Author's Note: I guess not many CM fans have read the Coldfire Trilogy. Dag nabbit. Oh well. I told myself setting out that I'd better be prepared for a lack of readers in certain fandoms: someday, someone will come along who, like me, is familiar with both fandoms: that person will probably laugh hysterically when they realize that they're not the only one who wanted to mix the two.

Warnings: You know the drill.

Disclaimer: Own these fandoms, I do not.

A.N.2: The simultaneously brilliant and god-awful song in this chapter is The Marshall of Silver City, brought to you by the one and only Jimmie Driftwood. I know that song's hard to find online, but listening to any of his music would give you the general idea of what Damien's being subjected to. I'm a huge Jimmie Driftwood fan myself, and even I will admit that he has an... unconventional approach, to put it mildly. Poor Damien.

When they entered the bullpen and Damien told them they could go home for the day, the first thing to come out of Derek Morgan's mouth was, "You got any plans for tonight, Tarrant?"

Before Gerald could even open his mouth, the frustration that had melted away during the trip to HQ flooded right back and Damien's frayed patience finally snapped. "Morgan!" he barked. "Have you ever even heard the word 'professionalism'? It means not hitting on consulting agents, dammit. You might want to try it some time!"

There was a moment of stunned silence, while Tarrant openly smirked. Damien slammed the stack of files he was carrying down on his desk and added, "All of you, get the hell out of here and get some sleep. And Morgan, if you so much as vulking think of continuing this - whatever the hell you're doing - I will dock your pay for a month!" With that dire pronouncement, Damien grabbed his jacket and stormed out the office, swearing continuously under his breath.

There was utter silence for a moment, then Gerald shook his head. "For profilers, you don't read danger signals very well. As to your earlier question, Agent Morgan, I do not have plans for the evening - but I will not be spending it with you. If you have not caught on to what I'm trying to accomplish by this point, I would advise you to retire from the dating game permanently. You've clearly lost your edge." Not bothering to wait for a reply, Gerald straightened his tie and followed Damien from the bullpen.

The dumbfounded silence stretched a moment longer, then JJ gave a low whistle. "Wow. That was intense."

Emily shook her head. "Who knew D was going to snap like that? Maybe this thing between him and Tarrant is more serious than we thought."

Rossi sighed. "I warned you. This isn't something you lot should be interfering with! Let them sort it out on their own - and Derek, if you want to keep your job, I suggest you stay away from Agent Tarrant."

Morgan nodded slowly, feeling a little shell-shocked. He made a quick mental note: never, ever tease the boss about dating again. Apparently, that's a sore topic.

Damien had managed to let go of most of his fury by the time he reached the picket line in front of the Bureau headquarters, where the agents' horses were tethered. When he approached, however, his horse shied away from him.

Damien sighed and set his briefcase down. "Alright Jahan, what is it this time? God, if I'd known you were going to be this finicky..."

The horse just looked back at him, dark eyes inscrutable. Damien had found Jahan at a local breeder's, shortly after joining the Bureau, when it had become clear that he desperately needed a new horse to replace the one he'd lost on the quest to destroy Calesta. Jahan was five years old then, the only one of his family not already sold. Supposedly, he had a 'difficult nature', and tended to be a bit strong-willed. The glossy chestnut stallion was an impressive creature, though nothing special physically: one look in those knowing eyes, though, had been enough to convince Damien this was the one. There was a quiet intelligence in the stallion that Damien had never seen in a horse before - taking into consideration the animal's peculiar temperament and undeniably sarcastic sense of humor, the priest-turned-agent had known exactly what to name him.

Of course, at the time he christened the horse, he hadn't though he'd ever run into the inspiration again.

A soft, cool voice came from behind him. "I can't have heard that right. Your horse's name is what, exactly?"

Damien smiled as he turned to look at Gerald, who was staring at Damien in wonder. The profiler shrugged sheepishly. "Jahan. It's weird, but... he kind of reminded me of you, in a way."

Jahan eyed Gerald warily, then appeared to decide that the adept passed muster: the horse snorted dismissively, swished his tail elegantly, and promptly bit the distracted priest on the ear.

"Ouch!" Glaring furiously, Damien rubbed at his wounded ear and shot Gerald a pointed glance. "See what I mean?"

Gerald chuckled. "He does have a certain style, doesn't he?" He regarded the horse thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I should have known it wouldn't be that easy to forget the past..."

Damien felt a strange warmth spread through him: smiling softly, he reached out and laid one hand gently on Gerald's shoulder. "It's alright, Gerald. Maybe we both needed some time to sort things out." The adept just looked at him, the silver eyes skeptical. Damien smiled more broadly. "No, I mean it. It seems like the last few years did both of us some good. That said... I'm very glad that you're back."

Gerald smiled. "It's good to be back." he admitted softly, his eyes lingering on Damien's face. He hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind about something. "I don't suppose you had any plans for tonight?"

Damien laughed out loud. "No, I certainly didn't." he said, grinning. "You want to grab a drink somewhere? The Pie-Eyed Pirate is just down the block, it's classier than you'd guess from the name and they give us Feds a hefty discount."

Gerald nodded, eyes sparkling. "Sounds like a plan, Vryce. Lead the way."

They passed a very pleasant while at the Pie-Eyed Pirate, catching up on the events of the last few years. The Pie-Eyed Pirate was known as a favorite hang-out for law enforcement of all echelons: the unwritten rule was that you left your rank at the door. It was busy tonight, and Damien and Gerald just managed to grab a free booth while they waited for one of the harried-looking waitresses to make their way over. Harried they might have been, but the waitresses weren't going to complain: they got the politest drunks and some of the best tips in the whole damn city. Of course, the laws of fate dictated that the two agents hadn't been there for more than ten minutes before some drunken rookie cop started up a chorus of The Marshall of Silver City. Damien groaned as the distinctive twangs of a homemade guitar echoed through the moderately lit room.

"I came to that big river and I couldn't get across

I went up to the hitch-rack and I borrowed me a hoss

I didn't tell the owner when I aimed to bring him back

So Judge Parker put the Sheriff on my track..."

Gerald was chuckling softly. "This is a regular feature here, hmm?"

"Oh, yes." Damien muttered. "You should see it on a Saturday night. The whole bloody place will be belting out songs till sunup. That nimrod with the guitar is James Henderson, he walks a beat out on Hillcrest and Osprey. Never met an off note he didn't play."

"We rode across the prairie wide, just I, myself, and me

We went before Judge Parker and we told him how it be

He sentenced me to hang upon a tree till I was dead

Then he pardoned me and this is what he said

I know that you're the darndest fool that ever stole a hoss

Go back to Silver City, Bill, and show em who's the boss

I kept the law in Silver till the rustlers cut me down

I tell ya boys, I've really bin around!"

The blond agent laughed. A moment later, as though conjured by the musical sound of his mirth, a waitress materialized out of the crowd. Her auburn hair was pulled up into a stern bun, though several wisps had escaped and straggled around her face, softening the effect greatly. She looked run ragged, but she summoned a warm smile.

"Evenin', D, 'bout time I saw you in here - I was starting to think you'd got yerself shot full a' holes again." she said, her blue eyes twinkling, her speech tinged with a soft southern accent. "Who's yer handsome friend?"

Damien grinned. "Evening, Marie. This is Gerald Tarrant, he's an old friend - apparently his boss got sick of him, so he dumped him on my case."

"More like Strauss thought you needed a babysitter." Gerald retorted good-naturedly before treating Marie to the patented Revivalist charm. "Well now, if all the ladies in this place are this lovely, no wonder it's a favorite with the boys in blue."

Marie blushed. "Lord almighty, where've you bin hiding this charmer, D? Mercy, I ain't blushed this bad since I was in high school! What can I get for you two gents this evenin'?"

"The usual for me, Marie, and... let me guess, some ridiculously expensive wine, Gerald?"

The adept laughed. "Merenthan Red, if you have it." he said to the waitress, who smiled.

"Course we got it, Mer, best wine this side o' the Serpent! Back in two shakes." Marie disappeared, and Gerald lifted an eyebrow at Damien.

"She thought you'd been - what was it - 'shot full of holes, again'?"

Damien grimaced. "I was hoping you hadn't caught that." He rolled up his sleeve: the circular divot of scar tissue just above his elbow was clearly visible, even in the less-than-ideal lighting. "Got caught in a shoot-out with some desperate kid downtown: he'd already killed his mother and sister, then went on a rampage at his school. The idiot who called us in conveniently forgot to mention that the kid had been using cerebus for a good six months, he was crazier than a -" Damien caught himself abruptly, and Gerald smirked.

"-Starving Forest-wolf?" he finished softly, his silver eyes twinkling. The saying had started south of Jaggonath, in the districts where the Hunter was more of a distant legend, and it was gaining in popularity now that the Lord of the Forest was gone. Damien winced.

"Sorry."

"Don't worry about it." Gerald's gaze was calm and steady as he looked at Damien. "That's part of why I was gone so long, Vryce. I spent so long evading death... it took me a while to come to terms with being mortal again. I've put that behind me now, though. I've accepted it. You don't have to tiptoe around mentioning my past."

Damien relaxed and smiled at the adept. "I'm glad to hear that. I wanted to ask how that worked out for you, but I wasn't sure how to bring it up. You're really okay with it, then?"

"Yes." There was a look in Gerald's eyes that Damien didn't recognize, but it sent a surge of warmth through the former priest. "I owe you a lot of thanks, Damien. For reminding me that there are advantages to being human, no matter how hard it is."

Damien hadn't missed the fact that Gerald used his first name, and he felt the sincere words tug at his heartstrings as he returned Gerald's steady gaze. "It was my honour, Gerald."

They stayed for another hour, reveling in each other's company, but eventually the late hour forced them to part ways. Outside the tavern, Gerald turned to Damien, his silver eyes luminescent in the darkness. He was every bit as beautiful as the Hunter had been, and Damien felt his breath catch in his throat.

"Goodnight, Damien." the adept breathed, then he leaned in close and brushed his lips against Damien's. The contact was feather-light and fleeting, but it nevertheless sent tingles through Damien, as though he'd touched an active fae-ward. Smiling that breathtaking smile, Gerald gave him one last look then slipped away into the darkness, leaving the stunned profiler behind.

Damien stood there a moment, speechless, then a broad grin broke out across his face and he grabbed Jahan's reigns, shaking his head affectionately.

"Goodnight, Gerald." he murmured to the darkness, knowing the adept would hear.