A coughing fit shook the man on the bed, and he moaned in his sleep.

Vin Tanner watched his friend, deeply worried about what he was seeing.

"Damn fool, should've come in earlier," he muttered angry. A sound behind him made him look up, but it was only Nathan
Jackson, the local healer. They were in his clinic at the very moment, and Nathan was taking care of Chris, who was burning up
with fever. A small accident while working on his shack had delayed Chris's trip back to town and he had found himself stuck
in an ice cold storm. Instead of returning immediately at the first signs of a cold he had stayed three more days .When Chris had
finally arrived in Four Corners yesterday Vin had caught the sick man literally falling from his horse.

"How is he, Nate?"

Jackson shrugged.

"Fever's high, Vin, but I think he'll manage. Come morning it should be broken, and the rest is up to time."

"Thanks, Nate."

Foolish stunt, Larabee. Real foolish.

A rasping intake of breath pulled his attention back to his friend, and he looked into two feverish hazel eyes.

"Vin ..." Whatever Chris wanted to say was interrupted as another coughing fit wreaked through his body, leaving him
exhausted and gasping for air.

"Now, stop that, Larabee." Vin ordered. "If'n yer ever want ta get well again. Or I'll tie yer ta the bed myself."

"Bet you'd do," Chris murmured and closed his eyes, drifting back into sleep.

The next thing Chris Larabee knew were some heavy cursing, uttered in a suppressed whisper as not to disturb him.
Concentrating seemed to be difficult but he managed to differ the voices.

"Goddamn ... and we're one man short." Buck, no doubt about that.

"We'll manage. Have done before, 'Sides, somethin' like this can happen any time." Voice of reason, could only be Vin.

"Let's discuss that outside. Don't wanna disturb ol' dog here."

Nice of you, Buck. Chris's mind slowly faded back into the warm welcoming sphere of sleep when he heard riders coming in,
people shouting, gun shots.

Trouble.

And he was here, laying on his back safe and sound in Nathan's clinic, doing nothing while what? Hell, Chris Larabee never ran
away from a fight and he most certainly wouldn't start doing so now. He had no idea how he managed to crawl out of bed, not
to mention into his pants. A coughing interrupted his attempts to walk down the stairs and he had to grab onto the railing to
prevent himself from falling. But then he stood on the dusty street, looking for whatever trouble there were.

And he looked up.

On the nearest rooftop, a ray of sunlight reflected from the well known Winchester rifle.

"Vin!"

Chris thought he must have screamed his friend's name, but actually he wasn't able to give more than a choked horrified
whisper. Larabee had realized within a blink of an eye that he wouldn't be able to reach his friend in time, nor could he fire a
gun. The assassin was sneaking up on his friend, the long hunting knife already drawn to force it down between the tracker's
shoulder blades, and the man Vin Tanner trusted with his life, trusted to watch his back, was standing here, on the street,
holding on to the next best thing to not simply collapse, as weak as a kitten! Larabee watched with morbid fascination as the
knife slashed down, noticing the reflection of the sun on the clean metal before the fever got him and he simply did collapse into
a boneless heap.

Vin saw Chris's eyes widen in horror as the gunslinger looked up to him, saw him whisper his name and knew immediately that
he was breathing his last breath.

A pain filled yelp and the sound of metal hitting wood made him whirl around completely. What he saw made his jaw almost hit
the roof top as well.

The assassin was writhing in pain, laying on his knees, His arms painfully twisted behind his back in the strong grip of a tall and
slender, blond haired man dressed in a strange black jacket. A man Vin had seen before and never thought he would ever see
again. Because he had seen the man in a dream, no, a nightmare, months ago.

Spirit Walker... ?

The man looked up, and the smile that tugged at his lips, the sparkle in those familiar hazel eyes couldn't be mistaken.

"Chris ... ?" Vin whispered in awe.

It was him, and, in a strange way it wasn't.

The man nodded shortly and returned his attention toward the assassin, wrapping something around his wrists before letting go
of the man. He stretched out a hand to help Vin up and the tracker took it and got to his feet, noticing the small frown that flew
over the man's expression. Then he understood: he had taken his arm, without thinking, in the firm warrior's grip he was so used
to.

"Thanks ... cowboy."

Vin saw the man's lips move but he didn't hear anything, yet understood.

"I owed you one, pard."

Suddenly his hand was wrapped around thin air, the solid warmth of flesh and blood he had been holding a mere second before
gone, and the figure in front of him blurred, got translucent, and vanished.

"Vin?"

Buck Wilmington stumbled onto the roof, taking in the scene in front of his eyes in a second.

"Boy, ya got me scared. Told 'em we wouldn't get rid of ya that quickly."

He bent down to the would-be assassin who was watching him with wide horror-filled eyes.

"Git me outta here, mister. "

"Gonna take ya to jail, ya lil' piece o' shit."

"Jist git me 'way from him ... Man's ain't normal ... "

"Ah, shuddup. Vin, ya might wanna take a visit at Nathan's."

"Ain't hurt."

"Nope. Chris is."

The tracker didn't need a second invitation and hurried toward the stairs. Thus, he missed the deep frown on Wilmington's face
as he grabbed his attacker and noticed the unfamiliar small white band that bound the man's wrists.

"What the hell ... ?"

"Told ya ..."

"An' I've done told ya ta shut up!"
 
 

"Chris? C'mon, wake up, get back to me, will you? Pard, you're scaring me here ..."

The voice kept on insisting him to do so, accompanied by similar insisting slaps on his cheek. He groaned in annoyance and
turned his head away form the intimidating touch.

"Yeah, Chris, that's it, knew you could do it. Now, open your eyes."

"Vin?"

"Who else?"

"What happened?" Larabee murmured as he slowly cracked open his eyes, staring into the very worried face of his second in
command.

"Received quite a blow there, pard, scared us good. Nathan'll be here any minute to check on you."

"Ezra?"

"Is fine. Kevlar vest took the bullet. Bust ran smoothly. We beat the bad guys."

"How long was I out?"

Chris tried to get up, but the sudden movement was too much at the moment and he sank back onto the concrete floor,
moaning at the splitting headache that rushed through his head.

"Not long, two three minutes maximum. Don't you remember?" Vin's eyes grew darker, as more worry bloomed in them.

"No ... yes. But ... "

"Yeah?"

"Help me up, will you?"

Chris held out a hand, and Vin took it, carefully pulling his friend and boss to his feet. Larabee tightened the grip the moment
the

sharpshooter wanted to let go, and Vin frowned, confused about the expression on his friend's face.

"Chris?"

Then he noticed what Chris was looking at. He was staring at the way he had grabbed him, hand wrapped tightly around the
forearm, and with Chris returning the grip in a similar way it made an interesting sight. But what confused Vin the most was the
fact that none of them had ever done that before; yet it felt familiar and right. Like this was exactly how it was meant to be, how
it had always been and should always be, for all of eternity.

Now, where had that thought come from?

"Vin?"

"Cowboy?"

"You know, there is something you and me should do in the near future."

"Which is?"

"Genealogy."

"What??"
 
 

Tanner was fuming. He had seen Chris down on the street, his Chris, and he had been at his side to see if he was well. All right,
well for a man fighting a nasty flu that was. They had returned him to Nathan's clinic, and Jackson was checking on him, to see
if his action had done any more harm. Vin watched Nathan doing that, and he had to bite his tongue not to unleash all his fury
on the gunslinger the very moment Chris opened his eyes again.

"Vin...?"

Chris's hand flew up and wrapped itself around the tracker's forearm in the well known gesture, wanting to feel, to understand
he was real. Vin returned the grip like he always did, reassuring his friend that he indeed was still among the living.

"Hell yes. Whom did ya expect, Larabee?"

"I saw ... "

"Know what ya saw, Chris. An' I know what I saw. You, on the street, fainting like a damsel in distress while bullets were flyin'
all around ya when ya should've been up here. What stupid action was that anyway?"

"Vin, I ... " Chris let go of Vin's arm and coughed, not able to end the sentence. He inhaled carefully after sinking down into the
pillows, exhausted.

"Vin, I saw that guy with the knife behind you. Couldn't do nothing. What happened?"

Good question, cowboy. Real good question. Vin shook his head after a second of thinking, giving his best friend his famous
lop-sided grin.

"Just a friend returning a favor, Chris. Just a friend."

THE END