(Seven weeks prior)
Morgan Wilmington stares at the body that is motionless on the ground at her feet. She stares at that body, because suddenly, it seems to be a better alternative than looking her friend in the eye. Blood pools on leaves, glistening against the light of the moon overhead, and still, she cannot pull her focus away.
She'd been willing to go with Sam after learning the truth of what happened. She hadn't even hesitated to stick with her friend. And she knows Sam has every inch of the hair-trigger temper that her father has, at least in certain situations.
What had happened to Sadie, to leave her standing on the porch of the ranch, trembling, and unwilling to say a word had led to this. Morgan certainly cannot fault Sam for any of it. Hell, she isn't entirely certain she wouldn't have taken matters into her own hands if Sam had been the one to hesitate.
Morgan still hardly wants to believe it. She hardly wants to think of the bruises littering Sadie's skin. The hollow look in her eyes. The way she flinched every time someone got too close. But she cannot exactly ignore everything she'd seen, either.
It is nearly impossible to tell what is worse, now. Sadie's condition, or the almost unrecognizable nature of Sam's current expression.
And then, of course, there is the matter of the body on the ground.
The body Sam put there…
"Sam—"
"Don't."
"Don't what?"
The question hangs in the air between them, unanswered. Heavy. Impossible to ignore. Morgan watches as a muscle twitches along the taut edge of Sam's jaw, eerily reminiscent of something she's seen with Chris at least a hundred times before. It hits her with all the force of a freight train, then. The similarity between two siblings that she has always considered her own family. Her own blood.
There is no doubt in Morgan's mind that Chris would have taken the same course Sam has, if he knew the truth. Not a doubt in the world. He would do anything to protect Sadie. Sam. Her. Buck.
But while Chris might have been willing to take a life to protect his family—while he may have been willing to give up his own to do the same—Morgan knows he never would have wanted his sister to have to do either. Yet here Sam is, doing precisely that.
And Morgan hadn't been able to do a thing to stop her.
She should have stepped in sooner. Taken the gun from Sam, somehow, but she hadn't.
How ironic that the best thing she can do for her friend now, is be there to clean things up in the aftermath, however useless that might seem.
"Your dad still have that shovel in the shed?"
"What?"
"The shovel," Morgan repeats, trying to ignore the flatness of Sam's tone, as though everything that remotely resembles rational human emotion is being drained from her in seconds flat, "We need to—we can't just leave him here."
"I'll take care of it."
"Not on your own, you won't."
"Morgan—" Sam sighs, her gaze finally shifting away from the man at her feet to look Morgan in the eye, instead, "You didn't have anything to do with this."
"I'm standing right here."
"Maybe you shouldn't be."
Blinking, Morgan looks at Sam. Really looks at her, despite the ever-present uneasiness that tumbles over and over in her gut. And she knows what her friend is suggesting. She knows it, even though Sam hasn't made any sort of effort to say another word.
Sam is offering an out. Giving Morgan the means to walk away. Throwing herself into the flames of whatever consequences may come about, and ensuring she is the only one to face those consequences, no matter what. If Morgan is being honest, it is precisely the sort of thing she would have done, had the circumstances been reversed, but she is not about to let Sam know that. Not now.
Her jaw clenches around words she can barely restrain. Frustrated, angry words that she knows will only make Sam pull away even more. Because she wants to snap Sam back to her senses. She wants to find some way to make it such that none of this ever happened at all.
More than anything, Morgan wishes she had been the one to take the gun. That she had been the one to put the man at their feet in his current position.
Maybe then, she wouldn't feel like she is losing her best friend—her sister—even though Sam is still breathing.
"I'm going to get the damn shovel."
Turning on a heel and heading off through the brush towards a shed she could find her way to blindfolded, Morgan does not wait for Sam to say anything in response. She doesn't slow her pace, even when she hears the crunch of footsteps behind her signifying that Sam is right behind her, just like she knew she would be, all along.
The shed appears, just as Morgan knew it would, in a hollowed out space between a surrounding circle of trees and dead foliage, the holes in the roof highlighted by the light of the moon streaming through bare branches overhead. In seconds, she shoulders her way through the door, and feels along the wall for the light switch to power a lone bulb hanging from the ceiling.
It's a dirty building, inside and out, but Morgan thinks she can make out the handle of the aforementioned shovel leaning against the far wall. But before she can make any attempt at heading for it, Sam is moving past her. Stepping over the boxes and stray bits of old newspaper and who knows what else on the floor until she reaches a small crate perched precariously on what used to be a workbench.
The familiar sound of glass clinking together causes Morgan's eyebrows to shoot skyward, and she watches as Sam turns back to her with a bottle held in both hands.
"I thought your dad said he was sober."
"He's my dad, Morgan. He won't even be sober when he's dead."
Not entirely willing to comment on the fact that Sam is already popping the lid on one of the bottles to take a swig, Morgan chooses instead to renew her efforts to go for the shovel, hoping that she can pick her way across the floor without needing to get a tetanus shot. When she finally has the shovel in hand, she turns to get out of the shed, her skin already crawling at the thought of what it is they are about to do.
She doesn't know how to do this. She doesn't even know if she can. But like hell is she going to leave Sam to face reality on her own.
"I can take the shovel."
"You've already got your hands full with your dad's booze."
"Maybe I was intending to share," Sam remarks, the intent behind the comment clear, even if absolutely none of the humor Morgan might expect to find is present at all. Her friend's expression remains flat, and it would be a lie to pretend the dissonance is not alarming. Almost disturbingly so.
Morgan can feel the knot in her stomach winding itself tighter and tighter, but she does not give any indication of this away to Sam, the entirety of her focus fixing upon getting out of the shed as quickly as she can. As she predicted, Sam follows wordlessly behind her, the two of them retracing their steps as best they can when the moon chooses that moment to slip behind the cover of some clouds.
The slosh of alcohol against the glass bottle containing it as Sam takes another sip is almost enough to make Morgan want to take both bottles and chuck them as far as she can into the woods surrounding them. But before she can consider whether or not that is something she is truly prepared to do, Sam speaks up again, her words coming softly such that Morgan almost has to strain to hear them at all.
"You don't have to do this."
"Well now I'm starting to worry about your hearing, because I've already said I'm not leaving you to deal with this on your own."
"Morgan—"
"No, Sam. We both came out here for Sadie," Morgan interrupts, pointedly ignoring the way her voice seems to tremble behind the words, while her fingers tighten around the handle of the shovel she carries to the point of causing pain, "It went south, which, you know, how many of our schemes don't. But this isn't about you, or me, or some asshole we have to bury, now. It's about—it's about her."
"Morgan."
"What?"
"This isn't—it isn't your fight."
This time, it is Sam's voice that shakes, and as Morgan turns to face her friend head-on, she recognizes a familiar sheen in her eyes. She sees yet another muscle twitching along Sam's jawline.
In seconds, she closes the distance that has somehow grown between them, the shovel shifted to one hand so the other can reach for Sam's, her own response coming before the other woman can have a chance to pull away.
"Wrong. Your fights are my fights."
"I don't think killin' a man was a part of that silly 'Cradle to Grave' contract we made in Kindergarten, Mo."
"Yeah, well, maybe it should have been," Morgan says, the weak laugh that escapes surprising her, though it is not quite enough to ruin her determination to persuade Sam to see she means exactly what she says. That she is not going to leave until this—whatever the hell it is, and whatever consequences it brings—is behind them for good.
She can tell Sam wants to argue, but for some reason or another decides to remain silent, and together the two of them return to their trek as carefully as they can. Morgan even allows her gaze to roam skyward as the moon returns to peek down at them through the trees.
For a moment, she catches herself realizing that they could almost pretend they are simply walking. It isn't as though the idea of spiriting away a bottle or two of liquor when their brothers weren't looking is that far out of left field.
It would be a relief to imagine there is no dead body waiting for them. That Sadie is fine. That they will return to the ranch, maybe in time to squish in on the couch to hassle Chris about whatever sports team he and Buck are currently backing on tv. But Morgan already knows things are not going to be that easy. They never are.
Something that becomes painfully clear as soon as they return to a place she still wishes was only a figment of a dream, and a familiar voice echoes from the shadow of a nearby tree.
"Well hell, baby. Looks like you an' your friend have been real busy."
Duane.
…
(Larabee Ranch, Denver, CO)
Glancing up at the knock on the door, Morgan smooths a hand over Sadie Larabee's brow, a frown pulling at the corners of her own mouth whether she wants it to or not. The younger girl is finally sleeping. By all rights, that should mean she can finally relax. Find at least some modicum of peace. But even if she hadn't been by Sadie's side for a while, now, Morgan knows that she would have been able to read the signs from a mile away.
Sadie isn't finding peace. She may never find it, given what happened. But Morgan cannot allow any fraction of the distress that thought causes her to show in her expression, her mouth forcing itself into a smile on autopilot just before she opens the bedroom door.
"How's she doin'?"
"She's sleeping, for now," Morgan informs, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door to Sadie's room behind her, "Did you need something?"
"Just checkin' in."
"Where's Sam?"
"Went out to look in on the horses."
"Is she okay?"
When Vin does not immediately reply, Morgan slumps back against the wall beside the door in seconds, her head knocking back against the paneling with a muted thunk. Without her conscious awareness, her hands come up to cover her face, an aggravated groan escaping before she can even attempt to stop it.
She hates showing this much vulnerability. She knows the more it happens, the greater the risk of everything she is trying to keep locked up breaking free. Almost as soon as she resolves to pull herself together, though, Morgan realizes Vin is moving to lean against the wall beside her. A peek out of the corner of her eye shows almost the exact same level of concern and frustration she feels in his own features, as well.
For a moment, it almost does her some good. Feeling as though she is not alone. As though the weight of the world may be on more shoulders than her own. But Morgan quickly shakes herself away from such a feeling, knowing the two situations are not entirely similar at all…
Knowing that the frown that Vin wears is only a harbinger of worse, to come.
"Wanted to come with me when I go into the city for Chris."
"Vin, if you really expected her to want anything else, then you don't know Sam."
"Guess you're right," Vin admits, risking a glance at where Morgan still stands beside him, her attention fixed on the task of pulling at a loose thread on her sleeve, "Didn't take it too well when I told her she needed to stay here."
"Again, if that surprises you—"
"It don't surprise me, Morgan. Just wish it didn't make her so—"
"Upset with you?"
Morgan cannot help the faint smirk that tugs at her mouth in response to Vin's suddenly poleaxed expression. To the way he reflexively jerks away from her as though he has just been burned. The entire reaction goes a long way to confirm the suspicion she's been entertaining lately. A suspicion that honestly amuses her as much as she hardly dares to hope it might be real.
A suspicion she now clings to as a distraction for recent events, regardless of how irrational that act may actually be...
She would have to be blind to miss how Vin constantly seems to position himself close to Sam. How he always appears aware of her movements. Like he is trying to read her in much the same way Morgan has at least a thousand times before.
The man who had become Chris' partner at the precinct after Buck moved to New Mexico with Inez is a far cry from the kind of guy Sam usually gets herself involved with. He's a far cry from the kind of guy Morgan falls in with, as well. But the more she stands there, watching him shifting uncomfortably beneath her gaze—reaching a hand up to tug at the collar of his shirt—the more Morgan begins to wonder if he is precisely what her best friend might need.
"It's okay, you know. I'm not Chris."
"Got no idea what you're talkin' about."
"Uh-huh," Morgan hums, shifting until she can lean against the wall with her shoulder instead of her back, to face Vin more directly, "I mean don't get me wrong, you break her heart, I'll probably have to hurt you, but—"
"Sam an' I ain't like that."
"Right. And I'm the Dalai Lama."
"I'm bein' serious, Morgan."
"Do you want you and Sam to be like that?"
Yet again, Vin takes a step or two back, and Morgan bites down on the inside of her cheek to restrain another smile. But as quickly as her amusement came, the look that passes over his features before he schools his expression into something a little less open takes it all away, her shoulders deflating as she recognizes the barely concealed resignation in his reply.
"What I want don't matter."
"Because you think she doesn't want it at all."
"Don't think she's jumpin' to get into somethin' with the guy who nearly got her brother killed."
Morgan wants to disagree with the words. She wants to force Vin to take them back, because she knows—she absolutely knows—that there is no way on this Earth that Sam would ever blame him for what happened to Chris. Hell, she would probably give Vin a piece of her mind then and there if she even knew he was thinking something so foolish.
But Sam isn't with them right now. She's doing exactly what her brother would do when confronted with something he did not want to face.
And that leaves Morgan as the one who needs to reassure Vin. Something she isn't entirely sure she should be doing, given her own skeletons, carefully locked away, but yet something she knows she owes him for everything he's done for them thus far.
"Get in and out of Denver safely with Chris in tow, and I think you might be surprised."
Even if he is aware of the wavering uncertainty behind the words, Vin does not seem to show it, leaving Morgan to take the twitch at the corner of his mouth as reason to believe maybe everything will be alright after all. Maybe they can survive this with their families intact.
Or maybe, hoping for even a fraction of that simply proves that she is a fool.
…
Hello again, my dears! And welcome (finally!) to a brand new chapter! I am so, so very sorry for the delay, and I truly have no excuse save for getting distracted in other fandoms, on Tumblr, and with actual, physical books held in my own two hands (lol). I hope that I haven't lost any of you along the way, because I promise I am nowhere near to being finished with this tale!
My heartfelt thanks go out to each and every one of you that has taken the time to read, follow, and favorite this story so far! And special thanks to ChiTown4ever and phoward for leaving such lovely reviews the last time around! I truly do appreciate the support, and I hope everyone enjoys this chapter as much as the last!