"TANNER!"

"This ain’t got nothin’ to do with you, Chris."

Vin continued down the street, his usually relaxed swagger replaced by an abrupt, smooth gait. Chris Larabee was following a few feet behind, his spurs clicking out the sound of his irritation.

"Don’t turn your back on me, dammit!"

"This ain’t any of your business, Larabee!"

Chris saw red. "I can remember saying just that a week ago and I ended up getting shot for my trouble!"

Vin stopped, his head snapping around. His and Chris’ eye met like two opposing forces. A clash of wills. For long seconds, neither spoke. "This ain’t the same and you know it. I ain’t sick from fever and I ain’t got some gunfighter wanting to kill me."

Don’t you bet on it!

Vin read the other man’s face. Back off, Chris. They continued to glower at each other, exchanging silent threats.

"You..."

"Shut up and leave me the hell alone!" For a moment it appeared that one or other of them might snap and throw the first blow, but instead, both spun away in frustration. Vin continued on his dark path toward the livery, Chris, back to the saloon. The gunfighter paused climbing the stairs and a string of curses exploded from his mouth that would have stripped the paint from the walls, if anyone had ever bothered to paint them. Wheeling around, Chris set his sights on the livery. Damn Vin Tanner. Damn him to hell.

Several people spotted the Seven’s leader striding down the street, his face set with such living rage that most, not only shrank away, but sought refuge. Chris let fly with another outburst of language that the devil himself would have been proud of. What the hell is going on, Vin!

Chris had first noticed it early yesterday morning. By mid morning, the rest of the Seven sensed it, too. By lunch, everyone in town well and truly knew something was wrong. By late afternoon, the Seven had rallied to offer support and comfort. By evening, they had shrank back in confusion and fear for their own safety. Vin was acting like a bear with a sore head and it had progressively got worse as the day went along. Chris had hoped that after a good night’s sleep, Vin would return to his easy-going self, but no such luck. The quiet tracker was angry. Seething with rage. A rage that kept escaping every time anyone spoke to him. Worse still, no one knew the source of their friend’s wrath and thus had no way of abating the situation.

Finally, Chris had decided that enough was enough. Vin had to tell him what was wrong. This couldn’t continue. Besides, how the hell could he help if he didn’t know what the hell was going on!

The gunfighter paused just outside the livery and allowed his anger free reign. Normally, he kept it in check, but right now, he didn’t care. Vin would tell him what was wrong, even if Larabee had to kill the slight young man to get it out of him. With dark determination, the Seven’s leader stepped into the doorway, but what he saw froze the blood in his veins. Every bit of anger he felt died an embarrassed death. Across the barn, Vin was standing with his back to the wall, his head tipped back, his eyes squeezed shut with force. And Chris Larabee cursed himself. No, not seething with rage. Racked with unadulterated pain. Why hadn’t Chris seen that? Silently, the black clad enigma entered the darkened room and came to halt directly in front of the still form. He said nothing. He simply waited.

A long jagged sigh echoed out of Vin and his eyes released their strangled hold on the invisible source of his pain. But while the eyelids had relaxed, they remained closed.

"Leave me alone, Chris."

"Nope."

"Please." It was neither a request, nor an order. It was just a word.

"Nope."

"You interfering sonofabitch." The curse was uttered with passion, but still the eyelids remained locked together.

"You sick?" Instantly, the head tipped forward and the eyes flicked open. Puzzlement crossed the haunting blue pools and then they flashed with a silent apology.

"No, I ain’t sick." Chris evaluated the statement, unsure if he was prepared to believe it or not.

"Then what the hell is going on?"

"You ain’t gonna leave this are ya?"

"No." The two men stared at each other. Vin tipped his head back and gazed up at the cobwebs that nature had selected to decorate the rough ceiling.

"I’ve been acting like a jackass, haven’t I." A statement, not a question.

"Yes, you have. You almost took J.D.’s head off. He didn’t deserve that." Vin’s eyelids slammed shut with force, his face once again contorting with pain. Larabee stared. In that instant, he realized he’d been wrong a second time. No, what was ailing Vin was neither rage nor pain. It was grief.

"Vin?" Chris prompted with a gentleness few would believe he could afford anyone.

"Eighteen years today. Damn it to hell, it’s been eighteen years, Chris," Vin whispered, his voice trembling with the effort of revealing his heart-felt sorrow. "Can’t believe that she’s been gone that long." For a split second, Larabee felt himself slip into limbo. A place that he went when he needed to protect himself. But with resolve, he dragged himself back. He wasn’t going to be any help to Vin there. Vin’s eyes opened. They were glazed with such torment that Chris swallowed unconsciously. "I can’t remember her anymore." The anguish on the young man’s face cut Chris to the quick. "I used to be able to picture her real easy. If I closed my eyes I could hear her laugh, but I can’t. DAMN IT! WHEN DID I FORGET HER?"

Chris wanted to say something, but his mind was spinning in a black vacuum. Without warning, Sarah’s face jumped into his mind. Her smile. Her hair. Hell, for a split second he could hear her voice. It was the first time, in over a year, that her memory had been so clear. And then it disappeared, just as quickly as it had come. Chris cursed out aloud and found himself mourning, not the loss of his wife, but the loss of her memory.

One of the horses whinnied softly, breaking the misty atmosphere that had engulfed Larabee. His attention refocused on his distressed friend. Vin was staring at the ground, his shoulders hunched in defeat.

"Vin... when Sarah died... " The tracker’s head snapped up, his face blanketed with rage. Without a word he shouldered passed Chris and barreled toward the door. But when he reached it, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder briefly. His and Larabee’s eyes touched for a fleeting moment. A silent apology from the first. A bob of understanding from the second. And then, Vin was gone. Chris picked up the saddle that was hanging on the rails of Peso’s stall and flung it across the room, his voice roaring with self-directed anger. How the hell could he be so insensitive? Why the hell would Vin want to hear about Sarah when he was struggling with his own loss? Larabee turned, placed his hands on the top rail of the stall and dropped his head. I should have known. How had he mistaken Vin’s grief for rage? If anyone should know and understand the difference, it was him. If anyone should have realized that Vin’s outbursts could not possibly have been a result of anger alone, it was him. For a whole day, Vin had been grieving his mother’s death. Damn it, I should have known!

"Chris. We got a problem," Buck announced, bursting through the bat wing doors of the saloon.

Chris glanced up at him and then returned his empty stare to the unopened bottle of whisky that sat in front of him. After his encounter with Vin several hours earlier, he had found himself falling into a familiar pattern. He felt hurt and so he automatically turned to find comfort in a whisky bottle. Strangely, he hadn’t opened it. Just kept staring at it. Larabee was a strong man, but he had one painful weakness. He couldn’t cope with failure. His own personal failures never worried him. Rather, it was his failure to be there for those he cared about that sent him into a tail spin that he found impossible to pull out of. When Sarah and Adam had needed him, he had failed them. And yesterday when... well, he’d failed again. And the thing that hurt the most, was that neither Sarah nor Vin had ever failed him. Hell, even when Vin had left with Charlotte, he’d come back the moment he realized he was needed. And last week he’d stopped Chris from committing suicide, or dying by the code or... well they refused to agree on that, but the bottom line was that Vin had been there for him.

"Chris, come on," Buck urged turning toward the door.

"What?"

"It’s Vin. He’s done gone and ridden out. I’ve got the rest of the boys saddling up." Larabee pushed his chair back and strode out onto the porch. For several seconds he stood, evaluating the street with his slitted green eyes. Buck passed him and raced down the stairs.

"We reckon he must have left about an hour ago. Come on."

"No." Buck spun around with surprise.

"What?"

"I said, no."

"No! Chris, Vin’s ridden out. And we both know that that boy ain’t in any mood to be on his own."

"Leave him," Chris murmured softly.

"Leave him! What the hell are you sayin’? We got to go after him, before he done hurts himself or someone else." Buck stared into the face of his oldest friend and recognized the stubborn determination. "Fine. You stay here. But me and the boys are gonna go and get him. Ain’t no tellin’ how long he’ll take off for." Buck turned and took one step. A bullet ripped up the ground an inch from his boot. The big man glanced over his shoulder and watched Larabee reholster his gun.

"I said, leave him be." Buck didn’t feel intimidated, but Chris’ reaction made him stop and think. The mustache above his lip twitched with frustration.

"Chris?"

"Leave him be, Buck." Larabee’s voice had dropped to a whisper. Caught between his heart and his head, Buck struggled to make the decision. Finally, he nodded. If anyone knew Vin it was Chris. If Chris said to leave Vin be, then Buck would respect that. For the time being at least.

The moment Buck disappeared, Chris headed for his rented room. Closing the door behind him, the gunfighter scanned the small rectangular box that housed all of his worldly possessions. Confidently he searched for the sign that he knew had to be there somewhere. His eyes stopped when they came to the uncomfortable bed against the wall. Sitting on the pillow were two small silver bullets. Two bullets? Two bullets. Two days.

Chris Larabee positioned himself in his chair. No one else ever sat in it, except Vin. And he only did it to get a rise out of his older friend. The plain wooden seat sat on the porch outside of Mary’s newspaper office and offered a view of the entire town. More importantly, it allowed the occupant to see the trail coming into Four Corners. Larabee had been sitting watching that trail for the past three hours. Vin’s two days were up the moment the sun went down. And sunset was due any minute. Buck eyed his leader and shook his head. For all of yesterday and most of today, Chris had not seemed in the slightest bit concerned about Vin’s absence. But in the last few hours, Larabee had begun to fidget like a man with something on his mind. Buck suppressed the urge to suggest that maybe they should go and start searching for Vin. No, he’d only get his head bitten, if not shot off.

"You want to join me for a drink?" Chris glanced at his concerned companion and shook his head. "He’ll be back, Chris."

"Yep, I’m expecting him tonight." The statement was said with such certainty that Buck frowned. Deciding that there was little more he could say or do, the local scoundrel headed for the saloon for a drink and some female company.

Chris watched him go and then directed his eyes back to the open trail leading into Four Corners. And there he saw what he was waiting for. A familiar shape riding a familiar horse. The horse wasn’t walking, but then it wasn’t galloping either. Larabee waited as the animal and rider disappeared into the livery. Moments later, the familiar figure reappeared and made a bee line for Chris. The two men exchanged a nod of greeting.

"You alright?"

"Yeah." Vin closed his eyes briefly and half a smile touched his face. "I found her. She’s still there," Vin explained. Chris nodded evaluating the relaxed look on the younger man’s face.

"She’ll always be there, Vin. Won’t matter how far you go, she’ll always be there."

"Yep, reckon she will... Reckon you will too." With that the young man turned. "Interfering, sonofabitch who can’t mind his own damn business." The soft muttered curses continued as he took a few steps down the street. Abruptly, he glanced back. "You comin’?"

Chris rose to his feet and fell into step beside his best friend. Without a word he thrust his arm out in front of Vin and opened his palm. Vin glanced down at the two silver bullets. Yes, he’d found them. And yes, he’d understoond what they meant. At that particular moment, the sun disappeared over the horizon, officially closing the day. The two men gazed at the hills for several seconds. Two bullets. Two days. Vin took the bullets and pocketed them and the two continued on toward the saloon, Chris’ black coat billowing in the breeze, Vin’s hair flying back after him.

Shoulder to shoulder they climbed the stairs. As they reached the door, they paused. Inside they could hear Buck’s name being cursed; Ezra’s exclaimed indignation at some opponent’s claims that he, a refined Southern gentleman, had been cheating; J.D.’s giggles; Nathan’s placid voice calling for calm and Josiah’s deep laugh filling the air.

For a split second Vin hesitated. He closed his eyes. His mother’s face stared back at him from a corner of his mind, her laugh echoing in the middle of his heart. He knew she was with him. And he knew that wherever she was, he was with her. Vin turned and nodded to Chris and together they stepped into the suffocating warmth.

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© May 2000 Aussie Lass : This relates only to the creative property in this story. The distinctive way the story unfolds, the specific dialogue and unique situations are mine. I acknowledge that some of the characters and settings belong to MGM and Trilogy Entertainment and thank them sincerely for turning a blind eye so I can borrow them. (g) No infrigement of copyright was intended and no profit has been made from this story... so, please don't sue me. It wouldn't be worth your while.