Setting: ATF AU
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.
NOTE: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
Normally, sitting by a river and watching the sun set would be something he very much enjoyed. He inhaled deeply, letting the lingering scent of the nearby flowers fill his lungs. He imagined Inez relaxing against his chest with his strong arms curled around her. They'd watch the sunset together, letting the fiery colors bathe them in a reddish-orange light. Then he'd kiss her and caress her and they'd become lost in each other.
"Buck?"
"Yeah." He sighed heavily and the sweet image faded away, leaving the harsh slap of reality in it's wake. He turned to meet the weary face of Major Chelsea, the General's second in command.
"The General's taking the others a few miles north to make camp. You and me are gonna pick up the rear and take the high road. Wilson's monitor picked up some movement." He paused. "It might just be some animals but it seemed too large... We'll rendezvous in one hour."
With every step he took, Buck's thoughts were on his missing friends. With every passing hour, the plight to find Vin and Chris was becoming more urgent. Were they injured? And if so, how badly? Would they be able to survive? Or had Arlee met up with his father and then killed them? He shuddered at that thought, that his friends were lying dead in a hole somewhere.
He paused on top of a hill and took out his field glasses. Skimming the horizon, he saw the tiny village. Located in a valley where two rivers joined to form a single waterway, La Rosa was a tiny farming town. The rich soil was used to grow a variety of fruits and vegetables as well as cocoa plants and coffee.
"Left, Buck, about sixty degrees..." Chelsea noted, his eyes on the sensor detector.
"We got company!" Wilmington hissed, his eyes taking in the four forms trooping through the thick cover of trees about a half mile ahead. "They got rifles... but... they don't look like army..."
"Rebels? Maybe some of Xavier's men?"
"We'll find out soon enough. They're headed this way." Buck packed the glasses away. "We should take them here and find out. We don't want to walk into a hornet's nest..." He pressed his lean form against the large tree across from the Major and waited, his rifle poised.
The tall African-American soldier caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned. Three men and a young Mexican girl were approaching. They were rebels; he recognized the tan pants and shirts they wore with the logo of a snake on the left forearm.
As they got closer, it was evident to both men that the young woman was a prisoner of some sort. Her slender arms were bound behind her back and her face was bruised. She tripped and fell, going to her knees. Without the use of her arms, it was hard to keep her balance and she weaved, hitting a tree stump. The man closest to her grabbed her by the scruff of the neck and made a lewd remark. She pulled away and they laughed at her.
"Don't..." she pleaded but couldn't move. Another guard grabbed her face and pressed it tightly against his groin. She jerked away and butted him hard with the top of her head. A harsh slap to her face quickly followed.
"Get offa her, you Mexican cockroach, or I'll blow your balls into the next village."
Hector looked up to find a rifle trained at his throat. A pair of blazing dark blue eyes met his own. The tall American stepped from the shadows, his handsome face a mask of revulsion.
"You will mind your own business, Se�or Gringo Dog, and remove that gun from my face. She is our prisoner and we will do as we wish with her. She is not your concern."
"You don't ever lift your hand to a woman," Buck hissed. "Consider this your second warning." He slammed the rifle hard against the man's ribcage, sending him to his knees.
"Uh-uh" Chelsea waved his gun at the others, flanking Buck. "Drop your weapons and kiss the dirt. We're gonna have us a little talk..."
While Chelsea took the knives, guns and other weapons from them and tied their hands, Buck untied the ropes binding the young woman's delicate wrists. She didn't look to be more than seventeen or eighteen. He helped her rise and the girl scooted behind him. He could feel her shaking badly and tried to reassure her.
"Are you okay, Miss? Did they hurt you?"
"No..." she replied, her tears tumbling down. "I'm sorry..."
"Honey, you don't have any reason to apologize." Buck scooped her closer with his free hand. He kept his gun trained on the trio as Chelsea searched their pockets.
"You are American, yes?"
"Yeah, Lieutenant Wilmington, at your service." He helped her sit on an upturned log, keeping his weapon on the prisoners. "That's Major Chelsea..."
"They're Xavier's." Chelsea strode over. "That big one had this on him. It looks like they broke camp and are on the move." He held out a rough drawn map. "He said Xavier is on the run. There's too much heat in the area. Buck, I think we..."
"Buck?" she blurted, eyeing the handsome mustached man intently. "Your name is Buck Wilmington? You are his 'Buck'? Se�or Chris's 'Buck'?" she implored, recalling the stories Larabee had told her.
"Chris?" Buck squatted down, leveling a hot pair of eyes on the terrified girl. "How do you know Chris?"
"Larabee," she whispered, her heart hammering. "I cannot believe you are really here. He said you would come. He was so sure and he was right."
"Describe him," Chelsea demanded, not convinced this wasn't a trap.
"Uh... six foot or so, slender, blond, green eyes... magnificent green eyes." She took several breaths to steady herself. "He is very intense and extremely strong. He was a prisoner, taken from the broken plane. He is with another American, very large and ugly... Chris said he was a murderer."
"Bull Savage," Buck noted.
"S�, he's very mean and he tries to hurt Chris. They escaped from the rebels a few days ago..." She spent the next several minutes telling of how the two Americans were taken from a plane wreck and Xavier's plans. She concluded with their escape.
"Escaped?" Chelsea cocked his head. "Can you show us on the map?"
"S�." She nodded, eyeing the rough map the rebels had drawn of the area. She followed the river, noting the small towns marked off. "Here... we were camped north of this fork in the river..." She pointed to a crooked line that veered off the main artery. "They searched the area for several miles but found nothing."
"Okay," Chelsea nodded, turning to Buck. "Maybe they crossed? It's shallower down that way, less heat on the other side," he noted of the rebel troops.
"It's worth a shot," the ATF agent agreed. "You better update the General."
While Major Chelsea called his commander, Buck got a very genuine embrace.
Maria heaved a sigh of relief while hugging her handsome rescuer. "Thank you, Buck Wilmington. I am so weary of fighting their hands. They would have gotten drunk tonight and..." She didn't finish the vulgar thought, but her horrified face spoke volumes.
"They won't hurt you again. You got my word on that," Buck vowed. "Are you hungry?" He saw the dark head bob and she began to weep again. "Hey now, don't be wasting your salt on the likes of them," he hushed, wiping her tears away and giving her a soft smile. Gaining a small one in return, he took a protein bar from his backpack and handed it to her. "Here... it's not much but..."
"Thank you. It's fine," she smiled. "I am Maria Delgado. My father was one of them... a doctor."
"Was?" Buck squatted down, swabbing a cut on her cheek with a disinfectant patch.
"He was killed two days ago. I was being taken to Juan Xavier. I am... was... to be punished for helping Chris escape."
"You got any other family? Someone we can contact to..."
"No," she interrupted Buck. "It was just the two of us. I have an aunt and uncle in New Mexico. I had hoped one day to go to America and study..."
"Darlin'," Buck gave her his best smile, cupping her chin. "Once we find Chris and Vin, you'll have a first class ticket."
"Vin?" She frowned. "The one he spoke of with such affection? It caused his heart to break. He is not dead?"
"No, he's alive... well, he was a few days ago. He has amnesia and he's out here somewhere..."
"Chris thinks he is dead. He was grieving..." She reflected on the handsome face she recalled. "You cannot imagine his sorrow..."
"Yeah," Buck sighed, thinking on Larabee's internal pain. "I can." He handed her a canteen and let her drink and clean up a little. Then the movement in the underbrush brought both soldiers around.
"Sir!" Buck snapped to attention when the General appeared shortly thereafter.
"Lieutenant..." He glared at the prisoners briefly before walking to where a young girl was eating. Her tear-streaked face and the marks on her skin caused him to bristle.
"Uh... Miss..." Buck started and she looked up. "This is Maria Delgado. She was a prisoner of the rebels. She got caught helping Chris escape from them."
"Hello," she managed, staring at the intense black eyes of the tall man who had just entered the clearing.
"This is General Larabee." Buck moved aside as the older man moved in. "I'd like you to tell him everything you know about Chris..."
So they listened again as the young girl told of the two prisoners who had been brought to their camp. She told of every hardship that her blond friend had been forced to endure. Her voice filled with pride when she recounted the fire in his eyes.
"He's alive... I know he is..." she vowed, her story complete. Her eyes went to the fierce dark ones of the General. "You are his Papa? You have the same name and he has your face..."
"He's my son," the older man nodded. "Is Xavier still hunting them?"
"No, they gave up. They searched for several days along the river. As I told your Se�or Buck, I do not think they are there. I think perhaps they crossed over and headed toward the valley."
"Where's Xavier now?"
"He's in hiding," she noted. "There are many soldiers in the area. The government is looking for the missing Americans. There is a place. . . I can show you... on the map. It is not far from here but is well hidden. He may be hiding there."
"How many are with him?" Chelsea asked.
"Only six. The rest he sent to update the others. He has many small bands hidden in the mountains."
"Looks like we get two birds with one stone," Buck noted of the rebel leader and his missing friends.
"Here," she relayed, eyeing the map of the area. "It's not far and I know a shortcut. We can surprise them. From there..."
"We?" Chelsea shook his dark head. "No, ma'am, there ain't no 'we'. You're going in to La Rosa..."
"I will not!" she pouted. "You cannot find it without me and I am not a child. I know this land and how it turns and bends. Things you as a stranger cannot know. Things you do not see on your maps. I will find Chris... with or without you..."
"Alright, alright," Buck placated, then gazed at the leader.
"It's rough going. You'll have to keep up..." Adam J. Larabee stated, his eyes intently peering at the young woman.
"No!" She rose, brushed her jeans off and cast defiant eyes at them. "You will have to keep up with me!"
"Wilson, get them on their feet," the General ordered of the prisoners. "Let's move!"
He didn't move. Or rather his body didn't move. Even the slightest motion brought intense pain to his skull, so he rested. He needed to save his strength. Actually, the numbness from his waist down worried him more than the pain in his head. His eyes constantly shifted, adjusting to the darkness. The fire was dying. He thought on that for a moment and moved his hand, feeling the lean body next to him. His blond companion had moved his body closer to keep them both warm. How long had it been since he'd heard that voice? He panicked briefly, fearing the worst. Was the other man alive? Visions of animals or other predators preying on his helpless body flared up. What was the blond man's name?
"Hey..." he rasped painfully through cracked lips. "...Lar...bee..."
"Huh?" Chris sat up too quickly and the whole landscape tilted.
"S'okay..." Vin's hand weakly grabbed the swaying body above him. "Ya ain't dead yet?"
"Nope... only feels like it...," Chris grumbled. "Here." He lifted the matted head and guided the canteen to the waiting lips. "Don't guzzle..." he ordered and waited until the tracker was sated. Then he took a swig for himself before capping it. He nearly grabbed a handful of the yellow berries but denied himself. He was glad that they had plenty of roasted fish. Cooked on spit sticks, it provided a pretty good dinner.
"..fire's dyin'..."
"Yeah..." Chris stoked the ashes, carefully adding timber until the orange flames danced. He eyed the neat piles of fruit, plants and roots which were dwindling. His own body was slowly being consumed by injuries, fever and exhaustion. He couldn't make another climb up the steep hill to get more. They'd have to start rationing. Right now, even moving a few feet to get the food seemed a feat too hard.
"I ain't hungry."
He turned then, his lips curled into a weak smile at the tracker's uncanny ability to seemingly read his thoughts. He gave the shivering shoulder a pat and replied as he moved slowly to the fruit.
"You can't lie for shit, Tanner."
Vin sighed and let his eyes close. Now that Larabee was awake, he could rest a bit. He wondered about the man beside him. He pressed hard, chasing cobwebs from every corner of his aching skull. He saw letters forming the word 'CHRIS' and waited. Feelings coursed through him, strong and true. A friendship deeper than most, something far beyond the bonds of brothers even. Something so strong it caused his soul to tremble. A man he'd give his life for without question. He knew all those feelings represented Chris.
But who was Chris? Was he a beloved brother lost forever, taken from him by this man? Or was this blond man Chris? His Chris? It was all so confusing and the more he thought, the harder his head hurt. He felt a gentle tap on his face and the blurry features appeared.
"I got some fruit... I cut it up small for you."
Chris laid the small bits of fruit on Vin's abdomen and lifted his head. Something snagged in his hand and he frowned, tugging at the metal chain that twisted in Vin's hair. Out of nowhere, a burst of molten fury exploded as his hand was snagged.
"No... s'mine... git off... ya can't have it...!" Vin screamed, ignoring the explosion of burning pain in his chest, while shoving the wrist away. His fingers found the disc and he gasped loud, shaking his head slightly, trying to rid himself of the awful ache inside. "Chris... Chris..."
"I'm sorry, Vin..." he stammered, both moved and shaken by the fierce tone in the younger man's voice.
By the firelight, he saw the medal. Not just any medal, but the one given to him by his father when he graduated with honors from West Point. His own hand snaked to his throat and the place where the medal had rested every day since. After the plane crash, he thought he'd lost it forever. His muddled mind recalled Vin's hand latching onto his neck.
"I didn't mean to upset you."
"...jes' gimme... a... minute..."
Chris winced at the deep grief in the sky eyes. By firelight, the face looked haunted, in such agony that no words could aptly describe it. He felt a fierce fire surround his soul, that his 'demise' could cause this deep set anguish in Vin Tanner awed him. He let the younger man recover somewhat before offering more fruit. He pushed his feelings aside and picked up some berries, nudging the slack lips. They parted and the food was slowly consumed. He sat back and ate some of the mashed white root, his eyes lingering on Tanner's slim fingers still clutching the disc.
"We're dyin', ain't we?"
"What?" Chris blinked, leaning forward.
"We ain't gonna git found... hell, even varmints ain't scoutin' us out," Vin sighed. "Can't even scare up a rat..." His eyes roamed until they settled on a canteen nearby.
"Hold on..." Chris lifted his head, allowing him to drink. Then the blond sank back, letting his throbbing body rest against the rocks. Just that slight movement nearly exhausted him. A long cold night followed by a brutally hot day. Vin was right; they couldn't last much longer. As if sensing his thoughts, the younger man spoke.
"Reckon we gotta make a choice." He coughed and his broken ribs screamed at him. His audible hiss of pain brought a weak hand to his shoulder. He sighed and leaned into it, grateful for that touch.
"What choice?"
"We could squat here and give up..." He paused, taking several breaths. "Or we could fight our way through the river o'fire..."
"River of fire?" Chris let his eyes close; the effort to keep them open was too great.
"Yeah... s'all around us... closin' in..."
"Or?"
"Or we bust through it..."
"Cross the river of fire?"
"Yeah..."
"To where?" the exhausted blond asked.
"The Valley of Dreams..."
The words came with a soft grace that kissed his ears like butterfly wings. It brought his green eyes open and he trained his face on the other man. The expression Tanner wore was full of wistful want. It reminded him of a child at Christmas, looking at the sky in wonder.
"Where?"
"...'s a beautiful place... in the mountains... grass like green velvet... sky a blue that ya ain't never seen b'fore." He paused to gain some much needed breath. "...water fresh and clean skiddin' over the rocks... snow-capped peaks outside... cabin... cozy and warm... smoke curlin' from the chimney... and... and..." Too many words in too short a span of time took his breath away and he began to choke.
"Easy, cowboy." He gave the coughing soul a gentle pat. " I ain't going anywhere."
"...they's horses there... in the corral... they're beautiful..."
"I know that place, Vin." Chris took a deep breath and let his own mind wander. The place Vin described was somewhere they'd both been. Vin's amnesia only let him see the nameless pictures, but the older man knew the whole scenario. "I'll take you there... when we get home," he vowed of the piece of land at the very edge of his property. A place where Vin Tanner loved to visit. He'd fish and hike and sleep in that tiny cabin. It was on the property when Chris and Sara bought it and they'd never really used it.
"Home?"
The painful tinge in that voice made Chris wince. It must be a helluva feeling not knowing who you are or where you're from. Home meant a lot of things, especially when you were hurt and longing. Home was the place you fought to get back to, safe and secure.
"Yeah, those mountains you're seein', that's home, Vin, in Colorado.. I'll take you there."
"Can ya tell me 'bout it?"
So by the soft glow of the fire and with the deep twilight blue of the night sky cloaking them, Chris laid back. He rested his body and let his voice do all the work. He spoke of the ATF team in Denver, not hiding the deep pride in his voice. He told Vin of the men they fought side by side with who'd become so much more than a team. He spoke of each man individually, then let some of the funnier antics the team shared in downtown give the injured man a laugh.
As the blue bled out and the sky turned pitch black, not even a star to be found, Vin Tanner listened, entranced. With every warm word that left Larabee's lips, he tried to make a mental photo album. Josiah Sanchez, the eldest, a man who wielded a gun and a cross with equal measure. John Daniel Dunne, the youngest, a whiz kid from Boston whose computer savvy and enthusiasm had no match. Nathan Jackson, a former marine medic who'd found a wife and a new life in Denver. Ezra Standish, a former CIA and Interpol operative whose undercover work was well documented within the agency. The smooth talking southerner's entire background was still a mystery.
"...and then there's Buck."
Vin turned his head at catch in Larabee's voice. By the orange glow that the fire cast on the older man, he saw admiration in the eyes and a brotherly glow in the smile. It was clear he and Buck had a deep bond.
"He means a lot t'ya..."
"That he does," Chris grinned. "Buck Wilmington, they broke the mold!" He chuckled, scratched his chest and sighed. "We met over a dozen years ago. He was brought in as my new partner. There's no better man to have as your right hand in a gunfight. He's good and smart, thinks fast on his feet. He's loyal to a fault and he's got a heart bigger than Texas. Buck fancies himself to be quite the ladies man... oozes charm and bullshit..."
"Is he?"
"Yeah," Chris admitted with a smirk. "Women looove Buck... he draws them like flies. Before I got married, me and Buck were quite the hell-raisers... Damn, we had fun." He sighed, recalling their bawdy adventures.
"Yer married?" Vin shifted, then felt something with more legs than he could count crawling down his chest toward his navel. It was longer than a bug and the tiny feet bothered him. "What the hell is that....?"
"Hold on..." Chris sucked in his breath and shoved his body up on one elbow.
"Can't ya move no faster?" Vin hissed, his weak hand fumbling. "Time ya get yerself up, it's likely t' be pesterin' the boys..." He flinched and narrowed his eyes as the centipede was deftly flicked away just as it passed his navel. He heard the laughter and scowled. "What's s' damn funny?"
"Them damn boys of yours!" Chris laughed harder, recalling how many times Tanner's 'boys' had given the entire team a good laugh. "Fuckin' centipede wouldn't be that desperate..."
"Yer jes' jealous!" Vin touted, settling back. "So ya got kids? Is yer wife..."
"They're dead!" Chris blurted faster than he intended.
"Aw, hell... I'm sorry..." Vin managed and felt a deep sorrow blanket him.
"Thanks, Vin. No call to get upset. It was a long time ago. I grieved for three years, but finally I put the darkness behind me. You were a big part of that... when you joined the team. It was like the sun finally came out." He paused, fishing for the right words. Did those words even exist? How do tell someone they'd given you back your soul?
"I know how that feels." Vin saw the deep emotive expression in the shadows cast by the fire and gave a small smile. "I can't find the pictures yet... everythin's all black... but..." He rasped, feeling the strong emotions wash over him. "... My Chris, he put a light in here..." He tapped his chest with his free hand. "...I think I was alone somehow fer a long time... empty and cold... he put a fire inside... gimme a light... warmth..."
"Dammit, Vin..." Chris turned away, not comfortable with letting his feelings show so easily.
"What are ya hidin' from?" Vin demanded. "I don't understand... the way ya talked was like we was close... now... yer turned away... like I shame ya..."
"No!" He forced himself up on his elbow to stare hard at those intense blue eyes. "Jesus, Vin, I would never be ashamed of you. It's hard for me..." He wrinkled his brow. "I'm not the touchy-feely type." He smiled then as a scattering of words formed in his head.
"The wind carries your song, your spirit echoes through the silence. I breathe it in and exalt in the wondrous rapture you've bestowed upon me. In rage and fear, in peace and prayer, in laughter and sorrow, you paint my soul. With colors rich and alive, so pure they blind me, your glorious song restores my spirit..."
He choked up then as he always did when he recounted Vin Tanner's moving testament to their friendship. From the first time the quiet Texan spoke the words, and every time since, it stole his air. Then, as he was trying to regroup, to finish the poem and let Vin know just how much those very same words applied to him, the soft rasp encircled him.
"...the... e...e...eagle swoops down through the snowcapped mountains and over the blue streams... his wings broad and strong... his eyes clear and green."
Vin gasped, startled to the core by the words that flowed so easily from his mouth. Not just words... every syllable was heartfelt and his chest clenched. From what place he didn't know, but the words had to become airborne, so he continued.
"...He soars down the hillsides and through the majestic canyons, burstin' forth through thunder and spillin' free in healin' rain. It awes me... this gift o'm'heart. Yer m'brother in spirit who's freed m'bound soul..."
Vin was gasping and trembling visibly. Chris didn't miss the moisture in the troubled sky eyes. He rested a hand on the trembling shoulder, but it was shirked away.
"...don't touch me..." Vin croaked, panted heavily while his chest heaved. He didn't understand the words and they hurt his head. Every one of them piercing him deeply and causing him to bleed. "What the hell was that?"
"That," Chris swallowed hard and waited until the muddled blue eyes met his, "is the gift of Tanner. Something I thank God for every day." He choked, then regrouped. "You're so many things... people see a long-haired, denim and leather totin' drawling Texan. They see a world class sniper with keen eyes and precision second to none. A skilled tracker who can," he paused to grin, "to quote Buck 'that boy can find ant piss in a snowstorm'."
He heard the soft chuckle and saw Vin's trembling hand rubbing his eyes. "A skilled federal agent who can read a crime scene better than anyone I've ever met. They each see pieces but they don't see you... Vin Tanner. The real you... the gifted poet whose gentle spirit takes my breath away. The valiant soul whose kindred spirit is something that I thought only existed in Camelot at Arthur's right hand."
"Why... are... ya... doin'... this..." Vin gasped as his insides were torn apart.
"So you'll know," Chris said quietly, resting his aching head on the ground, "that in you, Vin Tanner, I found the very best of me. You wrote that poem for me... and I can't even get through the whole fuckin' thing without breaking up."
For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. Each man drew a ragged breath, trying to fight through the effects of the moment as well as the fever and weakness plaguing them. Chris turned when the raspy voice rose again.
"...won't change... nuthin'..."
"How's that?" Chris turned his head, hearing a hint of mischief in the weak voice.
"...yer still jealous of the boys..."
"Fuck you, Tanner!" Chris shot back, then his smile died when Vin's fist clenched and his face started to dissolve as if in mourning.
"Vin?"
"I... want..." he started, not sure of how to make it come out right. "I got feelin's... about m'Chris... they's jes' like them words in the poem. But I got no pictures t'match up with 'em. I want...."
"What?" Chris turned, hearing the crack in his voice.
"I want ya t'be m'Chris..." Vin choked, needing to get the weight off his chest. "I want m'pictures back..."
"Damn..." Larabee issued softly, feeling the pain of that black hole his best friend was lost in. As if all of the injuries and pain weren't bad enough, he had no memory to boot. He thought on Arlee's cruel words and how they'd mentally tortured Vin. Having him believe that he had killed 'his Chris'. Now the poor soul didn't know what to think, but he was trying hard to find a light in his storm.
"What if I never find them pictures?"
"I've got copies... I'll remember for both of us," Chris offered, snaking his hand over in the dark and gripping Vin's forearm. "...and we'll make new pictures, Vin." He heard a startled gasp and painfully turned his head.
Vin turned at the quiet voice and leveled his blue eyes on the other man's face. He stared long and hard into those bottomless green eyes and felt his breath catch. Images flashed before him, of this same man in a barn with a horse. Then on a raft, with a helmet shooting white water and grinning like the devil. He was there too! Other images appeared, of this man lying in a hospital bed, a monitor beeping and IV lines running in his arm. He saw his own face over the bed, riddled with concern and fear. The IV'd hand reached up, snagging his own forearm. That image took his breath away. He knew then by the strong tidal wave exploding inside his aching chest. It pierced every fiber in him, like a hail of bullets. He didn't have all the pictures yet and his mind was still blank, but without question he knew. The revelation lifted his soul and he felt stronger, and now hope hovered nearby. This wasn't just a man named Larabee.
"Yer... Chris... yer really... him..."
"You bet your scrawny ass I am!" the blond grunted.
"I ain't hardly scrawny," Vin whispered, fighting a wave of dizziness. He found such comfort in that hand on his arm, that he let his fevered body go. "From... wh...what... I seen... yer ass... ain't... much ta... brag... on..."
Chris laughed weakly, then his smile died when the other man sighed blissfully and his heavy eyes shut. He kept his grip on that arm for awhile, needing to feel the pulse. It was his lifeline... their lifeline. Come morning, they'd fight through the river or fire together. They'd get to that Valley of Dreams. If he had to drag Vin on a litter with his last ounce of strength, he'd get there. The last image he had as he drifted to sleep was of Vin sitting outside that cabin. Two horses pranced in the corral and the new sun basked his face in a rosy light.
As the first hues of the new day bled into the black night, Ezra Standish began to rouse. Soon they would break camp and continue their quest. Nate and Pete had left already to get supplies from the next village. Pete wanted to call their service to check on leads and Nathan was to call Orrin Travis. There was a small clinic in the town that had a radio. They were to meet the others mid-morning. But Ezra lingered a moment, thinking on his two missing friends.
Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee were as different as night and day. Tanner was born of the colors of early morning, soft blues and earthy sands, blending into the landscape. Larabee, a child of the colors of night, sleek blacks and slivers of silver moonlight. Yet like the day and night, they were inseparable, joined by fate and entwined for eternity. One completed and complimented the other, seemingly unable to exist or survive whole at the absence of the other.
Chris Larabee was also the most intelligent man he'd ever met and the luckiest. Born of affluent parents, he'd been raised in a fine home with the best education and extracurricular activities that money could buy. Moreover, he'd been blessed with two parents who showered each other with love and respect. This true rain fell onto their only child, a golden boy who grew and blossomed in their bath.
He was a gifted athlete who excelled at every endeavor he competed in. Competition, that fire inside that fueled him to not only survive but conquer, that was something to be envied. Until he met Tanner, Larabee was never bested that way. But Tanner had the same fire inside and when they clashed, whether it was on a hockey rink, a ball field or a boxing ring, sparks showered the onlookers. Those same heated flames also flew around the conference room on more than one occasion when they argued.
From the expensive clothes to the natural grace that followed his every move, Larabee made heads turn. He carried himself with a confidence that Standish seldom saw. The fluid body movements were never without purpose. Each step was for a reason, every action precise and every word carefully chosen. He didn't waste them.
Ezra recalled their first meeting. He was in St. Thomas at his mother's condo, suspended yet again from the home federal office in Atlanta. Another long undercover assignment was completed but not without repercussions. So when he opened the door that day and first saw those smoldering eyes, he felt defensive.
"Larabee, Denver ATF. We spoke on the phone."
As Larabee sat on his patio, he'd been surly and cocky, going well past rude. The blond man listened, and those eyes seemed to burn right through him. As he rambled, he theorized internally that Chris Larabee knew who he was. Surely he'd spoken with his employers both current in Atlanta and over the Atlantic with Interpol. Yet here he was, offering him a job, a new start. Finally, his ranting was over. The blond coolly assessed him and he felt nearly naked under the scrutiny of those cold green eyes. For some reason, he felt ashamed. Something stirred in him, a need to make this man proud of him. He'd never encountered that before.
Larabee just nodded and walked to the door, paused and turned.
"Orientation on the tenth, two weeks of school, field qualifications and processing. Then you're mine. One warning, Standish, don't fuck with me, you'll never work again."
"Why me?" he'd countered and still recalled the swift but sure reply.
"I don't work with seconds..."
Then expensive dark shades covered the smoldering gaze and he was gone. The rest was history.
And there was no one he respected more.
Tanner came from a less privileged background in Texas. He lost his mother early and his father when he was a teen. His adopted grandfather who was an old friend of Vin's father was Cheyenne. Vin never really talked about him; he didn't have to. But the few times he did, with less than a handful of words that were soft and wistful, his eyes spoke in volumes. The catch in his voice as the mention of the old man's name told them everything they needed to know. From this wise man, Vin had learned more about life than all the books and colleges Ezra himself had spent money on. All of Ezra's fancy degrees and expensive schooling paled in comparison to the master of the school of life. Having spent time with Vin in the wild, he'd seen just how smart the man was. He could read the land, pick the time of a storm by the wind and track his prey by the most miniscule of evidence.
Vin lived simply. Happiest in time-worn jeans and a faded leather jacket, riding on his bike with the wind blowing in his hair. Material things didn't matter to him. He had few possessions, but those he did were held precious to him. He was the most complex man Ezra had ever met. Those blue eyes seemed to understand all the riddles of the universe. There wasn't a conversation he'd had yet with the raspy-voiced man that didn't leave him with a smile.
Then there was the poetry. The magnificent collection of words that he shed so easily. They slid off of his tongue with a natural grace that left Ezra speechless. He envied that ability and he said as much to Vin. That brought a sharp retort, a soft laugh and a gentle nod.
And then there were those eyes. There were no adequate words to describe them. A shade of blue that could move you to tears when overflowing with emotion or chill your blood when they turned deadly. He'd heard, like the others, when Vin joined the team that he was a world class sniper and watching Vin Tanner work was a study in grace and beauty. He caressed a weapon like a woman, sucking his breath in, keeping his taut body stiller than air. Then the slim fingers gently pulled and the enemy was brought down. Standish found out later in passing conversation with Josiah Sanchez that Vin Tanner was the best bounty hunter the government ever had. He brought in the ones nobody else could find. With one careful sweep, those eyes read a crime scene like no one Standish had ever met.
They could also capture the beauty of the mountains through a camera lens.
Ezra sighed, scratched his chin and recalled the day not long after Tanner joined the team when he'd been invited to come along. They were alone, working late in the office. Tanner completed his task along with a dinner of chocolate covered doughnuts and Oreos. He smiled then, recalling that his junk food addicted friend seemed to enjoy the look of disdain the junk food junkie left with him. He'd gotten his jacket and paused, saying he was 'goin' t'catch a little heaven in the mornin'... wanna come?'
Heaven indeed. When those photographs were developed, Ezra had been floored. That those skilled eyes could capture on film God's gift of nature astounded him. Vin Tanner could sell these magnificent photos to the highest bidder and retire. He recalled the Texan's face splitting into a wide grin and the shaggy head cocking when he'd told him. But Vin didn't sell them; he gave them as gifts, taking specific shots that he felt best fit each of his friends. Ezra treasured the two that now graced the walls of his condo.
So when those who didn't know him or chose not to see the man for who he was, looked at Vin with disdain or voiced their negative opinions, it bothered Standish deeply. They didn't take the time to see who Vin Tanner really was. Rather, they judged him on the tattered clothes, worn boots, his informal speech and his accent. It startled him the first time Ezra vocally aired his anger. He'd asked Vin to join him for dinner. Vin was running late and met him at the restaurant. He was already seated and heard the remarks by the other diners when his denim-clad, scruffy friend sat down. Tanner never blinked an eye, just tucked his napkin in and read the menu. But Ezra was livid, at both the waiter's face and rude remarks to those of the snooty diners. He'd told them off and left, never to return. They'd walked in silence to an Italian cafe down the street.
Sighing, Ezra Standish drew himself up, stretched like a cat and rolled up his blanket. He trotted to the car and tossed them through the window in the back. He heard the river nearby and sought it out to rinse the fog of the night from his face. He eyed his right palm, still seeing the warm flush of friendship Tanner wore that night. He felt the strong grip of that hand in his own and the single, soft word that the other man spoke.
"Thanks"
"No, Mister Tanner," he answered quietly, eyeing the new day being born and feeling a deep void for the lost Texan. "Thank you."
J.D. yawned and completed his task quietly. Then he zipped up and trotted to the river. He saw Josiah filling a coffee pot and Jack Lynch beside him talking quietly before taking a drink of water. He turned back to scan the other direction, waiting for Standish to wake up. So when a hand touched his shoulder, he sighed defensively, thinking it was the southerner sneaking up on him.
"Dammit, Ezra, you shouldn't sneak up a man."
"No, chico..." The soldier spun him around, clapped a hand over his mouth and shoved him against a tree. He warned the wild eyes with a knife and a finger to his lips. "Shhh... you will keep your tongue or I will carve that pretty face, S�?"
J.D. swallowed hard and nodded, his heart gyrating wildly in his chest. He saw a gun come up and train on his neck while another set of hands frisked him. He didn't have any I.D. on him, just his clothes. He was shoved to his knees and his hands were bound behind his back. Then the one who warned him moved closer.
"That's an odd piece." Jack eyed the homemade cross dangling from the large man's neck.
"My father's."
"He was a man of the cloth, then?"
"Yep. We went all over the world."
"How'd you end up with the badge, mate?"
"Well..." Josiah started to reply and heard Jack cry out. He turned around and saw the blond man fall. Then he saw the six soldiers. He dropped the pot and bent over Jack, seeking a pulse. He was pulled off and searched as was his new friend.
"Nothing..." The soldier tied up the unconscious man and stood.
"You travel light, Señor. Where are you from?"
"I'm a priest from America." Josiah turned, flinching as his hands were tied. He saw J.D. on his knees and the terrified doe-eyes.
"You and your two compadres are far from home, no? Or are there more of you?"
"No, we're alone..." Josiah directed loudly, eyeing Ezra's dark silhouette in the underbrush. He saw the chestnut head bob once and disappear.
"We will see..." the soldier directed, shoving the man forward.
"So, chico," the foul mouthed leader eyed the shaken youth. "Who are you? Why are you here?"
His hazel eyes darted about and he tried not to look at the river. Did they know about Josiah and Jack? He sighed hard and tried to make his tongue work around his dry mouth. He felt the need to pee again brought on by frazzled nerves.
"I asked you a question, chico, and you don't want to make me angry... isn't that right, Miguel?"
J.D. flinched when a hand caressed his cheek from behind and two other soldiers made remarks in Spanish. He didn't understand the slang or the dialect but picked up enough to learn they were talking about his body.
"Uh... uh..." he stammered, then saw Josiah shoved forward, a rifle between his shoulder blades.
"He's with me and get your hands off of him."
"You are the Papa?" Tomas Santiago, the leader of the group turned towards the large American.
"I'm a missionary, he's a student. We're not a threat to you."
"...and the blond..." Miguel nodded to the unconscious man dumped at the large man's feet.
"He's Jack... our guide..." J.D. managed. "We didn't do anything... we're just..."
"You have offended me with your vile American stench!" Tomas hollered, hitting the boy hard in the abdomen, hard enough to topple him over.
"J.D.?" Josiah warned softly and saw the flushed face nodding between gasps. He hoped Ezra got to Nathan and Pete in time.
The camp was searched and the three men were put into the back of a small truck. By his eye, Josiah counted a dozen soldiers. Orders were given and six continued on foot, following the river north. He listened carefully and met J.D.'s worried face.
"Joisah? Who are they?"
"Xavier's men... we're being taken to him."
"Shit."
"That pretty much covers it," Josiah agreed as the truck motor sprang to life.
Vin watched the night turn from black to dark blue and finally light blue. >From the edge of the homemade canopy, he could see a snippet of sky. Rose and gold streaks slashed the heavens and cast a glittering ripple on the water. His fingers groped and he winced, trying to reach the canteen. Just a little closer... he stretched and nearly got it, his fingers brushing the fabric, then it wobbled and fell over.
"Dammit t'Hell!" he croaked, withdrew his hand and then found a crooked smile at the bearded, disgruntled blond whose dirty face was now scowling.
"...ain't no fire..." He disarmed the anxious look. "...jes' thirsty..."
Chris took several breaths and inched over to the canteen. He eased Vin's head up and let the other man drink, then took a swig for himself.
"It's done." He shook the empty container. That was the last one. He'd have to move his beaten and exhausted bones to the river. He knew they couldn't survive much longer without help. Weakened and ill, it would become difficult soon to wake at all.
"We'd best get started anyhow..." Vin added. "Get me offa this thing. We can use it... ya string them gourds to the edges, it'll help float..."
"We eat first," Chris decided, mulling Vin's words. He sat up, then crawled over to the meager pile of fruit, berries and plants. He selected some, tossed them into a bowl and crawled back. He divided it evenly, putting Vin's half on his chest where he could reach it. "Okay?" he questioned, and the head bobbed. "I'm gonna get some water..."
Vin watched, munching a few berries while Chris got to his knees and then stood. He sucked in a breath when the lean frame wavered. Then the body staggered, slowly, one canteen in each hand and one around his neck. His eyes never left Larabee's form as he made his way to the water's edge.
Chris thought on their plight carefully. He eyed the branch of the river and then thought of Vin. He didn't know how serious his back injury was. Moving him could spell trouble. Then again, if they didn't leave, try to find help... civilization, they'd both die. How would he hold onto Vin and the raft? Maybe he could leave Vin on it and pull it somehow. They'd float easy enough. Sighing, he finished his job and stumbled badly, falling twice on his way back.
"...ya dance that smooth?"
"Shut up... T...ta...nner..." Chris coughed, dropped down and steeled himself against the pain. He clamped his eyes shut, fighting a wave of dizziness. He remained like that until a small tap on his hand brought his eyes open. One canteen was uncapped and a wavering hand held it out. Beyond that bruised arm were the blue eyes that were his beacon. He managed a half grin and took the canteen, then let his own eyes wander to the river and then to Vin's legs.
"...better then dead..."
"Stay outta my head, Vin, headache's already takin' up too much room," he chided softly of the tracker's ability to read him.
"If ya tell me about where we are... might... help..." Vin croaked, chewing on some roots and tapping Chris's hand again. "...need a drink..."
So as he held the matted head up and allowed the fevered man to drink, he told Vin about the crash. He told him all the landmarks he could remember from the encampment and the cave and the river they crossed. He waited, watched the blue eyes darting about and then spoke.
"What's the score, cowboy?"
"We're losin'... and th'two minute warnin's already sounded..." Vin replied.
"But..."
"I think I know where we are... maybe." He frowned, squinted against the pain in his head and wondered again about the slivers of memory and why they came through at such odd times. He wanted all the pictures back, not just some. But, for now, he'd take what he could get. "If I'm right, there's some fishin' villages up river and a bunch o'farms. Coffee and cocoa... lots o'farms... near the river..."
"I think I'll tie the gourds to the edges of your mat." Chris eyed the woven thrush piece under the injured man. "I can use some of Bull's shirt to tie you to it... then we'll float..."
"It ain't far... don't think..."
Chris lifted one of the hollowed out gourds and weighed it in his palm. He frowned, eyed the other three and sighed. He then shoved the gun in Vin's hand and tucked the knife at his own waist. He eyed the gourds again and sighed even louder.
"...it ain't enough..."
"I know!" he barked and balled his fist. Chris eyed the hill and started to feel the first pangs of defeat.
"Ya best get yer ass movin' then... 'fore the heat o'day."
"Anything else?" he tossed in a nasty tone and shoved himself upward. The whole landscape danced around him.
"...need six at least... eight iffen ya can find 'em... big as ya can get..."
His knee was throbbing. His lower back and entire backside were painful and his head felt ready to explode. He was so dizzy it took all of his resolve not to pass out or throw up or both. Every inch of his battered, bruised and burned body was in agony. His nerves were fried and he knew finding the pieces to complete their meager raft would take hours in his condition. He was already well past the point where most men would have succumb. Behind the pulsating, red pain in his head, he heard the raspy orders being given. They stung his tormented brain like shards of hot glass.
"Yer wastin' time we can't afford, " Vin pushed, something inside him telling him the other man needed that anger he saw now to fire himself up into moving. So he continued to push Chris as hard as he could to keep them alive. "Get yer ass movin'... follow the river... hill's likely t'drop some... that's if yer sorry ass can find it... ya ain't s'good with directions and ya might get lost and keel over..."
"My sorry ass is keepin' that broken body of yours alive!" Chris shot back and then turned, limping slowly toward the river. With every uneven step he got angrier, then he felt his resolve return and his strength renewed. He paused, realizing what the other man had done. He turned back, but the blue eyes were closed and the bandaged chest rising and falling. He squinted painfully, seeing the slim fingers wrapped around the chain that had become Tanner's lifeline. Then he turned and straightened his body, limping again towards salvation.
"Hold up!" Nathan called out, whipping his dark head backwards. He craned his neck as Pete put the jeep in reverse.
"What?"
"A mirage I hope..." The healer's voice trailed off as the image became flesh. "Shit..."
"Guess that rules out a mirage..." Pete pulled up, put the jeep in park and eyed the body staggering between the trees. He grabbed a canteen and followed Jackson who was now kneeling beside the fallen man.
"Ezra!"
"Mis...ter... Jack...son... impecca...ble... timing..." Standish heaved, taking the canteen and sating his thirst.
"What the hell happened to you?" Pete asked, eyeing the cuts and bug bites on the raggedy man.
"Where's the car? Where's the others?" Nate pressed, ripping the foil off of an antiseptic cloth and wiping the cuts and bites only to have his wrist pushed away.
"...no time... waste... soldiers... a dozen or so... took... them..."
"Fuck!" Pete kicked a tree and grimaced. "What'd they look like?"
"Vermin."
"Can you be more specific?" DiTullio shot back.
"...tan... uniforms... snakes on arm..."
"Xavier's men..."
"That ain't good!" Nate helped Ezra stand and shoved away the protesting hands. "Cut that out and let me finish! You hurt anywhere?"
"No, Jack was..."
"Jack was what?" Pete's dark head whipped around. "What'd those bastards do to him?"
"Knocked out... Josiah and J.D. were manhandled but not hurt."
"Where'd they go?" DiTullio demanded, his eyes hot.
"Six continued on foot, going back the way we came." The conman paused and took a drink. "Two took our car and followed four more in a small truck with our missing comrades. They headed into the hills. It's been..." He glanced as his watch. "...almost three hours."
"They're taking them to his base camp," Pete hissed. "I'd bet on it."
"We don't know where that is..." Standish sighed wearily, wiping his face with the towelette Nathan offered.
"I do."
The startled trio turned towards the welcomed voice and looked on stunned as Buck Wilmington stepped from the thatch of trees.
It seemed to the exhausted blond that it had been days rather than hours since he left. To lighten his load, he'd taken the pulp from the gourds and tied only the large hulls together. They were trailing behind him, dragging in the dirt. With every ragged, uneven step, he kept Vin's face in his head. Every time he faltered, he saw two sets of eyes, one the color of morning sky and the other the color of the heavens at night. His father and Vin pushed him, giving every inch of his battered body a reason to keep trudging forward.
Then he froze in his tracks. He cut the gourds loose and flattened himself to the rocky hill. His heart began to hammer and his breath was jagged. Sweat poured down his face and stung his eyes. Approaching the humble thatched hut were two armed soldiers. Was Vin conscious? Did he see them? He waited, hoping the Texan would fire his gun, but no shot came. Then he saw one soldier take his rifle and aim it towards the pallet.
"Vinnnn!" he screamed, causing the two to turn.
Vin's eyes jerked open and he turned, confused by the strange scenario. He heard Larabee's voice but saw a rifle, fatigues and black boots. The boots turned, heading towards the bend in the water.
"...ris..." he croaked and fired, taking one soldier down. He fired again and the fatigues dropped, then limped away. He couldn't see where the other pair of boots went. He grit his teeth and turned, crying out in pain as his head threatened to explode. He moved on his elbows, dragging his helpless legs behind him.
They were struggling. Two bodies turning over and over in the dirt. He saw a knife rise and blinked rapidly through blurry eyes. It seemed that the black boots were winning.
He fired.
Nothing moved. He kept watching but the two forms remained still in a pile by the edge of the water. His exhausted body wouldn't budge. Vin stared helplessly at the twisted pile of broken flesh lying in the dirt. One hand reached out... hoping... seeking... needing...
"Ch...ris...?"
Was he alive? Then a horrid thought crossed his tortured mind. Had he shot Larabee? Had his third bullet hit his friend instead of the stranger?
"Oh God...!" he cried and his head sank back, as the enormous weight of what he might have down pressed down hard. He panted hard, unable to catch his breath. The fire in his ribcage seemed to be dueling with the pain in his head for the upper hand. The gravity of the potential consequences of his actions hit him harder than the harsh sun overhead. He felt a coldness inside and his fevered brain caused his heart to break.
He eyed the sky and heard the comforting voice in his head. The one that vowed to travel with him to the valley of dreams. Suddenly the blue sky overhead was too painful to look at. The Valley disappeared, the horses were gone and the pure bliss of his heart dissolved. He was thrust heart first into the river of fire, alone and stripped of all the mettle he'd held onto.
"NOOOOOOOOOO!"
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