children!" Nathan interrupted sharply. "Could we please just have coffee and play nice with each other?"

"He started it," Buck groused.

"I?" Ezra protested indignantly. "It was you, with your bourgeois–"

"Don’t make me go wake up Chris," Nathan growled. Immediate silence fell, and he nodded, satisfied. "Now, Ezra, who called?"

The Southerner shot Buck a withering look, then turned pointedly to Jackson. "That was young Mr. Dunne. Apparently," his demeanor thawed and a smile lit his face, "Vin is much improved this morning. He is talking, even laughing, and, should the various tests to which he will be subjected yield positive results, he will be released back into our custody after lunch."

"Today?" Buck breathed, hardly daring to believe it.

Ezra turned back to him and nodded, still smiling. "Today," he affirmed gently, knowing how the big man had agonized over his part in Vin’s return to the hospital.

"Thank God!" he whispered fervently, bowing his head and closing his eyes.

Their exchange of insults forgotten, Ezra reached out and laid a firm hand on Buck’s shoulder. "You can cease your self-flagellation now," he said quietly. "Vin is fine, and will soon be back in the fold. It would seem your protege has lived up to your expectations and has delivered our comrade from the valley of darkness."

"I still owe him an apology," he breathed.

"Buck–"

"No, Ez, I do," he insisted, raising his head and looking at Standish through mournful blue eyes. "I scared that boy. Even worse, I hurt him. You can say all you want about it bein’ the only thing I could do, but that don’t make it any less painful, to him or to me. I gotta do it; there’s no two ways about it."

"No, I suppose not," Ezra said, smiling slightly and squeezing his friend’s broad shoulder. "Not for the Buck Wilmington we all know."