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.
They fell into a steady rhythm, each taking turns tending to Vin Tanner. Whereas Moses was patient, never losing his control, Chris wasn't. He was frustrated that his best friend was still very weak. Vin slept most of the day, waking only to be fed or cleaned. Worse yet, he seemed very listless, either not able to work harder at healing or not even trying. The lean gunslinger sighed and moved from the porch. He tossed the remnants of his cold coffee away and yawned. It was almost seven p.m. and he was tired. He slept little, taking an extra shift from the old man. It was the least he could do given their vast age difference. When he was supposed to rest, he dozed at best. His fitful sleep was often interrupted by the mocking laughter of Jeff Mason and echoes of Vin's request bouncing off every corner of his mind.
"Word."
For Vin? Without question, no matter how long or far. But what of himself? What of the vow he'd made in the mud that day, when his hand touched an empty spot instead of his best friend? What of the cold dark hunter inside of him that he'd kept under wraps since the day he'd met Fate in the guise of a blue-eyed Texan? That stalker had risen from the sand with the scent of the kill on him. His fingers curled up, needing to feel and pound that flesh. To see that spineless cretin quiver at the sight of him.
"Word."
So the scales were tipping to and fro. Where did his path lie? By the side of his critically injured brother? Would the bloodlust die down in a few weeks, maybe months? How far away would Mason be? How could he stop the blood inside him from boiling?
He peered through the window and watched Vin sleeping. He'd reasoned with himself that the gravely wounded man needed his rest. Still, it nagged at him that Vin slept so much. When he was awake, he was very weak, riddled with pain and at times confused. The pain from the head wound was eased by laudanum but that left him with a fuzzy-headed feeling from the drugs, a numbing kind of disassociation that sometimes was hard to fight. Chris skirted the house, washed the mug at the pump and washed his face as well. Moses took a walk after dinner each night and didn't return home until past midnight. He still seemed haunted by his past and Chris felt bad that he couldn't offer more. A weak raspy voice turned his head then.
"Chris?"
"Yeah," he hollered back, entering the back door of the house. The tangled head was twisted around trying to find him. "You thirsty?"
"Whiskey?"
"Cider."
"Hell."
Chris smiled then, hearing the tinges of cranky returning to the Texan's voice. He grabbed the trapdoor, raising it up and pulling in the rope. Attached to the other end was a ceramic jug of apple cider. Keeping it well below the earth's surface kept it cool. He poured a full mug and lowered the jug back down. He eyed the gingerbread that Moses made that morning and broke a piece off.
"Here, you've been a good boy," Chris quipped, setting the mug and bread down.
"...the hell are ya...?" Vin coughed, winced and hissed in frustration. "Can't see worth a damn..."
Vin's nose, however, found the cake. He turned towards the smell and saw a pink blurry figure. It moved closer and the image cleared a bit. His eyes left the tempting bread long enough to view his caretaker. He frowned a bit, seeing the dark circles under the pale eyes. There was also a gauntness to his face; Chris had lost weight. He turned his gaze away briefly, trying to figure out how long he'd been there.
"...seems like ferever..."
"Huh?" Chris paused, reading the eyes wisely. "You damn near died, Vin. It's gonna take a while."
"Ya look awful," Vin countered, his fingers playing with a stray group of threads on the sheet that covered him. He knew from what Chris said prior that Josiah and Buck were busy with his two wounded friends. Chris didn't know where Ezra was and that didn't help.
"You ain't in any position to be pointin' fingers, cowboy." Chris moved behind the infirmed man. "I've seen prettier scarecrows."
"I ain't pretty!"
"No, you sure as hell ain't," Chris agreed, then felt a hesitation. "What?"
"Can't I sit fer a spell?" he gasped, eyeing the rocker outside the window.
"I don't know, Vin," Chris hedged, hating to deny him. It was the first sign of a fight that he'd encountered. Usually Vin let him or Moses feed and bath him without question. But it was a long way to the porch.
"'S'okay," he whispered, eyeing the beautiful colors in the sky.
"Shit!" Chris hissed, that lone waver in the wispy voice undoing him. "If I drop you, that old man's gonna kill me."
"Never happen," Vin vowed, his sagging spirits starting to rise. "It ain't s'far and I'm down a few..."
"Don't look," the inner voice warned.
Too late.
"Dammit," he mumbled, the wide blue eyes melting through his defenses. He moved across the room and opened the door. He moved the rocker closer, so it would be a shorter journey. He aimed it at the sun, knowing Tanner loved baking in the warm rays.
"Ready?" Chris asked, returning to the makeshift bed. The shaggy head nodded once and the blond moved. He rolled Vin to the side and gathered the sheet up, tying one end around the shoulder like a long toga. He tucked the other ends under and then slid his arms underneath. Taking a deep breath, he lifted the younger man. By the time he reached his destination, both of them were panting. He sat down on the porch next to Vin, dropping his head between his gathered up legs. For several moments, he remained that way, gathering his breath. Then he felt a tiny brush against the back of his neck. He looked up and saw a weak but very fulfilling Tanner smile.
"Thanks," Vin relayed, turning his face to the sky. He kept his hand on Chris's neck, needing to feel that strength. Just the fact that he was outdoors made him feel better. This was where he felt his best, with the sky for a roof. It took a few moments for the throbbing pulsations in his skull to allow his eyes to adjust. But it was worth every nauseating wave of pain. What a sky! It was a beautiful shade of blue with slashes of scarlet, rose and purple. "M'eyes are damn near 'sploded."
"Yeah, sure is pretty," Chris agreed.
For a few moments, they watched the beautiful colors changing, enjoying Mother Nature's show.
"Chris?"
"Yeah?"
"I gotta go."
"Dammit, Vin! Why didn't you go before we left the house?"
"It ain't like I planned it!" Vin soured. "Hell, ya think it's easy dependin' on other folks t'wipe yer ass? Ya think I like this?"
"Alright, alright, don't get your balls all twisted up." He rose and paused, enjoying the blue fire that boldly appraised him, even if the eyes were blinking and off kilter. "You're really pissed."
"Not yet but I will be iffen ya don't move yer ass and get me a can t'piss in."
Chris returned with a large empty tin that used to be filled with beans. He moved in front of Vin and pulled the sheet back.
"Gimme it," Vin protested. "I can do it." He eyed the spot where he thought he saw a can. "It ain't big enough."
"What are you? A racehorse?" Chris rejected, thrusting the can at him. He kept his hand nearby but Vin managed to get the empty tin lined up fine.
"While yer up," Vin panted, the small effort wearing him out. It was frustrating that he was constantly short of breath. "Can ya fetch m'cider and cake?"
"Aye, aye, sir!" Christ saluted. He stopped briefly by the bed and changed the linens. He took the old ones out back and put them in the large barrel of water. When he returned, he paused and chuckled. He put the plate of cake and the mug down, looked again and laughed. It was a deep belly laugh, rare for him but so badly needed and he enjoyed it. He wiped his wet eyes and recovered.
"Now that's a picture." His best friend was asleep, head back with his lips parted. The can was full, not a drop spilled, and still in place. "I can't believe I'm doing this." He bent over and gently took the can, moved Vin's hands and replaced the sheet.
"'S'goin' on?" Vin mumbled, blinked and eyed Chris dumping the can. "Aw, hell... dozed off whilst I was pissin'." He scowled and saw his blond friend's shoulder shaking a bit. "It ain't funny!"
"It's fuckin' hilarous!" Chris disagreed, tapped the empty can and left it. He moved back, picked the mug up and wrapped Vin's fingers around it. He kept his hand in place and guided the mug to Vin's lips. "Them boys of yours never looked better, huggin' that can."
"Shut the hell... hell... up..." Vin sent back, taking a slow sip. It was cold and sweet and he savored it. Over the rim of the mug, he saw the lines of fatigue, worry and devotion so clearly outlining the handsome man's face. He eyed the cake then and pulled the mug back. "...it ain't got chocolate icin'..." He saw the ire rise and pressed. "Ya know I'm partial t'choclate."
"Icing!" Chris snapped. "It's not a fuckin' restaurant."
"S'okay," Vin pouted. "I'll make do."
"You're all heart."
"I try!" Vin smiled, wagged his eyebrows and got the laugh he wanted. He didn't even protest when the hand snaked out and ruffled his hair.
His cake went down in tiny pieces and eager for more of the sweet juice, he took it too fast. He immediately regretted it, gasped, coughed and then grabbed Chris's wrist.
"Easy, there... it's not a race. Okay?" He waited until the small pressure left his wrist.
"...jealous..." Vin decided, then heard the snort of contempt. "Them midgets yer totin'... can't... breathe..."
"Well, in the twenty or so years I've been slinging them around," Chris returned, "I haven't gotten any complaints."
"...ris... can't breathe..." Vin panicked, hand gripping the air like a desperate claw and eyes wide with fear.
"Shit." Chris moved closer, taking the mug and easing Vin up a bit in the chair. "Don't panic, that's makin' it worse. Take small breaths, Vin, in through your nose and out through your mouth. Slow and easy wins the race. That's it... good..." he coached.
"Sorry." When Vin was finally able to speak, he locked onto the strong forearm and lifted his eyes. "I ain't never gonna ferget this, Chris."
"Don't worry," Larabee sent back with an evil grin. "I don't plan on letting you. I figure I'll get a corral and a barn outta this. Maybe even an addition."
"...push yer luck..." Vin wheezed, gripping the arm harder.
"Slow and easy, Vin," Chris dictated, now worried he'd made a mistake.
"M'fine," Vin sent back, sensing the change in tone.
Finally, Vin's breathing evened out and Chris pulled a chair over and sat down. They sat like that while the sun dipped below the horizon. It was a beautiful sunset, one of the best Chris ever remembered seeing. Vin was by his side. How could it not be? He was still eyeing that glorious display of color when a drowsy but very contented drawl slipped into his ear.
"...word..."
"Word," he answered, turning as the blue eyes slid shut over a very easy smile. He kept that warmth long after he returned Vin to bed. It fueled him during the night when the nightmares began. Jeff Mason's mocking face and that sick laugh. The auburn haired man standing over Vin's dying body, kicking at him. Vin crying out to him, one hand searching for him, needing help.
Even exhaustion couldn't quell the darkness inside the sweat-soaked skin the restless blond wore.
"I'm afraid Lady Luck has taken to another bed tonight," Ezra nodded to his fellow card players. "Gentlemen."
He touched his fingers to the side of his hat, rose and eased his body from the saloon. He couldn't scare up luck of any kind, not even at cards. He was tired of this mission and had to force himself into this last town. Furthermore, the wires he'd gotten from Buck dictated that they'd not heard from Chris in nearly ten days. The mustached man was going to conduct his own search.
It was past midnight when Ezra returned to his room. He was so intent on getting to the bed that he nearly missed it. He was undressed and sitting on the edge of the mattress when he saw it. Frowning, he rose, crossed the room and picked up the yellow paper. The eight words on the message from Mary Travis caused his heart to race. His legs buckled and he staggered badly, awkwardly finding the bed. He took two swigs from his flask before he brought himself to read it again.
"Good Lord," he choked, reviewing the shaking message in his trembling hands.
"Vin's alive. With Chris in Willow. Come home."
He wasn't a religious man and hadn't seen the inside of a church since he was a boy. But he felt moved to offer a heartfelt show of gratitude. He raised his eyes up and nodded.
"Thank you."
Mary Travis waited impatiently by the wire. The message from the judge came an hour before and she'd wired the two towns Ezra's last message had given and also Fort McDaniels. She hadn't heard back from any of the peacekeepers. She couldn't believe it herself. Vin was alive and Chris was safe, at least for now. She knew the blond wouldn't leave his best friend until he was well enough to care for himself. Her father-in-law's message stated that Vin was critically wounded and Chris was tending to him. She didn't know where Willow was, but to her, now, it seemed like heaven, for that's where miracles were born.
"Mrs. Travis?"
"Yes," she turned, eyeing the clerk.
"They left this morning," he sympathized, knowing how close the men were. "They're headed back here. It's gonna be awhile."
"Yes, I imagine it will be. A week at least, given how slow they'll need to travel with two injured men. Very well, thanks. If you get a reply from Mister Standish, let me know."
"Yes, ma'am!" he promised, watching the widow disappear into the darkness.
Vin yawned and sighed, then began to fidget. He tried to scratch his head for the itching was driving him crazy, but his hand wouldn't reach up that far. Going beyond the shoulder brought a fire wall of pain to his chest.
"DAMMIT T'HELL!"
"Mornin' to you too, Vin." Chris came from the kitchen. He watched curiously as the infirmed man moved his head against the edge of the wooden bed. "What are you doing?"
"M'head itches... s'likely t'drive me nuts..."
"I guess them rattails of yours need a bath." Chris moved to the stove, setting a pot on to boil. "We'll get you cleaned up and fed, then you can go outside for some air."
"...jest like some mangy animal..."
"Yup," Chris agreed, peeling the sheet off. "A long-haired river rat, Texas variety."
"Can't ye hurry? I'm freezin'..."
"That's 'cause you're half lizard," Chris noted, pouring the warm water into a large basin. He washed Vin first, drying him off and putting a clean sheet and blanket on him. Then he moved behind him. He eased Tanner's head over the back of the table and put a bucket on the floor underneath. He used a mug to wet the tangled mess, then worked the soap up into a good lather in his hands. Gently, he worked the suds through the greasy locks, not missing the soft sighs of sated bliss. "Bet that feels good."
"Ya got no idea." Vin closed his eyes, enjoying a guilty pleasure. "First time I had m'hair washed by somebody with a flat chest." He paused, wrinkling his nose. "Ya don't smell as good neither." A flicker of water on his face brought a scowl. "Hey!" he warned before the warm rinse water followed. Then his thoughts took a different turn. From the time he woke up, he'd been trying to figure out how long he'd been laid up. "Chris? How long since I got shot?"
"Uh..." Chris sighed, using the last of the water to rinse. He managed to get his fingers through the tangles and make sense of the long hair. "Goin' on two weeks I guess, twelve days anyhow. You remember anything about that day?"
"Nope. Jest the fire." Vin heard the footsteps departing and then reutrning again. "The rest is bits and pieces. Flashs like..." He felt himself lifted then and turned so that he rested against the pillows stacked against the wall. "Thanks. Somethin' smells good."
"Sausages and hotcakes."
"Aw, hell, them's m'favorites. Yer not kiddin'?" Hope rising, the hungry man eyed Larabee's back. "Ya been plyin' me with porridge fer s'long..."
"That look like porridge to you?" Chris placed a tray over Vin's lap. It was a small platter of two sausages and two pancakes. If Vin were to get stronger, he needed to start eating more. He'd spoken to Moses briefly before the older man went to the river to get more medicinal plants. Chris gathered his own plate and sat across from Vin, watching the younger man eat. He grinned at the moans of pleasure, knowing just how good real food tasted.
"Hello in the house. Moses?"
"Who's that?" Vin froze, swiping syrup from his chin.
"Dunno." Chris shoved his plate aside and got his gun, then went to the door. He peeked through the window and saw a man with silver hair on a horse. The man's face was familiar but Chris couldn't place him. "What do you want?"
"Who are you? Where's Moses?"
"He's busy." Chris moved outside. "I didn't catch your name."
"Doctor Thomas Murdoch," the physican replied, recalling his original encounter with the bruised and battered blond.
"Murdoch?" Chris cocked his head. "You the one who operated on Vin?"
"If you mean the young man Moses found, yes, I am. That's my porch you're waving your gun from."
"Can't take any chances." Chris lowered his weapon, narrowing his eyes. "I know you... from..."
"The road, the day I left. You were inquiring about the telegraph."
"Yeah," Chris agreed, then heard a cough from behind him. "Vin's doin' a lot better. As a matter of fact, he's sittin' up eatin' breakfast."
"Really?" The doctor's voice rose as he dismounted. "Amazing. The surgery was so delicate. Surviving was a miracle. I'd only given him a fifty-fifty chance. Given the fever that followed and how very weak he was. It's unbelievable."
"See for yourself." Chris moved but the doctor only came to the porch steps. "Something wrong?"
"Did Moses tell you where I went?"
"Some family up river got sick." Chris then added, "By the way, thanks for saving Vin's life. I'm Chris Larabee and very grateful."
"He made quite an impression on Moses, and it's him you need to thank. Had he not found your friend when he did...." He paused, moving to the window. "He's sleeping."
Chris turned and smiled. "He drops off like that, cat naps."
"He looks better. His color is excellent. Fever? Coughing up blood? Passing blood?"
"Nope, nope and nope," Chris boasted. "The fever had him good for awhile, but it's been about five days now since he fought it off. He's just tired, he sleeps alot, most of the day. He's really weak."
"And he will be for some time. That bullet did extensive damage."
"He's still having bad headaches, dizzy spells, and his eyes ain't linin' up right. He can't see too good."
"Normal for a head wound. That should go away. Be careful of what you feed him, he's likely to vomit if it's too much or too rich." He paused. "You should try sitting him up whenever you can. It will help his lungs. How's his appetite?"
"Pickin' up a bit in the last couple of days. I gave him real food today for breakfast."
"Excellent, try small meals, every three hours or so."
"Is there some reason you won't come in and see him?"
"I can't risk it, he's too weak. If he catches that fever, the one that the family I left has come down with, it could kill him. Today was the first day I dared leave to get supplies. Mrs. Keane is too weak to manage on her own for very long. Mr. Keane took a fall in his delirium and broke his hip. They have quite a family, a large brood of orphans that nobody else wanted. There's so much work to be done there and with Mister Keane laid up for the next few months..."
Chris pondered a moment, then went inside and walked over to where Vin was sleeping. He tried to remove the tray only to have his wrist slapped.
"Fuck off, I'm eatin' that!" Vin grumbled in a half asleep voice.
"Keep them Tanner curses to a minimum. We got company." Chris shoved the fork Vin had dropped back into his hand.
"Huh?" Vin squinted and saw a blurry white-haired man looking through the glass. "Some old man lose his way? Who the hell's that?"
"Doctor Murdoch, it's his house you've been pissin' all over in."
"House?" Vin's brow furrowed and his eyes moved in thought. "He plucked m'bullets out?"
"He did." Chris poured more cider and handed it to the recovering man. "Don't spill it."
"Quit sassin' me," Vin fired back, then toasted the doctor. "Thanks, I don't know what t'say. Wish I could see ya better."
"You're quite welcome, young man, and your continued progress is thanks enough," he nodded, amazed to see the man he'd left near death sitting up. "Don't worry about your eyes. They'll clear up as the headaches go away. Just eat, sleep and drink."
"He does that real good," Chris quipped. Thinking on the doctor's problem, he crossed back over to the doorway. "You know, I think I might have a solution to your problem. Vin's doin' better. I think I can handle things here. Maybe Moses could help you out at the Keane's house."
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah," Chris shrugged. "He sleeps most of the time, and he's getting stronger."
"Where is Moses?"
"Down by the river, gettin' plants and shit," Chris stated.
"I've been waiting for the wire to go up to send for supplies. I'm meeting the wagon a few miles from here at the crossroads by Red Creek Junction. You tell Moses to meet me there. I'll be back here as soon as I can."
"Good enough," Chris nodded. "We'll be fine."
An hour later, Chris was dropping more wood by the stove when Moses returned. He briefly explained the meeting and saw the old man's eyes stray to the bed. He knew how attached Moses was to Vin and apparently it was hard to let go. Every night while he was outside getting a smoke, he'd hear Vin and Moses talking quietly while the old man bathed him.
"I'm gonna go outside and wash up," Chris said, leaving the older man to say goodbye. .
Moses nodded, hesitated and moved to the bed. He eyed the young man, seeing color where once the skin was far too pale. He moved his hand over the slightly parted lips and felt the warm breath dance on his hand. He took the limp hand and recalled all too well when those fingers grabbed his own. He swallowed hard and brushed the hair from the young man's face just as the eyes blinked open.
"Aw, hell, I fell asleep again."
"Sleepin's good fuhr yuh," Moses countered the disgruntled face. "How 'bout yuh sit outside fuhr a spell? I'll fix yuh a plate."
"Okay." Vin shifted and with the old man's help, he sat up. He stole a glance at the old man and tried to use his legs.
"No, yuh ain't ready fuhr that yet. But could be yuh could work on buildin' yuhr strength up a bit."
"Ain't that what we've been doin'?" Vin quizzed. "Rubbin' 'em and movin' em?"
"Yeah, but we gotta get yuh movin' more. I'll tell Chris, he'll get 'em stronger."
Vin wasn't happy but he let the old man carry him outside. By the time Moses returned with the plate of sliced pears, cheese and cider, he'd regained his breath. He worried about that, the continued weakness that with the slightest movement robbed him of his air.
"Thanks," he nodded, taking a piece of cheese. "What's wrong?"
"I gotta go," Moses said simply. "Them folks the doc's been tendin' need help. They got a house full of young-uns up there. De Mister broke his hip...some of the little ones is still sick."
"Oh," Vin rasped, not realizing just how much the strong, dark-skinned man had come to mean to him. "I'll miss ya," he mused and found a small smle. "Chris can't sing worth a damn."
"He cares fuhr yuh," Moses noted of the blond man. "I don't think I ever seen de like."
"I guess I'll keep 'im then," Vin grinned, then locked onto the other man's eyes. He held his hand out, wincing slightly at the strong grip. "I want ya t'know, Moses, what ya done...pullin' me out of Hell's gate. I won't ever ferget it."
"I reckon I won't either, son," Moses nodded thoughtfully. "Somethin' happened in here," he tapped his worn shirt over the broad chest, "that night in de cave. When yuh grabbed m'hand..." He swallowed hard, giving the pale man's face a tap. "Yuh behave fuhr Chris. His temper's on the short side."
"Preachin' t'the choir," Vin laughed. "Ya take care... angel."
Moses would have argued, but the blue eyes bore down on him with such a strong light, he lost his words. He nodded once and headed for the side of the house.
Chris looked up and saw the emotion-filled brown eyes. He locked onto them and nodded once, sending his own gratitude silently."Take care, Moses," Chris offered with an open hand. "I'm glad we crossed paths. Keep your head up."
"I will, son, and thanks." He shook the hand and eyed the side of the porch. "Yuh take good care of de boy."
"If I don't go bald first," Chris grinned, "Don't worry about Vin, he's gonna pull through just fine."
"His legs... yuh needs t'stir 'em up. Work the blood back. He needs t'start walkin' a bit." He saw the blond head dip and nodded back. "Yuh take care of yuhrself too..."
Vin swallowed hard when Moses paused at the end of the path to the main road. He watched one large brown hand come up and wave to him. He shivered then, getting a flashback to a strong hand that reached out and snatched him from death. Those same strong hands tended to him, caring for him like family. Then again, riding with the six friends he'd come to know as his own kin had taught him a thing or two about who your 'family' really was. He finished his cider and laid his head back against the back of the rocker. By the time Chris sat down next to him, Moses was a speck at the end of the road.
"He's good man," Vin yawned.
"Saved your life," Chris agreed.
"Ya know, Chris," Vin was enjoying the warm sun on his face, "once I get m'strength back, before we head home, I wanna go see 'im. I wanna thank him eye to eye, shake his hand. I need to look at him straight, not up at him."
Chris didn't reply; he had other plans.
The Wilmington Principle.
He knew by now the Judge would have gotten word back to town. That meant Mary would have wired the fort. He knew without question that Buck would be headed this way. By now, his oldest friend would be far beyond anxious and worried. Once Buck got here, if Vin continued to improve, he'd be leaving him in good hands. His mission wasn't done. His eyes scanned the horizon, seeking the auburn-haired, blue-eyed prey.
Jeff Mason's days were numbered and lined in blood.
"Soon... ery soon," he vowed softly on the wind, curling one fist tight. Justice would be served — Larabee style.
After all, what could happen?
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