Before the story starts …

There's been a lot of comment in reviews recently about what fanfiction should be like. There is no specific way on the site for writers to express their views, which is why there is an introduction to this story. My own take on it is that there are 3 main areas: Strict canon (only what is actually in episodes, perhaps first-person or from another point of view, no added material), Developed canon (filling in the gaps in episodes, before/after & links between them) and Extended canon (picking up broader themes and ideas, prequels and sequels, family and other background, AU, exploring 'what if', etc.)

I do take on board what has been said about focusing on the importance of the core characters and I have born this in mind when writing new stuff. But don't forget that there are many episodes, especially Season 3 and 4, where only one of our heroes is involved and the rest of the characters are more or less relegated to the tag or even not present at all. Not saying this is a good idea, but it did happen. And pretty well every episode had some new characters (remember all those guest stars?).

The J & C AU stories obviously fall into the third category. In the TV series it is necessary for any female interest to be smartly shot dead, shipped off to California or shoved into marriage with someone else by the end of the episode. But … what if …? Inevitably, since this story explores how relationships develop and affect each other, not everyone is going to like it! So if this is not how you think things should happen, thank you for your patience and time in reading: I do appreciate that your ideas are different. If you do like the series, I hope you enjoy this one. Oh, and to those who have asked, there is no possible way in which Chantal Picard is a projection of me – not without some really drastic changes to one or other of us!

Spanish/French dialogue: the story can be understood without translation, as the sense is usually evident from the context and many words are similar in English. If you like translations as you go along, open Chapter 15 in a separate window and you can refer as you read.

And finally (yeah, come on, let's get on with the story!), the proper place for this kind of discussion is in a Laramie forum, of which we have one on this site. If enough readers participated, I'd be happy to post these thoughts over there instead of here.

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FORTRESS OF DARKENED STARS

Jantallian

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PART 1

'Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that,

if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.'

Anne Lamott

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1

"Are you being deliberately aggravating?"

Faced with this question from a seriously beautiful young woman, Jess Harper's eyebrows shot up to such an extent that they were partially hidden by the lock of dark hair falling across his forehead.

Chantal Picard regarded him with suspicion. Both eyebrows usually meant he was genuinely surprised, whereas one, in her experience, was likely to indicate amusement, sarcasm, disbelief or possibly outright scheming deception. But you never knew for certain.

"Me? Aggravatin'?" Jess had to make a swift decision between sounding bewildered and outraged or innocent and hurt. He decided, unwisely, on the latter. "I ain't never -"

"Really?" Chantal retorted. She had come across Jess's look of injured innocence enough times not to be fooled by it. She bent over the stitch she was putting in his arm and added, "Don't fidget!"

"You sure y' know what y' doin'?" Jess enquired in an attempt to distract her.

"It was your socks I said I wouldn't sew up, not you - although frankly, hombre terco, the socks would be a darned sight more grateful!"

The pun made them all laugh, but the implications forced Slim Sherman's eyebrows to climb up his forehead as well. He hadn't realised this acquaintance had progressed as far as discussing who darned whose socks - but then Chantal and Jess never failed to baffle him with their volatile and unpredictable interaction. He was leaning wearily against the bedhead, because there was nowhere else in the dilapidated hotel room to sit except a rickety looking desk chair with a broken back and the armchair in which Chantal had Jess very effectively pinned down. The combined effects of a gruelling investigation of unforgiving terrain and twenty-four hours of more or less unbroken surveillance suggested he just stretch out and sleep, but that would be impolite. Besides, he was watching with interest and some satisfaction as Jess got his come-uppance in no uncertain terms for his latest act of recklessness.

"And you are being aggravating!" Chantal reverted to her original point as she gave the needle a rather harder jab than was perhaps strictly necessary.

"Ow! That hurt!"

"Rubbish! He's just trying to change the subject by playing for sympathy," Slim chipped in, being of a mind to agree with Chantal on the subject of Harper-provoked aggravation. He grinned and warned her: "Jess has a special compartment in his brain labelled 'That did not hurt' – then when it does, he shoves it in there and believes it! That's right, isn't it, you maddening Texan?"

"More or less," Jess admitted sheepishly. "It doesn't."

"Doesn't what?" Chantal asked curiously.

"Hurt!" Jess spat out between gritted teeth.

She regarded him thoughtfully for a few moments, before saying meaningfully as she twisted the cap of the iodine bottle: "I'll bear that in mind."

"Oh no you don't!" Jess had suddenly registered that the bottle did not contain a restorative dose of whiskey.

"Shall I let your arm fester and drop off?" Chantal suggested sweetly.

"Be a big boy and take your medicine nicely!" Slim taunted.

"The only thing goin' down my throat is a damn great slug o' whiskey!"

"It's going on your arm, idiot!" Chantal snapped in exasperation, "and it's the only thing going anywhere near your body in the state it's in. Whiskey indeed!"

It was true that, besides the sewn-up slash from a broken glass, Jess's torso was liberally ornamented with cuts, bruises and friction burns, as befell one who had launched themselves off a bluff into a forest, secured only by a thin and seemingly inadequate rope. "What is it with you and cliff-faces?" she demanded as an after-thought.

"Some kind of hidden attraction to what I find on them?" One eyebrow quirked up in amusement. Then a thought appeared to strike him. "And would you mind telling me what the hell you think you're doin' here anyway?"

Chantal glared at him. Putting both hands on his shoulders, regardless of the stitching, she gave him the kind of shaking Slim had often administered. "Not until you remember the correct thing to say is: 'Hello, Chantal, it's nice to see you again'."

Again? Slim thought. Since Christmas? He felt he was losing the plot here or, at any rate, missing some serious information. Exactly what had Jess been up to on those horse-selling trips?

Chantal, meanwhile, had sloshed a liberal amount of iodine on to the wound, causing Jess's breath to hitch and his eyes to blink back smarting tears which he would certainly not admit to. "Yeah, sure is nice to see y' – just don't feel too good right now!"

"That," Chantal told him firmly, "is why you are being so aggravating. You cannot possibly intend to go down there straight away. You must be mad!" She too caught her breath and then, pleading for a little delay, said softly, "Espera un momento, Terco, pour favour …?"

"Debo. No hay excusa," Jess replied equally softly. He'd never been one to make excuses out of his injuries and what he must do, he would do. Instead, he rummaged in his saddle bag for a less battered shirt, since the one he had been wearing, rinsed of the stains on the sleeve, was now drying over the fire.

Slim decided this was the point at which he pulled himself together and made the effort to get on with the task he and Jess had set themselves. At least if he did, Jess would be spared further involvement in confrontations of the kind which had earned him the glass slash. Besides, Slim was sensitive enough to know that when this pair started to talk to each other in Spanish, or, to a lesser extent, French, they had things to say which did not need an audience.

He started to heave himself upright, saying as he did so: "I'll check out the saloons and see what rumours are going round." His good intentions, however, were wasted.

"My face is known now -" Jess asserted truthfully.

"But –" Slim didn't have a chance to object because Jess over-rode his protestations, stating firmly: "No one's goin' to bother a losing gambler – especially if he's just concentrating on escortin' a woman –"

"A lady!" Chantal put in crossly. "And I'm glad to know you'll be concentrating!"

Jess flicked her a brief glance and said seriously, "No place for ladies in a place like this. Think you can cope?"

When she nodded, an approving gleam lit his eyes.

"But you can't risk her!" Slim objected.

At this, both Chantal and Jess laughed aloud. Slim had a distinct feeling that it was the word 'risk' they found funny. This seemed to be confirmed when Chantal murmured, 'I think I've had some practice in taking risks."

"But I –" Slim tried again.

"No-one knows you're even here," Jess pointed out. "Let's keep it that way. If anyone recognises me, it'll be all to the good if they think I'm sick of respectable life on a ranch - and they won't think that if you're seen around. And anyway, you'll be doin' the night shift again tonight and climbin' that rope I so conveniently put there for you." He shoved his partner unceremoniously back on the bed and held him down with his good arm. "Now stay there and rest or I'll knock you out!"

"You and whose army?" Slim retorted, but without putting up much of a struggle.

Jess looked over his shoulder and winked at Chantal. "I don't need an army - I'll just turn you over to the French!"

"Dans te reves!" Chantal told him. She smiled at Slim and said, "Get some sleep. I'll keep Jess in order."

"You can order me some food," Jess told her as he picked up his hat, seized her by the elbow and steered her determinedly towards the door. "I'm starvin'!"

Nothing new in that, Slim thought, not for the first time. Chantal had obviously become familiar with Jess's insatiable appetite, since Slim heard her telling him off in no uncertain terms as the door shut behind them. The telling off was in French, which seemed to indicate a certain fraying of her quick temper. Slim grinned to himself and, seeing he had already lost this one, settled back to sleep.

# # # # #

In the one almost-respectable café in the dead-beat town in the middle of nowhere, Jess commandeered a table in a quiet corner, well out of earshot of any other customers He settled Chantal where she was clear of the line of the door and himself so that he could see both the door and the window onto the street. When the serving girl approached to take their order, he simply contrived to appear half-starved and, dropping thick lashes over those blue eyes, looked up at her appealingly and said plaintively, "Ain't had nothin' t'eat since yesterday. Breakfast? A big breakfast?"

It was well past the time for it, but the girl nodded willingly, although she shot a telling glance at Chantal, who merely remarked, "I will have toast and coffee, thank you." When the girl departed towards the kitchen Chantal aimed a well-earned kick at her companion's ankle. "You are the biggest fraud and the most – the most -"

"Aggravatin'?" Jess suggested with a grin.

"Tu est un flirteur sans principes!"

"If it gets us quick service …" he shrugged, his expression suddenly closing down to that inscrutable mask which meant serious business. "Now, tell me what the hell you're doin' turnin' up in this God-forsaken excuse for a town!"

"I've got a message for you."

"A message?" Chantal had the satisfaction of seeing him look totally dumbfounded for only about the second time in their acquaintance.

"Yes."

"Who from?" Jess's eyebrows drew together in his formidable frown and he growled, not for the first time, "I'm waitin'!"

"I happened to run into Stewart St John Warwick. He thought I might be able to get the information to you without it being obvious it came from him."

"You aren't exactly inconspicuous," Jess pointed out drily. He had a shrewd suspicion that the choice of messenger had quite a lot to do with Chantal's innate sense of adventure. "So come on – put me out of my misery! What exactly has he got to tell me?"

"That the Ranulfiar know about what you're investigating and it's more wide-spread than you think. He said you should be careful because it's well-organised - the stakes are high and the leaders ruthless. And Bud Carlin tricked his way out of the state prison around the time it started."

She wondered, as she had when she was given the message, if telling Jess to be careful would have any effect whatsoever. But she also had an instinctive feeling he would be more likely to obey Warwick than anyone else, especially if they had military history together. As she watched his reaction, she could see that the news was unexpected and serious.

"Carlin!" Jess's face darkened and his breath hissed between his teeth. "That's all we need."

"He seemed to think you might need back up?" she added cautiously. "And he said to send a normal message." She waited to see what effect this additional instruction had. Jess just nodded absently and muttered, "You think when they were lockin' him up, they'd've done a good job and thrown away the key!"

"So are you going to send a message or do you want me to do it?" she enquired helpfully. Then, when there was no response: "Why a normal message?"

Jess came back to reality with an obvious effort. His reply, however, did not seem to answer her question directly. "D'you meet Cal when you were given this message?" When she nodded, he looked pleased and continued, "What did you think of him?"

"A politer version of you!" Chantal said candidly, and Jess admitted: "True enough!"

"I presume you are related?" She got another grin when she added, "I just can't get used to the idea of you with red hair!"

"Guess there was a glitch when they handed that out - I'm the one with the temper and Cal got the hair. He's the soul of good humour," Jess told her, "or at least, he is most of the time."

"I expect you drive him to distraction, just like the rest of us!"

Jess ignored this jibe and demanded, as if it had just crossed his mind: "Who drove you here anyway?"

"Samson. The last bit, anyway."

"Good! He'll be –"

He was cut short in his response by the arrival of their food. The girl had certainly done him proud with a laden plate of breakfast. Chantal's toast was burnt. It took her only a swift glance to register this. Immediately she grabbed Jess's plate before he could get his fork into it and smiled sweetly at the girl. "Bring him another – and make it quick. He's got a terrible temper when he's hungry!"

"Yeah – and neither of us eats charcoal!" Jess handed the toast back, but took the sting out of the words with a perfectly charming smile. "Could you squeeze a bit more of everything on the next plate? Guess I need to eat much more'n any woman!"

"You'll be eating a plate and a half anyway," Chantal observed tartly as the waitress hurried away.

"Maybe I'd better have half of yours now, just in case she poisons the next lot," Jess suggested hopefully, waving his fork in Chantal's direction.

"Don't be stupid – it's me she wants to poison!" Chantal pointed out. "And stop waving that fork at me. It won't hurt you to wait!"

Waiting was never a thing Jess did willingly, unless he was stalking something or someone, and still less did he like waiting for food. He was eyeing Chantal's plate with such a wistful, deprived look on his face that she nearly gave in. Nearly, but not quite. Instead, to distract him, she repeated her question.

"Why did Lieutenant Warwick –" Chantal began, but Jess interrupted her with a sound which was half snort, half laugh.

"Vin," he corrected, "we call him Vin. His second name is Vincent, but it's a kind of joke." He looked hard at her for a moment and added: "A family joke."

"So why did he say to send a normal message?" Chantal was nothing if not persistent, as Jess had already learnt to his cost.

He hesitated, as if weighing something up in his mind. He said quietly, casually, "Cal's my cousin. We share each other's dreams when we need to." He paused, watching her reaction carefully, then went on, "Well, actually it's usually Cal sharin' my dreams. He knows when I'm needin' him."

Chantal considered all this unexpected information and suddenly chuckled too: "I get it – Cal-vin instead of Callum – a family joke!" Thinking some more, she added shrewdly, "Dream-sharing, did you say? I suppose Lieut … Vin prefers more conventional communications?"

Jess nodded wryly. "You can say that again. If I had a dollar for every time he's said 'Why can't you just send a telegram?' I could be retirin' to California right now!"

"Do you want to?" Chantal asked, momentarily diverted.

"Want to what?"

"Retire to California?"

"No. Too many other people doin' that!" was the brief answer, followed by the unexpected information: "Anyway, my big sister's in California an' –"

But the arrival of a very full plate of breakfast stopped these interesting revelations. Chantal watched with amusement the speed at which Jess could dispose of a sizable meal. After a while, she ventured another question: "Were you by any chance starved as a child?"

"Yeah." A shadow passed across Jess's face as he paused momentarily, his fork poised over a sausage. Then he added, "And most of my adult life too."

Starvation, sisters, dream-sharing, mysterious brotherhoods – for that, she presumed, was what the Ranulfiar were – and cryptic messages. She was learning a lot about Jess Harper this time, which was a pleasant surprise, as he was not usually forthcoming with personal information. Maybe it was the food distracting him, because he was still regarding her half-eaten plate of breakfast as if it might be mortally offended someone hadn't finished it.

"Eat up!" he instructed briefly. "As soon as we're finished, you're gettin' straight back in the wagon and Samson's drivin' you out of here, like he brought you in."

"I am not!"

Jess's black brows drew together in that formidable frown of his and he growled: "Escúchame, Tal! You're gonna do exactly what I tell you for once!"

"Como siempre?" Chantal inquired sweetly.

"I'll probably never live to see the day you usually do as I tell you!" Jess admitted, with a reluctant grin. "And, right now, I'd like to live a bit longer."

"And I'd like to be around to make sure you do because I've patched you up after whatever madness you've got in mind next!" Chantal informed him firmly. "Or were you forgetting you're supposed to survive to shock those grandchildren of yours, Temerario?"

"And I'm gonna survive with you gettin' under my feet?"

"I've learnt not to," she protested indignantly.

"I guess you've learnt quite a bit since that first cliff," Jess admitted. He stopped and thought for an appreciable moment, before telling her seriously, "Alright. Provide Slim agrees. But if y' gonna stay, we need a cover story and a plan." A wicked glint came into his eye as he added, "And you know what I'll do if you don't stick to it, exactly like I tell you! ʖLo entiendes?"

When she nodded her acceptance, he continued: "Al presente, escúchame …"

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Vin, Cal and the Ranulfiar (pronounced Ran-ulf-yar) also appear in My Brother's Keeper. In Vin's surname, St. John is pronounced the English way - sinjon.