The Road to Yuma by Susan Zell

Toy Police: Excuse me, ma'am. I don't think you returned the Chris doll from the last time you played with it.
Susan: 'mock-surprise' Oh really? I could have sworn I put that back.
Toy Police: 'firmly' You did not.
Susan: 'trying not to look guilty while secretly stuffing said Chris doll in purse' Well, I'm sure it will show up eventually. Um, there's not a fine, is there?
Toy Police: No. But there is a punishment.
Susan: Eeep! (Things turn ugly in Toy Land. Boy, do I hate ugly!)

I've always wanted to do a Hope and Crosby road story. Call me wacky. This is the result. :-) I just substituted Buck Wilmington for Bob Hope and Chris Larabee for Bing Crosby. Believe it or not, it worked. Except there is no Dorothy Lamour. (For which there is much rejoicing.) Of course, Crosby usually gets the girl in the movie, but since there are no main female characters present, we'll just assume Chris will eventually get Mary at some point in the future.
TIMELINE: Pre-Obsession.
CREDITS: I give credit to my loyal beta, June. She inspired in me another "Angel and the Badman" moment. I do so enjoy those. :-) Also, the naming of Buck's horse is entirely June's. 'waves' It still cracks me up, and it is so Buck. The woman has been known to channel the man at times. Lucky gal!
I'm a Rover and Seldom Sober by MacColl(?). I'm not really sure when this song was originally written despite my research. So if I'm wrong historically, please forgive me. It's also Scottish rather than Irish. I first heard the song on an album by Great Big Sea, one of my all time favorite musical groups. (I highly recommend them!) They always have a few good drinking and sea shanty songs dispersed among their various CDs. I fell in love with this particular song. It's one of my favorites. There are a ton more verses but I chose the ones more suited for Buck.
DEDICATIONS: To Kerry! Someone who always knows just when I need inspiration and support, and never fails to provide it whether it be in the form of a suprise package or a simple email. Thanks pard! This one's for you!
FINAL NOTE: And for those Due South fans, duck meant duck. It didn't mean duck.

A sneeze shattered the quiet of the morning stillness inside the saloon. It was followed immediately by a low groan.

"Bless you, Chris," Buck offered over his black coffee, eyeing his old friend intently.

Chris glared and then continued to drink his own early blend, laced with a shot of whiskey.

"You still nursing that cold, cowboy?" Vin asked, unsteadily shoveling some eggs and salted ham into his mouth with his left hand. His other arm was in a sling, the shoulder pierced by a bullet only a few days ago, the victim of a rowdy bunch of drunk wranglers.

Chris grunted and shook his head, but a cough betrayed him as it gripped his chest. He turned away from the table and tried to clear it. When it passed, he took a slow, shallow breath in case it came back. He twisted around only to be greeted with the disbelieving stares of his men.

"Did you drink those herbs Nathan gave you before he left to see Rain?" Buck asked.

Chris cleared his throat. "Tastes awful," he griped. He had tried to drink the bizarre mix of herbs, but it made him sleepy more than anything else. And that made him uncomfortable. Deep sleep only brought him disturbing dreams. There were things in his mind that were better left alone. He'd rather be miserable with the cold than left to the miseries that awaited him in Morpheus's arms.

"But it would help you with that cough," Vin said.

Chris said nothing but shifted in his seat. He eyed Vin. "Are you supposed to be up and around already?" Chris was more than willing to deflect the attention to his friend. "I thought Nathan left strict orders."

Vin paused in his eating, like a wary cat, fork poised halfway to his mouth. He regarded the others. "Nathan ain't here," he said slowly. "You gonna squeal on me?"

Chris just grinned devilishly which abruptly changed into a grimace. He twisted away and sneezed again.

"Bless you," Buck said once more.

Vin sat back and regarded the sick man draped in black. He decided to make a deal. "You keep my secret and I'll keep yours."

"You forget," Chris noted, inclining his head in the scoundrel's direction.

"What makes you think I'm gonna talk?" Buck countered defensively. It hurt him slightly that the two men sitting with him saw him more as the opposition rather than as an accomplice.

Chris sobered for a moment. He caught Buck's eye. "You always talk," he said quietly.

Buck stiffened. Leave it to Chris to always bring that up. The incident with Mary Travis had happened far enough in the past not to be thrust up in his face every time they talked about trust. Of course, Chris was probably more worried about what was coming up a few days from now than he was of the past few months. Hell, far be it from him to speak of that matter, Buck thought angrily.

Buck drained his coffee cup, scraping back his chair as he stood. Dust swirled around him as he slammed the empty cup upon the table top.

Chris's face screwed up again, fighting it, but in the end, he lost. A sneeze racked him again.

This time Buck did not offer a blessing but strode straight out of the saloon.

As the man across from him dug out a handkerchief, Vin queried, "Something up with you two?"

Chris indicated no with a shake of his head and rose to go make the rounds. With everyone else gone and Vin laid up, they were shorthanded suddenly. As much as Chris wanted to curl up and die somewhere and forget the aches and pains of this miserable cold, he knew he couldn't.

Vin watched the hunched gunfighter draw his coat collar tighter about his neck as he walked outside, the wind buffeting the man slightly. Vin noted that Chris automatically went in the opposite direction Buck took. He wondered if that was planned or not. Chris wouldn't say what was between the two old friends, but Vin hadn't been blind to the gradual distance growing there.

Trust was a big thing with Chris. It had taken Ezra a long time and some very foolhardy escapades after that Seminole business to reestablish that bond again with Chris. It had almost cost the gambler his life on many occasions. It was obvious that Chris had absolved Ezra on that account, but for some reason Ezra continued with his dangerous acts of heroism. All that to rebuild a trust.

However, this thing happening with Buck and Chris seemed to go deeper. Maybe because they were friends for so long, it was far more personal. Vin knew that he had butted unknowingly into a friendship born of many years. But after Sarah and Adam's brutal deaths, Chris needed someone more low key. Buck had been a reminder of everything Chris lost, and Chris needed time and space to accept things. And worse, Buck didn't. He wanted to remember and reminisce. Buck needed that friendship only Chris couldn't oblige him, not on the same level as before, not anymore. And so the two men had grown slowly apart.

Vin yawned tiredly, the heavy thoughts making his head spin. He winced as the slight stretch pulled sore, torn muscles. He stood carefully and made his way back to Nathan's room, thinking that a few hours sleep would clear his mind. Maybe afterward, he'd be able to see the answer to the problem.

Chris was glad when the day finally come to an end. It had been a long and miserable one. He ached all over and his throat felt as dry as the malpais. The night wrapped itself around him as he huddled in the corner between the mercantile and the boarding house. There was little protection against the wind and it cut through him with enough force to chill his bones to the marrow. He'd give it another hour and then he'd pack it in for the night. He figured no one was going to be bothering Four Corners on a night like this. They'd be more interested in finding a warm bed to sleep in. He knew he was.

A shadow moved toward him, but before he could react, he heard Buck's quiet voice.

"Just me, pard." He darted into the alcove with Chris, clutching his buckskin jacket tighter around him. "Damn, it's colder than my Aunt Wilma's Sunday dinner."

Chris almost cracked a smile. He had had Aunt Wilma's Sunday dinner. Buck had pegged that one right. Then he shut his amusement down. He wasn't in the mood.

Buck waved a telegram at Chris. "It's from JD. It says he and Ezra will be back tomorrow afternoon. The prisoner transfer went smooth as silk."

Chris nodded.

"None too soon neither. I'm getting plumb wore out with all these extra shifts. A man needs his sleep," Buck complained. Not that it mattered. Blossom was out of town anyway and the cold nights without his personal bed warmer made sleeping almost an impossibility. Buck gave a shudder that was part real and part exaggerated. "I haven't felt cold like this since that time out on the Pecos when we were hunting for Tsoe, that renegade Apache. You remember him?" Not waiting for a reply since he knew none was coming, he continued. "Those two days were the coldest ones I ever experienced. I thought my butt was gonna freeze to the saddle. You almost had to pry me off the damn thing with a johnnycake flipper."

"Is that the reason it took you so long to fire back when Tsoe almost shot my head off? Or was it because you fell asleep in the saddle?"

A pained look fell over Buck. "Oh, as if a man could sleep while his butt was frostbit," he muttered.

Chris grunted and then muffled a cough.

Buck relented. Chris really did look miserable, more so than usual. "Hey, at least I didn't ask you to help warm me up." The annoyed look Chris shot him was almost worth the heat he'd take from that comment later. He laughed. "Why don't you head in, pard? I've got this place covered. There ain't nuthin' movin' out here 'cept some frosty tumbleweeds."

"It's too early. Could still be trouble." The man sounded like he had a cupful of sand coating his throat, making his voice about two octaves lower.

"Hell, there's no one out here but us frozen icicles." Buck looked out into the forlorn night. They hadn't even lit the street fires tonight for fear the wind would take the burning embers and deposit them on the nearby buildings. "This night is about as pitch as that time with ol' Tsoe was too. Couldn't see past the ears of your horse. We're lucky he found us, 'cause we sure as hell would have rode right past him." He regarded the older man. "Around the same time of year too, wasn't it?"

Chris straightened abruptly, stepping off the sidewalk. "I'll take another sweep around town," he said curtly. He had had enough reminiscing. He knew where Buck was leading the conversation and he didn't want to be anywhere near it. It took only a second before the darkness swallowed him whole.

Buck scowled, cursing Chris Larabee and all his martyr-like antics. He folded his arms tightly as the wind pulled and tugged at his coat, his collar flapping wildly against his cheek. "Hell, I'm callin' it a night if you ain't." He strode off toward the saloon. "Damn, pig-headed man."

Chapter Two

Thankfully, the night passed without any altercations and a new sun rose over the horizon. Chris curled on his side away from the window, pulling the blanket up from where he had kicked it off during the night. Now he was freezing. He breathed heavily through his mouth, his nose too congested to be of any use. God, he hated colds. He hadn't had one in years, not since Sarah and Adam.

Sarah had tried to take care of him, make him rest, eat nourishing soup. He had fought her every step of the way, insisting that he felt well enough to do the ranch work. It had been a lie and he had been miserable, but he had done it, foregoing her love and attention. How he wished to have her tender touch and soft words ease his misery now. But all that was gone and he was left to only wish for squandered moments. No more would he experience the special way she could soothe his every ache. That part of his life was gone forever.

His mouth tightened. Well, except for Buck.

Buck and his penchant for nostalgia. Why couldn't the man just let the past rest? Chris didn't want to remember it. And if he did, he would do so in private. He didn't want to talk about it with anyone, especially not Buck. The pain was still too much for him to bear. Three years and it still stung with all the fury of a thousand wounds. When would it get easier? Why didn't the pain stop? Was he just too stubborn to let his family rest in peace? Perhaps it would end when he found the man who had ordered their deaths.

A part of Chris wanted that to be true, but another part of him doubted it. This kind of pain would never ease inside him. It seemed branded there, as bright and as painful as if a burning timber had struck him square in his heart.

A knock on the door disturbed his thoughts and he sat up in the bed. "What is it?" he croaked. He sounded terrible and he tried to clear his throat.

It was Mrs. Higgenbottom, the woman who ran the boarding house. "Mister Larabee?" Her voice was hesitant through the door. "Judge Travis wants to see you, Mr. Larabee."

"I'll be down," he answered. "Thank you," he added after a moment.

"Alright."

Chris listened to her footsteps fade away. He groaned, throwing back the warm covers with a twinge of regret. He dressed quickly in attempt to avoid the cold air. Maybe the Judge would provide the perfect excuse to get out of town for awhile. The thought of what may lay ahead the next few days unnerved him. Regardless, he had to get out of town.

Buck spotted Chris flinging his bulging saddlebags onto his horse which was tied to the rail in front of the Sheriff's office. It took Buck by surprise even though at heart he knew he should have expected it. He watched it happen all too often. Chris was running again.

"Chris, where you headin'?" Buck was desperate not to let his annoyance creep into his voice.

"Out. On business," was the curt reply.

"For who? The Judge?" Buck had seen the Judge come into town early this morning.

A grunt from Chris was his only answer. That and a cough.

"Hell, Chris! You sound worse today than yesterday. Why don't you let me take care of this?"

"I need to handle it personally."

Buck raised an eyebrow, then quickly came to a decision. "Just wait till JD and Ezra get back. I'll ride with you." The glare Chris turned on his old friend made Buck pause.

"I don't need company."

"You need someone to watch your back, Chris. A few more hours won't make a difference, will it?"

"I'm going to Yuma now," he growled sternly. "Stay with Vin and take care of the town."

Buck bristled a bit at the man's stubbornness. He wanted to point out that someone needed to take care of Chris for a change, but he knew better than to broach that topic. Besides, it wasn't something men talked about anyway. He stood in silence, watching Chris mount his black gelding and wheel the horse past him. Their eyes met for a moment and Buck immediately noticed the hard, long-suffering set to his friend's gaze. Chris was going to brush them all off on this one. The man certainly was a pain in the ass to deal with sometimes!

Later that day, Buck sat outside the saloon, his chair tipped back against the wall, a glass of beer cradled in his large hands. His eyes were sharp and clear, however, and intent on the main street. He knew that any minute now Ezra and JD would return.

Vin came out of the saloon to his right and settled carefully into the empty chair next to him. "You know, a watched pot ain't gonna boil. Best to do something else and occupy your mind."

"I just want to know where the hell they are. It's damn near two o'clock!"

"They'll get here, Buck. Just give 'em time."

Catching sight of something at the edge of the town, Buck let his chair rock forward and pitch him from the seat. "There they are!"

JD, Ezra, Josiah and Nathan rode together down the street, looking bone tired and dirty. The four men had met up the road coming into town and traveled the last few miles as one. They had plenty of stories to tell each other, but they were too exhausted and too dry to bother. As they drew up at the rail in front of the saloon, Nathan's eyes spotted a familiar form disappear through the bat wing doors.

"Hey Buck," JD said as he dismounted. "Everything quiet around here?"

"Quieter than an empty cemetery," Buck answered with exasperation. "High time you fellows got back. I need to..."

"Was that Vin I just saw out here?" Nathan inquired, his mouth twisting in irritation. The man was supposed to be in bed.

Buck turned around and was surprised to find himself standing alone on the boardwalk. Vin must have slipped back inside the saloon. He regarded Nathan and shrugged, deciding to give Vin a hand. "Don't ask me. I don't know nuthin'!" He stepped down to the ground and slipped past them. "Well, folks, I pass the mantel of Four Corners' safety on to you. I am hereby relieving myself of duty." He beelined toward the livery.

"Buck, where you headin'?" JD peered around the other end of his horse, one hand resting on the rump.

He paused in the street, looking back. "After Chris. He's on some errand for Judge Travis."

"He feelin' better then?" Nathan asked, easing himself wearily from the saddle. If the man was up to handling a job, then his remedy must have worked. However, his hopes were dashed when Buck gave a derisive snort.

"Hell, Nathan, he sounds worse -- which is why I'm headin' out after him. He needs me to watch his back while he's sneezin'."

"Is the Judge's request of a serious nature?" Ezra inquired, already praying that the answer would be in the negative. He stretched out a particularly annoying crick in his back that had nagged him the entire way home. All he wanted was to lay down on his nice soft bed and sleep for the next three days. He assumed his other three compatriots felt the same way.

"I don't know. Chris wouldn't say and the Judge left early this morning."

Nathan grumbled in exasperation. "Well, come see me before you leave. Tastanagi gave me something that might work better. You can take it with you." The old chief of the Seminoles had many interesting thoughts on herbal medicines and Nathan was grateful for any assistance in local cures.

"The man don't want company, Buck," Vin said from the saloon's doorway. He had given up his concealment, mainly because there was no way to get back to Nathan's room without going past the man himself. Besides, he was a grown man and if he wanted to walk around a bit, he damn well could.

"Oh, he'll be happy enough to see me once he finds out what I brought. 'Sides, Chris don't always know what he wants."

"But you do?" Vin asked with a touch of skepticism.

"Damn straight." A mischievous grin filled his face. "I just have to convince him that I do."

Laughing, JD slapped Buck on the shoulder. "Good luck to that!"

Nathan folded his arms and regarded Vin with an evil eye. "And what do you think you're doing?"

Vin shuffled his feet, looking down at the ground. Then he straightened, remembering his earlier resolve. "I was just... I needed to ..." Nathan's hard gaze was unwavering. Vin sighed with defeat. "Aw hell."

Nathan relented, smiling. He grabbed Vin's good arm. "If you feel well enough to go wandering around, then I reckon you're well enough for me to take out those stitches. Then you can go do whatever it was you wanted to do so badly."

Vin's mouth turned down with an expression of dismay. He wasn't looking forward to getting his stitches out. Nathan tended to lose his gentle touch toward the end of one's recuperation, especially when you didn't obey his orders. The man could be downright mean

Nathan turned his head toward Buck. "Don't forget to stop by before you leave, Buck."

Buck waved a hand over his shoulder as he headed down the street. "I won't, Nathan. You'll be giving me the perfect excuse to track that jug-headed mule down."

Chris rode at a leisurely pace. He did so for many reasons. First, he was still feeling under the weather and he didn't want to tax himself. He was just happy to be out on his own for a bit, away from the scrutiny of others. If there was one thing Chris hated was people watching him. Friends or strangers, it didn't matter. He hated it when people looked at him, as if trying to gauge his mood, or in this case, his health.

Secondly, he was in no hurry. Nothing warranted it, and it was nice to be out of town, all alone. He wanted to relish the moment. Peace and quiet was all that he craved, a little time away from everything and everyone. Chris Larabee was not a social man. That wasn't to say he wasn't trying, but it was time to give himself a break from it all. And damn, he needed one of late.

Chris almost sighed as a soft breeze blew gently across him. He almost relaxed. If he didn't ache all over, and if he wasn't keeping his senses tuned to the world around him just in case of trouble, he'd almost be tempted to fall asleep in the gently rocking saddle.

He had done it often enough in his youth, on dusty drives or on long marches. But back then, he had been young. Right now, he felt as if he was a hundred years old. Some of that was being ill, he knew. Some of it was the years of drinking his grief into oblivion, but the remainder was just time passing him by. The many years had caused more wear and tear on him than most folks his age. The many brawls, the endless gunfights, and the habit of sticking his nose where it probably didn't belong had aged him far beyond any normal man.

Not that he was normal. He had a penchant for trouble. He found it no matter where he was. He didn't claim to understand it. At one time, he had even enjoyed its company. But lately he was just bone weary of it.

Once again, like a soft whisper, the call of a quiet life beckoned. He had tried ranching once and it had failed; but maybe this time, he'd do it alone. He needed just a small tract of land, nothing fancy. He was saving his money to buy some good stock and go back to breeding horses. He had an eye for them and produced some fine horses in his day. Some day he'd do it again and live out the rest of his life in peace--all by himself.

His horse shifted suddenly to the right and Chris almost didn't shift with him. He righted himself and looked down the road behind him to see what had spooked his mount. Chris's quiet time was shattered by a loud whoop as an approaching rider waved his hat in his direction.

Chris couldn't help the curse that fell from his lips.

Buck pulled up his lathered mount beside Chris. "Well, hey there, pard! Fancy meetin' you out here."

"Buck," Chris all but snarled. "What the hell are you doing? I said I could handle this."

Buck dropped his hat back on his head. "I know that, and you know that, but I had a hard time convincing Nathan of that."

"Josiah and he back in town?"

"Yup, the lot of them rode in this afternoon. As soon as they were settled, I rode out after you."

"And you can just ride back out the way you came. " He would have said more but he had to turn away abruptly and sneeze as the drifting cloud of Buck's dust finally swept over them.

"Aw, Chris, no sense taking that attitude. I left the town in good hands. Out of the goodness of my heart I rode out here to offer my help. And to give you this." He pulled a bag from his coat pocket. "Nathan has a new remedy for you. Says it will knock that nasty cold right out." He handed it to Chris who took it reluctantly, a scowl plastered on his face. Buck smirked. "Not to mention knocking some of that surliness out too."

Chris glared at him beneath his hat brim as he stuffed Nathan's concoction into his saddle bag.

Buck shrugged, unfazed by the famous Larabee Glare. "Yeah, I sort of doubted that last claim, too. Nothin's that powerful."

"Now that you delivered your message, Buck, go back to town. I'm handling this one on my own." Turning in the direction of Yuma, Chris legged his horse into a jog.

Buck came bouncing up beside him a moment later. "I get the feeling you're avoiding my sweet company, Chris."

Chris just looked over at him with an expression that said you just figured that out?

"There's nothing wrong with good friends riding along together. Maybe I'm just heading in the same direction as you, ever think of that? Blossom's in Yuma visiting her beau and nothing says I care like a surprise visit from Buck."

Chris ignored him, knowing from experience that Buck wasn't going to be deterred easily.

"So where you headin'?" There was no answer. Buck sighed. "Say Chris, would you mind slowing down a bit. Lulabelle here is a mite tired from catching up to you." He patted the grey's wet neck. Buck had driven her hard in hopes of finding Chris before nightfall.

Chris's response, unfortunately, was to ride faster. Without a backward glance, the man in black disappeared down the road ahead of him.

Buck coughed, waving at the dust in the air. He pulled his grey to a walk. He wasn't going to chase after the man no more. What did that parable say anyway? The rabbit can run as fast as he wants but eventually the turtle always wins. He rubbed Lulabelle's neck. "Come on, girl. We'll just make our own pace. I know where he's going and he ain't gonna lose me."

Chapter Three

It was evening before Buck found Chris again. The gunfighter had found a secluded spot just off the road. The campfire's light could be easily seen by passing riders.

Buck called out to the camp just in case and rode in. Lulabelle gave a greeting to Chris's gelding which stood placidly between two trees in a half doze. Buck lifted a hand to Chris who sat back in the notch of his saddle beside the fire. There was no acknowledgment from either of them. Buck and Lulabelle tried not to take it personally.

Buck took a deep breath of the aroma drifting on the night air as he dismounted. "That smells good, Chris, whatever it is." Stripping his rig from his weary horse, he lifted it to his shoulder and carried it into camp. "I'm as hungry as JD with a hole in his stomach."

Chris didn't move, but just held his plate in his hand. "Who says I made any for you?" The man's voice didn't even sound like Chris, scratchy and rough. If Buck hadn't seen Chris sitting there, he would have thought the words came from an utter stranger.

Buck wasn't worried though. Chris was tough enough to get around some measly cold. Buck was worried about dinner however. He didn't think that Chris would be cruel enough to deny his friend sustenance. A man's stomach was a horrible thing to toy with. It smelled like Chris had caught himself some fowl and the smell of it was making Buck's mouth water. Buck hadn't brought along that many provisions since he had been in a hurry to catch up to Chris.

Buck pretended not to be concerned. "Of course, you did. You wouldn't do that to your ol' pard Buck, would you?" Buck dropped the saddle to the left of Chris and flopped down tiredly beside it.

"I wasn't expecting company."

"Well, you should of been. You didn't think you'd actually lose me, did you? I'm like the dust, I'm with you wherever you ride."

That's the problem, Chris griped to himself.

"Enough left there for me?" Buck asked hopefully, indicated the roasting fowl.

"Nope," was Chris's quick, rough response.

Of course, that was an obvious lie. Over half a bird lay on the crude spit over the fire. Buck ignored the grouchy gunslinger and proceeded to pull off a leg for himself. "What is it? Pheasant?"

Chris shrugged, meaning it had been moving and it had been easy enough to shoot. He had eaten a bit of the meal but his throat hurt so damn much he had quickly lost his appetite. However, he knew the meal wouldn't go to waste.

Tearing the tender, juicy meat off, Buck nearly sighed in ecstasy. Chris was the one man whose field cooking was better than most women with a pantry full of spices. "Now this is good," he murmured, licking his fingers of the excess fat. He glanced over at Chris who stared distractedly into the darkness of the night. He could tell Chris was drifting off where he alone liked to tread, the dark corners where his pain and misery manifested.

That was Chris Larabee, a man steeped in all the hate and violence the world had to offer. But Buck remembered a different man than the one that shared the fire with him tonight. There was a time when Chris was fun to be around. He wished the others could have known Chris before he lost his family. He used to smile a lot. Seeing him now, like this, it hurt. It was like he had been crippled.

Buck knew Chris resented him for holding the memory of a happier time. Buck held the same precious gift as Chris. The difference was he cherished his, while Chris's memories only tormented him. For Buck, those memories made him stronger. He could only hope that someday Chris would want to remember them too, and for all the right reasons. Buck owed him everything. He owed Chris his life. God, he missed that man.

Chris had been wild in his youth and in more trouble that a passel load of JDs. Chris, of course, had tempered somewhat when Buck met him, but there had been and always would be that element of unpredictability just because of the reputation he had slowly garnered over time. Thanks to all that, the man had developed nerves of steel and a will born to command. And it wasn't long before it came into play.

The Army had suited both of them even if the War hadn't. When the fighting broke out, they were lucky enough to be in the same squad and it wasn't long before Chris had command of it. Their squad had the best record and were often given the dirtiest of assignments. However, if serving in the Army was bad, serving under Chris Larabee was exactly the opposite.

A friendship was quickly forged. Through each battle they fought, through each comrade they lost, and through each drop of blood spilled in defense of the other, the two men had become brothers.

It was that bond that Buck refused to abandon. It had sustained them throughout the War and it had carried them when they started the ranch after the War's conclusion.

It had faltered only once.

Buck saw Chris's gaze was now locked onto the campfire's flames. He knew where Chris was at present. He wished he could ease his friend's anguish, make him see that life was still worth living, if only the man would open his heart.

Buck tossed a bone into the fire, breaking Chris's concentration as the ashes shifted, throwing sparks into the air to dance for a moment. Chris turned his way and Buck's own heart almost broke at the sadness he saw in his friend's face.

Buck grabbed another piece of meat and then leaned back into his saddle. He waved the chicken leg at Chris. "Damn, this is good. You get him with one shot?"

Chris eyed Buck suspiciously for a second but then eventually nodded, not quite sure where his friend was trying to head with the conversation. However, he didn't think that one piece of information would be dangerous.

Buck smirked. "Remember that time at Pea Ridge when I was in charge of gettin' supper?"

Chris's brow furled for a moment as his mind searched for that particular memory. The small smile that tried to lift the corners of Chris's mouth showed his success.

Buck continued. "Yup, I flushed out a whole lot more than just grouse that day."

Chris couldn't resist. "You were being awfully generous to invite all those Confederates to our dinner."

Buck laughed heartily. "Well, how was I supposed to know that grouse liked to bed down in the same kind of hollow as Rebs?"

Chris's eyes had closed for a moment as Buck spoke but then he opened them again to regard his old friend and Sergeant. "Perhaps you should have been thinking more with your head than with your stomach." He cocked an eyebrow at Buck for emphasis.

Buck snorted. "Hey! You sure as hell thought it funny back then. You laughed for a whole ten minutes while I was dodging bullets. I'm glad that you now see the seriousness of the situation, even if it is ten years after the fact."

"I have to give you credit." Chris twirled his hand around in crazy circles indicating Buck's erratic route. "You held onto that grouse the whole time you were running." His small chuckle turned into a cough. Chris tried to stifle it, but it got the best of him. After a moment, it ceased and he sat back with a scowl and a wince as his aching body protested the abuse. Laughing was a painful business.

"Did you take any of that medicine I brought?"

Chris threw a scowl Buck's way.

"Nathan swears it will work this time. It'll have you feelin' right as rain in no time."

Chris admitted grudgingly, "Nathan's stuff has a way of catching up to you." He gave Buck an exasperated glance. "Much like everything else."

Buck snickered and smacked his lips, tossing another clean bone into the fire. "Well, I brought it to you 'cause I care. I'm tired of hearing you hack and wheeze all day and night. I couldn't concentrate on my poker game with you over there sniffling and sneezing all the damn time."

"You were losing hands long before this. 'Sides, it's about run its course, I expect."

"Yeah, that's why you look like death warmed over." Buck helped himself to a cup of thick black coffee, smelling the aroma waft up to his nose. He refilled Chris's cup too, watching as the man's eyelids drooped down only to be jerked wide again. "Why dontcha go to sleep, Chris. I'll keep watch tonight. You need a good night's rest."

Chris just sat there as if he hadn't heard his friend. Buck gave an exasperated sigh. There was little anyone could do if Chris Larabee made up his mind against you. He regarded his old friend worriedly. "So is there a reason to post a guard? Are you expecting trouble?"

Chris slanted his gaze toward Buck. He cleared his throat with some difficulty before answering. "Trouble already walked in."

Buck rankled at bit at that. "What is it with you and me, Chris? Don't we have fun anymore together?"

Chris stared at his old friend for a while and then finally shrugged.

"I thought we've done pretty good lately. Thought things were maybe closer to where they ought to be."

"Things are the way they are, Buck," was the quiet response.

"We've been through a hell of a lot these past few months. Don't they count for something?"

Chris eyed his old friend warily. "What do you want them to count as?"

It was Buck's turn to shrug. "I don't know, but things are different between us."

Chris was silent for a time, digesting Buck's words and debating whether he really wanted to continue this discussion. It could only end badly. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the saddle horn dig into his shoulder. "They're supposed to be different. A lot has happened." His throat was tight and painful and it wasn't from the cold.

Buck dropped his gaze to the toes of his boots. "We just seem to disagree a whole lot more. It was never like--"

Chris interrupted firmly. "Of course, it was like that. We argued all the damn time. You just don't remember."

"Oh, I remember, but things aren't like they used to be and you know it."

Chris grew exasperated with the conversation. It hurt too much to talk about it this way. And that was the trouble with Buck. He didn't see that. He was only after what was, not the way things were. "Things will never be that way anymore, Buck."

"Why the hell not?! You and Vin seem to be..." Buck abruptly cut himself off. He hadn't wanted to voice that. He regretted it as he witnessed Chris's eyes narrow.

"Damn you, Buck." Chris grimaced, fighting the anger that immediately swelled at Buck's statement. "Vin and I get along because he doesn't push. Face up to it, we're different now. I'm different. Don't expect me to be what I was, not after..." Chris let his voice trail off. It ached with loss.

Buck realized he was pushing his luck with this conversation. He leaned back further into his notch and tried to toss the next question out as nonchalantly as possible. "Well then, what the hell annoys you so much about me lately? I'm the same as I ever was."

Chris sighed in an attempt to wash away his ire, recognizing Buck's self-mocking tone. His voice came out low and sad. "You try too hard." There was a moment of regret in Chris's face, just a glimpse before the mask was firmly back in place. "You always did." He shook his head. "I'll never understand why."

Buck regarded his friend sadly. "I guess if you don't know by now, there ain't no sense in telling you."

Chris kept his eyes riveted to the fire, fighting the pain that rose. He knew he had hurt Buck. It had hurt him too. He hated discussions like these, all the misery they caused. With a weary determination, Chris tried to ease the tension with a small half-hearted smile. "I guess I have seen you do a whole lot more for a whole lot less."

Buck caught a glimmer of humor in the older man's eyes and grew suddenly wary. Then he remembered what Chris was referring to. "Hell, Chris, a man will do a lot of things if'n he ain't got all the proper answers to his questions." He waggled a finger at Chris. "I know what you're talking about, pard, and that time don't count. If you had told me the truth, I wouldn't have followed you up that damn hill." Buck leaned back in his saddle, arms folded. "Tempting seasoned, thirsty men with the promise of ten cases of fine whiskey, that ain't fair." He pinned Chris with an accusing stare. "Especially when you come up with only one case afterwards. You skunked us!"

Chris shrugged. "How was I supposed to know the quartermaster couldn't count."

"How could you trust a gap-toothed, slack-jawed old man, hailing from a place called Coulee, Virginia? Everything about the man screamed hillbilly!"

"It got you boys up the hill, didn't it." Chris coughed and then took a sip of the warm coffee to ease his throat. "It's amazing how good a motivation it turned out to be." A trace of gratitude creased his lips. "Lucky for me."

Buck scowled for a moment but couldn't hold it. Buck had saved Chris from a sniper that day too. It was good that Chris still remembered. They had always watched each other's backs. The promise of liquor had little to do with the devotion of Chris's squad. Buck and the others would have followed Chris Larabee into the very jaws of the Devil. It was just the way it was. Chris instilled in others the same passion and conviction that he himself held. Buck had seen it happen many times. The Seven's own bond was testament to that fact.

Grinning, Buck realized this was the Chris he remembered. It felt good to talk this way again with his old commanding officer and his friend. Chris seemed suddenly willing to talk about the days of the War and so Buck obliged him. He talked of all the things he could remember loving about the Army. There had been some good times then despite the War. It had suited both men.

The night wore on and Buck spun tale after tale. Chris merely listened, adding only a little here or there. Not that it mattered. Buck liked to talk, and the sound of his own voice was a melody he never tired of hearing. He reminisced about everything he could dredge up, all humorous anecdotes and all usually centering on his own daring exploits, on and off the field of battle.

Buck turned to Chris about to ask him whether he recalled the time when old Colonel Johnson had mysteriously lost his britches the same day General Mayborne was to arrive, but his voice abruptly trailed off.

Chris was asleep, coffee cup in hand, his chin to his chest. Buck could hear the deep, tell-tale breathing of an exhausted slumber. Buck shifted, reaching over to remove the cup.

Chris woke with a start and Buck grabbed the cup before the man spilled it all over himself. Chris stared at Buck with owlish eyes, blinking rapidly.

"Go to sleep, Chris."

Like a small child, Chris protested, mumbling he wasn't tired, but his body betrayed him. He suppressed a yawn. He knew he wasn't going to remain awake no matter how much coffee he drank. Giving in, he leaned back into his saddle and pulled his blanket up higher, fighting off a shiver. "You can clean up," he muttered to Buck. Within seconds, the steely gunfighter was curled on his side and blissfully asleep, snoring mildly.

Buck chuckled. There were few people who ever witnessed the great Chris Larabee weak and pitiful as a kitten. Even fewer did Chris trust enough to watch his back while in that condition. That Buck still counted as one of those few made him feel good inside. He stirred the embers of the dying fire and added some more wood. Buck wasn't going to bed yet and it was probably better to keep Chris warm for a bit longer. 'Sides, apparently there were dishes left to clean.

Chapter Four

The next morning brought some surprises--a beautiful warm day with a clear sky and the loss of Chris Larabee's voice.

This delighted Buck to no end. Now the surly shootist couldn't order him home, not that he could have anyway. And Buck had free rein to talk to his heart's content on any subject he saw fit, short of topics where he knew Chris would shoot him from the saddle. However, Buck felt confident he knew which ones those were.

Chris had gulped down a gallon of coffee hoping it would lubricate his throat enough to get more than just the deep rasping sound to issue forth, but to no avail. He was stuck with laryngitis and Buck Wilmington to boot. He sighed resignedly and saddled his gelding, all the while listening to Buck's continuous chatter about every mundane topic he could lay his mind to.

Chris glared at the man over the seat of his saddle as he gathered the reins, wishing he could lay his own hands on the verbose scoundrel and call a stop to his tall tales. It was giving him a headache. Why couldn't it have been Buck who was struck down with no voice? Surely God would have loved that irony. Chris knew he would have. With a creak of leather and a grunt of annoyance, he mounted his horse.

Buck hurriedly finished adjusting his own saddle since Chris was already heading toward the road. Buck tossed his saddlebags over his shoulder and threw his foot into the stirrup, bouncing alongside on one leg since his horse was already moving. With a final heave, he hit the saddle. Lulabelle immediately turned to follow Chris's black gelding without guidance from her rider. It was instinctive. They had rode out many times like this in the past and the deep rooted memory was still there.

"So I was saying," Buck began again as he caught up to Chris, "Blossom told me she was thinking of leaving Billy. I'm not sure what I think of that. I mean where would be the excitement then? Not to say Blossom's not an exciting woman, because she's all that!" Buck waggled his eyebrows and purposefully ignored Chris's clenching scowl even though the man's gaze was still forward. "But without the prospect of Billy bursting in on us whenever he escaped from Yuma Prison, where's our fire gonna come from?"

Chris looked over at Buck with a meaningful glare, intending to tell Buck where exactly his fire could go, but only a cough ensued in an ridiculous attempt to clear his stubborn, irritated throat. Frustrated, he gave up and looked away.

Buck, however, provided his own interpretation. "Don't you worry, Chris, Blossom and me, we'll find another way of stoking that inner heat. Maybe we'll just get you and Vin to pull another stunt like that first day in Four Corners, eh?" Buck laughed. "You damn near gave me a heart attack with all that banging. I'll skin you, you rabbit," he imitated in a near perfect impression of Vin Tanner. "Hell, I'm lucky I fell on something soft out there." Buck couldn't tell if Chris's face was growing red from the sun or from something else, but the man looked as if he was going to burst wide open in a minute.

Chris was fuming. He really didn't care about Buck and Blossom right now. As far as he was concerned, the two of them should just call it quits or get the hell wed. Of course, that poised a problem since Blossom was already a married woman.

Buck smiled as if reading his old friend's thoughts. "I know you don't think much of Blossom, Chris, but I swear I don't mind the way she is. You know me, I'm not the settling kind. Even if she asked me, I'd probably high tail it for the hills. I like the arrangement just fine the way it is."

Chris sighed. Buck was right about that, and Blossom probably knew it too which is why she hadn't said anything before now. Chris wondered what brought on the change now since she was going to have it out with Billy in Yuma.

Buck was quick to provide the answer. "She's just mad at Billy, I suppose. He hasn't written her in months and you know how fanatical he was about that. It's why she's in Yuma right now. To figure out the problem."

Chris raised an eyebrow at Buck.

Buck quickly held up his hands in defense. "I'm just going for moral support! That's all!"

Chris rubbed his forehead in exasperation. Buck was going to get himself killed.

Buck grunted. "It's not as if Billy's even gonna know I'm there." He settled back in his seat, content. "I'm just gonna sneak around the hotel a bit and let Blossom know I'm there if she needs me." He watched Chris frown but knew that the man was just looking out for him. He had gotten a lecture a time or two from Sarah and Chris on his rowdy ways. It was nice to know Chris still cared. It was a step in the right direction for the man.

It had been a long time since the two men had had a moment to themselves to just talk. Though today it was a little more one-sided than usual, but still even that was a cut above a normal conversation of theirs of late. Chris was a man who used the fewest words possible. Apparently, though, they still knew each other well enough to get past that. Buck had forgotten how it used to be between them. Maybe because he had been replaced as Chris's confidant.

Buck had resented how Vin had taken over his usual role. At least he had at first. He had gotten over it soon enough. The bounty hunter and the shootist had a rapport that Buck didn't understand but neither would he contest. The ability to read another man so completely that no words were necessary was a rare thing to find.

There was a time during the War when Chris and Buck had been like that, but through the passing of time and events, it had waned. They were operating on different levels now. Chris was right. He was a different man. Vin understood him but Buck did not, not anymore.

He supposed their priorities had changed. Once Buck and Chris had wanted the same things-- a family, a home, a ranch. However, that had changed with the swiftness of a fire's spark. Chris's priorities were very different now. They scared Buck. Hell, there was a lot about Chris Larabee that scared Buck, but he still understood what drove the man. Buck knew the pain and he knew the grief. He also knew the man. It would take a long time to get past all that. He knew Chris would someday, but it would take a matter of revenge to put it to rest. Until Chris found the person responsible for his pain, everything else had to wait. That included his rage, his future, his friends, and unfortunately, even Mary Travis.

Buck felt sorry for the lovely blonde widow. He could see the attraction. Hell, the whole town could see it. But Chris would never allow it to go beyond that. He claimed it was for a lot of reasons, but in the end they were all selfish. Again, Buck understood. He knew why Chris couldn't let himself love again. He had seen it with his own eyes. It was just too bad that so much time was passing while Chris searched. The man was risking everything on the one small chance of bringing peace to the Larabee name.

Buck hoped Chris would find the men responsible soon. Neither of them were getting any younger.

Chapter Five

By the time it was noon, Chris was fighting a headache the size of Ezra's ego. Buck hadn't shut up for the last three hours. If Chris had had the energy, he would have dropped the man where he sat, but instead he had bore through it stoically as Buck continued his stroll down memory lane.

God, there is nothing worse than a nostalgic Buck Wilmington.

Chris rubbed the nagging pressure above his eyes. Not that some of the stories he related where bad ones. Buck and he had had some wild times. Chris hadn't thought of them in many years.

"Chris, let's stop for a bit. I'm starving. Chris! Hey Chris!"

Buck's voice finally broke through Chris's rumination. He turned to Buck with a quizzical look.

Buck pulled his horse to the side of the trail. "I need to eat and Lulabelle needs a rest."

Annoyed but compliant, Chris followed after. Maybe Buck would shut up for a while if his mouth was full. They were only a few more hours outside of Bent Creek. They could rest there for the night which suited Chris fine. He dreaded another cold night on the ground.

Wearily dismounting, he proceeded to loosen the girth on his black. Then he walked over to plop down beside Buck. He suffered in silent misery as he watched Buck start a small fire and put on a pot of hot water.

Buck eyed his friend and then went over to the black gelding. Grabbing the saddlebag from the animal, he returned to the fire. He pulled out the herb package Nathan had given him and dumped some of the contents into a tin cup. Chris eyed him with an beleaguered grimace.

"You can sit there and glare all you like, pard, but just think on this. How badly do you want to tell me to shut up?"

Chris's response was a barely audible hiss.

Buck taunted the devil beside him and pretended not to hear. He cupped a hand around his ear. "Eh? Did you just say something?"

"Knoc--" Chris's throat spasmed and he stopped, willfully holding the cough at bay. His face flushed red at the effort.

Buck relished his victory. He let the water come to a boil and, after ransacking Chris's saddlebags, fixed himself a biscuit full of the smoked venison he found in there. Vin had been smoking this particular cut of meat for a while now and had been willing to share with his friend. Buck was glad that Chris had had the foresight to bring some along. Yup, there were definitely upshots being the friend of Vin Tanner.

"I figure we'll just spend the night at Bent Creek. No sense sleeping outdoor if'n we don't have to." Buck didn't look Chris's way. That only invited an argument. There was no way in hell Buck was going to allow the two of them to sleep on the cold ground when a warm bed beckoned right over the ridge. With any luck, Nathan's medicine would just make the crabby gunfighter more relaxed and maybe more complacent about Buck taking charge of this little adventure.

Buck offered a stuffed biscuit to Chris, who declined gruffly. Buck leaned back against a sturdy tree and wolfed his down. Mumbling around the food, Buck continued. "I haven't been to Bent Creek. Any good?" Realizing Chris couldn't answer him, he waved a hand. "Don't matter to me, of course. Any town is a good town if it's got a saloon."

The water began to boil but before Buck could rise, Chris was already removing it carefully from the flames. He poured some of it into his cup and then some into Buck's sitting beside it with a few coffee grounds from this morning. He'd be able to get one last good cup of coffee out of it. He put the pot to the side of the fire to keep it warm and then sat back while the drinks steeped and cooled.

The sun felt good beating down on him, the black of his coat absorbing the heat and wrapping him in a soothing embrace. He was drifting asleep before he knew it. The next thing Chris knew Buck was shaking him awake.

"Come on, pard, time to get a move on."

He felt something shoved into his hand, warm and round.

"Here, drink this while I get the horses ready."

Chris blinked against the glare of the late afternoon sun. Geezus, how long did I sleep? He drank the coffee in his hand only to realize a second later it wasn't coffee. He nearly gagged on the large swallow he had gotten of the vile stuff.

Damn! It was Nathan's tea. He stared down into the muddy mixture. It had steeped far longer than it needed and was now strong and bitter. However, with a grimace plastered firmly on his face, he reticently drank the rest. His throat was so sore and dry he'd drink Buck's bath water right now in order to lubricate it. Afterwards, he threw out the grounds at the bottom of the cup, banging it against a nearby rock. He stood slowly, his body stiff and aching. Then he stretched, fighting a yawn. At least his headache had eased off.

He walked over to the horses to find his gelding ready to go. He stuffed the cup into his saddle bag and glanced over at Buck who just dropped down his stirrups after tightening the girth on his mare.

"You ready?"

Chris nodded. He swung up in his saddle.

Buck quickly did the same, pulling his horse in front of Chris. "You feelin' better?"

Chris nodded again. Actually his throat pain did seem to be less. Maybe that concoction was going to do the trick after all. Maybe he should have brewed a bit more for the road.

"I filled your canteen with some of that tea of Nathan's. You can nurse it till we get to Bent Creek." He regarded the setting sun. "Which should be right after nightfall." He winked at Chris. "Just in time for the saloon to get lively."

Chris grunted, mildly amused. He studied his long time friend as they turned their mounts back to the road. He never realized just how good Buck was at reading him. It had been too long since he had taken the time to notice. He felt regret at that. Buck was a good friend, always had been. Buck just tended to want to get too close, and Chris didn't want that. The risk was too high. He was tired of loss, tired of grief. His soul could only handle so much. One more tragedy and he would be lost. He feared for all of them, especially Vin.

He hadn't realized that even a man like the distant Vin Tanner had wormed his way close enough. It had taken Chris unawares and now it was too late. He had another friend. Hell, he had six of them, more if he counted the Travis's. It only invited trouble -- and yet he tolerated it. He was drawn to it even. There were times he tried to push them all away, became a veritable bastard at times, and still they hung around. Half of them annoyed the crap out of him and yet he enjoyed their company. He tried to leave a few times but he never got far. He knew that one day, sooner or later, he was going to regret it. He just hoped his soul had healed enough to endure it.

Chapter Six

It turned out Buck was as good as his calculations. The sun had just set when Bent Creek loomed on the horizon, the street fires winking gently at them from a distance. It was a small town, but certainly lively. Buck could hear the tinkling of piano keys already.

It wasn't long before they reined in at the hotel. The air temperature had dropped considerably after the setting of the sun, and both men were perfectly content to spend the cold night indoors. Luckily, there was a single room available. They would share it.

They both headed wordlessly to the saloon as soon as their gear was stowed and the horses seen to. As much as his body wanted to rest, Chris needed a drink more. His short nap had made a sound sleep practically impossible so he decided to kill a little time in the only place he felt at home--a noisy saloon.

He was feeling a tad better anyway. His throat felt improved and his congestion was easing off. His aching body had finally settled for being pleasantly numb. Overall, he was more relaxed than he had been in a while.

Bent Creek's saloon was smaller even than Four Corner's modest establishment, making it a bit more crowded, but they were still able to procure some seats. It wasn't a table exactly to Chris's liking. He preferred to have his back to a wall, but he didn't plan on staying long. He just wanted a drink before giving in to an evening's slumber. He could put up with a bad chair and Buck's ceaseless monologue for that much longer.

While Buck retrieved a bottle and two glasses from the proprietor, Chris acquired a table. Then they settled down. Chris wasted no time in pouring himself a shot. He took a long, stiff swallow of the whiskey. It burned like acid as it hit his sore throat, making his eyes water. He exhaled slowly and waited till the room ceased its teetering. Blinking rapidly, he set the glass down and cleared his throat a bit.

Buck regarded him curiously but then smiled as Chris refilled his class. "Is that what you were cravin'?"

Chris glanced askance at his friend and felt a small smirk lift the left corner of his mouth. It certainly didn't hurt.

Buck laughed. The bedeviled expression on his friend's face spoke volumes.

There were two other men at the table beside them and they warily looked each other over. But soon they welcomed the tall, mustached stranger and his dark, ominous friend. The two cowboys had come in from a local ranch. Buck sized them up quickly and decided they wouldn't be trouble. One was fidgety and young, but the older man seemed capable of holding him in check.

The latter offered a hand to Buck. "Name's Rusty. On account of this red hair." He tugged at his bushy side burns which were the color of a brick. He then gestured to his compatriot. "This is Willy. We work at the Double C ranch just north of here."

Buck nodded, shaking the man's hand. "Name's Buck. That's Chris." He didn't see the need to throw last names around. Young Willy looked nervous enough. Buck was curious as to why. "We're just passin through," he told them.

Introductions done, they settled in to enjoy the atmosphere. Buck slouched in his chair. "God, I love a smoky saloon. You always feel like you're at home no matter where you are. No troubles, no worries."

Chris reclined also, holding his glass and nursing this drink slowly. He nodded in response to Buck's observations; he felt very much the same way. The two of them had certainly seen their fair share of them too. Some were memorable, some were not. This one ranked about midway on their scale.

"Remember that one in Tombstone?" Buck asked. "The one with the lady swinging in the chair above our heads. Now that was a classy joint!"

Chris, however, recalled the fact that they gotten thrown out on account of Buck not keeping his hands to himself. It turned out that that particular lady had a jealous boyfriend. Buck and he had been forced to hide out at Aunt Wilma's.

Buck caught Chris's expression. "I wasn't talking about what happened after, just the saloon! How's a man supposed to resist temptation when they dangle such things over your head. You might as well hang a chicken's skinny legs in a fox's den."

Chris laughed. It came upon him suddenly and took him by surprise. He hadn't meant to do it and he immediately coughed to cover it. Luckily, Buck seemed to have missed it. Chris didn't want the man thinking he was enjoying all this reminiscing.

"Good thing Aunt Wilma was an understanding woman," Buck continued. "It was a fine place to crash. Food, a roof..."

Chris's eyes rolled. Aunt Wilma was many things but understanding wasn't one of them. They ate cold leftovers and slept in a leaky barn. Understanding my ass, thought Chris.

The men looked at each other to determine whether the other was swallowing that particular load of bull. Immediately after, they burst out into laughter.

Buck bent over the table and gasped out. "Guess there's no hidin' the fact that my Aunt Wilma was a demented harpy, toting a double-barreled shotgun!" He wiped at the tears leaking from his eyes. "Oh and the dog! What was the name of her dog?"

Chris laughed even harder and rasped out, "Pickles."

It brought them both down onto the tabletop, howling. Neither one noticed that Chris's voice was actually audible this time, if not a little slurred.

Buck raised his head up, his hands brushing back his shaggy hair, his face flushed. There were some curious looks from the cowboys sitting at the table next to them. Buck felt obliged to explain. "My Aunt Wilma had a dog that weren't no bigger than a loaf of bread. Had to escort it outside with a shotgun in case something tried to make off with it."

"Like a field mouse," Chris suggested, snorting into his whiskey. Soon they were in hysterics again.

Buck was laughing so hard and loud he could barely breathe. But he did nudge Chris with a hand and managed, "You can talk?"

Willy glanced at Chris. "You mean he's a mute?"

The two shootists laughed even harder and it was a full minute before either of them could speak sensibly. Buck leaned back and took a deep painful breath and regarded the young cowboy. "Some might say that."

Chris's laughter suddenly turned to coughing and Buck pounded him on the back. Chris reached for his glass and gulped down some more whiskey.

Then it hit Buck. Chris was laughing.

No, not just laughing, nearly sobbing hysterics. Buck's jaw dropped open. Something wasn't right. Chris never laughed, not like that, not since before Sarah's and Adam's deaths.

"Chris, you okay?"

Chris turned toward him, having just finished getting his breath back. It was then that Buck noticed the glazed look in Chris's eyes. Geezus, what's wrong with him? The man had always held his liquor, and besides, he had only had two shots. Hell, one really. That second glass couldn't have possibly hit him yet.

Chris grinned widely at Buck. He slapped at his friend's shoulder, but missed, smacking Buck's elbow instead. "I'm fine, Buck!" he shouted. He shook his head, trying to keep the saloon from rocking back and forth.

Buck winced, not out of pain, but concern. Chris was one hell of a loud drunk. He always had been. But how the hell had he gotten so drunk so fast?

Suddenly it dawned on him. Nathan's medicine. There was little doubt that it didn't mix well with alcohol. Damn! I should have thought of that!

He rubbed his face. "Oh boy," Buck murmured, not relishing Chris's hangover tomorrow. He debated trying to get the woostered shootist to their room to sleep it off, especially before he downed anymore liquor, but then he regarded Chris's smiling face. How long had it been since the two of them had done something like this? Had honest to goodness fun? There was a time they had enjoyed each other's company and spent many long evenings reminiscing their acquaintances with laughter and drink. Just like tonight.

Chris apparently was enjoying himself, and Buck certainly was enjoying this long lost side of Chris. So long as Chris didn't spiral down into his usual destructive state, Buck was willing to let this play out. Though he knew he was going to regret that decision come morning. Chris's hangovers were a wonder to behold.

That thought sobered Buck immediately. He rose and made for the bar. "Back in a minute, pard." Chris waved distractedly at him as he sipped from his third shot of whiskey.

Weaving his way through the crowd, Buck motioned the bartender over. Buck slapped some money on the bar. "Give me your most watered down whiskey."

The bartender just stared at him strangely.

"I'm bein' serious here, friend."

The bartender shrugged and pulled a bottle from under the counter. "Sorry, we don't get many folks asking for this label. We mainly keep it around for our girls. Keeps them on their feet longer. It's mostly water with some coffee in it for color."

Buck smirked. With any luck, Chris wouldn't even notice. "Believe me, I have my reasons," he commented to the bartender. He raised the bottle in a salute and meandered back toward Chris.

Chapter Seven

"BUCK! Where you been?!" Chris demanded.

Buck patted his drunk friend on the shoulder as he resumed his seat. "Oh, I just wanted to fetch us another bottle 'fore the crowd thickened." He set the new bottle next to the full strength one which was already near half empty.

"Smart thinkin'!" Chris blinked rapidly a few times and then his attention centered on the piano player and the gaggle of women around it.

Buck took advantage of the distraction to swap the bottles. He handed the old one to Rusty sitting next to him. The old cowboy lifted his eyebrows in surprise, but quickly snatched it from Buck's hands in case the scoundrel changed his mind. Chris didn't seem to notice the exchange.

Slugging back the rest of Chris's whiskey, Buck quickly refilled it with the new concoction and then he waited. When Chris finally took a sip, Buck's heart nearly ceased working, waiting for the tirade that he felt sure would follow. Even half drunk, Chris could keep his wits about him.

But instead, Chris didn't make a sound. He just sat there staring off into space. Letting loose with a relieved sigh, Buck relaxed. His ploy was working. My genius astounds me sometimes! He waved to a pretty barmaid who was staring at him with the largest blue eyes he had ever seen. She smiled and waved back.

He let the noise and smoke permeate his very soul. For the first time in a long while he felt at ease around Chris. It didn't seem as strained a relationship as it usually was of late. Chris just didn't understand Buck no more. He wasn't willing to tolerate his shenanigans like he used to. Instead they wore on Chris, almost to the point of gunplay. But thankfully it had never come to that. Buck had the rest of the Seven to thank for that. Vin in particular.

Vin had a special way of calming Chris. The quiet, unassuming friendship had been just what Chris needed to allow him to begin living again. Buck had resented the fact that he himself had been unable to help Chris. He had tried so hard and for so long after the fire, but it had taken too much out of him as well.

He had finally admitted defeat after a year of constant abuse, both physical and verbal. His efforts had left him feeling wasted and worn. He loved Chris as a brother, but eventually he had nothing left to offer the grieving man. Buck had thrown himself time after time up against the wall of Chris's anguish. He hadn't been able to breach the fortress his friend had erected, and so Buck had walked away. And it had broken him.

It had wore on him every day since he had abandoned his friend. Had he made the right decision? His departure had felt selfish at first. He had left his oldest friend to grieve alone, knowing that Chris was harboring a death wish. He had seen it manifest quickly afterwards and it had terrified Buck. Chris no longer planned campaigns as he had once done in the Army. He became reckless. He let trouble find him, and there had been no end to the number of people who had lined up to try and take down the famous Chris Larabee. They all thought he would be an easy mark, weighed down by grief and alcohol. But Chris wasn't. His family's death only made him far more dangerous, as many slick young men had learned. Most never lived long enough to utilize their new-found wisdom. All the while, Chris continued to live the careless life of a suicidal gunfighter.

No, Buck had been wise to leave Chris when he did. If he hadn't, Chris might have called him out one day in a drunken rage, and it would be Buck lying in the street of some no-name town.

But time had brought Chris back from the brink. When Chris found his old friend again, Buck's joy was insurmountable. He had at first assumed the old Chris was back. He had been wrong, but at least through the dark shadows, a glimmer of the man he had come to respect still shimmered. Buck could work with that. Chris's family was gone. There was little to be done to change that, but Buck would make sure that the thing they held dear was kept safe. Buck would be damned if he ever left Chris's side again. Not till the man was on his feet for good. Maybe the day be married Mary...

Chris slapped Buck on the shoulder. "BUCK!"

Buck jumped out of his musing and nearly fell from his chair. "WHAT??"

Chris didn't seem to notice, he merely continued trying to focus his vision on his friend. "Wha's the name this song?"

Buck turned his attention to the piano player. After listening for a few seconds, a broad grin broke over his face. "I haven't heard this song in a long time!" He looked at Chris who was still expecting an answer though by the look of him, he couldn't quite remember the question.

Buck started singing the chorus which had just come around again. "I'm a rover, seldom sober. I'm a rover o' high degree. And when I'm drinkin', I'm always thinkin' how to gain my love's company."

Chris's face relaxed finally and then he too remembered the words. To Buck's utter amazement, he joined him in singing the next verse, rather loudly and slightly garbled, not that it mattered since the rest of the saloon joined in as well.

I stepped up to her bedroom window, kneelin' gently upon a stone; I rapped at her bedroom-window, 'Darlin' dear, do you lie alone?'

She raised her head on her snow-white pillow, with her arms about her breasts. 'What is that at my bedroom window, disturbin' me at my long night's rest?'

'It's only me, your own true lover, open the door and let me in. For I have come on a long journey, and I'm near drenched to the skin.'

She opened the door with the greatest pleasure, she opened the door and let me in. We both shook hands and embraced each other until the morning we lay as one.

I'm a rover, seldom sober. I'm a rover o' high degree. And when I'm drinkin', I'm always thinkin' how to gain my love's company.

Somewhere near the third refrain, Buck had that pretty little filly, who had been making calf eyes at him earlier, sitting on his lap. She was a frisky thing too which delighted the ladies' man to no end.

He craned his neck around her rush of golden locks to observe how Chris was doing. His good mood faded as he saw Chris just sitting there morosely, his eyes glistening and his face steadily hardening. Buck tried to think quickly why. What had set Chris off?

As the final chorus of the song ended, practically shouted in his ear by his new lap-mate, he remembered. This was a song taught to them by Sarah herself. The woman knew more drinking songs than the whole of America thanks to her Irish bred father.

Buck cursed his lax attention. To him it had just been a bawdy bar song, but for Chris it was far more. Buck was about to call a halt to the evening's festivities and scoot the lady off his lap when the voice beside him tore that idea all to shreds.

"Whatcha doin' with my gal?"

"Aw hell," Buck murmured. He looked over his left shoulder and saw the fidgety cowboy from their table. "This your girl, Willy?" Buck inquired in as innocent voice as he could muster. It was too bad that Buck hadn't been able to keep rein on his animal magnetism this one time, but as usual, it was out of his control.

"Hell, yes, that's my girl! Annie, get over here!"

Annie didn't like being bossed around and she made it perfectly clear to everyone. "I ain't your girl, Willy Hertog!" She ran her fingers through Buck's thick hair. "I can do what I please." She gazed into Buck's eyes with all the warmth of a barnyard stray in heat. "And I please to stay here with this one."

Buck tried to politely grab her hands. "Now, now. Let's not cause trouble for ol' Buck tonight. I understand all about prior claims." Well, not really, he didn't. Usually he wouldn't have given such a thing a second thought. Let the better man win and all that, but tonight was different. He had Chris to worry about. The shootist was so out of it right now, the snot-nosed kid might actually have a chance of beating Chris in a shoot-out. Of course, Chris might just pull his gun right now and shoot the kid for making too much noise. Or, the way Chris had looked over at him just now, the man in black might only fall flat on his face. None of those options were particularly appealing.

"Come on, cowboy," Annie purred in Buck's ear, "don't let Willy scare you."

Buck laughed. "Scare me? Honey, that pint-sized, bow-legged heifer don't scare me." He pulled her roaming hands away again. "It's just that--and I can't believe I'm saying this--but I ain't in the mood."

There! He had said it! I must be loco. Buck stood, forcefully disengaging Annie this time.

Willy quickly grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly toward him. She tried to push him away but Willy gave her a shake which rattled her teeth. "I'll teach you to cheat on me!"

Buck felt his blood begin to boil, though his eyes were cold, belaying the smile he still had on his face. He deftly picked up his whiskey with his left hand. "Here son, why don't I just buy you a drink." Then with a slight stumble, Buck bumped into Willy, spilling the drink on the cowboy's clean shirt.

Willy immediately reacted. "You idiot!" He released Annie and wiped at his soaked shirt.

"So sorry," Buck said, still standing close to him and gently putting himself between Willy and Annie. The saloon girl immediately took her cue and disappeared into the crowd.

Willy's head snapped up with fury blazing. "What are you?! Stupid?!" His hand dropped swiftly down to his holster, but only slapped empty leather.

A voice as cold as the night wind spoke from just behind him. It raised the hairs on the nape of Willy's neck.

"You looking for something?"

Willy turned around and stood nose to chin with the black-clad man who was sitting at Buck's table. Suddenly, he wasn't the drunken, slack individual he was only a few moments ago. The man's eyes were dead sober.

Willy swallowed stiffly, trying not to let his fear show as he looked up into those eyes. "That's my gun."

Chris handed it to the bartender behind him. Chris's next statement gave an implied order with which he fully expected the bartender to comply. "When you're old enough you can get it back from the Sheriff." The bartender swiftly removed the weapon from sight. The last thing he wanted was a shoot-out in the saloon.

Buck grinned at Chris. He had seen his friend sidle up behind the kid while Buck held his attention. They worked so well as a team, each one anticipated the other's actions. It had always been that way. It still was to some extent, Buck realized suddenly. There had always been that silent communication between them, just like there was between Chris and Vin. Buck just hadn't noticed it as much lately. Maybe because he was spending too much time being resentful of Vin's friendship with Chris. Suddenly, Buck felt a whole lot better, relishing this moment between them. Even if Chris didn't remember come morning, it was okay. Buck would, and for just this small time, it was enough. Just knowing the instinct was still there gave Buck hope.

He glanced at the poor kid in front of him and couldn't help the grin that emerged. Willy had no idea who or what he was tangling with. The kid was too thick-headed to let this altercation go. Maybe Buck should have done some name dropping after all. Maybe then the fool would have thought twice before attempting his next move.

Furious, Willy waded in, throwing a fist at Chris.

Chris had been expecting it, but that didn't mean his medicine-soaked, whiskey-laced body could react fast enough. He leaned back in what he thought was blinding speed. Instead, it was sluggish and the kid caught him a glancing blow on the chin. He stumbled back into the crowd.

It was unfortunate that the crowd became riled because of it. There were obviously some friends of the kid's within and they shoved Chris back into the fray, unbalanced and disoriented. That didn't stop Chris though. He'd been in enough brawls to react instinctively, sober or not. He swung out with a stiff arm and whopped the kid on the side of the head. Willy fell like a brick to the floor. Suddenly the bar erupted into a full-fledged bar fight.

Chapter Eight

As the pandemonium began, Buck tried to step forward to help Chris, but found his arms yanked behind his back. He let out a shout and attempted to throw off his attacker. Suddenly there was a shower of glass against the back of Buck's neck and the weight was gone. He saw a flash of red hair amongst a huge grin and a fist holding up the broken bottle of whisky that Buck had given as a gift.

"Came in right handy," Rusty shouted.

Buck laughed and waved his thanks at Rusty who was distracted long enough to receive a right to the jaw. Buck winced in sympathy.

Rusty's head snapped around, but he kept his feet as the whole saloon broke out into a wild brawl, people choosing sides faster than Ezra dealing cards. Buck dodged a poorly aimed fist but couldn't avoid the chair that came crashing down on his back. He stumbled forward into the arms of his previous attacker who was just struggling to his feet. They both went down in a heap.

Meanwhile, Chris shoved someone away from him and was satisfied with the responding grunt and subsequent impact of a body on the floor. Brawls were rarely organized fights. Instead, they were more a tangle of bodies and limbs. So Chris grabbed the nearest arm that was flailing his way and landed a hard right on the body to which it was connected. He hit something solid though he didn't exactly know what. Not that it mattered, the arm went limp.

Then he was rushed from behind. He saw the floor come up fast and he hit heavy and hard thanks to the extra weight on his back. His chin struck first and then his nose. He felt the warm gush of blood as his breath exploded from his lungs in a red spray.

Damn it! He couldn't draw in another breath and spots danced before his eyes.

With a shout of rage, Chris jammed his elbow into the behemoth laying on top of him. The body quickly rolled off him with a sharp cry, and Chris was rewarded with the ability to fill his aching lungs once again.

He scrambled drunkenly to his feet, swaying unsteadily and wishing his vision would straighten out. He looked for his next victim with a wild eye but then he caught sight of Buck. Two cowboys were whaling on him. Without another thought, Chris propelled himself into them.

The four men went down, cushioned this time by the crowd of brawlers right behind them. There was a moment where they all jockeyed for position and a wrestling match ensued. But when it ended, the cowboys were beneath Chris and Buck.

From his prone position, half sprawled over Chris, Buck smirked triumphantly down at his friend. He slapped Chris on the back. "Thanks, pard!"

"BUCK!" Chris shouted.

"What?"

"GET THE HELL OFF ME!"

Buck laughed and stood, bending down to haul Chris to his feet. Chris wobbled so much that Buck didn't relinquish his hold on the man's elbow. By Chris's puzzled expression, he probably didn't even know why he was unsteady. Then Buck caught a glimpse of something behind Chris.

"CHRIS!"

"WHAT?"

"DUCK!" Buck shoved Chris's head down and rammed a fist over him and into the face of a man about to attack Chris with a glass of beer. The man dropped with a resounding crash. There were worse ways to go than at the mercy of a glass of his favorite brew, Buck thought.

Chris straightened, his thanks given in the form of a wicked grin. He stared at Buck with large, glassy eyes. Despite the fact that he was bleeding and sore, he was having a hell of a good time. If only he could remember where the hell they were and why the hell they were fighting.

One look at Chris's happy, almost dopey, expression and Buck knew he didn't have much time. It wouldn't be long before Chris dropped. The man was running solely on a canteen of medicated tea and three shots of hard whiskey. Sooner or later, they would work their magic and bring the man down. Buck intended for them to be out of the saloon before that happened.

"Come on! We're getting out of here!" He pulled Chris along as best he could toward the saloon door which thankfully was only a few feet away. Chris only once tried to grab at a nearby cowboy with intent to do bodily harm, but one good yank by Buck brought him stumbling after. They made the door and slipped through into the icy air. It immediately hit both men like a bucket of cold water. Chris blinked and for a moment the world righted.

"Buck? Where are we going?" He straightened a bit away from Buck, shaking his head.

"The hotel." He pulled Chris down the street away from the saloon. "This way."

Just in time too for the Sheriff and his deputy were converging on the saloon carrying heavy sticks. Keeping as low a profile as possible and sticking to the long, dark shadows, Buck slunk away to their accommodations for the evening, Chris shambling behind him.

By the time they made the lobby of the hotel, however, Buck was half supporting Chris again. Whatever lucidity the man had gained was wearing off quickly. Buck had to literally carry him up the stairs. It was late and there wasn't anyone around to help.

"Figures," Buck mumbled, desperately trying to get a better grip on Chris. He propped him as best he could against the door jam as he tried to get the key into the door of their room. Unfortunately, Chris kept sliding sideways. Buck grabbed him a third time and with a curse of exasperation, shoved a shoulder mercilessly into Chris's chest to pin him to the wall.

Seconds later, they were in. He practically threw Chris's dead weight on the bed. Once rid of his burden, he slumped to his knees. Two arms resting on the edge of the mattress, Buck hung there trying to catch his breath. Blood dripped down from a split lip and he licked it absently. Then he smiled. "What a night."

Chris opened his eyes for a moment and looked without seeing at the cracked, plastered ceiling above his head. He blinked a few times and then turned his head to stare at Buck who was pleased to see a hint of recognition in Chris's eyes. The shootist had a bewildered expression on his face.

"We a' Ant Wima's?" Chris asked in a slurred voice.

Buck regarded Chris a moment and then burst into laughter. This situation did seem to bear a striking resemblance to that long past event in Tombstone.

Chris unfortunately didn't let the matter drop. "If I see tha' dog, 'm gon shoot 'em."

Buck's head dropped into the coverlet to muffle his mirth. He pushed at his friend with a wayward arm. "Shut up. My ribs hurt too much for this."

Chris closed his eyes with a smirk lingering on his lips. "Jus so's ya kno." That said, he let loose a sigh and then the man in black fell soundly asleep.

Buck raised his head and wiped the moisture from his cheeks. He patted his friend's arm and then dragged himself to his feet. "Rest, Chris. Just rest." He walked wearily over to the wash basin and examined his damage. A cut above his eye was minor, though he was going to sport a nice shiner tomorrow morning. He washed his face and toweled it off, dabbing his swollen lip gently.

With a fresh towel he walked over to Chris and proceeded to clean him up too. His wounds were small as well. Luckily, the man's nose wasn't broke. Of course, that still wasn't going to be any consolation in the morning. Chris wouldn't even feel that pain over the agony of his hangover.

Buck studied Chris. It wasn't till the man was quiescent that one realized just how overwhelming Chris's waking presence was. Without a word, he could dominate a room. Buck smiled sadly. Despite the fact that Chris was dead to the world, Buck used soft, gentle strokes to wipe the blood from his old friend.

Something had changed between the two men tonight, Buck could feel it. He just wasn't sure if it was because Chris had been unsure of the year or whether it was just that old habits died hard. He hoped it was the latter. He hoped that despite the horrendous hangover tomorrow, Chris would remember that the past can also bond two old friends together as well as drive them apart.

He set the towel to the side and proceeded to pull off Chris's boots. He removed the holster and set it over the post of the headboard. Then it took only a moment to roll Chris under the blankets. Chris muttered something but it was nothing intelligible.

Sitting on the other side of the mattress, Buck pulled off his own boots and clothes, leaving his underwear on against the evening chill. He crawled under the covers and was promptly as dead to the world as his friend.

Chapter Nine

The first thing that penetrated the mire that was Chris Larabee's brain was a heavy clanging. It started soft and distant but then suddenly the sound began reverberating around his skull. With each impact it got louder and more intense. He cracked open his left eye and swiftly regretted it as blinding light poured in to split his skull.

He screamed.

Buck glanced back at the bed as very small groan indicated the first sign of life from the form still lying there. Buck set down his fork and knife on the breakfast tray. "You awake there, pard?"

There was no answer. Buck wandered over and peered down at Chris who had managed to bury his face under the pillow. He could hear some mumbling and figured it was probably better he couldn't quite understand what the man was saying.

Just for fun though, he yanked the pillow away. "Rise and shine, cowboy!" No sense coddling the man when his mood was already bad, he thought, walking back to his food with the pillow tucked under his arm.

The curse that erupted from Chris's lips was easily understood this time. Buck grinned. He also just managed to avoid the spurred boot flung blindly in his direction by a groggy Chris. Damn, the man's reflexes were sharp, even hung over. Good thing, Buck had moved Chris's pistol rig further away this morning.

"If you want to head out of this town before dark, I suggest you haul your carcass outta bed."

The response was Chris's hand rising and searching for his pistol which usually hung from the bed post.

Buck praised his forethought. "Uh-uh, Chris. If you want to shoot me, you're gonna have to get up to do it."

With a painful groan, Chris rose, his hair sticking up in a wild disarray, his eyes bloodshot and squinty, looking very much like a man ready to kill anything that crossed his path. The trouble was with Buck moving all about the room, Chris had lost track of him. He decided to just sit there and gain his bearings again. Sooner or later he'd have his revenge when Buck wandered once more into his sight.

"So do you want to head out today? We don't have to, you know. We can lollygag right here if you like. I fancy myself a lollygagger today."

Chris scrubbed at his hair and bit down on the groan that went with it. Even that hurt, damn it! He ceased doing it, letting his arms drop back down to grip the mattress. He skewed his eyes against the glare of sunlight coming in from the window in front of him. He determined that it was about mid-morning. Dragging his mind through his fuzziness, he tried to remember what had happened last night to no avail. He couldn't figure out why was he sore all over.

Buck looked hopeful. "So, we lollygagging?"

"No."

Disappointment quickly fell over Buck. He hadn't been kidding about wanting to relax a little. Since coming to Four Corners over two years ago, life suddenly never seemed to slow down. Occasionally but never for very long. Buck was seeing this little jaunt with Chris as a vacation almost, even though he had no idea what mission they were on from the Judge. Chris had remained tight-lipped about that for some reason, but the man certainly wasn't behaving as if it was crucial. What was another day or so?

Then again, after last night's little fracas, it was probably safer to get out of town. He was surprised no one had come knocking on their door in the wee small hours, particularly the Sheriff. Besides, maybe that hothead, Willy, was still around and Buck sure would hate shooting that little twerp so early in the day. Not only that, Chris was so ornery right now that he sure as hell didn't want to stir up any more trouble than necessary. Chris was a trouble magnet. If they stayed in town long enough, something was bound to happen and Chris was miserable enough to face it head on.

That decided, Buck gathering his things. "Well, let's get a move on then or Blossom will be done and gone by the time we get there." He threw Chris's boot back at him.

It landed heavily and Chris winced at the harsh sound of it. He just stared at the limp boot trying to figure the best way to bend down and still manage to keep his skull attached to his body.

"You want me to dress you?"

Chris cast a glare at Buck, the pain momentarily forgotten. "No."

Buck held up his hands. "Fine. I'll see you downstairs when you're ready. If you fall on your face just bang on the floor and I'll come back up." He swung his saddlebags and blanket over his shoulder and ambled out the door.

Chris breathed out a sigh as much of relief as just letting his anger ebb. He hated Buck sometimes, especially when he was hung over. Buck always seemed to be so damn happy in the morning. It was a hard thing to tolerate when you were miserable. Hell, there was a lot about Buck that was hard to tolerate. Of course, that didn't mean Chris didn't care.

He himself was a hard man to tolerate. He never understood why people hung around him, even after he had shoved them away at the end of blade. Chris reached down for the boot with fierce determination, vainly attempting to keep his eyes focused. Once in his hand, he struggled to put it on. The third time was the charm.

Maybe he had overstayed his welcome in Four Corners. He should be looking for an opportunity to take off. He was willing to walk away from everything he had built in town, because it had become so difficult to deal with day after day. He was afraid he'd again lose all he had built. Lose Vin or JD or Buck or any of them, Mary and Billy in particular. He was still immersed in violence and bloodshed, and sooner or later, the odds were that it would once more sully someone next to him, perhaps irrevocably. He had made his own peace with Death three years ago. But facing someone else's was a different story. It was the one thing he was terrified to face a second time.

Somewhere along the line he had allowed these men to see a side of himself that he had long since kept hidden. At first he had assumed Buck was the culprit, gossiping to Mary Travis and the thereby the rest of the town. His fury and sense of betrayal was almost insurmountable. But he knew that wasn't it, not all of it anyway. Vin and the others had managed to coax a little bit of his soul back to the light again. He had stepped out the shadows for a time, revealing small aspects of himself. He should have known that staying too long in one place would eventually chip away at his armor and leave him vulnerable. There was no one to blame. No one but himself.

He tugged on his other boot roughly. They should be glad when they were finally rid of him. Why couldn't they just leave it alone, accept his departure and let him move on?

He resented the fact that neither Buck nor Vin were letting him do what he wanted. They were always meddling in what Chris thought were perfect ways to escape. Yet as much as he hated it, he knew they were both justified. But that didn't make it the best thing all around. They just didn't get it.

He doubted anyone would understand his reasoning. Hell, he didn't always himself. It was just safer for everyone concerned if he just left. Most likely they'd all drift apart and go their separate ways. He would meet up with Vin and deal with Tascosa like he promised, but then the association had to end. It was just too hard for him to accept the pain. God, what would happen if they failed? He couldn't stand by and watch Vin hang.

His mouth soured. He was desperate to avoid everything that was painful, that included Buck and the others. It included Mary and Billy too. He damned the fact that his cold hard shell had slowly been eroding away. He was starting to fancy taking up a life again and sometimes it scared the crap out of him.

He lay back on the bed, his arm thrown across his throbbing forehead. His jaw tightened. A part of him wanted a home, a family again. But every time he looked at Mary and Billy and desired those things, he felt like he was betraying Sarah and Adam's memory. At times, he could feel his wife's essence standing beside him on the streets when the lovely blonde widow would pass his eye. His body would immediately react. It didn't care who knew it either and it shamed him. He was falling in love with Mary Travis. How Sarah must hate him for what he thought at those times.

Yet, he knew that she didn't. Sarah had forgiven his idiocy, just like everyone else. Well, except maybe for Mary. She was angry and hurt and he couldn't blame her. It was what he had expected his cross attitudes and sudden departures to have wrought. He just never expected to be around later to see it.

He rose and carefully walked around the bed to the table. He caught a glimpse of his face in the mirror and his eyes widened in surprise. What the hell had happened last night? He gingerly fingered his swollen nose and his eyes watered at the surge of pain. He now dimly remembered backing Buck against some loudmouth brat, but from there the rest remained fuzzy. And why did he keep seeing that stupid little dog...Pickles? Exhaling slowly, he reached instead for his holster which lay on the chair next to the wash basin.

As he strapped it around his lean hips, his mind settled back into his musing. He couldn't blame Mary's aloofness at times. He deserved it. But she had to understand that he couldn't accept this new life until he had settled his old one. Fowler was dead but the man he hired was still out there, and Chris was going to run him to ground if it took the rest of his life to do it. His fierce scowl caused the barely healed wound on his chin to reopen but he ignored it.

He had wanted to tell Mary all that, but he couldn't. She needed to figure that out herself. But each time he took off, he would fall a little in her eyes and that fact hurt him far more than he ever thought possible. If ever he wanted to bridge the gulf between them, he was going to have to work hard to do it.

He cursed. That's what he had been avoiding in the first place. Mary was everything he wanted in a woman but no longer deserved. Courting her was painstaking and full of memories and pitfalls. Chris hadn't been certain he was ready to do a serious relationship again. The worst thing, Mary was sure. However, he couldn't decide if his hesitancy was because he wasn't ready to commit or whether he was just stringing her along until he could make up his mind. Neither was fair to her.

What a fool he was.

He picked up his bedroll and saddlebags wearily and moved to open the door. But he paused just in front of it.

Now another milestone was upon him and again he found himself running. Buck knew it too, otherwise, he wouldn't have bothered coming along. That whole story about supporting Blossom in her hour of need was most likely a ruse. Buck didn't care one way or another if Blossom stayed with Billy. Blossom had enough love in her to take care of both men and that was enough for Buck.

No, Buck was riding along because he was afraid Chris was going to do something stupid--again. What Chris couldn't understand is why the man bothered. Why did any of them bother?

Because that's what friends do, he told himself curtly. He had better face up to the fact that people cared about him and that was all there was to it. He cared about them too. It terrified him but he had finally accepted it. They had bonded so completely that there was no way to just walk away from it. They were stuck with each other now. Hell, no one else but Buck and the rest would take this kind of crap from him. He had to accept the fact that they were willing to take the risk in order to stick together. Fate be damned.

Chris was beginning to believe it too. For every time Chris had run from Four Corners, something had stopped him long before the Seven found him. He never made it far. Was there something out there trying to make him see reason? He wasn't a man who gave credence to such things but the constant messages he was receiving made even a believer out of Chris Larabee.

He didn't understand who or what was behind it all, but he had his suspicions. He took a deep breath and rubbed the back of his head. He wouldn't be surprised if it was Sarah herself slapping him across the back of the head for being so stupid all the time.

He smiled slightly. "I'm getting the message, love. Slowly but surely."

He turned the latch and headed downstairs to his waiting friend. Buck was killing time by drinking some coffee in the lobby. Chris carefully placed a foot on each stair, keeping the thump of his boots as soft as possible. Otherwise, he thought his head would jar loose.

Buck looked at him critically as he made the main floor. He noticed the fresh smear of blood on Chris's chin. "You scowled, didn't you?" he surmised with a trace of amusement.

In response, Chris scowled again and he immediately felt the small well of wetness. He let out a resigned sigh. A bandanna appeared before him, dangling at Buck's fingertips. Snatching it, Chris dabbed at his chin. He lifted his gaze to his old friend. "Thanks," he said. He flashed immediately back to the past when Buck had saved his life time after time. After a moment, suddenly serious, he nodded with definite conviction. "Thank you."

Buck caught the look in his friend's eye and was taken by surprise with the sincerity he saw there. He wanted to break out in a huge grin and shout his joy to the entire establishment, but he instinctively knew better. Instead, he merely shrugged and said, "Anytime. You know you can always count on me."

That said, the two men walked slowly to the livery. Buck was whistling jauntily, his spirits lifting even higher at the beautiful day. Everything was going to be fine. Things were where they needed to be and it was someplace both men could tolerate.

Chris's left eye was twitching at the high pitched sound coming from his right. He tried to dismiss it and as a reward he got a flash of something from last night. He looked over at his friend, a glint of evil in his eye. "Oh, and Buck?"

The tall, mustached man turned toward him. "Yeah, pard?"

"Don't ever try to pass off watered-down coffee as good whiskey again or I'll shoot you."

Buck's jaw dropped open. Oh lord, he remembers! He turned quickly away.

Chris couldn't stop the huge grin from emerging on his face. To his pleasure, that particular move didn't reopen his cut.

Chapter Ten

A night after the two men left Yuma, Buck found a quiet spot amidst some scraggy pine trees. A small stream running behind them provided a fine meal of fresh trout. Buck leaned back, patting his stomach, swollen to near bursting. "Pard, I am as full as a tick!"

Chris continued stirring the embers of their small fire. He looked remarkably better than he had the last two weeks. The cold had finally relinquished its hold on him. His mood was better and he seemed very much relaxed out in the bush.

Buck nibbled on his last bit of fish. "You know, all those fishing trips with Billy must be paying off. Your skills have greatly improved." They had caught numerous fish with little effort.

Chris reclined against his saddle, tipping his hat brim low. He peered at Buck from under it with all the ease of a man with no cares. "I don't suppose it mattered that a hatch was just coming off," he commented dryly.

Buck smirked. "I reckon that helped some. Still, I think Billy must have taught you something." He observed Chris's reaction to that and was surprised by the sight of a small smile playing about the man's lips.

"I suppose he might have at that," Chris muttered.

"So when's Billy coming back to Four Corners? He's been at the Travis' long enough."

Chris shrugged. "I think the Judge is bringing him home on his next circuit."

At the mention of the Judge, Buck's mind immediately began thinking about Chris's mysterious mission to Yuma. The man still hadn't said one word what it was all about. Chris had separated from Buck immediately after they made town.

Buck had quickly found out that Blossom had left Yuma the day before so he had gone to find Chris only to find him already sitting in the saloon. Whatever business Chris had had for the Judge had taken all the time it takes for a rooster to flit from one hen to the next.

Buck frowned. What the heck could have been so important to ride all the way out here and only take a minute to resolve? It hadn't been a letter since Buck had been through Chris's saddlebags and coat while the man was comatose at the hotel in Bent Creek. So what the hell was it?

It was then that Buck had an epiphany. He looked over at his friend. "There wasn't anything really from the Judge, was there, Chris?"

Chris regarded him sharply but said nothing.

Buck sighed and shook his head, tossing the fish bone into the fire. "I never seen a man work so hard to avoid his birthday."

Chris groaned. What he has been dreading this whole trip had finally come to pass. "I just wanted to be left alone."

"On your birthday? No one should be alone on their birthday. Least of all you. You know, it's as much for your friends as it is for you. They deserve the right to celebrate the day."

Chris straightened off the saddle notch. "You told them, didn't you?" Leave it to Buck to stick his nose into business that didn't concern him. Here we go again, he grumbled to himself. "You were supposed to bring me back. Damn it, Buck. I'm not ready for all this... caring. I need time, ease into things."

Buck just offered a small smile and said quietly, "I didn't say a word to them. I know you too well for that, pard." Buck was pleased that Chris was just talking to him. That alone was monumental. Baby Steps Larabee, that was Chris. However, his old friend had opened the door just a little bit for Buck and that was enough. Buck had big enough feet to keep the door opened permanently.

Chris's face sagged with surprise. He couldn't say nothing. He was grateful beyond words, as was indicated by his relieved sigh.

Buck just winked at his old friend. "Happy Birthday, Chris."

THE END