A/N: Yes, the title is a riff off of The Day the Amnesty Came Through, although not really related to the episode itself or any one episode in particular. However, there are brief callbacks to various moments all throughout the series, including S3. That said, this is written with Pete Duel's Heyes in mind, but feel free to envision whoever you like.

Hopefully the long, lingering note of this story isn't too overdone or that my take isn't too similar to anything anyone else has written. I think there's a certain shared belief regarding how Kid worries he'll be the one who can't stay on the straight and narrow—that he's a liability not just to his and Heyes' amnesty, but to Heyes himself.

And finally, I'm not super confident about this because this fandom is full of such good writers whose work I've just scratched the surface of. Still, I hope anyone who decides to read this enjoys it.

Kid could easily dismiss a bad dream as just that, if he didn't have the damn thing so often. It wasn't always exactly the same, but it was never that different, either. Someone with a grudge and a six-gun. Sometimes they called him out. Sometimes they just teased at the grip of their piece with their fingertips. That was language every man understood, after all.

He outdrew them every time. Only, when he went to look at the gun in his own hands it wasn't a gun at all. It was a potato, or a fish, or something equally unsuited to the situation. Or he suddenly realized he didn't have enough fingers. Sometimes he had too many.

It ended the same way, though. And Kid always woke up before finding out what really happens to a man after he dies.

Heyes was a smart man, if he said so himself. It made him all the more aware that his faculties were currently failing, that he was fading. He could remember being winged, and him and Kid saying their goodbyes to that town right after. Neither of them had done anything wrong—hadn't fired a single shot—but was only a matter of time before someone put it all together. The one who so deftly relieved everyone of their drinkin' money and then some at the poker table, and the one was so fast nobody ever even saw him draw—they had to be wanted for something.

They camped out a couple days, figuring it was for the best they avoid so-called civilization for just a little while. Talked about where they'd head next, try their luck next. Ate whatever Kid could scare up, until Heyes lost his appetite altogether. Then he mostly just slept.

It didn't make sense; this wasn't the first time he'd been shot. Wasn't even the second time. Wasn't the worst, either. He had the scars on his forehead and shoulder blade to prove it. This time, though, the bullet hardly nicked him. It did more damage to his shirtsleeve than anything. But his arm was just so heavy and hot, and it throbbed. Good thing it wasn't his preferred arm, or the one Kid had just grabbed for to hoist him up onto horseback.

It sounded like Kid was speaking underwater when he asked, "Can you ride?"

Heyes just slumped against him, only half-aware that his own horse had been cut loose and they were sitting double. Then it was just darkness and brush. The beating of hooves. Leaves rustling in the wind. Coyotes and hoot owls reminding everyone the night was theirs.

Heyes wasn't sure how long or far they'd been riding when a light stood out against the blackness. A warm, peaceful looking homestead seemed to just appear out of nowhere. A mirage? He'd never actually seen one but he knew there was a space between one day and the next, one town and the next, one life and the next.

"Whoa." Kid jerked the reins and when his horse stopped, Heyes lurched—away at first, then forward. He heard danger and worry in his partner's voice when it was directed at him. "Hang on, Heyes."

It was funny. He didn't know why. Kid was right, he was slipping. He laughed. "You hang on."

Kid dismounted. "You got no idea how hard I'm trying to."

That was an odd thing for him to say, Heyes thought, for the briefest moment. He couldn't figure out whether he was falling or being pulled into Kid's arms before everything went dark.

"Kid?"

Lom Trevors wasn't exactly unaccustomed to unannounced visitors of the outlaw-trying-to-go-straight variety. Although, nowadays, Kid and Heyes typically arranged to meet somewhere just a mite more discreet than the Porterville Sheriff's Office. They also tended to wire ahead. They needed to know if it was safe first. Needed to know how unsafe it was, truth be told. And Lom always did. Tell them the truth, that is. He wanted them to get their amnesty, even if knew he could never want it for them anywhere near as badly as they did for themselves.

Kid's clothing was sweat-stained and covered in trail dust, his face, in at least a week's worth of stubble. "I need a favor." He sounded at least as haggard and desperate as he looked.

"What you need is to tell me why you're here."

"Just did."

"Alone."

Lom could see the way Kid's jaw tightened, even behind those would-be whiskers of his. Figures had never been the sheriff's strong suit, but he knew when something didn't add up. Kid and Heyes weren't apt to separate unless they had no other choice.

"I need to see the governor." The demand was made as if it was a simple 'how do you do?' Kid paused, but not long enough for Lom to protest. "I figure you can arrange a meeting. I don't care where, I do care when, and I ain't leaving until it's been set up."

"He might care to know what this meeting is about."

"He knows." Kid avoided Lom's gaze, instead staring at the notice board on the wall, his place on it prominent as ever. "Same as you."

"All this time and I never realized I was a clairvoyant."

"Very funny, Lom." Kid chuckled bitterly; he was anything but amused. "I want to make a trade."

"A trade?" Lom repeated his words. Not for mishearing, or even because he thought he was misunderstanding. Mostly because he couldn't think of a single thing Kid could offer that'd turn Governor Moonlight's head, force his hand. It was all too clear who had the advantage when it came to their tenuous arrangement.

"That's right. I'll serve every single day of my 20 years, if Heyes doesn't have to serve even one of his. And you can do whatever you want with the reward money."

'Come on, Kid." Lom grimaced, and a frustrated groan escaped. "You know I got no intention of collecting on either one of you. So why don't you just come out and tell me what happened?"

He could only speculate, and boy did he. But unless Kid deigned to indulge him, he'd never know what brought him here. There was the mildest relief, and belief, that Heyes was alive. Otherwise Kid wouldn't be here trying to have his slate wiped. No, if Kid was doing anything for Heyes posthumously... Well, Lom really didn't want to think about what that something might be, but he was certain he'd be hearing about it in the form of an even higher figure on his head.

"At this point, there's only so much anybody can take from us. From me." Kid shook his head. "But there's one thing I just can't abide losing without doing everything I can to stop it."

Lom suddenly felt every single one of his years; a beleaguered lawman too light for a tin star. "Nobody's looking for a fight."

"Including me. But I happen to know there are plenty of people looking for an easy $10,000."

No denying that. Except, there was. Kid and Heyes'd been denying everyone and their mother that for years now, and not just the two they'd been living honestly.

"Alright, fine." Conciliatory and defeated as Lom felt, he was still far less beaten down than Kid. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good."

"Two conditions." He knew he was testing his luck by making demands. But he also knew better than to make anyone, especially Kid, a proposition and not be upfront about the terms. "One: you get the fool notion out of your head that you're turning yourself in."

"And two?"

Now for the part Kid really wasn't gonna like. Lom sighed, and figuring it was high time he took his own advice and just spit it out, said, "And two: you tell me where Heyes is and why he isn't here with you."

Heyes was tucked in tighter than a pig in a blanket, except for his left arm. It was uncovered, unclothed. His whole top was, and someone was prodding at it. Small fingers unwrapped a layer of bandage from around his arm. Cool, gentle hands, but not particularly soft. Heyes didn't have to look to know it wasn't Kid's touch he was feeling. He did, anyway.

He turned his head as best he could, following the soiled dressings with his eyes, noting the color before it was discarded out of his immediate line of sight. A painter's palette of muddy red and pale yellow. Old blood and infection.

A woman studied Heyes' wound. He'd guess she was about 50 by the lines on her face and the silver intertwined with the copper of her long braid. Her brows were knit in concentration, and her hazel eyes cautiously optimistic, if he was reading things right. He had to admit was a better reaction than he often elicited from strangers.

She didn't look at him just yet, but it was clear she knew he was awake.

She asked his arm, "How are you feeling, Mr. Smith?"

"Been better," Heyes admitted, trying to free himself from the constriction of the bed covers. Had they been driven into the mattress with railroad spikes? With some effort, he pulled himself into a seated position.

The woman didn't try to help him. Didn't try to stop him, though, either. She just wryly said, "I should hope so."

"Been worse, too."

"I am sorry to hear that." She finally turned her head to look him in the eyes. He saw an abundance of caring and strength in her features, not to mention a distinct lack of tolerance for nonsense. "Sorry, but not terribly surprised."

Heyes managed a weak chuckle and finally spoke what should've been the first words out of his mouth. "Where's my friend?"

The woman didn't answer. She just looked to the small basin on the bedside table. Dipped a rag in it and, as she wrung it out, offered a reply. "You ought to be asking where you are. Whose bed you're in and who in the blazes I am."

Probably. But if ever Heyes woke up, or came to, or just plain turned his head and didn't know where Kid was, that was what he needed to sort out first.

"Edie Wheeler. This used to be my son's room. As you can plainly see, it hasn't had much use in some time. And your Mr. Jones rode into town with my husband." She pressed the damp cloth to his arm.

Heyes expected the shock of cold water but was instead met with warmth, and too much of it.

She explained, "To draw out the sickness."

Or burn it out. He stifled a wince. "I'm obliged, Mrs. Wheeler." Heyes couldn't bring himself to call her anything more familiar.

She didn't object, just said, "It's the least I can do."

"About my friend?" he asked, hoping he didn't sound terribly ungrateful. They both knew she could've done much less for him, much worse. "And your husband."

"What about them?"

"When do you expect them back?"

"Mr. Wheeler'll be back by supper." Mrs. Wheeler reached for Heyes' right hand. She dragged it across his chest and pressed it to the hot compress on his left arm. "Hold that."

"Okay," he agreed, sort of dumbly. "How long?"

"Until it cools off." Mrs. Wheeler caressed Heyes' cheek with the back of her hand. Then, double-checking the both of them, placed her open palm against his forehead and let it rest there a moment. She nodded, seeming satisfied.

"I mean," Heyes persisted, "how long until you expect my friend back?"

Did she?

Did he?

Well, of course he did.

"I can't truthfully say. If it means anything, he left his horse."

Of course it did. Heyes just wasn't entirely sure what, except that it wasn't collateral. Neither he nor Kid could afford that sort of attachment these days. Half the time their horses were bought in one town and sold in the next. For train or stage fare. A bed, bath, and whatever else, if anything, it got them. That was what they could afford.

"Left his horse," Mrs. Wheeler repeated herself. She stood up, turned, and walked to the chest of drawers pressed up against the wall. She grabbed something from its top and spun to face Heyes again. "And this."

Back at his bedside she placed an envelope in his lap. She reached for the compress on his arm, freeing his hand so he could open it. She didn't need to say who it was from. She didn't need to say what was written, either. Heyes opened the envelope anyway.

We always knew this day would come.

-Thaddeus

The governor's mansion was grandiose, as expected. Kid wasn't unaccustomed to luxury- well, being witness to it, at least. The occasional night or two in a fancy hotel or guest bedroom, sure. Perfumed linens and pillows made from clouds. Something other than the cloth of his shirtsleeves for napkins. Soapy and Silky had both done pretty well for themselves in their old age, after all. And on the rare chance he and Heyes didn't lose all their money as soon as they got it- well, what was the stuff for if not to be spent?

Kid was led into what he presumed was the governor's study by an aide or servant or somebody who disappeared at the flick of a wrist, leaving only the sound of the door clicking shut behind him.

It was a lot of shine and polish for someone who wanted people to see him as one of them. A friend to Wyoming territory's small farmers and regular folks by way of his own humble Kansas roots. Kid didn't figure Governor Charles Moonlight was real eager to be seen as friend to himself or Heyes just because they hailed from the same place. No, the similarities ended there.

That was why the former governor who'd made their deal wouldn't make good on it, even after they kept up their end of the bargain. Governor Warren was convinced it would ruin his career. He was removed from office anyway, and for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with Kid or Heyes. So was the one that followed him, that rancher, Baxter. He didn't last but a few weeks.

Moonlight looked Kid up and down. He was flippant. "Which one are you again? Jones?"

"Until I can be Curry again." Kid cleared his throat. He sure didn't have Heyes' silver tongue but he knew what he needed to say next, and how. "Sir."

The governor seemed unfazed by the salutation but he struck Kid as the type who'd have been all too aware of its omission. "Sheriff Trevors told me everything."

That was doubtful, but mostly because Kid hadn't told Lom everything.

It still ate away at him to even think about it. Things were going well for him and Heyes. Too well, looking back. They'd found a nice little spot to lay low for a while. Someplace with Ville or Burg or Springs at the end of its name and a sheriff who didn't know either of them from Adam. Until Kid did as he'd often done when he saw a man's trigger finger become itchier the lighter his wallet got. He outdrew him but didn't shoot.

Most folks took the hint. Realized they were beat and put their gun away, if they ever even got it out.

This one didn't.

Maybe the man had lousy aim, or maybe he was scared. Maybe, and this seemed likeliest of all, it was the first time he'd come across someone faster than he was. Coulda been the last time. But none of that mattered. What mattered was that Kid misread him and it was Heyes who paid for it.

Something pulled at the corner of his mouth the same as the memory stretched at his mind. He tried to make his expression into something pleasant—more smile than sneer, at least. "Thanks for agreeing to see me anyway."

At that, the governor chuckled. Maybe he wasn't such an unreasonable man. Wasn't humorless, at least. "I can only assume this is about your amnesty deal. The one you struck with my predecessor's predecessor."

"That'd be the one."

The one where a year was no longer 12 months. Because he and Heyes had managed to dodge more than their share of trouble for every single day on the calendar. Twice.

Moonlight gestured to a crystal decanter. "Drink?"

Seeing as he couldn't have one right now if he couldn't have twenty, Kid refused. "No thank you."

"Have a seat." The governor pointed to the fancy chair in front his desk as he walked around back of it and eased himself in an even fancier one.

Kid obliged. He put his hat in his lap but kept hold of it, fiddling with the brim. He figured he'd always be the type who needed to keep his hands busy. Heyes always needed to be thinking, and Kid, well, he always needed to be doing. The shoe was on the other foot now and he didn't like it.

Moonlight reached for something inside his desk drawer. He opened a wooden box and displayed its contents. "Cigar?"

"I'd really just like a word."

"Suit yourself." Moonlight took out a single cigar, and cut it. Then he closed the box and placed it back in his desk drawer once more.

He struck a match, puffing at the cigar between his teeth. Through it, he said, "Now, I can't speak to anyone's intentions but my own. But when ex-Governor Warren made that deal with you... Well, there's no telling if he truly intended to honor it."

Kid could wager a guess as to that, but he figured he'd best keep it to himself right now.

"That's not to say it was a bad idea." Moonlight took a long drag. The amount of time he was trying to purchase made Kid antsy. Eventually, the man continued speaking. "It was a damn smart plan, if I do say so myself. Got the two of you to mend your evil ways and without putting you in prison, seeing you shot dead, or paying out a single cent of reward money."

Kid had never thought of it that way. Now he wouldn't think of it any other way.

"There's just one problem," the governor declared.

Just one? Kid thought better of saying that aloud, too.

Moonlight clearly took his silence as encouragement to carry on. "People don't like seeing a criminal go unpunished."

Kid'd call and raise that a lot of people enjoyed seeing that sort of thing. They sold popcorn at his hanging, after all.

"Well, just 'cause people don't see the punishment don't mean it didn't happen." Realizing he might've said too much, or the right amount but too honestly, Kid made sure another, "Sir," rolled off of his tongue and into the governor's ear.

Moonlight was solemn. "I know a man at the end of his rope when I see him."

Kid, too. It was the face he saw whenever he happened to be in front of a mirror, or a nice clean window. Hell, even a dirty one. Or in the worry in Heyes' eyes.

"I'm not going to drag this out," the governor said, pointedly. "It's already gone on too long."

Finally, something they agreed upon.

"I'm a public servant appointed by President Cleveland himself. I have the good of a whole territory's worth of people to consider. And I have." Moonlight tried to look remorseful, sympathetic. "I've considered it, and I've concluded that what we got here is a good old Mexican standoff. A stalemate."

That was a refusal if Kid'd ever heard one. A real political one, too. So easily inferred it didn't need to be spoken aloud. Fancy folks and the way danced around the truth just to be able to say they didn't lie. Kid was a fool to think he or Heyes was anything more than his wanted poster to any of them.

"At least that's what I thought we had until you showed up here. So I ask you, Mr. Jones, what would you do in my position? How do you propose we settle this once and for all?"

Twilight crept up on Kid as he walked the short path from the trail to the Wheelers' doorstep. He'd only really seen the place at night and with a seriously ill Heyes commanding most of his attention, then over his shoulder when he left him behind the next morning. He pretended it was familiar nonetheless.

There was a small corral with a couple of horses. One of them might've even been the one he left behind. He spied a vegetable garden, with its tall bean and corn stocks ripe for the picking. Fall was already in the air; harvest time was nigh, and following that, the cold, bleak darkness of winter.

Kid knocked on the door.

After a moment it opened, revealing Mrs. Wheeler's kindly but knowing face. Her expression soon transformed into a sly, almost Heyes-like grin. "Won't you come in, Mr. Jones?"

He took off his hat and crossed the threshold. "Ma'am."

The door closed shut behind him and he waited to follow Mrs. Wheeler, trusting she was taking him to Heyes. She hadn't asked him any questions, just invited him right in. She didn't seemed distressed or burdened or bothered to see him again, either.

That was a good sign. Still, he braced himself for what he might see. Whatever he was imagining couldn't come close to what he actually saw. The gaslights cast a warm glow around the living room, and a small fire crackled in the hearth. It was modest but cozy, and there were four chairs around the table in the center of the room. A finely crocheted tablecloth, the sort his own mother would've made was laid over unpolished, unsanded wood.

Playing cards were spread about the tabletop, and everybody had a coffee cup and saucer. One of the chairs was empty—Mrs. Wheeler's seat, which Kid had so rudely pulled her from. Directly across from her place sat Mr. Wheeler, with his thick mustache and salt and pepper hair. To his left was a woman Kid didn't know, although she looked to be the same age as the Wheelers. And finally, the person he knew better than anyone else in the world.

Heyes was up and dressed and seemed to have his wits about him. The flush of fever was gone from his cheeks and he was clean shaven, but he looked pale. While his eyes were clear, the lines at the corners seemed deeper and more pronounced. Kid pretended it was just the light; it suddenly didn't seem so warm anymore.

"Mr. Wheeler, ma'am." He nodded as he offered a meager greeting. He had manners enough for that, although he didn't ask, or wait, for an introduction to the woman across from Heyes. He just stepped forward and placed a hand on his partner's shoulder, on his uninjured side. "Can I talk with you?"

Heyes cast Kid a glance. It was sideways and heavy with scrutiny. Then he brought his gaze down to the cards in the center of the table, and finally, to those in his own hand. Giving them the better part of his attention, he dismissively said, "Sure. Go ahead."

Kid had to admit he deserved that. Heyes had more than enough cause to be a little spiteful and there was no doubt this orneriness of his was payback for his taking off the way he had.

"I'd prefer it if we talked in private." For several reasons, the first and most important of which being that it involved their shared criminal record. The Wheelers didn't know who they really were—at least he didn't think they did. Kid sure wasn't gonna to be the one to tell them.

"Can't it wait until the end of the trick?" Heyes asked, pretending to be terribly put upon.

"The what?"

"The trick." He grinned and looked somewhere between gleeful and deranged. He offered a belated explanation. "Bridge."

"Bridge?" Kid repeated. He almost wanted to laugh. He wondered if the fever had caused permanent damage. Oh, and to think, Heyes' mind was his greatest asset. "You're playing Bridge?"

"Yup. I think I have a knack."

"I don't doubt that." If it involved cards, of course he would be good at it.

Kid didn't imagine Heyes' dream life involved sitting around a table, sipping coffee with people twice his age, and playing games for no money. But it still served a stark reminder of how easily he could ingratiate himself with just about anyone. How effortlessly he could find a place and a way for himself just about anywhere.

"Mrs. Duffy and I got a good thing going on here." Heyes winked at the woman across from him, then looked up at Kid. His eyes shone and he grinned so wide that left dimple of his seemed to stretch the whole length of his cheek. "Wouldn't want to let my partner down. Wouldn't want a person to think I was abandoning them, after all."

Kid pretended they were still just talking about cards. "Would you just fold, or forfeit, or... whatever?"

"And why would I do a fool thing like that?" Heyes was very obviously toying with him, and enjoying every bit of it. How Kid had missed him, even if he hated when this particular aspect of his personality was directed his way.

Kid forced his reply through clenched teeth and past a tight smile. "Because you know I wouldn't ask unless it was important."

He looked to Mr. and Mrs. Wheeler first, and next, to the woman Heyes had called Duffy, and his apparent replacement. He silently begged their mutual pardon. Equally quietly, but pleading for cooperation at least as much as forgiveness, he turned his attention back to Heyes.

The playfulness and tickled-pink teasing was gone from his features, replaced with stern thoughtfulness.

Clearly mulling over his next step, he moved his head in such a way it was almost as if he was nodding and shaking it 'no' at the same time. He placed his cards on the table, face down, and pushed his chair back and stood up. He extended his arm and gestured forward, silently beckoning Kid to lead the way.

Once sure they were out of earshot of the Wheelers and that Mrs. Duffy, Heyes asked, "Alright, now. What's so all-fire important you didn't want anyone else to hear it?"

Kid still hadn't answered Heyes' question, just led him all the way out to the front porch. In fact, he didn't say a single word until he'd closed the door behind them.

When he finally did speak, he said nothing more than, "Here," as he took his coat off and somewhat unceremoniously held it up in front of Heyes.

"What am I supposed to do with this?"

"I dunno, Heyes. Maybe put it on. I'm not gonna have you catchin' your death on account of me. Again."

"Again?" Heyes asked.

When he realized Kid really wasn't gonna take eyes off of him until he put the damn coat on, he obliged. Somehow, Kid's stare got even harder, colder, darker, as he eased the sleeve over his left arm.

"It wasn't your fault, Kid."

"How do you figure?" Disbelief was scribbled all over his features, and he really thought he meant it when he said, "You got shot on account of me."

Heyes just couldn't let that go uncorrected. Couldn't let it go, period. "I got grazed on account of a sore loser. My wound got infected on account of, I dunno, bad luck. Didn't have anything to do with you."

"We both know it had everything to do with me."

It was almost ironic the way Kid seemed so intent on shouldering blame he didn't deserve when they'd both spent the last two years trying to get out of that which they did.

Heyes suddenly thought of something he couldn't unthink. That there was some other, even newer guilt dragging Kid down. "What happened to him? The one that nicked me." He had to hear it from Kid's mouth he hadn't gone back to that town to settle the score. He needed to hear it even if he had.

"What're you asking me for? I don't know any better than you do. We rode out together, remember?" There was no hesitation in Kid's words. No storm clouds graying—dulling—the pure blue of his eyes.

Heyes believed him. "Alright. Then how about you tell me where you were? Now that you've told me where you weren't."

"I ain't gonna lie, I thought about doing what you were just thinking I might've gone and done." Kid's confession was earnest. "Thought about taking off on my own, too, like we'd talked about before."

Like they'd talked about? No, it was like Kid went on about, making halfhearted, or maybe just guilt-soaked, threats about them splitting up. Heyes always managed to change his mind or just plain distracted him until he dropped it.

"But then I got a better idea."

"And you just had to come back and share it with me?" Heyes didn't like how he sounded, didn't like how the way he felt made him sound. Jilted, clingy. Scared witless over the idea that Kid might not have come back. "I'd ask how you knew I'd still be here but you cut my horse loose."

Not that the situation had given Kid much choice; Heyes would've done the same thing. He was too far gone to sit a saddle by himself and Kid couldn't keep hold of him, ride one horse while leading another, and make a decent pace.

"I left you mine."

"Ah." Heyes paused, unable to deny the truth of that. "Well, I thought you might be coming back for it."

"The horse?" Kid looked and sounded incredulous. "You thought the horse is what I'd come back for?"

"It crossed my mind. I had some time to think, after all." Time where he couldn't do much more than think. About how pathetic it was to be laid up over something so small. About why Kid left and where he'd gone, and if he really thought he could end their partnership—end everything between them—in seven words.

"Me too." Regret circled Kid like a buzzard. He drove it off with a wistful half-smile.

Heyes wasn't sure exactly what he'd just been reflecting upon, only that it was something he didn't want to say anything more about.

"Anyway." Kid's boots were suddenly the most interesting thing in the world, by the way he stared at them. "Lom says hello."

Heyes let out a snort. "Like that's all Lom'd have to say to either of us showing up unexpected."

"He may have said some other things too."

"Such as?" Heyes asked, hoping he was expressing just the right amount of curiosity. Enough that Kid felt properly encouraged to elaborate but not so much that it shamed him into clamming up.

"I'll spare you the details." Kid's grin was small, but true. "But apparently I'm an idiot."

"I coulda told you that. You didn't need to go all the way to Wyoming territory."

He was serious again. Bowed his head just a touch but kept his eyes level and met Heyes' gaze. "Yeah, I did."

"You coulda been arrested!"

Kid chuckled. "I tried my darnedest to be."

It was one of those rare times when Heyes really couldn't figure out what his partner was thinking. Except he could—just not why. "Are you crazy?"

"Just an idiot. I thought we'd been over this."

"Hang on... are you saying you went and tried to turn yourself in?"

Kid nodded, slow and purposeful.

"And couldn't even get that right?"

"Alright, alright. We'll just see if you're still so high on yourself when the honorable Charles Moonlight's handing you your amnesty papers."

"Don't tease me, Kid. I'm unwell," Heyes joked. But only because Kid had to be joking, too.

Wanting to split up was one thing, but Kid would never be so stupid as to walk right into Lom's office, hold his hands out and say, 'I've been thinking about things and I decided I'd really like to go to prison now.'

And for nothing!

No, not for nothing. For Heyes.

That was even worse.

Kid's expression was coy, his tone playful and light. More unburdened than Heyes had seen or heard in too long. "Would I tease about a thing like that?"

No. But Heyes had little trouble believing that the 'honorable Charles Moonlight' would.

"We got ourselves a new deal. Suppose it's about time I found out if it's a good one, or if I made things worse."

It probably wasn't worse, unless Kid was about to divulge that there was a posse hot on his heels, shotguns and manacles at the ready, and uncollected reward money already spent.

"What's the deal?" Heyes asked, at least as wary as he was weary.

"Let's just say I hope you ain't made any New Year's plans yet."

"That's four months out. I haven't planned four weeks out—four days out." Heyes couldn't.

Well, he could, but there wasn't much point in it. How could he plan farther ahead than he could see? It had just gotten too tiresome changing the picture in his mind whenever things fell through. Maybe that's why this was so hard to see. To believe.

"Are you saying the governor is really giving us our amnesty come New Year's?"

Kid was solemn and sincere as could be, and spoke only one word. "Guaranteed."

"Did you threaten him?" Heyes was only half-serious, which, of course meant he was half-serious.

Kid looked mildly annoyed over the accusation. "Oh, come on, Heyes. What do you take me for?"

A hot head with a baby face and more loyalty than any one man ought to be able to possess.

Heyes just asked, "Did he hit his head?"

"No. Well, I dunno. I don't think so, but I have to admit I can't rule it out." Now Kid looked thoughtful, pondering. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. Regretfully, sheepishly, even, he said, "If it makes you feel any better, there is a condition."

Of course there was, and somehow, it did.

"Let me guess." Heyes'd do no such thing. "If we don't meet this condition, the governor might not give us amnesty after all?"

"Nope." Kid's response came far too quickly. "No might about it this time. We mess it up, the deal's off for good."

Huh. To hear that oughta make Heyes feel a particular way. And it did. Just not the way he expected. The finality, the certainty, it almost felt like... relief.

"Okay, so what's this condition?"

"We can go wherever we want and stay as long or as little as we please. Long as we wire Lom and tell him where we're at, so's he can pass it on to the governor."

Well, that sounded far too reasonable. What's more, they did that already. When they could, at least. There had to be more to it than that.

"But?" Heyes wondered.

"But..." The rest of Kid's words got stuck somewhere between his mind and his mouth, and clearing his throat didn't seem to help any. "We have to send word at least once every two weeks, no exceptions."

Heyes bit his lip.

"I know what you're thinking." Kid waved him off. "And I'll have you know I talked him up from one week."

Two weeks. They could manage that. Probably. While they rarely stayed in any one town so long—Heyes had a rule, after all—they also rarely stayed away from any one town for longer than that.

This stipulation would limit their potential earnings, so to speak. But they'd make it work. They had to. Of course it meant no more signing on to month-long cattle drives. No more getting snowed in, or left for dead in the desert, only to have their hard-earned gold stolen away from them. Heyes would miss none of those things.

Besides, 'no exceptions' worked both ways and it suited him just fine. Kid was looking to him now, with a wonder and a need for reassurance in his eyes the likes of which Heyes hadn't seen since they were both much younger.

Heyes wasn't looking to or for anyone but Kid now, either, and he wasn't asking this time. "That's a good deal."