He hated that face.

Skin pale and sallow, eyes red-rimmed, sunken and weary, cheeks scruffy with several days’ worth of unshaved inattention.  Lank, lifeless hair hung around the hollow cheeks like a greasy shroud.

This was a face of defeat.

Gritting his teeth in self-disgust, Vin pushed sharply away from the mirror. 

So what happened to ‘getting on with things’?  He’d sent Buck away three days ago.  Time to take control and drag himself back in line.

Roughly, he stripped off his clothing and stepped into the hottest shower he could bear.  He scrubbed every inch of himself he could reach, soaping and rinsing his hair three times.  Stepping back out into the dingy little bathroom, he swiped a patch of the mirror free of steam, opening the battered door so the glass would remain clear, and carefully shaved himself as close and smooth as he could.  Then he dragged a wide-toothed comb through his hair, teasing out every tangle he could find.

He was starting fresh.  He still wasn’t sure where he was going, but it would start with a clean new beginning.

Dragging on a set of warm sweats, he shoved his feet into thick socks and his best pair of running shoes, double knotting the laces.  He shoved his wallet into a pocket, then headed out the apartment door and trotted down the flights of stairs to the street.

He started out jogging toward a nearby, overgrown park area, enjoying the chill tug on his still-damp hair.  He knew it was probably foolish to go running in the nippy early November air with his hair still wet, but there was something brisk—extra-fresh—about the feel of the wind’s chilly fingers wreathing among the moist tendrils. 

And God knew, he wanted fresh.

Disaster.  This was heading for disaster.

Buck listened to Ezra soothing and reassuring Baker, wishing desperately that he could ignore the black cloud seeping through the cracks around the door to Larabee’s office.

The kid was good.  Would have been a fine addition to any team.  His eye was good, his judgment sound.   He should be doing great.

But he was trying to meet an impossible standard, and Chris wasn’t giving the poor guy an inch. 

Today’s drill had been a jagged, disorganized mess.  The edge of Chris’s impossible, unending black mood had scraped all their hides, but none so badly as the youngster who was trying so hard to learn to be part of their team.  They’d miscued time after time, looking for that automatic mesh that had so characterized their usual operations.  And time after time, Chris had screamed at Baker, raking him for being in the wrong place, for firing at the wrong targets, for missing the take-down point.

God forgive the poor schmuck for being unable to read Larabee’s mind.

He’d emptied his mind, focusing on the stretch of his muscles, the thudding of his pulse in his ears, the pumping of his lungs. 

The path passed by faster and faster as he chased freedom.  Cleanliness.  A fresh beginning. 

The toes of his feet flashed in his lower vision, again and again, as he sped through the unkempt park. 

He wanted to run forever.  Never have to stop and let his brain go back to its normal function. 

Never have to let himself remember what he was leaving behind.

Because he knew he’d have to acknowledge that the paths he ran were circular.  He was condemned to end up at the same place he’d begun.

They weren’t handling this.  Chris sure as hell wasn’t, but neither were the rest of them.

Buck knew he, himself, was not behaving normally.  He was second-guessing everything, and he was avoiding his old friend whenever possible.  He also knew that his anger and disapproval were clear in every glance he exchanged with the other man, which was undoubtedly feeding the bottomless rage that characterized Chris Larabee’s current approach to life in general, and specifically to the operation of their team.

Nathan and Josiah were trying hard to pretend things were normal.  Trying too hard.  Josiah’s voice was a bit too hearty, too loud.  Nothan’s smile was forced and insincere.  Neither of them had been precisely satisfied with Buck’s vague explanations about Vin; he’d had to work hard to convince them to give up descending on the young man themselves. 

JD was jumpy and uncharacteristically quiet.  Normally, he’d be the first to welcome the new member of their team.  Buck smiled as he recalled the kid’s enthusiastic overtures toward Vin when the quiet Texan had first joined them.  Vin had been taken aback, then cautiously receptive in a kind of awe-struck way.  They’d built a tight, highly interactive friendship.  JD was obviously floundering, his normally outgoing, friendly nature at war with his resentment and sorrow at the loss of his friend.  And he sank into desperate obscurity the second he sensed Larabee in his vicinity.

Ezra was another who had developed a close, if unlikely, friendship with Tanner.  Buck figured none of them really understood what those two very different men had shared, but he did know the southerner bitterly resented Vin’s departure.  Buck suspected Ezra was the only other member of their group who’d perceived what was happening between Vin and Chris, which meant he was also the only other among them who truly understood what Chris had done to Vin.  He was retaliating by championing the new team member, pointedly in Larabee’s face.  He was treating his superior with a frozen formality which was ostensibly perfectly respectful, but dripped contempt.  He—respectfully—questioned every order, countered every argument, argued every criticism, particularly criticism directed at the hapless young man whose worst crime was receiving the order initiated by Larabee’s request for a new sharpshooter.

Well, no.  That wasn’t his worst crime.  His worst crime was not being Vin Tanner.

Vin leaned against the shaky railing, lungs working hard to make up the oxygen debt he’d created in his muscles.  He relished the panting breaths that chilled his insides, gazing across the little rain-fill pond watching a pair of pigeons fuss over some bit of scavenge they’d found.

And finally, he knew what he needed to do, at least for now.

He needed to get out of this city.  Get into the mountains to find that freshness, that clean, crisp reality that he craved so badly.

Nodding briskly, he straightened and set out to walk back to his apartment, controlling his breathing, keeping his pace brisk to cool his body slowly and safely.

He smiled as he strode through the streets, glad to have finally made some sort of decision, even if it was just a little, temporary sort of one.

Just put one foot ahead of the other.  One step at a time.

Slowly, reluctantly, Buck stood.  He knew someone had to talk to Chris, try to derail this charge to disaster.  He really wished it didn’t have to be him, but he knew it did.  None of the others had lived with Chris through those first agonizing months after the deaths of the man’s wife and child.  None of them could realize this was that Chris. The Chris trying to avoid dealing with unbearable loss.  And none of the others knew what he did about what had been going on between Chris and their departed teammate.

So it had to be him.  But oh, God, he didn’t want to go through that office door.

He drew a deep breath into his lungs, stiffened his spine, and reached for the doorknob.

Chris didn’t shift his attention from the papers on his desktop.

“You forget how to use your knuckles, Buck?”

“Nope.”  Buck waited silently, leaning back to push the door closed behind him.

After several minutes of silence broken only by the harsh scratching of Larabee’s pen, the man jerked his head up to spear Buck with a piercing glare.

“Some reason you’re standing there like a fence post?”

“Yup.”

The pen hit the desk sharply.  ”Spit it out, Buck.  This isn’t exactly an employee lounge.  I’ve got work to do.  In fact, you’ve got work to do.”

“We need to talk, pard.”

Jaw clenching, Chris reached angrily for the pen, dropping his eyes back to the scramble of papers.

“I don’t think so.”

“I do.  We gotta talk about a couple things, actually.”

“Such as?”

“Baker, to start with.”

“He screwed up.  He guards our backs; he screws up, we’re dead.  You think I’m too hard on him?  Are you going to feel the same way when he gets someone—JD, maybe—killed?”

“Damn it, Chris.  The kid is good, and he could get a lot better if you hadn’t scared the spit out of him!  Give him a break.  You’re doin’ a great job of ruining a man who could become a valuable member of some team.  Always assuming he doesn’t quit.”

“Some team?  He needs to be a valuable member of this team, and right damn now!”

“He can be.  Ease up.  Let him find his feet. He’s got what it takes, if he gets the chance to show it.”

Chris’s teeth bared in a snarl.  “Thank you for your input, Agent Wilmington. I’ll take your suggestions under advisement.  Now get back to your desk.”

Buck shook his head.  “We ain’t done, Chris.  There’s somebody else we gotta talk about.”

“No.”

“Yep.  You can shoot me after if you want, but you’re gonna listen to what I got to say.”

“No, Buck.  He made his choice.  There’s absolutely nothing about him we have to discuss!”

“You’re wrong, Chris.  And I don’t figure he actually made much in the way of a choice.  At least, not the choice he wanted to make.”

“What the hell do you think you’re saying?”

“Seems to me he got bit by somebody’s rules.  Your rules.”

Larabee shot to his feet.  “What the fuck did that bastard tell you?” Buck winced at the venom in the man’s rising voice.

“Under the circumstances, Stud, you might want to keep it down a bit.”

“I can’t believe he… how could he…”

“Ease off, Chris.  He didn’t have to say much; I figured most of it out for myself.”

“Damn it, that’s exactly what…  Shit!” 

Buck stared straight into the glare.

“Hate to tell you, pard, but it was you I figured out.  I got a pretty good handle on your hang-ups, and where he fit into things was pretty clear, once I clued in to what was going on between you.  And the sorry little chat I had with him the other night took care of just about everything else.”

He let silence hang between them for long seconds, a bit surprised at the grim pleasure he got from seeing Chris Larabee incoherent with outrage.

“Ya know, there’s really only one thing I haven’t got worked out.  But it makes all the damn difference.”

“Just what the fuck do you think you’re doin’, interferin’ in my business!”

Buck felt abrupt anger run fire through his veins.  “Your business?  You sorry jackass!”

“Who the hell else’s business, Bucko?”

“The way I figure, it ain’t just your business, pard.  You really think the fuckup we’ve made of these drills is Baker’s fault?”  Now he stepped away from the door, leaning forward over the big desk and letting his voice drop to a whispered snarl.  “If we screw up on the job, it ain’t gonna be Baker’s doin’ if somebody—say, JD?—gets killed.”  He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the outer office and the men watching, so interested, through the glass.  “I figure it’s the business of every one of us, Larabee.  Every man your damned little pissup is splattering on.  You tryin’ to tell me Baker’s the only one you’ve seen messin’ up?  Every damn one of us is off his game.  You got JD jumpin’ at shadows.  Nate’s countin’ the pressure bandages in his kit every ten minutes.  Ezra’d probably get a kick out of seeing someone shoot you these days.  Hell, he’d probably shoot you himself, if he could figure out how to get away with it.”  He paused, letting the tense silence vibrate long enough to get Larabee’s fingers twitching. 

Feeling a small hint of satisfaction, he straightened, smiling grimly. . “And then there’s you.  Hate to tell ya, Chris, but that pack of rats you got chewin’ at your butt isn’t improving the quality of your performance.”

For the first time, he saw a sliver of vulnerability crack Larabee’s shield of fury.  “That’s enough, Buck.”

“Oh no it ain’t, Chris.  We haven’t even got to the big stuff yet.  We haven’t got to that bit I mentioned—you know, the part I haven’t got figured out yet.  I know what went on between you and Vin.  And I know where he stands.  I know why you chucked him.  What I don’t know is where you really stand in all o’ this mess.  And pard, that does make all the difference.”

Larabee grabbed the stapler off the corner of his desk and threw it violently against the wall.  “God damn it, Buck!  I told him!  It was stupid—we were running idiotic risks for something that just wasn’t worth what it was going to cost us!”

“That right?  All about risks?  The chance the mighty Chris Larabee might be discovered pantin’ all heavy over his sharpshooter?”  He cocked his head, watching Larabee pace.  “Or… maybe the chance the mighty Chris Larabee might just discover he felt things for his sharpshooter he didn’t want to feel; maybe he’s startin’ to think it don’t matter what the cost is—what him and that sharpshooter got is worth it.”  He shook his head slowly.  “’Cause ya see, pard, that’s the part I ain’t got figured out yet.  And I figure it makes the difference about which end of you I decide to kick from here to Colorado Springs.”

“You wanna explain just exactly what you think you’re talkin’ about?”

“About you.  You and Sarah.  You and Vin.  And…”  He scowled at the other man, fiercely holding his hot gaze.  “And about Vin, and what you did to him, you bastard.  You just about broke him in bits, and I really want to know if it was worth it after all.”

Larabee shook his head vigorously, hand lifted in protest.  “Damn it, Buck, he knew the rules; he agreed…”

“Oh, he knew.  And you thought he agreed.  But you never really thought much about how he felt about things, did you?  Just took what you wanted, and cut bait when you started to feel more than you wanted to.”

“Buck…”

“No, Chris.  You listen.  Listen good, then do some serious thinkin’!    You don’t really figure you’re the first to take what you want from that boy, then toss him out, do you?”  He smiled grimly at Chris’s pained wince.  “Oh, he knew.  He knew just what kind of hurt he was letting himself in for.  But for him, it was worth it.  What he hoped he’d get from it made him willing to risk everything.  Your rules, Chris.  Your rules. But you think real long and real hard about just what all this meant to him.  Then you think about those rules, and you think about what you believe you’re ‘saving’ yourself for.  Then you answer that question—you know, the one I said made all the difference.”

Chris stood frozen, jaw sagging as he stared at his old friend.

Buck nodded in satisfaction.  “You think, pard.  Maybe when you decide where you stand, we can discuss how we fix this unholy mess you made.”

Casting one last look at Larabee’s stunned face, he turned and left, closing the door firmly behind him.

Vin paused for a few stretching exercises, leaning his forearms against a convenient power pole.

The walk home had accomplished exactly what he’d wanted.  His breathing had evened out nicely, muscles calmed and pleasantly warm.

Straightening, he set out to complete the last few blocks.  His mind was busily planning.  He wouldn’t need to take much.  Couple pairs of jeans, t-shirts, socks and drawers.  Knife.  Rifle.  Pan and coffeepot.  Bit of bread and beer, coffee.  Long as he had the knife and rifle, he’d have plenty to eat.

He’d love to make it a riding trip.  A momentary pang of loss swept through him at thought of Peso, the big gelding Chris had given into his custody.  But the instant of longing was squashed with stern determination.  Much as he loved the cantankerous animal, the horse still belonged to Chris.  Peso was part of the past.  He’d take his bike.

He was going forward, not back.

Part 4