A/N: Chapter title comes from a song by The Decemberists.
And thank you to everyone who read the first chapter, and especially thank you to those who left reviews! Each review makes me immensely happy, and I hope you will all enjoy this chapter, short though it is.
They make camp when they still have half a day's ride left before Fort Griffin. It is a warm evening, the sunset turning the sky ochre and vermillion and all the shades in between. Fahim's heart flutters to see the same shade of gold as Erik's eyes up there in the heavens. Two and a half weeks of seeing them every hour, every day, and still those eyes are as ethereal as they were the first time he saw them.
The sun dips below the horizon. The vibrant colours bleed to navy and bruised purple, and Fahim turns to Erik, and takes his hands.
He has tied and untied many ropes in his life, for different reasons. But never have his fingers been so nimble loosening the knots, never has the moment that the ropes slipped free felt so blessed.
Erik frowns at him, brow furrowed beneath the brim of his hat. "What are you—"
But Fahim cuts him off, lays one finger against those twisted lips. "Sssshhh. We have tonight." And silently he thinks, I trust you. I have learned to trust you. And any fears are ones that can be set aside, so we can have this.
Erik must surely see it in his eyes, because he nods and the lines on his face smooth away. "And," his voice catches, ever so slightly, "and tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow we'll see." Tomorrow. That nebulous word. Fahim doesn't want to think it, pushes it away. What does tomorrow matter in the face of tonight? And he slips his hand around to the nape of Erik's neck, draws his head down, and their lips are gentle as they meet. "Let's forget about the future, forget about the past. And just exist."
Erik nods, hands settling lightly at his hips, fingertips brushing his belt, and his voice is faintly hoarse. "I've wanted to hold you like this for weeks."
Fahim smiles into his mouth, arms slipping down, pulling him closer. "You are not the only one."
Afterwards, they lie together under the stars, bare skin to bare skin and blankets cocooning them. Erik nuzzles into Fahim's hair, fingers lightly trailing down his side, and sighs.
"What are you planning to do tomorrow?" The question come back around again. And surely Erik is expecting him to say, turn you in to the Marshal, of course, or something to that effect. But instead he smiles into Erik's chest, kisses him over his heart, and whispers,
"Turn in my badge. Collect a few things I'd like to keep. Check in with Henry and Warren." He has already told Erik about them, about their closeness, and Henry's illness, and the way they insisted on joining him when he left Fort Griffin in spite of it or rather, the way Henry insisted on joining them despite Warren's protests). He couldn't help talking about it, one night shortly after they first kissed, needed to get it all out into the air, and Erik had listened quietly, his wrists still bound, and kissed him softly on the cheek. "And then ride back out again."
Erik's fingers still. "And what about me?" His voice is oddly faint, a touch forlorn, and it catches at Fahim's heart because how can he not see? But it is all still so new, so very new to the both of them, and perhaps he should not be so surprised.
He keeps his voice light, and half-smiles as he says, "I expect I'll catch up with you somewhere around here."
A half-laugh, more like a huff of air, and Erik gasps, "My, you are full of surprises."
Fahim shifts, so that he is looking down at Erik's face, pale and silvered in the light of the moon. "It keeps things exciting. Now," he smiles, and brushes his lips against Erik's, "where were we?"
They sleep little that night, simply whisper, and touch, and kiss. And with the coming of dawn they help each other to dress. "I assume this means I can have my guns back," Erik says, groggy from their activities in the night as he straightens his sleeves. His guns are a pair of fine pearl-handled revolvers, clearly expensive, and he wears one in a shoulder holster under his coat, and the other at his hip. The very thought of his nimble fingers buckling the gunbelt around his slim waist makes fresh desire pool in the pit of Fahim's stomach, but he swallows it down and fights to keep his voice steady. Now is not the time for such thoughts.
"And your knives. I'd really prefer if you didn't use them, but probably safer that you have them than not."
Erik regards him, chewing his lower lip. "How long have you been planning this?"
"Since a couple of days after we first—"
And Erik nods, holds a hand up to silence him, and the creases around his mouth suggest that he has formed a plan of his own. (When did Fahim learn to read the shiftings in his face?) "Well, I think it best if you stay in town a couple of nights, instead of—instead of resigning straightaway and leaving again. You don't want to give them any reason to be suspicious of you."
There is truth in his words, but Fahim would prefer to be away from Erik for as short a time as possible, and the thought of lingering in town just for the sake of it leaves a sour taste in his mouth. "And what about you?"
Now it is Erik's turn to smile. "I'll lay low. Keep off the trails and rest up a bit. How about we rendezvous here at sunset in two days?"
It sounds like a plan, and though he is still wary of leaving Erik alone — the man did kill two people after all, and probably three — Fahim agrees, and they part ways after another kiss. He mounts up and rides away, pointing Darius towards town, his heart too full but his chest oddly hollow. And even though he knows he needs to have his story in order for when he reaches town, knows he will be asked about Erik, knows that the story of his apprehension may well have filtered in to Comerford by now with the way news travels out here, his thoughts keep wandering back, to the night spent in Erik's arms, to the kisses they shared, to the words they have not spoken though Fahim feels them inside, weighing oddly heavy and light at once.
He pushes Darius on, a harder pace than he has ridden in weeks. No point wasting time out here when he could be making his presence known in town, could be making his time there as long as possible so as to be less suspicious. Erik is right on that point, after all.
First stop will be the Marshal's office, deliver a fake report of events. He had Erik, but when Erik came to his senses he jumped him in the night and escaped. Fahim searched for him, found the trail and lost it then, tired and aching, afraid of doing in his horse, he decided to return. A simple tale. Best to keep it simple so he is less likely to be caught in a lie.
Then he will retire to his rooms and sleep. Visit the barber after he wakes. The story will have travelled around town. Track down Henry in whatever saloon he has fetched up in, and act as if everything is normal, pretending all the time that his heart is not hiding somewhere half a day's ride away, laying low and keeping off the trails.
It cannot be so very difficult. Can it?
