Yesterday's Fire

Chapter 10

...

He fought his way through terrifying memories, feeling the intense heat of his own body, his mind flickering as if he could see it burning. Afraid to open his eyes, he struggled to control the rhythm of his breathing, unable to take a deep breath for fear of the stunning pain it would bring. He felt as though someone was holding his feet in a fire and he groaned deeply, salty tears creasing the clammy sweat on his face. Terribly hungry, his throat and mouth dry as if filled with dirt, he became convinced he was still tied up and at the mercy of the sun. It must be the reason he was so hot, his body continually racked by waves of shivering chills.

He had walked so far with no hope. The pain unnerving as it was now, but he remembered that someone had come. Someone had helped him. A big man had carried him. A man almost as big as his father, but his father wouldn't have been that kind. And a woman with cool gentle hands like his mother, but his mother was dead. Maybe he was too. Maybe he was in hell. It felt like he had imagined it when he was small and his mama made him go to the tiny church in Bodie, the preacher's fiery description of hell not too far from the torment he was feeling now.

Then he remembered the dark haired woman, and he barely opened the one eye he could still see out of and she was there beside him. She looked different. Her hair was loose and hung past her shoulders. He was surprised that his body could still respond, but it offered him one sure sign that he wasn't dead.

"His fever's getting worse," she said to someone.

A woman's cool hand pressed against his forehead and then cupped his cheek and he felt tears in his eyes at the comfort it brought. He was sorry when the hand lifted and he struggled to see where she had gone.

"Don't leave me here," he begged, as the dark haired woman got up.

"Shhhhh, boy," another woman whispered, wiping the sweat from his face with a cool cloth.

It felt like heaven.

"I'm not in hell am I?" He managed to choke out.

"Not anymore," she said. "Now rest, and let us take care of you."

"Who are you?" Panting at the effort it took to ask.

"Why doesn't he remember?" The dark haired woman asked.

"Do I know you?" He struggled to raise his head to get a better look at the people surrounding him. "Do you work for Thurston?"

"No boy," the calm, low voice of a man sent him reeling and he pushed the woman's hand away.

"I don't believe you," he yelled. "I won't yield, you bastard...I won't."

He tried to fight them, but had no strength. Shamed by his weakness, he screamed curses at them as the big man held him down until he gave in. He let himself drift, his mind foggy with the all-consuming pain and the roaring heat he couldn't escape, the voices above him blending into a low hum that he rode into the welcomed darkness.

...

She slammed out the door, her anger too much to control. She'd had a conversation with him early that morning, and her emotions had gotten the better of her. Now, all she felt was anger that he didn't remember any of it. Why she cared made her uncertain and needing to get away from the wounded man in the house. She'd been amazed at how hot his skin felt when she touched him, and saw the worry on Josie's weary face. Could they lose him after all? She didn't want that, but she was still confused as to why she even cared.

He was a stranger who'd been caught up in a range war, and for all she knew he was as much of a bastard as all the other men who worked for Thurston. Just because she was attracted to the man didn't mean he was a decent person. He wasn't perfect, she could say that for certain. He was arrogant, full of himself just like most men who thought the world revolved around them. She didn't need someone like that. Besides, she still wasn't convinced he wasn't wanted for something. A good man didn't go to work for a man like Thurston.

She leaned against the fence and stared out over the wind blown grasses of the pasture toward a far stand of birch trees, their leaves vibrating in the light breeze. This was a beautiful place and reminded her of her stepfather's ranch in Colorado, not as big or as rugged, but comforting in its familiarity. The Atwoods were good people, and their kindness had awakened memories of the family she had once cherished. All of it was gone now, and being here only made her more aware of what she had lost. She could do no more here. Josie would tend Gentry better than she could, so she should probably leave and get back to what she did best, tracking down wanted men who didn't make her feel anything.

She heard the door close and heard the big man's footsteps as he made his way to her, but she ignored him as he rested his forearms on the top rail next to her. Several of the horses in the pasture raised their heads, their ears pricked at this new presence and a couple started to walk purposefully towards them. He kept silent and she appreciated that, speaking only to the two horses that came to the fence, one nibbling at the fabric of his shirt.

"This is his mare, Sheila," he said softly after a time. "I have a feelin' she's been his only friend in this world for quite awhile."

She didn't reply, not wanting to talk about Gentry, but she didn't want to walk away from this kind man. There was a calm strength about him that she was drawn to, so she continued to silently stare out over the pasture.

"Hard to watch a man suffer," he said softly. "'specially one you saved and tended."

"I just did the tracking. It's what I do," she mumbled, feeling uncomfortable all of a sudden.

"But you wanted to find him," he replied. "You can't deny that even to yourself."

She had no idea what to say to that, so she remained silent, hoping he would leave her in peace.

"Caring about someone is confusing, ain't it?" He said, huffing out a short laugh. "Catches us by surprise most of the time. No accountin' for the reason. But to deny it don't work. The heart takes over and there's no fighting it once it's got ahold of you."

"I don't know what you mean," she said flatly.

"The first time I saw Josie I was twenty and full of beans, if you know what I mean," he laughed. "I was workin' a small horse farm outside of Lexington, Kentucky and she was the owner's niece come for a visit. Never seen a woman ride like a man before. Teased her a bit. She still won't let me forget it."

He paused as his memories took hold, and she could almost feel the emotions he was trying to contain.

"My God, that woman was beautiful. Took the wind right outa me," he whispered. "Knew I didn't stand a chance with her, but I couldn't get her out of my mind, no matter how hard I tried."

"Is this where you tell me you both fell madly in love and lived happily ever after?" MacKenzie said flippantly, surprised at her own rudeness.

"Life ain't a fairy tale, miss," he said, turning to stare at her with keen dark brown eyes. "But I got a feelin' you already know that."

"Sorry."

"You don't strike me as a woman who's afraid of much," he said. "Don't be afraid to let your heart lead you once in awhile. It won't hurt as much as you think."

"You're wrong there, Mister Atwood," she said sadly. "I intend to write my own story and I don't need anyone else to help me do it."

He simply stared at her for a few quiet moments and then pushed away from the fence before speaking. "At some point you're gonna find out just how lonely that kind of life can be."

Her anger surged as he walked back to the house, then she stomped toward the barn, intent on saddling up and getting the hell away from all these people. His comments had been well intentioned, she knew that, but were disconcerting all the same. And she had no desire to go back inside, even to say goodbye, or to see Gentry burning with fever, his body and mind still tortured by what his boss had done to him. This wasn't her fight. These people weren't her family and she had no intention of letting herself give a damn about that wounded man, no matter how attractive he was. She may want him, but she sure as hell didn't need him.

The loud whinny from a couple of the horses in the pasture made her turn and she saw Callen and Sam approaching from the East, followed by another man. She swallowed down the bad taste in her mouth and sighed deeply, wanting to hold onto her anger, but relieved that she would have familiar faces around. She waved at them as they dismounted and led their horses toward the barn.

"Did ya find 'im?"

She remembered the man from the Mueller's place, but had never gotten his name. He seemed to realize that and some of the tension drained from his face as he touched the brim of his hat and introduced himself.

"I'm Branch Mueller, miss. Never got to thank ya for your help," he said. "But I really need to know if you found that boy alive. We all took a likin' to 'im, 'specially Sarah."

"He's in the house," she replied softly, marveling at the true concern on the man's face.

"How bad?" Callen asked.

"He's alive, but don't ask me how," she reported, trying to keep any emotion out of her voice. "Thurston had him dragged quite a ways, then sliced his feet open and left him for dead. Found him in a dry gully with his hands tied behind his back."

"My God," Branch said, pulling his hat from his head and gripping it tightly in front of him.

"Why not just shoot him?" Sam wondered.

"It woulda been a kindness," George said as he joined them. "Think he wanted the boy to admit defeat and when he wouldn't the bastard wanted him to suffer. He's burnin' up with fever. Out of his head. Keeps fightin' us, sayin' he won't yield."

"Coot was right. Always said Thurston was the devil himself," Branch said.

"Think he'll make it?" Callen asked.

"If we can get his fever to break," George replied.

"I might be able to help with that," Sam said. "Learned a thing or two from the Comanche. Keep some herbs and roots for a tea in my saddlebags. It'll dull the pain a bit too."

"That would be a welcome blessin', son," George said as he motioned them to come up to the house.

MacKenzie hung back, and Callen noticed and let the others go. He eyed her suspiciously, and she instantly resented his ability to read people, especially her.

"Don't you start," she said as she headed deeper into the barn to get her gray saddled.

"Start what?" He asked with that damn cocky smirk on his face.

"You know what," she snapped.

"Must be bad, if you're this shook up," he said kindly.

As much as she didn't want to talk about the affect Gentry's suffering had on her, she knew Callen would understand. He had become a good friend and wouldn't judge her. She didn't say anything while she saddled her gray, and he patiently waited, but she could tell he was curious. She usually kept tight control of her emotions and had been determined to keep them from the Atwoods. Callen saw through that and was offering her a way to vent all of her pent up fury of emotions.

"I've haven't wanted to kill a man this bad since I tracked down the men who killed my parents," the truth of it crashing into her mind now that she'd said it out loud. "I've seen a lot of cruelty doing what I do and I've seen plenty of dead men, but..."

She was trembling when he got a firm grip on her shoulder and it steadied her.

"I don't even like Gentry, but he didn't deserve what that man did to him," she said quietly.

"You must think I'm blind and stupid," Callen laughed. "You don't have to lie to me you know. I won't make fun of you. I don't know what happened after you got him here, but something did or you wouldn't be this upset."

"Back off," she said, furious at his comments. "Nothing happened...I just...I.."

"God, MacKenzie...how bad was it?"

"He started screaming when Josie tried to clean his feet," unable to stop the hot tears from falling. "She tried to get him to take some whiskey, but the stubborn fool wouldn't, so I threatened to knock him out..."

"Wait...what?"

"He needed something to dull the pain, Callen, but he wouldn't take it," she said angrily, shivering at the memory. "I was just trying to get him to see reason, not that he's the kind who would. He's exasperating."

"I can see that," Callen said with a slight smile.

"Then Josie poured some of the whiskey over the cuts and he...he grabbed my hand and screamed," MacKenzie was finding it was hard to breathe as she relived it all, gripping the saddle horn tightly as she leaned against her horse.

Callen was behind her, but she heard him suck in a breath. When he put both hands on her shoulders, she finally let herself go, his kind gesture breaking her down and she struggled to fight back tears.

"I've never heard someone scream like that," she choked out, before turning to face him.

"Hard to get that sound out of your head," Callen said quietly, his eyes downcast and she knew he was remembering the war.

"I didn't mean to remind you of hard times," she said.

"Can he talk?" Callen asked soberly, ignoring her remark.

"He's delirious," she answered. "Can't understand most of what he says."

"He's the only witness that can tie Thurston to the raid on the Mueller place," Callen told her. "The wounded raider didn't make it."

"That's why you're here," she said.

"Sent a telegraph to the Territorial Governor from Fort Steele, tellin' 'im what happened," Callen said. "The one I got back was nasty. Told me I was wrong about Thurston and to keep away from 'im."

"The Atwoods said he has powerful friends," she replied.

"He'll get away with all of it, unless Gentry gives me something to use," Callen said grimly. "Maybe not even then."

"I'd just as soon shoot 'im," MacKenzie said darkly. "Or do to him what he did to Gentry."

"And here I thought you didn't care about him," Callen smirked.

"Shut up," she said, punching him sharply in the arm.

"Hey...save your anger for the man responsible," Callen said as he frowned and rubbed the sore spot. "Let's go in. I need to see 'im."

"I'll wait here," she said quickly.

"Didn't think you were afraid of anything," he said. "Looks like Gentry is the exception."

"I'm not afraid of him," she said heatedly.

"You're afraid of something," he reasoned, as he turned and walked out of the barn.

She was fuming at what he said, but she followed him silently all the way into the house. Sam was with Josie in the kitchen, boiling something on the big iron stove that smelled pungent and slightly nauseating. She stole a quick look at Gentry as he writhed in the small bed, pushing the blankets off, allowing Callen to see some of what he'd suffered at Thurston's hand.

"Sonofabitch," Callen said under his breath.

"Never seen the like," Branch Mueller said, laying a comforting hand on the boy's leg.

Sam walked between the two men and sat down on the small stool near Gentry's head. He shot a look of incomprehension up at Callen, and then reached over and gently lifted Gentry's head and brought a cup of awful smelling tea to his lips. He struggled briefly, but Sam held his head firmly and forced him to drink a little bit at a time. He reacted as he had with her, his hands coming up to hold onto Sam's, his body responding to its need for water. The grimace after each swallow, made her smile, but she felt relief that he had taken something, knowing just how long it had been since he'd had anything. Her anger had softened when she saw him again and she was glad someone was helping him. She was surprised at how kindly Sam was being, having never seen this side of him before. When the cup was empty, Sam eased his head back down on the pillow, and then gently squeezed his shoulder. It woke him.

"Am I under arrest?" He panted as he stared at Sam. "I didn't kill 'im."

"Who?"

He began to mumble again and the men were dumbfounded by his comments.

"Didn't find a body out there," George said softly, looking quickly at MacKenzie.

Maybe she'd been right. Maybe he was a wanted man and his feverish mind had simply jumbled everything together. She didn't want it to be true, but she honestly wasn't surprised, even though she'd found no wanted posters on him under either name.

"The boy's confused," Josie said as she pushed through the men standing over him. "Let 'im rest."

She gently wiped his face with a cool cloth and he opened his eyes and smiled at her, his eyes bright with fever.

"I hafta go to jail, mama," he whispered. "But I ain't sorry...he woulda killed you."

"No one's takin' you to jail, son," she said kindly.

"He's a marshal," he said, pointing a trembling finger at Sam. "That's why he's here."

"He made you some tea to ease your fever is all," she said.

"Get away while you can, mama. He'll hurt you again," he begged, gripping her hand tightly. "Run...please mama...run."

"No one's gonna hurt her, boy," George said quietly as he kneeled down next to the bed.

"Yes he will, cause I shot 'im, so he's real mad now," he said, sounding angry and scared and so very young.

"I think he's talking about his childhood," Josie whispered.

"Or Thurston," Branch offered.

"Don't think he woulda been able to shoot Thurston," MacKenzie said. "And there wasn't enough blood."

"Who'd you shoot, Gentry?" Callen asked.

"Who's Gentry?" He looked totally confused and tried to back away from them.

"Tell me what you did, Marty," Josie coaxed. "It'll ease your mind."

"No," he whispered fretfully, turning his head toward the wall. "Then you'll hate me too."

"A mother can't hate her own child," she replied, taking his hand.

He turned to stare at Josie, his eyes turbulent with emotion and pain, but with something deeper that made MacKenzie shudder at the depth of sadness she saw there.

"Poppa does," He said plainly.

"What can you say to that?" Branch breathed out softly.

Suddenly, he seemed to become aware of all the people standing over him and covered his face with his hands, rolling over onto his side toward the wall.

"Go away," he said.

Nobody said anything, but they all began to step back, Sam and Callen both looking stunned as they walked out onto the porch. Josie had tears in her eyes and George rested his hand on the back of her neck as she slowly stroked Gentry's head until he went to sleep.

MacKenzie had been mesmerized by the conversation between Josie and the man. He had seemed so childlike, innocent, even if what he said was true. In his fevered state, he undoubtedly thought Josie was his mother, and it wasn't hard to figure that it was his father he'd shot. How old he'd been when it happened, he might never share, but she was fairly sure he had been quite young. But it still held him captive, just as the deaths of her parents had maintained a strong hold on her. She felt a deep sympathy for him, and memories of her own father rose in her mind. He had been a loving father, as had her stepfather, and the thought of growing up without that love was something she couldn't comprehend. She had always taken that love for granted until they were both gone, leaving her feeling empty and full of anger. Gentry had never felt the comfort of a father's love as she had, and it could have made him into an uncaring and hard man, but it hadn't. He had become tough, and probably carried some anger, but had not become uncaring, or he wouldn't have tried to warn the Muellers. Maybe she shouldn't be so hard on him. Maybe there was more underneath that irritating personality that was worth discovering.

...

Opening his eyes in the dark was disorienting, so he lay still, allowing his eyes to adjust, until the muted glow from the dying fire made him aware of the man sitting in a chair by his bed. His head hung over his chest, but occasionally jerked up, fighting the need to sleep. The man had a blanket around his shoulders, but his chest was bare except for the white bandage that stood out in the shadowy room, and Deeks was surprised to see him sitting there. Sudden movement from the far side of the fireplace startled him and he moved too quickly, making him gasp at the pain and begin to pant as his feet started to throb.

"You okay?" Joe mumbled, yawning as he sat up and rubbed at his eyes.

"Who else is here," he asked, unable to stifle the unsettling fear that clutched at him.

"Callen," the man called out softly. "Don't sleep much. Didn't mean to disturb you."

"Looks like your fever finally broke," Joe said. "You had everyone worried."

"Why?"

"Your fever was so high you were talkin' crazy," Joe replied. "My parents were worried about you."

"Seriously?"

Callen stood and stretched in front of the fire before kneeling to throw a couple of logs on and stoke it to life. "You can thank Sam for getting enough of that nasty stuff he brewed into you. Took it awhile to work, but you finally settled."

Deeks was surprised by everyone's concern and that Joe was sitting with him even though wounded. "You still hurtin' bad?"

"Not as bad as you," Joe said softly. "That bastard nearly killed you."

"He enjoyed it too," Deeks said, suddenly feeling raw and angry again. "Managed to drag him off his high horse though...literally."

"Made him mad, I'm bettin'," Callen said.

Deeks didn't respond, the throbbing pain in his feet keeping him silent as he tried to catch his breath.

"Did the Muellers make it?" He asked quietly.

"Coot was pretty badly wounded, but everyone else is fine," Callen told him. "Branch got winged, but he came along to see how you were. Sorry to say they lost the house."

"Shit," Deeks whispered. "Are they safe somewhere?"

"Take it easy, Gentry," Callen said, noticing his agitation. "They're at Fort Steele for now."

"What about Hedges?" He asked. "He's a nasty sonofabitch."

"You're right about that. Was using Sarah as a shield," Callen said grimly. "MacKenzie shot 'im in the head."

"I'll be damned," Joe said. "Good thing she likes you, Deeks."

"Not sure she does," he said with a cock of his head.

"She's havin' a tough time dealin' with what Thurston did to you," Callen said. "Wants to shoot 'im."

"Tell her to get in line," Joe said bitterly.

"Think he knows I'm alive?" Deeks asked stoically.

"If he does, he'll want you dead," Callen replied.

"Yeah...pretty sure you're right."

"You're the only one can tie him to all this," Callen said. "You willin' to testify to what you know?"

"You really think that's gonna do any good?" Deeks said wearily, sounding more defeated than he intended. "I'm nobody. He's a cattle baron with rich friends."

"Is that a no?"

"You wanna give 'im some time to heal up before you put him in that man's sites again?" Joe snapped.

Deeks was surprised at the vehemence of the man, but it calmed him to find someone on his side. He was so very tired and the thought of going up against Thurston again was too exhausting for him right now.

"Think about it, Gentry," Callen said evenly. "The man gave orders to burn out his own neighbors. He didn't care if Hedges killed them all. I've seen his kind before. He won't stop. It's who he is. He'll come for you. You know that."

"He can't know he's hold up here," Joe said.

"And he only knows me as Max Gentry," Deeks said softly, feeling sleepy and tired of talking.

"So you're going back to your real name?" Callen asked.

"I'm not safe usin' either one," he said as he closed his eyes. "Got more than one man who wants to kill me."

"You really know how to annoy people, Deeks," Joe said with a grin.

"It's a gift," he responded lightly, and realized he was starting to like this man.

"That's a dangerous gift," he replied. "Better talk MacKenzie into staying around until you can defend yourself."

"Think she'd rather shoot me than defend me," he said with a sad smile. "Already threatened to knock me out."

"She said it was for your own good," Callen laughed.

"Annoyed her, too, did ya?" Joe asked, seeming to enjoy his discomfort.

"She don't let most people get too close to her, but I think she likes you," Callen said kindly. "It upset her to see you in pain. It wouldn't have if she didn't care."

"Musta been those caramels I bought her," he replied softly with a grin.

"No...I think it's the hair," Callen quipped.

"You knew her before this?" Joe asked.

"Had a run in with all three of 'em in town," he replied. "Didn't sound like she thought too highly of me then. None of them do."

"She practically throttled the wounded man wearin' your jacket," Callen told him. "It's how we knew Thurston had you."

"You thought I ran didn't you?" The accusation hanging in the shadows around them.

"It crossed my mind," Callen admitted.

"Sorry to disappoint you," he said bitterly.

"Why don't you leave 'im alone for a while," Joe said quickly, standing to his feet and stepping toward Callen.

"I was wrong, Gentry," Callen said. "You did a good thing. Just sorry it cost you."

"His name's Deeks," Joe said firmly, finally getting a smile out of him.

"I liked that jacket," Deeks said quietly. "An Arapaho girl gave it to me."

"Sam has it in his saddlebag," Callen told him as he threw another log on the fire. "Just in case Mr. Atwood and MacKenzie found you alive."

"Didn't think anyone would," he whispered, shivering at the haunting memories.

"Papa told me he thought you were dead when they got to you," Joe said, easing himself back down into the chair.

"You looked dead," a voice from the deep shadows of the room made him jump and hiss at the grinding pain in his ribs.

MacKenzie stepped into the dim light of the fire, her expression sad and vulnerable, and he wondered how someone so tough could look so lovely in the middle of the night. He closed his eyes until he could breathe easily again and when he opened them, she was standing next to his bed.

"How did you do that?" She asked softly. "How did you walk that far...it must have been agonizing...your feet..."

"I don't know," he said slowly, not wanting to think about it, let alone describe it. "I didn't want him to think he broke me."

"You didn't yield," she said.

"No," he answered. "How'd you know that's what he wanted me to do?"

"You kept screaming it," she said shakily, looking into the fire.

"Hard to listen to," Joe said.

"Sorry," he offered, embarrassed by it all. "I don't remember that."

"You were out of your head," Callen said. "Thought Sam was here to arrest you."

"That's not hard to believe," Deeks whispered, seeing something odd in the way Callen was looking at him.

"You all should be arrested for keeping me awake," Sam called out from the dark. "You need your rest Gentry, or whatever you're callin' yourself and I need mine."

"What did I say Marshal Callen?" Deeks asked, needing to know what he'd unwittingly revealed.

"Nothin' that's of any concern now," Callen answered, poking roughly at the burning logs.

"We'll arrest you in the morning, if that'll make you feel better," Sam mumbled and then promptly began to snore.

"He gets grumpy when he doesn't get enough sleep," Callen said with a smirk. "And that's usually my fault."

"See you at breakfast, Deeks," Joe said as he got up and headed back to bed.

"Getting light outside. Think I'll head out to the barn," Callen said as he slipped on his jacket. "Think about what I said."

"You think I can forget any of it?" he asked sullenly.

"No, and you never will," he said, looking into the darkness of the room. "But you can help us make the bastard pay for what he did."

"Guess I don't have the same faith in the law you do," he replied.

"That from experience?" Callen's eyes narrowed as he waited for his response.

"You could say that," he replied. "None I can remember ever been on my side."

"Maybe you were just on the wrong side," MacKenzie said accusingly as she sat down in the chair.

"I was protectin' myself and someone I cared about," he rushed out, suddenly angry at their scrutiny. "The lawman didn't give a good goddamn what I said. He believed what he wanted to believe and the law had nothin' to do with it."

MacKenzie looked quickly over at Callen, who shook his head, and Deeks realized they knew exactly what he was talking about. In that instant he hated them. He hated that he had unknowingly revealed his own private hell to these judgmental strangers. He felt vulnerable, his heart racing uncontrollably, and he suddenly wanted to be anywhere but cooped up in this place and at their mercy. He gritted his teeth and threw the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the cot before thinking about what he was doing. When his feet hit the floor and he forced himself to stand, the explosive pain was almost his undoing, but he was determined not to scream and determined to walk out of here. The woman looked shocked, and jumped up to grab him, but he tried to push her away.

"Get the hell away from me," he growled through clinched teeth.

"No, you idiot," she said, her eyes flashing with anger as she grappled with him.

"Let the stubborn sonofabitch go, MacKenzie," Callen said softly as he came up beside him. "He won't get far. Too stupid to know when someone is tryin' to help him."

He lunged for the man and managed to get a fistful of his shirt before the pain shot up his legs, leaving him trembling and flush with sweat. He tried to take a swing at him, but he was so weak the marshal simply grabbed his arm and held him.

"Don't do this, Deeks," the woman said softly. "Please get back in bed. You're hurting yourself."

"What the fuck do you care?" He gasped.

"I found you out there," she said as her eyes brightened with tears. "I saw your feet and I know how far you walked. I can't imagine the pain you suffered, but I won't watch you suffer any more. I can't, okay? I can't listen to you scream again, so please don't make me."

He stared at her, noticing for the first time the feel of her hand on his bare chest and he looked down at it. Callen was holding him up, but it was her firm grip on his arm that he felt, so warm against his skin. She was so close he could smell her, the light scent of lavender filling the space between them.

"Then I won't scream," he whispered, as he felt himself sag in the marshal's arms.

"Will you get back in bed?"

"If you sit with me," he managed to say with a soft grin as his vision faded.

"I promise."

He didn't remember them getting him back in bed, but when he became aware, he was shaking and panting, trying to ride out the waves of pain that rolled through his body. Someone was wiping the sweat from his face and he reached up and grasped the person's arm, and the smell of lavender made him open his eyes. She was there as she had promised, sitting beside him, her long dark hair brushing softly across his arm as she leaned over him.

"Did you knock me out?" He asked as he let her go.

"Didn't have to. You fainted," she replied.

"Men don't faint," he said.

"You did."

"I mighta passed out, but I didn't faint," he said, unable to keep a soft smile from his face in spite of the pain.

"Whatever you say, cowboy," she said.

"You laughing at me?" He asked.

"You're not very funny," she replied as she sat back in the chair.

"I can be."

"Guess I'll have to stick around awhile so you can prove it," she said softly.

"I'd like that."

...

...