The warmer seasons had always been Clay's favorite time of year since he had moved to the Henan Province for his training. Spring was considerably damper here than it was out in Texas of the States, and the summers here at the Temple were, indeed, sunny, but never harsh. Upon stepping out of the monks' quarters and into the sunlight, he was greeted with the sight of the cerulean sky, the warmth of the morning wind, and the delicate scent of the flourishing overgrowth of the gardens. The youth smiled softly, brushed his thick, shaggy blond hair back, and donned a battered Stetson hat as he quietly set out to make his morning rounds.

Walking through this greenery in the safety of Mount Song's monastery was like something out of a dream: even the oldest of the pine trees seemed alive and cheery, their boughs weighed down with flocks upon flocks of songbirds, while the surrounding stone pots and below-ground planters were overrun with myriads of blossoms in pink, white, and magenta. It appeared that the Elders of the Temple had long since given up on trying to manicure the place, seeing that it – along with a multitude of other chores — would soon be left to the young monks to clear the leafy overabundance.

Would hardly count for a day's work back home, Clay could not help but grin a little at the prospect of getting to work outside.

It would be nice, considering how there had not been many ventures left for him and the other monks to make outdoors, so they had recently been spending much of their time in the Temple, organizing the archives and keeping a close eye on the relics they had collected.

But it was not for speculation of chores why the lad had left his room in the Temple so early. As much as he loathed to think on the subject of suffering, he had to remember that a shady entity lay hidden at the end of this beautiful scape, alone and in pain. Before long, the blond rancher reached his destination at the last stones of the courtyard path, and he stood at the obscured entrance of the weathered shed. The boy had left the door shrouded in pine branches, per the request of the rickety little building's one inhabitant, yet he needed only let the toe of his right work boot gently tap the last stone of the pathway to alert the former to his presence.

"Clay?" someone rasped from just beyond the thin wooden barrier.

"'S me, li'l' buddy," he answered.

Before he could reach for the handle, the door creaked open just a crack, and a pair of glittering ruby eyes peered out at him from within the shadows among shapes of cruel, rusted tools.

"R-Raimundo's not awake, is he?" the eyes' owner asked.

"He won't be up for a long time. Th'boy sleeps like a rock," Clay said with a smile, "He ain't gonna hurt ya."

The door opened a tad more, and the blond could make out the shape of his unlikely companion. A boy, roughly nineteen years of age, stared back at him with a pair of frighteningly red orbs, deeply set in sunken sockets in a pale, bruised face. He was thin and short, no more than five and a half feet tall, with long, lanky limbs, and was dressed in all black – a tattered trench coat, boots, fingerless gloves, and badly ripped slacks. When he leaned forward into the sunlight that streamed in through the door, one could see that his skin was pearly white, making cuts, bumps, and even smeared eyeliner stand out that much more. His head was topped with a backward swept crest of flaming red hair that very nearly matched his garnet eyes, above which sat a set of enormous goggles with cracked, lemon yellow lenses. It was evident that he had endured an incredible amount of punishment, and the evidence of the toll it took on his body manifested as he started to cry.

Clay's lower lip quivered a little, and his cyan eyes went wide at the sight of the state of him. Without a moment's notice, he hurriedly scrambled into the shed, shut the door behind him with a bang, and dropped to his knees. He threw his arms around the redheaded lad and rubbed his narrow back soothingly, alternately squeezing and petting him, holding his thin, trembling frame reassuringly against his considerably larger build. He felt the smaller boy shaking, and heard his pitiable sobs. The sound of mucus bubbling and muffling his cries, the way his voice cracked, and how his tiny body shook against him only made the monk want to comfort him more, and he hugged him tighter.

"Take it easy," he told him, heroically managing to stifle his own sob, "Jack, I made sure he won't hurt a hair on your head. When he said he was fixin' t'beat you down the next time he saw ya… let's just say I put 'im outta commission."

The battered redhead loosed a tiny squeak.

"I busted his wrists. Both of 'em."

"You… did that?" Jack sniffed, "For me?"

"You bein' safe is worth me gettin' an earful from Master Fung," the blond squeezed him again, "Ya don't have t'sleep out here if ya don't want to. Ya can come inside now. Y'really need to get somethin' in your gut, after all…"

"I-I don't wanna go outside!" the smaller male suddenly burst into tears again.

"Jack… C'mon. You ain't gonna heal up in the shed with no food 'r' water."

All that came out of Jack was a round of strangled groans and weeping.

When Clay, at last, managed to calm him and break their embrace, the boy looked closer to death than before. His eyes looked almost swollen, despite already being sunken, and his already gaunt, shaking frame looked all the more sickly and weak up close. The rancher ran a hand through his companion's messy, fiery hair, trying not to whimper at how desperate he looked. Over time, Clay and his fellow monks had had their tangles with Jack, but none of them had been so merciless as the cockier of the boys. In a span of just five years, he recalled, Raimundo had broken all of Jack's limbs at least twice, blacked out both his eyes every other fight, and had put him in mortal danger on too many occasions to count. The last straw was, of course, their most recent Showdown. Even after victory had been declared by the Xiaolin monks, Raimundo had apparently not been satisfied. Clay had pried him off of the little redhead just in time to rescue the latter from being throttled. Even now, with the boy resting against him in the dark and burying his mottled face into his shirt, he looked just as helpless, and it was all the blond could do to keep from crying, himself.

"I wanna go home…" Jack sobbed, "I wanna go home!"

"Y'have to come inside. You have to eat," Clay told him in as firm a tone as he could manage.

More tears. More sniffling.

"I… I can't just let ya wither away," the larger boy said to him softly.

Jack's face slid down the front of the monk's button-up shirt, smearing salt water and black makeup into the fabric as he collapsed weakly on the wooden shed floor. At first, Clay was ready to give in to panicking. His heart raced, and he began to shake like a leaf in the wind. Needless to say, it did not help when he saw the lad's face upon turning him over to see if he was simply exhausted. His ruby eyes were fading, and were rolled up into their sockets, and a stream of drool began to slip from his open mouth as he breathed shallowly. The rancher did cry now, and he had to steady his own respirations as he racked his brains for what to do. The boy had refused the Elders' and the more stable monks' collective care for long enough.

In a single move, Clay had his gangly friend in his shaking but brawny arms and had kicked the shed door open. He moved swiftly down the path and back into the Temple, not caring how much noise he made now, and his boots and spurs clanked and clacked as he raced indoors. He scanned the halls rapidly with frantic blue eyes, searching for anyone who might help. At length, he resorted to nearly crashing through the sliding wooden door of his chamber he shared with the other Xiaolin monks, whereupon he practically ran into a short, slender girl with jet black hair. She regarded him with a look of surprise at first, and then with a look of absolute horror as she realized who he was carrying.

"Ack-! You! You were hiding him again, weren't you?" she seemed torn between snarling and recoiling into her red training robes, "Clay, how long has he been sneaking around here?!"

"He wasn't sneakin'!" the blond had to restrain himself from actually screaming, "He fainted on me… H-he hasn't eaten in days. C'mon, Kimiko, quit lookin' at me like that…"

"Yeah, I'm sure you know how long he hasn't eaten just by looking at 'im," the female monk snorted sardonically as she raised a dark eyebrow at the sight of Clay's smeared, wet shirt. "But now I know for sure you weren't just hiding him."

"S-stop bein' such a stone-waller 'n' help me make 'im right!"

"I'm not the one you should be demanding help from. You need to whip Raimundo's sorry ass in more ways than one. Make him do the right thing for once, instead of having us fixing everything he breaks," Kimiko ground out at first, right before her tone rose to a commanding scream, "Oh, wait a minute… YOU BROKE HIS -N' WRISTS! How is the sad sack gonna learn to play nice with others if we turn him into hamburger?!"

Clay looked as though his pride were mortally wounded, even amid the tears of terror slipping down his face. "Kim… I'm sorry… But please, don't make this about somethin' that hardly matters right now…"

Kimiko's pinkened face fell, now that she looked at what sorry shape her rival was in. He was fading quickly, and her fellow monk was now audibly sobbing as he cradled the redhead's little body to him.

Clay's heart continued to thud away, and he was trembling so badly, he was certain he might drop Jack to the floor and break his slender neck. He barely caught himself as he fell to his knees, and he had to look up to Kimiko pleadingly now.

Apparently, she had some empathy for the battered boy, after all. Clay could not help but smile and breathe a tremendous sigh of relief as he saw her face softening.

"Okay…" the raven-haired monk breathed out. "I'll go get one of the Elders to make him something. Leave 'im on your mat and help me get a bath ready."

x

Tea was certainly nice, after only being able to glean something from the fountains and bird baths in between the water that Clay had brought him during his unpleasant stay. A long soak in the tub did not hurt, either, and it had helped put a little color back in him.

Emphasis on a little.

While his flaming hair and garnet eyes did little to make him appear normal to begin with, Jack's snowy white figure stuck out in the chamber like chalk on asphalt. He could not help but frown at how skinny and uncomely he looked in the mirror, so pasty and covered in bruises and old wounds, and he quickly wrapped himself up in the spare sparring robes he had been provided with.

Great, he thought as a garish color scheme stared back at him, Red and white… on more red and white…

With a sigh, he took up his towel, cup and saucer out of the bath house and made his way back to where the monks had been gracious enough to let him sleep. Upon entering the sparsely decorated room and setting down his few belongings, the slender lad was greeted with an almost suffocating embrace.

"Feelin' better, li'l' guy?" One could practically hear the sincere smile in the cowboy's drawl.

"Urk…Urgh… Not gonna lie," Jack managed from underneath the huge, ropy arms his friend had draped about him, "Dojo's tea does the trick." When he could look up at him, he did smile. There was no doubt that the larger boy had a genuine soft spot for him, and it was much appreciated.

"'M glad," Clay held him tighter until the redhead could feel warm breath on his neck.

He thought nothing of it, at first, and did not even flinch as the blond monk tightened their embrace further. In fact, Jack happily sank into it. It was so worth being babied to feel warm again. How could he not be happy, being so cared for after suffering so long?

Multiple beatings and deep mistrust of the other monks had led him to starving and living as far as he possibly could from the one who wanted to harm him, while still remaining within the reach of the lone one that cared. Even at the risk of that ruthless girl, Kimiko, walking in and having a laugh at him, even at the risk of being taunted by his rivals for being forced to live among them and do their chores with them until he was healed… Jack felt so lucky to have Clay watching over him. It was worth it. He could trust him, after all, knowing that he would be safe from Raimundo. Though the overzealous boy was said to be harbored right next door in the infirmary, the little redhead felt safe from his hand, at last. He decided he could tolerate the awful clothes, the immense workload... Hell, he could even tolerate being polite and taking orders!

Maybe he did not need to run home so quickly, after all, he thought. It was so warm…

He looked up to the cowboy now, eyes grazing over his peachy, freckled face, his short, sandy hair, and his goofy smile. There was something about this that seemed so familiar, he noticed. Of course, this was not the first time that Clay had held him so affectionately, let alone was it the first time he had been welcomed into the Xiaolin Temple for safety. It was just that look on his face…

"I… ah…. R-remember earlier?" the smaller lad stammered, trying to take control of his words, "I… I don't wanna go home."

Clay only smirked, his blue eyes glimmering. Jack began to feel faint, but he tried to talk.

"A-at least… I don't wanna go home right yet. You were right. I-I really do need to heal up…"

"I was sorta… hopin' you would say that, li'l' buddy," the monk replied, and Jack felt one of the former's sinewy hands go up his neck until it cradled the back of his head, while the other arm remained wrapped around his slim frame.

He was sure he saw Clay's mouth move, but no sound came out. When he tried to ask what he was saying, he fell silent, as well. He could hear nothing now but heavy, steady breathing, his vision had become flooded with blurred shapes of soft peach and thick, golden sweeps, and his face felt full and hot. It took him a moment to realize that it was, in fact, his mouth that felt full. It took him slightly longer to realize why, but when he did, he did not mind.

He tipped his head forward and sideways to allow his companion better access, and he felt the hand against his hair tighten its grip firmly but gently. Clay was awfully polite about using his tongue, Jack noted. Even a novice like him knew better than to hold back affection when it was so mutual. Having never had to suffer any stifling, religious teachings or overbearing from his family –whom he almost never spoke to anyway—he had no reason ingrained into him why he could not share said affection with another boy… especially when it was one who had saved him and comforted him, time after time. Perhaps never being taunted for being so willing to receive Clay's kindness and love was one good thing that had happened to him amid all the horrors he had faced.

The hand at the back of his head commanded him forward just a bit more. He obeyed. The redhead's face flushed deeply as he was forced to breathe exclusively through his nose, and he subconsciously swayed his body until it fit snugly against Clay's heavy physique. With his eyes shut, he found he could concentrate a bit better on weaving his tongue around his partner's. He actively pressed it into Clay's, making him work for dominance, and aggressively worked his mouth over his. This little attempt at authority did not last long, and Jack soon found his entire body being squeezed in the rancher's mighty embrace once more until he could feel both their hearts drumming together.

When, at last, they pulled away and Clay loosened his grip, the smaller of the two perceptibly gasped for air. It was not a pained noise; rather, more akin to a contented, yet almost feminine moan. With his eyes open again, Jack could see how sweet the rancher's freckled face was, now that he was lit up and rosy.

"Like I said, 'm glad you're feelin' better," he said.

The smaller boy opened his mouth, but, once more, he could not manage more than a soft whimper. He closed his eyes again, and felt Clay's ropy arms tighten on him. All he could he hear were the thundering beats in his ribs and heavy respirations from both him and his friend, but he could feel the boy lifting him up off the ground and walking him to a different spot in the room. They only ceased kissing for a brief moment as Clay adjusted their positions so that the little redhead could sit in his lap, and they continued until he was finally too warm.

Jack was already getting sleepy, but he did not want to stop. After all, how could he? This was quite simply the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Clay must have read his mind, he surmised, because, when he opened his eyes again to check where they had settled, his vision was filled with the blond's glittering, cyan eyes, and he felt his hands gripping the hem of the sparring robe top. He did not say anything, nor did he protest when Clay lifted the loose black and scarlet garment over his head until it was completely free of him. He only leaned into the boy once more, and proceeded to undo the front of his shirt. The pair of them leaned backwards into the meager cushioning of the larger boy's sleeping mat, with Jack nuzzled comfortably against Clay's bare chest, and with the latter stroking the redhead's bare back.

Jack wanted so desperately to fall asleep with him like this, hearing his strong heartbeat, and feeling his powerful hands rubbing his spine so gently. He could lay with his guardian like this forever.

But, of course…

"Hah… I… I think we should getcha s'more tea… 'N' then it's off to bed," the cowboy murmured, glancing about as though he were worried that other things needed to be tended to.

Easy come, easy go.

The smaller lad sighed, dissatisfied. "After all that?"

"Aw, don't be like that, li'l' guy," Clay smirked at him as he sat up and buttoned up his shirt. He was ready to stand up and exit the sleeping quarters, when he knelt at Jack's side and kissed him once more, deliberately and lovingly on the lips, "We can share my mat later tonight…"

Jack's ruby eyes glimmered, and his face flushed again. He could not speak, even when Clay let him go again, and went out the door into the waning sunlight. He had that same smirk on his face again. It was a bizarre mix between determined and yearning.

Very familiar, indeed.

x

The Xiaolin Dragon of Earth and his companion slept undisturbed that night, nestled like spoons under a thin layer of blankets, their bodies barely illuminated in the moonlight that streamed through the open doors. Clay held his little friend snugly to him, eliciting a tiny, happy whimper. He ran his fingers through his soft, thick, vermilion hair, narrowly avoiding touching bruises, as he drifted into the realms of his subconscious, and the memory began again…

It played over in his mind as though it were only yesterday. Sweeping, rocky slopes and verdant grass sprawled about him as far as the eye could see, and the wind whipped coolly through the ravine that he and his rival had found themselves in.

A considerably younger, even smaller Jack hovered in front of him, pale face flushed with fury, and with his gangly body suspended a few feet from the ground by the noisy propellers of the bizarre apparatus strapped to his back. Clay could have easily torn from him the relic he held in his little hands, but he did not. He only smiled as he held on to the fabled Fist of Tebigong with one hand, his sheer weight and grip preventing the thinner boy from flying off with it. He stared up at his blazing red eyes, seeing right through his little façade of indignant scowls. The boy was certainly a little rotten on the outside. Busted up and ugly on the surface, like an apple, fallen from a tree and pecked at by passing birds. But he knew he could still be sweet to his core.

A few moments passed, and Clay was forced to return his attention to the overall situation at hand as the flustered redhead barked something at him.

"Hey!" Jack snapped, "C'mon, did ya hear me? Or do'ah have t'talk real slow-like to make a dim cowbody understand me?" he proceeded to make a mockery of the blond's accent.

Clay barely held back a snort.

Two days. He had known this obnoxious but lovable creature for two days, and he was already starting to fall for him.

"Dunno, Jack," he retorted, "'S a li'l' hard to understand anythin' over those weed-whackers y'call your invention!"

The remark resulted in a flurry of curses that Clay was certain a middle-schooler should not have known, but he still could not help but smile. He was simply adorable.

"I SAID I CHALLENGED YOU!" the boy shrieked as he lowered himself to the ground, still struggling to keep his hands on his prize.

"Well, since ya asked so nicely," the blond grinned, "I accept. Name yer game, Jack."

He silently prayed it would have nothing to do with hand to hand combat as he watched the redhead glance about their environment –the boulders, the trees, and the deep ravines. No matter how much he cursed, or how much Wu he tried to wrestle from them, he could not hurt him. He breathed a deep, internal sigh of relief as he saw Jack's scarlet eyes lock onto a nearby songbird. It landed on a low bough of the pine that stood closest to them, the vibrant, fiery plumage of its chest and belly seeming to glow brightly as the artifact they both clasped began to rattle and burn against their palms.

"That robin!" the smaller boy smirked, "Whoever can catch it wins the Fist of Tebigong."

"You're on," replied the rancher, just as their Showdown began.

It would be years before Clay finally caught the one thing he had really been after. No matter how far he had flown, and no matter how many times his wings had been clipped, he had still hoped to hold him in his arms one day.

In his sleep now, he stirred slightly, and embraced the boy deeply, just to hear his contented sigh again.