This is my first ever Magnificent 7 Fan fiction and was inspired by a line in 
the story "In Pursuit Of" at the Misery Loves Company website, in which 
Nathan mentions that Vin spent the previous Christmas alone in hospital 
without telling anyone and was only discovered because Buck was dating a 
nurse. This story has not been beta'd, so all goof-ups are mine. I am British 
but have tried to Americanise grammar and word-usage wherever possible. 
As always, I DO NOT AGREE WITH NOR PANDER TO THE IDIOCY THAT IS 
POLITICAL CORRECTNESS!!  

NB – Several ATF stories mention Chris/the others attempts to persuade Vin 
to move out to the ranch away from the dangerous location he lives in 
Purgatorio. If anyone wishes to use my conversion to apartment idea as 
written in this story, please feel free to do so, but would you just mention 
where you got it from. 

This story is set in the ATF Universe created by MOG, in which she kindly 
allows us all to play. All standard Disclaimers apply. 

CHRISTMAS CASUALTY

Vin gasped as pain shot down his injured ribs and leg as he made the 
mistake of rolling too far that way. Riding out the wave of nausea, he eased 
slightly over onto his good side and streeeeetcheeed with all his might – Yes! 
Got the phone.

About to hit speed dial, he stopped as the small clock on the table changed 
from 11:59pm December 23rd to 12:00am December 24th. It was officially 
Christmas Eve. 

Vin eased his thumb of the speed dial his jaw set with a stubborn 
determination that would have warned anyone who knew him. Last 
Christmas had been a totally fubar situation for AD Orrin Travis. After 
spending Christmas Eve and Day in the hospital with the 3 injured members 
of Team 4 who had been shot up during a major, ultimately successful 
weapons bust, Travis had then had to use every diplomatic trick in the book 
to save the strained marriage of Team 2's Profiler Selina Warwick, whose 
husband and children were not enthralled with her missing her third 
consecutive Christmas Day; following that, he had had to talk Team 10's 
sniper Chezmon Chiura out of resigning when the normally affable man 
threatened to quit over not being able to spend Christmas with his wife 
Nadine and his family yet again. The African-American had the 
handsomeness of Denzel Washington and the easy-going ebullience of Will 
Smith, but he was built like Michael Duncan Clarke and when finally 
provoked to wrath fought like Mohammed Ali. Accepting the challenge of 
making a success of an inter-racial union, Chezmon and Nadine had enough 
issues to deal with since their miscegenation without the ATF inserting more 
spanners into the gears.

So in January, Orrin Travis had pitched a hissy fit, stomped both his feet 
firmly down, hurled the rattle out of the pram and generally gone on tear. 
Since their inception four years ago in March 1998, his elite ATF teams had 
worked non-stop balls to the wall taking down the bad guys, including 
Christmas, while the more conventional agencies such as the police, other 
ATF units, FBI etc., kicked back. Orrin gave every team blanket leave from 
December 22nd to January 4th inclusive. No arguments, no appeals. Beginning 
about March, other agencies had tried bribes, threats, pleas, but the teams 
had stood firm. They had an entire Christmas to themselves and they were 
going to wallow in it!

Vin sighed. The Travis family – Orrin, Evie, Mary and Billy, were spending 
Christmas with Chris at his ranch, the next step in the ongoing integration in 
Chris and Mary's relationship, though the pair had been lovers for several 
months now. Likewise, JD had booked a romantic Christmas getaway with 
his partner Casey Wells to Vancouver. Nathan and Rain were enjoying a 
much-needed short break in the Maldives, away from the pressures of 
Nathan's ATF career and Dr Rain Jackson's traumatic job in the ER of a busy 
Denver hospital. Thanks to Josiah's position in the ATF and Orrin Travis's 
political clout, the homeless mission he volunteered at had received a boost 
in funding over the past four years, enabling them to help many more 
people. Josiah was intending to spend Christmas at the mission helping out, 
but what he didn't know was that many of the homeless people and the 
staff were throwing him a surprise thank-you party tomo- no, today.

Finally, incredibly, Ezra and Inez had taken a vacation together to Inez' 
native Mexico. Again, their romantic relationship had come as a great 
surprise, but in retrospect, Vin knew he should have seen he subtle signs. 
Ezra's trepidation regarding Buck's loud pursuit of Inez had been 
unnecessary – the big man had immediately switched to encouraging the 
lovers and proudly telling anyone who stood still long enough to listen that 
he had brought them together. Buck was running The Saloon over Christmas 
in Inez' absence.

Vin bit his lip. He had intended to spend some quality time in the wonderful 
wide-open spaces of the Denver Mountains, doing his usual volunteering with 
the US National Parks Service as a Ranger. He loved the feeling of freedom 
and the lack of noisy, grating humanity.

He looked at the phone in his hand. He didn't want to call Buck Wilmington 
for three reasons. First, Bucklin' had a heart the size of Texas. The big man 
would spend the holidays running himself ragged by dashing back and forth 
between Vin at the hospital and taking care of The Saloon.  Secondly, 
though the man was a like brother too him, Vin could only cope with Buck 
for so long before his somewhat immature boisterousness and loud, raucous 
nature left Vin with a searing headache and an overwhelming need for 
peace and quiet. Being trapped in a hospital bed with Buck booming away 
next to him for a couple of hours at a time did not strike Vin as a good way 
to spend Christmas. Third but most important – Buck Wilmington was an 
open book. When the others phoned in, Buck would last all of five seconds 
before the others would know something was wrong. 

And they would phone. Even as he lay on the floor, the idea that they might 
not do so never even occurred to Vin Tanner. Whenever one or a couple of 
members of Team 7 were separated from the others, either due to illness, 
having a day's leave when the other six were working, attending a seminar, 
etc., they never failed to telephone one of the Team at some point in the 
day, even if it was just to say "Hi" for a few seconds. Neither Vin nor indeed 
any of ATF Team 7 were aware of how widely this quirk was known in law 
enforcement circles or how much comment it generated, particularly after 
the seminar Vin and Josiah had attended in Orlando a few weeks earlier. 
Unaware that other delegates had sabotaged their mysteriously non-working 
cell phones, they had been equally unaware of the betting going on 
regarding their response. Wide spread astonishment was still the order of 
the day after Josiah and Vin sacrificed most of their short lunch-break in 
order to find a phone, yet the sum total of their conversation had amounted 
to less than twenty seconds. 

Vin Tanner was completely unknowing of all this. The seven men were not 
due to meet up until New Year's Day, which they would spend together at 
Chris's ranch before returning to work, but each man would telephone at 
least one of the other six each day until then…except for Vin. He had 
warned all of them that he intended to leave behind the irritants of 
civilisation during his Christmas vacation as a volunteer Ranger – no cell 
phone, no pager, no email. Just him and Peso, under the stars. 

His decision made, Vin dialled 9-1-1 and asked the operator to send an 
ambulance to his apartment in Purgatorio. "One cracked rib, a deep gash in 
ma' leg but ah've tourniqueted that ma'am and some glass cuts." He 
reiterated his injuries, "I never lost consciousness an' ah dint 'it mah 'ead."

"You've got medical experience, Mr Tanner?" Her voice was professionally 
calm.

"Yes'm. I'm an Agent with the ATF-"

"…Team 7's Vin Tanner?" Her voice was suddenly warmer, more human, 
more alert – and more alarmed.

"Mah injuries are a domestic accident ma'am, no need for an "officer 
down" response." Vin hastened to assure her. "In fact, ah'd be right 
grateful iffen yah'd make sure this call dint get out – ah don't wanna ruin 
everyone's Christmas as well as mah own!"

"No problem, Agent Tanner." Her voice was still warm.

Christmas was a busy period for both law enforcement and emergency 
services as the damage from inebriation and family fights skyrocketed and 
Vin had clearly stated that his case was non-urgent. However, he couldn't 
hold back a smile of gratitude as in less than ten minutes two paramedics 
were walking through the unlocked door of his apartment. Due to the 
increase in violence against and abuse of doctors, nurses, medics and other 
health care personnel, the emergency services were more and more 
becoming seen as just another part of the "brotherhood in blue" and they 
reciprocated by ensuring society's protectors were tended to fast.

One paramedic was Latino, the other Chinese. Both managed to look pale as 
they took in the damage and saw Vin Tanner laid out across his own carpet 
covered in blood. "S'okay." Vin reassured.

They were beside him in a second, moving quickly and professionally. "What 
happened?" asked the Latino, his lapel reading "Dominguez". 

"Last night's freak storm." Vin whispered grimly, swallowing against he pain 
in his ribs and leg. "Watch mah hair – glass." 

Purgatorio was old and run down, and Vin knew his landlord hadn't replaced 
or repaired anything in or on the crumbling apartment blocks in decades. 
However, it was typical of Vin's life that the storm-weakened guttering 
would collapse and come smashing through his window just as Vin was 
walking across the room from the bedroom to the kitchen. The big old couch 
Vin had picked up at a yard sale for twenty bucks had taken the full impact 
of the massive, lethal clay pendulum as it hurled through the exploding 
glass, which was why Vin Tanner was not stone dead, impaled by an 
impromptu javelin through his chest cavity. The guttering's impact with the 
couch had caused it to snap like a twig and a long clay shard had caught him 
a bone-cracking blow in the ribs, one jagged end slicing his calf nearly down 
to the bone while flying glass shards inflicted dozens of lesser cuts to his 
arms and bare torso, mercifully missing his face and eyes, but his long hair 
was filled with tiny bits of glass "dust" that was still sharp.

"Wait a sec." Dominguez got up and closed Vin's curtains, watched by two 
puzzled men. Then, taking a medical "staple gun" he stapled the cloth into 
the surrounding wall and the two middle edges together, making an 
impromptu covering against the gaping hole where the window used to be.

"Thanks!" Gasped Vin.

"Es nada. Let's get you to the ER."

* * *

Dr Lauren Mackie fixed Vin Tanner with the stern gaze she saved for her 
four-year-old son. The  "I Am Mother – I see all, I hear all, I know all, so do 
not try to scam me" look.  "Well, Agent Tanner?"

"No ma'am." Vin admitted sullenly.

The medical personnel of Denver City Hospital were intimately acquainted 
with AD Travis's elite ATF Teams, particularly Team 7, who as one surgeon 
put it, were like "six parts of the same soul". They were also aware of their 
penchant for getting out of hospital by any means they could. Operating on 
a hunch after discovering that Vin had requested nobody be informed of his 
accident, Lauren had called his bluff and refused to release him on his own 
recognisance unless he had someone who could care for his injuries at 
home. He had promptly backed down.

Vin heaved a sigh as Dr Mackie left, gazing at the ceiling wistfully. He felt 
like crap and knew he was in no condition to be home alone, but still…He 
sighed again, unaware that his courtesy and gentleness had endeared the 
staff to him previously. Thus he was alone in a quiet corridor side room, 
with no roommate to irritate, and Lauren Mackie asked for his helpings to 
be on the large, sugary side. She smiled as she walked away. Nothing could 
make up for having to spend Christmas in a hospital, but her own Christmas 
gift to Agent Tanner would be to ensure he got plenty of rest and fed up on 
decent food for once. The cute Texan was too skinny for his height and 
needed a bit of fattening up…

* * *

December 30th …  

"Love is in the aiiiiirr, in every sight and every soooouund…" Buck 
Wilmington hummed the tune to himself as he skipped into Denver City 
Hospital. The ladies' man had kicked himself for not seeing the look in 
Ezra's eyes whenever the Southerner's gaze fell upon Inez Recillos. Trouble 
was, even after four years of gradually accepting he was now part of a 
family, Ezra's self-esteem was still sometimes nowhere near what it should 
be. Ezra had been genuinely frightened of upsetting Buck or making him 
angry by pursuing Inez, as well as halfway convinced that Inez would dump 
him for Buck if the Lothario showed serious interest. Determined to ease the 
Southerner's mind, Buck had been loud in his public approval when the pair 
announced their plans to spend Christmas vacation together and 
enthusiastic in his self-appointed role as the "Luuuurvemeister". 

Nothing would have gotten Buck to admit his nervousness about running The 
Saloon in Inez' absence, but to his own shock everything had gone smoothly, 
particularly as Buck did not have to maintain his act of relentless bonhomie 
as the other six weren't present – he could direct his energy into running the 
bar with all seriousness, instead of maintaining his perpetual act. He and 
Chris had become firm friends at college, but astutely Buck had readily 
realised that people instinctively sought a counterpoint to the blond man's 
controlled, focussed intensity and so had deliberately increased his own 
natural ebullience and cheery character to the point where he was almost a 
caricature of himself. He had been doing it so long that by the time Chris 
had met Sarah, it had become a habit that he only switched off in the 
presence of strangers and when Chris wasn't present. Besides his momma, 
only Sarah Larabee had been perceptive enough to take him aside one day 
and quietly assure him that he did not have to always be a clown for her.

Profits were up and everyone had had a great Christmas. Ezra had called, 
his accent thick with a satisfaction that spoke volumes to Buck. Lacking the 
Southern accent, Chris's tone had also been full of testosterone and Buck 
had no doubt that Chris and Mary had discreetly celebrated Christmas in a 
very private fashion at night when little Billy and her in-laws were safely 
tucked up in bed. JD and Nathan had also called, their tones too carrying 
that extra zing of men who were getting laid regularly. Even Josiah had met 
a lady volunteer at the mission, a widow of a philosophical bent. Over the 
phone the big man's voice had deepened with hidden humour.

And now it's ole Bucklin's turn! Buck grinned as he thought of the 
voluptuous curves of Dr Nedra Grant. Many people looked at Buck 
Wilmington's lady-killer reputation and wondered – sometimes nastily, out 
loud – how Wilmington got away without being attacked by his "conquests". 
Even as Chris and the others defended him, Buck had read their assumptions 
on their faces. It would have astonished everyone to know just how few 
women Buck Wilmington had actually had sex with in his life. Buck's success 
with women came from one source – his love for women. Buck had grown up 
in Las Vegas with his part-time showgirl part-time prostitute mother and 
from an early age was the recipient of frustrated maternal instincts. He 
loved everything about women – their silky hair, the warm smoothness of 
their skin, that subtle fragrance they all seemed to have, the way they 
laughed, the way they talked. Buck also possessed a truly encyclopaedic 
knowledge of the female psyche. He knew what made women tick and why. 
What a woman appreciated more than anything was a man who listened. A 
man who not only acted but genuinely believed her views had merit and 
were important. None of Buck's lovers showed hostility or resentment 
towards him because often, they never got round to being Buck's lover. He 
was their knight in shining armour. He picked them up off the ground, 
cleaned their wounds, brushed off the dust and then hugged them and 
listened as they poured out their woes. He did not judge, he did not 
interfere, and he didn't push unsolicited advice on unwilling ears. 

Nedra Grant had come into the bar looking for a one-night stand, which 
Buck had provided, but during the post-coital pillow talk he had quickly 
eased out her self-doubt and self-recrimination over a teenage patient who 
had died and knocked her confidence for six in the process. The Wilmington 
magic had worked again, and now he was going to surprise her with some 
more Christmas cheer. He would wait till she got off shift and then they 
could go to a nice, quiet late-night restaurant.

Buck hummed with anticipation as he walked down the corridor, past the 
empty room, past the man with a broken leg, past Vin's room, past the 
vending machine. He loved the way Nedra's nose wrinkled so cute when she 
smiled, loved the way her plump breasts just nicely filled his palms, loved 
those luxurious moans she made when he went down on her…

He stopped in the middle of the corridor and frowned. What…? Something 
wasn't quite right, somewhere. He replayed the last minute in his 
head…hospital…Nedra…dinner…empty…broken leg…Vin…

Vin? Vin! VIN?!

Spinning round on his feet he hurried back down the corridor and stopped in 
the open doorway, trying to deny what his eyes had automatically recorded 
before. Semi-propped up in a hospital bed, Vin Tanner was stretched out, 
legs crossed at the ankles, sound asleep, head over to one side. He looked 
impossibly young as he slept, his wavy bronze hair framing his face; the 
bandaged leg, taped ribs and myriad healing cuts on his bare arms jarred 
the sweet harmony.

Easing away from the door, Buck marched down the corridor, the 
opportunistic lover no more; now he was an agent with a mission. It took 
him five minutes of fast-talking and flashing his ID badge before he got the 
facts from Dr Mackie. When Dr Mackie finished and returned to her rounds, 
Buck returned to the corridor that led to Vin's room, grinding his teeth as he 
fought the urge to wake the Texan up just so he could kick his stubborn, 
too-proud, over-independent ass! All the time he had been fondly imagining 
Tanner happily breathing in the sweet crystal mountain air, Vin had been –

His cell phone rang and without thinking Buck answered the call and JD's 
exuberant tones spilled into his ear; the youngest agent called his big 
brother Buck every other day and had let slip that he and Casey were really 
enjoying their vacation.

"Dr Mendel to ER, stat! Dr Mendel to ER, stat!"

"BUCK!" JD's cheerful chatter was instantly replaced by an alarmed 
exclamation as the voice came clearly over the hospital tannoy.

"It ain't me, kid!" Buck tried to give a cheerful chuckle. "I'm here to pick 
up my date – Nedra's a doctor and she's got curves…" Buck waxed lyrical 
and for a few moments actually thought he'd pulled it off.

"Who's hurt, Buck?" JD's tone was grim.

"JD…"

"Don't snow me, Bucklin'!" Such was the snap in JD's tone that for a minute 
it was almost like talking to Chris Larabee. "Who. Is. Hurt?"

"Vin – it's not serious! It was an accident in his apartment, not bad guys! 
Some guttering came loose and smashed through his place's window as he 
was passing by, but he's just got a cracked rib and a gashed leg." Buck 
downplayed.

"When did they bring him in?" JD asked, making rustling sounds as if he 
were checking flight times.

"…"

"Buck?"  JD spoke a little louder. "When did they bring him in?"

Buck told him.

"WHAT!!" The roar of male anger gave yet more proof that for all his baby-
face, JD Dunne was a man full grown.

"I ONLY just found out myself ten minutes ago!" Buck consciously lowered 
his voice as he belatedly remembered where he was. "I was walking along a 
corridor on my way to meet Nedra when I glanced in one of the rooms and 
saw him asleep! Vin asked that nobody be informed he was here! You 
seriously think I would've kept quiet about it if I'd known?!"

"Sorry, Bucklin'." JD was instantly contrite. "Look, me and Casey were 
coming back tonight anyway to beat the storm front moving in. I'll see you 
at the hospital. Bye."

It took Buck thirty minutes to locate Nedra, explain the situation and cancel 
their date. In that time the phone went five more times and five very 
unhappy men informed Buck of their prompt return. All were coming back a 
day early anyway to avoid being stranded by the tropical storm front moving 
in. Buck smiled grimly to himself. Vin Tanner was going to have one hell of a 
wake up call…

* * *

Morning of December 31st

Vin Tanner wrinkled his nose against the starchy pillow and rolled onto his 
back slightly, giving a massive yawn before opening his eyes and stretching. 
There was a large black blob in front of him and he blinked and peered at it. 
His eyes focussed on black boots and travelled up - black jeans and the 
evidence of their very male wearer, a loose black shirt that ended in a 
bulge that turned out to be a pair of arms folded across the chest. He 
looked up finally into cold green eyes and suddenly Vin was much more 
awake.

He half sat up and looked around, blinking rapidly. There were six men in 
the room. All looked grim, tired and definitely unhappy at a certain Texan. 
Vin smiled, weakly. "Guys…?"

* * *
December 31st 

Vin interlinked his fingers, then slid them apart, and then interlinked them 
again nervously as he looked at the clock. The New Year was fast 
approaching. He was going to have to do some serious grovelling.

Vin had been released into Chris's care and transported to the ranch, where 
he was promptly fussed over and waited on by six mother hens. Six angry 
mother hens. Their care was done without smiles, jokes and there was a 
definite chill in the air. Vin's justification that he hadn't wanted to ruin the 
holidays had been met with an instant sharp rebuke from Buck.

"You wouldn't have ruined anything!" The ladies' man had retorted with 
uncharacteristic anger. "If you'd bothered to call me, I would have got the 
hospital to release you to my care, then set you up in one of the guest 
rooms above The Saloon so you could rest while I looked after the bar. You 
wouldn't have been alone in hospital for Christmas. How do you think we 
feel about you being all on your own while we were enjoying ourselves?!" 
The big man had stomped outside, slamming the door with such force that 
ornaments rattled. Vin had cringed, but had received no absolution in the 
censure he read on every face.

"We would not have returned from our vacations, Mr Tanner." Ezra had 
coolly stated, "However, calling you on the phone each day to say hello 
would not have been a bother to us or caused any disruption to our 
celebrations." The Southerner had also left the room as the others nodded 
agreement.
  
With sudden clarity, Vin had realised that his stubborn independence came 
over to his friends as rejection and lack of trust. He had been sincerely and 
genuinely contrite, apologising to them all and the atmosphere had warmed 
gradually as they realised he was really remorseful.

Except for Chris. 

All day Chris had been helpful, considerate…and detached. The green eyes 
remained cool, the face impassive, the manner diffident. Chris had 
apparently been not only impervious but also oblivious to the pleading for 
forgiveness in the dark blue eyes. Their silent communication had been 
turned off and Chris seemed in no hurry to switch it back on again. 

Vin swallowed heavily aware of Ezra, Buck, Josiah, Nate and JD sitting out 
on the porch watching the stars while Vin was ensconced next to the warm, 
banked up log fire and Chris was in the kitchen doing something with 
bourbon. Vin was grateful to his five friends for giving him and Chris space 
without making it obvious. Slowly getting up he moved stiffly into the 
kitchen, surprised to see the back door open and Chris leaning on the 
wooden rail of the back porch, staring out at the surrounding hills.

Vin limped cautiously to the doorway. "Coffee?" He offered tentatively, 
Please, Cowboy?

"Nope." 

Vin dropped his head. "Chris, I's sorry, I dint mean t' mek yer angry…"

"I'm not angry." The words were cool and unemotional.

Vin flinched. He had been on the receiving end of Chris Larabee's infamous 
temper and had no qualms about giving it to Chris "right back at yah" – he 
could hold his own. This emotional withdrawal was more than he could bear 
– he didn't care if Chris yelled at him or hit him, Vin was desperate for the 
other man to thaw towards him.

Chris spoke again, his words having no inflexion and so somehow carrying a 
greater sting. "Friendship is a two-way street, Vin. Friends need and rely on 
each other - You can't have a friendship if one party is always trying to be 
Superman. We're more than friends, we are family and you don't treat 
family like this. If you're sick or you're hurt, your family should be there for 
you. It's what we're supposed to do. It's our right. It's very dangerous to 
keep on and on pushing away the people who care about you, because 
eventually they will get so tired that they'll stop pushing back and just walk 
away."
    
Vin blinked back moisture as he cringed inwardly, realising that he hadn't 
made Chris angry, he had hurt the blonde's feelings very, very deeply. He 
also knew he couldn't promise not to do it again because it was a reflex 
action. Whenever Vin was ill or injured he withdrew and hid his pain and 
now it was clear Chris was sick and tired of being shut out and shoved away 
emotionally by Vin. How could he apologise, not matter how sincerely, when 
both men knew he would more than likely do the same thing again next 
time he caught some virus or ended up cracking a bone?
     
Vin jumped as the phone in the other room shrilled loudly. Walking inside 
past him and through the kitchen, Chris walked over to it and picked it up as 
Vin followed nervously and sat back down in his previous position next to 
the fire, desperately miserable. 

Chris raised an eyebrow at what the speaker said, then turned and held it 
out towards Vin. "It's yer landlord."

Equally surprised, Vin took the phone. "This is Vin?" He listened intently to 
the landlord's explanations, acutely aware of the brooding figure leaning 
nonchalantly against the wall a few feet away. Amazingly, the landlord was 
going to pay for the window and the apartment's refurbishment if Vin would 
agree not to sue – with a feeling of warmth, Vin recognised Ezra's deft 
touch, and marvelled at what the Southerner had been able to accomplish 
in the hours since Vin was released from hospital that morning – and it 
wasn't midnight yet! 

And the Southerner had acted even though he was angry at Vin – blinking 
and trying to focus on what the landlord was saying, Vin glanced absently at 
the blank TV screen and saw Chris's reflected face in it, the older man 
unaware that Vin could see his features. Fear. Anger. Worry. Resignation.

The epiphany hit Vin full in the face, that abruptly crystal-clear clarity. 

Somehow, he found a voice. "No, Mr Hoskins." He cut across the words. 
"I'm probably going to be sub-letting the apartment."

Nearby the black-dressed figure abruptly straightened up from it's slouched 
position against the wall. Five figures within hearing distance on the porch 
appeared to be sitting as casually as ever, but the sudden strained tension 
was clearly visible to one who knew how to read body language as well as 
Vin. "Got the offer of a place outside the city, but I'll still be in Denver and 
I can still check up on the place." Vin let a warning leech into those last 
words. "Yeah, we'll sort out the details next week. Bye." He switched off 
the phone and looked at Chris with a calmness he most certainly did not 
feel. Offering not just the olive branch but the entire tree complete with 
roots and fruit he asked,  "Yah mind iffen ah do up that nighthawk's cabin, 
like yer said?" 

"Why?" Chris demanded bluntly.

"'Cos a man looks afta 'is family, an' ah reckon 'avin' ma family spending 
every day worryin' 'bout me getting' shot walking from mah apartment 
t'mah car ain't doin' them n' me no good." Vin kept his eyes locked with 
Chris's own. Ah'm sorry, Cowboy. I bin so locked inta keepin' my 
independence and not relyin' on nobody that ah niva bothered ta think how 
alla youse feel ev'ry day knowin' some scumbag could whack me ahtside 
mah own apartment 'cos most folks know ah'm a cop. Ah wasn't even tryin' 
to protect yah, either, was just suitin' mahself without thinkin' a' nobody 
else's feelin's.

"Sure. We can start this weekend if you like." Chris said calmly, his eyes 
finally softening. Got right sick of yer allus pushing me away and not lettin' 
me help yah when yer allus there when ah need yah. Yah spent Christmas 
alone rather than let me be there for yer. It hurt real bad. Don't do it 
again…Cowboy.

Two pairs of eyes met and held, two mouths smiled once more as their 
synchronicity was restored.

"Aaah!" The other five men were somehow inside, easy smiles rather than 
strained politeness on their faces and everyone turned at Buck's cry of 
horror as the man looked around frantically.

"What's wrong, brother Buck?" Josiah asked as the ladies' man backed away 
from them an expression of acute disgust on his face.

"Wrong – have you bunch looked at the time?!"

"11:56pm?" JD read helpfully off the VCR clock. "So?"

"So it's four minutes to the New Year and there ain't nobody here to kiss at 
midnight!" Buck wailed.

"Nonsense, Mr Wilmington, there are seven people here." Ezra refuted with 
utter calm.

Buck skittered backwards. "Eeeeww! You know ah mean women. Ah 
wouldn't snog yah if yah paid me!"

Ezra drew himself up. "Are you saying that I am ugly, Mr Wilmington?"

"You have been grievously insulted, brother Ezra." Josiah chimed in.

The six men closed in on their stammering victim who suddenly realised that 
he had backed himself into a corner. He roared and flailed as they dived on 
and pinned him down, howling as a certain Southerner planted a slurping, 
sloppy kiss right on his mouth. One arm shot out and grabbed a certain 
African-American who in turn yelled as he was lip-locked.

Midnight came and went unnoticed in the yelling, laughing, shrieking, 
pummelling, tickling, mêlée as the wolf pack indulged in a little male 
bonding…Seven-style.

Epilogue        

Vin Tanner sprawled out full-length on the huge, wide couch that cradled 
his lanky form with perfect comfort, taking an appreciative sip of his Bud. 
He looked around his new home, the things he saw generating a warmth the 
fire in the hearth couldn't match.

Opposite the main ranch house, one end of the big stone barn had been 
partitioned off in the 1880s, with the hayloft being turned into a tack-room 
and the ground floor space having a cot and living space for the ranch's 
nighthawk. Over the decades, the cabin space had fallen into disuse, but 
Chris's great-grandparents had shown highly unusual consideration for their 
employee, considering nighthawks – ranch hands who watched over the 
herds and horses at night and who slept during the day – were largely 
Negroes or Indian half-bloods. The inner wall to partition the end of the 
barn off had been built of thick, soundproof stone, the floor levelled with 
great care and flagged with thick, good quality stone slabs. The wooden 
upper floor were thick, sturdy beams still in good condition. They'd even 
put an outhouse at the back. The space was certainly large enough to make 
an open-plan one-bedroom apartment.          

Under Chris's direction, they had actually started the repairs on New Year's 
Day after dragging themselves out from their late night wrestling match and 
then carried it on at weekends. Even some of the other teams had dropped 
by to help, much to Vin's embarrassed gratitude. Ezra had been protestingly 
forced into menial labour, but got his revenge by engineering a test of 
strength contest between Josiah and Chezmon Chiura, which the big 
African-American just won. Chris was aware that in fact, Josiah probably 
had the edge on Team 10's sniper, but the only way to tap that heft was to 
make Josiah angry – which nobody with any sense would deliberately do.

A draught-excluding door had been fitted, which led directly into the main 
living room. Vin's big couch was directly opposite it, in front of the real 
stone fireplace. To the right of the fireplace, sturdy wooden steps led up to 
what had been the hayloft, now possessing a beautifully waxed wooden 
floor and balcony rail. Chris had had some of the roof tiling removed and big 
ceiling windows put in, so Vin could look straight up at the stars. He had 
also taken out some of the stones and put an inner window in the partition 
so Vin could look into the barn and check on things. Directly underneath the 
bedroom loft were Vin's compact but well-equipped kitchen with the 
window over the sink framing the mountains, and then the large bathroom, 
which had been extended using the stone blocks removed from the repairs. 

Again, Vin had to swallow a lump in his throat, even though he'd been living 
here for several weeks after sub-letting his apartment to his Italian 
neighbour's sister and her family, for less than what he was paying to his 
landlord. Every time he thought about his family, he choked up.

Buck had been the first to give his "house-warming" present. Everyone, 
including Vin, had laughed when Buck turned up in a big lorry with a massive 
wooden bed, two big closets and a chest of drawers. The handsome ladies' 
man had waggled his eyebrows at Vin and had cheerfully helped them 
manoeuvre the heavy bed into the loft bedroom – through the new windows 
in the roof – all the time making risqué suggestions on how Vin could 
"christen" the bed. It was not until he was alone at night that Vin had 
actually looked at the furniture and the truth dawned upon examining it. 
The huge bed, complete with head and footboard, had been carved from a 
single section of massive tree trunk. Underneath, Vin's fingers found the 
"hallmark" of the Native American craftsman. His sharp eyes saw how the 
closets and drawers had been made from the same tree by the same 
craftsman, using proper wooden pegs instead of cheap metal screws. Again, 
most of the furniture was a solid carved piece rather than sawn up sections 
joined/screwed together. Even the wonderful mattress was a specially 
ordered orthopaedic one that eased his slightly curved spine. Vin shook his 
head to himself – the set must have cost Bucklin thousands, yet it was 
typical Wilmington style to disguise a gift of diamonds as if they were paste. 

Nathan had bought him an antique medicine cabinet and a beautiful set of 
Native American throw rugs for his floors. Josiah had given him the big 
coffee percolator that took pride of place on his counter-top, and a set of 
first edition poetry books that now had pride of place on Vin's bookcase. JD 
had come with a plain bag that he had held out to Vin with a grin. Inside, 
Vin had found all the knick-knacks that the team had located while 
refurbishing the rundown place, yet more evidence of how high regard the 
original nighthawk must have been held in. They had found an antique brass 
telescope, a deck of old, polished playing cards, a Sheriff's tin star, several 
silver dollars, a bible dated 1872, a white J. B. Stetson hat, a Civil War era 
doctor's stethoscope and incredibly two guns - an old "mare's leg" sawn off 
handgun and a Colt Peacemaker with a chunk gouged out of the hand, 
dating from the 1870s. At considerable expense, JD had had them all 
cleaned and restored – they now had pride of place, spaced out on Vin's 
mantel above the fireplace.

Ezra's house warming present had been the entertainment centre cater-
cornered to the left of the fireplace. TV, stereo system, VCR and DVD 
player. Ezra had also included a set of DVDs that made Vin grin and forget 
his embarrassment over the Southerner's extravagant gift – all the movies 
were ones that Chris particularly hated: Terminator, Rampage, Conundrum, 
The Abyss…But the Southerner had also provided more personal gifts – he 
had had several photographs of Team 7 and just Vin and Chris framed with 
antique wooden and bronze frames that he had then hung on the walls of 
the new apartment.

Chris had given him just two house-warming presents. The first was a 
painting by Chris's favourite Western-style artist. Showing two men sat side 
by side atop a peak overlooking a lake, with five other figures dotted about 
in various attitudes of repose. One of the two seated figures appeared to be 
wearing black, another seemed to be African-American, and a third wore a 
bright red coat. Vin was aware how much the artist charged for her work 
and had never dreamed of owning any of it.

The second present was currently toasting Vin's feet. The purebred 
Labrador puppy's coat was a rich, chocolate brown that matched his big, 
soulful eyes. Chris's two black Labs – the old, stately Diablo and the young, 
exuberant Sam, had taken immediately to the small newcomer whom Vin 
had had no choice but to call Bud after finding the puppy sprawled goofily in 
the kitchen next to an open, empty bottle of Budweiser.  

Now, ever alert to his adored master's moods, the puppy clumsily moved up 
until he was sitting on his master's stomach – after Vin moved his beer with 
one hand and the puppy's paw from his crotch with the other. Vin stroked 
the silky head, feeling his emotions rise. He would never have dared have 
anything like the antique memorabilia, the picture, the coffee percolator or 
the entertainment system in his apartment in Purgatorio, knowing that 
crackheads looking for fix money would have made off with them in 
minutes. He had always loved animals, but again, knew that any pet of his 
would have a short life expectancy against the gangs and grudge-bearing 
criminals that infested his previous residence.

As his friends – his family – helped him create his new home, Vin had 
glimpsed their disguised relief and realised anew just how much his 
stubborn clinging to independence had damaged them – especially Chris. 
Night after night they must have gone to bed in the knowledge that this 
could be the night they got the dreaded phone call saying that Vin Tanner 
had been gunned down in a drive by, fatally stabbed inside his apartment 
building, or battered to death by junkies or gang members in his own 
apartment. 

Vin also realised how much better he felt since he had moved onto Chris's 
ranch. He would never fully abandon Purgatorio, but the constant tension 
that existed inside of him was gone, the need to always be ultra-alert of his 
surroundings unnecessary. The wearing noise of night traffic, the heart-
skipping nocturnal gunshots, the invasive streetlights, all were no longer 
there to grate on his soul and weigh him down.

He raised his head only slightly, unsurprised when the door behind him 
opened and the black-clad figure of Chris Larabee stepped in, Sam and 
Diablo either side as he closed the cold February night air out. Getting 
himself a beer, Chris stretched out in the recliner seat opposite the couch, 
scowling as he realised that the DVD Vin had on with the sound low was the 
original Terminator movie. People persisted in claiming he had a strong 
resemblance to the movie's co-star. 

"Ready?" Yah done all the paperwork for that big audit Travis is having on 
Monday, pard?
 
"Sent." Yeah, I emailed it to Orrin ready for Monday. "Ball game?" Is there 
a game on instead of us having to watch this damned movie?

"Nope." Have yer ever actually watched it insteada jus' glaring at th' 
screen?

Grunt.

Bud carefully examined his master's face as Sam looked at him a "let's 
play" expression. The distress was gone now Sam's Master was here and Bud 
relaxed. Sam's Master always made his own master relax and smile. Bud slid 
down and went next to Sam, where they nuzzled and sniffed each other 
while cautiously keeping an eye on the humans, but there would be no tricks 
tonight. Bud had quickly grasped that his master thought the world of him, 
but Sam's Master would not allow any nonsense. Bud had once bitten his 
master when he took something off him that was smelly and dead and 
lovely; there had been no treats for a week, but Sam's Master had a hard 
hand and a cold, cold voice.

It occurred to Vin as they sat in companionable silence that Chris had 
probably never had the opportunity to watch any of the movies without 
being constantly bombarded with comments over his resemblance to one of 
the actors, which probably accounted for his asperity. Chris looked 
marginally more impressed when the "good guy" male lead showed quick 
thinking by diving over a bar in the nightclub when the Terminator robot 
took out the place with enough ammo to wipe out a small country.

"Good thing yah didn't give up yah day job fer yah actin'." Commented Vin 
with just the right amount of nonchalant criticism in his tone.

Chris blinked and scowled. He replied with a silent, one-fingered salute, 
then turned his attention back to the movie, ignoring the snickers coming 
from a certain blasted Texan who would get his ass kicked if he didn't shut 
up.

Yawl and whose Army, Cowboy?

Don't need no Army for a skinny runt like you.

Don't go rilin' yah blood pressure, old-timer.

Chris snorted beer up his nose and coughed. Too mellow to get up and 
pound some respect in the scrawny wiseass opposite him, he loftily ignored 
the sniggers and went back to the movie, which actually wasn't that bad…

Sam and Bud lay side by side contentedly. Vin yawned and let his eyes 
flutter closed, vaguely aware of Chris sleeping soundly in the recliner. He 
drifted off, warmed for the first time in too long by the knowledge that 
here he was finally safe…


© 2003 C D Stewart