Setting: Old West
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
The below noted cites provided me with the information on African names and on the game of Mancala. http://www.swagga.com; http://www.cmi.k12.il.us/Urbana/projects/AncientCiv/africa/Mancala.html
The new day brought a smiling sun and golden light shimmering on cerulean water. The breeze lifted, thaking the man's breath away. Behind him, his five friends were gathered around the table, talking and laughing. This place, this seaside mecca, brought them together in a way he'd not thought possible. Whether it was the salt in the air, the call of the ocean or the spiritual feeling the combination brought, it worked. They were more relaxed and open than he'd ever seen them, in the time they'd ridden together. He needed that feeling, now more than ever. It was the glue holding his broken soul together. A hand on his shoulder caused him to jump.
"You okay, Nathan?"
He lifted his lips at the concern in the leader's voice. He nodded, took a lungful of the magical air and turned.
"I'm more than alright, Chris," he grinned, "I ain't felt this good in... I don't know how long. There's something special about this place..."
"Yeah," the blond sighed, squinting into the morning sun. "Vin's still sleeping, but the others are up, Miguel and Maria just brought breakfast out." He patted his flat abdomen, "I keep eating like this, I'll need new clothes."
Nathan grinned and turned, walking back through the sand to where the others sat waiting. "I don't think we'll see Vin for awhile yet, he ain't used to bein' up so late."
"Sure was a night to remember," the gunslinger agreed, his lip turning up at the lingering echoes of the bawdy tales, loud laughter and many bottles of sangria consumed. They'd gathered on the beach after dinner. J.D. got a bonfire started and they sat and celebrated. They shared dreams, past and future; recalled old loves lost and new hope of what would come. Despite the fact he was only drinking fruit juice, Vin's injuries sent him to bed before the others. Still, he'd lasted quite some time. Even sharing some of his childhood memories. One brought a smile to his face, as he recalled the light in the tracker's eyes as he spoke of his beloved older brother, Teheno.
"...reckon I was a mite of an itch," a comment that brought rousing returns, causing the speaker to laugh, "...I followed Teheno everywhere, askin' questions 'bout huntin', trackin', animals, shootin', fightin'...man had patience, I can tell ya that." He'd paused then, smirking and then chuckling, "...well, 'cept fer the times when I run off on m'own, tryin' to hunt buff's or follow him into battle. ...his eyes get all crossed, he's start cussin' and be mumblin' about nailin' m'hide t' a tree." Then his face fall for a moment, as shadows passed over it. They'd all seen the sadness in his blue eyes, before he recovered."
Nathan took his seat and Chris's eyes went to the window. Vin was propped up on pillows, nearly sitting, so he could breathe easier. His features were relaxed in slumber, the fading bruises marking him in shades of yellow and green. He thought of those six years when Teheno had been Vin's role model. Most of what he knew today, the brave friend whose moral fiber was second to none, came as a result of the skilled hands of that warrior. He turned away, looked at the horizon and nodded.
"Thank you..." he whispered, still hearing 'Blue Eagle's' laughter in his head.
"You say something, Chris?" J.D. asked, shoving a hunk of hot corn bread in his mouth.
"No," he sighed, took his seat and picked up a napkin
The soft breeze stole into the room like a silent thief, using it's long fingers to tickle the victim's nose. It twitched, the lips followed and a groan sounded. Smells, wonderful smells of hickory smoked bacon, cheese and onion fluffy eggs, potatoes fried with spices, hotcakes and cornbread, assaulted him. Two blue eyes opened, as a hand ran across the bandaged chest. The belly was empty, growling loudly. "Aw, hell, nobody woke me up!" He mumbled, eyeing his friends outside eating. Their plates were piled high with the tempting food, only causing him get agitated. "HEY! How come ya didn't wake me?" He put his legs over the side, eyeing the next bed with confusion. It was stripped. He roamed again, looking for his clothes,while trying to shake the dizziness away. "Where's m'pants... don't let Buck eat all them hotcakes... I'm comin' right out! I'm starved."
"Yuh'll stay put, I'll bring yuhr breakfast in there." Nathan tossed his napkin and rose.
"Good Luck, Brother," Josiah offered, holding up his coffee in a toast. "You'll need it." He, like the others, prepared for the wrath of Tanner.
"How yuh feeling?"
"Hey Nate!" Vin sat up straight, winced, sniffed the wonderous aroma and scratched his arm. He needed to sate he wicked itch under the bandaged burn.
"Leave that be, it's healin' good!"
"It itches..." Vin protested, eyeing the window again. "I'm starved, can I have somethin' t'eat?"
"Sure."
"Where's m'pants? I can't see 'em." He looked around the room again.
"Yuh don't need 'em, I'll bring yuh a tray. I want yuh t'stay put this mornin', okay?"
"Good," He sat back, making a mental list. " I'll have a pile of bacon, crisp but not burnt... a mess o' scrambled eggs from the middle, where the cheese's runnin' through 'em... a big pile of them fried taters... cripsy like with some peppers and onions... some toasted corn bread slather with butter..." He paused, raking his keen eyes on the table.
"Anythin' else?" Nathan asked seriously, arms crossed over his chest.
"Well," he paused, rubbing his concave abdomen, "I guess ya can add a pile of hot cakes, with butter and maple syrup." He stopped and drilled the other's blank face, "Ya ply the cakes with lots of butter 'tween each one."
"...'tween each one," the wise healer repeated with a straight face, despite the smirking one's outside that met his gaze.
"...make sure ya let the butter melt first so's it runs into the syrup good." Vin used his hands, his animated eyes already seeing his full plate. "Ya got that?"
"Every word," the ex-slave replied without breaking his stone stance. The smirks outside exploded into laughter, nearly cracking his stoic stance and giving his patient a frown.
"What the hell are them jackasses laughin' s'hard at?" He cocked his head, "Ya ain't writin' this down, ya gonna remember it all?"
"Like a steel trap," he tapped his head, while his eyes noted Buck, Josiah and Ezra winking at him. He moved off, leaving his victim unaware.
Vin's hungry eyes went to the window again, watching the large, colorful Mexican platters laden with food. Buck waved to him, syrup running down a full fork of hotcakes. Josiah nodded, lifting three pieces of smoked bacon and Ezra lifted his glass of orange juice. He heard footsteps and sat up, his mouth watering. He could taste that food and absentmindedly licked the syrup running from his lips. Nathan entered the room, bearing a tray covered with a cloth.
"That's a sin," Buck lamented, looking at Vin's eager eyes. "He's droolin' right down that chicken chest of his."
"Nathan knows what he's doing, Buck," Chris replied, without looking up from his plate.
"Buck, did you leave your gun in there?" J.D. asked, watching Nathan put a tray over Vin's waist.
"No, why?" The rogue replied, just before the fireworks went off.
"What the Hell is this shit!" Vin piped up angry, his blue eyes flashing. He heard the loud laughter outside as his friends seemed to celebrate his misery. He eyed the bland pile of runny food and lost his appetite. The laughter seemed to get louder, only fueling his ire. "Shut the fuck up all y'all vultures. Out there fillin' yer faces like fuckin' kings." He hollered, tossing his fork in timed line, hitting the back of a blond head. He turned his wrath to the man next to the bed, who seemed ten feet tall. "I ain't eatin' this!" He rebelled, glaring. "Hell, it looks like somebody already ate it and threw it back up!" He wrinkled his nose, running a spoon through warm porridge. "cereal and fuckin' crackers... that's prison food. Hell, I bet they don't even put up with this shit."
"Ah," Ezra managed, amidst the riotous laughter. He raised his glass of orange juice and champagne, "Gentlemen, I offer a toast, to the return of our quaint town's resident poet laureate."
"I'll drink to that!" Josiah said, the others agreeing.
"I want real food. I got my rights!" Vin snarled, shoving the tray away.
"Outside that door," Nathan pointed, using a calm, low voice. "Is America, a democracy. In here, I'm the king and you'll do what I tell yuh." He loomed over the bed, his dark eyes angry and every inch of his tall frame exuding power. He saw the ire fading and the Texan's resolve disappearing quickly. "Yuh messed every bed in this room last night. If it wasn't flyin' out yuhr mouth it was shootin' out the other end. All over me, Buck and the bed. I ain't got no more clean beds and I ain't wastin' anymore time wipin' that ungrateful ass of yuhrs So until that fickle belly settles down, yuh'll eat shit if I put it in front of yuh and yuh'll like it! Yuh got that? Any questions?"
Vin stared at the heaving brown shirt at his eye level and then slumped. His foggy brain cleared up, giving visions of the night prior. A world of pain exploding in his head and through his hot, aching chest. First his own bed, two hands tending him. Then later, in Buck's bed, the other man never said a word. Just held him, while Jackson cleaned him. He'd been so dizzy he couldn't move, the room was spinning so hard. He floated awhile, hearing Nathan shuffle Buck to the next room. In a daze of hot agony, he felt the two strong hands move him to a pile of quilts on the floor. Those same hands tipped the cold mug to his lips, letting him drink water and medicine. Soft and comfortable, he felt into the bed , knowing the healer was guarding over him. He slumped in defeat, knowing every word was true.
"I forgot yuhr tea, it's got belly quieters in it, I'll be right back," Nathan said, turning to leave.
"...can hardly wait..."
"What was that?" He paused, one hand gripping the knob.
"Nuthin'" Vin sighed, as Nathan left. The meal outside had grown quiet. Josiah and Ezra departed for town. Vin's mind wandered again. Sure, he'd gotten sick, but he felt better. How would he ever get stronger, if he didn't get real food? A little eggs couldn't hurt. He eyed the trio and zoned in on his prey. Chris and J.D. continued to eat heartilty. Buck faltered, eyeing poor soul in bed, starinag hard at him. The sad blue eyes and crestfallen features burned a hole in him. Twice his fork full of eggs and potaotes got to his mouth, before dropping back down. He watched Vin sigh heavily and manage a weak smile. His heart ached and he picked up a smaller plate, eying the platter of eggs next to him. He picks up the fork again and a hand clamped on his wrist.
"No."
"Aw, Chris, a little can't hurt." He flinched, feeling the strength in the hand gripping his wrist. "He's starvin', that shit Nate gave him wouldn't fill a bird."
"No!" the blond repeated louder, lifting his hot green eyes to the large hearted Wilmington's. He kept his hand locked on the sympathizer's wrist, until he saw the dark head nod.
The keen tracker waited, then put all of his sorrow into his features, as the weak link's head rose up. "Hey, Bucklin," he offered feebly, casting sad eyes. "How ya feelin'? I'm sorry 'bout last night... feel awful... ya okay?"
"Buck!" Larabee hissed, seeing the other man's face lose all it's color. The hand wavered and moved to the empty plate again. "I'm warning you...."
"Don't mind me, I'll be okay, iffen I don't pass out from hunger. Never felt s'weak, gettin' awful dizzy..." Vin moved a hand over eyes, peeking through his fingers at the guilty face of Buck Wilmington. His heart rose, it was working! He sighed, blinked and remained crestfallen, keeping his saddest face on for the larger man's benefit "That bread sure smells good... even that sad, lil' crust on the end. Reckon it's goin' down real easy."
"Aw, hell, Chris, a little won't hurt him," the heartbroken man dumped eggs on plate and a small piece of hot bread.
"You're a woman, Buck," the leader growled, grabbing the plate away.
"...and you're a coward," the rogue fired back, pointed a fork at the guilty blond leader, "you planted you ass over on that side, so you wouldn't have to see his face." He saw Larabee's features tighten and zoned in, "Yeah, you don't have to look at them damn hounddog eyes... you're yellow, Chris Larabee."
He saw the eyes flicker an the hand flexed on the table. "Hah..." he scoffed , knowing he was right.
"I think you have a short memory Buck," J.D. said, buttering another roll, despite Vin's eyes trained on the dripping butter.
"You forgetting that mess he made last night!" Chris rebelled, "...how bad it smelled, all over you, him and the bed." He leaned over the table. "I know that leg's bothering you. Nathan wants you resting it this afternon. He's gonna douse you with laudenum. The room you two are sharing will suddenly get real small. You want him firin' out of both ends again?" He shoved the plate back to the thinking gunman, "It's your funeral. Go ahead, feed that long-haired weasel."
"Sorry Vin..." Buck's voice was sincere.
"Go to Hell!" Vin sauced, suddenly over his 'weakness'. His eyes fired up, " ...all of yall. I ain't fergettin this... I got a long memory. Yer cruel bastards... met vultures with more manners. Eatin' in front of a dying man."
"Christ almighty, Tanner!" Chris growled loudly, "quit bitchin', you're far from dying..."
Vin was about to return fire, when the door opened. The healer returned with a pot of simmering tea. He put the mug on the tray and narrowed his brown eyes. Vin opens his mouth to protest the bitter concoction, when a brown index finger appeared in front of his face.
"Say one word," Nathan warned, in a stern tone.
"Aw, hell," Vin surrendered, picking up his spoon and lifting a forkful of hot cereal.
"That's two words Vin." Chris teased, flinching as a spoonful of cereal hit the back of his head.
"No!" Nathan warned, seeing the blond turn with a large serving spoon full of mushy pancakes and syrup.
The morning drifted by, and while the others explored the house or baked in the healing sun, Vin Tanner slept. With a heavy sigh, he opened his eyes. Yawning, he scratched his chest and sat up, tugging on a pair of pants that was left on the chair near his bed. Barechested and barefoot, he stood, swaying a bit and flinching at his headache. He saw a pitcher across the room, it's pewter sides full of condensation. He poured two full mugs of fruit juice, before heading out onto the porch. The small garden off the porch, where his friends usually gathered around the table, was empty. Frowning, he made his way back inside, taking unsteady steps. He eyed both ends of the long hall, the thick stucco walls bringing a comforting coolness. He heard voices to the left and let his feet lead him.
The library in the house was large and well stocked. It was a man's room, loaded with overstuffed leather chairs, bronze sculptures and a large desk. In the far corner, was a set of gaming tables. Designs were inlaid on the tops, of backgammon, checkers and chess. Nathan's long legs were crossed comfortably in front of him, a blue curl of smoke rising above his cigar. It was almost two p.m. and lunch was long done. A tray of fruit, cheese and nuts sat untouched on the table by the far wall. Shelves, rising twenty feet high spanned the room, leather bindings in a variety of colors shelled the books contained on them. A few feet away, J.D. and Buck were playing checkers, while Josiah and Ezra did battle over the backgammon table. His brown eyes drifted to the far end of the room, where Chris Larabee sat alone. He was sprawled in a dark burgundy leather chair, his tapered fingers draped over the dark green spine of a novel. It was the same color of the shirt he wore. The keen-eyed healer noted that for twenty minutes, there had been no page movement. He watched for ten more, counting the flinches of pain and the back movement. Sighing, he deposited the cigar into an ashtray, took a long sip of his brandy and stood.
"Any good?" he noted of the novel, Dumas's The Man in the Iron Mask. Chris looked up, shrugged and tossed the book on the marble-topped table to his left. Their eyes met, neither spoke, and he nodded to the shoulder. The blond didn't move when he slid his brown fingers under the shirt and gently prodded the injured flesh between the shoulder and neck. Larabee's sharp hiss and his fingers gripping the arms of the chair gave him an answer. "Yuh ain't no child," he addressed the almost guilty green eyes that shied away. "I told yuh when I put that sling on, about damagin' them muscles. It's yuh'r choice, keep that sling on and let it heal or yuh'll carry that pain until they plant yuh."
"I know..." Chris agreed, sorely missing the support the canvas sling brought. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his injured side.
"Can I have a look?" Nathan waited until the head nodded and the slim fingers unbuttoned the green shirt. He helped the gunslinger ease the shirt off and then took the bandages off as well. "Yuhr' sides healin' good... can't same the same for that shoulder," he pressed gently and the other man jumped.
"Christ that hurts, Nathan!"
"Yuhr lucky Vin was so bad off himself when he used that blade," Jackson relayed, easing the shirt back on. "it was deep enough to cut muscle... a little deeper or over a few inches... couldda killed yuh." He shook his head and rewrapped the injuries.
J.D.'s dark head rose, watching the former slave tending to their leader. "What are we gonna tell Vin about that?"
"We're not," Buck replied quickly, double jumping the red disc's on the board.
"But what if he remembers? I mean he's been having bad dreams." He paused, seeing Chris's expression turn sharp. "Well, wouldn't it be better coming from us?"
"Could be he won't remember at all," Wilmington pressed, "There's no reason for him to know about that."
"I think you're both wrong," He eyed the pair, "I think we should tell him. If he finds out on his own or something, he's gonna be hurt."
"What should we say, J.D.?" Larabee boomed, angry that his gut instincts told him this boy was right, "Oh, by the way Vin, you put a bullet in me, shoved a knife in my shoulder and damn near slit Buck's throat... yeah, that'd help."
"What's wrong with you?" The youth countered, leaving the game and moving to the middle of the room. "You're supposed to be his best friend. How would you feel if it was you? Keeping a secret like that is wrong. Sins by omission are the most painful sins of all..."
"The boy's right," Josiah sided with the sheriff. "He's gonna find out and unless it comes from you or Buck, he's gonna be hurt."
The figure in the hall pressed his back to the wall. His hammering heart kept time with his throbbing chest and head. Suddenly, the thick walls didn't keep the heat out, as he felt his skin burning. Sweat poured down his face, as the words from his best friend hit him like flaming bullets. He swayed, staggered and stumbled down the long hall, retracing his path. Every shallow breath seemed laced with fire. Images flashed in his head: a knife raised high, Chris's face below, greens eyes full of fear, the blade descending, sinking into soft flesh.
"...God..." he croaked, falling to his knees as the world spun around at a dizzying pace. Then another face appeared, pale skin with cheeks scored with fever. A weak body unable to defend himself centered by two dark blue eyes. They burned into him, the pale lips forming the words 'No... don't...' His own fingers wrapped around a blade and pressing it into Buck Wilmington's throat, with one intention. The realization hit him hard, slamming him into the black void of the netherworld. He surrendered easily, the staggering fact that he'd nearly killed two of his closest friends in cold blood, crippled what was left of his healing body.
"Well?" J.D. called the gunslinger out, as surely as if it was high noon in the center of town.
"Alright, holster them eyes, Kid," Larabee grunted, "I'll talk to him later." He sat back, then spotted Buck, who looked like he'd been mortally wounded. The healer was already approaching him, eyeing the hand rubbing the raised, injured leg.
"J.D., there's a pile of canvas cut in Josiah's room," Jackson called over, "Can yuh get me one for Chris?" Seeing the dark head nod, he turned back to Wilmington, fingering the hot flesh rising around the wound. "Yuh been takin' too many liberties. Yuh gotta rest, stay off the leg. I know it's hurtin' yuh... I'm gonna dose yuh with Laudenum..."
Buck nodded his head, the pain in his leg wasn't bothering him as much as the one inside. "I don't like it," he said to his oldest friend, who merely gave his shoulder a tug.
"I know, Buck, I don't either, but it has to be done." He felt Wilmington's flesh tense under this fingers and gave another tug. "You get some rest, I'll talk to him."
"No," the resolve in the voice matched that in the stormy blue eyes, as they rose up to meet the bothered green ones. "I want to be there, I got a stake in this too. I don't know what I'm gonna say. Looking in them eyes of his is gonna hurt worse than this leg. But I need him to feel... know it's okay." He saw a hint of a smile then, as Chris Larabee answered the feelings he felt inside.
"Nathan!"
"Shit, what now!" Chris vexed, racing to follow the youth's voice. "What happened?" He pressed, dropping to the fallen man's side.
"I don't know, I found him like this," J.D. wiped his fingers on his pants. "He's soaked..."
"His pulse is racing," Larabee's fingers trailed over the pale, exposed slick flesh of Tanner's throat. "He's shaking like a leaf..." He moved his hands to the shoulders, attempting to lift Vin.
"J.D. move on outta there, let me get at him," Jackson commanded, dropping Buck on the bed.
"What happened? Did he fall? Is he okay?"
"I don't know yet, Buck!" the healer frustated, too harshly. His fingers moved from Vin's throat to his heart and then lifted each eye. He didn't miss the trembling body. "I can't figure it..." he moved again, looking at the leader. "Chris, give me a hand, we'll put him back in bed. J.D...." he grunted, easing Vin's slack body up and against his chest. One strong hand gripped the wet chest firmly. "...take that empty basin and get me some cool water." Once Vin was deposited, he went to work. He wiped the excess moisture off with the cool cloth. One hand lifted the wet head, while the other guided the cloth over the Texan's fine features. Gently, he lowered him back down, turning to the conerned faces. J.D. eased Larabee's arm into the sling. The gunslinger sat next to his best friend, his sandy brows furrowed in concern. "He's in shock..."
"Shock?" Chris repelled, screwing his features up. "How?"
"Bad dream perhaps?" Ezra said quietly, shaken by the change in the crusty figure they'd seen at breakfast.
"Maybe..." Nathan sighed, took Vin's pulse again and shook his head. "Chris, keep an eye on him. Buck, I'm gonna get yuh somethin' for that leg. The rest of yuh scatter, he don't need a crowd. He's gonna be okay. His pulse is slowin' down a bit. Could have been a bad dream. Lord knows that boy's been through Hell and back... Go on..." he shooed them, protecting the sensitive tracker. Twenty minutes later, Buck was snoring softly, the curtains lifted and fell, sending a breeze over the bed. Larabee let for a moment and as he restocked his medical supplies, he saw the lean man return. His eyes narrowed, zoning in on the pink item tucked in the strong hand.
"The day I came, when he didn't see... when Teheno left," Chris answered the gaze, caressing the cleaned up shell. "I knew how hard it was for him to let this go. That took courage, Nathan, real courage. He was lost, alone, grieving, yet he trusted me... me, still a stranger... that much..." he paused, licked his lips and eyed the troubled man in bed. "...with his s..s..oul." He bit his lip and it took several mintues to regroup. Then he chuckled softly and lifted his face, "Truth is Nathan, I wasn't ready to let this damn thing go."
Nathan returned the smile, broad and warm and nodded, watching the blond slip outside. He eyed the restless surf for several moments, letting the wind stroke his face and hair. Then he turned back, moved the chair against the window and settled down. He pushed his good arm through the window and rested his hand next to his brother's. He lifted the slack fingers and curled them over the shell. He left his hand nearby, aiming it where the troubled gaze would fall when the sky eyes opened. Then he turned his face to the sun and shut his eyes, letting the soft call of the surf and the caw of the gulls, ease his troubled mind.
Nathan envied that, the bond the young men shared was a deep and mysterious one. Wisely and with that much care, Larabee offer was the first thing Tanner would see, when he opened his eyes. That was powerful stuff and might be the best medicine that could be provided. He moved away, seeking some time alone. Truth be told, he didn't have the answers they required. He could sew skin, mold broken bone together and soothe tempered fevers. As he reached the front of the house, he eyed the magnificent garden and headed there. Amidst the explosion of color in the flowers that graced the beautiful landscape, he eyed his two open palms. How do you fix a broken soul? The colors of the flowers around him hinted at the shading of blue in the Texan's emotive eyes. He thought of those windows, rose his head to the sky and asked for guidance.
Like snowflakes, every sunset was shaped, designed and created to be different. This magnificent one was no exception. The pale green eyes drank in the sight, his handsome bronzed face turned to the sea. He lifted the glass of sangria and took a sip, it's fruity body mingling freely with his taste buds. He savored the sweet flavor, letting it slowly slide down his windpipe.
The preacher paused a moment, eyeing the two friends. One pale and withdrawn, the other's skin golden, yet housing a troubled soul. Vin's chest rose and fell, his fingers clasping a pink shell. Perhaps in his unconscious, it was giving hiim some peace. He moved on, pausing in the doorway as the blond man looked up.
"Go on and eat, Chris, I'm overdo on my ponderin' anyhow."
"...not very hungry," Larabee decided, stretching out his long legs.
"You been sittin' there all day, Chris," he tried, "even a Larabee butt gets numb."
Chris smiled and a soft chuckle slipped out. He shifted and wrinkled his nose, as his 'numb butt' reminded him how long he'd been sitting. His eyes slid to the still unmoving arm on the bed.
"Some things are worth it," he squinted into the sun, watching Sanchez smile.
"Yeah, I guess there are at that," he paused, "Can I fix you a platter? Bring it out to you?"
"Thanks," he agreed, listening as the heavy footsteps faded away.
He waited until Josiah left and let out a deep breath. He'd heard the words and waited. He knew as he swam back to the waking world, what his fingers held. His thumb and index finger brushed over the cool, rough texture; his smallest finger pressed against something warm and soft. He peeled an eye open and saw the green sleeve and the hand. Without even realizing it, his body relaxed. His eyes moved then, taking in the strong profile. The scarlett and orange from the departing sun reflected wisely on the well honed features. He was luckier than most men; some went all their lives and never had this. It only hurt more, knowing how close he'd come to killing this new brother he'd found.
Chris flexed his back and winced, before standing and stretching. He groaned and rubbed his shoulder, then saw a pair of tired blue eyes. He watched as the tracker's arm moved, taking the precious shell upwards, until it rested against his heart.
"Thanks," Vin managed, swallowing hard.
"You're welcome," Chris returned, easing his lanky frame inside. "Thirsty?" He saw the head dip once and filled a mug with cold water. He waited until it was drained and took the mug back. "What happened Vin?"
Vin sighed and bit his lip, dropping his head. The sharp memories returned, the blade raised, the blond's face twisted in pain; Buck's dark eyes full of fear. Unconsciously, the shell moved to his ear.
"Please... please... I need your words, Teheno".
"Bad dream?" Chris guessed, watching the blue saucers full of pain.
"...nightmare..." Vin managed, pulling the shell back onto his lap.
"Might help to talk about..."
"No!" Vin interrupted with a sharp whisper.
"Okay, Vin," the other recognized the near panic in the eyes and withdrew. "I'm here, if you change your mind."
Vin lifted his head and poured his emotions through his eyes, "Thanks, Chris."
The silence was deafening. Chris leaned against the doorway, looking down the beach. Something was very wrong. Something was hurting Vin Tanner and the stubborn son-of-a-bitch was holding onto it. He wanted to wait him out, .but it sure hurt...hurt like hell. Sighing in frustration, he raked a hand through his fair hair, lightened by the sun. "Talk to me, Cowboy."
"I can't!" Vin's panic escaped, despite his best efforts. Chris turned away, but not before Vin saw the deep hurt in those seagreen eyes. "Aw, hell, Chris, I'm sorry... I didn't mean t'turn yer head." He waited and the black cloaked legs moved towards the bed. He held his arm up and clasped the forearm, sighing in relief. "I need some time... I can't... jes' gimme a little time..."
"...as long as it takes..." Chris agreed, moving away. "I'm gonna let Nathan know you're awake," he paused in the doorway. "He was pretty worried."
Vin found a small smile then, knowing full well who the 'he' was in the statement. "Yeah, I reckon 'he' was... ya tell him not t'worry... he'll get age lines..."
"I'll do that," Larabee grinned, pulling the door closed behind him. He pressed his weight against the other side, wondering what was locked inside the younger man's chest. Sighing heavily, he followed the hall to the dining room, to join his friends.
For a day and a half, there was no change. Vin was quiet, sullen and very withdrawn. Sleeping too much and barely eating. His features were too sharp, black circles rimmed his eyes from the sleep he fought. He took short walks, alone, every afternoon on the beach. Chris gave him his space, but remained close enough, in case he faltered. They tried to engage him in conversation, but failed. J.D. managed to chatter at him long enough that Vin agreed to take a ride in the small wagon into town. But yet he remained locked in pain and none of them held the key.
The house was quiet, the twilight was approaching and Vin was still down the beach. Ezra took the new box of candy with him. He made his way along the uneven sand, flinching as his still healing back protested. His eyes were trained on the small figure sitting on a large piece of driftwood. He opened the box and put it at face level, letting the heady aroma of chocolate filled the air.
Vin glanced at the tiny pieces of chocolate, shaped like seashells. The box was fancy and each piece had it's own cut out spot to sit in. He shook his head, his stomach was as jumpy as the waves before him. He'd tried, tried hard, to make things right. Josiah's words from the bible almost got by; Nathan's silent strength, J.D's chattering and now Ezra's gift were pressing hard. Buck's gentle teasing was almost too hard to bear and Chris, he pushed that thought away, it was like salt on an open wound.
"No thanks, Ezra."
"Your shoulders are not that broad." The gambler remained standing, taking a stab at whatever unseen demon was wounding their Texan.
"...don't know what ya mean..." Vin tried to be convincing.
"Don't you?" Standish eyed the handsome face, so locked in pain, ."Haven't you learned your lesson yet?"
Vin bristled and rose, his anger giving him newfound strength. He moved his body defensively, thrusting his chest out in anger.
"Ya change jobs again?" he snarled, poking a finger into the pristine cream shirt. "takin' up pryin' into folks' heads? Or is this another one of yer fuckin' games? This seat isn't open..." He moved in front of his driftwood, not missing the brief flicker of hurt in the jade eyes. The chestnut head nodded and the conman recovered.
"You're right, I apologize for the invasion of privacy," He tipped his hat, placed the box on the wood and left. He'd hit a raw nerve, maybe, just maybe, enough to cause the box to break open. He found J.D. and Buck playing cards in the library. Nathan and Chris weren't back from town yet. He poured a glass of brandy and downed it quickly. An action not missed by his friends.
"Hey, there's plenty, Erza..." J.D. eyed Buck, whose head was already turned.
"You okay?"
"Never better," his voice was clipped. He poured another glass and headed for the door, seeking the garden.
"What the hell is eating him?" Dunne asked.
"He had sand on his pants." Buck frowned, sipping his coffee. "...and some Tanner teeth marks on his butt."
It was almost dark when the wagon pulled up. Nathan and Miguel took the supplies inside. Ezra waited until the leader gingerly lowered himself, flinching and rubbing the outside of his sling.
"A word?" he asked.
"Something wrong?" Chris inquired, eyeing the unusal brightness in the gambler's gaze.
"I'm not sure," he waited until Larabee was closer and they headed inside. "I had a rather hostile encounter with our suffering sharpshooter."
"Hostile?" Chris froze by the large, flowering tree out front.
"I'll explain," Erza led the way inside.
He left his friends gathered in the library, and went to Vin's room. He paused by the bed, eyeing the troubled features, uneasy in rest. A cool breeze filled the room and he pulled the light blanket up. His hand took the shell from the slack fingers and rested it on the table.
He crept through the room, seeing his enemy lying asleep. He smiled, sometimes the Daiboo were so foolish! He straddled the broad chest, drinking in the shocked eyes looking at him. The blade went down easy, slicing a large red grin from ear to ear. The eyes opened briefly, questioning him then a gurgle as the blood ran out.
"No!"
"Whoa!" Chris shoved the escaping body back down. Vin was blinking hard, shaking all over and fighting something or someone unseen. "Vin! Calm down... you're... Vin?" Just as fast he was slack again, collapsing against his right hip. He eased the body down, wiped the sweat-coated face and tugged the sheet back up. He waited for several moments, until he was sure the breathing was soft and easy. The tension left the troubled face, "Why won't you let me in?" he whispered painfully, before turning away and onto the beach. He walked in the darkness, heading for the golden beacon in the lighthouse.
"I can't..." Vin whispered, cracking one eye and watching the solo figure disappear under the full moon. Seeing Buck's dead eyes gave him the shivers and he curled his body against the world and tried not to sleep.
It was early and the others were stirring nearby. Buck was sitting at the table, a mirror on the wall giving him a good view. Half his face was lathered, the other half clean shaven. The blade was curving under his strong chin. Chris was washed and dressed, already on the small patio outside the room. A large mug of coffee rested in the tense fingers. The profile was troubled and circles under the pale eyes bespoke the lack of sleep. He turned his face back to the glass and saw a pair of wide blue eyes looking into the mirror. Vin hadn't seen him yet, the raw agony on the face was locked onto the razor at his throat. As if it were red hot, he nearly dropped it. It was then his eyes met the troubled ones in the glass. He knows... he knows... he knows... the words drummed loudly in his head. He dropped the blade and toweled off, while turning slowly. His look of unadulterated astonishment, caught the leader's eyes.
Chris frowned when he saw Buck go pale and his features turned to icy shock. He took his coffee and went inside, catching Vin in his side eye. The tracker was huddled, trying to escape; he looked like a deer in the crosshairs.
"That's it... isn't it?" Wilmington finally found his voice, shaky but airborne. "That's what's been eatin' away at you? That's why you got sick?"
Chris's eyes narrowed, going from Buck to Vin. The younger man looked like he wanted the world to open up and swallow him whole. He moved closer, flanking the rogue. Then he saw what Buck had, just as the wide, painful blues hit his sling. "How?"
"...heard ya... the... other day..." the injured tracker's voice was hoarse and raw, "...outside that room... with the games... Nate was barkin' at ya... ya said... I done that... couldda kilt both... of..."
"Goddammit!" the blond snarled, kicking the bedpost. "Me and my big mouth... shit..."
Vin saw the clenched fists and eyes hot and wild. Buck's were full of sorrow and empathy. His gaze lingered on Bucks throat, still seeing it splayed open if full color. He licked his dry lips and eyed both of them.
"Why didn't ya tell me?"
Chris grimaced at the tiny voice, not sure of what to reply.
"Hell, Vin, you were already busted up, inside and out... I couldn't hurt you anymore." Buck said quietly, eyes full or remorse.
"I couldda kilt both of ya..." He pushed the images away.
"But you didn't," Chris moved closer, "It's done, Vin, leave it buried. It's not worth you getting sick over. I know how you feel but..."
"No, ya don't!!" Tanner accused hotly, "Ya ain't wearin' m'eyes, Larabee!"
"The hell I don't!" Larabee lashed back, moving next to Buck, who slumped, shook his head and sighed. He helped the injured man rise and move to Vin's bed, where he sat down easy. Chris reamined by Wilmington's side. "I lived a lot of dark days, Vin, a lifetime of them, after Sara and Adam died. I got a shitload of 'curl up and die' memories... stuff so bad it sickens me. But one thing, one fuckin' lost night, I can't remember, only the horror of the next day."
"Chris, don't," Buck pleaded, wincing as Larabee's fingers dug into his bare shoulder.
"You want to know about nightmares? How 'bout waking up covered in blood and it's not yours? How 'bout two hours of searchin' in the fuckin' wilderness and findin' your best friend's body. How 'bout your fingers shakin' so bad, the can't find a pulse. You hear an unholy scream and realize that it's not some wild animal, it's you."
"Chris, Jesus, don't go back..." The fingers dug deeper, silencing Buck's heart.
"I still live with memory and it keeps me honest. I still hear that scream... and thank God every day this man still calls me friend."
"Chris..." Buck's voice was soft now and his face flushed.
Vin felt every word rip into him. His eyes never left Chris's face and he mentally painted an image. He swallowed hard and shifted his eyes to Buck, whose handsome face was lost and saddened.
"...that ain't the end of it..." He continued, his voice tight and hoarse, "You see Vin, I was the one outside town. Buck..." His voice cracked and his tightened his now nearly crippling grip. "didn't head to town... he... came... to get me... instead of finding... a doctor..." He took a deep breath, recalling the endless days and nights by the larger man's bed. "He damn near died... was five days before he turned the corner."
Several tense moments passed, each man lost in a memory. Buck, too, rememeber the haunted face that met his when he finally did come out of the coma. Too weak too speak, he held his hand out, trying to assure his friend he held no ill will. But the man in black denied him, his eyes full of pitchforks and fire. Once he was assured that he wouldn't die, Chris Larabee paid the doctor and left all the money he had for Buck, and rode away. The next time they met, he was in his longjohns, under a hotel window in a dusty town Fate tinted with destiny.
"I couldn't head to town," Buck said sheepishly, "I didn't have my lucky shirt on...a lady's first impression is important."
"You're full of shit, Buck," Chris cuffed the back of his head lightly, his voice tight.
"Some things never change," Vin added, smiling at the large-hearted man. "I'm sorry, fer puttin' the worry on ya..."
"Better?" Chris asked, eyeing the younger man's face sharply.
"It's gettin' there..." he replied, "Ya fixin' on finishin', Bucklin? I ain't sittin' across from that half-assed shave at breakfast."
"This half-assed face is prettier than yours, shave or not," Wilmington teased, tapping the blanketed leg. "Shake a leg, Son, let's get to that breakfast table."
Slowly, over the next few days, the bodies healed. They'd be heading home soon and leaving this magical, golden play palace. Vin roamed the halls, entering the library. Something had been on his mind and he eyed the many volumes of books.
"Can I help you, Son?"
"Hey, Padre," Vin nodded at the elderly priest. "Maybe...ya know which books is put where?"
"I do, I put every one of them in here," Father Javier replied, "Why? What is it you seek?"
"A piece of someone's soul," he replied, waiting for the other man to join him. "It's like this..."
"Is he comin'?" Vin fretted, tugging at his shirt. It was new and deep blue, complementing his new tan.
"Would you relax? Hell, you're jumpin' around like a virgin on her weddin' night," Chris grimaced.
"Charming," Ezra rolled his eyes.
"Sit down, Vin, you're wearin' me out!" Buck laughed, eyeing her nervous friend.
"Where is everybody?"
"In here, Nathan," J.D. called out from the library.
"How was town?" Chris asked, eyeing Vin's Adam's apple bobbing fast and furious. He gave the blue shirt a solid tug and rose, vacating the empty spot on the long settee. "Have a seat."
"Town was crowded," The healer decided, tossing his coat onto the table. "We got a nice pig for dinner tonight, gonna cook 'im in a pit. Got some yams and... Vin, yuh okay?" He eyed the nervous leg jumping and the slim fingers tapping each knee.
"Vin's got something to say," Buck edged, grinning widely. "Go on Slick," he sent his reassurance.
"Uh... Nathan," the stammering Texan began, turning his body a little. "I... we... Buck, Ez and me... thought... decided..."
"Aw, hell, we'll be here at sundown when that pork is history," Buck lamented.
"Shut up, Buck!" Tanner scowled, "I'm havin' a hard enough time..."
"Go on, Vin," Ezra encouraged, pressing the rectangular leather container into his hands. "You're doing fine."
He took a deep breath and pressed the two foot long,soft brown leather sachel into the confused former slave's lap. "It's from Buck, Ez and me... fer takin' such good care of us... usin' them fine hands so well..."
"Not shootin' Ezra for bitchin' so much." J.D. winked at the handsome gambler.
"Or Buck fer them night rackets that wake the dead..." Vin added.
"I don't snore!" the rogue defended weakly.
"Doctor Smith did his share... he's a good man... he saved Buck's leg..."
"He's a skilled surgeon," Standish agreed.
"...and a helluva guy," Buck nodded.
"...but he ain't our Nathan... there's only one..." Vin rasped shyly, offering his hand, "Thank you, Nathan Jackson, yer words... yer heart.... ya got a powerful healin' inside ya... s'the reason I'm breathin'..."
Nathan was stunned, sitting speechless, eyeing each grinning face around him. He felt it then, the healing force, the circle of light, the full impact of the bond these men had. With trembling hands, he opened the leather sack and pulled out a two foot by ten inch wooden board. Large ovals were cut into the short ends. A half dozen circles were carved along either side. It was polished redwood, shining like red fire. For a moment, as his eyes raked across the board, his fingers used grace and reverence to touch it... ensuring it was real.
"It's a Mancala board..." J.D. blurted out, breaking the silence. "It's the oldest game in the world. It's origins are in Africa. It's a game of skill and speed played by kinds and commoners alike. From boards carved in ivory and gold, with rubies, emeralds and diamonds as pieces to holes dug in the dirt with pebbles. You move your pieces around the board, trying to capture as many of your opponents and keep them on your side. " he paused, taking a breath."I've been reading about it..." His voice died off.
"It was a team effort," Buck supplied, wondering about the stone-faced healer. He eyed Standish, who nodded, remaining at Vin's side. "Uh...it was Vin's idea, he did most of the work, carved the wood and sanded it some..."
"Buck sanded it as well, and applied the varnish as well as the enscription." The gambler added.
"Ezra went to every store in town to find the right leather case, had the tanner make it up special, even put your name in gold letters. He got all them pretty, polished, colored stones for pieces." Buck completed, shrugging at the unresponsive ex-union medic. Chris frowned, pushing his body off the wall he was leaning on. He didn't know who looked worse, Nathan or the long-faced Texan slumped next to him.
"Aw, hell, Nathan," Vin croaked, eyeing the ashen face, "I'm sorry, it was all my doin', don't blame the others. I wanted t'give... we wanted t'give ya somethin' special... I figgered if we made it... from our hands... it'd mean more." He paused, licking his dry lips and wincing. Nathan looked dead, as if he wasn't even in the room. "I got the idea from somethin' ya told me a long while back, when I was fevered. Ya mentioned yer grandpa and... the game... and... ya don't gotta keep it 'er nothin'. I'm sorry, Nathan, I thought..."
"Yuh hush yer mouth Vin Tanner!"
The words came out with such force, it stunned the room. They all cast their eyes on the healer, whose body was heaving in an effort to remain calm. He pressed the beautiful gift to his chest wit hand and gripped the back of Vin Tanner's neck with the other. "Don't yuh say another word." He sighed and bit his lip, such a pain in his chest it hurt to talk. He took several breaths, trying to control the tide rising in his eyes. His voice was wavering, but he spoke, letting his soulful eyes, now flushed with warmth, eye his 'brothers'. "My earliest memory... I mean way back... just fast flashes of faces... smells...sounds... is... is... sittin'... on... his..." he paused, took a steadying breath and bit his lip again. "lap... one hand..." he moved the fingers on his left hand, over the fine wood, "held me against his chest. A big chest, massive, strong, proud..." His voice grew to powerful level, his eyes bright with pride, "that hand... on m'chest... the other tossin' them colored stones in circles dug into wood... with m'uncles..." He saw the window again and the faces returned, dark and handsome, proud despite the chains, supporing each other through prayer and sacrifice. He closed his eyes and inhaled, smelling the strong musk of the great warrior, a King in his homeland. His never lost that noblity and passed that will onto each of his son's and them to their sons. He squeezed the gifted speaker's neck even harder, not hiding the cracks in his voice. "I haven't heard his voice... felt him... since I was a... ch...chi..ld..." He turned to meet the emotive blue eyes of Vin Tanner. "I saw his face... yuh got no idea..." He wasn't able to continue, tears rolled down his face and his wet eyes went to Standish, who was next to Vin. He let go of the Texan's neck, long enough to extend his hand. "Erza, this is beautiful... I want yuh... to know..."
"Know?" Standish offered quietly, cocking his head, "My good friend, I can feel your gratitude, and it was an honor... to pay homage to your grandfather." He shook the offered hand and nodded tot he words. "Did you see what Buck wrote? That was his idea..."
Nathan lifted the side of the shining wooden treasure and tried to read it, but his voice was broken and he couldn't produce a word. He saw black pants move next to him and a strong hand grip his shaking limbs, giving him support.
"Nyack..." Chris Larabee read the lettering, painstakingly seared into the wood by Buck Wilmington. "which means... 'strong-hearted, one who will never give up'. It's fine name, Nathan, it suits you too."
"He... was... a... king..." Jackson stuttered, not used to such uncontrollable emotion. "...in his homeland... a leader... a great leader... he never lost that pride... passed it on..." He eyed the script, letting his fingers trace every perfect letter. He moved to Buck then, who was unable to rise, due to his leg. "I've seen a lot of things in my life... in big mansions... gold jewelry, fancy paintin's, silver teapots and painted china..." He let his wet eyes linger on the emotional face of the other man. Brown eyes met blue, his dark hand reached down and gripped the side of the pale face. "This... Buck Wilmington... is the finest thing I've ever laid eyes on... yuh honored him... puttin' his name... soul... into this... yuh honored me... Buck... I..." He broke then, as the drums he uncles used in family festivities echoed in his head. He smelled his grandmother's bread cooking and the tobacco in Nyack's pipe. It was too much and he wept, unaware the circle was forming again, surrounding the hurt. He felt them patting his back and gripping his shoulder. Someone pressed a glass of whiskey in his hand and he spilled half on the way to his lips. This was home... not a place... but the circle. Somewhere where his brother's arms healed his soul. He heard the deep laughter of his grandfather in his ears and smiled, rejoicing.
Later, when the house was dark and quiet and the rest were sleeping, he wandered. He went into the end room, over to the narrow bed. He shook his head and smiled at the limbs stewn far and wide. One leg was off the bed and one arm over his face. The blankets were gone, tangled down by his knees. He felt the cold air blowing in the window and shook his head, placing the leg and arm back in place. "Damn fool's gonna catch cold... that'd be my luck. Nothin' worse than a Tanner totin' a cold." He clucked his tongue, pulling the blanket up. The eyes blinked and squinted.
"Nathan? Ya okay?" Vin croaked, still mostly asleep.
"I'm more than okay, Raekwon," he pressed his hand onto the naked shoulder.
"Ray... who?" Vin coughed, blinked and settled back into his pillows.
"In the place of my grandfather's birth," he said with affection, "it means 'one who is gifted with words."
"How 'bout that?" Vin blushed in the dark, "Wonder what Vin means?" He yawned, letting his heavy eyes close.
"Gentle spirit, brave heart ..." he paused, eyeing the sleeping man, "soaring soul. Rest easy, Blue Eagle." He made his way to his own bed, eyeing the handmade dreamcatcher. He gazed at the heavens then, the brilliant stars blinding him. He felt his grandfather's breath on his face and smiled. "Yuh watch over all o'em for me... but 'specially that cranky Texan, okay?"
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