Sighing, Vin pulled his feet up onto the caned seat of his chair, cradling his furry companion and staring out over the top of the big pine that grew below his window.

It hadn’t been as bad as he’d expected. Josiah’s old house was big. Roomy enough for the two of them to coexist without interfering too much with each other. And he’d found a quiet confidant in Josiah’s big, gray cat, Aristotle. A confidant he knew would keep everything he said to himself.

He was a bit surprised by how little Josiah had tried to prod him into ‘opening up.’ The big profiler had been quietly companionable, socializing with his house guest, but not pushing him to talk. In fact, they were getting along very well, helping each other when needed, but basically each leaving the other to as much privacy as was possible for two men living in the same house. And since Josiah’s ankle kept him pretty much confined to the ground level, all Vin had to do to get a bit of solitude was go up to the second floor. And reluctant as he might be to admit it, his ‘conversations’ with Aristotle were helping.

His bedroom was on the southeast corner of that level, and just sitting in the window during the morning hours, eyes closed as he soaked up the brilliant sunlight, brought a measure of serenity to his troubled spirit. He’d spent many hours in this favorite spot, pondering the way things had gone, discussing things with the uncritical cat. Fighting the anger that seemed to flood his heart at the least provocation. Or none. He didn’t understand what moved him to such outrage. He had no target, no focus. Just consuming fury.

And he thought about Chris. God, he was so confused. How could you love and hate a person, all at the same time? Love him for the person he was, the heart and courage and spirit. Not to mention the beauty. Chris Larabee was just simply the best looking man he’d ever seen.

But at the same time, he hated him for the way he’d thrown what Vin offered into the trash. No matter how many times he chided himself for unfair expectations, he couldn’t shed that hurt.

He knew the others all thought he blamed Chris for the… for what had happened to him. They were wrong. Above all else, Vin Tanner was a realist. He knew who was to blame. But they weren’t in reach, and Chris was.

Somehow, everything got all mixed up in his head. He couldn’t stand to be around Chris. To remember that what those fuckin’ bastards took from him Chris had never seemed to be ready to accept as a gift. And it all tied itself up in his brain, making him want to lash out at anything. Everything. But especially at Chris.

Aristotle leapt out of his arms as Josiah’s voice sounded from the base of the staircase. Sanchez was preparing for his trip to that conference. He’d refused to consider giving up on what he considered a great treat, despite Nathan’s sputtering outrage. Josiah had just smiled benevolently and continued with his planning. His one concession to the medic’s concerns was to arrange for a motorized wheelchair for the conference, in order to avoid the extensive walking necessary on the grounds of the host university.

“Hey, Vin. Could use some lifting and carrying help, here.”

“Comin’, ‘Siah.”

He stood, grimacing at the twinges in various parts of his body. It shamed him a bit, but he was looking forward to Josiah’s departure, to the peace of solitude, having the big old house to himself.

“Hey, Junior! Get your butt down here!”

Ah, hell. He should have known they wouldn’t leave him alone.

Sighing, he headed down the stairs.

“Ya got Buck, ‘Siah. Shouldn’t need me.”

“Ha, I knew it. All Texans are lazy bums. All got their brains cooked.”

“Shut the hell up, Bucklin.”

He hoisted himself up sidesaddle on the polished railing and slid the final few feet. Josiah was fiddling around with the bags stacked by the door.

“Thought you’s only goin’ for three days, Josiah. You plannin’ on movin’ west?”

Josiah straightened, supporting his weak side by leaning against the foyer wall.

“Gotta be ready for anything. You never know what you’ll find on the streets and beaches of the lovely City of Angels.”

Buck shook his head sadly. “Ya sure you don’t want the old Buckmeister to come along, Josiah? You could have the ones I can’t take care of.”

Vin rolled his eyes. “Don’t give in, Josiah. Ya don’t want that animal magnetism of his stinking up southern California.”

Sanchez grinned rather maniacally. “Don’t worry, brothers. I’ll do fine all on my own.”

“He doesn’t need your help, Buck.”

Vin jerked around at the voice sounding from the hall. Briefly, he met Chris’s sober gaze. Then he twisted away, bending to grab two of Josiah’s bags and haul them out onto the broad porch.

Damn.

Buck followed him out, dragging the final, wheeled suitcase and the folded chair.

“What the hell is this, Buck.”

“He’s staying with you while Josiah’s out of town.”

“No! Thought I told you…”

“I know what you told me, Vin. Time to settle this.”

“No!”

“Yes. It’s time, Vin. You need to talk to him. And you need to let him say what he needs to say to you.”

“Buck…”

“I know, son. Remember, I know all about what went on between you. When he’s done, leave if you have to. But hear him out.”

Vin glared at the big man. “’S my life, Buck. Ya got no business interfering.”

“Yeah, I do, Vin. I got a big stake in all of this. Soon as we get Josiah off, I’m gone. And Chris stays.”

“Then I”ll…”

“Nope. You’ll stay, too. That’s why I’m here—to take Josiah in the truck. You stay. You two talk, or you don’t, but you’re livin’ in this house together until Monday morning.”

Vin’s teeth ground together. Buck met his glare calmly, implacably.

“Fine. Monday, I’m out of here.”

“Your choice, Vin. Just listen to the man.”

Vin shook his head and headed back up the stairs to the porch.

“Oh, Vin. The third guy?”

Vin paused, shoulders stiffening.

“They identified him… Name’s Quinn. Ernie Quinn. Ever heard of him?”

“Nope. Don’t mean anything to me.” Vin could hear the tightness in his voice. Quinn. Hard Voice. The last of the bastards. His fists clenched, and his breathing quickened. The last one.

“Well, Nicky figures they’ve got a good lead on him. He’ll be letting us know when they get their hands on him.”

With a wordless nod, Vin continued up the stairs, meeting Josiah as he hobbled through the door, crutch swinging. He offered his shoulder, helping the man down the stairs, then stood and watched as the older man pulled himself up into the passenger seat of Chris’s black truck.

Having tossed the luggage into the back, Buck waved, trotted around to the driver’s side, and carried Vin’s shield away to catch a flight to Los Angeles.

He knew Chris was standing on the porch. Could feel the heavy pressure of his presence through all the nerves of his own back. Felt the burn of that green glare right through his shirt.

“Just us, now, Vin.”

He clamped his teeth onto his lower lip, shaking his head slightly.

“C’mon, Cowboy. Just hear me out.”

At the fondly spoken nickname, he spun, feeling that anger rise in his throat.

“Don’t reckon you got anything to say I want to hear, Cowboy,” he snapped. “Reckon you said all needed to be said a week ago.”

Pushing roughly past Chris, he stalked back into the house, ran up the stairs and locked himself into his room.

Chris resisted the urge to slam his fist against the wall.

Damned, stubborn Texan.

The day had been a bitter drawing room comedy. He knew Vin was there only because he’d watched him storm up the stairs and heard the door slam. Throughout the rest of the morning and into the afternoon, the most he’d seen of his housemate was an occasional flicker of movement in his peripheral vision. If he attempted to track his elusive partner, all he found was empty rooms and silence.

At the moment, he could actually hear the other man. Could have cornered him—at least momentarily—had he tried. Vin was in the kitchen, cleaning the few dishes he’d used for his private dinner.

Sighing, Chris leaned his forehead against the cool plaster of the wall. He’d been sure that, with a few hours in the same house, he’d be able to make his peace, mend the shattered relationship that he’d come to realize was so vital to his happiness. But he wasn’t going to make any progress if the wall was the only thing he ever got to talk to.

Besides, he had important news for Vin. Right. Had to talk to him.

His head jerked up as the crash of shattering glass echoed from the kitchen. Swearing sharply, he hurried down the hall and jerked the door open.

Vin was standing, back to the sink, staring down at the glittering remains of what had been one of Josiah’s heavy old glass tumblers.

“Vin?"

For a moment, laser-like blue eyes speared him.

"Uh..." Chris shifted uncomfortably, glancing away. "Though you might want to know. Adamson called. They found Quinn, dead. Bled out. You got him, pard."

Vin's mouth tightened, hands fisting viciously. His eyes turned back down to look at the shards of glass around his stockin-clad feet.

"You all right?”

Vin‘s gaze snapped up from the jagged remnants. Chris was stunned by the smoldering fury in those vivid eyes.

“Am I all right? All right? Fuck!” Vin twisted around and grabbed the heavy plate standing in the drain rack. “Ain’t all right! Ain’t never gonna be all right!” he bellowed, spinning back and letting fly.

Chris ducked backward, slamming the door just ahead of the plate’s impact.

From the other side of the heavy wooden barrier, shouts and screams accompanied repeated shrill crashes—door and surrounding walls ringing under the assault of one projectile after another.

Holy shit.

He leaned against the door, surprised to feel himself shaking, as the torrent raged. Then gradually, the crashes slowed, the voice dropped to silence.

He waited for a full minute, then cautiously opened the door far enough to assess the dangers of entering the battleground.

He grimaced at the wreckage. The lower levels of Josiah’s beautiful, hand crafted dish racks were denuded, their former proud displays spread across the hardwood floor, a dangerous, shredding minefield of shattered stoneware.

And crouched in the middle, back against the cabinet facing, Vin. He was curled in on himself, face buried in his folded arms, body quivering and rocking.

Chris felt his heart lurch. Carefully, he navigated through the dangerous wreckage, then crouched down in front of the younger man.

“Hey, pard,” he said gently. Vin didn’t move, other than to continue that horrible rocking.

Carefully, Chris reached for the other man’s cheek, flinching slightly as he felt moisture. A man like Vin Tanner should never be reduced to this.

“Vin? Look at me, buddy. You hurt?”

His only answer was a convulsive shake of Vin’s shaggy hair.

“Vin… you got no shoes on, Cowboy. We gotta get you out of here before you slice the skin off your feet.”

At last, Vin lifted his chin and met Chris’s eyes.  Chris rocked back on his heels, shocked by the hot anger still flushing Vin’s cheeks. Tears, yes. Tears of frustrated, unrelieved fury.

“Don’t fuckall care! C’n slice any damn thing ya want!” he growled.

“I don’t think so, Tanner.” Chris reached out for the other man. “C’mon, let me…”

“No!” Vin jerked backward, cracking his head against the cupboard. “Don’t need to be carried!”

Chris let his mouth twitch into a small, mocking grin. “Don’t quite know how you’re getting out of here without it, pard.”

Vin’s mouth tightened into a mutinous pout. “Ain’t gonna be carried!”

“Well…” Chris scratched his head. “How about a compromise.”

He stood, groaning slightly at the creak in his knees, then turned his back to Vin, crouching down. “Climb on.”

“Wh…what?”

“You heard me. Mount up!”

He heard a snort of what might have been laughter behind him, then felt Vin slowly rise to his feet. Arms slid cautiously around his neck.

“Okay, here we go…”

Chris reached back with both hands and grasped the fleece-clad knees, helping the smaller man lurch up onto his back. Carefully, staggering slightly under Vin’s weight, he worked his way back through the crockery graveyard, down the hall and into the living room. Finally, he let his burden slide off his back onto the soft, old couch.

Sensing the pending escape attempt behind him, he turned and grabbed Vin’s arm.

“Not this time, Cowboy. This time we talk.”

“Nothin’ to talk about.”

“Oh, yes. We’ve got a hell of a lot to discuss. Starting with what just happened in there.”

Vin stared up into his face for a moment, then pulled free and stood, moving slowly to the big bay window. Staring out into the autumn afternoon, he slowly lowered himself onto the padded seat.

Chris could be patient. He waited, gaze fixed on that averted head.

“It ain’t fair.”

“No, it isn’t. What they did to you wasn’t any kind of fair.” Chris pulled in a deep breath. “And what I did to you wasn’t fair, either.”

Fierce blue eyes pinned him against the couch. Then Vin’s head swiveled back to stare out the window. “They didn’t have no right.”

“No.”

Vin’s fingers tightened into hard fists, pushing against his thighs. “Ya think I blame you.”

Chris closed his eyes in pain. “Yes,” he whispered.

The shaggy head shook slowly. “Yer wrong, Chris. Weren’t your fault. I know none o’ this was your fault, but… Every damn time you look at me… Didn’t want you to ever know what they… Damnit, I just wanna smash someone’s fuckin’ head in!”

“Not mine?”

“Only when yours is the only one around.” For a moment, he sat motionless, breathing rapidly. “In my brain, I know you didn’t have nothin’ to do with… with what they… I know it.”

“But you’re still mad at me?”

Sorta. I… I just need to be mad at somethin’, at some-damn-body! It’s just all mushed up in my head! I need to beat someone’s face off, and there’s nobody!”

“So if not my face, whose?”

“Theirs! Those fuckin’ goddamned, stinking bastards! I wanna smash them to death! But damnit, they’re…” He stopped, panting and rocking slightly forward and back. “I’m sorry I been a bastard to you, Chris. Ya don’t deserve it. But I just can’t…”

“You already killed them.”

“Right! But I…”

“But you don’t really remember doing it.”

“Sorta. Sorta fuzzy, like it was really somebody else did it.”

“Hmm. Pretty unsatisfactory.”

Vin’s head snapped up, eyes blazing. “’Unsatisfactory’?”

“Unfulfilling?” He met that blue glare unflinchingly. “So… here.” He grabbed an oversized pillow from Josiah’s couch and dropped down beside Vin on the window seat. “Hammer away.”

Vin’s eyes widened in astonishment. “’S Josiah’s pilla!”

“Well, we already did in all of his crockery. Might as well do a thorough job.”

Vin stared, wild-eyed, at the inoffensive pillow. Tentatively, he delivered a punch to its unprotected softness.

“What the hell was that? Hit it, Vin!”

The square jaw tightened, the eyes narrowed to glinting slits. With a roar, Vin delivered a heavy blow with his right fist, followed by a matching strike from the left. More punches followed, the tempo increasing until he was pounding on the pillow with both fists, yelling incoherently. Chris braced his body, but felt himself sliding toward the edge of the seat under the violence of Vin’s fury.

Finally, barely in time to preserve Chris’s dignity, the blows began to slow, and Vin slumped forward, burying his face in the imperturbable pillow. He was panting; it was just possible that his eyes were leaking a bit.

Chris sat quietly, just letting the other man recover his composure. Eventually, Vin’s reddened face lifted from the pillow’s softness. A knot somewhere deep in Chris’s gut eased at the new peace he could see in Vin’s eyes.

“Is it dead?” he asked.

A small, sheepish smile curved Vin’s mouth. “Pilla survived, damnit.”

“You must be slippin’, pard.”

Vin shook his head. “It’s weird, but that really helped.” He gave a rueful little laugh. “Maybe I need to get in a supply of really tough pillows.”

“Yeah, I know. And it does a hell of a lot less damage than swallowing half a brewery every night.” Chris leaned forward, reaching carefully to stroke Vin’s cheek. Vin tensed, but didn’t flinch. “Damn, Cowboy. I’ve got so much I need to say to you. So much to make up. But the first thing… It hurts me like hell that such a thing could ever happen to you. Bad things happen all the time, to people who don’t deserve them. People like you, unfortunately.”

Vin turned to stare out the window. “Ain’t fair,” he whispered.

“No, it isn’t. But that doesn’t stop it. Would you switch?

Startled, Vin twisted back to stare at Chris. “Huh?”

“With her. That girl. She’d have been where you were. Would you choose to switch?”

“Hell no!”

“Didn’t think so. In fact, I knew that’s what you’d say. Because that’s you. And that’s the most important thing about this, Vin. Horrible things happen to good people… to us. But the way you keep them from beating you down is by surviving, and being the same man when you come out as you were when you went in.”

Vin stared at him, skepticism furrowing his mouth.

“Yes, I know.” Chris smiled ruefully. “Kinda like ‘do as I say.’ It’s a lesson I’ve been learning the long, hard way. Started learning from you, two years ago. Finally got kicked into the end zone a few days ago.”

“Kicked.”

Chris laughed and poked the other man in the shoulder. “Don’t need to look quite so intrigued, pard. Got myself a size twelve toe print on my ass to prove it. Ol’ Buck don’t pull any punches when he’s got a point to make.”

Vin scowled. “Ain’t gonna put up with him damaging the goods.”

Chris held his breath, staring at the other man’s face. “That mean you’re still interested in… the goods.”

Head ducking, Vin nodded. “Never stopped, Cowboy. Somebody else pulled the plug.”

Gently caressing the flushed cheek, Chris laughed slightly, then sobered. “God, Cowboy. I came so close… so damn close to screwing this all up. I’m a selfish bastard, Vin. You gotta know that going in. Been wallowing in self pity for the last five years.”

Vin leaned forward to protest, but Chris slid his hand over his mouth.

“Let me finish, pard. That’s what Buck hit me with, and he’s right. Sarah and Adam… God, I loved them. I miss them as much now as I did five years ago. But I’ve been grieving for me, not for them. And hanging on to that grief has kept me from moving forward, from accepting what I’ve found with you.”

“So… that mean we…”

“Oh, yeah. If you’re ready to forgive, I’m ready for a bit of personal exploration.”

A blinding smile transformed Vin’s face. “Always liked explorin’.”

“Oh, yeah,” Chris breathed. “I’ve been waiting for that smile.”

Slowly, he shifted closer, letting his hands come up to cradle the other man’s face. Carefully, gently, he nuzzled Vin’s jaw, soaking in the soft, pleased murmur warming his ear.

Vin turned his head, meeting Chris’s lips with his own. Chris slid his arms around Vin’s narrow body, pulling him to his feet and toward the old couch. When he felt the cushion against the backs of his knees, he turned, lowering the other man and letting his own body descend slowly after.

“God, I’ve missed you,” he whispered, lips and tongue roving over Vin’s throat and cheeks, then returning to kiss with fierce tenderness.

He could feel the increased tempo of Vin’s breathing, the hands that kneaded against his ribs. Felt his own hardness sliding over the smooth plane of Vin’s thigh.

With gradual care, he allowed his weight to settle over the other man’s body, moving rhythmically against skin and fabric, relishing the familiar scent as he nuzzled through long, silky hair.

His hands drifted down lean flanks, then back up to insinuate themselves between shirt and skin, venturing, inch by inch, under the drawstring waist of Vin’s sweats. Vin was panting, hands tightening on Chris’s shirt.

He could feel the heat rising in his skin, the flush sweeping over his chest and face. Lordy, how could he have thought to let this go?

At last, his roving fingers reached their goal… and froze.

“Vin?”

He slid his hand free and lifted himself away from Vin’s body. Vin’s warm, sweaty, but significantly still soft body. As his own breathing eased, he became aware that Vin’s panting was no longer the result of passion, that the fingers clutching at his own flanks carried a measure of desperate determination unsuited to the activity in which he’d thought they were engaging.

“Ah, hell,” Vin groaned, turning his face into the softness of the couch.

For a moment, Chris just breathed, attempting to get his raging libido back in harness. As the silence stretched, Vin rolled his head back to look up into Chris’s face.

“Chris… I’m sorry… I don’t…”

Chris freed his hand to run fingers through long hair, fingertips moving to smooth the crease between Vin’s eyebrows.  “Yeah, I got it, Vin.”  He heaved a sigh, then dropped a quick, gentle kiss onto Vin’s tense lips. “Nothing to be sorry for, pard. Guess I’ll just have to keep myself under control for a while.”

“Damn”

Chris sat up, then rubbed his hand gently over Vin’s chest and belly. “Hey, Cowboy. Don’t worry about it.  Just give it a bit of time.”

“Hmph!”

Chris grinned.  “What was that?”

“Damnit, ain’t fair! I’m dead sick of… of bein’ sick!”

“You just need to get a bit more distance from this, pard. You’re way too mean and nasty to let this get you down for long. Besides…”  He leaned close, running his tongue along Vin’s chin. “We’ve got all the time we need. We can go as slowly as you need to, pard, because this…” He kissed the pouting lips. “…This isn’t going anywhere.”

The pout deepened. “Ain’t your machinery went on strike, Cowboy.”

Chris laughed as he used his hip to urge the younger man deeper into the embrace of the couch. He slid down into the space he’d created, wrapping his arms around the other man. “Figure I’ve got a stake in that machinery, and I can be real persuasive when it comes to strike negotiations.”

Vin hooted, snuggling closer. “Yeah, right. If you didn’t have Josiah, you wouldn’t even know what the word ‘negotiation’ meant.”

“I’ve just got to be properly motivated.”

Vin leaned his forehead against Chris’s, then tilted his head to kiss.

“Might just be I could manage that motivation thing.”

“Might just be…” Chris whispered, tightening his arms.

Part 13 (End)