Setting: OW
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.
There wasn't a bird within miles that dared to chirp. The air died and even the sun had the sense to hide behind a cloud. A dual set of intense gazes, one dark and one fair, blistered the stillness. The man whose soulful brown eyes had seen more than a lifetime's share of tragedy squared his worn shoulders and kept his vigil. Neither the gun trained on him nor the icy stare of the younger man in black would deter him.
"Yuh gonna shoot dis unarmed old man, son, yuh best git it done."
Chris's hand didn't waver and he kept the gun trained as he stepped forward. His icy green eyes never left the hard brown ones as he moved across the porch. The only sound splitting the tense air was the creaking of the wooden planks under the black boots. He paused several feet away and aired his hot reply.
"I don't give a rat's ass how old you are or if you're not packin' iron," Chris leveled. "I want that wounded man you're hiding. You want to end up dead too, that's your call."
Moses didn't have much time to think up a plan. Every wisdom line scoring his face told him that the killer's glint in those pale eyes meant business. The only weapon he had was his weight and size. He was taller and heavier than the lean gunslinger. If he moved aside, pretended to leave the doorway, maybe he could grab the slimmer man as he made to pass him. He nodded once and slowly moved.
Then it happened.
From the angle where he stood near the open door, Chris's eyes shifted briefly, seeking entry into the room. He was prepared to see a man his own age with auburn hair and bandages lying inside. But that's not the sight that scorched his eyes. A young man, pale and unmoving, lay on a raised bed of sorts. A thin sheet ended just below his neck. Long brown hair splayed haphazardly on either side of the nearly waxen face. He was so still, so very still that for a scattering of heart-wrenching moments, Vin Tanner died all over again right before Chris Larabee's stunned eyes.
That brief flicker lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough of a distraction for Moses to make his move. His right hand moved to the spot next to the door where the ax was kept. He gripped it under the blade. Keeping his eyes on the shifting ones of the other man, he made his move.
The shock of his unexpected discovery was still screaming through his rattled system. The shaken gunslinger wasn't prepared for the large old man to shove him hard. He whipped his gun hand up, but his elbow was met with a hard blow, sending his gun clattering across the floor. He fell sideways on his knees and then ducked just as a thick arm bearing wood narrowly missed his skull. He grunted in pain as the ax handle made landfall on his upper back. Then he drove off his knees into the old man's stomach, sending them both crashing into the room.
Moses landed hard and his eyes saw the gun lying on the floor. He moved for it at the same time the other man did. Two hands fumbled and hit the Colt which skittered under the table where the object of the struggle lay peacefully unaware.
"Get away from him, he's my..." Chris started to warn when the large fist hit his mouth.
He lashed out with his boot, hitting the back of the old man's knees and sending him sprawling. He gripped the edge of the table and drew his numbed body upwards. Gasping for breath, he swiped the blood running from a cut over his eye and spit a wad of blood onto the floor. He reached out a hand, trembling badly and full of raw fear. His fingers sought the pale throat, needing to feel life coursing under the stilled skin. His heart racing, his shaking hands couldn't a pulse. So he moved his hand over Vin's nose and mouth, hoping and praying for air. Praying so hard it hurt his chest.
Moses was exhausted, too old to keep pace with the lean young gunslinger. He crawled a few feet and got the gun, then pulled his worn body up slowly. His eyes saw the stranger's hand on his young charge's nose and mouth and he feared the worst. The stranger was trying to smother his unconscious young friend! Every protective force in him exploded and he reacted on instinct, firing the weapon.
Pain.
More than he'd felt in some years, unending rippling waves of agony that tore through his tender skull. He moved in the dark world he was trapped in, trying to escape the awful pulsating pain that drove his body to react. Unable to contain himself any longer, he screamed.
J.D. was sitting up, eating some soup and listening to Buck snore. The older man was dozing in the chair next to him. Josiah had brought his lunch tray in and ordered him to eat every bite. It wasn't hard; he was starving and the chicken soup, hot bread and cider would go down easy. Josiah had offered to help him, but the young sheriff denied him. He allowed the older man to raise him up and prop him against some pillows. Then the former priest went to wire home to update the judge and Mary Travis. It was a slow process and more than a few drops of broth ended up on his shirt, but the soup was going down. He rested after every three spoonfuls, regaining some of his strength. He picked up a piece of bread, dipped it into the small bowl of honey and was about to eat it when a muffled cry stopped him. Curious, he leaned forward and studied Nathan's unmoving body.
"Nate?" he called over, watching the dark man's face then begin to twitch and move. Two brown eyes shot open and a small choked cry of pain escaped. Fearing for the injured leg, J.D. blurted out a warning, rousing his best friend.
"BUCK!"
"What?" Buck leapt to his feet upon hearing the loud call. Still half-asleep, he nearly toppled onto the started young Easterner.
"No!" J.D. put his arms out and cried out as his stitches protested. "Nate... he's moving... his leg... Buck, do something."
"Nathan?" He frowned, then the cobwebs cleared and he turned. "NO!" he cried out, covering the short distance in two large strides.
He arrived at the bed just in time. He grabbed the dazed man's shoulders and pressed hard, keeping him pinned to the bed. He watched as the dark eyes rolled in pain and darted around the room in unadulterated confusion.
"Nathan, you need to keep still, you got shot. Understand? It's Buck. You're gonna be okay but you can't move. Nate? Nate?"
"Buck?" Nathan managed in a small hoarse voice. "Buck... shot... where... how...?" he paused, then sagged back exhausted.
"Jesus," Buck sighed hard, releasing his grip and wiping his face. "I'm gettin' too old for this shit."
"...wat...er..."
"Aw, hell, Nate, I'm sorry." Buck poured a mug and gingerly lifted the wounded man's head. "Easy now, there's plenty. Good... good..." he coached, watching the healer take small sips until the whole mug was gone. Finally, he laid the injured man's head back on the pillow and eyed him carefully.
"...hell... happened...?" Nate rasped, eyeing the unfamiliar room.
"We followed some robbers out of town a few days ago. There was a shootout, you and J.D. got shot. We're at Fort McDaniel." Buck left out the part about Vin's death, not knowing how it would affect the gravely wounded man. He watched Jackson's hand move to the bulky bandage on his head. "Yeah, you got a real pretty dent in your head. The other bullet landed in your thigh. They got a real good doctor here, Nate, he repaired all the damage. But you need to keep that leg still. Understand? You can't move it."
"...damn..." Nate managed, seeing a lifetime's worth of wear and tear on the other man's face. Sometimes he felt Buck Wilmington bled for the whole world. Whatever had transpired, he knew by the dark circles he saw and the fatigue that lined the handsome man's features that he'd been through Hell. "...wanted t'dance... with yuh..."
Buck laughed then, his weary body sagging in relief. He reached a hand out and took the wavering one offered, gripping it solidly.
"Nothin' personal, Nate, but you got peaks and valleys in all the wrong places."
"...check... blood..." Nate sent back, tapping his 'broken' heart and getting another laugh. "Thank... you..."
"Me? I didn't..."
"...bad... liar..."
"Nathan?"
"J.D.?" the ex-Union soldier called back. "He okay, Buck?"
"Took one in the side, did some damage. Hell, that kid's tough, you know that. Doc says he's gonna be up and driving me crazy in no time."
"...J... D..." Nathan moved his head slightly until he could see the pale youth. "...look like shit..."
"You ain't in any position to criticize, Nathan!" Dunne called back with a wide grin.
"I'm gonna get Josiah and the doctor, you stay put."
"Okay..."
Nathan laid back and thought on Buck's words. A shooting. He had said they were chasing robbers. They? Who were they? Just the four of them? What about Chris, Ezra and Vin? A shooting? He shut his eyes and thought hard. Flames. Bright orange and yellow flames engulfing a building.
"...fire..."
"Huh?" J.D. heard the confused tone and looked over. "Nate?"
"He said...we got shot... chasin'... chasin'...r ob...bers..." Nathan wheezed. "But... I can't recall... just... fire... in... town?"
"Yeah, we got set up," Dunne prattled, sipping his cider. "That gang that hit those other towns, they hit ours. While we were fightin' the fire, they robbed us. We took off after 'em and..." He stopped then, seeing Vin's body jerk as a bullet hit it.
"...and what?" Nathan eyed the telltale hazel eyes that were far too wide. He saw the young man swallow hard. "J.D.... what are yuh hidin'?" he pressed, then turned cold when one thought entered his throbbing brain. The doe-eyed kid's face was full of sorrow, one that came from... from... "Who died?"
"Vin," J.D. blurted. "It was awful... all he wanted was Chris to stay with him... until... well... Chris promised but then they started shooting again. You and me got hit and while Buck and Chris were fighting back, Mason took Vin. Chris... he... he's been ridin' from town to town..."
"Hey, brother! It's good to see those eyes open!" Josiah boomed as he strode across the room, Buck at his heels. He frowned when Nathan's shocked face went past his to Buck's.
"Why didn't yuh tell me about Vin?"
"I wasn't sure... you're so weak. I didn't want to shock you," Buck deflected.
"Oh, geez..." J.D. slumped. "I'm sorry. I never thought."
"It's okay, kid." Buck took the pressure away, then turned back to Nathan. "I wouldn't lie to you, Nathan. I would have told you."
"Did he... suffer?" Nathan wondered aloud. He hoped that the brave blue-eyed tracker whose scarred body housed a soul as old as time had not lingered.
"No. Chris was holdin' him... talkin' to him. He found comfort in that, that's all he asked, not to die alone. That bastard... I swear if Chris don't cut his balls off I will..." Buck vowed, flexing his fists. "Ezra left out yesterday, trying to catch up to Chris. He's been going from town to town, trying to find Mason."
"Gentlemen?" The doctor paused, feeling tension in the room. He saw the two tall men move aside and he went to examine his patient.
Ezra's keen eyes slid slowly around the saloon, taking in every face. He'd eliminated the towns Chris had already searched and headed in a different direction. The first two towns he'd ridden into were dead ends. But the livery owner in this town recalled someone matching Mason's description being there. He'd searched the stores, the cafe and was headed for the hotel. He'd paused briefly, flicking his eyes inside the dank room in case Mason had slithered in.
"A fitting name," he murmured of the name of the town, noting the motley group of denizens scattered in the worn, ratty tavern.
"Oh, I don't know, a man could get lucky."
Ezra turned and was surprised to find a familiar face, a tall man with silver hair and dark eyes dressed in a very expensive suit. It had been more than a few years, but the handsome face remained unlined. He extended a hand and smiled, letting the gold tooth reflect the sun.
"Colonel Smith, always a pleasure," he oozed. "How long has it been?"
"November of sixty-four as I recall, Elysse DuChamp's boudoir. You were tied to her bed and she was punishing you."
"You should have paid more attention to your bride and perhaps you'd still be married," Ezra shot back.
"Maude?" Smith grinned, recalling his brief liaison and trip down the aisle. "That woman fired my blood like no other woman did before or has since. Still... Elysse was a very beautiful woman," he noted of the famous Creole courtesan.
"And not without her charms," Ezra lauded, recalling that night and many others, the memory of which nearly aroused him.
"How is your mother?"
"Hah!" Ezra shook his chestnut head. "Mother always lands on her feet, she'll bury us all. She's somewhere in Texas. A very wealthy rancher has become enamored of her. Pity the fool..."
"Free for dinner?" Smith pressed, then raised an eyebrow. "And perhaps a game of chance?"
"Music to my ears, Colonel," Ezra grinned. "Shall we say seven? Are you at the hotel?"
"I am," Smith sent back. "I look forward to taking your money."
"Still humble," Ezra bowed of his very worthy adversary. Jamison Smith was one of the very finest card players he'd ever encountered. His prowess at the table was legendary. His manners and winning ways with the ladies had earned him the moniker of 'Gentlemen Jim'.
While Ezra chatted with his old friend, he didn't see his prey walk from the hotel towards the livery. By the time Ezra registered, checked into his room and then found his way to a hot bath, Jeff Mason was already on the road, well out of town.
"VIN!"
Something loud invaded the warm blissful sea he was floating in. The cool blue and purple water was so beautiful and alluring, cradling his helpless body like a mother does a child. But the loud sound exploded overhead causing the tranquil sky to crack and his balance was disturbed. Then a second sound, just as loud but different. It was near his ear: a voice, deep and feral. The water rippled and overhead, they returned. Those twin green beacons appeared again.
"WHAT THE HELL'S WRONG WITH YOU?" Chris roared, keeping his body over Vin Tanner's.
Moses was frozen in place. His face was creased by wrinkles of confusion. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head a little, as if trying to make the odd picture match what his gut had told him. A stranger asking questions followed him, threatened him and demanded entry at gunpoint. He was so sure the unconscious young man he was tending to was the target of the dark fury he'd seen in those cold eyes.
A killer's eyes.
But the picture before him didn't match that theory. The blond male whose rippling wrath had caused a chill in him, that desperate to kill something, the prey he sought, was now protecting that very same object with his own body. It didn't add up; something was very wrong.
"PUT THAT GUN DOWN!" the human shield ordered, keeping his best friend under an armor of flesh and bone. "You could have killed him."
"I thought... yuh... that he was the one...yuh ain't aimin' t'kill him?"
"No!" Chris growled. "And I will kill anybody who tries, you included. Now put that fuckin' gun down."
"Who are yuh? How yuh know dat boy? Yuh kin?"
"Yeah."
Chris shifted gingerly, careful not to touch Vin. The old man's bad eyes and wavering hand had sent the bullet passing just in front of him. But the sound caused him to react instantly. He had thrown his body over Vin's, landing hard on the makeshift bed. He'd used the heels of his hands on either side of Vin's neck to support his weight, covering Vin without touching him. He pulled up slightly, tapping the stilled face.
"Vin... Vin?" He frowned, needing to see his own soul reflected back at him in those blue mirrors. The pale brown brows furrowed as if seeking him. "Come on, cowboy, open your eyes. Vin?"
He was flying now, so fast and furious it stole his breath. Colors exploded all around him, showering him with royal, aqua and cerulean blue. It was scintillating and he gasped as the green lights disappeared in a giant white explosion that took his body as well.
Vin?
Someone was calling...touching...it was warm and wonderful. A hand on his face and a warm tone caressed his heart. He reached out, needing to touch that voice. He wanted to feel it run through his fingers.
He knew the voice.
He knew the voice.
He knew�.
He...
Blurry shapes appeared in front of him and he felt cold and hot at the same time. His shivers were more of fear for the air was warm. He didn't know where he was or why he hurt so very much. He couldn't see very well, just blurry black and pink shapes. He blinked and strained his eyes, trying to see him. See who? Green eyes in his storm, a strong voice, the full sail that led him home. God, he hurt. He'd never felt such pain. Every small breath felt like he was breathing in fire while spikes were driven in his back and chest. His heart was gyrating so fast it made him sick and dizzy.
Wait.
Wait.
Sweat, tobacco, whiskey and something very male. He knew that smell; it went with the green eyes. A cool face appeared, chiseled features under sun-kissed hair. A crooked group of letters appeared in his mind. His soul reacted before his brain could form the words. He was here. He was real. He was Chris.
Chris.
Chris was here. He stopped shivering then for the fear was driven out and he was cold no longer. He wasn't entirely sure who 'Chris' was but his heart ruled his head and the feelings associated with that name, the 'Chris', melted through.
Safe. Warm. Protected.
The guardian had returned.
"Move offa da boy b'fore yuh hurt him. Doc took a bullet outta his lung. He almost died. I've been tendin' t'im and..." Moses' words died in his throat when through a tiny space between the blond and the top of the other man's head, he saw a single blue eye. "Boy? Hey, yuh woke up...."
"Vin?" Chris gasped, pulling back further.
He cupped the square chin and saw the bruised eyes with pupils far too large darting to and fro. The short ragged breaths coupled with the frantic movement bespoke the anxiety and terror the younger man was experiencing.
"It's okay, cowboy, you're safe. You with me, Vin? Look at me," he coached, waiting for the tremors to stop. The breathing slowed and the eyes tried hard to focus on him. "Good, that's it. You got shot, Vin, but you're gonna be fine. Can you hear me, Vin?"
Hear.
He could hear and feel and smell. He wanted to scream Chris's name and reach out, needing to hold onto what he knew he needed, but he was too weak to move his lips. Sweat beaded on his brow as he fought hard to speak. He kept his eyes trained on the green ones above him, allowing the healing light to invade very pore.
Chris.
Chris.
Chris.
"Huh?" Chris moved again, feeling the dance of a butterfly's wing brush against him. He pulled the blanket aside and watched in amazement as two of Vin's fingers twitched, trying to reach him. He grabbed that hand and lifted it, gripping it hard. The fine line of perspiration that cloaked the desperate man's face only made the intensity in the lost eyes shine harder.
"Quit cussin', Tanner!" he chided, bringing the other man's hand up and clasping it to his chest. He leaned in closer, insuring the Texan would hear him and moreover, would understand the full effect of what needed to be said. He waited until the restless blue eyes stopped moving and trained solely on his own. He pressed the cold fingers so securely wrapped in his own warm ones closer to his heart. He issued it, slow and strong, just as it was meant to be.
"Word."
The soft gasp that escaped quietly through the pale lips stole his own breath. He felt the change as the repercussions overtook the wounded man. The tension left and the body sagged in relief. The lower lip trembled, trying so hard to speak. But the eyes were creating an epiphany and he heard every decree.
For a brief shimmering moment, the agonizing pain ripping through every inch of him left. For a scattering of seconds, in the heat of the room, there was only the one word that was spoken with such quiet force that it drove the agony from his wounded body. He felt a warmth invade, mingling with the healing process already taking place. He didn't know how he got shot or how he got here. He didn't know where he was. He didn't have to know. All he needed was looking right back at him. He wanted to say something to send that feeling back. To let Chris know how he felt. He tried hard to speak, straining against the weak body that held his bound spirit. Frustration mounted as his lips remained sealed; he couldn't utter a sound. So he issued his decree the best way he knew how. He let those mirrors resting deep within open up and speak for him.
"You're welcome," Chris rasped, gently replacing the hand under the blanket. He used his finger to take the lone liquid trail of gratitude that was snaking a crooked path down the shaken man's face. He rested his hand there for a moment, absorbing the blue stream of hope radiating. He tapped the cheek playfully and gave an order.
"Sleep."
He saw a flicker of something crop up in the shining eyes and smiled. Fear combined with confusion. Vin wasn't yet back in the land of the living. He couldn't begin to imagine just what was going through the weakened man's mind.
"I'm not leaving, Vin." He waited until the eyes softened in release and brushed the tangled locks from the damp forehead. "Get some shuteye."
Safe and secure, cradled in the green velvet blanket, Vin sighed once and obeyed.
Moses put the gun on the side table and backed up. His dark eyes widened a bit when the strange light that had shone through the curtains and captured the pair disappeared. He followed the light, nodding once as God's hand retracted.
"Welcome back."
"Trip I couldda done without," Nathan managed, steeling himself against the endless throbbing in his head. "...like a hangover without the pleasure of the party... J.D.?"
"He's sleeping," Josiah updated, lifting Nathan's upper body carefully and sliding two pillows behind him. He watched the pain-riddled brown eyes tracking the room. They paused on a large body curled up on a bunk far too small. "He's napping, long overdue. Man's carryin' a large burden."
"It ain't his fault," Nathan noted of Buck before accepting a mug of cold water.
"You know Buck, he bleeds for the world. He's worried about Chris."
"I hear that," Jackson managed. "Where is Chris?"
"We got a wire early this morning from a town called Willow, down near the border."
"He's out huntin' alone?"
"According to Buck, he's trackin' Mason. We got a partial list of what town's Chris hit already and came up dry. Ezra's hitting some of the towns on the other side of the river. I hope to God he finds him first. I'm worried, Nathan."
"I don't think he'll kill him. I mean, he's not that Chris Larabee anymore," Nathan paused. "Is he?"
"Mason took Vin from him, made him break his word. That changes the rules. Every empty town he hits makes the shadows grow longer. He's gonna be cloaked in darkness soon and then all bets are off."
Josiah paused, crossed the room, pulled a blanket over Buck and poured himself a cup of coffee. He poured hot water over the herbal tea the doctor left and took it back to where Nathan was waiting.
"I've been where he is, and it's not pretty." Sanchez sighed hard, shaking his gray head. "I feel bad about Vin. He was a good man. He never got the chance to clear his name. That was important to him. He won't rest easy and that troubles me."
"Texas ain't so far," Nathan vowed, still hearing the echo of the soft drawl in his ear. He swallowed painfully as the image of Vin grinning at him from a rooftop appeared. Then the cranky Tanner complainin' and cussin' at him from the cot in the clinic, and lastly the beautiful young man whose gift with words humbled all of them. "As soon as I can ride..."
"I think we'll have company," Sanchez noted, tapping the mug with his own and eyeing the space above his head. "You sleep easy, Vin Tanner, we'll get the job done."
Moses carried the clean linens inside after hanging them to dry all afternoon in the hot sun. He left them on the small bench by the wall and shook his dark head. The blond man was a stubborn one. Save the time he'd taken to care for his horse, he had been sitting in the same spot for hours, in a chair next to the bed. His eyes, however, were trained on something far beyond the room. Something was weighing heavy on him and he was troubled. But the softest sigh from the bed brought him to his feet. He'd lean over, scrutinize the injured man's face and once satisfied nothing was wrong, he'd take his seat again. It was a pattern that had played out all day.
He didn't know much about him, just that his name was Chris Larabee and he knew this man, this 'Vin', from the town they worked in near the border. They'd been caught in a gun battle with a gang of sorts, the leader of which took Vin with him for reasons unknown. Moses only relayed that he'd found the wounded man near death and brought him to the doctor. That had been the extent of the short conversation. After that, the man in black took the seat and turned into stone.
"He ain't goin' anywhere, son," Moses advised, walking toward the stove. He stirred the stew a few times, added some pepper and placed the lid back down. He opened the oven and checked on the bread, pleased to see it turning a golden brown. He shut the door and turned back toward his young charge. He dipped a ladle into the simmering broth and drew some out. He sipped a bit, ensuring it was just warm. Then he walked over to the bed, setting the cup down on the table nearby. Before he could move towards the young man, a black cat unfurled and jumped in his path.
"What are you doing?" Chris demanded.
"Time fuh his broth," Moses replied. "Yuh wanna help? I'll hold him up and yuh can spoon it in."
"He's not awake..."
"He's too weak t'keep his eyes open. It's like a new baby, yuh gotta nudge 'im a bit t'git 'im goin'. Yuh'll see."
Chris was leery but since the old man had obviously taken good care of Vin so far, he backed down. He waited by the side of the bed until Moses got behind Vin. The old man placed a red cloth on Vin's chest and slid his hands beneath his shoulders. Without hardly any effort, he lifted the unconscious man and held him against his strong chest. Then Chris saw Vin's face crease in pain and he grabbed at the old man's shoulder.
"You're hurting him!"
"I know yuh's hurtin', boy." Moses ignored the glaring blond and the hand on him and concentrated on his charge. "I's sorry t'rouse yuh, but yuh needs t'eat. I gots some broth. It's jest Old Mose, son, I won't hurt yuh, yuh knows dat."
Chris stared in amazement as every line of pain on Vin's face melted and he sighed once, snuggling back almost contentedly. He gave the old man a begrudging nod and lifted the cup. He paused, eyeing Vin's closed eyes and the mug.
"Yuh use dat spoon. Jest nudge his lips and tell 'im. He'll open up. Den yuh puts dat spoon on the middle o'his tongue and yuh presses down a bit. He'll swallow it. Go on now ..."
"Okay." Chris moved closer, got a spoonful and nudged Vin's lips. "Open up, Vin, I got soup for you." His eyes widened in amazement as Vin's lips parted and his tongue came out a bit. He placed the spoon inside and tipped it. The effect was instantaneous as Vin began to sputter and cough painfully. "Shit...aw, shit...I'm sorry..." He dropped the spoon and grabbed the cloth that Moses had placed on Vin's bare chest. He wiped the liquid that ran from his mouth and chastised himself for being so careless. Coughing over the damaged lungs and ribcage had to hurt like hell.
"Press it, don't drop the broth off it," Moses instructed, then saw the blond man's hand trembling. He saw the pain in the green eyes and relieved him. "Here, yuh come back here and take 'im. I'll show yuh."
Chris took Vin from the old man and gasped slightly when the body met his chest. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around the feeble form. The power of the position he was in overwhelmed him. Vin was utterly helpless and totally dependant on him to survive. The head that so trustingly lay back against his upper chest felt like a flame in his heart. He felt distanced from the room and the world in general. Was he strong enough to carry Vin? His injuries were critical and recovery would take some time. Just how strong was the power of the 'word'?
"Son?" Moses waited, seeing the green eyes staring at the wall behind him. "Yuh with me?"
"Yeah," Chris grunted, shaking off the odd sensation.
"Boy? Dis is Old Mose, I won't hurt yuh. Yuh needs t'eat dis soup. Come on now..." Moses tried, but the lips remained closed. "Quit sassin' me, boy. Yuh knows I won't hurt yuh."
The pain from the coughing fit still burned deep within the frail body. It hurt, hurt more than words could say. He didn't know who hurt him, but he knew it came from the spoon that was put in his mouth. No, he couldn't do that again; it hurt too much. He kept his lips pressed shut.
Moses frowned and then got an idea. He put the spoon back in the cup, stirred it a bit and began to sing.
Chris's eyes narrowed, wondering what the old guy was up to. While Moses sang, the gunslinger watched as one large dark hand stroked Vin's face as tenderly as if he were soothing a small child. And Chris felt the change. The tense, trembling body in his arms relaxed. He was amazed when Moses lifted the spoon and tried again.
He was back!
The angel was here and the deep rich voice surrounded him like a time-worn quilt. He snuggled against the words of the song, letting them warm him. It felt wonderful and the soothing tone invaded him like a summer sun. He sighed, totally and utterly content. Then the song stopped.
"Okay, boy, open up..." Moses tried, prodding the lips, but they remained closed and the sandy brows furrowed in anger.
Tired from too many days on the road and fighting a fierce headache along with the bruising he sustained in the fight earlier, Chris lost his patience. He shifted his weight, leaned over and saw the protest on Vin's face.
"Enough, Vin!" he growled. "Quit poutin' and eat the fuckin' soup!"
Moses was so startled he nearly dropped the spoon. He was about to voice his protest to the blond for the harsh words when to his amazement, the lips parted and the tongue came out.
"How 'bout dat...!"
"Music may soothe the savage beast," Chris relayed, watching the spoon disappear successfully. "But long-haired Texas river rats are tough. Sometimes they need to be persuaded a bit."
"Yup," Moses agreed, getting two more spoonfuls inside. "Boy hears yuh...sure enough."
Finally, Vin was done and Chris eased him down. He stepped back, stretched his back and winced as his ribs bit back, a move that didn't go unnoticed.
"Dinner won't be done fur a bit yet. Why don't yuh take a rest?" Moses asked. "Dat way, we take turns watchin' o'er da boy."
"Tempting," Chris admitted, his body aching. He was bone tired and eyed the floor in the bedroom. "But if I lay down, I won't get up. I'll eat first." He watched as Moses stirred the stew, added some more chicken and water to the pot containing the broth and checked on the bread. "How do you do it? You've been taking care of him all alone?"
"Only since yesterday when the doc left out. A family of sick folks up the river. And it ain't s'easy, son. I feel every bit of my age these last few days." He paused, turned and eyed the sleeping man on the bed. "Boy's got a hold on me but good."
"Yeah," Chris agreed, rubbing his neck. "Anything I can do?"
"Could use some wood if yuh up to it?"
After using the unfortunate wood for a sad replacement of Mason's face, Chris dumped the kindling by the stove.
"Pump's out back, take a towel," Moses said, putting the bread on the sideboard.
Chris stripped to the waist, dousing his head and chest under the water. >From his saddlebags, he dug out a worn bar of Pears soap. He scrubbed his skin until he hurt, trying to wash it all away. As he dried off, he tossed the soiled shirt in the bottom of the pump well and used the soapy water to scrub it clean. Pulling on and buttoning up a clean shirt from his bags, Chris wondered why he felt so cold inside. Vin Tanner was alive. Nothing else mattered, did it?
"Word."
He whipped around, hearing the lazy drawl as sure as if Vin were standing right there. His hand moved to his abdomen and he rubbed the lean muscles beneath the cloth. There it was, just like Vin to remind him. Damn him. It was the gnawing fear, that coldness inside. That 'word' was choking him. The deep feelings that had exploded when he thought Vin was dead were now chewing him up from the inside out. The unrelenting power of it was drowning him. He thought once he'd found Vin, that clawing inside would stop.
He was wrong.
It hadn't.
"Supper's on."
"Yeah."
Chris shoved Vin's ghost away and walked towards the back door.
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