Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The really convenient thing about wanted posters, in Wayne’s opinion, was they were damn near useless if the people hunting you didn’t know what you actually looked like.

This one was years out of date, weathered and peeling, the paste that adhered it to the cheap clapboard wall no match for the relentless sun, even sheltered by an overhang as it was.

“Is that a problem?” asked Doug, his second-in-command.

“Nah.” Wayne reached down and brushed the curling paper almost fondly. “No one’s been here in ages.”

“How can you be sure?” Doug had a tendency to argue, especially lately.

“Cause the bounty on my head ought to have a few more zeros. And I ain’t used that fake nose since the Roberts job.” Wayne took a moment to admire the artist’s interpretation of him. They’d clearly been under the impression he was in his forties, and his likeness was scowling in an intimidating fashion. Whoever made the sketch clearly didn’t know him by anything other than reputation. He generally thought of himself as a very upbeat and cheerful outlaw.

He only scowled when he needed to.

“It don’t even look like me,” Wayne continued. Doug grunted in a way that might’ve been agreement. “Least they got the hat right.” It was black with a wide brim to shade his eyes from the sun. The same hat still sat on his head today, on account of it was lucky.

Wayne didn’t go round wearing a mask or anything (unless it was a real dusty day, then tying a cloth around your nose and mouth just made sense), but he did take pains to switch up his look on regular intervals. Life was more fun that way, and a whole lot longer.

On jobs he dressed all kinds of ways. He became all kinds of people. Top hats and bonnets, hoods and bowlers, they all had their uses. But underneath he never lost sight of the hat he couldn’t ever (metaphorically) take off: that of Wayne the Faceless Man, Outlaw King of the Roughs.

Those names were things other people had given him, but they had their uses, too. Legend was born through fanciful monikers and stories whispered in fear. He never looked a gift horse in the mouth, and he never corrected his crew when he overheard them whispering nonsense about him.

Made things go real smooth on jobs, when the people you were robbing thought you might have mystical powers. All he did have was a metalmind he never let anyone spot beneath his clothes and two vials of bendalloy—enough for a few emergency speed bubbles. If it weren’t so damned expensive, he’d use it more, but then again, maybe that was a blessing in disguise. No one knew what he was really capable of. Not even his most loyal lieutenants.

Though loyal might’ve been stretching it, especially for Doug.

“Come on.” Wayne urged his horse forward. “Hideout ain’t far.”

They were scouting the abandoned mining camp to make sure no one else had moved in recently. This job had taken a larger crew than Wayne usually employed. Eleven people, their horses, and their haul. It called for a bigger safehouse than an abandoned shack or the basement of a saloon.

The job, at least, had gone off well, with only a single hitch. Doug had shot a guard despite Wayne’s explicit instructions to kill no one. Heat of the moment, the man claimed.

They dismounted a ways from the mine, leaving the horses secure but the reins not tied off. This mining camp could’ve become a town in its own right, but the vein played out too fast, so all that remained was a handful of dilapidated buildings and the rotting vestiges of cloth tents.

The mine itself, though, was useful. It began as a natural cave system, and the first cavern was spacious. The opening had been reinforced with thick wooden walls and a metal door. Back when the mine was in operation, they hadn’t wanted anyone to wander in unsupervised. Made it easy to defend, and most importantly, safe from the threat of a cave-in, since none of the entryway had been weakened by mining.

Splitting up, they cleared the area quickly. Save for a few critters Wayne ignored, the place was empty as ever. He lit the signal candle, knowing his third-in-command would bring the crew in. By the time they all showed up, he was done brushing down his horse and had his feet kicked up on the foreman’s desk in what passed for an office here—just thin wooden walls weakly attached to the rock.

As he watched the less senior members of his crew unload the cargo, Wayne smiled. Life out in the Roughs wasn’t so bad. As long as you paid attention. To the sky, the ground, and—most importantly—the people around you. Flash floods and rattlesnakes weren’t half as dangerous as a man getting a little too greedy. Wayne could survive a lot, but he hadn’t been living the life of a successful bandit for a full decade because he was a Bloodmaker. It was because he could always see trouble coming. Healing a knife wound was well and good, but it was better to avoid it altogether.

Right on cue, Doug started up his complaints. The man was becoming more trouble than he was worth, and Wayne knew he was spreading discontent in whispers when he thought Wayne wasn’t paying him any mind. Calling him soft-hearted because he’d rather not deal with the heat that killing guards and bystanders brought.

It was going to come to a head, and soon, but probably not tonight. The rest of the crew was in a celebratory mood. There’d be drinking and gambling and double rations from the supplies.

Tomorrow, though. That would be a different story.

So Wayne sat back and watched, waiting for the storm to hit.

Near dawn it came, and from an unexpected direction.

A soft noise woke him. Wayne wasn’t a heavy sleeper—not in a place like this, at least—and he snapped to complete awareness. The cavern was dark. The pair on watch should’ve had lanterns lit.

A chill raced over his skin, and he rolled to the side, slowly rising into a crouch and putting on his lucky hat. He’d slept behind the foreman’s desk, which provided a scant bit of cover as he peeked out into the main room.

The front door was open, the peculiar heavy darkness of pre-dawn a stark rectangle against the softer blackness of the room. A single lantern burned so low its flame was in danger of going out. Against the shadows moved three silhouettes, too vague for details, but Wayne knew they didn’t belong to anyone on his crew.

Fuck. A raid, then. Looked like they were trying to be sneaky about it, too. Another outlaw gang would’ve come in guns blazing to take their haul. But the insufferable lawman types would want prisoners. As if they’d end up anywhere different.

For Wayne it was a bullet in the head or the hangman’s noose, and he’d just as soon save everyone the trouble of a trial. But he didn’t intend on dying without a fight. Couldn’t make it easy for ‘em.

Slowly, he reached down and pulled his knife from its sheath. The mines had another exit, through the twisting shafts with their rotting wooden supports. It was always risky, but staying here was worse. As soon as someone woke up and sounded the alarm, it would be a shootout.

Wayne very much didn’t want to be here when that happened. He hoped most of the crew would keep their heads and get out alive, but if they killed a group of lawmen, more would follow. They’d all be hunted like Wayne himself.

Best not to think on it too much. Getting sentimental wouldn’t help anyone. Never mind the fact he was only looking out for himself at the moment.

He was an outlaw, after all. Everyone knew they were selfish. Wasn’t his fault he had a knack for getting out of sticky situations.

All these thoughts rattled around his head as he crept to the back of the cavern. The mine proper was behind another metal door. That was going to be tricky, but with a little luck and some of his emergency bendalloy—

Someone shouted an alarm, and chaos erupted. Wayne sighed and tossed back a vial of whiskey with a few precious flakes of metal. Time to make his exit.

He burned bendalloy, making sure he was close enough to the door. Wrenching it open—and ignoring the awful shriek from the aged hinges—he darted inside. It was only when the door was closed behind him, his speed bubble gone, that he realized his mistake. He’d forgotten to grab a rusting lantern.

The mines were the kind of dark that made you start imagining things. Movement in the shadows, little noises. Well, he wouldn’t have to worry about that second thing, what with all the shooting and yelling going on beyond the old metal door. Getting out would be difficult. He would have to be miserly with his matches.

As he was patting his pockets down, trying to remember just exactly where he’d stashed them, a metallic shriek filled the tunnel, and something heavy slammed into him. It broke bones and knocked him into the wood supports of the tunnel.

He tapped healing instinctively. When his vision cleared, he stared up at the silhouette of someone tall standing in the doorway. Muzzle flash and what appeared to be a small fire backlit them. A horse screamed. A moment later, all eleven stampeded toward the exit.

Whoever had thrown a rusting door at him probably thought he was good and dead, or at least knocked out. His knife was gone, but that was fine. It was more of a deterrent than a weapon he liked to use. Wayne didn’t need it to escape this mess, or the lawman in front of him.

He’d been thinking of the silhouette as a generic Unnamed Lawman Number Three, but they were a Coinshot able to tear a steel door off its hinges. Didn’t take much guesswork to figure out who it was. A man Wayne had been avoiding for a decade. Seemed his luck had finally run out.

Waxillium Ladrian was here. Dawnshot himself.

The adrenaline in his veins was making time warp as much as a speed bubble. Everything was too slow. Wayne held his breath, not daring to let his chest rise and fall. The shadow moved closer, gun raised. Wayne stayed perfectly still, waiting for the right moment. When he felt the heavy door shift off his body, he burned bendalloy and bolted.

“Nope, nope, nope,” Wayne said under his breath as he ran for the other edge of his speed bubble. Not today. Not ever. He could fight Dawnshot, and maybe he would win. But running was always easier. Back when his first job had gone south, he’d very nearly given up and let Dawnshot catch him. Instead he’d run for it, and kept running. Disappearing into disguises, building his little empire in the Roughs.

He wasn’t about to stop now.

The speed bubble collapsed. He didn’t break his stride. Darkness closed in around him, but he knew this tunnel was mostly straight. He’d lose Dawnshot, then head for the exit.

Heat seared his right arm, and the shot echoed off the rock around him. Damn, that was loud. It was a wonder Dawnshot could still hear. A few more bullets whirred by him, then one hit his back. The impact made him stumble. He forced himself back to his feet.

Three strides later, the ground disappeared beneath him. He managed not to scream (barely) as he tumbled down a rusting mineshaft. With an impact that cracked a couple ribs, he landed on a crossbeam. He scrambled for purchase. Maybe this was a good thing. Dawnshot would’ve lost him in the dark—

A bullet hit the wood near his head. Right. Coinshots could sense metals.

“Come quietly and you’ll live.” Dawnshot’s voice was deep and rough, but he sounded sincere.

“I never come quietly. I’m what they call a screamer.” Wayne swallowed, trying to ignore the way his pulse raced. The pitch black was disorienting. Wasn’t fair Dawnshot could sorta see him when Wayne himself was blind.

Dawnshot huffed. He sounded on the edge of flustered as he spoke again. “That’s not—I meant stop running, and don’t even think about pulling that gun on your hip. We don’t have to fight.”

“You’re absolutely right.” Wayne found himself grinning. He had no idea how deep this mineshaft was, or if it would eventually lead him round to the exit. But sitting still like this made him feel like the walls were inching closer, though he had no idea how far away they were. Maybe that was the issue. “Well, it was awful nice finally getting to meet you. Give my regards to Lessie and Miles.” Everyone knew who Dawnshot ran with these days; they’d certainly been the other two people in the main cavern.

Without waiting for a reply, Wayne pushed himself off the crossbeam, letting gravity take him. He tried not to tense up, but it was impossible. At least he kept from whimpering aloud. Not knowing when he was gonna land was—

Impact. He bounced, blacking out for a second (which was funny, cause his vision went white right before he lost time), before rolling to a stop. He didn’t move—not that he’d have wanted to. Bones knitted back together and he struggled to keep his breathing shallow. If Dawnshot saw any metal on his body so much as twitch, he’d be down here in a second. But if he thought Wayne was dead, maybe he’d leave well enough alone and let him rot in peace.

Unfortunately, Wayne’s luck today continued to be terrible. Light flared at the top of the shaft. Seemed Dawnshot had remembered a lantern, at least. Wayne kept his gaze unfocused, eyes open and glassy as the lawman descended, slowing as he got to the ground. Fucking Coinshots sure had it easy when it came to this type of terrain.

As Dawnshot approached, Wayne stopped breathing. Good thing there was no way the other man could actually hear his heart racing. Some people should learn to leave well enough alone.

Because of all the falling and landing abruptly, Wayne’s clothes were soaked in blood, and his hat was missing. (Which was fine, cause maybe it hadn’t been so lucky after all.) He was real good at playing corpse by now. Maybe Dawnshot wouldn’t check for a pulse.

He came to a stop a few feet from Wayne. His gun was back in its holster. He sighed and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

“It didn’t have to end like this,” Dawnshot said softly. He sounded broken up about the whole situation, which was pretty presumptuous considering he’d caused the situation. No one had made him raid Wayne’s hideout. They could’ve all lived in peace.

Setting the lantern on the ground, Dawnshot knelt. What was he—? Oh, rust and ruin. He was retrieving Wayne’s body. What was wrong with him? Wasn’t like anyone would care if he got a decent burial. He was already underground and all.

Wayne braced himself for the inevitable. Dawnshot was going to notice he was still very much alive. No more running. He’d have to fight. None of his metal weapons would work, though. Maybe he would get lucky (for once today) and Dawnshot would turn out to have a glass jaw. At least he’d gone on the job with a nearly full metalmind. He could soak more bullets.

Unexpectedly, the lawman closed Wayne’s eyes, his touch featherlight and gentle. This darkness wasn’t terrifying, at least. It was almost nice, to rest his eyes while he waited for the real showdown to begin.

When Dawnshot wrapped his arms around him, Wayne took the opening to steal his gun. He barely managed it, hand shaking so much it was nearly useless. Helped that he didn’t intend to shoot the damn thing, just get it away from Dawnshot. The man was too engrossed in collecting Wayne to notice. If they managed to make it to the top of the shaft before Dawnshot realized he was still alive, Wayne could probably relieve him of everything in his pockets. Stealing from a lord would be something new. A little thrill of anticipation shot through him at the thought.

Dawnshot lifted Wayne, carrying him with one arm beneath his knees and the other around his back. He’d expected to be tossed over the man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. That was the easiest way to cart another person around. Probably thought he was tall and strong enough it didn’t matter. Rusting show-off.

Wayne didn’t bristle, because corpses didn’t generally exhibit signs of offense, but he mentally resolved himself to make Dawnshot pay. For all of it.

As he was deciding whether or not it would be sporting to punch Dawnshot in the throat, a distant boom rattled his bones. His eyes were still closed, and it took all his willpower to keep them that way.

When the vibration didn’t stop, and bits of dust and grit peppered his face, Wayne gave up the act. He knew what was coming. The farce didn’t matter anymore.

Burning the last bendalloy in his stomach, Wayne said, “Mine’s caving in. Get us out of here.”

Dawnshot’s grip faltered, but he didn’t drop Wayne. At least not yet. “You—you’re alive?”

“Course I am. Now, use your fancy allomancy and Push us the fuck out of this hole, or you ain’t gonna see a single boxing of my bounty.”

“I—” Dawnshot glanced up. “Right. There were explosives in that cavern. The fire must’ve set them off.”

“You gonna give me a physics lesson next? Come on.” Wayne tapped him on the neck, as he might’ve done to his horse. “Giddy up.”

Dawnshot flinched back, trying to get away from Wayne, but utterly failing on account of he was still holding him.

“There’s no time.” Wayne could feel the last of the bendalloy running out. As soon as his speed bubble collapsed, the rocks falling toward them would hit. “We can sort out our issues later.”

“Issues.” Dawnshot snorted. “Alright, I think I can—”

The speed bubble collapsed. Wayne had time to think only a single compound swearword before something hit the lantern and they plunged into darkness. He was aware of air whooshing past, the way his stomach lurched, and the thrum of Dawnshot’s heart beneath his cheek—Wayne was shamelessly clinging to the man now, cause it didn’t much matter so close to their deaths. Rock crashed around them, or—behind them?—and the air was thick with dust.

When everything stilled, Wayne was shocked to find himself… alive. He’d been expecting to be stuck in a suspended state of being crushed until his metalmind ran out, but here he was, the only crushing happening the relatively pleasant kind. Dawnshot was holding onto Wayne as tightly as he was holding him, pressing him into his chest.

They both seemed to realize in the same moment. Dawnshot finally dropped him. Wayne was quick enough to land on his feet, though, and he kept himself close to the lawman’s side. All the better to access his pockets.

Speaking of, Wayne produced a stolen matchbook and struck one. The little flame illuminated Dawnshot’s face, and for a moment Wayne stopped breathing.

They’d never been this close before—obviously. Wayne had seen him from a distance, in crowds, but he’d never taken in the details. He was both tall and handsome (Wayne often mistook the former for the latter), his hair disheveled and dusty and long enough to grab a fistful. You know, during a fight, if it came to grappling. His clothes were worn but much finer than what most could afford, and that bloody cravat… Something had cut his lip, and it bled sluggishly. Wayne’s fingers itched to rub the blood away, or maybe dig into the wound to draw more. Make it hurt worse.

Dawnshot deserved it. Rusting lawman and his rusting allies had caused a cave-in.

The flame shook in his hand as reality set in. Behind them was a solid wall of rubble. The mine shaft continued horizontally, but he had no idea if it accessed the other exit—or if the exit still existed.

His eyes dark and intense, Dawnshot stared at Wayne.

“You’re not dead.”

“With observational skills like that, you could be a detective.” Wayne patted him on the shoulder, taking the opportunity to pull something else out of his pocket. Handkerchief. Of course. His lordship probably had a half dozen on him to hand out to swooning ladies.

Wayne took it nonetheless.

“How are you not dead?” Dawnshot asked.

“Hit a couple crossbeams on the way down.” Wayne winced for effect. “Got a few cracked ribs for my trouble, and I’m pretty sure my leg’s broke.”

Dawnshot nodded. “In that case, you’re under arrest.”

Wayne couldn’t stop the laugh erupting from his chest. “Arrest? Mate, we’re dead. The both of us.” He gestured to the pile of rock trapping them.

The match burned down to his fingers. He hissed and dropped it. Darkness curled around them again, leaving only the twin sounds of their mingled breath. Wayne wondered how many more they’d get before the air went bad on them. Assuming it weren’t already.

“You survive a fall like that and you’re already giving up?” Dawnshot’s voice was close and obnoxiously cheerful. He shifted against Wayne. “We can find a way out.”

A hand closed around his, warm and calloused. Dawnshot took the matchbook back, then lit another. Wayne licked his parched lips and tasted blood (he’d coughed up a fair bit after falling and before healing). Yep, the lawman was still tall and imposing with a really nice jawline. He hadn’t imagined that.

Wayne also wasn’t imagining it when Dawnshot took both hands in his, put the lit match between his teeth, and deftly tied a rope around Wayne’s wrists. It was so astonishing, he didn’t even struggle. Not that a rope would do much good, anyway, if Wayne really wanted out.

“Buy a bloke dinner first,” Wayne said, finding himself a little breathless, though he hoped it came off as a symptom of his allegedly cracked ribs.

“Like I said, you’re under arrest.” Dawnshot reached into the pocket of Wayne’s coat, withdrawing his revolver. “And it’ll keep you from stealing this again.”

“What can I say, I got wandering hands.” Wayne wiggled his fingers and gave Dawnshot his filthiest smirk.

The match went out, but not before Dawnshot turned away, clearly rattled by Wayne’s shameless flirting. Good to know it made him uncomfortable.

He lifted his hands to adjust his lucky hat only to remember it was gone. Buried in rubble.

Better it than him, but he felt naked now. How could he think like Wayne the Outlaw King without it?

A new match flared. “Lessie and Miles will come for us, as soon as they’ve got the rest of your crew secured. Is there another way out of this mine?”

“No idea,” Wayne said cheerfully. They were dead men walking, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a little fun here at the end.

“Worth taking a look.” Dawnshot turned to the open part of the tunnel. The match did little to illuminate the darkness. The shaft might’ve gone on another mile or ended three feet from the edge of the little fire’s glow. “Can you walk?”

“Nope.” Wayne added a wince. “You’ll have to carry me.”

“Forgive me if I don’t want you cozied up to my vital organs. Here.” Dawnshot wrapped his arm around Wayne, supporting some of his weight. “Try to behave.”

He’d said the words in a joking manner, but they hit Wayne with an unexpected heat.

“Can’t do nothing all tied up like this,” Wayne said.

They set off together, moving slowly, both because of Wayne’s fake injuries and the low light of the matches. It struck him as a pointless exercise, but if Dawnshot wanted to spend his last hours wandering around in the dark, he was welcome to it.

After half an hour of tedious progress, during which Dawnshot gave only monosyllabic responses to Wayne’s attempts at conversation, they reached the end of the shaft.

He’d known this was coming, but it was still a blow. Wayne stared at the rubble, then sank to the ground. His side felt cold, no longer pressed against Dawnshot.

“We can move these rocks, maybe create a path.”

“You have fun with that, mate. I’m gonna take a little rest.”

“Stay awake.” Dawnshot crouched beside him, alarmed. “You likely have a head injury—”

“I’m not the delusional one. We ain’t getting out of here. It happens. If I’m being honest, this is a long time coming.”

“Being arrested?”

“Being swallowed by this particular beast.” Wayne gestured to the mine shaft with its aging support beams. “At least I dragged you down with me.”

“No one is dying down here. We’ve got plenty of time to dig our way out.”

“Is your unrealistic optimism a symptom of being a lawman, or is it just a personal character flaw?”

Dawnshot huffed. He seemed to do that a lot—then again, Wayne did have that effect on people. “You could help me instead of complaining.”

“I’d love to, mate, really, but my leg’s broke, and my ribs are making breathing a bit painful, so I’ll pass.”

“Right, sorry, I should check your injuries, make sure you’re not bleeding out.”

They were close, Wayne stretched out on the ground, back against the rock, Dawnshot hovering over him in a crouch. Wouldn’t take much for him to realize Wayne was faking his injuries.

Before he could answer—his face oddly hot at the thought of Dawnshot’s hands all over him—Dawnshot’s eyes widened at something near Wayne. He grinned and reached past him.

Wayne stiffened, but Dawnshot only grabbed an object lying on the ground. An old lantern, long forgotten. Dawnshot hefted it. Liquid sloshed inside.

“Better than matches.” He lit the lantern; Wayne could only stare. It seemed so bright after such a long stretch with only a single match to illuminate their surroundings. Now the walls and ceiling came into view, as did the pile of rubble blocking their way.

Maybe his luck hadn’t completely run out. Then again, he was still stuck down here with a man intent on turning him over for a bounty. At least Dawnshot thought he was helpless, tied up and injured.

“Now,” Dawnshot said, “let me take a look at your leg.”

“You looking at it won’t make it less broke.”

“You’re covered in blood. I can’t let you bleed out.”

“Wouldn’t want me dying before my execution.” Wayne couldn’t help the bitterness in his voice. Without his hat it was hard to remember how to be Wayne the Outlaw King. Or maybe it was how close Dawnshot was—to figuring out he was faking.

“Who says you’ll be executed?” Dawnshot lowered his hand toward the cuff of Wayne’s pants, but Wayne caught his wrists, thankful Dawnshot tied his hands in front of him instead of behind.

“I don’t need your help. If I were gonna bleed out, I’d have done it by now.” In Wayne’s experience, lawmen and bounty hunters weren’t so… noble. The main difference between them and people like Wayne was he made his money stealing from other men, and they made it capturing or killing them. But of course the fabled Dawnshot would want to play medic. “And don’t be naive.”

“About what?” Dawnshot looked up at him. Wayne still hadn’t let go of his wrist.

“We both know I’ll be hanged. It’s what they do to murderers and thieves.”

“True, you’re a spectacularly prolific thief.”

“Aww, you think I’m spectacular?”

“You know that’s not what I said.” Dawnshot cast a significant look down at where their hands were nearly joined. Wayne steadfastly refused to move. “But there is something I’ve noticed about you. A pattern.”

Unease rippled through him. He didn’t much like the idea of being studied how he himself studied other people. “Oh yeah?”

Slowly, Dawnshot freed himself from Wayne’s grip and reached down. He untucked Wayne’s shirt, then he began unbuttoning it. Wayne could’ve stopped him—should’ve—because though his hands were bound in rope, he still had a decent range of movement. But he didn’t. He only watched Dawnshot, trying not to audibly swallow.

“Yes. In all the reports I’ve read, all the eyewitness accounts I’ve gathered, you never killed anyone. Your crew has, though rarely, and each time that happened, witnesses report you reprimanding the offender.”

He made it sound so rusting official. Reprimanding the offender. Wayne might’ve laughed, but a good portion of his brain was simultaneously trying desperately to soak in the full experience of Waxillium Ladrian undressing him from the waist up and pretending it wasn’t happening at all.

“Witnesses say all sorts of things. Did you know I can meld into the mists to escape capture?” Wayne forced himself to grin. His shirt was fully open now, the cool air making him shiver. When Dawnshot’s fingers grazed his skin, he nearly jumped.

“That must be very convenient. Maybe you could use that to get us out of here.” Dawnshot didn’t look at Wayne’s face as he spoke; all his attention was on his chest and stomach. Tacky blood coated his skin, from the brief moments after the fall that a bit of his insides had been on the outside. “Tell me when it hurts.”

Using the same gentle touch from before, when he’d closed Wayne’s eyes, thinking him dead, Dawnshot prodded his ribs. It was so distracting he almost forgot to wince. Almost.

Exhaling sharply through his teeth, Wayne said, “Yeah, that hurts. You can stop any time.”

“Sorry.” Dawnshot sat back. “I don’t see signs of internal bleeding, but I’m not an expert. We need to get you out of here soon.”

“Sure, sure.” Wayne closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. Essentially baring his throat to an enemy wasn’t the brightest idea, but they were both doomed anyway. “Wake me up when you’ve rescued us.”

Dawnshot huffed. “Stay awake. And let me look at your leg.”

“Isn’t tying me up and stripping me enough?” Wayne cracked an eye open to watch his reaction, which was what he’d hoped for: in the low light of the lantern, Dawnshot was blushing.

“You’re injured, and I didn’t even take off your coat.”

“I feel so vulnerable. Can you button me back up? I would but,” he wiggled his bound hands, “can’t manage it like this.”

Dawnshot did, his face set in the kind of scowl the wanted-poster artists kept attributing to Wayne.

“Thanks, mate. I’d hate for whoever discovers our remains one day to get the wrong idea about what happened down here.”

“Earlier…” Dawnshot trailed off, then stood, and Wayne thought that would be the end of it, but as he began to shift some of the smaller pieces of rubble, he spoke again. “You said this was inevitable for you. What did you mean?”

“I say a lot of stuff what don’t mean anything.”

“Wayne.” Dawnshot’s voice was stern, almost commanding. It sent a shiver through him, and Wayne realized this was the first time he’d called him by his name.

A very convincing part of him wanted to keep provoking Dawnshot so he’d keep saying it.

“The mine killed my whole family. Figured it was a matter of time before I ended up in the same place.” The darkness of the shaft behind them seemed to pull at him like the gaping maw of a great beast. He forced himself to look at Dawnshot instead. “I’m the Bad Guy, right? I was always gonna get my comeuppance.”

Dawnshot’s movements stilled, and his head turned as if he wanted to look back at Wayne. Instead he resumed his futile work.

Silence hung heavy between them. Eventually, the semi rhythmic noise of rocks clacking against each other lulled Wayne into sleep. It snuck up on him, and he only realized he’d dozed off when he started awake.

Wasn’t like him to let his guard down around an enemy, even a do-gooder like Dawnshot.

The lawman had taken off his coat and cravat and rolled his shirtsleeves up, revealing his muscled forearms. He paused in his work to take a swig from his canteen, but from the way he turned it up, then frowned at it, his water was gone.

“Here,” Wayne said, surprised at how rough his voice was. How long had he been asleep? “Have some of mine.”

Wayne wiggled around until his coat was at the right angle for his bound hands to reach into the interior pocket. Hissing a fake gasp, due to his fake broken ribs, he held out a flask to Dawnshot. He took it doubtfully.

“This better not be poisoned.”

“Relax.” Wayne snatched it back and drank from it. “See?”

When Dawnshot took the flask again, he glanced at the rim. Then he met Wayne’s gaze as he drank, lips pressed against the same metal Wayne’s had been only moments before.

The effect was ruined when Dawnshot coughed. “This is whiskey!”

“Your point?”

“I thought it was water.”

“It’s less than half alcohol, you know, which means most of it is water.”

“I’m not looking to get drunk right now.” Dawnshot shoved the flask toward him.

“Come on. Enjoy the time you have left.”

For a suspended moment, it seemed Dawnshot would refuse. But his shoulders slumped, and he slowly lowered himself beside Wayne, just out of reach. “I could use a break.”

“That’s the spirit.”

“You’re a terrible influence.”

“I’m an outlaw, mate. If I was a good influence on you, one of us would be in trouble.”

They passed the whiskey back and forth in silence. Wayne relished the way it burned down his throat and warmed his stomach. By the time the flask was empty, Wayne was pleasantly buzzed and feeling only slightly terrible about their impending deaths.

“So, Dawnshot,” Wayne began, letting the alcohol loosen his tongue. “Why’d you come out here?”

From Dawnshot’s reaction, he didn’t need clarification. He probably got asked that particular question a lot. “I wanted to live in a place I could make a difference.”

“A god among men.” Wayne shot him a grin. “I see.”

“No, it’s not like that.” Dawnshot sat forward. “I didn’t want to be a parasite on society. Out here I’m making life better for people in tangible ways, instead of exploiting them for monetary gain.”

“You’ve definitely improved my circumstances.”

“Forgive me for not letting you continue to rob stagecoaches and kill guards.”

“That wasn’t me, one of my men stepped outta line.” But it had been his responsibility all the same. He’d as good as shot the man himself. The whiskey turned sour in his stomach, and his hands began to tremble. “I’m—I’m going back to sleep.” Wayne turned away from Dawnshot. “In the likely event we don’t wake up, it’s been a real pleasure, Lord Ladrian.”

Surprisingly, hours later, Wayne did wake up. Dawnshot was back to moving rubble, sweat staining his shirt despite the chill of the mine.

The whiskey had left his system, which was a shame.

“You’ve been at it for hours, mate. Let it go.”

“I can’t just—sit here and wait to die. I’ve got people counting on me to come back.”

The real meaning of his words was clear: Wayne had no one, so of course he wouldn’t understand the will to survive. He was just another outlaw in a land crawling with them.

No one had ever waited on him to come home, and no one ever would.

The old lantern chose that particularly bleak moment to run out of oil. Darkness enveloped them again, and this time it would stay. There would be no relief, only the slow decline into suffocation—if they were lucky. Otherwise it was dehydration and madness.

Had it been like this for Ma? He hoped not. He hoped it had been quick. That she hadn’t suffered.

Well, he wouldn’t die tied up like a criminal (even if he was one). With a few deft motions, he broke his thumbs and slipped the rope off, then healed. The darkness hid his actions, but couldn’t stop the sound of snapping cartilage.

“Wayne?” Dawnshot’s voice was close in the dark, and he sounded almost—afraid.

“Still here. Haven’t turned to mist yet.”

Dawnshot cleared his throat. “Right. How are you feeling?”

“Never been better.”

“You don’t have to do that.” Fabric shifting, the crunch of gravel. Dawnshot was beside him again. Wayne could feel the heat of his body.

“Do what?”

“Deflect. I know this is a nightmare for you.”

Wayne laughed weakly. “You don’t know anything about me.” He lunged forward, reaching for Dawnshot, managing to guess right and grab him by his shirtfront.

“Wayne—” Not stern, this time, but surprised.

“Shut up. We’re not getting outta here. Stop lying to yourself—”

“Look!” Dawnshot placed his hands over Wayne’s, stilling him.

“At what? There no—”

But there was. Light, so soft it might’ve been a hallucination. But Dawnshot was seeing it too.

Something white, flowing into the mine through gaps in the rubble.

Mist.

“That means the exit is close.” Wayne let go of Dawnshot.

The lawman wasted no time in shifting a few more chunks of rock. Mist and cool nighttime air flowed in around them. The cave-in had been right at the end of the tunnel.

Wayne stared, mouth slack. Huh. How bout that. They were free.

“I’ll carry you,” Dawnshot said. “We’ll get you to a doctor.”

That shook Wayne from his amazed stupor. Time to end things. While Dawnshot cleared the last few pieces of rock, making a passage large enough for them both, Wayne drank his last vial of bendalloy.

Dawnshot bent to lift him, and Wayne played along, letting out a hiss of pain and clinging to him.

His wandering hands found what he was looking for, and he palmed it.

Out among the mists, Wayne steeled himself for what was to come. In the distance figures moved.

“Lessie and Miles,” Dawnshot said with obvious relief. He called to them, and they responded.

“Listen,” Wayne said, creating a speed bubble around them. “There’s something I gotta tell you.”

“What?” Dawnshot’s smile faltered.

Squirming out of his grip, Wayne landed on his feet. He grabbed Dawnshot by the collar of his coat and pulled him close. “Sorry, mate.”

“For what?” Dawnshot’s gaze flicked across Wayne’s face rapidly, as if searching for the meaning of his words.

In answer, Wayne closed the gap between them, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth. Dawnshot stiffened but didn’t jerk away, likely too surprised to react. His lips tasted of whiskey and dried blood. Wayne broke the kiss and stared up into his wide, astonished eyes.

Then he slid the knife he’d stolen into Dawnshot’s side.

He gasped and staggered back, hand moving to hold the knife handle but not draw it out of himself. At least he had that much sense. Wayne didn’t spare another thought for him. There wasn’t time. His bendalloy was about to burn out. He hadn’t dealt him a killing blow, just enough to slow Dawnshot and his friends down.

His escape bought and paid for in Dawnshot’s blood, Wayne turned and let the mists envelope him. Then he did what he did best: he ran.

Chapter Text

Disappointed but not surprised. That was about the sum of things. Wax stared down at the knife in his abdomen. It didn’t hurt yet, at least not as much as the cut on his mouth, which ached softly.

He hadn’t even realized he had a split lip until Wayne had—

Kissed him.

He couldn’t quite seem to process it, probably because of the hot blood seeping out of the knife wound, and the shock that was certainly on its way. But it also… hadn’t made sense. It still didn’t make sense.

The mist swirled around him in a lazy current, comforting and calm.

“Wax?” Lessie’s voice. She sounded worried.

He took a few shallow breaths, trying to shove the memories away, but they wouldn’t leave. Wayne leaning up, pulling him down, his soft lips so gentle. Wax could’ve pushed him back, but he hadn’t.

And he’d gotten stabbed for his trouble. The kiss had been misdirection, and he’d just stood there and let it happen.

Earlier, when they’d been trapped behind what seemed like an endless pile of rubble, Wayne had fallen asleep. Wax had been exhausted, too, but worried the outlaw across from him was faking it. The man had looked so peaceful, though. Younger than expected, but maybe that was just Wax’s perspective. Turning 35 had finally made him recognize the fact his youth was behind him.

Eventually, Wayne’s even breath had lulled Wax into letting his guard down, and maybe he’d never brought it back up.

Lessie reached him, touching his arm, breaking him from the memories. “What happened? Oh, Harmony, is that a knife?”

“It’s my knife,” Wax said, as if pickpocketing was the worst of Wayne’s crimes. “As for what happened—” He grimaced. The pain hit in a wave that made him dizzy. “It’s a long story.”

Wax wasn’t sure he’d be able to explain it, even to himself.

Chapter Text

Wayne had never orchestrated a jailbreak before (he was, generally speaking, in the business of liberating money and valuables, not people) but honestly, how hard could it be?

No matter how secure a building claimed it was, it was people doing the securing, and people were terrible at it. A bank vault that can’t be cracked or drilled through? No problem, cause a human person had the combination. Same with prisons, he reckoned. Except the locks would have keys, which was even better.

Guards could be bribed. Keys could be misplaced and duplicated.

Nothing in the whole world was safe, not when people were in charge of keeping it that way.

In his rented room above the Lucky Star Saloon, Wayne took off his (new) hat and prepared to become someone else. It had taken him the better part of two months to get this plan together. Didn’t help he was working alone, on account of his entire crew was either dead or in the jail he was about to break into. He’d lost a lot in Dawnshot’s raid—his people, his horses, most of his money and supplies. Fortunately, he kept things squirreled away all over the Roughs, and a little light burglary had rounded out what he needed for the job.

Outside, the sun dipped toward the horizon. Today was the day. Shift change soon. Wayne stripped, then put on the crimson dress he’d taken from a secondhand shop a few towns over. This involved a lot of undergarments, and tying up a corset on his own, but he’d done it dozens of times before. Corsets weren’t so bad; they kept his fake breasts in place, and provided space for weapons and supplies.

Next, the cosmetics. Dark eyeliner, a touch of rouge on his cheeks, then lipstick the same shade as his dress. A few years ago he’d learned a trick to make your lips look fuller—a touch of lighter pigment in the center, edges a little darker. It was amazing what a bit of contouring could do.

Then came the wig (blond curls) and a small fascinator that was mostly a red silk rose and a few tufts of black lace, but it would do. A hat was a hat.

Wayne stood in front of the cheap, warped mirror and closed his eyes.

She opened them again, staring at her reflection. Cindi had come to the Roughs because life in the Basin was too constraining. She’d lived so long under her parents’ rules. They insisted she talk a certain way, act a certain way—and that had been fine. Up until they tried to force her to marry a man she hated. She’d fled here, looking for a new life, but she worried she was in over her head.

A little hopeful, a little naïve, but mostly drunk on freedom for the first time in her life. She smiled at the mirror, then swished her skirts and adjusted her left sleeve, making sure it wouldn’t slip down and reveal the gold metalmind around her upper arm. Perfect.

After tidying up her room, she went downstairs and found a spot at the bar. The saloon was busy already—people coming in after their shifts, looking for a place to lose themselves. Cindi could understand the impulse. Some kinds of work could grind you down to nothing. She was a little afraid of ending up that way—of her limited funds dwindling before she got work doing what she really wanted to do: teaching. All that education her parents had insisted she get was the only part of their strict upbringing she’d enjoyed.

When she finally caught the barman’s attention, she ordered bottom-shelf gin, and sipped it slow, trying not to grimace. No more fine liquor for her—but no more dull parties, either. She was free. It made her giddier than the gin.

“That’s a beautiful smile you got.”

Cindi turned to find a man had taken the stool beside her without her notice. She set her glass down, trying not to fidget with it. “Thank you, sir.”

“Haven’t seen you here before.” He held out his hand. “Name’s Sam.”

“Cindi.” She held her hand out for him to kiss, but he shook it instead, not seeming to mind her loose grip. “I just arrived in town today.”

“Where you from?”

“Elendel.” Her accent should’ve been hint enough, but she tried not to hold that against him.

“What brings you out this way?” Sam turned so his entire body faced her, one elbow propped on the bar.

“Well, it’s a long story.” She twirled a lock of her blond hair around her finger. Sam’s eyes followed the motion. “I don’t want to bore you, so I’ll just say it was the usual reasons. Looking for a new start.”

“Not looking to make it rich?” He smiled and sipped his drink, something dark amber.

Cindi laughed. “I’m not the fortunate type, no. I want a simple life. Steady work, good company. That’s all I need.”

“Couldn’t agree more.” He raised his glass to her, and she mirrored him. “I’ve seen where too much greed can land you.”

“Oh?” Cindi leaned forward. As much as the danger of the Roughs frightened her, it thrilled her, too.

“I guard the jail on the edge of town. Most in it came here trying to strike rich.”

“That must be hard, guarding people like that. Are—are outlaws really that common here?” Cindi glanced around the room, suddenly worried one of the milling crowd might start shooting, demanding everyone’s valuables.

“They don’t usually bother decent folk. They hit the trains, the stagecoaches, places with a lot of cash. You don’t have to worry with me around, anyway.” He flipped his coat back, revealing a gun at his hip. “I’ll protect you.”

Cindi found herself twirling a curl around her finger again. “I can tell I’m in good hands.”

Several drinks later, they stumbled into Cindi’s room. She didn’t waste time once the door was locked behind them, and neither did Sam. He was a good bit taller than her, even in her heeled boots, which suited her just fine. Sam was exactly her type, and she his. She hadn’t come to the Roughs for this kind of liaison, but a part of her had been hoping for it. The adventure of romance, even if it was fleeting.

He kissed her. His lips tasted like whiskey—

Wayne hadn’t kissed anyone since the night he’d stabbed Dawnshot—not that it even counted, since he’d only done it as a distraction. Suddenly he was back there, in that moment, a knife in one hand, the other fisted in Dawnshot’s shirt and—

No. He wasn’t Wayne the Outlaw King. He was Cindi. And she was with Sam because he made her laugh, and with him she felt both safe and daring. She’d never had a one-night stand before but wanted to know what it was like.

Her racing heart burned away all memories that weren’t hers, and Sam’s hands around her waist grounded her. She grinned against his mouth, then enthusiastically returned his kiss.

A couple hours later, Cindi slipped out of bed, gathered all her things (and one keyring that very much didn’t belong to her), and left the room. The hallway outside was dark, but the saloon below was still rowdy. She left out the back and disappeared into the night. No one looked at her twice.

In an empty alley, Wayne changed back into himself. He could’ve used bendalloy to make a speed bubble, but it seemed a terrible waste. He was pretty fast at costume changes, anyway, and no one was around. He stashed all of Cindi’s clothes and makeup behind some rotting wooden crates and emerged wearing his lucky hat and twirling his shiny new keyring around one finger. All in all, not a bad start to the night. Sam had been a nice enough bloke, and it had been fun to lose himself with another person for a while.

But now the hard part was starting. He wished he had backup of some kind, but it was just him. That’s what happened when you went and got your entire crew locked up while you ran away.

The jail was, as Sam had said, on the edge of town. Wayne had strolled by it more than once, in various disguises. He knew the names of every guard (and what type of person they were most attracted to, if applicable), and their schedules. He knew that around this time of night, there’d be a card game going in the common room, and a few of the people who were supposed to be watching the doors would instead be losing money.

The jail itself was made of thick stone, with reinforced steel doors and high walls around it. No one had ever broken out of it, but then again, Wayne had never tried to spring anyone from it before. The guards really shoulda known better than to be so lax. Protocol said they weren’t supposed to leave the premises with their keys, yet Sam and the others normally took them home because it was easier on them.

Wayne fully supported people being bad at their jobs, provided their job was to stand in his way.

After scanning the roofs of the nearby buildings to check no one was watching from an unexpected vantage point, he unlocked the side gate and strolled into the courtyard. No one shouted at him, so he kept going to the nearest door. Inside, he heard laughter coming from one direction—that would be the card game. Resisting the urge to whistle a happy tune, he made his way down rows of cells, looking through each door. When he spotted one of his people, he freed them. Soon he had eight people in tow, and they were all being remarkably quiet. Turns out criminals could follow instructions better than guards.

At last he found the ninth surviving member of his crew. His previous third-in-command, Darla. She was leaned up against the wall, arms crossed, looking furious until he opened the door.

“What took you so long?” she whispered, rising to her feet.

Wayne grinned. “You try casing a place like this in under two months. Come on.”

They left without trouble. He was really good at this jailbreaking thing. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to do it again, though, because now security would be harder to get around. You could usually only steal keys from a guy once before he stopped accepting blowjobs from you.

“Doug didn’t make it, by the way,” Darla said as they headed for the exterior gate.

“I heard he went and got himself blown up at the hideout.”

“Wouldn’t surrender.” Darla shook her head. “Rusting fool. The rest of us knew you’d come, though.”

A pang of guilt twisted through his chest. There’d been a couple days, right after it happened, where he wasn’t sure he was going to free them. But he’d come to his senses quick enough. When you hired someone to do a job, you saw it through, and you didn’t abandon anyone. Just cause you were a Bad Guy didn’t mean you had to also be an asshole.

“Split up on your way through town,” Wayne said as he locked the gate behind them. He dropped the keys, kicking a little dirt over them, hoping Sam would assume they’d fallen out of his pocket. “I’ll get us transportation, but if I’m not at the first signpost outside of town in half an hour, leave without me.”

“What’s the secondary meeting place?”

Wayne was silent a beat too long.

“Oh. This is it, then?” Darla’s shoulders slumped a little, but she nodded. “Too much heat. I’ll see everyone gets somewhere safe.”

“Nice working with you.” Wayne shook her hand, meaning it. “Sorry the last job went so sideways.”

“Everyone’s luck runs out eventually.” Her eyes flicked to the top of his head. “Nice new hat, by the way.”

“Half an hour.” He stepped away from her. “Don’t wait a second longer.”

They scattered to the wind, Wayne setting off alone. Once everyone was well out of sight, he dropped his pace to a casual stroll.

The stables were a ten minute walk from the jail, which seemed a little close in Wayne’s opinion. He ambled in, finding only a single person there, some kid who couldn’t stay awake, apparently.

Wayne adjusted his hat. This one was definitely lucky. The plan was going almost too well, in fact. He’d expected to meet resistance from Dawnshot and his little group of lawkeepers by now.

Maybe he thought Wayne wasn’t the type to come back for his crew. Well, what with all the stabbing and fleeing, he could see how he might’ve left that impression—

A soft thump sounded behind him. Chills raced over his skin before he even turned. He already knew what he’d see.

Dawnshot stood in the middle of the hallway between the stalls. The ends of his mistcoat swirled around his legs as they settled, and he had a hand on the butt of his gun, though he hadn’t drawn yet. The chair that had so recently held the sleeping stablehand was empty.

“What’s a man like you doing in a place like this? In the company of an outlaw, no less?” Wayne asked. He slipped his hands into his pockets and slouched a little, real casual like. Dawnshot wouldn’t shoot him out of hand, that much he knew.

He hadn’t spent the last month and a half doing research only on the jail, after all.

“You’re under arrest, Wayne.” His voice was as Wayne remembered: deep and stern, brokering no arguments in a way that very, very much made him want to argue.

“Yeah? For what?” He glanced around. “Ain’t illegal to visit a stable, last I checked.”

“For eleven counts of armed robbery, and attempted jailbreaking.”

“Never attempted jailbreaking in my life, and armed robbery?” Wayne adopted affront. “You got proof of such an outrageous claim?”

“Eyewitness statements from each robbery.”

“And they all said they saw me there?” Wayne grinned.

Ignoring him, Dawnshot continued. “Plus the goods we confiscated at your hideout two months ago. When you stabbed me.” He practically growled the last sentence, staring Wayne down.

“Someone stabbed you? That’s awful, mate. Glad to see you’re still upright.”

Dawnshot took a step toward him. It wasn’t technically menacing, but he was tall and seemed prone to looming, even if it was accidental. Wayne forced himself not to react.

“Pretend all you want, but I could add attempted murder to your list of crimes.”

Wayne finally looked away. Dawnshot had been in no danger of dying, that part didn’t upset him. It was the realization that he didn’t know about—or remember—Wayne’s first crime.

Mistaking his reaction, Dawnshot continued in a rush. “I’m not going to, though. Not if you come—” He paused and corrected himself. “Not if you cooperate. I came here to stop you making a mistake tonight.”

Shaking himself from the memories, Wayne grinned. “And what mistake would that be?”

“Stealing ten horses and breaking your gang out of jail.”

“I would never steal ten horses,” Wayne said with emphasis. It was a lie, of course; he’d come here to do just that.

Taking another meaningful step closer, Dawnshot frowned. “I’m serious. You don’t have to keep walking down this path. I know you don’t want to hurt anyone—”

“Like I said before, mate, you don’t know anything about me.” Wayne glanced around the stable. The horse idea was a bust, but it didn’t really matter. He didn’t want to stay here a moment longer, not if Dawnshot was going to waste his time trying to save someone who couldn’t be saved. It was already too late for him. There were some things you could never walk back. “Or did you forget how our last date ended?”

Dawnshot sighed. “If you insist, we’ll do this the hard way.”

“I think you mean the fun way.” Wayne burned bendalloy. The world outside his bubble slowed to a crawl, and he took a moment to appreciate Dawnshot’s clenched jaw and broad shoulders.

Things hadn’t gone exactly like he wanted, but this was good, too. And it seemed the lawman hadn’t brought any backup. Against his will, excitement fluttered in his chest at the thought. Dawnshot wanted it to be just the two of them, then.

He moved to the edge of his speed bubble, then sprinted out of it. In seconds he was beneath the star-filled sky. No mists tonight, which was a bit of a let down, but he could work around it.

Wayne was fast, but it wasn’t really possible to outrun a Coinshot, at least not without an unfair advantage. So when Dawnshot crashed into him, he was ready. He dropped, lowering his center of gravity. It sent them both tumbling to the ground. Wayne took the brunt of it, the skin of his hands tearing against the rough earth before healing. They slid to a stop, Dawnshot on top of him. Wayne’s lucky hat was still on his head, proving it was the right choice after all.

“You know,” Wayne said, pausing to cough up some dust. “Shooting me woulda been easier.”

“You haven’t drawn your gun, doesn’t seem right to draw mine. But you’re still—”

“Under arrest, yeah, yeah.” He held his hands up, wrists crossed, nearly pressing them into Dawnshot’s chest. “Tie me up, then.”

Dawnshot seemed to realize how close they were. He sat up, but kept straddling Wayne, not too prudish to be prudent. That was a shame. He reached for the spot on his gun belt where he normally kept a length of rope. His fingers closed over empty air. The rope was in Wayne’s coat pocket, of course, along with a new handkerchief (doubling his collection of them).

“You’re not funny,” Dawnshot said, probably because Wayne was laughing. “There’s no way out of this for you.”

“I’ve already escaped, Lord Ladrian, you just ain’t caught up with current events yet.”

That prompted Dawnshot to do something wholly unexpected. He reached down and unbuckled Wayne’s belt.

“I’m flattered, but this ain’t exactly the place—”

“Stop talking.” Dawnshot pulled Wayne’s belt off him, then looped it around Wayne’s wrists. Once again he found himself unable to even consider struggling. For a second there he’d thought things were going in a completely different direction, like he’d somehow stumbled into one of those sexy stories where people fucked under extremely unlikely conditions (in the middle of an arrest, for example).

“You coulda used your own belt,” Wayne said, ignoring Dawnshot’s order he shut up. That was, after all, about as likely to happen as Dawnshot himself blowing Wayne here in the middle of the street.

“I like my belt.” Dawnshot tied off the makeshift restraints with a little extra force. “It was a present from Lessie.”

“And you don’t want me running off with it. Smart, that.”

Dawnshot shook his head and grabbed Wayne by the upper arms, hauling him to standing. “I’m taking you to jail, but I’ll make sure they put you in a cell far away from your friends.”

Wayne did a few mental calculations, then shook his head. “No, sorry.” He dropped to the ground again, slipping from Dawnshot’s grip, then rolled away. He sprang to his feet and made a small speed bubble.

Breathing a little hard, he watched Dawnshot reach for him in slow-motion. His fingers were only a few inches away from the edge of the bubble.

Working quickly, Wayne untied himself, then put the belt back on as an extra little fuck-you to Dawnshot. This time, when he dropped the bubble, he didn’t run.

He launched himself at Dawnshot.

From his reaction, he hadn’t been expecting Wayne to actually fight him. But Dawnshot was still an experienced lawman, and Twinborn. Wayne threw his entire body weight against him, but he didn’t budge.

New plan. He threw a punch. Dawnshot leaned back, dodging, then returned the blow. Wayne was too quick for him.

Heart racing for all the best reasons, Wayne grinned, putting a little space between them and raising his fists. It had been a while since he’d sparred with anyone. He’d have to resist using any healing. Dawnshot definitely knew he was a Slider by now, but the less information he had about Wayne, the better.

Wayne’s grin vanished when all the metal objects on his person tried to fling themselves backward. Right, the Coinshot thing. Rusting inconvenient, that. Next time he’d plan better.

Not that Wayne wanted there to be a next time, or anything. He’d done his best to avoid there being a this time. Well. Maybe he hadn’t. Maybe a part of him had hoped Dawnshot would be waiting for him tonight.

His thoughts left his head as Dawnshot gave a stronger Push that sent him onto his back. He was a little tired of the view from down here, to be honest.

“That’s not very sporting,” he said before leaping back to his feet.

“This isn’t a game.” Dawnshot Pushed again, but it just made the gunbelt Wayne had taken a moment to loosen shoot off him.

He rushed forward, getting back into grappling range. Remembering the idle thought he’d had back in the hideout, he threaded his fingers through Dawnshot’s hair and pulled, forcing his head back. Wayne had the sudden, delirious urge to kiss his exposed neck, but instead he punched him in the side, where he’d stabbed him two months ago.

Dawnshot grunted, then threw an elbow into Wayne’s nose. He didn’t have time to avoid it. Something in his nose cracked, blood spilling over his lips in a rush. He ignored the flare of pain.

“If it ain’t a game, then why are you playing around?” Wayne danced back from Dawnshot, wiping his face with his coat sleeve. Blood still dripped off his chin. Was gonna be a nightmare to clean it all. At least it wasn’t getting on his lucky hat.

“I could shoot you dead if you prefer.” Dawnshot’s hand actually went to his gun.

Wayne swallowed against the little shiver of fear. Maybe he’d do it, then. That was probably a hint he should back off, or at least stop grinning through bloody teeth, but he didn’t want to. The danger made it more fun.

Plus, it hadn’t been half an hour yet.

He made another speed bubble and used it to get a head start back into the stables. He didn’t have a solid plan beyond cause chaos, but horses seemed a good start. That would at least keep Dawnshot from shooting at Wayne for a while; very few people in the world liked the idea of accidentally killing a horse with a stray bullet.

He had a few stalls open before Dawnshot caught up with him. His bendalloy was running low, and his throbbing nose made it hard to think.

The horses mostly just watched Wayne open their doors with uninterested expressions, until Dawnshot came barreling in. That spooked them. Wayne pressed himself against the wall as half a dozen ran by.

A shot rang out, and Wayne thought for a second maybe he was dead, after all. But Dawnshot had missed. His hat tumbled back, into a closed horse stall. The animal inside whinnied in fear.

“Was that really necessary?” Wayne called, slipping into the stall.

Horror greeted him. The horse had trampled his hat, completely ruining it. Another lucky hat gone—and for what?

This was Dawnshot’s fault. He couldn’t just kill a man in a straightforward manner. He had to take everything away from them first.

Wayne slammed the door open, coming face to face with Dawnshot. He forgot about the horse until it knocked him to the side as it rushed out, eager to follow its friends away from the loud noises and gun smoke.

At least Dawnshot nearly got trampled, too.

“You’re the one making this necessary, Wayne.” Dawnshot leveled the revolver at his chest. “I knew you’d come here to spring your crew. Lessie didn’t believe me, but now she owes me five boxings.”

“If she didn’t believe you, why’d she spend the last month and a half posted up outside the jail, keeping watch?” Wayne didn’t move toward the exit. He didn’t even look at it. He was pretty sure testing Dawnshot’s patience would be a bad idea.

His words had a physical effect. A muscle in Dawnshot’s jaw twitched, and he moved his index finger down to the trigger. Oops.

“Have you been stalking my wife?”

“We both know it’s the opposite, mate. You’ve been obsessed with catching me. Can’t help I’m more observant than both of you. I noticed her day one of casing the jail.”

Today had been the first time since then she hadn’t been guarding the place from nearby, meaning he could finally implement his plans. Wayne had optimistically assumed Dawnshot would’ve also given up, but Lessie wasn’t the one he’d stabbed. People tended to take that sort of thing real personally.

The moment he’d seen Lessie, he knew his plans for a jailbreak would have to accommodate her and Dawnshot’s presence, maybe even Miles, though Wayne hadn’t spotted him.

“I’d never hurt her,” Wayne continued, feeling that was important to get on record. It was true. He didn’t like hurting people, and Lessie struck him as the type of person who wouldn’t give him the chance to, anyway.

Dawnshot calmed down a fraction, but the barrel of his gun never wavered. “If you knew we were in town, why’d you bother?”

“I had to try. And I figured, well. You’re the good guys, right? The heroes?”

Dawnshot gave him a flat, impatient stare.

Wayne hurried on. “In the stories, heroes is always outsmarting the villains. I’m a villain, so I asked myself what the heroes would do. They’re always a step ahead, so I figured if I was a step ahead of that, I’d be in the clear.”

A little crease of worry appeared between Dawnshot’s eyebrows. Wayne wanted to poke it, but he’d get his hand shot off before he managed it, so he stayed put. “I knew if you were breaking nine people out of jail, you’d need transportation for them. Horses. But I stopped you before you stole them. Even if you somehow break them out, they won’t get far.”

“It’s true. Every villain knows you get the horses squared away, then you spring everyone and run for it.”

The worry had spread to the frown lines around Dawnshot’s mouth.

“I figured you’d be here waiting for me. I mean, I hoped not tonight. It’s why I implemented my plan today. But my allegedly lucky hat wasn’t so lucky after all.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Dawnshot seemed truly baffled.

“Do you have a pocket watch?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Need to know the time.” Wayne had lost track.

Hesitantly, as if sensing a trap but unable to see it (which was true enough, on account of Dawnshot was already in the trap), he reached into his pocket and withdrew a watch. He told Wayne the time.

More than half an hour since they’d left the jail. Perfect. Wayne relaxed.

“Like I was saying, everyone knows the correct order to do a jailbreak. But I figured if I gave my crew a head start, they’d be fine without horses. Lots of places to hide around here, and they can get faster transportation on their own. Split up. Gone in too many directions for one lawman to follow.”

An awful lot was happening on Dawnshot’s face as Wayne spoke, and he soaked it all in. The horror. The disbelief. The anger. In the stories, heroes always outsmarted the villains, so no wonder people were heroes. It was fun to trick an enemy. The broken nose and ruined hat were worth it.

“Might wanna check the jail, mate,” Wayne finished. “I might’ve gotten my hands on some explosives and a fancy little timer what sets them off at a certain hour. With the guards all tied up, there’s no one to look for it. You could arrest me, sure, but that’ll slow you down. Especially since I’ll keep slipping away from you.”

Dawnshot swore in a very unrefined manner, then sprinted away. As soon as he was clear of the stable ceiling, he shot into the ground and Pushed into the air.

Wayne was already on his way out the other exit. On his way out of town, he collected a few supply caches, pausing only to change into the clothes and hat of a respectable academic visiting from Elendel, who’d been in town about a month, researching local geology. Then he got the horse he’d paid a local to have ready for him, and rode out the opposite direction his ex-crew had gone.

Between nine escapees and the Outlaw King, Wayne knew who Dawnshot would be compelled to pursue.

Not that he’d be able to catch him.

Chapter Text

The rising sun found Wax sitting on the top of the prison, legs dangling off the side. No matter how he tried to calm himself, the frustration returned—at Wayne, but mostly at himself.

“You couldn’t have known,” Lessie said, startling him so bad he almost lost his balance and toppled off the building. She arrived without his notice.

“What?”

She handed him a brown bottle. Beer. “His plan. That there was no bomb.”

Wax slumped. “You talked to the guards, then?”

“They’re not making fun of you, if that’s what you’re worried about. They’re all just relieved to be alive.” Lessie sat beside him, taking a sip of her own drink.

“I can’t believe he gave me the slip. Again.”

“At least this time he didn’t stab you.” Lessie nudged his shoulder with hers, grinning. “In fact, no one was hurt. And we’ll track down the escapees.”

Wax took a long pull of his beer. “I should’ve stopped him. I should’ve realized sooner he was lying about the bomb. Maybe I’m getting old.” He rubbed his eyes.

Lessie made a noncommittal noise. Wax glanced at her, taking in her slightly raised brows and pursed lips.

“What?” he said, turning to face her. “You think I am old?”

“No.” She snorted. “I think part of you doesn’t want to catch him, is all.”

“He’s a criminal.”

“Yeah, one you have a soft spot for. There’s nothing wrong with that.” Lessie sipped her beer again, leaving Wax sputtering.

He didn’t have a soft spot for Wayne. Instinctively, he almost raised his fingers to his lips, which he often found himself doing whenever that particular outlaw was mentioned. He hadn’t told Lessie about the kiss. At first it was because Miles had been there, and he didn’t want to get laughed at for being so easily distracted he didn’t notice a blade coming at him. A blade made of metal.

Then… he and Lessie had been alone, and he still hadn’t told her. He wasn’t sure why, even now. It wasn’t like he’d asked for it, or enjoyed it. Unless… Well. No. It had been completely weird and unexpected. He hardly thought about it now, so there was no need to mention it to Lessie. This long of a delay would only make it seem like he had a guilty conscience about it, and there was nothing to be guilty over. Wayne had played him, but that sort of trickery was second nature to a man like him. All the flirting was misdirection, an attempt to get under Wax’s skin.

“He’s not a lost cause,” Wax said eventually. “That’s all I think. When I even bother thinking about him.”

“Mhmm.” Lessie was smiling behind the bottle pressed to her lips. “By the way, the owner of the stable is blaming you for his missing horses.” She clapped him on the shoulder and stood. “Time to go wrangle them.”

Wax sighed and downed the last of his beer, then a vial of steel. It was going to be a long day.

Chapter Text

In Wayne’s very professional and experienced opinion, trains were pretty neat. They moved all kinds of valuable stuff long, lonely distances, during which any number of things could happen.

He stood on the platform, dressed as himself for the first time in… a year? Had it really been a year since the jailbreak? He checked the date on his tickets, then smiled softly. How bout that.

Wayne had spent that year drifting around the Roughs, doing small jobs and generally lying low. He’d been on his own, too, cause it was safest.

But today was different. He straightened his new lucky hat—which he’d owned for one day less than a year—and brushed imaginary wrinkles off his coat. There was no gun on his hip, which made him feel both lighter and strangely unbalanced.

People milled around in the fading light of dusk, carrying luggage and saying goodbyes to loved ones. Wayne himself only had one small bag (he traveled light these days), and there was no one to say any fond farewells to.

Nearby, someone began to sniffle. Wayne glanced over to see a kid wiping her eyes. She looked to be eight or so, wearing a day dress that was a few inches too short in the hem and sleeves. A huge trunk sat beside her, but otherwise she was alone.

With a glance at the platform’s clock—and finding he had plenty of time before boarding—he walked over to her.

“Get separated from your folks?” he asked her.

She stared up at him with wide eyes, then burst into sobs.

Trying not to panic, he crouched down so their faces were level. “I can help you find them—”

“I know where they are. The cemetery, on account of they’re dead!” The girl wiped her eyes again. “It’s why I gotta go live with my aunt.”

“Sorry to hear that,” Wayne said, then, a little more brightly, “But I’m sure you’ll have tons of fun with your aunt.”

“She raises horses,” the girl spat. “Horses hate me.”

Wayne blinked. This kid had a lot going on. “They can be jerks, sure, but I’m sure they don’t all—”

“They’ll probably trample me my first day.” Her tears had stopped, at least. She sniffled. “If I even make it there alive.” She cast a distrustful look at the train.

“First time traveling by rail?”

She nodded. “But I know all about it. How dangerous it is.”

Wayne grinned. “Trains ain’t dangerous. The engines are loud, sure, but—”

Hands on her hips, she rolled her eyes. “It ain’t the actual train that’s dangerous. Everyone knows outlaws rob them and kill everyone on board to take their stuff.” She stared at her trunk. “That’s all I own. I don’t want to lose it.”

“Who’s been telling you outlaws kill everyone when they do a train job?”

“It’s common knowledge.” She lifted her chin.

Wayne didn’t really have time to break down why mass murder was bad for business, and he could see she’d made up her mind already. He glanced behind her, into the crowd, and smiled.

“You ain’t gotta worry about outlaws hitting this train.”

“Why not?” Her voice was small, suddenly.

Wayne pointed. “See him?”

The girl turned. “The tall bloke with the torn up coat?”

“That’s the one. Do you know who he is?”

She shook her head slowly.

“That’s Dawnshot himself. So you ain’t gotta worry about outlaws. He’ll handle any that come along. But they’ll all stay away once they see him. Not worth the trouble.”

As he’d spoken, the girl’s eyes had grown wide, and now she was grinning. “Do you think he’ll sign an autograph?”

“Absolutely. You should definitely go ask him now.” Wayne looked up at Dawnshot, who was watching him with narrowed eyes, and waved.

Hauling her heavy trunk behind her, the girl cut a path through the crowd, straight for him. Wayne turned away, hiding his laughter. Maybe she would tell Dawnshot all about how horses were Ruin incarnate.

The train whistled, and a conductor leaned out of the first car to announce boarding. Wayne strolled inside, making his way to the private compartment he’d booked. The journey was an overnight, but he ignored the bed and tossed his bag onto the seat, then sat beside it. Kicking his feet up to rest on the seat opposite him and tipping his hat down to shade his eyes from the low lantern light, he settled in to wait.

By the time the door to his compartment slammed open, the train was already pulling away from the station. Wayne didn’t react until Dawnshot shoved his legs off the seat, taking it for himself. He didn’t have any luggage, Wayne noted.

“For a lord, you got awful manners.” Wayne sat up, straightening his hat.

“Whatever you’re planning, it stops now. I mean it, Wayne.”

It was a little concerning how much he enjoyed hearing Dawnshot say his name like that—like the word was a set of reins he was pulling just a little too tight.

“The only thing I’m planning is a nap, mate. Now kindly leave me to it.”

“I don’t know what your purpose was, sending that child to ask me for an autograph—”

“That was her idea, actually.”

“—but I won’t be distracted or deterred. Not this time.”

Wayne stretched his arms out along the back of the seat. “You better have been nice to her.”

“Of course I was. I’m not a monster.” He fixed Wayne with a glare.

“Unlike me, you mean?”

“You’re planning to rob these people, terrifying them when they’re only trying to live peaceful lives. So yes.”

“You’re hurting my feelings, making all these assumptions about me.”

“Is it an assumption if I’m using empirical evidence?” Wax shifted, and his coat opened, revealing the gun he wore. One of them, at least. The motion didn’t seem like a threat, though. At least not a conscious one.

“Got no idea what that means, on account of I’m just an illiterate outlaw.”

The corners of Dawnshot’s mouth quirked up in what could only generously be called a smile. “I believe that as much as I believe you’re a simple passenger on this train.”

“You sound paranoid, mate. Might wanna relax. Take the bed.”

Dawnshot crossed his arms. “I don’t plan on sleeping tonight.”

Wayne met his eyes and smiled, slowly, letting the expression seep into his posture, bones and muscles shifting as languidly as a cat stretching in a sunbeam (which he sorta felt like right now, even though it was dark outside). “Me neither, now that you’re here.”

Dawnshot rolled his eyes. “Whatever you’re planning won’t work. You know I’m going to stop you.”

“If you’re so intent on ruining my night, just shoot me now and get it over with.”

“I’ll only shoot you when you make it necessary.” He glanced away, looking uncomfortable. “For your past crimes, I’ll let a judge sort you out.”

“Guess it’s lucky for me I’m completely innocent of all wrongdoing.” Wayne reached toward his bag.

Dawnshot overreacted, hand springing to his gun.

“No need for that.” Wayne raised his hands a little. “Ain’t no weapons in my bag. You can check.”

Eyes never leaving Wayne, Dawnshot reached over and grabbed the bag. He thoroughly rummaged through it, seeming disappointed when he realized Wayne hadn’t been lying.

“You got trust issues.” Wayne took his bag back and withdrew what he’d wanted in the first place—a nearly full bottle of whiskey. It was, after all, going to be a very long night.

“The last time we met, you told me you’d planted a bomb. I spent over an hour looking for it, by the way.”

Wayne uncorked the bottle. “What made you stop?”

“I realized it wasn’t like you.” Dawnshot finally took his hand off his gun. He was almost relaxed now—for him, at least. He probably never completely removed the stick from his ass, even when he was alone with his wife. “Planting explosives that might kill dozens isn’t your style. Lying about doing it, however…”

“It’s so sweet how you notice things about me.” He took a swig of whiskey to drown out what seemed to be genuine warmth blooming in his chest at the thought. Dawnshot being able to anticipate his plans was not a good thing, for fuck’s sake.

“Can’t sit back and believe all the rumors.”

“Maybe they’re all true. You already know I can turn into mist.” Wayne held out the whiskey bottle, offering to share.

“You fled into the mist that night. There’s a difference.” Dawnshot surprised him by accepting the drink. He tipped the bottle to his lips, but Wayne noticed he didn’t actually swallow.

If Dawnshot thought he could use stage sips to drink Wayne under the table, he had an unpleasant surprise coming.

“I don’t see the difference.” Wayne grabbed the whiskey and took a long pull from the bottle. Being slightly drunk would make this easier.

Or worse. He wasn’t sure yet. All he knew was sitting across from Dawnshot like this—like they were two friends passing the time with civil conversation—made him want to crawl out of his own skin. Or crawl into Dawnshot’s lap. Maybe out the window. Something.

“Do you ever get tired of it?”

For a moment Wayne thought he meant do you ever get tired of being you (the answer to which was an enthusiastic all the time, why do you think I hardly ever go without a hat?), but Dawnshot didn’t actually know him. No one did. “Gonna have to be more specific, mate.”

“The lies. The running, the disguises.”

“Nah, all that’s the fun part.”

Dawnshot watched him for a moment, his dark eyes too perceptive. “What parts aren’t fun, then?”

“Hang on, I see what you’re doing.” Wayne corked the whiskey bottle again. “Interrogating me.”

“I had to try.”

“Ain’t gonna give everything away for free. If you want the truth…” Wayne leaned forward. “You’ll have to give me something in return.”

For the first time since their eyes had met across the train platform, Dawnshot looked truly apprehensive. Wayne knew he’d thought himself ahead this entire time. He’d come here ready for violence, no doubt, but that wasn’t the game tonight.

After a long moment, Dawnshot gave a stiff nod. “I’ll bite. What do you want from me?”

Well, wasn’t that the question.

“Just a little entertainment. We’ve got hours to kill. How bout we play cards, and if you win a hand, I’ll tell you something true about me.”

“And if I lose?”

“You give me something. Whatever you like, so long as it’s not metal, for obvious reasons.”

Wayne watched Dawnshot turn over his words, looking for the trick in them, as if he were some magical creature from a story, weaving disastrous loopholes into contracts. Eventually he gave up the attempt.

“Fine. But don’t think this will distract me. I know you’re planning to steal the shipment of silver being transported in the safe car.”

Wayne gave him a wide-eyed, innocent look. “There’s silver on this train? Here, hold this.” He shoved the whiskey into Dawnshot’s hands, then popped up the small collapsible table from the side of the compartment.

Because of Dawnshot’s absurdly long legs, there wasn’t much room beneath the table, so Wayne sat nearly sideways, one leg curled under him, back half on the wall next to the window. Outside, the darkness whirred by, almost made invisible by the glare of the lantern light. He withdrew a deck of cards and began to shuffle.

Dawnshot watched his hands carefully, but it didn’t matter. He might suspect Wayne of cheating, but he wouldn’t be able to catch him at it.

The first hand played out in silence, other than Wayne asking for his bottle of whiskey back. He set it on the table, within easy reach for both of them. Dawnshot ignored it.

When their cards were on the table, Wayne frowned.

Dawnshot smirked. It looked good on him, that touch of smugness. “Well?”

“I can’t actually turn into mist.” Wayne heaved a sigh. “Not even sure where that one came from. Guess people had to make up a reason I was so good at escaping capture.”

“I’ve caught you three times now.” Dawnshot took the deck and shuffled.

“For arrests, follow-through really matters. A fancy lawman like yourself oughta know that.” Wayne took the cards Dawnshot dealt and glanced at them, though he already knew what they were. The whole deck was marked. He was going to lose this hand, but it didn’t matter.

Dawnshot frowned as they played, probably annoyed at what an excellent point Wayne had made. His sour expression only lightened when he won.

“I never wanted to be the Outlaw King,” Wayne said. “It’s just something people started calling me after the Roberts job.”

“How did you convince three previously rival gangs to work together?”

Wayne took the deck and shuffled, shrugging. “We all had a common goal. Ain’t hard to get people on board with the idea of making a lot of money.”

Maybe he shouldn’t have given that truth away for free, but he couldn’t help it. Waxillium Ladrian was surprisingly easy to talk to, even with the heavy threat of violence between them. Could be that was the thing making him so free with his tongue—the chance Dawnshot might put a bullet in him any moment.

He took another long drink of whiskey.

The next hand he lost, cause it wouldn’t be wise to start winning when he was the one dealing the cards. At least not this early.

“Contrary to popular belief,” Wayne said, leaning his back against the wall and drawing his knee up. “I didn’t somehow steal the power from a Faceless Immortal, and I ain’t a Faceless Immortal myself. I’m just me.”

Dawnshot snorted a laugh. “I think I’d notice if a kandra were sitting across from me.”

“You met one before?”

“Sometimes I wonder…” He lifted a hand to his ear, then awkwardly brushed a lock of hair behind it. Wayne noticed the lobe was pierced.

Dawnshot took the bottle of whiskey and pretended to drink, then dealt a new hand. Wayne won, without having to cheat or anything.

“Well?” Wayne held out his hand, palm up, waiting for his winnings.

Dawnshot took a moment to think it over, then clasped Wayne’s hand in his, shaking it. “There.”

Wayne tried not to focus on how warm his hand was, how it fit around his own—how just that touch made a pleasant shiver race up his spine. More whiskey would fix him. Or less.

After a second he remembered himself. He stared at his empty hand. “You didn’t give me anything.”

“Sure I did. A handshake.”

Rust and ruin, Wayne was in trouble. He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. “Guess you did. Thanks, mate. I’ll cherish it always.” And he meant it. That was the first time Dawnshot had touched him that hadn’t involved deception or violence.

Come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d touched anyone without at least a little deception or violence being involved. He’d had plenty of trysts, but all while wearing different names, different lives, different hats. And the violence—

Well. That was life in the Roughs. It got messy.

“Are you going to deal us in?” Dawnshot asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Wasn’t like Wayne to get so rusting distracted, even by a pretty face. He shuffled, wanting badly to win again but forcing himself to injog a weak hand for himself instead of a strong one. He had to let this play out slowly, or Dawnshot might get bored and shoot him out of hand.

“My favorite rumor about me,” Wayne said cheerfully after he’d lost, “is the one where I’m actually not a lone person, but a network of people working together to pretend there’s some mystical Outlaw King doing jobs all over the Roughs.”

“Couple years ago, we thought it might be true.” Dawnshot shuffled absentmindedly. “Tracked down all the reports of your robberies, compared travel times and distances. Witness statements are all over the board about you, like they’re all describing different men. Found a couple of instances where the timing was impossible, but those were bad copycats using your name to scare victims.”

“How do you know one of them’s not the real Wayne?”

“Because they were easy to catch.” With a deft flick of his wrists, Dawnshot dealt the cards.

Wayne lifted the whiskey bottle in a mocking toast, then drank. The alcohol was muddling him enough he no longer felt so terrified of the idea of Dawnshot killing him tonight.

After all, it was what he deserved.

This time when Wayne lost, he was happy to, and the truth tumbled out of him without resistance. “I never meant to become a legend.”

Everything he’d done—everything he did—was about survival. There was no other path for a murderer like him. Plus, he happened to be really good at outlaw stuff. In many ways, he’d been made for it.

“Wayne…” Dawnshot’s voice was too soft, too gentle—too much.

Wayne sat up and pushed his hat more firmly onto his head, then he held the whiskey out. “Don’t make me drink alone, mate.”

This time, when Dawnshot pressed the bottle to his lips, he actually swallowed. A small victory.

They played hand after hand, each winning and losing about half the time. Wayne lost track of the exact score, but he didn’t forget a single thing he’d gotten off Dawnshot.

The second time Wayne won, he tried to give him another handshake, and though Wayne appreciated his commitment to bending the terms of their agreement to his own interests, he refused to accept.

“No giving me the same thing twice,” Wayne said. “Each truth I’ve told is a new one, so you gotta do the same.”

Dawnshot fished in his pockets and handed over some lint instead. Wayne accepted it as if it were pure aluminum.

Soon Wayne had a small pile of little treasures on his side of the table: lint, a broken wooden button, a length of twine, butcher paper that had once held jerky, an inch of thread come loose from a seam on Dawnshot’s coat, and—most wonderfully—a crisp white handkerchief.

For Wayne’s part, he’d managed to only tell him useless things—where he’d been born, the age he was when his Ma died, his favorite time of day. Nothing a lawman could use to anticipate his plans. At some point, their game of give-and-take had started to resemble an actual conversation, though Dawnshot never let his guard down. In his posture remained the promise of the gun on his hip, and Wayne’s awareness of it never faded, even as he started to get a really unwise level of drunk.

Didn’t much matter. If things got outta hand he could heal away the haze.

“Read ‘em and weep,” Wayne said triumphantly, putting his cards on the table.

Dawnshot rummaged through his pockets, frowning.

“You know,” Wayne said as he idly watched him at it, “you could give me cash. Upstanding bloke like yourself is bound to have some.”

“My gut says if I start betting real money, you’ll start cheating.”

Wayne snorted, taking another long sip of whiskey. I been cheating the whole time, he almost said, but caught himself.

After a minute or so, Dawnshot stopped searching his pockets and seemed to weigh his options. Then he sighed and popped the top button off his shirt, exposing a little of his throat beneath his cravat. “Here.”

“Already got a button. Breaking the rules, that is.”

“This is a different button.”

“Semantics.” Wayne waved him off. “Suppose I give you a different version of the same truth over and over?”

“If you change the truth, it isn’t truth anymore.”

“That explains an awful lot about you, mate.” Wayne was currently slouched against the wall, his legs stretched out on the seat and crossed at the ankles. He sat up and spun until his feet were on the floor, then leaned toward Dawnshot. “There’s loads of ways to say a single truth.”

Dawnshot considered that for a moment, then nodded. “You’re—and I can’t believe I’m saying this—you’re right. But a button isn’t the truth.”

“Missed your calling as one of them philosophers.”

Dawnshot rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He pulled a one-boxing note out and slapped it on the table. “Keep in mind, this is the only cash I’ll give you, since duplicates aren’t allowed.”

An unfamiliar warmth bloomed in his chest that knocked him breathless while he tried to diagnose it—not quite joy, not quite excitement, but—oh.

Affection. That was new, and rusting inconvenient. Wayne acknowledged that he’d felt a casual lust for Dawnshot since they’d met, but that was harmless. He just happened to be Wayne’s type—tall, handsome, dangerous, competent, tall, willful enough to push back against him when needed—which didn’t have to mean anything.

Real affection, on the other hand, was trouble.

He dealt another hand, making sure he would win. Didn’t much feel like sharing truths anymore.

Cards revealed, Dawnshot sighed, then reached for the whiskey. “What happens when I run out of things to give you?”

“There’s plenty of stuff left to give me, like with the handshake.” Wayne shrugged. “Or you could go away and leave me to my nap.”

“Any suggestions for intangible things, then?” Dawnshot asked, uncorking the bottle.

Wayne watched him through his lashes, pretending to focus on the deck of cards in his hand. “Well, you can always give me an orgasm.”

Dawnshot choked on the whiskey. When he was done coughing, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Or a punch.”

“Those is fun, too.” Wayne winked. “But promise to keep the action contained to this compartment. Lots of innocent-bystander types around.”

“Are you threatening the passengers?”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop a couple degrees. “Course not. I ain’t even armed, and you know I’m a Slider by now. Not a very destructive type of Allomancy on its own. Unlike steelpushing.”

“Good point. Stand up.” Dawnshot’s voice was stern and commanding. Wayne hopped off the seat before his whiskey-dulled brain caught up. He swayed a little.

Time to sober up a touch. He tapped healing until he felt clear headed again, though he kept the loose, unsteady posture of inebriation. No need to tip his hand, metaphorically speaking.

Dawnshot stood as well, looming over him. Wayne stared up at his face, feeling warm all over.

“What now, Lord Ladrian?”

“Hold your arms out.”

Wayne did, this time because he was curious. When Dawnshot reached toward his chest and touched him, his heart jumped. But it was only—

“You’re searching me?”

“You claim to be unarmed, but I only checked your bag, not your person.” Dawnshot smiled pleasantly. “So, I’m giving you a pat down.”

“Help yourself.” He couldn’t even be mad, and he wasn’t worried—he really had come unarmed. Staring into the middle distance, he focused on serious, non-sexy stuff. Otherwise when Dawnshot got down to his hips, things might be a little awkward.

When the search was over, Wayne was… disappointed. Which was dumb. The touches hadn’t meant anything. Dawnshot had been very professional about it, and he hadn’t even confiscated the little vial of bendalloy flakes he found in Wayne’s breast pocket.

And, you know, Dawnshot was here to arrest him. He couldn’t forget that.

Before Wayne could offer to deal again, someone tapped on the door. Dawnshot, realizing how close they were standing, retreated, leaving Wayne to answer.

“Tickets, sir?” The woman at the door held out a gloved hand. She wore a smart uniform and a cute little hat Wayne couldn’t help but envy.

He handed them over with an amiable smile. “How’s your evening been?”

“Pleasantly uneventful.” She glanced at the tickets—Wayne had purchased two, anticipating Dawnshot crashing the party—then punched holes through them.

“Hope it stays that way the whole journey.”

“Oh, the night is young.” She returned the tickets to him. “The dining room is open now. It’s three cars back.”

Wayne thanked her and shut the door. The cabin seemed smaller now, for some reason. Like maybe he’d forgotten where he was and what he was doing.

“Hungry?” Wayne asked, forcing a grin.

“If you’re going, I’m going.” Dawnshot was all stiff and standoffish again.

Maybe the intrusion from the outside world had reminded him about his job, too.

The dining car was only half full when they arrived. A happy coincidence, since Wayne felt that was the optimum number of people around to maximize the concept of not wanting to cause a scene, but it wasn’t so many people a jumpy, paranoid lawman like Dawnshot would get too twitchy. They were seated in a booth at one end of the car. When the server arrived, Wayne ordered for them both, just to annoy Dawnshot.

“I assume that also means you’re paying,” Dawnshot said when the server had left.

“You should really be treating me, seeing as you being here is a pretty big inconvenience to my plans.”

“And what plans are those?”

“A nap, mate. We already talked about this.” Wayne glanced around the room, taking in their fellow passengers. No one seemed to be paying them any mind, but he’d still have to be careful with what he said. They both would, or rumors might spread about outlaws attacking the train. He thought of the little girl on the platform and hoped she didn’t spend the whole trip terrified. “So,” Wayne continued. “Where’s Lessie?”

He was surprised he hadn’t spotted her or Miles yet. Dawnshot rarely worked alone these days.

That wasn’t the lighthearted topic of conversation Wayne had been hoping for, apparently. Dawnshot narrowed his eyes.

“I’m not telling you anything about her.”

Wayne lifted his hands in a placating motion. “All right, sorry. Just being polite. Asking after the missus and everything.”

“She’s well. And none of your concern.” Dawnshot seemed to force himself to take it down a couple notches. “Thanks. If you actually care, that is.”

“I do. Never met her, but she seems like my kinda people.” Honestly, she and Dawnshot would’ve made great outlaws, if their pesky morals hadn’t gotten in the way.

Unbidden, the image of the three of them working as a crew hit him, followed by loneliness so sharp it almost took his breath. He wasn’t jealous of Lessie exactly—it was more he wanted what she and Dawnshot had. A true partnership. But there was no one in the world Wayne could ever really trust. He’d learned that over and over again.

“I actually think she’d like you,” Dawnshot said, and this time, when his lips quirked up, it looked like a real smile. “After she broke your jaw for stabbing me and leaving me to die.”

“You weren’t gonna die.”

“I could’ve bled out.” Dawnshot kept his voice down, at least.

“But you didn’t, cause I know what I’m doing.”

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their meal, which Dawnshot ate in a sullen silence that struck Wayne as very tantrum-like. He ordered them a couple top-shelf whiskeys in an attempt to smooth things over. They’d very nearly been getting along before the ugly stabbing accusation reared its head.

Dawnshot eyed the whiskey with distrust, but when he sipped it, his eyes slid closed for a moment.

“Haven’t had a drink this fine in a while.”

“Bet you grew up with all the most expensive spirits.”

Dawnshot opened his eyes to roll them at Wayne. “I’m not sure what idea you have about people in Elendel, but they don’t usually give hard liquor to children.”

“This might surprise you, mate, but I spend as little time as possible thinking about the pampered folks in the Basin.” Wayne sipped his own drink. It was smooth, with a smoky aftertaste, much better than what he could usually afford.

“You could go see it,” Dawnshot said.

Wayne snorted. “Why? Got everything I need out here in the Roughs.”

“There’s better work in Elendel, especially for a man of your intelligence—stop laughing. I know you want people to underestimate you, but I see through the act. You don’t have to be an outlaw.”

“Guess I could turn my efforts away from robbing trains and start robbing honest folk of their money the legal way, by working for a bank.”

Dawnshot sighed. “You’re not wrong. But even out here in the Roughs, you could be helping people.”

“I help lots of people. Everyone on my crew gets a fair cut. I see them fed, keep them away from the noose as long as I can.” He couldn’t really help when people like Doug got themselves blown up out of sheer stubbornness, but he tried to minimize casualties.

“You know that’s not the kind of help I mean. I’ve seen you, Wayne.” Dawnshot leaned in, lowering his voice, and Wayne forced himself to not react. “There are two types of outlaws in the Roughs. There are people who enjoy hurting others, who’d be doing it no matter what circumstances they were born to. Then there are people like you, who think it’s the easiest way to survive. But it isn’t, and eventually, you’re going to do something you can’t take back.”

“Everything is so black-and-white with you, mate.” Wayne drank the last of his whiskey, no longer wanting to savor it. Then he stood. “I’m heading back.”

He turned and fled the dining car, not waiting to see if Dawnshot would follow.

The lantern burned low in the empty compartment. The remnants of their game sat on the little fold-out table, the deck still waiting for clever hands to stack it. Wayne walked to his collection of winnings and picked up the handkerchief, then tucked it away into the same pocket as the other two he’d got off Dawnshot. He didn’t turn when he heard the door open.

“We don’t have to be enemies,” Dawnshot said softly as he closed and latched it behind him.

Wayne adjusted his hat, reminding himself who he was. The desire to give in, even for one night—to make a truce, lower his guard, submit to the inevitable—wrapped around his chest and squeezed. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.

When he finally faced Dawnshot a moment later, it was with an easy grin. “How bout another hand?”

“Not really in the mood for more games.”

“Then you’re on the wrong train.” Wayne spread his arms and stepped back. “How bout we up the stakes? If you win, I’ll answer a single question truthfully.”

“And if I lose?” Dawnshot hadn’t moved from his spot in front of the door.

“You give me one thing I ask for. But still no metal.”

“As long as I deal.” Finally he sat down.

Wayne slid into the seat across from him. Not dealing made things a little riskier, but he didn’t mind. His pulse thrummed, anticipation making him hyper aware of everything. The thought of losing wasn’t that bad. Not if it was Dawnshot he was losing to.

All too soon the cards were on the table. Wayne had won. He leaned back and smiled sweetly at the lawman sitting opposite him.

Dawnshot scowled. “Go on then. I’m guessing you want something like my coat or my left boot?”

“Both good options, but nah. I want a kiss.”

Dawnshot blinked. “A kiss? That’s it?”

“I’m a simple man—” Wayne ignored the snorting laugh in response, “—with simple wants.”

“Fine. Come here.” He said it the way he always seemed to say Wayne’s name, with that biting edge of command.

Wayne’s heart lurched in his chest enough to make him almost instinctively tap healing. He barely kept himself from climbing over the table, holding onto the last scraps of his dignity by his fingernails. Instead he stood up like the fine, level-headed infamous outlaw he was and stepped across the small compartment. Dawnshot rose to meet him.

When they were mere inches apart, Dawnshot lifted a hand and gently tilted Wayne’s chin up. He stared into Waxillium Ladrian’s deep brown eyes, afraid to move—afraid to even blink—and risk shattering the moment. Dawnshot’s touch left his face, but a moment later his warm fingers gripped Wayne’s, pulling his right hand up.

Never breaking their gaze, Dawnshot kissed Wayne’s knuckles, his lips barely grazing the skin. It was so brief it might not have happened, yet the touch burned through his body the same as if Dawnshot had used a branding iron.

Wayne swallowed, mouth suddenly dry. “That ain’t exactly what I meant by a kiss.”

“You should’ve been more specific.” Dawnshot smirked at him—

Then he whirled Wayne around, pinning his arm behind his back. Cold metal snapped around his wrist.

“Well now you’re just sending mixed signals—”

“I don’t think I am.” Dawnshot secured the other cuff to the metal rail of the luggage rack. “You can take the bed. It’ll be more comfortable for you.”

The bed was indeed on the same level as the bar he was shackled to. With a sigh, he climbed up, then rolled onto his side so he faced the compartment. Dawnshot settled back into his seat, arms crossed.

“You just gonna stare at me all night? That’ll make it hard to sleep.”

“That’s not my problem.” Dawnshot smiled with empty cheerfulness. “Whatever stunt you’re trying to pull is making me stay awake all night. I’m not exactly sympathetic to your suffering.”

Wayne groaned and rolled onto his back. With one arm stretched out, it wasn’t so bad. Not like he’d be able to get any sleep with Dawnshot lurking, though.

He closed his eyes and played back the memory of Dawnshot’s lips against his hand, the press of their bodies together even as Dawnshot handcuffed him. At least this trip wasn’t a total loss.

Hours later, a jolt woke him. Wayne mentally swore at himself. Falling asleep around an enemy was a great way to end up dead. He ran a hand through his hair to find his hat was gone.

Sitting up as much as possible, Wayne glared down at the seats. He parted his lips, tirade already forming on his tongue, but he paused.

Dawnshot was asleep. His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and in one hand he clutched Wayne’s lucky hat. The bastard.

He could get out of the cuffs. Get his hat back, then jump out the window. Dawnshot would wake at some point, alone, knowing he’d been beat.

Wayne shut his eyes again. Maybe after the rest of his nap.

As dawn broke over the horizon, the train began to slow, nearing the station. Wayne had been awake for a while, but Dawnshot was still sleeping. He coughed loudly.

Dawnshot jerked to wakefulness, looking up at Wayne, then relaxing when their eyes met.

“Excuse me, lawman, but I’d like to report a theft.”

Rubbing his eyes, Dawnshot stood. “Oh?”

“Some scoundrel took my lucky hat.”

“How lucky can it be?” With swift movements, Dawnshot unlocked the cuff attaching Wayne to the rack, then slapped it over his other wrist. He left the hat on the seat.

Stiffly, Wayne hopped down to the floor. “The day’s still young.”

“We’re at the station. If you were going to rob this train, your chance is gone. I sent Lessie and Miles ahead yesterday, in case you planned to hit the safe car here.”

“Ain’t got any such designs on whatever cargo this train is hauling.”

“Then why are you here?” Dawnshot asked, clearly not believing him.

“You’ve been awful nice to me, so I’ll tell the truth for free.” Wayne stepped closer, cuffed hands in front of him. “I’ve spent the last year lying low, it’s true. But I also been listening, and when the occasion called for it, spreading rumors.”

“What kind of rumors?” Dawnshot sounded a little worried.

“The kind what can trap a lawman. I made sure you’d know I planned to be on this train, to see if you’d come. And you did.” Wayne grinned. “You’re obviously obsessed with me, mate.”

The dumbfounded expression on Dawnshot’s face was a thing of beauty. “You—you did all this to see if I’d take the bait? But you had to have known you’d be captured.”

Wayne shrugged. “To be honest, you’re shit at follow-through. I ain’t worried.”

“Lessie and Miles will be waiting on the platform. I like our chances.”

When the train stopped, Dawnshot marched him out, one hand firmly gripping his arm, Wayne’s hat and bag in the other. The milling crowd parted momentarily, revealing Lessie and Miles halfway down the platform.

Time to make his exit. This had really gone on too far already, but—

He hadn’t wanted the game to end.

If he fucked this up, it’d serve him right. He pulled the vial of bendalloy from his pocket and downed it before Dawnshot could stop him. Then he threw an elbow back into his sternum. When Dawnshot’s grip was loose, Wayne grabbed his bag and hat and ran for it.

As soon as he was clear, he made a small speed bubble. He broke his thumbs to get out of the cuffs, then pulled out the shawl he’d stashed in the bag. After it came the long skirt, which he shimmied on over his pants. Outfit in place, he stuffed the bag into his shirt to give the illusion of breasts, and hunched.

Just another old lady waiting for a relative to arrive. She squinted at the crowd, huffing. That grandson of hers better not have gotten the dates wrong in his letter.

She turned away and dropped the speed bubble. The final part—which pained her but was necessary—was shoving the hat into the head of the first man she passed of appropriate height. The man looked at her with confusion, but she bustled on, going about her business.

Thirty seconds later, shouts rose up.

“I didn’t do nothing!” A man shouted. “Somebody just gave me this hat without saying why!”

She shook her head, tutting. Kids these days. Her shuffling steps brought her to the departures platform, where another train waited. She hopped aboard, having already purchased a ticket days ago.

In another private compartment, Wayne changed into a fresh disguise, watching the crowds mill chaotically outside. Seemed some flashy Coinshot was flying around, looking for someone.

He’d likely be at it for a while.

The whistle blew, and the train began to move, leaving the station behind.

Chapter Text

After half an hour, Wax had to admit defeat. He’d lost Wayne. Again. The crowd around the platform was dwindling, and there was no sign of him. At least he hadn’t stolen anything—other than Wax’s peace of mind, and bit of his dignity along with it.

When Wax lowered himself to the ground with a steelpush, at a quarter of his weight, his heart seemed to sink as well. He’d wasted all this time and energy for nothing. Lessie was going to laugh at him, and he deserved it.

“Can’t win ‘em all,” Lessie said as she approached him. There was mirth in her eyes, but she was clearly trying to contain it for his sake.

“I had him. Then he was gone.” It happened fast—but of course it had. Wayne was a Slider. Wax had gone in knowing that, but when he’d found the bendalloy he’d been too—guilty or soft or something—to take it from Wayne. It was expensive. Hard to replace. And Wax knew how he’d feel if someone confiscated all his steel, which was much easier to obtain.

One you have a soft spot for. Lessie’s words echoed through his mind. Maybe she was right.

Lessie looped her arm through his and rested her head against his shoulder. They started walking away from the train. “So, did he try anything?” she asked.

Wax’s heart jolted, until he realized she didn’t mean anything in the same way Wayne might’ve.

He cleared his throat. “No. He claimed he wasn’t there to rob it. We… played cards most of the night.” That was the truth. There was no reason for it to burn inside him like a lie.

“I’m guessing you’re broke, then?” Now Lessie did laugh. “Serves you right, betting against a man like that.”

“We didn’t play for money.” Wax realized how that sounded, so he hurried on. “We played for truths. And meaningless trinkets.”

The kiss on the hand had been meaningless, after all, only serving to annoy Wayne. Yet the look in his eyes as Wax had tipped his chin up—

“Wax?” Lessie said softly. “You all right?”

He shook his head. “Just angry with myself. The whole thing was a game to him. He never intended to rob the train. He only wanted to see if I’d show up to stop him.”

“Well.” Lessie paused, and Wax knew she was trying to come up with a justification that would placate his bruised ego. “We’re lawkeepers. We can’t afford to call bluffs like that. You did the right thing. If you hadn’t shown up, he might’ve gotten bored and done something stupid.”

“He was alone. He couldn’t have managed much.” A spike of unease shot through him at the thought of Wayne getting himself killed in a reckless, half-baked robbery.

“I’m glad it all turned out good in the end,” Lessie said.

“Good? He got away.”

“Yes, but you had a nice trip with your friend—”

“We’re not friends!” Wax’s voice was a little too loud, so he lowered it. “I’m hunting him.”

Lessie patted him on the shoulder. “Of course you are, dear. That’s why you cuffed his hands in front of him. So he’d get away, and you could keep chasing him.”

“That’s—” Wax grasped for an adequate response, but there was none. He changed the subject. “Where’s Miles?”

“Said he wanted breakfast.”

“Is he angry with me?”

“I can never really tell with him,” Lessie said.

They reached the end of the platform and strolled down the steps that led to the town’s main street.

“Sorry for wasting both your time.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was a waste.” Lessie grinned up at him. “More like a little vacation from work.”

Maybe she was right. Wax hadn’t brought Wayne in, but he hadn’t walked away empty-handed, so to speak. He understood Wayne a little more, now, and knowledge was a dangerous tool to hand an enemy.

There was always next time.

Chapter Text

Contrary to popular wisdom (not that Wayne had much to do with any kind of wisdom as a rule), good help wasn’t actually hard to find. It was hard to keep, and being an outlaw compounded the issue.

More than a year working solo jobs had made him nostalgic for the days he worried Doug was going to murder him in his sleep. Time to find partners who wouldn’t double cross him at the first chance—as opposed to the third or fourth.

His quest led him here, riding an aging mare across an empty plain, wearing the light brown hat of Annie, a woman who’d tried her luck at ranching but couldn’t make it work. She’d always been better at stealing, anyway, and the Simmon Boys needed extra hands for a job. She’d heard about the opportunity from an old friend and decided to give it a shot.

The Simmon Boys were currently operating out of a decrepit barn in the middle of nowhere, even by Roughs standards. The nearby farmhouse was a charred skeleton, some long-ago fire having eaten away the rest. If Annie had believed in omens, she might’ve turned her horse right around when she saw it. But she had mouths to feed back home, so she urged her horse into a trot the last hundred yards, until the shadow of the barn fell over her. She dismounted and tied the mare up near a water trough.

Being Wayne was too much of a liability lately, what with Dawnshot obsessively dogging his steps. Hopefully Annie would fare better. And if she played her cards right, she might end up running the whole operation before long.

“Who the fuck are you?” said Tim, the youngest of the Simmon brothers, as she strolled toward the entrance.

“Name’s Annie. Carl mentioned you needed some extra muscle.”

Tim pulled a face. “Yeah, muscle. Not a little thing like you.”

Annie knew she wasn’t much to look at—just a mousy brown braid and a slim build. She only wore enough cosmetics to subtly change her face, with clothes a few sizes too large to make her seem even less intimidating. But that was the whole point, and the third in command of a gang like the Simmon Boys should’ve known that.

“I came all this way,” Annie said in a flat voice. “At least let me talk to your brothers.” She wasn’t real eager to head right back out into the midday heat, and her horse certainly needed the break.

“Fine. Go on in.” Tim waved her through the open doors.

Seemed like pretty lax security, but Annie took advantage of it anyway. Inside, the scent of old hay and rotting wood filled the dusty air. She almost sneezed. People milled around, maybe a dozen of them, some of them eating lunch, others taking shots at the bottles lined up in what had once been a loft. Half the floor had caved in, but the ladder was still intact.

In a stall near the back, the two elder Simmon brothers stood hunched over a map, arguing about the best time of night to hit the target, whatever the target was. As Annie approached, they stopped bickering and stared at her with suspicion.

“Who let you in here?” Jim, the middle brother, asked.

“Tim. Carl told me you was looking to hire on some extra help.”

“We need muscle.” Kim, the eldest, looked her up and down with a critical eye. “You don’t appear to have enough of that.”

Annie stared up at him, unsmiling. She wasn’t the cheerful type, and this was getting old. “I might surprise you.”

People tended to assume Wayne capable when he presented as a man, but as a woman suddenly he was too delicate to be trusted with anything.

“Prove it,” Kim said, “and you’re in.”

“And how should I go about doing that?” If she had to jump through an extra hoop, that was fine. Just as long as she got her cut.

Kim glanced at the people gathered round the improvised shooting gallery. Annie followed his gaze, and her heart tried to jump out her throat.

Somehow she’d missed it before—details less clear coming into a dimly lit barn from a day spent in the bright sun—but one of the men was familiar. Wayne would know him anywhere, even in cheap Roughs clothes that hadn’t seen good days in a decade, even with his hair tied in a little tail at the base of his skull, even with a coat that didn’t look like a lion had got after the bottom half.

Dawnshot was here, standing in a room full of outlaws. Annie started to sweat, but Kim wasn’t looking at Dawnshot. He pointed to a woman near him.

“Go a couple rounds with her. She handed Jim his ass earlier—”

“ Kim! ” Jim said in a classic little-brother whine.

“—so if you can hold your own, I guess you ain’t completely worthless.”

“Sure thing, boss,” Annie heard herself say. Wearing the hat of a different outlaw was supposed to be easy. She wasn’t supposed to end up crossing paths with Dawnshot before she got a chance to get this persona’s feet wet.

And, naturally, it got worse. The woman near Dawnshot wasn’t just anyone—she was Lessie. Annie was a pragmatic woman by nature; she did what she had to do to survive. But fighting Dawnshot’s partner and wife right under his nose—

No, no. Annie had no way to know who they were. She’d never met Dawnshot, and clearly he was attempting some sort of disguise anyway, so the best course of action would be to continue on as planned. Wait and watch. Sidestep any arrests that may or may not be coming down the line.

First she had to prove herself against an opponent who had a couple inches on her. At least reach wasn’t everything.

“Hey,” Annie called when she got close. “Boss wants us to fight.”

Lessie raised her eyebrows. “Why?”

Annie crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Cause he don’t think I’m muscle material. Gotta prove it.”

“Oh, that.” Lessie huffed a sigh. “Said the same thing to me, then I knocked Jim out cold for a solid ten seconds.”

“Damn, I shoulda thought of that.” Annie found herself almost smiling. She very carefully didn’t look at Dawnshot. “I’m Annie, by the way.”

“Sara,” Lessie said, extending her hand. Annie shook it. “Nice to meet you. This is my partner, Kevin.” She gestured to Dawnshot.

Annie gave him a single nod. Kevin. It was taking an awful lot of energy to keep from bursting into laughter. That’s what rich boys from Elendel thought people named their kids out here? If Annie survived the night, she’d have to convert to some religion or other, cause it would be a miracle.

“Okay, then,” Annie said. “Let’s get this done.”

“I don’t see why this is necessary,” Kevin interjected, in the exact same voice Dawnshot used. It was like he wasn’t even trying.

“Stop worrying about me, Kev,” Lessie said, hitting his name with a little extra force. “I can take care of myself. Plus,” she winked at Annie. “She seems like a good time.”

Annie was immune to such attempts at charm, even if her cheeks got a little warm. “I’ll meet you outside.” It was too crowded in the barn for a proper match.

A few minutes later, everyone was gathered on the shaded side of the dusty yard, arrayed in a wide, loose circle. Annie stood facing Lessie.

“No weapons,” Kim said, almost lazily. “Fight til someone drops and can’t get back up. Try not to kill each other, though.”

Lessie took off her coat and handed her gun to Dawnshot—sorry, to Kevin —and tied her hair up. Annie similarly shed her top layer, and removed her whole gun belt (since drawing the weapon would’ve made her hand shake bad enough everyone would notice), then rolled her sleeves up to the elbow.

“Not gonna take off your hat?” Lessie asked as they began to circle each other.

“Keeps the sun outta my eyes.” Annie raised her fists and her guard. She’d only ever seen Lessie at a distance, but she’d heard plenty of stories. Dawnshot had the flashy Twinborn status and the title, but Wayne was pretty sure he’d have been dead a long time ago if not for teaming up with Lessie so early in his career. Annie couldn’t underestimate her just cause she liked staying in Dawnshot’s shadow for some reason.

“I’ll try not to hit you so hard you lose it, then.” Lessie grinned and darted forward.

Annie almost didn’t see it coming. Lessie had a very nice smile, and she was fast. Annie barely blocked in time. Now that they were close, she threw a few jabs of her own, testing how fast Lessie’s response was.

Back and forth a couple times, and neither of them had landed any real hits. Annie couldn’t help but smile, pulse racing. Lessie feinted right, but Annie anticipated it.

Ending the fight quickly was always best practice, no matter your opponent. Brawling was exhausting work, and since Annie couldn’t be seen using healing, she’d tire more quickly than normal if she took hits. So she went all in with a left hook to Lessie’s head—

Only to find herself swinging through empty air. She leaned into it, spinning around and ducking on instinct. Annie’s braid whipped around and hit her in the eye. This was why Wayne wore his hair short. In the half second of distraction, Lessie pounced.

Annie’s head knocked back, and she tasted blood, but she kept her feet. Dancing back to give herself space, she wiped the back of her hand across her nose. Yep. It was bleeding. Her lip was cut, too. That just made Annie angrier that she even had to be part of this farce.

She rushed Lessie and raised her right fist, winding up. But instead of following through, she swept her legs. Lessie’s eyes went wide as she fell, but she wasn’t down long enough for Annie to take advantage. She flipped back up in a move that was honestly so sexy it made Annie freeze for a crucial second.

Lessie, for some reason, gave her an ounce of mercy and didn’t press the advantage. When Annie recovered, reminding herself if she didn’t at least give this a good showing she was out of a job, she came at Lessie hard. No more distractions, no more worry about what Dawnshot would do if she roughed up his wife.

She landed a few quick jabs in Lessie’s stomach, then had to dart out of the way of a punch that probably would’ve loosened some teeth. Lessie straightened up, still grinning, and motioned Annie forward.

The rest of the world fell away, leaving only them and the dry soil beneath their boots. Distantly, she was aware of cheers and shouts, of the hot air filling her lungs, of the sweat rolling down her back. But the fight was like its own speed bubble. She could ignore everything but how Lessie moved, where her gaze darted.

The openings she left.

Annie moved in as Lessie’s guard flagged on her left side. By the time she realized it was a trap, it was too late. Lessie spun to the right and grabbed Annie’s arm, using it to pivot her in a move Dawnshot had used the last time they’d met. Annie found herself helpless, back pinned to Lessie’s chest, Lessie’s arm around her throat in a chokehold. As fun as this was, what with the breasts pressing into her and the pressure on her throat, she couldn’t lose like this.

Using her entire bodyweight, Annie pitched forward, knocking Lessie off balance. She kept going, taking them both to the ground. They landed on their sides, the impact knocking Annie’s hat off. Annoyed about that, she bit Lessie’s arm, which was still cutting off her air.

With a yelp, Lessie let go, then Annie was on top of her, pinning her arms above her head.

“You yield?” Annie asked in her usual flat voice. She stared down at Lessie, taking in her half-closed eyes, flushed cheeks, and slightly parted lips. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, in time with Annie’s.

When the moment had stretched just a little too thin, and the warmth rushing through Annie couldn’t be explained by the mere exertion of a fight, Lessie started laughing. “Can’t believe you bit me. Yeah, I yield.”

Annie stood quickly, eager to be anywhere other than atop Dawnshot’s wife. She held out a hand to Lessie, though, cause her Ma had taught her manners. Lessie took it and hauled herself up, still seeming in good spirits despite having lost. As Annie went to retrieve her hat, Dawnshot broke from the milling crowd and approached.

Her instinct was to get her hackles up, but she reckoned that was a normal response. Outlaws never really could trust each other.

“Guess that means you’ll be joining us,” Dawnshot said. He really should’ve tried to disguise his voice. Hearing it sent a familiar thrill through Wayne, and it made him want to do something reckless and stupid like reveal himself just to see the look on his face.

Instead, Annie stooped and picked up her hat. She put it on before answering. “Looks like.”

“Just… don’t do anything reckless out there.”

With a distrustful glance up at him, Annie frowned. How many times would she have to prove herself capable? Unbidden, a few snide remarks came to her lips, all of them heavy with innuendo. But Annie wasn’t Wayne; she couldn’t be, or Dawnshot would notice. Assuming he hadn’t already. “I’ll say the same to you. This is my first time working a job this big, and I’d like it to not be my last.”

Dawnshot looked like he wanted to say more—probably eating him alive he couldn’t magically save everyone here from such an awful life of crime and debauchery—but nodded and turned away.

Kim approached, clapping Annie on the shoulder. “Nice work. You’re small but feisty. Come inside, and I’ll get you caught up on the plan so far.”

The plan, if Annie could be so generous as to call it that, was lacking. As in it lacked a coherent strategy, it lacked a clear exit, and it lacked that special something that took a job from low-level thievery to a true heist. If Wayne had been planning—

But he wasn’t. Annie was muscle. Stand where she’s told, hurt who she’s told. Make sure the gang gets out alive. Those were her jobs. Thinking was for the bosses.

Anyway, even if their plan had been airtight (and it very much wasn’t), the Simmon Boys had already let rusting Dawnshot and Lessie in on it, so it was never gonna go how they wanted. Annie only stuck around cause it would be suspicious for her to leave—plus, she wanted to see how it all shook out.

They weren’t going to make their move until nightfall, so she passed the time pretending to nap while watching the others. Dawnshot, naturally, tried to worm his way into the planning session where Kim and Jim were still debating the best angle of approach, but he was unsuccessful. Lessie was more pragmatic and stuck to cleaning her guns. Most of the others seemed to know each other, save for five or so other new hires like herself, Dawnshot, and Lessie. Those hovered on the edges of groups who laughed and joked, playing cards and drinking.

It was hard not to miss it—being part of a gang. Even if he could never really trust them, they’d still been friends of a sort. Maybe one day he’d get the chance to work with some of them again. In the meantime, he’d stolen Darla’s accent for Annie, and a lot of her mannerisms, which was almost the same as having her around.

“Annie.” Lessie said her name like a caress, and it startled her from her thoughts.

“Yeah?” Annie stared up at her apprehensively. She’d found an out of the way spot in the corner of an old stall, hoping to observe without being observed. But here Lessie was. She glanced behind her. Dawnshot was back at target practice, impressing the rest of the crew with his marksman skills. Like it was hard to point and pull a trigger.

(Never mind that Annie couldn’t even draw her gun without succumbing to weakness.)

“Here.” Lessie knelt beside her, holding up a wet rag. “For your nose. Does it hurt?”

Annie raised a hand to her face. There was still blood drying on her lips and chin. She hadn’t really noticed it, or the pain. It was novel, to have to heal the slow way. The ache was a low throb now, nothing she couldn’t handle. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a mess.” Lessie reached forward, motions slow, and dabbed the cloth on Annie’s lips. The coolness of the fabric sent shivers through her.

He should’ve grabbed the rag himself. He didn’t need anyone’s help; he’d been on his own his entire adult life and then some. His nose wasn’t even broken.

Annie’s hands didn’t move to push Lessie away. She closed her eyes for a long moment, breathing slow, shallow breaths as Lessie cleaned the dried blood from her skin. When the soft pressure vanished, Annie glanced up.

Lessie was staring at her with a strange intensity she couldn’t quite name, but it made her flush and look away.

“Much better now,” Lessie said quietly. Then she stood and walked away.

“Thanks,” Annie said, too late, cause she was already gone.

Across the barn, Lessie joined Dawnshot, leaning up to say something in his ear. Whatever it was made him look right at Annie, but his expression was impossible to read. She pulled her hat down lower and pretended to go back to sleep.

At last it was time to head out. Annie was restless and a little fidgety, on account of Dawnshot looming around the place. He and Lessie no doubt had a plan to ruin the job. As Annie checked the straps of her horse’s saddle, it occurred to her she coulda gone to Kim and told him she recognized Dawnshot from some previous chance encounter. The thought left a bad taste in her mouth. That would be a great way to get him and Lessie killed.

It would’ve made Wayne’s life easier, sure, but… worse, too. He could no more fault Dawnshot and Lessie for the work they did than he could fault a lion for killing cattle. Predators were predators, prey was prey. The lawkeepers and outlaws alike were only following their natures.

All she could do was hope to get away clean. She peeked into her saddle bag, comforted by the sight of the black wide brimmed lucky hat inside. By the time Annie was astride her horse, near the back of the group heading north away from the old barn, she’d convinced herself she was doing the right thing, letting it play out.

Around midnight, they arrived. A winding road bound by high cliffs on either side. It was a nightmare for anyone paranoid about ambush. Not a particularly inspired spot to rob a stagecoach, but that wasn’t Annie’s problem. She’d spent the ride watching Dawnshot and Lessie, listening to their casual banter, hoping to hear something slip. Neither of them gave her anything, though, except a stabbing ache in her chest for every surprised laugh, for every lingering touch between them.

But Annie wasn’t one for wallowing in everything she didn’t have. Only the heroes got their happy endings, riding off into the sunset together. Villains like her were bound for loneliness.

“You three,” Kim pointed to Annie, Dawnshot, and Lessie. “North side. Wait for the stagecoach to pass, then circle around behind. There will be guards, but we’ll handle them.”

The stagecoach was carrying cash from Elendel, payroll for some mine or other. Annie hadn’t paid attention to the details, cause they didn’t matter. The mining company could take the hit, they’d bring in more funds. It was practically a victimless crime. She had no idea why Dawnshot and Lessie had even bothered to infiltrate the gang as opposed to just riding with the stagecoach itself, unless they hadn’t known the target. Even so… it felt a little below their usual caliber of bounties. The Simmon Boys were small-time nuisances.

Maybe Wayne should’ve started worrying about all this hours ago, back at the barn, but he couldn’t be blamed for being knocked a bit off-kilter by seeing Dawnshot and Lessie, then having to fight her and all.

Figuring out the why of it didn’t matter, and it was too late anyway. They’d only been in position ten minutes when the sound of approaching hoofbeats filled the cold night. Annie glanced at Dawnshot and Lessie. They hadn’t spoken a word since Kim had sent them here, but significant looks passed between them. Must’ve been useful to have that level of connection—where you didn’t even need words to communicate.

With a thunderous cacophony, the forward guards came into view. The stagecoach was a few yards behind them. Annie counted quickly. Fifteen guards. An immediate and almost visceral sense of wrong reared up inside her. That was too many. Whatever was inside wasn’t just a few thousand boxings.

Not her problem. Too late to run for it. The final guards galloped past, and the three of them rushed out of their hiding spot, cutting off retreat.

Gunfire filled the air, along with shouts and screams. The team of horses pulling the coach spooked and tried to run off the road, but the guards and the gang blocked them. The driver was trying to calm the horses when they took a bullet and fell off the coach.

Annie didn’t move for a moment, frozen by how quickly things had gone sideways. Back at the barn, Kim had talked about outnumbering the guards and forcing surrender. But bodies fell on both sides. She was supposed to be helping, but she couldn’t—she couldn’t draw her gun even if she wanted to.

Dawnshot dismounted and joined the fray, openly shooting at the gang. Lessie followed suit. Yeah, no thanks. Time to let the professionals handle it.

Annie was about to turn tail and run, but a high pitched scream from the stagecoach stopped her. Like some kinda brainless hero-type, she was urging her horse forward before she even realized what she was doing.

Jim and Tim were yanking someone out of the coach. In the darkness it was hard to make out details, but the lanterns on the coach illuminated a woman—no, more of a girl. She wore a very nice dress (Wayne wondered where she got it) and jewels at her throat, but she was feisty for a rich kid, kicking and screaming her head off.

Annie was headed toward her, but Dawnshot got there first, cause he cheated with Allomancy. He shot Tim in the head, dropping him, but Jim used the girl for cover. She was covered in blood spatter now, no longer screaming, all the fight in her gone and replaced with shock. Lessie appeared behind Jim like a ghost, then slit his throat. Objectively, it was horrifying. Really, it was. It took a lot of effort to cut that deep with the single stroke of a blade—Wayne would know, having been on the receiving end of that kind of sneak attack a few times, early in his career, when he’d trusted the wrong people (that is to say, anyone )—but Lessie had made it look easy. She even pulled Jim’s body away from the girl to keep more blood from getting on her.

So, yeah, subjectively, that kind of skill made Annie warm all over.

Around them, the chaos continued. Her horse shied, so she dismounted and ran the rest of the way on foot. When she finally reached the stagecoach, Dawnshot whirled on her, gun raised.

She lifted her hands. “Hey, now—”

“Don’t shoot,” Lessie said, placing a hand on his arm. “She’s unarmed.”

That wasn’t technically true, but Annie hadn’t drawn yet, and she wasn’t about to waste the precious seconds Lessie had bought her.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” she said, meaning it. “Stealing’s one thing, but I ain’t kidnapping anyone.”

Dawnshot hesitated a moment, then nodded. “I’ll get her out—”

A bullet splintered the wood near his head, cutting him off. All four of them ducked for cover. Annie glanced around. The area was too open for a Coinshot to safely escape, especially with a girl in tow. As soon as he rose above the level of the coach, every outlaw in the area (minus Annie) would open fire.

“Kevin!” Kim roared from nearby. “You killed my brothers!”

Annie was confused until she remembered Dawnshot’s fake name. Laughter bubbled in her chest, but she kept a lid on it.

“Sara helped!” Lessie called, reloading her gun. “Not that I’m keeping score, or anything.”

“We’re tied,” Dawnshot said with a grin. The expression tore something inside Wayne, but he ignored it. There was the issue of the traumatized girl to deal with.

“You distract them. I’ll get her out,” Annie said.

Dawnshot hesitated. He had no reason to trust Annie, her being an outlaw and all. But there wasn’t much choice. “Make sure she keeps her head down.”

Annie bit back the retort on her tongue ( wise words coming from the man who was gonna fly her out of here a second ago ) and nodded. She focused on the girl, who was staring into the middle distance.

“What’s your name, darling?” Annie asked her as she took her trembling hand.

“Eloisa.” She blinked and actually looked at Annie. “What’s happening?”

“Just a spot of trouble on the road, but I’m gonna get you out of here.” She wrapped an arm around Eloisa’s shoulders, keeping them both low. “Follow me.”

Annie put herself on the outside, hoping that any stray bullets landed in her own body, not Eloisa’s. It would out her as a Bloodmaker, but that didn’t matter. Shame she was too broke for bendalloy.

Dawnshot and Lessie burst from behind the stagecoach, drawing fire. Annie hurried Eloisa forward, practically holding her up as she stumbled across the dark, rocky terrain. They were halfway to the cliffs, and cover, when one of the gang lurched out in front of them.

“Trying to steal our haul,” the man said. Annie couldn’t remember his name. He had a gun trained on them. Annie should’ve had her own drawn already, but she was as defective as Wayne himself, so they were out in the open, defenseless.

“What if I am?” Annie snapped. If he shot her, that was fine. As long as Eloisa didn’t get hurt.

“No one double-crosses the Simmon—” His words cut off when a bullet hole appeared in the center of his forehead. His body dropped.

“Seemed like you needed a hand,” Lessie said, appearing at Annie’s other side.

“Dawnshot—?” Annie asked.

“He’s fine. Come on.” Lessie motioned them forward. Annie followed her, still holding Eloisa up.

A minute later, they were hiding in a sheltered alcove in the rock. The distant sounds of gunfire continued, but no one seemed to have followed them.

It was well past time for Annie to make her exit and slink away into the night. The Simmon Boys were done, both as a concept and literally, since Dawnshot was unlikely to lose to Kim in a shootout. Maybe she’d have better luck with the next gang she tried to join. All Wayne knew for sure was his lucky hat was gone, along with his spooked horse that was probably wandering around a mile or two away. And Annie’s hat wasn’t lucky.

“Thank you,” Eloisa said softly. She was crying, the tears cutting tracks through the blood spatter on her cheeks. Annie absentmindedly pulled out one of the three handkerchiefs she carried and offered it to her, but Eloisa ignored it. “Those—those men. They’re dead.”

“But you ain’t,” Annie said, a little forcefully. “That’s what matters.”

“Mother and Father said I shouldn’t come here,” she continued, wiping her eyes with her gloved hands. “But how am I supposed to take over a business when I’ve never seen a single worker under my care?”

Daughter of the man who owned the mining company, then. An obvious target for ransom. Kim and his brothers had lied to the new hires about their real objective.

Kidnapping was much more serious than what they’d normally gotten up to. No wonder Dawnshot and Lessie had gotten involved.

“Don’t worry,” Lessie said. “We’ll get you back home safe and sound.”

“I’m not going home.” Eloisa straightened. “I’m almost to the mine. We would’ve been there by morning.”

“A girl like you don’t belong in the Roughs,” Annie said. “Go back to your own kind.”

“My… kind?” She blinked. “Just because you don’t live in the Basin doesn’t make you not human. I want to know what life is really like out here, not only what’s in the reports and broadsheets.” Eloisa had a crisp, no-nonsense accent. Wayne filed it away for the next time he needed to be a willful heiress type.

“Suit yourself. Ain’t my problem.” Annie stood, tucking the unused handkerchief back with the others. She moved to leave, but Lessie caught her arm.

“Need a quick word.” Lessie glanced significantly at Eloisa. “In private.”

Despite her misgivings, she nodded. When they were out of earshot, Lessie stepped close, drawing their bodies together until they were almost touching. Then she leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to Annie’s cheek.

“Thanks for helping, Wayne.”

Annie gave her a confused look, hoping it covered for the jump in her pulse. “Who?”

“You can drop the act. You’re good, I admit. Took me a while to realize. Even after you bit me, which from Wax’s stories is just—well. Very typical.”

“I never bit him,” Wayne protested in his own accent. “Hang on—how’d you really know it was me?”

Lessie raised her hand and brushed her knuckles gently along his cheek and jaw. “You can change your voice and your hair and your clothes, but you can’t change your bones. I recognized you. He didn’t, though.”

Wayne snorted, trying to cover for the sudden flush in his skin. “Lots of people can’t see past a pair of tits, fake or otherwise.”

“It’s not just that.” Lessie studied him a moment, and it made him feel strangely… naked. “Your accent work is amazing. And the way you move. But, that’s not the point.”

“What is the point, then? Gonna try to arrest me?”

“No. I’ll give you time to get away, and I won’t tell Wax it was you. Not until we’re back home and I can have a good long laugh at his expense.” Lessie grinned. “If he knew it was you now, he wouldn’t rest until he caught up to you.”

Wayne stared at her, trying to spot the angle. “Why you letting me go?”

“Because you ran to help someone who needed it.” Lessie shrugged. “You rob and steal, but… that doesn’t make you irredeemable. Even Wax agrees.” She paused, seeming to hesitate. “You know, you could—ah, fuck. He’s done. Go.”

Wayne stumbled back, mind whirling. He kept expecting Lessie to say just kidding and snap cuffs on him, but she didn’t. She was really letting him go.

“Hope this don’t cause marital issues,” Wayne said by way of farewell.

“Nah, look at me.” She gestured to her body. “He’ll get over it.”

Turning, Wayne tried not to laugh. He’d need all his breath for running.

When he’d gone several miles, muscles burning from the effort, he stopped to rest, leaning heavily against an outcropping of rock. He took off Annie’s hat and wig, stashing them in his coat, then withdrew the two things he’d managed to lift during the chaos. The first was the fancy emerald necklace Eloisa had been wearing. Even in the starlight it shone. At least he hadn’t walked away from the job empty-handed.

The second was a white handkerchief he’d slipped from Lessie’s pocket; it matched his other three. Gently, he touched his arm, where Lessie had grabbed him. She was stronger than she looked. Wayne could see what Dawnshot saw in her, both as a partner and a wife.

He should stand up, keep moving. Hole up somewhere safe to make a new plan, find a fence for the necklace. Instead he slid down to sit on the ground and watched the sun rise, wondering what it’d be like to not have to do it alone.

Chapter Text

A week after the undignified end of the Simmon Boys gang, Wax and Lessie lay sprawled across their bed, the sweat on their skin drying in a cool evening breeze that drifted through the open window.

Lessie curled around him, head on his shoulder.  Apropos of nothing, she said, “What did you think of Annie?”

“What?” It took him a moment to put a face to the name, but he was still catching his breath. “I hope she learned her lesson and goes back to honest work, I suppose. Why?”

“She didn’t seem… familiar to you?” Lessie looked up at him, something sly in her eyes.

“Should she have?” Wax paused. “Is this some trick to get me to say she’s attractive so you can be mad at me?”

Lessie snorted. “Women don’t actually do that.”

“They do in Elendel.”

“Because they don’t have enough to keep them occupied. They should get hobbies.” Lessie rolled her eyes. “I’m asking because I wanted to know how good he was.”

“He?” Wax felt like he’d missed a step in the conversation.

“Wayne.”

For some reason, the sound of his name here, while they were lying naked in bed, made Wax’s pulse race again. Perhaps it was because it came on the heels of the phrase how good he was. “What are you talking about?”

Lessie couldn’t know about the kiss. Could she?

“Annie. Wayne. Same person.” Lessie snuggled into his side more.

“I don’t—” The truth hit Wax like a bullet to the chest. He tried to sit up, but Lessie was effectively holding him down now. “That was Wayne? The entire time?”

“Yeah. Not like he and some identical woman swapped places halfway through the job.” Lessie was shaking with quiet laughter.

“How?” Wax’s mind reeled, playing back that entire day. The fight outside the barn, the shootout in darkness. Annie wanting to help save Eloisa. “Wait—he bit you!”

“Not that hard, calm down— Wax, calm down.” Lessie pushed him back onto the mattress. Her warm hand on the center of his chest helped ground him.

Fucking Wayne. Wax hadn’t looked at Annie twice. She’d seemed like a desperate woman in over her head, new to crime, but it had all been an act. Wayne had probably been laughing at him the entire time.

“Did you know it was him?” Wax asked softly. “When you let Annie leave?”

“Yeah.” Lessie gave him an apologetic smile. “Sorry. But he helped us. When he realized the target was a girl and not cash, he changed sides.”

Wax sighed. He couldn’t be mad at Lessie, it was impossible. And, if he was honest with himself, he found it more and more difficult to stay angry with Wayne—as long as he wasn’t currently in the room. He just wished he could pin him down, understand him. Convince him to walk away from the life of an outlaw and—

And do anything else.

“How did I not recognize him?” Wax asked himself aloud. Annie hadn’t sounded anything like Wayne. She hadn’t moved like him or acted like him. “I’m beginning to see why people say he’s a Faceless Immortal.”

“What, all those reports didn’t convince you?” Lessie relaxed against him. She’d been expecting him to be upset, he realized. And she’d told him the truth anyway, because they didn’t keep secrets from each other.

He should mention the kiss, and those moments on the train when he almost—

No. Wayne was responsible for all of it, and Wax had nothing to be guilty about. It was only part of Wayne’s games, his attempts to distract Wax and make him uncomfortable.

Any future attempts at such petty manipulations would be pointless. Wax would make sure of it.

He closed his eyes and wrapped both his arms around Lessie, and tried to put Wayne out of his mind.

Chapter Text

The funny thing about newcomers to the Roughs was they always ignored warnings about the possibility of rain. They’d look at a looming cloud and shrug. Everyone else knew there was nothing more dangerous to a parched land than water. Take something away from the soil long enough, and it was bound to reject the very thing it needed.

“I ain’t so sure about this,” Wayne said with a distrustful glance at the sky. “Maybe we oughta wait a couple days.”

“When’d you turn into a hand-wringing coward?” Zeke snapped. “We gotta hit the church tonight. Tomorrow the Wolfhounds are moving the cargo to another location.”

Wayne had been working with Zeke and his crew for a few months. It was fine. They weren’t complete fools, and they tended to be very business-minded. It meant fewer fuck-ups on the job (on account of how no one imbibed any fun substances), but it also meant less camaraderie than Wayne preferred. Wasn’t his fault most people couldn’t shake off a drunken stupor with a little healing.

Zeke was blunt, too, and he’d never once laughed at any of Wayne’s jokes. Hard for a fellow not to take that sort of thing personally.

The negatives were far outweighed by the profits, though. Zeke rarely hit trains or stagecoaches. Instead he robbed other outlaw gangs. They moved around constantly, did jobs under cover of night, and made sure there were no witnesses (or at least that the witnesses weren’t particularly useful ones). Usually that meant sneaking around unnoticed, which Wayne appreciated. Stealing previously stolen goods was morally neutral at worst, but needless slaughter always bothered him.

That made him a hypocrite, being a murderer himself, but it didn’t change how he felt.

Today, he and Zeke were lying atop an abandoned building that had once housed a saloon. Every once in a while, the wood beneath them groaned in an ominous way, but so far it was holding their combined weight. Down the street sat an old Survivorist church, the basement of which was currently being used to stash goods for the Wolfhounds. Guards were visible at the entrances, and Wayne knew there’d be more inside. Over the past week they’d counted eleven total coming and going.

Zeke claimed to have an inside man, but Wayne had never met them. He was fifty-fifty on whether or not it was just an excuse to make whatever decisions Zeke thought would be unpopular seem like the best course of action.

Such as pulling a job in the middle of the first rain after a long dry season. Wayne supposed as long as they kept to high ground they’d be all right. And who knew, they might get lucky and the storm would hold off. Wayne’s new hat had seen him through several jobs now, and he hadn’t gotten so much as a scratch. He’d been able to keep his Allomancy a secret, too.

The crew knew who he was, but half of them were convinced Wayne was just borrowing a legend’s name to sound cool and important. After his year spent in semi-hiding, people were claiming he was dead. He’d sorta walked right into that one.

Maybe it was for the best. Starting over. It’d make it harder for Dawnshot to track him down, at least. Not that he considered the lawman a threat.

“If you say so,” Wayne said when he thought a significant enough amount of time had passed. Thinking about the job tonight filled him with a whole lot of… nothing. He wasn’t excited, or nervous, or any kind of eager.

Felt like work. Felt like maybe he might as well be a hostler or a clerk. At least the pay was better, even if the company was lacking.

Wayne focused his wandering attention on the three guards he could see from their vantage point, and he settled in to wait.

Heavy clouds rolled over the land, blocking out the stars. No mist tonight, which had its pros and cons. Better visibility meant an easier time leaving the ghost town behind, but it would make pursuit all the more likely.

Not that Wayne had any say in the matter, seeing as he couldn’t control the weather.

They made their move during a change in the guard. It went as smooth as always. They wore bandannas to obscure their faces, disarmed everyone as they went, moved fast so no one raised an alarm. Zeke had a policy of only communicating via hand signals during jobs, so they wouldn’t be recognized by their voices. It was eerily quiet work. Efficient, though.

All business. No spirit of fun.

Soon all the Wolfhounds were tied up and gagged in the basement, most of them sporting bruises but nothing they wouldn’t recover from. The night was warmer than usual on account of the heavy clouds. Sweat gathered on his brow, but it was from exertion loading boxes into the wagon they’d stashed nearby, not fear. Wayne was honestly… bored. Dissatisfied in a way that made no sense (not that he had any sense to begin with).

As they were putting the last of the haul into their wagon, a strange feeling spread over Wayne. A suspicion something was coming. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. Probably just the rain, but if they got moving soon they’d make it up to the hills in time. This ghost town was in a bit of a hollow, and there were signs of old floods on the rotting wood.

Before they could finish securing the crates, a shadow dropped from the sky and landed between the gang and the cellar doors. The shiver of anticipation that had been racing across Wayne’s skin spiked. He knew that silhouette, with its tattered mistcoat and drawn revolver.

Finally, he thought, smiling behind his mask. Now things were getting good.

“Don’t bother running, Wolfhounds,” Dawnshot said, leveling his gun at Zeke. “You’re surrounded—”

“We ain’t the Wolfhounds,” Wayne called back, not giving a damn that he was breaking the rules and singling himself out. He glanced around, seeing two other shadows in the night. Lessie and Miles, most likely.

“Shut the fuck up,” Zeke said to Wayne under his breath. Wow. The man really didn’t know him at all.

Dawnshot’s gun wavered ever so slightly as it turned to Wayne. There was a beat of silence that stretched too long to be natural. Wayne grinned, knowing the light from their lanterns would illuminate the expression in his eyes.

Would Dawnshot greet him like an old friend, or pretend not to know him? No telling what the proper Elendel etiquette protocol was for this sort of social awkwardness.

“You’re still stealing that shipment,” Dawnshot said, voice hard. So he was playing dumb—or maybe he just liked reprimanding Wayne as much as Wayne liked being reprimanded by him. “Put your weapons down.”

There were five total in Zeke’s little gang, against three lawkeepers. There would be casualties if it came to violence. Wayne should surrender, at least to buy himself time to give Dawnshot the slip. He’d be able to manage it easy, what with the darkness and looming storm.

“Wax!” Lessie’s shout tore through the still night. Her warning came just in time. The cellar doors were opening. The actual Wolfhounds must’ve gotten out of their ropes.

That was his signal to exit. As Dawnshot spun to face the cellar doors, Wayne downed a vial of bendalloy, preparing to burn it—

Lightning struck the top of the church in a flash that seared his vision so bad he had to use healing to clear it. The horses screamed and bolted, taking the wagon with all the loot with them. Huge raindrops pattered against the dusty ground.

And, naturally, because people in the Roughs were so rusting jumpy all the time, someone opened fire.

Wayne made a speed bubble. Around him, people were diving for cover. The Wolfhounds poured out of the cellar doors, but they’d created a choke point for themselves, and Miles seemed to be picking them off. One had his gun trained on Dawnshot, though, who’d been facing the lightning when it hit. He was probably temporarily blinded. His gun was pointed down.

Didn’t look good for him. Wayne glanced at the fleeing horses. He could catch up to them, take the entire haul for himself and leave everyone behind to sort out the mess.

Only… in that scenario, Dawnshot probably wouldn’t walk away. He was vulnerable. Lessie and Miles were too far to help, but Wayne could make it there in time.

There was always another score. Wayne took a deep breath and sprinted out of the speed bubble. Normal time resumed, and he tackled Dawnshot to the ground half a second before a bullet tore through the air he’d previously been occupying.

They landed hard, rolling in the dirt. Dawnshot lifted his gun and aimed it at the man who’d tried to kill him, though his eyes were unfocused. He fired. The man dropped, a hole in his chest.

Right. The metal thing. Wayne tried not to be jealous of how useful that was.

“Lessie?” Dawnshot asked, blinking rapidly.

They were in the middle of a firefight. It was a miracle no bullets had hit them, though at least Wayne was on top, shielding all Dawnshot’s important bits. This was no time to do anything rash. The logical course of action would be to ditch this whole fiasco now that Dawnshot wasn’t in immediate mortal peril.

Wayne’s heart raced. Maybe it was the rain, or the real chance of taking a few too many bullets, but he felt awake in a way he hadn’t in ages. Not since the last time things had gone sideways on a job, back with the Simmon Boys.

So, instead of doing the smart thing, Wayne leaned down and said, in a soft whisper in his ear, “Not quite.” Then he kissed Dawnshot on the cheek, his beard scruff scratching against Wayne’s lips.

Dawnshot froze for a moment, then his eyes finally seemed to focus. He stared up at Wayne, astonished.

Unfortunately, their surroundings offered little consideration for letting them have their fun reunion. The rain fell in heavy sheets, but a louder noise approached. The roar of rushing water. The shooting tapered off and was replaced with shouts.

Wayne finally looked away from Dawnshot’s face to stare down the main street of the ghost town. He probably shouldn’t have, in the interest of maintaining his newfound good mood.

Water thundered toward them, a wall of pitch black in the night. Everyone—Zeke’s gang and Wolfhounds alike—ran for the buildings. Wayne couldn’t see Lessie or Miles, but they’d probably make it to high ground in time.

Unlike himself and Dawnshot, who still lay tangled in the dirt, which was growing slick with rain.

“Rust and Ruin,” Dawnshot breathed, then aimed his gun at the ground. Loud as the shot was, the water about to crash into them almost drowned it out.

Wayne was about to ask what the dirt had ever done to him that it deserved to be treated so poorly, but Dawnshot grabbed him around the waist and knocked everything out of his brain that wasn’t physical sensation. They lurched into the air, and Wayne decided he oughta hold Dawnshot back. He had plenty of healing in his metalmind, but he didn’t relish the idea of getting banged around while trying not to drown.

They landed on the church roof, which wasn’t such an attractive idea what with the recent lightning strike. When their feet were settled on the sloping tiles, Dawnshot pushed him away, like he wasn’t the one what grabbed Wayne in the first place. A second later, they were yards apart, Dawnshot having retreated to what he probably imagined was a safe distance.

“Careful, mate,” Wayne said, catching his balance on the wet roof. “No point in saving me only to toss me back down to my death, is there?”

“We’re even.” Dawnshot sounded angry—almost furious. “You saved me from that bullet. I saved you from a flood.”

Wayne was surprised at how much of his own anger rose to meet it. “That the only thing between us, then? Just a score?”

“What else would there be, Annie? ” Dawnshot shouted over the rain and the distant boom of thunder.

As quickly as it had come, his anger vanished. “So Lessie told you?” Wayne laughed.

“It’s not funny!” Dawnshot raised his gun. “You bit my wife.”

“Hey, that was a fair fight and you know it.” Wayne raised his hands in mock placation. “She was choking me at the time, but you don’t see me walking round all bent out of shape about it.”

“What were you doing there?” Dawnshot demanded.

It was the cold rain making that shiver run up Wayne’s spine. Had to be. “Looking for work. Didn’t know it was gonna be a ransom job. Don’t do those on account of they end bad so often.”

Lightning hit nearby.

“Look,” Wayne said, stepping toward Dawnshot. “This ain’t really the time or place for a heart-to-heart. Next time you infiltrate a gang, might wanna pay attention to the people around you. Lessie noticed me, and you shoulda too.”

Dawnshot didn’t lower his weapon. “Take your gun out—slowly—and toss it over the side.” He jerked his head to indicate the edge of the roof.

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Wayne kept his hands up, now in more of a surrender pose than he’d intended, but it worked. “Why don’t you come take it from me?”

“I mean it, Wayne.”

If Dawnshot meant the words to be intimidating, they had the opposite effect—not that the lawman could’ve known. It had been a while since anyone had called him by his name in a way that wasn’t at least a little mocking or dubious. He hadn’t realized how much he missed hearing it from Dawnshot’s lips.

But he couldn’t draw his gun out slow—he couldn’t draw it at all. If he did, Dawnshot would see his hands shaking; he’d see him fall completely to pieces. That wasn’t the kind of weakness he could ever show to anyone, especially not an enemy.

“Why don’t we just go our separate ways? You don’t wanna arrest me. I don’t wanna be arrested. Works out perfect.”

“What makes you think I don’t want to arrest you?” Dawnshot was still quietly furious. Maybe Wayne should’ve backed off, but it only increased his desire to needle him more. Break all his stoic composure until—

Well. Wayne wouldn’t dwell on the rest of it.

“If you wanted to, you’d have done it by now. How hard is it to keep track of one person?”

“You’re blaming me for your actions?” Dawnshot shouted over the wind.

“How does you letting me go count as my own actions?”

“I never let you go. You escaped.”

“Keep telling yourself that, mate. I’ve had you wrapped around my little finger since our first kiss—” The rest of his words were cut off with the crack of a gunshot.

Wayne flinched automatically, cause guns were rusting loud, and usually when someone was shooting, he was the target. But nothing hit him. Dawnshot was pointing the gun to the left of him now. All the shot had accomplished was shutting him up and making him lose his balance a little.

As he tried to regain his footing, Wayne’s boots slipped on the slick tile. He fell, bouncing and rolling until there was only open air beneath him and the roar of the flash flood still churning past—

He caught the edge of the roof, but his grip was unsteady. Well, this was about to be real unpleasant. A huge gust of wind tore his lucky hat from his head; it disappeared into the muddy water.

Not so lucky after all.

His fingers slipped and he dropped—

Something caught his wrist. Wayne stared up, shocked to see Dawnshot holding him. He pulled, and for a moment Wayne didn’t bother helping haul himself back onto the roof. A second ago, this man had been angry enough with him to silence him with a warning shot. Now he was sorta saving his life (or at least a whole lot of trouble) again.

“Make up your rusting mind!” Wayne shouted over the wind.

“I think it’s clear I have.” Dawnshot finished pulling him to safety.

They stood together for a moment, breathing heavy, bodies close.

“That was impressive. You must be really strong, to lift me with one arm.”

“I increased my weight to get better leverage,” Dawnshot huffed. “Stop pretending to flirt with me, it won’t work—”

“Who says I’m pretending?” Wayne let his smirk fall into a glower. “Can’t believe you shot at me. Thought we was past all that.”

“I didn’t shoot at you, I shot near you.”

“What if the wind blew the bullet off course? What if it hit me right in the heart, and you had to watch me die in your arms?”

“You wouldn’t have died, you’re a Bloodmaker,” Dawnshot snapped.

For a long second, the rain roared around them. Wayne narrowed his eyes. “Dunno what you’re on about, mate.”

Dawnshot stared at him, unmoving.

The rain continued to fall, plastering their hair and clothes to their skin. Wayne opened his mouth, then closed it, then tried again. “How long you known about it?”

“Wayne,” Dawnshot said in a soft, exasperated tone, leaning close to be heard over the howling wind. His breath sent shivers across Wayne’s skin. “The day we met you fell forty feet down a mineshaft and walked away. I felt your metalmind under your coat the second time I almost arrested you. I’ve known since then.”

“If you knew the whole time,” Wayne said, staring up into Dawnshot’s eyes, which were very close. Rain dripped off his lashes. Wayne swallowed. “Why’d you bother saving me from the flood?”

“It might’ve killed you anyway, and I… don’t want that to happen.”

“If you’re so worried about me, how come you used a rusting gunshot to stop me talking?”

Dawnshot smirked, and the expression went straight to Wayne’s cock. “Because you’re infuriating.”

Wayne parted his lips but no sound came out. Dawnshot’s gaze flicked down to his mouth, so he snapped it shut.

A strong gust of wind threatened his footing, and instinctively he grabbed hold of Dawnshot, who was exceptionally steady. Must’ve still been heavier than normal.

Shockingly, Dawnshot wrapped his arms around Wayne, partially sheltering him from the wind. He expected to feel metal snap around his wrists, or rope, but there was only the heat of him and the wet fabric against Wayne’s cheek as he tried not to press his face directly into Dawnshot’s chest.

He never wanted to move. Despite the icy rain and awful wind, it was perfect.

Until the roof caved in beneath them.

Dawnshot gripped Wayne tighter and did some fancy steelpushing that resulted in them tumbling almost softly onto dusty wood. The drop hadn’t been as far as he expected. Light filtered up through cracks in the floor. They’d landed in a small attic, apparently.

It was marginally warmer in here, and quieter compared to standing out in the storm, but rain still poured through the hole they’d made. It was streaming away from them, at least, following the slight grade toward the door.

They lay on their sides, facing each other. It wasn’t particularly comfortable, what with his arm being trapped beneath Dawnshot, but the lawman was lighter than expected—probably cause he didn’t want them to break this floor, too.

Wayne didn’t move. Who cared if his arm went numb. So what if he was soaked through and shivering from the cold. Dawnshot would keep him warm.

“Are you hurt?” Dawnshot asked.

“Should be asking you that, mate. Bloodmaker, remember?”

Dawnshot sat up slowly. Wayne wanted to pull him back down, but that would be beyond pushing his luck. “You could be out of healing. I was just being polite.”

“Yet you still shot at me.” Wayne rolled over on his back, folding his hands beneath his head. The room was dim, but from this angle he could see little was left up here. Mostly cobwebs and debris. “Bet you’d feel like a right old asshole if you’d miscalculated and I’d died.”

“You can’t lie there all night.” Dawnshot kicked Wayne’s foot, jostling him. “Take off your coat, at least. We have to stay warm.”

“I got an idea for that—”

“Wayne.” Dawnshot gave him a flat look.

He wanted to tell Dawnshot what it did to him, the way he said his name like that, but he knew if he did, Dawnshot would stop doing it. Instead he tucked it away like another stolen trinket, his to cherish. “What? It works.”

Dawnshot only shook his head and pulled off his sodden mistcoat. He spread it out on a dry spot of floor, then removed his drooping cravat, long fingers deft in their movements.

Wayne should be following suit. He was shivering now. But he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the show. When Dawnshot began unbuttoning his shirt, though, Wayne felt he was tipping a little too far into unwanted voyeurism. He glanced away and decided he oughta do something about his own sorry state.

With a sigh, he sat up and shrugged off his coat. There were dry patches of his shirt, but a good half of it was completely saturated. It would be uncomfortable for a while. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ignore his trembling.

Dawnshot began rummaging around the little attic in the dim light. The motion drew Wayne’s attention, and he stared. At some point when he hadn’t been looking, Dawnshot had taken off his shirt. A few drops of rainwater slipped from his long hair down his collarbone and over his bare chest.

There was no reason for the way Wayne’s pulse jumped at the sight. He’d seen plenty of people without a shirt on. He wasn’t some swooning high-class lady from Elendel, getting all hot and bothered over someone’s ankles or wrists. Maybe it was just—just that he could see Dawnshot’s scars. It was interesting, is all. The story of a legendary lawman written across his skin.

Scars were neat, especially to a Bloodmaker like him. So what if he wanted to trace each one with his tongue? It was a very reasonable reaction.

Dawnshot pulled a thin, worn blanket from beneath a stack of empty boxes. “Better than nothing.” He sighed and shook out the blanket, then turned, catching Wayne staring. “What?”

“Just admiring my handiwork,” Wayne said automatically, pointing at his side, where the scar of a shallow knife wound sat.

“Not sure if you should be bringing up the time you stabbed me.” Dawnshot always said the words in that offended tone, like Wayne was some sort of jerk. “I’m still armed, you know.”

“It’d just be a waste of bullets, mate.”

Exhaling a huff that might’ve been amusement or annoyance (or both), Dawnshot sat on the other side of the attic, wrapping the blanket around his broad shoulders. Pity.

Wayne held himself a little tighter, staring up at the hole in the roof. Eventually, the storm would pass, and he’d slip away. Maybe he’d be able to track down the wagon and horses and make off with all the loot. Things with Zeke just weren’t working out.

“Take your shirt off and come over here,” Dawnshot said outta nowhere, in that voice of his that assumed obedience.

It made Wayne’s thoughts stutter into silence. “What?” he managed to say, mouth dry.

“You’re shivering. The blanket’s big enough for us both. We need to conserve heat.”

Wayne relaxed. Dumb of him to assume a fine upstanding lawman was talking about anything other than mere survival. Probably bad for business when the outlaws you were chasing died of hypothermia on your watch.

He stood and crossed the small space, but he didn’t remove his shirt. Dawnshot glared up at him—which was a really fun new angle for him to be scowling from, Wayne had to admit—and leaned away.

“Your shirt’s soaking wet. Don’t tell me all that flirting was just bluster, and you’re actually shy?”

“I ain’t.” Wayne realized he was still hugging himself, but it was only cause of the cold. He stood there for a moment, trying to get his body to stop shaking. It didn’t work.

Truth was, his shirt was icy now, and miserable, and Dawnshot looked awful warm wrapped in that blanket. If he took his shirt off they could sit together, skin-to-skin—

He huffed and began undoing the buttons, hands barely cooperating. He wasn’t shy. It was just habit, to keep his metalmind hidden. But Dawnshot already knew about it, and he’d seen Wayne’s bare chest before, so what was the harm? He’d been naked in front of other people, it had just been a while. And this was only a shirt. There was no need to go round acting like a skittish horse.

Dawnshot stood and took Wayne’s hands in his, stilling them. His skin was hot and dry. Wayne wanted to lean into him, but instead he froze.

“Let me,” Dawnshot said gently, before he reached for the buttons. Wayne let him undo them all, hoping he couldn’t feel how his heart raced.

“You really gotta stop making a habit of undressing me.”

Perhaps wisely, Dawnshot ignored his glib comment, continuing his task with single-minded focus. When it was done, he stepped back. Wayne thought about pretending he was shaking too hard to pull the clingy fabric off his shoulders, but he didn’t relish the idea of earning more than a warning shot.

When his shirt was off, Dawnshot wrapped one side of the blanket around him. They sat together, leaning against the wall furthest from the hole in the roof. Wayne’s shivers slowed, then stopped.

All he could seem to do was breathe in and out and try not to think about the skin touching his. As always, Dawnshot had been very professional. He hadn’t looked twice at Wayne or his metalmind. Kind of offensive, when you thought about it. Almost as bad as Zeke never laughing at his jokes.

“I have to admit,” Dawnshot said, breaking the awkward silence, “all those years I spent hunting you before finally catching up to you in that mine, I never suspected you were Twinborn.”

“That’s the whole point of keeping it a secret.” Wayne stared into the room so he didn’t have to look at Dawnshot. “No one’s supposed to suspect it.”

“Plenty of outlaws brag about their Allomancy or Feruchemy.”

“Yeah, and those blokes got short careers, don’t they? If you know what to expect from someone before going up against them, you can prepare.”

“True.” Dawnshot chuckled. “If I’d known you were a Slider and a Bloodmaker before raiding your hideout, I’d have approached it differently.”

“And here I am, still alive and free.”

“How’d you manage it, though? Surely someone would’ve noticed your metalmind. Miles never takes his off.”

“I don’t normally work topless.” Wayne wrapped his fingers around the gold band, as if that could hide it after the fact. “Though that might make certain types of bystanders more amenable to handing over their valuables.”

Dawnshot actually laughed, proving Zeke had been the one in the wrong this whole time after all. “I didn’t mean during robberies. What about when you’re with a woman?”

“They can’t see through clothes, you know.”

“I meant when you’re… intimate.”

Wayne finally turned to look at him. “Don’t gotta take all your clothes off to have sex. And it ain’t just women. I don’t go round discriminating against hot people just cause of their gender.”

Dawnshot held his gaze for only a moment before glancing away. “Right.”

Wayne thought they were done talking about it, but he’d only just started to relax when Dawnshot spoke again.

“Wait—what about long term partners? They never questioned why you didn’t…” He trailed off.

Talking about such lowbrow matters as sex with a lord was kinda fun. “Never had a long term partner. ” Wayne said the words in Dawnshot’s fancy accent. “Now that I think on it, I never fooled around with the same person twice.”

“Doesn’t that get lonely?” Dawnshot sounded so rusting sincere. Shouldn’t have been endearing, but it was.

“Nah, I can find company when I want it.”

“But does anyone know you?” Dawnshot stared into his eyes. “Do they see you?”

Lightning lit up the attic, and thunder boomed right along with it. Wayne had never been happier for an interruption.

“When you reckon this storm will pass?” he asked lightly, staring at the hole in the roof. “Honestly, I’m shocked you ain’t out looking for your wife.”

“She can take care of herself. Searching for her in this weather is more likely to get us both lost, and she knows that. I’ll wait it out here.” Dawnshot paused. “You didn’t answer my questions.”

“Not very polite of you to ignore my attempts at changing the subject, Lord Ladrian.” He spat the name like a curse.

“You can call me Wax, you know. I’m not a lord, especially out here.” Infuriatingly, Dawnshot sounded pleasant, like they were just having a casual chat over dinner. Like he hadn’t gotten so fed up with Wayne not too long ago that he’d had to use gunfire to silence him.

“If it’s all the same to you, mate, I’d rather not pretend to forget what you are.”

“I’ve said it before, and I mean it: we don’t have to be enemies.”

“Sure, so long as I change everything about myself. Bend to your rules.” Wayne stared at him, jaw set, ignoring the ache of want in his chest. “Don’t see you tripping over yourself to become an outlaw like me.”

“If I wanted to take advantage of people and ruin lives, I’d have stayed in Elendel.”

“Not everyone gets the choice between rich lord and playing pretend in the Roughs.” He wasn’t sure why he bothered to explain it to Dawnshot. He would never understand.

Wayne was a murderer. A criminal. Nothing would ever change that. Naive optimism was for people who could afford it. He wished he could leave the room—or even stake out his own corner of it—but they were stuck together for now. Instead, he pulled his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them, staring at the floor so he could pretend he was alone.

Of course, Dawnshot’s shoulder was still pressed to his, and their body heat mingled together beneath the blanket. There was no escape. Not until the storm passed.

The silence was heavy, at least for a while. Wayne’s natural inclination was to break it, to ruffle Dawnshot’s feathers until they were snapping at each other over meaningless things. But he kept his mouth shut and watched the rain pour through the hole in the roof and run through the cracks in the floorboards.

Eventually, the quiet wasn’t so oppressive. It was almost comfortable. Despite the damp cuffs of his pants, Wayne was warm. He closed his eyes, intent on only resting them a moment.

Sometime later, he twitched awake to find his head tipped against Dawnshot’s shoulder. He was asleep, too. Wayne almost stole the whole blanket for himself, but he didn’t like the thought of Dawnshot getting too cold and suffering for it.

Instead, he curled closer to him and let the rain and distant thunder lull him back to sleep.

Morning light shone in Wayne’s eyes. He blinked, annoyed, and rolled over. When he felt the scratch of an old blanket against his bare skin, he shot up. He never slept without a shirt. It was too risky. Someone might walk in and see him—

The storm, the flood, the attic. It came back to him as he rubbed sleep from his eyes. His coat and shirt sat neatly in one corner (though he remembered leaving them crumpled), but he was alone. Dawnshot had wrapped the blanket around him and left.

Wayne stared down at his hands, which were very distinctly not cuffed or tied up or anything. Which meant… Dawnshot had… let him go. No pretenses, no threats.

Standing slowly, he let the blanket drop and picked up his shirt. He pulled it on, doing up the buttons, wishing other hands were handling the task.

After he put on his coat, he checked his pockets. Bendalloy was still there, as were his handkerchiefs. He’d taken a new one last night, right after tackling Dawnshot out of harm’s way. Five total, now. He could open a shop and sell them if this kept up. Come to think of it, Dawnshot might run out eventually, assuming he wasn’t having them shipped in regular from Elendel.

He pulled out the new handkerchief and brought it to his cheek. The fabric was soft, smelling of rain and gunpowder and Dawnshot’s skin.

Wayne smiled and tucked it back safely with the rest.

Chapter Text

Wax found Lessie on the second floor of the abandoned saloon, the pale light of dawn illuminating her prone form. When he touched down on the landing, she stirred, sat up, and stretched.

“Morning,” she said in a sleep-rough voice. “You didn’t go looking for me in the storm, did you?”

“Would you have married a fool?” He held a hand out for her. She pulled herself up, then snaked her arms around him.

“I married a man who worries too much.” Lessie leaned up and kissed him. Then she glanced over his shoulder, as if searching for something. “Where’s Wayne?”

Fortunately, he’d anticipated this question, so he didn’t falter as he told his carefully constructed lie. “Lost him when the flood hit. I’m sure he had plenty of healing, though. He’ll be fine. Speaking of, hope Miles didn’t end up too far—”

Lessie took a step back, her arms falling away from him, leaving him cold. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not—”

She raised her eyebrows. He paused, clearing his throat.

“I lost him again, is that what you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth. I saw you two on top of the church, for the record.” She crossed her arms, staring at him. Waiting.

Wax exhaled a long breath. “Fine, I took him with me when I ran from the flood.” He paused, on the cusp of telling her about the warning shot, but the memory made shame and guilt bubble up inside him. He’d regretted it the moment he pulled the trigger, because a part of him had wanted to shoot Wayne himself, just to hurt him for a moment, even knowing he could heal away the damage.

Wayne pushed his buttons constantly, but that was Wayne. Wax shouldn’t have been so affected, especially not by mere teasing.

Maybe the fact that it was only teasing—and not sincere—was what infuriated him so much.

He continued the story. “The roof gave out, and we got stuck waiting out the storm in the church attic. When I woke up—”

When he’d woken up, Wayne had been curled up beside him, which wasn’t surprising. What had been a shock was how peaceful he’d looked, and the way it had wrenched something in Wax’s chest to watch him, to be near him, to—

“—he was gone.” Wax pushed the memories away. The phantom of the ache still lingered, twisting his heart. The sensation was familiar, but he refused to name it. Refused to make it real.

Because it wasn’t real. It had just been a weird night.

Lessie tilted her head a little, watching him as if trying to decide whether or not he was lying.

“Would you have arrested him if he’d been there?” she asked.

This truth he could give her. “No.”

She smiled. “Someone’s made a new friend!”

Wax turned and jumped over the railing, landing lightly on the first floor, which was still partially flooded. “If you’re done acting like we’re all schoolchildren, I’m going to find Miles.”

“Hey, come back so you can carry me like the gallant gentleman you are!”

Wax made it to the doors before he broke and turned. He couldn’t say no to her any more than he could leave her behind.

Plus, this way would be faster, and he intended to be out of town before Wayne woke up.

Chapter Text

Patience was a virtue, which musta been why Wayne never had any, being a very unvirtuous type of person. Moving too fast didn’t normally trip him up (probably on account of all the practice with bendalloy), but this time he’d made a right mess of things.

So, maybe attempting a coup before he’d rallied enough support had been a bad idea. Rushing it had resulted in the leader of the outlaw gang executing him to serve as an example of what would happen to anyone else who went round suggesting better cuts of the profits and more game nights. Clearly that gang hadn’t been for him.

As Wayne slowly dug his way out of the shallow grave he’d been tossed in, he tried to work backwards and figure out where his life had got so off track. Didn’t take long. A year and a half ago, he’d lost his lucky hat in that cave-in. Ever since, it was like his skin didn’t fit right, like every step he took was the wrong one, like he was missing something or forgetting something, only he’d forgot what he forgot in the first place—

Hot afternoon air caressed his fingers. Finally. Hopefully the gang was gone; he’d only been buried about fifteen minutes. What kind of criminals got rid of a body in the middle of the day? At least they’d wrapped him in a sheet back at the hideout, so no one driving the wagon out here noticed he healed.

And, best of all, they hadn’t looted his body, so he still had his new lucky hat. It was proving its worth already.

By the time he’d pulled himself from the grave and dusted off best he could, there was a smile on his face. Sure, it was hot, and he had no idea where he was, and his metalmind was running a bit lower than he liked. But there was a pleasant breeze, and it was a fine day for a long walk to town. Wherever and whatever town happened to be.

Wayne spun in a slow circle, taking in the lay of the land. He was in the middle of a long flat plain, and hazy rocks rose in the distance. Wagon tracks led west, but he wasn’t eager to follow those. East, then.

Rummaging through his coat, he pulled out his canteen and shook it. Plenty of water. Then he checked his flask, which was similarly well stocked with whiskey. It could still be a good day.

He began whistling a tune as he started walking east. But something to his right caught his eye. Movement. He turned, but there was nothing. Must’ve been a little critter running over the dry ground. Before he could turn back to continue walking, something further afield shimmered through the haze of heat. Two horses. Could’ve been wild, but two was an awful small number for a herd. Wayne hesitated. East, to the unknown, or south to check on those horses and maybe get into a little trouble.

The choice was obvious.

As he walked south, he realized the horses were making slow progress in his general direction. Soon he was close enough to make out details through the rippling air: they had tack and saddles on. So, not wild. Interesting, that.

Maybe after all this time he really had settled on the right lucky hat. Not only would having two horses make the trip to civilization a whole lot more comfortable, he could sell them for a tidy profit.

He approached them slowly, wary of spooking them, but he needn’t have bothered. The horses trotted right up. One was a large gelding, the other a mare about a hand shorter than her companion. Their tack looked well cared for, the leather smooth with no signs of wear.

“Where’d you two lovelies come from?” Wayne asked them as he slowly circled to the gelding’s side. He reached for the saddle bag, intending to do some rummaging for valuables, but the horse shied back. “Hey, all right, no need for that. We’re all friends, ain’t we?”

Rudely, the two horses began to canter away. They stopped after a few dozen yards, though. Huh. Maybe Wayne had been a little too hasty—it was a theme of late—and he should try it slow.

When he got close this time, he softened his voice. Could be these horses were prejudiced against people with strong Roughs accents. He swapped to one from the border, mimicking a hostler he’d known from that region.

“Now, I just want to make sure you two find your way back to fresh oats and clean water.” And a good home, too, but he felt it was a little offensive to mention selling them to their faces.

Once again, he got almost close enough to take the reins hanging loose from the gelding’s bridle before both of them took off.

Run and stop. Run and stop. Wayne followed the horses for a solid two hours before he realized he was, indeed, following them somewhere. He noticed hoof-prints in the dusty earth leading the way they’d come, meaning the horses were backtracking. It should’ve been reason to stop, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. He passed the time wondering what would be at the end of this journey. Could be piles of rare metals. A village lost to time. Some kind of horse utopia, or an oasis.

When he finally reached something other than the continuous rise and fall of the desert, he had trouble discerning what it was he was looking at. He paused, taking a sip from his canteen, squinting into the afternoon sun. The horses were stopped a dozen yards from a strange shape. Two big lumps rising out of the ground. Rocks? But there was something long and pointy sticking out the tops of both. He got closer.

The scene resolved itself into the truth, and Wayne stopped in his tracks. Two people were bound and gagged and tied to wooden poles rising from the ground. Whoever’d trussed them up hadn’t spared on the rope budget. Wayne himself would’ve had trouble escaping, and he could break any bones he needed to. They were alive, struggling, trying to call out past their gags.

A few yards closer and the victims’ faces became clear. Wayne stopped again, but this time it was to laugh.

Dawnshot and Lessie. It was them. They’d sure pissed someone off to end up here, waiting to succumb to dehydration, or for a wandering pack of hunting lionesses to come across them.

They’d seen him, but whether or not they recognized him yet was hard to say, on account of their wordless, muffled shouts. He took his time sauntering over to the horses, who seemed less agitated now and allowed him to dig around in their saddlebags. He found the usual trail supplies, including vials of steel flakes in whiskey. Huh. What was the point of tying up two enemies if you were going to abandon their horses to wander?

There was probably a long story behind all this. Wayne grabbed the reins of both the horses and slowly led them over to the wooden poles. He tied them off above Dawnshot’s head. He and Lessie both were on their knees, staring at him intently. Lessie looked beseeching-like, but Dawnshot’s eyes held only anger.

“Come here often?” Wayne asked, sitting down a yard away, facing them.

Muffled words, but the tone was clear enough. Wayne translated for them, aloud. When he reached for Dawnshot’s accent, he found the voice was right there, waiting, like it never really left his head.

“Untie us now, Wayne,” he said because Dawnshot couldn’t.

They stilled, sharing a look between them, so Wayne translated that, too.

“Wow,” he said in Lessie’s voice, “he sounds just like you, Wax.”

Switching to Dawnshot, he continued. “No he doesn’t. I don’t sound that pompous. Do I?”

Lessie again. “There’s a reason they call him the Faceless Man, Outlaw King of the Roughs. I wish I were that sexy and talented— right, no, I’m editorializing with that one,” he said in his own voice. “Sorry.”

Dawnshot and Lessie stilled, staring at him.

“What is wrong with you?” Wayne said for Dawnshot. Then his reply, “Well, an awful lot, but lately I’m bored, and fate just handed me a very entertaining way to pass the time.”

Slowly, he took out his canteen, unscrewing the top with the utmost care. He tipped it back and drank a long swallow of water. A little escaped his lips and dripped down his chin. Both their eyes followed the bead, gazes clouded with desire.

For a second he imagined they were looking at him like that, but it opened up a hollow pit in his stomach, so he stopped.

“Oh, thirsty? How long you been out here?” Wayne took in their skin, red from the sun but not peeling, sweat still gathering at their hairlines. “Half a day, maybe?”

Lessie did her best to nod with her limited range of movement.

“How’d this happen?” Wayne tucked his canteen back into his coat pocket. “Hang on, lemme guess. You was making new friends.”

Dawnshot rolled his eyes. “I’ll tell you everything if you cut us free,” Wayne supplied.

“Course I’m gonna set you free. But I don’t trust you not to run off as soon as I do it. Or shoot at me, on account of how much you seemed to enjoy it last time.”

Lessie cut Dawnshot a questioning look, eyebrows raised. “You shot him? You didn’t tell me about that.”

Dawnshot stared up at Wayne, eyes wide. In them, he could clearly see there’s a lot I haven’t told Lessie, but that didn't seem particularly diplomatic to speak aloud. Instead, he skirted the truth in Dawnshot’s voice. “It was a warning shot, and it’s just Wayne. He can heal.”

Lessie looked affronted on Wayne’s behalf. “That’s no way to treat a friend.”

The words were out of his mouth before he really processed them. Strange, that. The way his insides felt like they were stuffed full of fluffy rainbows or something. They weren’t his friends, not really, but Lessie seemed to think so. He wasn’t used to anyone being offended at the idea of him getting hurt.

“That ain’t the important stuff,” Wayne said, changing the subject for them. “I’m still waiting on the story of how two legendary lawkeepers ended up lion bait.”

Dawnshot and Lessie both glanced away, chagrined.

“Ambush, then?” Wayne sighed. “I noticed you’re down a man.” He stood up and began to pace in front of them. “I reckon I know what happened. This was all a setup so Miles could infiltrate a dangerous outlaw gang. He had to capture you to prove his loyalties, but he convinced them to tie you up and leave you for dead instead doing the smart thing and killing you outright. Only when it came time for him to slip away and free you, he couldn’t manage it, so now you’re stuck.”

He paused, glancing at the horses. “Miles has nothing to do with this,” Wayne said in Dawnshot’s voice.

“Yeah, plus it don’t explain how the horses got here. Wandering round with all your stuff inside.” He looked to Lessie. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

She rolled her eyes. “Remove the gag and I will. Stop messing around, Wayne. This is serious.”

Maybe she had a point. Their positions didn’t look too comfortable, and whoever had done this to them might be escaping as he stood here making wild conjectures.

“Fine,” he said at last. “But I ain’t got a knife, cause the folks what killed me earlier took all my weapons.”

Dawnshot jerked his head toward the horses. “Check the saddlebag.”

Wayne did, finding a small knife near the bottom. He grabbed it and circled around to Dawnshot, kneeling beside him. “This is the same knife I took from you the day we met! Don’t worry, your lordship, I ain’t gonna stab you this time. Or kiss you again, not that I could do it proper with the gag in the way.”

Dawnshot froze, then closed his eyes for a long moment, exhaling an annoyed breath. “Goddammit, Wayne.”

He paused, knife hovering in the air. Lessie was giving them both a confused look.

“Kiss?” Wayne supplied in her voice. “What is he talking about?”

If Dawnshot had been free already, he probably would’ve punched Wayne. That much was clear in his glare.

“Sorry, mate, how was I supposed to know you never told her? Kinda offensive, to be honest. I thought it was a lovely kiss.” Wayne moved away from Dawnshot, deciding he better cut Lessie free first. She looked a lot less liable to test how much healing he had left in his metalmind.

He made quick work of the ropes binding her, then he sheathed the knife and tucked it into his pocket so he could untie her gag. She rubbed her wrists as he carefully reached around to the back of her head, where the cloth was knotted. Wary of snagging her hair, he undid it and slowly pulled it away.

“You’re a lifesaver,” she said, with her own voice and everything. “How’d you find us?”

Wayne was a little surprised she wasn’t asking follow-up questions about the kiss, but he wasn’t going to make an issue of it. “Happened to be in the neighborhood, and I couldn’t let a beauty such as yourself waste away out here.” He winked at her.

For some reason, she took his flippant response for genuine. “Thank you, Wayne. I’m really glad you’re here,” she said, meeting his gaze. “Not sure how we could ever repay you.”

“I can think of something.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “Oh? What do you want?”

Sometimes Wayne’s mouth said things with absolutely no input from his brain. That must’ve been happening now, cause there was no other explanation for his next words. “Lemme kiss you. Only fair I make it even, on account of I kissed your husband.”

Lessie blinked. She clearly hadn’t been expecting that (which was fair; neither had Wayne). After a moment of consideration, she nodded. “Sure, but no tongue.”

Dawnshot was struggling against the ropes, trying to say something past his gag, but Wayne couldn’t understand him.

“All right, then.” Aware that Dawnshot was mere feet away, watching them, Wayne gave her a slow smile and took her right hand in his. He lifted it to his lips, kissing her knuckles. As his mouth brushed her skin, he glanced to Dawnshot, meeting his gaze and holding it.

He’d stopped struggling, and his anger turned to exasperated amusement. I suppose I deserve this , his eyes said. Wayne kept that between the two of them. Not everything needed to be translated aloud.

Taking her hand back, Lessie laughed. “What a gentleman.” She tried to stand, but stumbled. Wayne caught her, but he did his best to live up to the whole gentleman thing and kept his touch as brief as possible. When she’d gained her feet, she leaned against the wooden pole, shaking out her limbs.

Unable to stall any longer, Wayne turned to Dawnshot, hand hovering over the pocket where he’d stashed the knife. He left it alone for the moment, instead kneeling in front of him.

“And what will you give me for freeing you?” Wayne asked, grinning.

“I won’t break your nose for you,” Dawnshot said with his eyes, Wayne speaking for him.

“So touchy.” Wayne lifted a hand and trailed it along Dawnshot’s jaw, fingers only barely brushing the stubble there. A visible shiver went through Dawnshot, though he didn’t pull away. Continuing the motion, Wayne tangled his fingers in his hair, until he found the fabric’s knot. He took his time untying it one-handed, never breaking eye contact. Dawnshot swallowed around the gag.

With his free hand, Wayne palmed a fresh handkerchief from Dawnshot’s pocket. He didn’t notice, of course. He had other things to focus on.

Lessie cleared her throat. “Wayne, stop messing around. We need to get moving.”

“Right, right.” Wayne used both hands to remove the gag. He pulled the cloth away, revealing the red lines where it had dug into Dawnshot’s skin. Wayne had the nonsensical urge to try to kiss them away, but he didn’t. First off, Lessie was untying the horses and would notice. Second, Dawnshot was still tied up, so it wouldn’t be sporting.

Looking away, Wayne focused on getting his knife out and cutting the ropes. He expected Dawnshot to have an awful lot to say to him, but he was quiet. Wayne couldn’t help but read the silence as icy. It was what he deserved. He knew that—it was only—he’d just found the prospect of needling the two of them irresistible.

When the restraints fell away from Dawnshot, Wayne braced himself. But he only staggered to his feet, like Wayne wasn’t even there. He would’ve preferred the broken nose.

Wayne stood, forcing an easy smile as he adjusted his lucky hat. “So, someone gonna tell me what happened?”

Dawnshot stood with his back to him, rummaging through a saddlebag. Lessie answered, though.

“We got some bad intel. Big Ben was supposed to be on his own, with minimal guards. Miles is on another job, but we thought we could handle this ourselves. Unfortunately, he was expecting us.” She grimaced. “Guess we’re lucky he likes big dramatic methods of murder.”

“Simplest tends to be most effective.” Wayne gestured to the front of his shirt, which was soaked in dried blood from the several bullet holes his ex-boss had put in him last night. “Assuming whoever you’re shooting can be killed that way.”

“You gonna tell us your story?” she asked.

“Nah, it’s not nearly dramatic enough to compete. So, you walked into a trap? How come you didn’t just walk right back out?”

“Big Ben has Allomancers on his payroll now, apparently. A Leecher got Wax, the Lurcher got our guns. It was a disaster.” She glanced at Dawnshot, who was silent, still pretending to search for something in his horse’s saddlebag. His shoulders were tense, posture stiff. When she spoke next, her words were soft. “They took his metalminds.”

That hit Wayne like a physical blow. He couldn’t imagine someone doing that to him—it was why he took such pains to hide he was Twinborn. A metalmind was practically part of a Ferring’s body. Having it stolen… Just thinking about it made him shudder.

Now he felt like an asshole for having messed around. “All right. I’m in.”

“What?” Lessie asked. Oh, yeah, he hadn’t said it all aloud.

“I’ll help you take down Big Ben. And I won’t even charge.” Wayne took the knife he’d snagged from Dawnshot’s things and tied it on his belt for quick access. It was the only weapon he had. He didn’t like using blades on people, but there was exceptions to every rule.

Lessie watched him for a long moment, her eyes seeming to peel back the layers of his skin and muscle and bone, seeing right to the middle of him. Then she nodded. “Won’t be easy.”

“Easy ain’t fun, anyway.” Wayne brushed some of the dust off his coat. “Now, who am I riding double with?”

For the sake of the horses, he rode with Lessie, who was smaller and lighter than Dawnshot. Wayne sat behind her, doing his best impression of a perfectly polite gentleman and wrangling his thoughts away from how she felt pressed against him.

Big Ben’s home base was more or less a fortress. It had once been some fool’s attempt at a sprawling country manor, but it had been abandoned and was falling into disrepair. Big Ben had moved in a few years ago. Instead of repairing walls and roofs, he built a perimeter wall and laid about a million traps around the place, if the stories were to be trusted. His game was extortion, mostly, forcing honest folk to pay for the pleasure of not having their farms and ranches burned down.

Wayne had never approved of stealing things from people who couldn’t afford the loss. Not after the first time he’d done it, taking a life he shouldn’t have.

The ride there took a couple hours, and they passed in awkward silence that Wayne tried to mitigate with friendly small talk and some of his best stories. Lessie chatted with him amiably enough, but Dawnshot wouldn’t even look at him. Maybe Wayne had pushed too far this time, or maybe he was just psyching himself up to do a whole lot of vengeful murdering as soon as they got to Big Ben’s.

It would be hard, what with the lack of weapons. Between the three of them they had the knife Wayne had borrowed from Dawnshot, one vial of bendalloy, and steel vials in the saddlebags. There was nothing else.

His metalmind was lower than what he normally risked on dangerous jobs, but he could manage. This was worth it, he reckoned.

Helping out his friends.

They weren’t, really, but it was nice to pretend for a while. After Big Ben was dead, Wayne intended to part ways with them before they started thinking about collecting more than just one bounty.

“Got any advice for the job?” Wayne asked when he couldn’t handle Dawnshot’s silence anymore. He knew of Big Ben only in passing.

“He’s obsessed with traps and gimmicks,” Dawnshot answered, voice rough from giving them the silent treatment so long. “It’s why he tied us up in the desert instead of killing us himself.”

“His mistake,” Lessie said darkly.

“Probably the last one he’ll make,” Wayne added.

“We’ll make sure of it.” Dawnshot didn’t elaborate.

“He also loves to brag about how prepared he is,” Lessie said. “For any eventuality. The trap he set for us was good. I didn’t see it coming,” she added ruefully. “Almost got us killed.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dawnshot’s tone was much gentler than before. “I fell for it, too.”

“Well, he ain’t prepared for me,” Wayne said cheerfully.

Lessie snorted a laugh. “I don’t think anyone ever is.”

Big Ben’s fortress was at the top of a hill, making a sneaking approach difficult. So Wayne didn’t intend to sneak.

“This is too risky,” Lessie said from where they sat crouched behind a small outcropping of rock. They’d tied their hoses off a few dozen yards back.

“It’s our best chance.” Wayne hesitated. “Anyone got a fresh shirt? This one ain’t good for first impressions.”

“Wax, are you gonna let this happen?” Lessie said to him in a whisper. He’d listened to Wayne’s plan with the same taciturn silence, only breaking it to make a few suggestions here and there.

“If he says he can pull it off, I believe him.” Dawnshot finally looked at Wayne, but there was no trust in his eyes, no fondness. It was like staring at a brick wall.

“Okay.” Lessie sounded resigned. “Be careful, Wayne. And don’t forget to signal us.”

Wayne grinned. “Don’t worry, you won’t be able to miss it.”

The sun was setting as he made his way up the road to Big Ben’s. He could practically feel a dozen guns trained on him, but he kept his posture loose and non-threatening.

He wore a spare shirt of Lessie’s, because she was closer to his size than Dawnshot. It smelled like her, which was disconcerting only because it made him realize he knew what she smelled like. He tried to think about that instead of the danger he was walking into, or the way he seemed to have permanently broken things between him and Dawnshot.

It was always the same with him. He pushed people right to the edge of what they could handle, then a little bit more. Normally, he didn’t mind it when people got fed up with him and left (or started plotting a coup), but for some reason this felt different.

Well. He had the chance to make it up to him.

Wayne approached the front gate, stopped, and waved at the guards atop the wall. “Need to talk to your boss.”

The sound of several guns cocking echoed to him through the still air.

“Who are you?” someone called.

“Wayne.”

“Wayne who?” someone else asked.

“Ain’t got a surname. It’s just Wayne. You know. The Outlaw King?”

“That’s the guy Dawnshot killed a couple years back,” came a new voice.

“No, it weren’t a couple years,” said the first guard. “It was last year. I remember cause—”

“I’m alive!” He was getting a little tired of everyone thinking he was dead all the time. “He only tried to kill me.”

There was a lot of muttering and whispering going on atop the wall. Then they sent someone inside to ask Big Ben what to do. Wayne attempted to pass the time by whistling, but someone told him to shut up, so he did, cause they were all heavily armed, and as an outlaw you had to learn to pick your battles.

Fifteen awkward minutes later, they opened the gate.

“Boss wants you to prove it,” said the man who ushered him inside. “Gotta blindfold you.”

“Happy to follow any rules you have,” Wayne lied.

“He don’t look like the wanted posters,” someone said as the first man tied a black cloth around his eyes.

People really didn’t seem to get the point of most of what he did. Kinda depressing. Dawnshot understood, though—

Or maybe he had. Now he didn’t seem to care.

He was bracketed by two guards who led him on a very specific path through the courtyard. With the cloth secured around his eyes, Wayne had to rely only on the memory of where his feet took him. He counted steps and made note of directions. He could tell they entered the mansion when the temperature changed, dropping a few degrees from the hot evening air. Down a hallway, up some stairs, another hallway.

Finally, they removed his blindfold. He blinked, finding himself in a large dining room or some such useless space. It was huge, with an equally huge table lined with a dozen chairs but set for one. A massive fireplace was on one wall, and it was lit, filling the room with a flickering red light and stuffy heat that was probably nice once the cold of the night set in.

The man sitting at the table was very average, which surprised Wayne. He couldn’t be said to be tall or short, thin or fat. He was just… some guy. Usually when people got names like Big Ben it was either too on the nose or ironic. But it didn’t fit him at all.

“So you’re Wayne.” Big Ben—no, you know what, Normal Ben—said, leaning back in his big fancy dining chair and looking him up and down.

“’Fraid so.”

“Do you have any proof? You look nothing like the posters. You didn’t even get the hat right.”

This was all Dawnshot’s fault for making Wayne lose his lucky hat in the first place. It was good that things had soured between them, actually. He preferred him as an enemy.

“Got a lot of hats, mate, and it ain’t my fault wanted poster artists are lacking in skill.”

Normal Ben rested his chin in one hand and watched him for a moment. “If you’re Wayne, you can tell me how you pulled off the Roberts job.”

“Everyone always asks about that one,” Wayne said, perking up. “You see, we knew—”

“Not the heist part, that’s obvious. How’d you get everyone to agree to work together?”

“Oh.” Wayne thought back to the early stage of the plan. “Well, I lied. Told everyone that everyone else had already signed on. No one wants to be the only one left out.”

Normal Ben stared at him, then burst into laughter. He waved for Wayne to sit. “I should’ve guessed.”

As Wayne approached the table, he noticed that the guards were hanging back. He slouched into the chair on Normal Ben’s right side.

“Have you come to discuss a similar business proposal?” Normal Ben asked. He lifted a glass of wine and took a sip.

“Nah, I came to kill you for what you did to Dawnshot and Lessie.”

Normal Ben choked on his wine, coughing. By the time the guards realized something was wrong, it was too late. Wayne had drunk his bendalloy flakes and made a speed bubble for just him and Ben.

“What—what’s happening?” Normal Ben said, staring wide-eyed at the distortion and the slow moving men beyond it.

“Think this might count as assassination,” Wayne, said, drawing his knife and flipping it to an underhand grip. “That sounds so political, though, don’t it?”

Normal Ben reached for the gun on his hip, but he was too slow. Wayne leaped out of the chair, over the table, and tackled him, knife blade first. It went into his throat and made an awful mess, but Normal Ben was silent as he died.

Breathing a little harder than he should’ve needed to, Wayne withdrew the knife and did his best to clean it off. He was a murderer, and he’d killed a few times in self-defense, but he’d never premeditated it like this.

But when his hands started to shake, he remembered Dawnshot and Lessie tied up in the middle of nowhere, left for dead, and the tremor stopped. He stood, taking in the state of the room. Four guards, all drawing their guns. As soon as the bubble dropped, he’d have to act fast. He finished wiping the blood off the knife handle so he could keep a strong grip.

He extinguished the bendalloy, darting toward the closest guard. Bullets hit him, but he ignored them—until one knocked his hat clean off.

It was a bad idea, he knew, but he was attached to that hat now. He glanced back to see it tumble right into the giant fireplace. It caught with a little whoosh and crackle.

He turned back to the guards, scowling.

Wayne wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he’d been let into the fortress. He was covered in blood, only about half of it his. His metalmind was empty, and it had run out before he could heal a sprained ankle, so he limped as he carried his prize toward the front gate. He followed the same path the guards had hauled him along, counting off the steps under his breath.

The gate was unmanned now, on account of everyone was dead, so he opened it and set what he was carrying down in the middle of the path, in easy view. A mistcoat folded up all nice and proper, on which sat a bunch of guns and two iron metalminds. He was more careful with them than he needed to be. He straightened and turned to where he’d spotted stables.

When he got there, he saddled a horse and tied leads to the rest. The stables had a separate exit from the wall, probably on account of horses weren’t real good at memorizing paths around traps. He led them out into the night, not looking back, even when an explosion lit up the night sky. By then they were far enough the horses didn’t all bolt, thankfully.

He figured that was a good enough signal for Dawnshot and Lessie.

Chapter Text

“I don’t like this,” Wax said for perhaps the tenth time. “It’s been too long.”

Lessie sighed and ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t like it either, but it’s a little late to voice your objections to the plan. We both let him walk in there alone.”

Wax was silent. He could’ve made up some justification, but she was right. He’d sat there and let Wayne take all the risks—even knowing it was wrong, even knowing that wasn’t how they did things, him and Lessie, but—

But all he’d been thinking about was Wayne’s hand in his hair, kneeling so close, that infuriating smirk on his infuriating face and the way it sent shivers through him that should’ve been unpleasant but weren’t and—

“So, Wayne kissed you, huh?” Lessie asked.

Wax’s blood ran cold. It had been so long, he’d hoped she’d forgotten. But of course she hadn’t. “I—I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I was embarrassed—”

An explosion rattled his bones. He and Lessie ducked instinctively, but they were far out of the blast radius. When Wax peeked out over the outcropping of rock, he could only stare.

The entire fortress was either gone or on fire. The wall was starting to catch in a few places, too.

“Wayne,” Wax breathed, standing and running for the horses.

As they galloped up the hill, Wax tried not to think of what they’d find—or not find. Wayne had to be all right. He couldn’t be gone . He couldn’t die, not while thinking Wax was angry with him.

Because Wax wasn’t. He was only angry at himself. It hadn’t been right to take it out on Wayne and Lessie both like that. Refusing to engage with them, trying to look at Wayne as a mere business partner of convenience instead of… whatever they were. Reluctant allies. Friends.

“Look!” Lessie pointed to the front gate, which was open. Backlit by flame sat a small bundle. He recognized it all.

Relief washed over him—not at seeing his coat, guns, and metalminds intact, though he was certainly happy about it (Ranette would strangle him if he came around asking for more replacements). Only one person would’ve put all this here for them to find, which meant the explosion had been… Wayne’s signal.

“He lied,” Wax said as he dismounted and hurried to the gate. “He promised to signal us as soon as he got in position to kill Big Ben.”

“You know, maybe we should’ve seen that coming. An outlaw, lying to us.” Lessie hung back, eyeing the burning building. “Hurry up. I don’t like how close that fire is.”

Wax collected his things and retreated to his horse, following her good advice. He shoved it all into his saddlebag, and together they galloped away.

Some of the heaviness left him as the wind tore through his hair. Wayne might’ve slipped away again, but he was alive. Yet… worry lingered. That fortress had been full of Big Ben’s crew, and they were all dead now. As far as Wax knew, Wayne had never before done violence to this scale.

And he’d done it for Wax.

He did his best to push away his unease. Wayne was alive, somewhere out there, and Wax knew they’d cross paths again.

Chapter Text

The worst part of having a fever was Wayne couldn’t wear a hat, on account of it was too hot. His new lucky hat sat on the bedside table, next to a pitcher of water. He couldn’t remember putting the latter there, but he must’ve done, because he was alone out here.

Here was a shack in the middle of nowhere that he kept stashed with supplies for when he needed to refill his metalmind. It was one room, with an old bed, nightstand, and a rickety table with a single chair. The window had a nice view of the sky from his position on the bed, and when it got too stuffy in here, he could open it to let in a breeze, though it was latched now. He also kept a stack of books against one wall, because it was rusting boring being alone for weeks on end. Occasionally an old woman would come by and sell him fresh eggs and vegetables to supplement his rations, but he’d never got her name, nor she his, and he overpaid to keep her from asking questions.

No one else knew about this place, not even Darla, who he’d marginally trusted not to betray him.

Wayne sat up slowly, head spinning. Judging by the light, it was morning, so he made himself get out of bed to mark down another day. Keeping track of the date was one of the few ways he could force himself to remember there was a world out there to return to when he was ready. Eventually, his metalmind would be full, and the sickness and isolation would end.

He rummaged through his supplies, looking for leftovers, but there was nothing. He had plenty of wood for the cookfire outside, but he didn’t have the energy for all that, so he went back to bed and had a few sips of water for breakfast.

As he drifted back into a fitful sleep, a shadow passed the window, in the vague shape of a person. But—nah, he musta been dreaming. The old lady had been by the day before, and she only came once a week.

The scent of burning wood and cooking food lured him from sleep. Wayne blinked slowly, absently storing healing, wondering if maybe somehow the shack had caught fire. He rolled over, facing the window, which was now open.

It had been shut when he’d gone to sleep.

Scrambling up, he reached for the gunbelt he’d leaned against the bedside table. Not like he’d be any better at drawing the revolver, but he could at least pretend to be armed. He really needed to get a weapon he could use.

For now, though, he buckled the belt around his hips and stumbled to the door, shirt hanging half-open and untucked. The sun was still high, which meant he hadn’t been sleeping long. Whoever was here had come recently—

Wayne stopped on the threshold, staring. Several yards from the shack was a cookfire with a pot and a few utensils he used when he had the wherewithal. He made sure to put it out when he wasn’t tending it, and he hadn’t lit it in days. Now it crackled merrily around a neat stack of wood. Steam rose from the pot, along with the scent of broth and spices.

The real shocking part, though, which stilled his limbs and the breath in his chest, was the man sitting by the fire, stirring the soup in an unconcerned manner.

Dawnshot.

It felt somehow inevitable and unbelievable at the same time. It had to be a dream. But… the wood beneath his hands as he held onto the doorframe for balance felt real. The wind ruffling up his hair and sending goosebumps across his arms felt real. It was only everything inside him that was off-kilter and fuzzy.

Slowly, he stepped outside into the warm sunlight. Without his hat on it shone in his eyes, making him blink away the pain. As he walked to the cookfire and settled onto the ground beside it, Dawnshot didn’t react, like Wayne had been here the whole time and had just stepped away for a minute.

Maybe he had. His memory was as cloudy as his thoughts, everything fever-bright and running together at the edges.

Staring up at Dawnshot (who was sitting on the only log by the fire and was therefore a good foot higher off the ground than Wayne), he waited. For something, anything to prove these events were happening. Dawnshot seemed singularly focused on the soup, though.

“This real?” Wayne asked, his voice sounding strange not only because it cracked from disuse, but because he hadn’t spoken in days.

“Is it that unbelievable that I’d track you down?” Dawnshot said cheerfully. “I’ve done it before. I’ll always find you, Wayne.”

The words shoulda been a threat, but they weren’t. They felt more like… the good kind of promise.

“Nobody knows bout this place but me,” Wayne said, sounding a little more like himself now, his voice stronger. “I made sure of it.”

“You’re awfully arrogant if you believe that.” Dawnshot idly stirred the soup. “There’s no way to disappear from the world entirely, not if you want to keep eating.”

Wayne narrowed his eyes. “That old lady talked, didn’t she?”

“No, but it was everything she didn’t say that led me here. Don’t hold it against her. I am fairly good at my job.”

“Not too good, though, on account of I’m still alive.” He grinned, and the expression felt strange on his face. There was normally nothing to smile about out here, and there shouldn’t be now. Waking up to find Dawnshot in his secret hideout was like walking outside and seeing the place was surrounded with large predators. This was dangerous. Just cause Wayne had helped him and Lessie out the last time they met didn’t mean all was forgotten, or forgiven.

As if Wayne could ever forget Dawnshot’s icy anger at him. The smart thing would be to stop storing healing and prepare for the inevitable need to escape. He was lucky Dawnshot hadn’t just tied him up and carted him off while he was unconscious.

“Killing you would be a terrible waste,” Dawnshot said. He frowned at the cookpot. “I can never really tell when soup is done.”

Wayne had been ignoring the reality of the soup because it didn’t make sense in such a large way that his brain simply skirted over its existence. Finding Dawnshot here had been hard enough. But now that it had been brought up in conversation, Wayne couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist anymore. Also, his stomach was aching and empty and had been a while.

“You taste some and see,” Wayne said. He decided not to ask why Dawnshot was here; they both knew the answer. The real confusing part was why he was bothering with any pretense. Wayne was a criminal. That was never gonna change. Dawnshot was a lawman, and his job was to kill or capture people like Wayne.

Soup need not get involved, yet here it was, sitting between them.

Dawnshot drew a spoonful of broth out of the pot and sipped it, then grimaced and swore. “Burned my tongue.”

Wayne found himself laughing for the first time in weeks. “You blow on it first, mate. Or does your butler normally do that for you?”

“You know I don’t have a butler.”

“Don’t know any such thing. We’re basically strangers.” Wayne leaned toward the fire, still chilled despite the hot sun on his skin.

“Then why did you do it?” Dawnshot asked softly.

Wayne could feel eyes on him, begging him to look up from the flames dancing around the pot. He didn’t. “Do what?”

“Are you really going to make me say it?”

“Memory’s gone all fuzzy, sorry.”

“You killed Big Ben and his crew and blew up his fortress. But before you set the bomb off, you got all our gear back.” Dawnshot paused. “Including my metalminds.”

“Happened to be in a room I was looting anyway.” In truth, it had taken him a while to find everything. He’d had to pull the mistcoat off the dead body of one of Normal Ben’s men who thought it would be a fun idea to try it on.

“You could’ve stuck around to let us say thank you.”

The words made Wayne finally look up at him. Dawnshot’s gaze was so damn sincere, it turned his stomach. “You could thank me proper now. There’s a bed inside.”

“All right.” Dawnshot stood, brushing off his pants. “Come on, then.”

“Huh?” Wayne blinked up at him. He’d used his do what I say, Wayne voice, but he must’ve misheard the words.

Stepping around the fire, he held out a hand to Wayne, who took it in a daze. Dawnshot’s skin was cool—or maybe his was just too hot—and his grip firm as he pulled him up. Wayne stumbled forward, but Dawnshot caught him. He should’ve taken the opportunity to pick his pocket, but he didn’t have the energy right now.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten?” Dawnshot asked, and Wayne relaxed a little. He’d misunderstood him before, is all. Had to be, cause now he was talking normal again.

“Don’t know. Yesterday thereabouts.” He was reasonably sure he’d eaten the last of his hardtack then.

Without warning, Dawnshot bent and picked him up, carrying him the same way he had the first time they’d met, when he’d thought Wayne was a corpse. This time Wayne wrapped his arms around Dawnshot’s neck automatically, cause he could.

“Nostalgic for old times?” Wayne joked, though his pulse was racing. He’d been alone for too long, if a simple touch made him react like this.

“Not particularly, considering how you stabbed me with my own knife that night.”

“You gotta learn to let things go, mate.”

In response, Dawnshot rolled his eyes and started walking to the front door of the shack.

“Whatcha doing?” Wayne smirked. “Taking me to bed to reward me for helping out you and Lessie?”

Dawnshot paused and gazed down at him, eyes half-lidded. Wind rustled his long hair. “Yes,” he said, without elaborating, only watching Wayne with his deep brown eyes.

An awful lot of replies to that sprang to Wayne’s mind, but there were so many they all got jammed up in his throat and nothing left. He stared up at Dawnshot, refusing to be the one to look away first.

Dawnshot chuckled, the sound low and smug. “This is what it takes to finally shut you up?”

It was the feeling of having lost some sort of battle that finally got the words unstuck. “Plenty of other methods work. Next time, you can just stick your cock in my mouth.”

Dawnshot didn’t respond, but he did sweep into the shack, ends of his mistcoat flaring with a lot more grandiosity than necessary for the tiny room. Wayne assumed he’d leave it at that, but Dawnshot carried him to the bed and placed him in it—gentle and everything, when it woulda been just as easy to dump him onto the mattress. He’d more than earned rough treatment.

When Dawnshot brushed hair away from Wayne’s damp forehead, he’d just about had enough. He grabbed Dawnshot’s wrist to still the motion.

“Why’re you here?” Wayne asked.

“Researching real estate investments.”

Wayne stared.

“I was tracking you, obviously, ” Dawnshot said in a huff.

“Right, I’ll rephrase my question to something you can understand, cause apparently you’re playing willfully obtuse today, instead just regular lawman-obtuse.” Wayne paused to take a breath; he was maybe a little sicker than he realized. “Why are the both of us still here, instead of you dragging me away to jail?”

“You’re operating under the false assumption I came all this way to arrest you.” Dawnshot freed himself from Wayne’s grip, drawing his hand away and stepping back from the bed.

“What else is there?”

But Dawnshot didn’t answer. Instead, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him. Wayne stared, wondering if this entire day had been nothing but a fever dream. He was alone in the room, but—

The window was open, and the scent of the cookfire still drifted through on the breeze. Dawnshot was really here, and obviously trying some sorta advanced psychological torture technique. Forcing Wayne to wait for the trap to spring.

Well, maybe he had this coming. It was still better than he deserved, all things considered.

And when it came down to it, he didn’t really mind the thought of finally getting his comeuppance, as long as it was Dawnshot delivering it.

A few minutes later, he returned, carrying a steaming bowl. He set it on the bedside table, then dragged the lone chair in the room over to it.

“That’s a bit much, don’t you think?” Wayne said. “Eating in front of me and only making enough for yourself.”

Dawnshot stared down at him. “The soup is for you. The entire pot.”

“You made soup… for me?”

“Yes. I don’t see what’s so hard to believe about that.”

There was a long list of things wrong with this entire situation, but Wayne didn’t have time to get into it. “Why soup?”

“You’re sick.” Dawnshot stopped talking, like that was a good enough answer.

“Ain’t sick, I’m storing healing.”

He huffed a laugh. “I guessed that. You must’ve run low killing Big Ben and setting that bomb to mop up the rest.”

“They was all dead when that went off. Seemed the most inhumane way to do it.”

“Don’t you mean humane? And, wait—you killed everyone?”

“Spared the horses.” Wayne pushed himself up until he was leaning against the wall. “And I said what I said.”

Dawnshot watched him for a moment. “Killing them instantly would’ve been letting them off too easy.”

“They ought not have tied you and Lessie up in the desert like that. An outlaw’s gotta have a certain set of standards, else it ain’t fair to the folk we’re robbing.”

“Fair? No, you know what, I’m not going to bother with that one.” Dawnshot picked up the bowl, dipped out a spoonful of soup, and blew on it gently.

“Oi, you said that was mine!”

“It is.” He moved the spoon toward Wayne’s mouth.

Instinctively, he dodged. “Are you trying to feed me?”

“If you’re too weak to walk, you might spill the whole bowl.” Dawnshot had the audacity to sound offended about this.

“Why’d you make me soup if you thought I couldn’t even manage to eat it?”

“Because you’re sick!”

“What does being sick have to do with anything?” Wayne’s voice rose enough it cracked. He reached for the water on the bedside table.

Dawnshot got there first, snatching the pitcher up and pouring a cup of water for him. “Soup is a good food for sick people.”

“Says who?” Wayne sipped some water, glaring at Dawnshot over the rim of the cup.

Dawnshot hesitated. “Everyone. Didn’t your parents make you soup when you were sick as a child?”

“I reckon the context clues make it pretty clear they didn’t. I never ate anything special when I got sick. Food’s food. It ain’t medicine.”

“Soup always made me feel better,” Dawnshot said defensively. “At least try it.”

“Happy to, so long as you give me the spoon.”

Reluctantly, he handed it and the bowl over. Wayne took them and pretended to almost drop the latter, laughing as Dawnshot lurched forward to try and catch it.

“You’re not funny,” he said, but his words had the certain overly stern quality of someone trying not to crack up.

When he tried the soup, he found it a little thin, but edible. Okay, maybe it was more than edible. Nice, even. It warmed him up from the inside, but the chill of fever never left him. He ate in silence, waiting for Dawnshot to break first.

It only took a few minutes, which was almost as satisfying as the soup.

“Well?” Dawnshot said, leaning forward a little.

“Well, what?” Wayne blinked at him innocently.

“What do you think?”

“About soup? ‘S all right, if you got the time to bother with it.”

“I meant this soup.” Dawnshot gestured to the bowl.

Wayne thought about lying, but that seemed a little too cruel, even for the man who’d been ruining his life for nearly two years straight. “It’s good.” Wayne paused, then continued. “Dunno why you bothered, but thanks all the same.”

Dawnshot leaned back and crossed his arms, looking away. “When I found you in your current state, I couldn’t just…” He trailed off.

“Tie me up and take advantage of me?” Wayne supplied.

“I told you I’m not here to bring you in.”

“Who said anything bout that?” Wayne drank the rest of his soup, tipping the bowl up to hide his smile from Dawnshot.

He huffed a sigh. “You’re clearly not equipped to take care of yourself, so I had to intervene.”

“When you say take care of— ”

“Wayne.” Ah, there it was. That commanding tone that never failed to send a shiver through him. Good to see Dawnshot still cared enough to give him that much.

“If you ain’t here to arrest me,” Wayne said as he set the empty bowl on the bedside table, “then what are you here for? My charming company?”

“I tracked you down to check in on you.” Dawnshot sat up a little straighter, dropping his arms from their defensive crossed position.

“I’m fine. Couldn’t store healing otherwise.” It had been a pain to wait out his sprained ankle and the other cuts and bruises he’d gotten, but he was in perfect health now. Aside from the sickness refilling his metalmind always brought.

“I didn’t mean only physically.” Dawnshot stared at him, jaw set, like he was braced for a fight. Or like maybe he wanted to be anywhere else.

So he hadn’t forgiven Wayne for that day in the desert, then. Made sense. He’d gone too far, not realizing Dawnshot had been in an extra vulnerable state. Wayne had been his usual thoughtless self, intent on taking whatever he wanted.

“Lessie put you up to this?” Wayne asked.

“No.” Dawnshot looked chagrined. “I wanted to be here. To make sure you’re dealing with what happened, and to… apologize.”

“Dealing with what happened?” Wayne repeated in Dawnshot’s voice.

“Stop mocking me.”

“Stop mocking me,” Wayne mimicked.

Dawnshot parted his lips, probably to tell Wayne to stop in some other, deliciously cruel way, but he caught himself. “You can’t distract me—”

“You can’t di—” Wayne cut off when Dawnshot lunged forward, putting his hand over his mouth.

Not to be deterred by such paltry attempts to silence him, Wayne stuck out his tongue, licking him. Dawnshot grimaced, but endured it, so he tried biting. Couldn’t get a good angle on his hand, though, and only managed to barely nip the meat of his palm.

Dawnshot still didn’t let go. Wayne squirmed back. Dawnshot feeding him had been a mistake if he hoped to overpower him. He was feeling a lot more energetic now, his head clearer. He almost slipped out of Dawnshot’s grasp, but the insufferable lawman climbed onto the bed, pinning him down with more weight than he shoulda been able to.

After all the trouble Wayne had gone through to get those metalminds back, Dawnshot went and used them against him.

The bed groaned in protest from their combined weight, but Wayne didn’t really mind. He was flat on his back now, Dawnshot above him, one hand clamped over his mouth, the other braced beside Wayne’s head.

Wayne stopped struggling, and instead gazed up at Dawnshot with his very best come fuck me eyes. Then he licked his palm again, this time slow, with a light flick of his tongue.

Dawnshot visibly shivered, but didn’t pull away. His expression was stern as always. “As I was saying, the Big Ben job couldn’t have been easy on you, and I’m not talking about draining healing. You had to kill a lot of people, and it’s not your normal way of operating.”

Well, this wasn’t fun anymore. Wayne looked away, waiting for Dawnshot to get bored and get off him. But he didn’t. He just kept talking.

“When I found you unconscious, with a high fever, I was worried. So I made you soup, because it’s what you do for people you—for your friends when they’re sick.”

Friends. That rusting word again. It was a lie. They couldn’t be friends, even if they weren’t exactly enemies all the time these days.

“And,” Dawnshot continued hesitantly, forcing the words out as if they hurt him, “I wanted to apologize. For how I treated you that day. I was… I wasn’t myself.” His voice slowed, like he was carefully constructing each thought before he spoke it (a concept entirely foreign to Wayne). “It’s been a long time since I’ve been that defenseless, and it made me overreact to… Everything.”

Wayne looked at him again, trying to convey with only his eyes that Dawnshot had it backwards. Wayne shoulda been the one to realize and back off. He was the one who was sorry, in every sense of the word.

“That’s all I wanted to say.” Dawnshot gazed down at him, brown eyes warmer and softer than he’d ever seen them. “Thanks for…” He paused, once again seeming to search for the right words. Then his lips twitched up in a smile. “Being such a captive audience.”

Wayne froze. Dawnshot didn’t move, either, until he slowly let go of Wayne, lowering his weight as he pulled his hand away from Wayne’s mouth. The bed shifted in response, no longer seeming on the verge of collapse.

They stared at each other, both straight-faced. Wayne refused to crack up. None of this was funny. Dawnshot showing up here, making soup, literally pinning him down so he could say all that cheesy stuff and give an apology Wayne didn’t even want or need or nothing.

He wasn’t gonna laugh at that dumb joke. Absolutely not. He’d rather die.

Though Dawnshot wasn’t holding him down anymore, he was still looming over him (which he musta practiced, cause he was too good at it for natural talent), hands bracketing Wayne. His dark hair fell down toward him, close enough Wayne could’ve tugged on it to pull him closer.

For several seconds, Dawnshot’s face was blank and impassive. Then his mouth twitched.

All Wayne’s composure shattered. He laughed until he was breathless and lightheaded, until tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. All of this was so surreal. And that awful joke coming at the end of it.

I’m in trouble, Wayne thought, not for the first time, or even the hundredth. He’d thought he understood Dawnshot. He was just another lawman. All that shoulda ever been between them was a bounty and the chase.

Soup wasn’t part of that. Neither was the way Dawnshot shook with his own laughter, still not pulling away from Wayne even though there was no reason for him to still be so close. He’d said his piece, and now he could leave.

But he wasn’t leaving. And, horrifyingly, Wayne didn’t want him to.

So much trouble.

Eventually, Wayne got control of himself. His throat hurt, but he didn’t care.

Dawnshot’s head dipped down, the last of his chuckles dying away. Then he leaned back, slipping off the bed. Wayne almost reached for him, but stopped his traitorous hand before he could. Dawnshot returned to the chair beside the bed.

When the dregs of their laughter finally faded from the room, Dawnshot spoke. “I meant what I said.”

Wayne sobered, turning to stare out the window. “Course you did. Don’t strike me as the lying type.”

“So… Do you want to talk about it?”

“Which part?”

“Any. All of it. None of it, if that’s what you need.” Dawnshot took a deep breath. “You’re not alone, Wayne. I just want you to know that. To believe it.”

“Keep your pity and your charity for folks what deserve it. Cause I don’t.”

“That’s not what this is. You saved my life. You saved Lessie’s. You killed people to get back what they stole from us.”

“You don’t gotta repeat it all. I was there.” Wayne fisted his hands in the blankets, wishing he could be alone. A few laughs with Dawnshot wasn’t worth the cost. Guilt burned in his chest. Everything he’d done. His first murder, and the ones in Normal Ben’s fortress. They weren’t the same. He knew that. But it still scared him—how easy it had been to extract vengeance. How much he’d wanted to do it because it was for Dawnshot and Lessie.

It scared him how much he craved what they had, and how far away the possibility was.

“Look at me.” Dawnshot’s words were a quiet request, not a command. The tenderness in his voice rubbed against Wayne’s skin like sandpaper.

To shut him up, Wayne turned to him, but found him closer than he expected. Dawnshot reached for his hand and took it.

“You don’t have to forgive me for how I treated you. Just… let me look after you for a while. Until you’re not sick.”

“It’ll be a couple weeks, mate. I’m sure your wife would miss you.”

“Weeks?” Dawnshot looked surprised, but he didn’t let go of Wayne’s hand. Wayne himself coulda pulled away, but it was nice. Proof another person was here. He swallowed down anything deeper than that.

“I ran completely out at Normal Ben’s.”

“Normal—? Never mind. You plan to spend weeks storing healing?”

“Yeah, on account of that’s how long it takes to refill the whole metalmind.” Wayne glared up at him. “You’re Twinborn. Don’t act like you don’t know the basics of Feruchemy.”

“If you only stored it for an hour or two a day, you could resume normal… activities.” Dawnshot faltered, as if suddenly stopping to wonder what Wayne got up to on the average day. Which was mostly drinking, fucking, and general carousing, then spending his money in unwise ways until he ran out and had to get another job together. Normal outlaw stuff.

“This way’s better. Less risky.”

“Weeks in isolation, miserably sick?” Dawnshot shook his head slowly, never breaking eye contact with him. “That’s not better.”

“It’s what I deserve,” Wayne said, annoyed that he had to spell it out. “Why d’you care, anyway? I’m a Bad Guy. Suffering is what I’m owed.”

“You’re a criminal, but you’re not a bad person. A true lost cause wouldn’t have saved me and Lessie.” Dawnshot leaned closer, practically climbing back onto the bed. “Why won’t you accept that?”

“Cause you don’t actually know me. We’ve crossed paths a couple times. That’s it. You don’t got the first idea about who I am and what I’ve done—”

“I know every crime you’ve committed, Wayne. Or did you forget I spent ten years trying to track you down before I caught up to you?”

“The stagecoach jobs ain’t what I’m talking about—”

“Neither am I.” Dawnshot stared him down. “Those weren’t your first crimes. The first, other than petty theft which I can’t help but imagine you’ve been doing most of your life, was murder.”

Wayne’s breath caught in his throat. He watched Dawnshot, feeling disconnected from the moment, from his own body. A fear he’d been running from for twelve years seized him by the throat.

Dawnshot knew. He’d put it together somehow, and that was why he was really here. Not to arrest Wayne, but to finally put him down.

“How’d you figure it out?” Wayne asked, voice barely more than a whisper. He had no right to be so terrified. At least it was Dawnshot and not someone else. The lawman would make it quick, and he’d probably even bury him after.

“Figure it out?” Dawnshot blinked. “Wayne, I remember. I was there. I took the witness statements and told the widow the news. I held her as she cried.”

Wayne closed his eyes, trying to banish the image, but it was a familiar one by now. The consequences of his mistake. Of shooting an innocent man for no real reason.

“If you knew the whole time,” Wayne asked slowly, “why didn’t you do something about it?”

“I did,” Dawnshot said, exasperated. “I hunted you for years. You didn’t make it easy.”

“I mean, why didn’t you kill me in that mine?”

“Because you weren’t a threat to me. Well. Until you stabbed me. If you remember.”

“One day you’re gonna have to stop whining about that.” Wayne sat up slowly, leaning against the wall. He and Dawnshot were less than a foot apart, now. “You knew I was a murderer.”

“You killed someone you shouldn’t have. Once. You were young, inexperienced, and I don’t imagine you thought you had much choice but to turn to robbing people.”

“Mate, you’re describing murder. Which makes me a murderer, on account of I’m the one what did the murdering.” Maybe Wayne’s fever was worse than he realized, or someone had hit Dawnshot hard on the head before he came here.

“If you’d continued to hurt or kill people in your robberies, you’d have been dead a long time ago,” Dawnshot said, his voice hard, eyes like flint even in the warm sunlight streaming through the window. “But you didn’t. You went out of your way to avoid casualties.”

“So?”

“It’s the pattern of a man who regrets what he’s done.” Dawnshot squeezed Wayne’s hand a little tighter. “You can’t undo the mistakes of your past, but it’s clear you don’t intend to make them again.”

Wayne stared down at their joined hands. He should pull away. Run for it. Only, he wasn’t sure what he’d be running from. “So… you ain’t gonna kill me?”

“As I said before, killing you would be a terrible waste.” Dawnshot lifted his free hand and brushed hair back from Wayne’s forehead. This time, he let him, too stunned to shy away from the touch. He wanted to lean into it.

So he did, cause his fever-addled brain wasn’t smart enough to resist temptation. He closed his eyes and savored the fleeting sensation.

When he opened them again, Dawnshot was closer than before, leaning over the mattress. Wayne bent toward him like a weed straining for sunlight.

“Even if I deserve it?” Wayne asked softly. Dawnshot was so near. He was all Wayne could see. He smelled of woodsmoke.

“If you ever deserve it, I’ll let you know.” Dawnshot inched closer. Their foreheads were almost touching. All it would take to kiss him would be Wayne leaning up to brush his lips against Dawnshot’s. To grab him and pull him into bed and make another kind of mistake there was no walking back from.

He lifted his chin, and their lips almost touched—

And Dawnshot grabbed Wayne’s wrist, stilling his hand right above his breast pocket, handkerchief half out. He hadn’t let go of Wayne’s other hand, either, and now his grip was just shy of painful.

“Nice try.” Dawnshot breathed, leaning away and smirking.

“At least I didn’t stab you this time.”

“Now who’s bringing that up too often?” Dawnshot lifted Wayne’s hand until it was eye level between them. Wayne hadn’t let go of the handkerchief. “Pickpocketing me, really? When I went out of my way to come here and make you dinner?”

“You knew I was a degenerate outlaw type when you showed up. Can’t act all surprised about it now.” Wayne’s pulse thudded in his throat. Dawnshot had caught him. It had been more than a decade since anyone had noticed him stealing something off them. He should be annoyed, but instead it made him feel all soft and warm inside, like he’d just drunk a whole bowl of soup. “How’d you catch me?” Despite his fever, his hands were steady as ever.

“Simple logic.” Dawnshot’s smirk hadn’t left his face. “Every time you kiss me, it’s misdirection, and I always keep my handkerchiefs in the same pocket.” He let Wayne go. “You can just ask for them, you know.”

“Stealing’s more fun.”

“Stealing is wrong.” Dawnshot stood.

A strange bolt of panic shot through Wayne. “You finally leaving?” he asked, real casual like. Not that he cared.

“I’m worried I’ve left the soup on too long.” Dawnshot hovered by the door, looking back at him. “I’m not going anywhere for a while. Not until I know you’ll be okay without someone taking care of you.”

He left, leaving Wayne to catch his breath and try to settle down. He held the handkerchief close, like it could quiet the storm inside him. It only made it worse. He slowly got out of bed and crossed to where his coat hung on the wall. He tucked the handkerchief with the others.

He was in so, so much trouble.

Dawnshot was as good as his word—naturally, being an overly ambitious do-gooder type—and stayed with Wayne for a couple days. Cooking, cleaning, making him drink more water than strictly seemed necessary. Most of what they did was talk, sharing stories, both from their lives and the best tales they knew.

The first night, Dawnshot lay down on the floor to sleep, but when he noticed Wayne shivering beneath his blankets, he joined him on the mattress. For the first time in weeks, Wayne felt warm. Dawnshot made no pretense of sleeping on the floor after that.

But on the third morning, Wayne woke up to find a note on the bedside table, right where his lucky hat had been.

Groggily, he sat up and snatched it close enough to read.

Dear Wayne, it read, which seemed a waste of ink since it was obvious who the note was for, but try telling a spoiled lord that, I’ve got business, so I have to leave. I didn’t want to wake you. As soon as my business is done, Lessie and I will come by to check on you.

That was it. Wayne glared at where his missing hat had been, then flipped the paper over.

Postscript: that side read, obnoxiously formal, I’m letting you keep my handkerchiefs, but I’m taking your hat. Call it a trade. Remember, stealing is wrong, Wayne.

He stared at the words for a while, then crumpled up the note and threw it across the room.

Dawnshot was gonna be the death of him.

Chapter Text

When Wax rode up to the farmhouse, Lessie and Mrs. Fletcher were sitting on the front porch, chatting. Lessie only rose to meet him when he’d dismounted and come up the steps.

“That took longer than I expected,” she said, pulling him down for a kiss. “What happened? He didn’t give you the slip again, did he?”

“No.” Wax glanced at Mrs. Fletcher, who was shamelessly eavesdropping, not that he could blame her. She’d been selling Wayne food off and on for years now, never learning anything about him until he and Lessie had come around asking questions. “How were things here?”

“Quiet. Nice.” She grinned. “Let’s take a walk.”

When they were far enough away from Mrs. Fletcher they could talk freely, Wax told her the state in which he’d found Wayne, and why he’d decided to stay for a few days instead of only a few hours like he’d planned.

“You think he’ll be okay on his own again?” Lessie asked when he was done.

“I hope so. He said Mrs. Fletcher comes by once a week with fresh food. And he’s done this a lot. Too much, I think. It’s no way to live, isolating himself.”

“I’m sure you told him that,” Lessie said archly, “and he took it oh so very well.”

Wax laughed. “Yes, and yes. Am I that predictable?”

“No, Wayne is that much of a mess. Sometimes I wanna tie him up and force-feed him soup.”

“I practically had to do that. He doesn’t like accepting help.”

“We’ll wear him down.” She took his hand in hers, lacing their fingers together. “You know, he’d make a good deputy.”

Wax snorted. “Sure. He’d love it, I bet. Lower pay and more risk than his current occupation. And he’d have to take orders from me.”

“He might like that part more than you think.” Lessie winked, and Wax felt flustered, which wasn’t like him.

He’d explained the kiss weeks ago, when they’d had a moment to catch their breaths after the Big Ben fiasco. She hadn’t seemed angry with him, either for the kiss itself, or for hiding it from her for so long. But she didn’t know that for him, Wayne’s games didn’t feel like games, though he knew they always were. She didn’t know he spent some nights tossing and turning, trying to outrun his imagination when it supplied him with a make-believe version of reality where Wayne wasn’t just a shameless flirt to get under his skin.

It was time to stop hiding this from her. He’d never been so reluctant to lean on her before. They’d always talked everything out between them, solved every problem together. Slowly, he stopped walking, pulling Lessie to a halt half a step ahead of him. “I think there’s something wrong with me,” he told her.

Her levity vanished. “What is it?” She looked him up and down, as if searching for wounds.

He couldn’t keep lying by omission. She deserved better than that. So he took a deep breath, and started talking.

Chapter Text

The ability to think on your feet was real important to outlaws, cause the people you were robbing were fundamentally unpredictable. Both fear and greed did strange things to folks. You had to watch everyone involved, even your own crew. Wayne knew this firsthand.

He never let himself forget it.

There was an art to crowd control during a robbery. People picked up on if you were twitchy or nervous, and they responded in kind. But project an air of calm (even if it was manufactured), and people kept their wits about them.

He adjusted his lucky hat—which had seen him through finding a new crew, one he was already the boss of on account of he got everyone together—and nodded to his second-in-command, who turned and locked the door behind him.

A bank job wasn’t his top choice, but circumstances had aligned in such a way he couldn’t refuse. The five men he was working with now weren’t exactly loyal yet; they weren’t even to the pretending-to-be-loyal stage. Wayne would have to prove himself as leader first. One of the crew, who was in fact named Kevin (unfortunate for a couple reasons, chief of which that it meant Dawnshot’s half-assed outlaw disguise was that much closer to accurate), knew a teller who worked here. For a small bribe, he’d told Kevin the best times of day to rob the place, and who would have the combination to the big safe in the back room.

“Good evening, folks,” Wayne said loudly as his men drew their weapons. They corralled the customers, and his second deftly disarmed the unobservant guard by the door, giving him a black eye—which seemed unnecessary, but it silenced everyone else in the room. His second grabbed the manager by the back of his collar and hauled him toward the safe.

It was right before closing, and the sun was nearly setting. Golden light streamed in through the front window. As promised, it wasn’t very busy. Aside from two tellers and the manager, there were only three customers inside. None of them looked like the playing-hero type.

“We ain’t gonna be here long. Just need to make a withdrawal,” Wayne continued as his crew made everyone but the manager sit against one wall. “We don’t want your personal possessions. We’re here for the money in the safe. Don’t make trouble, and you’ll be home by dinner with an exciting story to tell your friends and family.”

That seemed to calm them down a little, but Wayne didn’t lower his guard. Someone could still make a stupid choice and ruin things.

As if summoned by the thought, the front door burst open, wood splintering around the metal mechanism of the lock. No one was immediately visible beyond it.

Wayne got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. But maybe it was some other Coinshot and lawman with a penchant for ruining his life.

“You’re surrounded,” Dawnshot called from outside. Sounded like he was just past the doorway, probably pressed flat against the wall. Gun raised. Hair blowing dramatically in the wind, along with the ends of his mistcoat—

Not that Wayne found that sort of image remotely impressive.

“If you surrender now, I’ll put in a good word with the judge,” Dawnshot continued. Wayne rolled his eyes.

“Hang on, I’ll handle this,” he said to his crew. “Keep working.”

Wayne didn’t miss the confused looks they gave each other as he strolled up to the open door. His boots kicked little bits of wood out of the way as he walked.

“I really need to put a bell on you, mate,” Wayne said, too soft for anyone but Dawnshot to hear. “Gotta get some warning when you’re on the way to crash my parties.”

“ Wayne? ” Dawnshot sounded legitimately surprised. “You’re involved in this?”

“Why you acting so surprised? I’m an outlaw. Us sort love robbing banks.” Wayne glanced over his shoulder at the front room, and the safe room beyond. Good so far.

“You need to surrender,” Dawnshot said in a low voice. “Miles is coming in through the back.”

“Don’t suppose you could look the other way? Just this once?”

“No.” Dawnshot’s voice was hard, but there was something beneath that sounded almost like regret. “You know I can’t do that.”

Maybe this was inevitable. Dawnshot catching him in the act, with innocent bystanders involved. And this time he wasn’t just going along with things; he was in charge. Everything that happened here was his responsibility.

Miles wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all. Wayne wondered if Dawnshot had told him he was also Twinborn. Probably.

“What’s going on?” Kevin shouted from where he stood guarding the civilians.

“Don’t worry, it’s just Dawnshot,” Wayne called back. “We’re, uh—he owes me a favor. Might wanna cut our losses on this one.”

“Are you serious?” Kevin stammered. “He’s gonna shoot us the second we walk outside!”

“Shut up, Kevin!”

“What?” Dawnshot said.

“Not you. I’m talking to the real Kevin.” Wayne raised his voice and turned to his crew. “He ain’t gonna shoot us.” Looking back to Dawnshot, he added in a whisper, “Right?”

“As long as your people don’t hurt anyone, yes.” He sounded resigned. “Hurry and convince them. I know everyone else has their weapons drawn. Tell them guns on the ground.”

Rusting Coinshots and their cheating ways. Wayne let out a long sigh. Couldn’t win ‘em all, he supposed. He’d weasel out of true arrest this time, anyway. No matter what Dawnshot said, as soon as the danger was past, he’d accidentally make a silly decision that Wayne would use to escape.

“All right, you win.” Wayne stepped away from the door, turning to his crew—only someone was missing. He could see the open safe from here, but his second, who’d gone into the back room with the manager, was nowhere to be found, and the safe had been cleared out.

A gunshot rang through the quiet building, coming from the back. His second had tried to run off with all the money, only he’d stumbled right into Miles. Hard to feel bad about that.

It was easy, however, to feel real bad about the effect the gunshot had on his crew. Half of them swung their weapons to point at the front door, the other two aimed the correct direction, at least.

“You set us up!” Kevin shouted. “You’re working with Dawnshot!”

“He isn’t,” Dawnshot said, stepping into view. Like a complete idiot. He wasn’t even holding his gun. It was sitting all useless in its holster at his hip. His hands were in the air. “You can trust him, and you can trust me. Just put your guns down—”

Wayne’s bendalloy was in a vial in his pocket. It was too expensive to drink before he knew he really needed it on a job. This was supposed to be quick, in and out, no violence.

But violence was happening. Kevin’s finger moved down to the trigger. Dawnshot was exposed, standing there like a tall, defenseless target in a shooting gallery.

Wayne moved without thinking, but even if he’d had a week to plan, he woulda done the same. He spun and threw himself at Dawnshot.

Bullets peppered his back, pushing him forward, making them both stumble to the ground. Several shots went wide—which just went to prove people named Kevin ought not be outlaws—but they didn’t stop, not until Kevin was empty. Wayne’s metalminds had been full, though, so he shrugged the wounds off, grabbing for his bendalloy. He downed it and made a speed bubble, because he didn’t relish the idea of another one of the jackasses he was working with opening fire on him again.

Inside their bubble of distorted time, Wayne leaned up. “We can’t keep meeting like this. Me jumping in front of you to take—”

The words died in his throat. Dawnshot’s front was dark with blood. Wayne had taken it for his own, at first, but it was spreading. From a central spot on Dawnshot’s chest.

Wayne stared at his face, which was ashen. Dawnshot gazed back up at him, looking a little confused. Then his eyelids fluttered and slid closed.

No. No, no, no.

“Oi, Dawnshot. Wake up.” He tapped him on the cheek, lightly at first, then harder. “Come on. Open your eyes.”

Nothing. The blood continued to flow. This wasn’t right. He wasn’t supposed to get shot. That was Wayne’s job. He stared down at his own body, cursing when he saw the tattered hole that meant a bullet had torn all the way through him. Couldn’t even get being a Bloodmaker right. Not when it counted.

“Please, wake up. You gotta stay with me. Wax, ” Wayne begged, brushing some of Dawnshot’s hair back from his face, as if that would be enough to summon him to consciousness once more.

He needed a doctor. There was one in town, but they were sorta in the middle of something here. He looked back at the front room of the bank. His crew was staring at him with surprised expressions, but at least no one had their gun on him. Yet.

Okay. He could do this. The speed bubble reached outside. He’d move Dawnshot to cover, drop it, then get him to help. It would be simple. Maybe it was good Dawnshot was bleeding, anyway, since that meant his heart was still going.

Wayne got behind Dawnshot and looped his arms beneath his broad shoulders. Then he dragged him back, out of the bank, to the very edge of his bubble. His bendalloy was going fast. Which way was the doc’s place? He stared up and down the street, suddenly disoriented.

Everything had been going so well. It had been fun until—until it wasn’t.

His frantic gaze snagged on someone he recognized. Lessie. She was halfway down the building, staring with wide eyes at the front door, gun in hand. She musta been listening to their exchange and had heard the gunshots.

With shaking, bloodsoaked hands, Wayne undid his gunbelt and tossed it aside. Now that he was unarmed, maybe she wouldn’t shoot him on sight. He needed her help. To carry Dawnshot. They’d be faster together.

He dropped the speed bubble. “Lessie!” he shouted.

She blinked, refocusing on him. “Oh, Harmony.” In a flash, she’d holstered her gun and knelt beside them. “What happened?”

“Tried to stop the bullets. One got through.” Wayne gestured to his torso, but it was probably too covered in blood to be useful in spelling out the story. “Sorry.”

“Help me get him up,” Lessie said, ignoring his apology. “Take his left side.”

Wayne did as she asked, and together they hauled him upright. He was taller than them both, so they had to drag him a bit, but it was better than leaving him to—

To nothing. Dawnshot would be fine.

Behind them, more gunshots sounded in the bank. People on the street were screaming, darting away, and more cries of alarm came from inside. Wayne barely heard them. His focus narrowed to Dawnshot’s still form suspended between them.

Lessie led the way, and the town passed in a blur until she kicked a door open.

“Doc!” she shouted. “Gunshot wound!”

A tall, chubby Terris woman rushed out of the back room. She pushed her glasses up her nose and took in the scene. “Put him on the table.”

They did, and Wayne stepped back to give her room.

“Sent my assistant home already,” Doc said as she pulled Dawnshot’s shirt open. “You’ll have to help.”

“I’ve got steady hands,” Lessie said. Her voice was so… solid. Calm, almost. Her focus was entirely on Dawnshot. Doc told her to do things and hand her things and she did.

Wayne kept backing up. Didn’t wanna be in the way. He only stopped when he hit the far wall.

This was the part where he left. It’s what he was best at. Escaping. Avoiding consequences. Dodging punishment for his many crimes. Disappearing into the night while everyone was distracted.

Running away.

His hands were shaking. He couldn’t look away from Dawnshot. From what he himself had done. Wayne hadn’t drawn a gun in twelve years. He wasn’t even wearing his anymore. But it still felt like he’d put that bullet in Waxillium Ladrian’s chest himself.

In a way he had. It had gone through his own rusting body without stopping.

His job, his crew, his responsibility. His fault when things went sideways.

If Dawnshot died, it would be Wayne who hanged for it. But not if he left.

Wayne stayed.

Eventually, the furor died down. Doc bandaged Dawnshot’s chest, and Lessie cleaned most of the blood off him before pulling a blanket up to his chin.

When Lessie turned, she startled at the sight of him. He imagined he looked about as awful as he felt.

“Wayne?” she asked softly. “You’re… still here.”

“Looks like.” Wayne stared at the bed behind her. At the steady rise and fall of Dawnshot’s chest. “He gonna live?”

“Looks like,” Lessie echoed.

They stood there for a drawn out moment, staring at each other. Wayne wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. Anger, probably. The blame to fall on him.

Behind Lessie, Doc was bustling around, cleaning up. Either she felt the tension, or this was just part of her usual routine, cause she said, “You can sit down, you know. He probably won’t wake for a while, but I’m too wise to tell you two to get sleep yourselves.” She pointed to one wall, where there were wooden chairs that looked none too comfortable.

“Thank you, Doc,” Lessie said. Then she turned away from Wayne and slumped into one of them.

There were three, so he took the one at the other end. His body moved on its own, because if he’d been in charge, he’d have left. No one needed him here—and Lessie definitely wouldn’t want him hanging around. But he couldn’t shake the worry that if he bailed, he’d never see Dawnshot again.

Doc finished cleaning up and told them she’d be in the back if they needed her. The door clicked closed, and the three of them were alone.

Wayne couldn’t stop staring at Dawnshot. He was too pale.

“She’s good at what she does,” Lessie said, breaking the heavy silence in the room. “Doc, I mean. She’s an Archivist.”

“Seems useful, for her line of work.” Wayne shifted in the seat, but there was no comfortable position.

“Yeah.” A long pause. “Bullet hit his rib. Got stuck there.”

Wayne supposed that was why Dawnshot was still alive. He nodded, though he didn’t think Lessie was looking at him.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “Feels like every time we meet, I end up more in your debt.”

That made Wayne finally tear his eyes from Dawnshot to stare at her. She met his gaze. “You ain’t in my debt.” If anything, the opposite was true.

“This is the second time you’ve saved his life.”

“I’m the one who put him in danger this time.” Wayne hunched and crossed his arms, wishing she’d stop looking at him with those intense eyes of hers. “If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have got hurt. I couldn’t even stop the bullet—”

“You stopped an awful lot of them, unless you just go around covered in blood and bullet holes. And the one that hit him didn’t go deep. If you hadn’t jumped in the way, Wax would be—” She couldn’t seem to finish the sentence.

“I’m the reason he walked into that bank like a rusting fool.” Wayne couldn’t blame her for trying to put the best spin on things, but she hadn’t seen what happened. “Shoulda been able to control my own crew, but I couldn’t.”

Wayne stood. He shouldn’t be here. Shoulda been out of town by now.

Lessie grabbed his sleeve, stopping him as he tried to bolt. “Don’t go. Please.”

He could’ve gotten out of her grip, but… the way she was staring up at him, eyes wide. Slowly, he sank back into his chair. “All right.”

She smiled, the expression weak and fleeting, but it still warmed something cold and empty inside him. “I’d rather not have to wait alone. It’s always easier with a friend.”

Wayne tried to ignore the way his stomach twisted at the word. “I reckon from the amount of scars on him, you done this before?”

She nodded, settling into her chair a little, as if getting comfortable for a long and familiar wait. Then something seemed to occur to her, and she cut him a sly glance. “You’ve seen his scars?”

Wayne could practically feel Dawnshot telling him to keep his mouth shut, even unconscious as he was. He gestured to the operating table. “You know. Just now.”

“Surprised you saw anything past the blood.” Lessie didn’t pry further, though, and Wayne relaxed a fraction. She let out a soft sigh. “But yes, to answer your question. This isn’t my first bedside vigil.”

“Must not be easy. Loving him.”

Lessie actually laughed. “It is. I didn’t expect it, but—loving him has always felt… inevitable. I’m sure you understand.”

“Ain’t ever been in love, so I don’t.”

She gave him another one of those piercing looks, but didn’t reply.

The silence was brittle now, so Wayne scrambled to fill it. “Miles on his way?”

“He’ll probably come by in the morning.” Lessie blinked. “Why?”

“Just wondering how much time I got left.”

“Before?” she prodded when he didn’t elaborate.

“Shuffling off this mortal coil and all. I figure he’ll kill me himself.”

“While you’re sitting unarmed in Doc’s place? He wouldn’t dare.” Lessie sat up straighter. “Even if he did, you’re my guest. I won’t hear of anyone hurting you, or arresting you.”

He stared at her. “I just robbed a bank.”

She snorted. “No you didn’t. You tried to, and failed miserably.”

“Ain’t it the thought that counts when it comes to crime?”

“Are you arguing in favor of me arresting you right now?” Lessie raised her eyebrows.

“Course I am. Got a reputation to uphold.”

“And arresting you helps that… how, exactly?”

“Can’t say I’ve escaped if I ain’t been properly arrested in the first place,” Wayne said, though he’d thought that much was obvious. “Otherwise it’s just leaving, and there ain’t nothing special about that.”

“You don’t have to, you know,” Lessie said, smiling at him again.

“I don’t have to what?”

“Leave. I know he’ll want to see you when he wakes up.”

Wayne tipped his head back, staring at the ceiling. “He’ll wanna give me an earful, I expect. I deserve it.”

This time he’d gone too far, in a way that wasn’t just more teasing than Dawnshot could handle. People were dead. Wayne hoped none of the bystanders had been hurt, at least. And despite what he’d joked about, his reputation was beyond saving now.

In one desperate moment he’d not only revealed himself as Twinborn to the world, he’d also publicly protected a lawman. Whatever tatters of credibility he’d been clinging to since that day Dawnshot raided his hideout were gone.

Now he truly had nothing, and no one. It was the logical end of both his life and his career. He was bound for the end of a rope no matter what Lessie promised.

“You honestly think Wax will be mad at you?” Lessie asked.

Wayne looked back at her. “Course he will. It’s all my fault.”

She just shook her head, then glanced down at his torso. “That can’t be comfortable. I bet Doc has something you can borrow.”

“Nah, don’t wanna put her out.” He’d left a few disguises around here. At least he was pretty sure he had.

“Well, I’ll lend you something when we get back home.”

Wayne froze, trying to pinpoint the part of the conversation he skipped. He musta drifted off or something and missed the context. Very eloquently he said, “Wha?”

“Home. In Weathering. Harmony knows Wax could probably stand to lend you some things, too. He owns a lot of clothes.”

“You can take the spoiled lord out of Elendel, but you can’t take Elendel out of the spoiled lord.” Wayne spoke without really hearing himself. He paused. “Ain’t going home with you, anyway.”

“Do you have somewhere else to be?” Her voice was teasing, but her eyes weren’t.

They both knew he didn’t. He appreciated that she’d taken care not to phrase it do you have anywhere you even could go? The answer was the same.

“Ain’t sure your husband will be on board with the invite.”

“How’s he going to stop me? He’s been shot.”

Wayne stared at her, lips slightly parted. “You’re making fun of him. He’s lying there on his deathbed and you’re cracking jokes.”

Lessie rolled her eyes. “He’s not dying. And don’t pretend to be scandalized. We’ve met, remember?”

“I ain’t scandalized. I’m impressed.”

“Is that a yes, then?” Lessie asked, peering at him like she wouldn’t look away until he gave her the answer she wanted.

“It’s a maybe. Contingent on whether or not Dawnshot tries to kill me when he comes to.”

“Why do you call him that?”

Doc really shoulda put cushions out on these chairs. He squirmed uncomfortably. “It’s his name.”

“It’s a title. His name is Wax. You can use it, you know.” Lessie looked to where Dawnshot lay, chest still rising and falling beneath his blanket. “You wouldn’t like it if we went around calling you the Outlaw King, would you?”

“Actually, nothing would make me happier—”

She punched him on the arm, a little too hard to be entirely friendly. He looked that direction to discover she’d moved to the middle seat. Probably to get better leverage for the punch.

He rubbed his arm, wincing. “I see you don’t care for honesty round these parts.”

“Oh, Wayne,” Lessie said, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and shaking him a little. “If I ever witness you being completely honest, I think the shock would kill me.”

Instead of responding, he went back to watching Dawnshot sleep. Maybe he oughta start calling him Wax, if for no other reason it would probably end up annoying his lordship, no matter what he said.

Chapter Text

Soft morning light and birdsong cut through the haze of heavy sleep. Wax blinked a few times, disoriented. A strange ceiling, but scents and sensations that were depressingly familiar. Medication was making him groggy, and the smell of antiseptic filled the air. That coupled with the tightness of bandages around his chest told him everything, even before he remembered yesterday.

He turned his head slowly to find a sight he hadn’t expected. Lessie and Wayne sat together beside him. They were both asleep, leaning against each other. Gravity had probably put them there rather than intention, but it was still… nice. They both looked peaceful. Maybe he should’ve felt jealous that another man had been with Lessie when he himself couldn’t comfort her, but he didn’t.

That was probably because Wayne had never been half as bold and scandalous with Lessie as he was with Wax. But more than that… it was Wayne. Wax trusted him, maybe more than he should’ve. He certainly cared for him more than he should’ve. Dealing with it was a lot easier now that Lessie knew the full truth, but he still felt guilty, watching Wayne sleep. Following the path of golden sunlight as it limned him in its glow.

My two favorite people, Wax thought unbidden. Doc must’ve given him more pain medication than he needed. Lessie was definitely his favorite person. But Wayne was only his favorite problem, one he would eventually solve.

He swallowed to find his throat painfully dry. There was water on the table next to him, so he sat up, but that made agony arc through his middle. He gasped, collapsing back down.

Unfortunately, that was enough noise to wake his sleeping companions. Lessie blinked slowly, but Wayne jerked awake, putting distance between the two of them. He stared at Wax, eyes wide.

Lessie yawned and stretched. “Good morning, handsome. Sleep okay?”

She never failed to say that when he woke up after surgery. “Yes, the drugs were top notch.” He paused. “What happened?”

He remembered the bank robbery, how badly he’d miscalculated in trying to deescalate the situation. He’d waited too long to disarm the men with a steelpush, wanting to let them choose surrender themselves. Then Wayne threw himself in front of him. After that it was just the sound of gunshots, and pain.

“You lost consciousness, probably shock and blood loss.” Lessie rose and stood beside the cot, taking his hand. “Fortunately for you, Wayne got you out of there, and we got you here.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Sorry for worrying you.”

She leaned down and kissed his cheek. “Just don’t do something that stupid again, okay?”

“I never do anything reckless.” He smiled up at her.

Somewhere nearby, a door opened. “Ah, good. You’re awake.” Doc came into view. “How are you feeling? Can you move your right arm?”

Wax did, wincing a little, but overall he had more range of motion than he expected. Doc did a few more tests, then tied his arm up in a sling and announced he could leave as long as he didn’t try to ride a horse any time soon.

“And try not to get shot again,” she added dryly.

Slowly, with Lessie’s help, Wax sat up and pulled his shirt on. A few of the buttons were missing, and it was stained with blood, but he didn’t feel right putting on his coat without a shirt first. Eventually, he was dressed, and though exhaustion pulled at him, he wanted to get moving.

“After we track down Miles, we can rent a wagon,” Lessie was saying, putting on her own coat and hat. “We’ll still be home by evening.”

They were nearly to the front door when Lessie paused, tugging on his sleeve and nodding back at something in the room.

At last, Wax glanced at Wayne. He’d been avoiding it this entire time, but now all the pretenses were gone, and he couldn’t put it off any longer.

Wayne stood against the wall, his hat on the chair beside him instead of his head, which was odd. Then again, Wax had given up trying to completely understand him a while ago. He looked… well, on anyone else, Wax would’ve called it sheepish, but Wayne had probably never felt sheepish in his entire life.

“Wayne, come here,” Wax said.

Wayne, whose gaze had been distant, snapped to attention, taking a half step forward before he seemed to catch himself. “Why?”

“Because you’re halfway across the room, and I don’t want to raise my voice. I’m tired.”

Warily, Wayne approached. He stopped just out of striking range, which Wax felt was a little melodramatic, even for him.

“Thank you for saving my life. Again,” Wax said. He raised his left hand when Wayne opened his mouth to argue. “You didn’t have to do what you did. And I’d obviously prefer if you didn’t go around robbing banks and putting people in danger, but that doesn’t change what happened. You put yourself between me and those bullets. You chose to protect me, even in front of your crew.” Wax tried to hold out his right hand for Wayne to shake, forgetting it was bound in a sling.

“Just hug him,” Lessie stage-whispered. “He won’t bite.”

“That’s historically inaccurate,” Wax said, but she had a point. About the hugging, not the biting.

“I’ll keep the biting down to requests only.” Wayne smirked, but didn’t move any closer.

So Wax had to do it for him. Using only his left arm, he pulled Wayne to him in an embrace. He kept it short, and light as possible, so as not to overstep, but Wayne still froze against him, uncomfortable. Wax released him. Then, belatedly realizing just who he was letting access his person, he checked his pocket.

He expected to find it empty, handkerchief gone, but instead—

A small roll of bandages. Wax blinked. Had Doc given him some for the road?

But when he glanced at Wayne, he saw the man examining his new prize.

“These things are so fancy,” Wayne said, touching the cloth to his cheek. “What they made out of?”

“Did you… steal my handkerchief and replace it with stolen bandages?”

“Course not,” Wayne said, tucking the cloth away and finally meeting his eye. “I traded for it. You told me to.”

“When?”

“You said stealing was wrong, which I’ll allow is true. But trading must be fine, on account of an upstanding lawman like yourself traded for my hat.”

Lessie laughed quietly, turning for the door. “Come on, let’s find Miles, then we can continue this conversation on the road.”

“I’d rather let the matter drop,” Wax sighed.

“But the lady insists,” Wayne said, bouncing on his heels. “So we gotta oblige her.”

“Wait,” Wax said, holding out his hand to stop Wayne before he made it to the door. “Don’t forget your hat.”

“Ain’t my hat anymore,” Wayne said, “cause it’s bad luck.” He brushed past them and into the bright sunlight outside.

Wax exchanged a look with Lessie. “He’s still here.” Rather than exasperated, his words were warm. Fond. Excited, even. He tried to tamp down the feelings that came with them.

“He sure is. And he’s coming home with us. Hope that’s okay.”

“Of course it is.” Wax was surprised Wayne had agreed to that, though. “He… does know, right? You’re not planning to hogtie him?”

“Not unless he asks me too.” She wiggled her eyebrows and looped her arm around Wax’s. “I talked him into it. You know how persuasive I can be.”

Wax smiled, and let her lead him outside, toward the hot day, and, eventually, toward home.

Chapter Text

Wayne had never thought much of the concept of penance, since he never expected to have to do it himself. The list of people he’d hurt was too long by now to ever make amends, and when he considered trying, it filled him with the sort of listless despondence that ended up with him spending the whole day in bed, cause getting up didn’t seem worth the trouble. Usually after a big score (provided no annoying Twinborn lawmen with funny coats showed up to ruin his life), he anonymously sent money to the family of the man he’d killed, but buying a little vacation from his guilt wasn’t penance.

Now, however, he was finally in a position that demanded it from him. He’d always expected to simply die before all his cosmic debts came due, so this was sorta surprising. Novel, even.

Lessie and Dawnshot—Wax—lived in a cute two-story house at the edge of Weathering. It was well maintained and clearly loved. A home, not just a building. A place of refuge to return to when their work dragged them through life-threatening danger and back again.

The moment Wayne stepped over the threshold, he felt like a trespasser, and not just cause he had a tendency to end up places he ought not be.

He didn’t belong here. But now that he was, he couldn’t really see how to escape without causing a lot of hurt feelings. Plus, this was his chance to pay Wax back—for getting him shot in the first place, and for how much he’d helped Wayne when he was refilling his metalmind.

It was evening; they’d been traveling all day. Lessie went round lighting a few lamps, then said, “I’ll make us some dinner.”

“No!” Wax said, a little too loud. “I can manage. I’m not that injured.”

Lessie pouted. “You’d rather risk hurting yourself than eat my cooking?”

“Unlike Wax, who’s an awful husband,” Wayne began, grinning, “I’d love to eat whatever you want to make for us, Lessie.”

Behind her, Wax was shaking his head and mouthing no with a horrified expression, but Wayne ignored him. Spoiled lord probably hated if any meal came with less than seven courses. Wayne was far more practical.

“Thank you, Wayne,” Lessie said, favoring him with a smile. “I’ve been researching new recipes, but Wax is too scared to let me in the kitchen after last time.”

“The house almost burned down,” Wax said defensively.

“And I learned a valuable lesson.” Lessie looked them both up and down. “You two are a mess. Go get cleaned up. I’ve got everything under control here.”

She headed into the kitchen. Wayne wanted to follow her, mostly to poke around and see what sorta stuff the legendary Dawnshot and his wife had, but she was right. Both of them were still covered in dried blood.

“Shout if you need help,” Wax said.

“If I need help, send Wayne. You’re supposed to be resting.” Lessie began filling the stove with wood. As Wayne followed Wax deeper into the house, she began to hum a chipper tune.

Wayne parted his lips, meaning to make some sort of joke to ease the tension winding around his middle, but he stayed quiet. He’d already monumentally fucked up by getting Wax hurt, he didn’t want to add to it by invading their space with his body and his stupid mouth.

His silence must’ve read as awkward, because Wax cut him a curious look before mounting the stairs.

The second floor was only two rooms. Since they were after a change of clothes, Wax entered the bedroom. Wayne followed, taking in the space, feeling more than a little like an intruder now. There was a neatly made bed across from a dresser of unfinished hardwood, a slightly warped mirror sitting atop it. A scattering of things that had to be mementos sat on a little table beneath the window, along with a small basin and pitcher of water.

A soft gasp drew Wayne from his examinations. Wax was trying to pull open a heavy dresser drawer with one hand, and the motion must’ve aggravated his injury.

“Let me,” Wayne said, and not just cause he wanted the chance to root around in their drawers. “Lessie’ll see me hanged if I let you hurt yourself.”

“I’m fine,” Wax said stubbornly, still trying to open the drawer.

Wayne pushed him out of the way, almost surprised he managed it. Wax could become as heavy as he wanted. Must’ve caught him off guard. Wayne grinned as he got the dresser open, but inside this drawer was only shirts. Nothing fun and scandalous. He checked beneath each neatly folded stack just to be sure.

“What are you doing?” Wax huffed. “Just take one off the top.”

“I’m searching for sex toys,” Wayne said amiably.

“Go wait downstairs.”

“And if I do, how you gonna change?” Wayne stared up at him, holding his ground. They were close, his elbow still nearly in Wax’s side from when he’d nudged him out of the way. Wayne should’ve put some distance between them, but Wax didn’t seem to notice it.

“I can manage on my own.”

“You can’t, mate. I saw you this morning.” Maybe he shouldn’t have watched, but he figured if Doc was there overseeing it, it was fine for him to peek. “Took you and Lessie a full five minutes.”

“I’m feeling much better now,” Wax said. Wayne didn’t have to be studying his face to know he was lying. He was obviously still in pain, his skin paler than normal, a little sweat on his brow.

“All right, then.” Wayne pulled out the top shirt and handed it to Wax. “Do it.” He didn’t step back. They weren’t touching, but it was a near thing.

With almost defiant motions, Wax set the fresh shirt on the top of the dresser and began unbuttoning the one he wore. It was slow going because he could only use his left hand. Obviously, Wayne wanted to watch Wax’s fingers as they gradually revealed his chest, but he refused to break the staring contest they had going on. Somehow that made his heart race, anyway, like he’d already got his hands all over Wax’s skin.

Eventually, an agonizing amount of time later, Wax’s shirt hung open. Wayne smirked, waiting. Wax had to look away now, and he did, frowning down. The calculations were clear on his face as he tried to work out how to get his arms out of the sleeves.

Wayne wasn’t exactly a patient person, but for this, he could wait here all night. He’d only move if Lessie really did burn the house down around them.

With a bit of wiggling, Wax managed to get his left sleeve half off. The right was still on, beneath the sling. Wayne would’ve started with that side, personally, but he wasn’t about to volunteer any advice. Not until Wax asked.

Seeming to realize he wouldn’t get anywhere going down his current path, Wax switched to trying to untie the sling. The knot was behind his neck, sitting just where the ends of his hair brushed his shoulders. It gave him trouble. Wax bit his bottom lip absently, gaze going distant over Wayne’s shoulder.

Wax still hadn’t stepped back, though maybe for him that would’ve also meant backing down from the challenge. Wayne finally allowed his eyes to trail down his body, taking it in. The sharp collar bones, the muscular chest. His dark hair disappearing beneath the bandages only to emerge again when they ended, trailing down past his navel until his pants ruined things.

With a leisurely pace, he returned his gaze higher, only to find Wax staring at him, eyes dark, lids half-closed, lower lip redder than before, the indents of his teeth still in the skin there. The pallor of his cheeks was gone, replaced with a flush.

It was, maybe, in a sorta roundabout way, good that Wax had recently been shot. If not for the very real and serious matter of the bodily injury, Wayne would’ve pushed him back onto the bed and really wore out his welcome beneath Wax and Lessie’s roof.

Not that he could push Wax around if he didn’t wanna be pushed, but still. He definitely had the urge to make a mistake, but it wasn’t right to tear open a man’s stitches over it, so he kept his hands well to himself.

Belatedly, he realized Wax still hadn’t gotten the sling off. He was looking at Wayne with a question in his eyes, which Wayne chose to ignore. He blinked up at Wax, real innocent, waiting.

“I…” Wax said, then swallowed and looked away. “I could use some help.”

“What an interesting fact to say aloud,” Wayne said slowly, “with not a single question attached.”

Wax’s left hand curled into a fist, his knuckles going white. He turned back to stare down at Wayne, pupils so wide his eyes looked black in the low lantern light. “Will you please help me, Wayne?” His voice was stilted and almost sarcastic, but it sent a shiver zinging up his back all the same.

“Course I will, mate,” Wayne said cheerfully, forcing a smile past the raw want filling him up. “Hold still.”

In a visceral echo of the day he’d found him and Lessie tied up in the desert, Wayne reached around and undid the sling, using both hands, but taking his time. Had to go slow on account of not wanting to jostle the wound. Wax would be appreciative of that, when he stopped being angry long enough to think on it.

Not that he expected Wax to spend any time at all thinking about him when he was out of sight.

He got the sling loose and carefully unwound it from Wax’s arm, keeping his hands featherlight, like he was trying to pick pockets in a crowd full of lawkeepers. The work did necessitate he touch Wax, though, their fingers brushing as Wayne pulled the fabric away. He set it on the dresser, then turned back to deal with the sleeve.

“I can handle it from here,” Wax said gruffly, but Wayne did his favorite thing in the world and ignored instructions.

He took Wax’s arm in gentle hands and slowly helped him out of his right sleeve. Wax winced, but there was no way around a little discomfort, and he didn’t push (or Push) Wayne away, or tell him to stop. His insistence he could do this alone was only for his own pride’s sake. They both knew he couldn’t.

“Kinda nice, this change of pace,” Wayne said as he finally got the sleeve off. The other one was easy.

“What do you mean?” Wax’s voice was full of apprehension, but it also sounded a little rougher than normal.

“Me undressing you, instead of the other way round.”

Wax huffed in annoyance, but that didn’t stop Wayne’s grin. “I appreciate your help, but I can do the rest.”

“Gonna change your bandages on your own?” Wayne balled up Wax’s ruined, bloody shirt and tossed it on the dresser. Later Wayne would try to get all the blood out and mend the bullet hole, provided his lordship even cared if the garment was saved.

“I don’t—” Wax glanced down at his bandages, now bare. Blood had soaked through, though it looked old. It was probably from this morning, which was all the more reason to change them to fresh ones. He scowled, like that would heal the wound faster.

“Sit down.” It was kinda fun being the one giving orders to Wax. “Where you keep your medical supplies?”

“What makes you think we have those on hand?” Wax didn’t move.

Wayne gestured vaguely to the many scars on his person. “Just a hunch.”

Rolling his eyes, Wax said, “Other room on this floor. It’s mostly storage.”

“Wait here.” Wayne patted him on his left shoulder. “And sit down. You’re supposed to be resting.”

“You could pretend not to be enjoying this,” Wax sighed as he finally lowered himself to the edge of the bed.

Wayne’s smile never faltered, not as he searched the spare room for bandages (which he found in a small crate full of other supplies), nor as he returned with them and a clean rag.

It did, however, collapse when he saw what Wax was up to. “Oi, stop that. You’ll pull out your stitches.”

Wax was trying to unwind the bandages himself. It was going badly. Wayne rushed forward and slapped his hand away.

“I got no idea how Lessie puts up with you.” Wayne took over the job. He’d never really had to do this sort of thing before, but at least he could use both his hands and go slow. He paid attention to how the bandages were wrapped as he carefully undid Doc’s work.

When it was all off, Wayne was forced to look at the wound. His handiwork. It was larger than he’d realized, and though it was stitched closed and no longer bleeding, he could imagine it as it had been the previous day. No wonder Wax had bled so much.

There was some dried blood on Wax’s chest. Wayne dipped the clean rag in the water basin and moved to clean it off. Wax caught his wrist.

“I can do that. I mean it.” He was using his commanding voice, but Wayne refused to give into the shiver it sent through him. No way he was backing down now.

“Don’t much care.” Wayne wrenched his hand from Wax’s grip, then glanced at his face. He’d been so focused on the injury, he hadn’t even been ogling Wax’s bare chest, which he thought was awful respectable of him.

Wax glowered up at him, but a little of what seemed to be real apprehension shone in his eyes beneath his furrowed brows.

“I ain’t gonna hurt you again,” Wayne said, softly. “You got no reason to trust me, but…” He wasn’t sure how to finish that. But do it anyway, cause I want you to was a rusting dumb thing to say.

This made Wax exhale a little laugh. “I know you won’t stab me.”

“I meant the bullet wound, Wax.” Saying his name was still so novel. Wayne loved the feel of it on his tongue. “I’m the reason it’s there, so just let me do what I can to fix it.”

“You didn’t shoot me.”

“Semantics.” Wayne once again attempted to bring the cloth to Wax’s skin, and this time he let him. Only, Wax twitched away when it touched him.

“That’s cold,” Wax complained.

“My apologies, your lordship,” Wayne said in the stuffiest accent he knew. “Shall I have the chambermaid responsible for heating his lordship’s water dismissed?”

For a moment it looked as if Wax was trying to be offended, but instead he smiled and shook his head, staring up at Wayne. “You sound exactly like my uncle’s butler. It’s uncanny.”

Wayne smirked, continuing to gently clean Wax’s chest. And if he was enjoying how the little drops of water moved over his skin, so what? He was helping. “Accents is easy.”

“Yes, and using my Allomancy and Feruchemy together is easy. For me. Because I spent a long time perfecting the skills.”

Shrugging a little, he got on with his work, not meeting Wax’s eye. “Ain’t hard if you pay attention. I listen to people and steal their voices, and you know I’m a very capable thief.”

“If it’s so easy, maybe you could… teach me the basics.”

Wayne’s hand slowed, then stopped. He glanced up at Wax, who was looking away now. “Depends.”

“On what?” Wax asked softly. His chest rose and fell beneath Wayne’s hand. He wanted to press his palm to Wax’s skin to feel how fast his heart was beating. Maybe their pulses would match. If so, it wouldn’t be for the same reasons, but Wayne could always pretend.

“How good you are with your tongue.”

Wax’s breath stilled. “Wayne.”

For once, Wayne didn’t feel he’d earned that particular admonishment (and how strange to think of someone simply saying his name in a certain tone of voice as being the same as a reprimand). “I’m serious, mate. You ever pay attention to where your tongue is when you talk?”

“No,” Wax said slowly. Wayne grinned at him.

“Bet you are now, though.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “Suppose if you can’t tell me how talented your tongue is, I can always ask Lessie to rate your skills for me.”

That made Wax turn to look at him, eyes narrowed. “Don’t even joke about that.”

“You worried you ain’t that good with your tongue after all?” Wayne was finished cleaning the dried blood away, but he didn’t lower the cloth. He didn’t want the excuse to end.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” A muscle in Wax’s jaw twitched.

“Relax.” With his free hand, Wayne lightly brushed his fingers along Wax’s stubble-covered cheek. “Can’t teach you anything if you’re all stiff.”

Wayne stepped away, ostensibly to put the cloth by the basin of water. Really he needed a moment to get himself under control. He didn’t want to push Wax too far this time. Not again. He owed it to him to stick around until he was healed.

When he returned to Wax, he picked up the bandages and did his best to mimic what Doc had done. As his hands moved, he talked.

“If you really wanna learn, spend some time paying attention to your tongue and lips and teeth when you talk. Do it in front of the mirror if you have to. Accents is more than just vowels and consonants, but that’s where you start.”

“What else is there beyond those two things?” Wax actually sounded curious.

“Cadence, rhythm, colloquialisms and slang, sentence structure. Lots of stuff.” Wayne finished tying off the bandages. He stepped back to admire his work. “Ain’t half bad. How’s it feel?”

“Good,” Wax said, staring at a point somewhere behind Wayne rather than at him. “You can stop hovering now.”

“Not a chance, mate. You ain’t dressed for dinner yet.” Wayne grabbed the fresh shirt off the dresser and shook it open. “Come on. Unless you wanna give me another show?”

Wax rolled his eyes and stood, turning so his back was to Wayne. Carefully, he slipped Wax’s arms into the sleeves, then settled the shirt on his shoulders. For one suspended moment, Wax didn’t turn around, and Wayne was sure he’d have to browbeat him into not trying to do up his own buttons. Then Wax seemed to surrender to the inevitable, spinning around slowly.

Every nerve in his body alight, Wayne stepped closer than was strictly necessary and began buttoning. He was pretty good with both clothes and his hands, so he didn’t have to pay much attention to the actions. He stared up at Wax instead.

“Want your first lesson?” Wayne asked.

Wax audibly swallowed. “In what?”

“How to use that tongue of yours to full effect.” Wayne smirked into the pause. “For accents.”

“Sure.”

Wayne finished the last button and slowly grabbed Wax’s wrist. He lifted Wax’s hand to his face, until his fingers were almost touching Wayne’s mouth. “Pay attention to how my lips are moving. Look at my tongue. Yeah, I mean right now. Why else would I be wasting all these pretty words?”

Slowly, Wax rested his thumb against Wayne’s lips, with just enough pressure their skin brushed but not so hard it would impede him talking. “How is this supposed to help?”

“If you’re gonna talk like another person, you gotta talk like them.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

“That’s not an explanation,” Wayne said in Wax’s voice. “It’s more of an object lesson, ain’t it? Feeling the difference.”

“Is touching you really necessary?”

“Course it ain’t, but I figured it’ll leave more of an impression on you.” Wayne smiled through his words, wishing he were only doing this to annoy Wax.

With a huff, Wax lowered his left hand. “Stop messing around. We really should go and check on Lessie soon.”

“If his lordship insists.” Wayne got the sling and tied Wax’s arm up again, then stepped away. “Now you’re presentable. Ain’t gonna put that ridiculous fluff around your neck though, so don’t even ask.”

“You missed my top two buttons,” Wax said, examining himself.

“I wouldn’t say I miss them. Lessie won’t either.” Wayne turned to the dresser and pulled out another shirt. It was obviously Wax’s, and would be too large in every dimension, but he could make it work. “Now, give a bloke some privacy.”

“For some reason, the thought of leaving you alone in here worries me.” Wax hesitated by the door, looking back at him.

Wayne smiled all innocent-like. “Dunno what you mean.” He shrugged out of his coat, adding it to the pile of garments to wash and mend tomorrow. Then he popped open his top button. “Unless you’re looking for an excuse to watch. You can always ask, mate.”

Wax just shook his head and left.

Once his footsteps on the stairs had faded, Wayne let his shoulders droop. Then he got cleaned up and changed, alone.

The next morning, Lessie woke him bright and early. Wayne had fallen asleep on the sofa downstairs, which was proving to be a mistake as she jerked open the curtains, letting in the awful light.

“Good morning, Wayne,” she said brightly.

“That’s a rusting lie. Ain’t nothing good about it.” Wayne sat up slowly.

“I’m going to start breakfast.”

That got Wayne on his feet. “No, you ain’t. I’m relying on your hospitality, least I can do is pitch in.”

Last night’s dinner hadn’t been completely inedible, but it was a near miss. Wayne was no master chef, but of the three of them now under this roof, he was clearly the best cook.

“But you’re our guest—” Lessie began.

Wayne slipped past her into the kitchen. “Came here to make things easier on you and Wax. You go check on him while I cook.”

Thankfully, she nodded, then headed back upstairs. Wayne exhaled a long breath; that had been a close call. As he made a simple breakfast, he prepared excuses and reasons for him being the one handling the food, just in case he needed them in the future. A big part of being an outlaw was preparation for any eventuality—

Not that he was an outlaw anymore. Without that hat to wear, he was… nothing. Worse than nothing.

He’d have to get a new hat today, after he cleaned and mended his coat and shirt. Couldn’t keep wearing Wax’s clothes forever, even if he did kinda like it—being surrounded by his scent, having to roll the sleeves up to use his hands.

By the time Lessie and Wax descended the stairs, breakfast was done. Wayne set it all out on the table, trying to make it as fancy as he could. Wax eyed the silverware he’d laid out in his best imitation of the order rich folk liked—though having only read descriptions of it in books, he was sure he got it wrong (which was, after all, half the point).

“Do we really need all this for eggs and toast?” Wax asked dryly. He was looking better this morning, his skin no longer sallow. Lessie had helped him dress, and she’d also chosen to leave the top two buttons undone. A woman with taste.

“Wanted you to feel at home.” Wayne gave a formal bow.

“This is my home, and you can stop that.” Wax lowered himself into a chair, but deftly moved his plate away when Wayne tried to serve him. “How can you make holding toast look sarcastic?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, mate.” Wayne gave up the butler act and joined them at the table.

Lessie, who’d been watching them both with amusement in her eyes, finally spoke. “So, Wayne, do you have any plans for the day?”

His plans were washing, sewing, and being a general menace to Wax (on account of it was the most entertaining thing to do round here), and he told her as much, phrasing it more politely.

“If you can spare the time,” she said with a little smile, “I was hoping you’d help me on patrol today, since we’re a man down.” Her gaze flicked to Wax, who was scowling.

“I can patrol—”

“No,” Wayne and Lessie said in unison.

“You need to rest.” Lessie stabbed her eggs with more force than necessary, never breaking eye contact with Wax. “Me and Wayne can handle it.”

Well, wasn’t that a neat trick. Wayne had been about to refuse, on account of he was more on the supply side of crime than prevention, but now if he told her no, that would be an opening for Wax to run around like a complete fool and get himself even more hurt.

She’d probably planned it that way. He had to admire it, even as he felt the trap closing around him.

Wax looked to Wayne, doubt obvious in the crease between his brows and the lines around his mouth. “I’m not sure the townspeople will be too accepting of a wanted criminal keeping the peace.”

“Well, that’s just downright insulting,” Wayne said.

“How is it insulting to call you a criminal?” Wax moved his food around his plate, but didn’t eat it. Wayne would deal with that in a minute.

“That ain’t the part I care about. You think the locals will recognize me.”

“Oh, right.” Wax looked him up and down with a detached, professional air that Wayne wished held a little more heat. “Do you need anything for a disguise?”

“Just a hat.”

“There’s a hat shop on Main,” Lessie said. “We can head there first.”

Wayne nodded absently, then made a grab for Wax’s plate. Instinctively, Wax pulled it out of reach.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking the dishes to clean them.”

“I’ve barely eaten anything!” Wax said.

“Yeah, and you clearly ain’t gonna. Been watching you push your food around, so give it up.” Wayne stood and leaned over the table.

“I’m slower with my left hand.”

“Don’t gotta spare my feelings, mate. If you don’t like the food, I’ll throw it out.” Wayne abandoned his chair and circled the table.

Wax put his plate down and hunched over it protectively. “It’s not that. I’m eating, see?” He stuffed a forkful of eggs into his mouth and proceeded to chew in the most aggressive manner Wayne had ever seen.

“Fine.” Wayne raised his hands and backed off. “If you say so.”

Wax actually ate after that. Later, when Wayne had finished cleaning up and was emptying his coat pockets to prepare it for washing, Lessie sidled up to him. Wax had gone back upstairs to rest.

“That was well played,” she said. “At breakfast.”

“Dunno what you’re on about.” Wayne pulled a fake beard out of one pocket and set it aside special; he’d need it soon. “You got a washtub?”

She watched him for a moment, then nodded and showed him to it.

An hour later, Wayne followed Lessie into a shop on the main street of Weathering. Hats of all different sorts lined the walls. A few plans on how to get them outside without paying rattled around in his brain, but Lessie seemed to sense this, and cut him a sharp look.

“My treat,” she said, a little more forceful than strictly necessary.

Wayne browsed for a bit, trying to work out just what kinda person he’d be. Playing lawman for the day… or, more likely, until Wax was well enough to resume his duties. He passed over several that were too similar to the hat he normally favored. This one wouldn’t be a candidate for a new lucky hat. Just something to keep his thoughts on the right side of the law.

He settled on a black bowler that was simple, without any showy nonsense. He tried it on and glanced at the little mirror the shop had so customers could preen at themselves. Didn’t look half bad. He was already wearing his fake beard and using a different accent. This completed the disguise and settled his roiling thoughts.

Lessie paid for it, all the while watching Wayne’s hands closely. He stayed on his best behavior, though, since he was wearing a lawman’s hat now. He was Lessie’s partner today, which meant he couldn’t get into any trouble. It would come back on her.

They left the shop, and Wayne watched Lessie for a moment.

“What now?” he asked. “We gonna go hassle honest folk we think might be doing crimes?”

Lessie snorted a laugh. “No. Follow me.”

She led him down a side street until they came to a building with stone walls and bars on the windows. Inside were a couple desks. Jail cells were the back, all of them currently empty. A young woman sat behind one of the desks. She perked up when they walked in.

“How’d it go?” she asked Lessie, eyes briefly flickering to Wayne, then away as she dismissed him.

“A little messy, but we stopped the robbery. Wax got hurt, so he’ll be resting for a while. This is Wayne, his temporary replacement.”

Wayne turned to stare at her, but she ignored him. What was the point in a disguise if she was just gonna tell everyone who he was?

“Huh, unfortunate name.” The deputy lawkeeper yawned and shuffled some papers around her desk. “I’ll head out then.”

Lessie said goodbye, then sat behind the other desk. She got out some blank paper and began writing. Wayne hovered in the middle of the room.

“This is what you and Wax do all day?”

“Nah, just gotta write up the report about the robbery. You know.” She glanced up at him meaningfully. “The one you were responsible for.”

“How’d you know?” Wayne asked.

“Know what?” Lessie kept writing, the scratch of her pen loud in the large, quiet room. Outside, the sounds of a town going about its business rattled on, but the thick walls muted them.

“That we was hitting the bank.”

“Ah.” Lessie paused long enough to give him a smirk that looked like something Wax would wear. “The same teller you bribed for information also sold a local lawkeeper the dirt on you. They called us in. Didn’t give names, though, so we didn’t expect to find…”

Him. “Would you have done it different, if you knew it was me, going in?”

She hesitated. “Not sure. Wax would’ve. Then again, his brilliant plan probably woulda worked out the same. Trying to talk your crew down.”

Wayne nodded silently, then perched on the empty desk while he waited for Lessie to finish her boring paperwork. He resisted the urge to adjust his new hat. It didn’t seem to fit right—or maybe being in a jail without someone trying to lock him up was setting his teeth on edge.

Restless, he got up and poked around, idly taking a few shiny or interesting things and—since he was an upstanding citizen and all—leaving objects of equal value in their place. He didn’t have a lot to work with, what with his coat drying on a line back at Wax and Lessie’s place, but he happened to have a neat stick the same length as a fountain pen, and a dull common rock the same weight as a fancy geode paperweight. He would’ve traded for a paperback of collected stories, but all he had was one of Wax’s handkerchiefs, and he wasn’t willing to part with it.

Eventually, Lessie finished and stood. “All right,” she said. “Let’s get you armed.”

Right. Wayne had tossed away his gun during the robbery. He still wore a knife (on loan from Wax since the incident with Normal Ben), but it wasn’t a long enough blade to convince anyone not to draw on him.

“You saying a strong, capable woman like yourself can’t protect me?” Wayne grinned at her and wiggled his eyebrows.

“If I’m watching your back, who’s watching mine?” Lessie walked to a closet and unlocked it. Inside were guns and ammo. She picked up a revolver, flipped the cylinder open to check it was loaded, then offered it to Wayne.

“Ain’t a good shot,” Wayne said, stepping back. He wanted to be the sort of person who could at least hold a gun without falling apart, but he wasn’t. Just thinking about the weight of the metal in his hands made sweat prickle on his brow.

“So long as you don’t accidentally hit the wrong person, you’re good enough.” Lessie’s smile faltered as she studied his face. “Wayne?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Turning over a new leaf, I am. Lawman Wayne don’t go round shooting people. Ain’t we supposed to arrest them, anyway?”

“Maybe you oughta get a non-lethal weapon, then.” Lessie looked him up and down, her gaze not quite as professional as her husband’s had been that morning. “In the meantime,” she put the revolver in a holster, then picked up the attached gun belt and stepped close to him.

Wayne stopped breathing, but not before her scent surrounded him—lye soap with the faint undertones of woodsmoke and gun oil. A mix of fear and disbelief froze his muscles as Lessie leaned so close her breasts almost brushed against him. She reached around his hips, but he could only stare into her eyes, marveling at the mischief that sparkled in them. Normally, he’d be inclined to meet that gaze with an equal measure (or more) of his own mischief, but this was Dawnshot’s wife, and he kinda liked having his head attached to his neck.

Her hands moved, just out of sight, and Wayne was on the verge of breaking and asking what the fuck she thought she was doing with him when he felt the weight of the gun belt tighten around his hips. He’d forgotten about it for a second there. She grinned as she did up the buckle.

“Now you’re ready to be my partner,” Lessie said softly, her hands lingering just a touch too long at his hips.

Or maybe he was reading intention where there was none. Wayne stepped back. “Put me to work then, Lawkeeper Lessie. We gonna go stop a dangerous robbery now?”

“Those aren’t as common as you might think.” Seeming completely unphased by—whatever had just happened between them—Lessie breezed to the front door of the jail. “Let’s get patrolling.”

That night, after cleaning up from a dinner that didn’t threaten to kill or maim anyone (which Wayne had, of course, cooked), he moved boxes around in the spare room. The sofa was all well and good, if you liked early morning sun blinding you anew each day. Wax had told him he could sleep here, provided he could make enough space for a bedroll. Maybe someone as tall as Wax couldn’t have managed it, but being on the short side had its advantages.

As he worked, body moving almost automatically, he had plenty of time with his thoughts. Spending the day working with Lessie had been… kinda nice. Nothing particularly exciting happened. They’d corralled a few arguing drunks, settled a couple disputes, encouraged a few malcontents to leave various places of business. Wayne had always thought of lawkeepers as constantly sticking their noses into robberies and such, but he supposed he was biased, as when they usually crossed paths with him, he was in the middle of some crime or another. Most of the day-to-day was mundane. Keeping the peace.

He’d seen it today, as their arrival places shifted the atmosphere. Earlier, he’d joked to Lessie it was her exceptional beauty that kept everyone on their toes, but he knew it was the gun and the badge. The authority. No one wanted to mess around and cross her, so they stayed in line. Wayne had only really contributed once, when a drunk took a swing at her. She hadn’t needed saving, but the man’s nose had needed breaking, so he obliged.

When they’d gotten back here, Wax had greeted her with eager warmth. The two of them seemed so comfortable together. Made sense, them being married and all.

What didn’t make sense was the hollow ache in his chest when he watched them kiss. He tried to tell himself it was just simple lust, but it cut too deep for that.

“You ain’t never gonna have that,” Wayne whispered to himself; Wax and Lessie were downstairs, well out of earshot. “And you wouldn’t deserve it, even if you did.”

A space cleared, he unfurled a bedroll. It fit. His impulse was to go down and brag about it to Wax—who’d obviously thought he’d never really manage it—but he stopped himself. Instead, he picked up his sewing kit and his coat, and got to work mending the bullet holes.

Maybe tomorrow, when he could dress more like himself, he’d go back to feeling normal.

Chapter Text

Wax wished he could blame the lingering ache in the right side of his chest for the way his mind refused to settle for sleep, but it wasn’t the pain. It wasn’t a lumpy mattress or sheets that were too hot or cold. It wasn’t Lessie, who slept next to him, breathing soft and even.

Granted, the pain didn’t help. He’d dozed off and on all day, too, because he’d been exhausted. But now that it was the proper time for sleep, he couldn’t seem to manage it. Too much whirled through his mind. He was plagued with memories of the past couple days—getting shot the highlight among them, the bright agony playing on a loop, along with looking up to see Wayne’s terrified, blood-spattered face before his memories cut off like a match being blown out.

Wayne. That’s who was on his mind the most. Wax had a soft spot for him; that he could no longer deny. But he didn’t think it was as serious as Lessie made it seem when they’d talked about it a while back. Whatever his feelings for Wayne, the man obviously didn’t reciprocate them. He was a shameless flirt and loved getting under Wax’s skin, was all. Eventually, he’d get bored with the tactic and move onto something else.

From what Lessie said, he had potential as a deputy, too. That should’ve been enough to calm Wax’s turbulent thoughts, but it wasn’t. He’d drawn Wayne away from the life of an outlaw—but how long could that possibly last? Until Wax was healed? Until Wayne got bored of wearing a lawman’s hat?

Every gust of wind sighing around the house, every settling floorboard, every tiny noise made Wax twitch. He realized he was listening for the sound of secretive footsteps. For signs Wayne was sneaking off to disappear again for another month, another year. The rest of their lives.

This was ridiculous. Determining if Wayne had left was as easy as looking in the other room. And if he had… that was fine. They were barely friends.

Wax slipped out of bed, careful not to disturb Lessie. He left the room, easing the door closed behind him, and hovered in front of the spare room. Wayne had left it open partway, a lamp burning low inside. Was he still awake?

Stepping forward, he peeked into the room, suddenly all too aware he wore only soft, loose pants and nothing else. But Wayne was asleep.

Tension unwound from Wax’s shoulders as he watched Wayne’s chest rise and fall. He must’ve nodded off in the middle of sewing; he was on rather than in the bedroll, and his coat sat beside him, needle and thread still attached. The garment was only half-repaired, several bullet holes remaining open. The wound in Wax’s chest twinged in sympathy. Sure, Wayne could heal, but that didn’t mean getting shot felt nice.

And he’d taken each hit for Wax, because he’d been too distracted to think straight. He’d used steelpushes to disarm hundreds of people by now, and yet he hadn’t. He’d been determined to talk it through with Wayne first. Wax rubbed his eyes with his left hand. He’d been a damn fool, and he was paying for it now.

The floorboard behind him creaked. Wax jumped and spun, but it was only Lessie, hair mussed from sleep, his button down shirt open and hanging loosely around her shoulders, barely concealing her nipples. She must’ve grabbed the first thing she saw before stepping out here; they both slept topless.

“We watching him sleep now?” she whispered, giving him a sleepy smile.

“I just—wanted to make sure he hadn’t—” Wax wasn’t sure how to finish that. The impulse that had driven him here was embarrassing, to say the least.

Lessie didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped around Wax and into the spare room. Before Wax could stop her, she was kneeling at Wayne’s feet. His boots were still on, and she pulled on the laces.

“What are you doing?” Wax hissed.

“This can’t be comfortable,” Lessie replied in a soft whisper. She tugged his boots off, setting them aside.

“What if he wakes up?” Wax crouched beside Lessie so he could keep his voice at the same low volume and still be heard.

“Wouldn’t that be fun?” Lessie turned and grinned at him in a way that momentarily made him forget about the pain in his chest. She stood, pulling him up with her. “Let’s go back to bed.”

Lessie extinguished the lantern in the spare room and eased the door closed. Together, they returned to their room, and in minutes Wax began to drift off.

Wayne was still here. At least for now.

Chapter Text

Wayne was far from an expert on how long it took regular (that is, non-Bloodmaker) folk to heal from bullet wounds, but it seemed Wax shoulda been back to normal by now. Wayne had been in Weathering nearly two months, and Wax was still stuck behind a desk at the town jail, leaving Wayne and Lessie to patrol.

Not that he minded spending every day beside her as they explored the town. Lessie was, in a word, incredible. Didn’t surprise him, seeing as she was married to Wax and all. But where Wax was the sort of man that commanded a room as soon as he entered, Lessie was more subtle. She could disarm with a smile as easily as with her hands, and she had a knack for spotting trouble before it arrived, same as Wayne.

Tomorrow would mark two months here. Two months with them, pretending to be something he wasn’t. Wayne was at the saloon tonight. He glanced down the bar and caught a woman’s eye. She lifted her glass to him and sipped her drink slowly, never looking away.

He was here alone, which was a common occurrence. Bad enough he was still sleeping under Wax and Lessie’s roof without being underfoot all the time. So, most nights, after dinner, he came here and let them enjoy some peace and quiet without him. These days most of the townsfolk knew him by sight if not name, but the town was growing, and new people arrived every day. There was always a stranger to lose himself in.

The woman making eyes at him was an obvious candidate for a little fun, but… He wasn’t in the mood for fun tonight. Too many tumbling thoughts. The black bowler he wore was fitting a little too well these days, and at some point in the last month he’d stopped bothering with the fake beard or any other disguises. Everyone considered the Outlaw King dead and gone. No one was going to make him pay for his many crimes—not even, apparently, Wax. Wayne was free. He could keep on living here indefinitely, if he wanted. Find a place of his own.

Wayne looked away from the woman and downed his whiskey. It burned a path through him, distracting him from the steady ache in his chest. If he didn’t know better, he’d have thought he had some kinda medical issue going on. But no matter how often he tapped healing, the pain didn’t abate. It got worse when Lessie favored him with the wicked smile she had that always showed up before she did something a little reckless, or when she’d casually touch his arm or back.

Didn’t mean nothing, though. She was just being Lessie.

Wayne ordered another whiskey. The barkeep nodded at him and poured him a double. A few weeks ago, he and Lessie had stopped some half-baked attempt at armed robbery here. Wayne had very nearly pulled the crew of four aside to give them tips on how to run a proper job, but Lessie was watching him too close, so he’d just helped her haul them to the jail instead. Ever since, the saloon had charged him half price for the cheap liquor.

So yeah, being a deputy had its advantages. By now he’d collected most of the locals’ accents, learned their stories, and had traded for a fair few of their trinkets. The work of lawman was kinda fun, too. His first week into it, he’d gotten hold of a pair of dueling canes, and he was getting pretty good with them. The only thing missing was Wax himself. Wayne couldn’t help feeling the work would be a lot more fun with him along, glowering at everyone and flying around when walking was just as good.

Some days he caught himself looking over his shoulder for Wax, like he’d been with them the whole time, only he never was.

But all in all, it wasn’t a bad life. It just… wasn’t his, and he wasn’t supposed to steal anymore. Eventually, Wax and Lessie were gonna get fed up with him—which always happened—and he’d be on his own again. He’d only lasted this long by making himself extra useful—organizing the spare room, mending clothes, cooking food that wasn’t a crime against the very concept of tastebuds.

Wayne knew all of it was temporary, even if sometimes he didn’t want it to be. Staying wasn’t an option, though. The constant ache in his chest was bad around Lessie; around Wax it sometimes stole his breath. He could pretend it was only simple lust, never giving it a name beyond that, but nights spent with strangers didn’t alleviate the pressure.

These days he had no appetite for flings, so most nights he drank himself into oblivion and stumbled to Wax and Lessie’s house late enough he didn’t have to worry about hearing them fucking. He’d misjudged the timing on a few occasions, and the memories haunted and thrilled him in equal measure. His plan for tonight was to, once hidden away in the spare room that was now more his than not, sober up enough to get himself off, but not so much he’d stop himself thinking of the sounds they made while they were together.

It was this sort of behavior that would inevitably get him kicked out, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Once Wax was well enough to get back to work, Wayne would catch a train to… somewhere else. Maybe he’d buy a ticket for the first one leaving, and let that decide for him. He could start over again. He’d done it before.

Whatever happened, he knew walking away was always better than being forced out or left behind.

Wayne lifted his glass to find it was somehow empty again. He didn’t have to signal the barkeep to get a refill this time, which maybe was a bad sign. The man knew better than to ask if he wanted to talk about it, though. He sipped his whiskey through slightly numb lips and stared at the wall decorated with liquor bottles, careful not to glance at the mirror there.

As soon as Wax was better, Wayne could free himself from this place. Wasn’t good for a person to want things they couldn’t steal or otherwise acquire.

Wasn’t good for him to be looking for Wax’s and Lessie’s faces in the crowd, feeling their absence like a dull knife tearing open his middle.

Something had to give. And Wax… well, Wayne had a sneaking suspicion he wasn’t being entirely honest. He no longer moved like a man in pain, and seemed completely healthy. But Wayne was no doctor, and it wasn’t right to judge someone for healing slower than a Bloodmaker thought they oughtta.

Too bad there was no way to give Wax an exam to see if he was fit for duty. Wayne tossed back the rest of his drink, then grinned to himself. Such a shame there was nothing he could do.

As the early morning light slowly coaxed Wax out of sleep, a growing sense of unease stole over him. Lessie lay peacefully next to him in bed, chest rising and falling in the gentle rhythm of sleep, the corners of her lips curved in a slight smile he hoped meant she was having a pleasant dream.

Nothing in the room was immediately amiss, but still his instincts screamed at him that something was wrong. Out of place. Missing.

The silence of dawn felt too heavy. Wax grabbed a vial of steel and downed it before slipping out of bed and grabbing his gun. Blue lines ran to dozens of places in the house, but none of them moved. If someone was sneaking around, they weren’t wearing metal.

No noises, covert or otherwise. Just that eerie stillness, that absence—

When he realized what had set off his instincts, his stomach lurched. He put his revolver back in its holster and stopped burning steel. He didn’t bother throwing on a shirt as he rushed into the small hallway outside. The door to Wayne’s room was ajar; usually he shut it when he went to sleep. No one was downstairs rattling around making breakfast or—as had happened on a few occasions in the past two months—rearranging things in what was supposedly a more logical order, except it only made sense to Wayne himself.

Wayne’s room was empty. The cot he slept on was disheveled, but as far as Wax knew, he never bothered to straighten it every morning. One of Lessie’s shirts sat on a crate he’d taken to using as a nightstand. She’d torn the hem when it caught on a nail, and Wayne was halfway through repairing it.

Pain lanced through his chest, and he could hardly breathe. Wayne was gone. It had finally happened. He’d been braced for it for a while, but… maybe part of him had always hoped Wayne would stay.

Wax found himself downstairs, searching each room for Wayne, hoping maybe he’d gotten too drunk and had fallen asleep in some random corner—another thing known to happen—but the first floor of the house was empty. Wax took a few deep breaths. All of Wayne’s things were upstairs. He would’ve taken them if he intended to skip town. He spent most nights picking up strangers at the saloon; he’d probably gone home with someone and was sleeping off a hangover he didn’t want to spending healing to cure.

Wax walked to the kitchen, sat down at the table, and buried his head in his hands. This was getting ridiculous. Wayne hadn’t come home one night and he’d reacted like the man had disappeared again, this time for good. He wasn’t wrong to worry; Wayne had a history of vanishing. But he couldn’t help feeling that this time was supposed to be different.

Wayne was different. Wax was different, too. He wanted Wayne to stay here, for this house to become his home, even if sometimes the way Wayne flirted with him hurt worse than a bullet wound or a knife in the side. Even if the knowledge that Wayne left every night to go find pleasure in a stranger’s bed cut Wax open because he wanted things he shouldn’t—namely, that he wanted to tell Wayne not to go, to stay and find what he was looking for with him and Lessie both.

Wax had seen the way she looked at Wayne sometimes. He wasn’t oblivious. But he also didn’t feel the jealousy he should’ve. None of it made sense—but then again, it was Wayne they were dealing with. Maybe that was the only normal part about this, how abnormal it was.

A knock at the front door jerked Wax from his thoughts. He glanced down at his bare chest, but there was nothing for it. He rubbed his eyes and hurried to answer, not wanting them to knock again and risk waking Lessie. He pulled the door open to find a girl waiting.

“Got a message for you,” she said without preamble, holding out a piece of paper. “Some fellow with a real big mustache paid me to deliver it.”

“Thank you.” He took the paper and fished a few coins from his pockets, careful to sort them from the spent shells he also usually carried. He tipped her, and she scampered off. Frowning, he closed the door and examined the paper.

It was a single sheet with a few typed lines on it. He stood in the entryway reading, his entire body going cold as a chill raced through him.

The paper read, Dawnshot: I’ve got your deputy, only I know he’s Wayne the Outlaw King, and ain’t no one claimed the bounty on him yet. Thought I might give you the chance to pay up for him instead. A rich lord like yourself oughta be able to handle it. Come alone to Tracker’s Pass at midnight to make a trade. If you try to bring that wife of yours, or anyone else, I’ll kill him.

Wax stared at the words, the chill vanishing, replaced with white-hot rage. Someone had recognized Wayne, and they’d taken him. Probably from the saloon, Wax knew, but it felt like he’d been abducted right from Wax’s own home.

Tracker’s Pass was almost a full day’s ride from here. If he wanted to get there in time to case the place and free Wayne, he’d have to leave soon. Now. And Lessie…

The note said to come alone, but they always did, and the two of them always ignored it when working ransom cases. Maybe it was hypocritical how, now that it was someone Wax cared about, he didn’t want to take the risk. Whoever had written this note knew him well enough to suspect he’d get backup to help him rescue Wayne. They’d be ready.

Wax didn’t have thousands of boxings to pay the ransom. He’d left all that behind, but this wasn’t the first person he’d met out in the Roughs that didn’t believe he’d done so. There was no other choice. He could only get Wayne back with force. Wax knew Lessie wouldn’t hesitate to help him, like always. She cared about Wayne, too.

But… the risk was too high. He could do this alone. He had to.

Wax dressed and gathered his gear as quietly as he could. Lessie never stirred. Before he left, though, he scrawled a message at the bottom of the ransom note and left it on the kitchen table for her to find.

Then he saddled Destroyer and rode out of town.

Tracker’s Pass was a short, narrow canyon cutting through a hill that became a river during the rainy season, but was otherwise the perfect spot to get shot full of bullets in an ambush. It was only about fifty yards long, and with a crew of half a dozen one could control the high ground and everything happening below. Wax assumed he was up against a group rather than someone acting alone, partially because they’d managed to take Wayne, who was an expert at escaping capture. The location made him certain. No solo person could take advantage of the terrain.

Wax arrived an hour after nightfall, because getting here any sooner would’ve meant killing his horse. There was still time before the midnight deadline. After tying Destroyer up a good distance from the pass, he checked his guns again and drank two vials of steel. The mists were out tonight, blanketing the world and making Wax feel a little more alert.

The whole ride here, he’d done his best not to think about what he might find. Wax knew the kidnappers would want Wayne alive—the bounty was higher for him that way—but he also knew how much trouble Wayne could cause as a captive. They might’ve decided to cut their losses and—

Wax tightened his hand around the revolver’s grip. Wayne wasn’t dead. He could handle himself, and he could behave when he felt like it. Both of them were walking away from this alive.

That was a lot more than he could say about whoever was responsible for all this, though.

Circling around the sides of Tracker’s Pass, Wax found a good spot to ascend. A few shell casings and Pushes later, he was at the highest point. The terrain was rocky and uneven, which, combined with the mists, meant he could sneak closer safely, but it also meant getting a headcount would be harder. This crew wasn’t stupid. Wax couldn’t sense any metal nearby.

If he were to set up an ambush here, he knew the spots he’d station his people. Wax crept forward, staying low, moving slowly so his boots didn’t dislodge the loose, rocky soil and give him away.

“You can stop right there,” called a voice from nearby.

Wax froze. Whoever it was didn’t sound like someone from the Roughs. They had an Elendel accent. For a moment he wondered if this was personal—if someone from his youth had followed him here to seek vengeance for some forgotten insult—but he’d never heard the man’s voice before. This was about money, pure and simple. His pulse kicked up, every fiber of his body on edge. Some greedy fool was putting Wayne in danger for an easy payout.

They’d soon realize what a mistake that was.

The shadows near a jagged rock shifted, and light from a lantern spilled over the ground. Through the mists, Wax could make out the shape of a man with top hat and an impressive handlebar mustache. The messenger girl hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Where is he?” Wax leveled his gun at the man.

“Where’s the money?”

Wax found himself smiling humorlessly. “Surely you know how this works. I need proof he’s alive.”

He tried to keep an eye on the nearby rocks, to spot if he was being surrounded, but it was impossible to tell. He’d have to assume he was outnumbered. It was unlikely any of them had guns, but wooden weapons could kill just as easily.

“Very well, if you insist.” The man motioned him forward, then disappeared behind a boulder, taking his lantern with him.

Wax hesitated. Following him was a bad idea, but so was outright attacking. If some of his people had Wayne, they might kill him in retaliation. By now they would’ve taken his metalmind. Wax would have to be sure to get it back.

Reluctantly, the hair on the nape of his neck prickling, Wax followed the stranger through the darkness. His heart thundered in his ears, a symptom of an uncharacteristic amount of anxiety. He’d done this sort of thing a dozen times before. Only… this time it was Wayne’s life on the line. If he messed up and something happened—

Wax shoved the thoughts away. Now wasn’t the time. He wouldn’t make any mistakes. He’d bring Wayne back home, and the three of them would have a good laugh about it, after Lessie was done yelling at him for leaving her behind.

He just had to remove all the obstacles in his way.

On the other side of the boulder, the man stood over a prone figure stuffed into a bedroll. The lantern was on the ground beside them, casting long, harsh shadows. Wax could see Wayne’s hat peeking out from the top. He wasn’t moving.

He made himself hold still instead of darting forward. Sudden movement would trigger violence.

“Wayne?” His voice was steady despite how shaken he felt inside.

There was no answer.

“He’s… sleeping,” the stranger said. “Kept trying to slip his cuffs.”

“He does that,” Wax said, hardly hearing himself. Asleep. Knocked out, more likely. That wasn’t good. “Let me check his pulse.”

“Not yet.” The man held up a hand, motioning him to stop. “Show me the cash first.”

“Of course.” Wax slowly holstered his weapon, then reached into his coat pocket. He grabbed a handful of shell casings and Pushed them at the man with a flare of steel. With a grunt, the stranger toppled to the ground.

Without waiting, Wax lunged forward and scooped Wayne up, then Pushed them both into the air, reducing his own weight. He landed halfway down the sloping path he’d come up.

“Wayne?” Wax lowered him to the ground, not liking how still he was. He pulled the blanket away from his face—

To find a melon with crudely drawn features. The hat slowly fell off it and into the dirt.

It had been a trick, which meant Wayne might not be here at all.

A sense of calm stole over him. He picked up Wayne’s hat and, having no other convenient way to carry it, put it on.

With a single Push, he was back on the top of the pass. The man’s body was gone, probably moved by one of his subordinates. No longer concerned with stealth, he stalked across the ground, gun at the ready, coat flaring around him. The mist made him feel steadier, strong enough to bury the worry for Wayne’s safety beneath his rage.

“Surrender, and I’ll let you live,” Wax called into the still night.

“That’s not much of a trade.”

A chill raced over his skin. That was the same voice from before. The stranger was still alive, meaning he was either extremely lucky, or a Bloodmaker like Wayne.

“If you tell me where he is, and he’s alive when I find him, I’ll consider letting you rot in jail.” Wax scanned the area, whole body tense.

Motion around a large rock. Without thinking, he reacted, shooting the figure three times before it vanished behind cover again. Wax sprinted forward, rounding the rock to find—

A target? Wax knelt and picked it up. It was the kind used for training, made of thick paper and marked with lines. His shots were grouped in the center, between the eyes of the outline of the man drawn on it. Someone had assigned numerical values to the regions. The handwriting looked almost familiar—

A shadow cast by the abandoned lantern fell over him. Wax spun, then threw himself at the looming figure. As they landed on the hard earth, he increased his weight and shoved the still-hot barrel of his revolver beneath their chin. It wasn’t best practice to get this close with a ranged weapon—it was possible to lose control of your own gun that way—but he doubted this person would be quick enough to disarm him before getting a bullet in the brain.

The man squirmed. “I like it rough as much as the next bloke, but a little warning before you burn me would be nice.”

The voice made Wax freeze. “Wayne?”

“Who else would it be?” Beneath him, Wayne stopped struggling.

Wax realized he was straddling him but didn’t move. He was a little distracted by everything else. “You got away.”

Wayne was here, alive and well, wearing a top hat and smiling up at him in an infuriatingly chipper manner.

“How many are there?” Wax asked in a low voice. He should really get off Wayne now. Any second he’d be able to move.

“It’s just me, mate.” Wayne frowned up at him. “Oi, that’s my hat you’re wearing.”

“You killed everyone else?” Wax couldn’t help looking him up and down (as much as he could while straddling his hips). Blood stained his shirt in several places, but he must’ve gotten his metalmind back, because he didn’t seem to be in any pain.

“There is no one else. Never was. Just me.” Wayne shifted a little. “Mind moving the gun away from my chin? Bit uncomfortable.”

Wax did, cursing to himself. He holstered the gun and stood, then pulled Wayne up, too. “What do you mean, there’s just you here? What about the man who kidnapped you?”

“You mean Kevin from Elendel?” Wayne said, in an exact copy of the stranger’s voice. He shrugged and took off his top hat. The same one the man had been wearing.

Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Wax stepped back from Wayne, furious. “This was all you?”

“Had to test a theory.” He dusted off the top hat, flattened it, and stowed it in his coat before holding out his hand. “I’ll be taking that back now. Thanks for keeping it safe for me.”

Wax didn’t remove the bowler. “You kidnapped yourself?”

“Course I did. You think I’d let random bounty hunters get the jump on me? That I’d have to wait around like a princess in a tower for some Coinshot to come rescue me?”

“I think it’s obvious that’s exactly what I thought happened! Because of the ransom note!”

“Had to send a note,” Wayne said, as if that explained everything. “Where’s Lessie? Figured she’d recognize me right off. She always does.”

“Lessie is in Weathering. The note said come alone.”

Wayne had the gall to stare up at him in affront. “The notes always say come alone. That don’t mean you actually do it!”

“There was a chance you’d be killed otherwise!”

“There’s less of a chance if you bring your partner along.” Wayne stepped forward. “Gimme my hat back.”

“No. We’re not done talking about this.” Wax took the hat off and held it well out of Wayne’s reach. “You can’t pretend to be kidnapped for—why did you even do this?”

“To prove a point.” Wayne got in close, reaching for the bowler, but Wax dodged. “You ain’t recovering anymore.”

“The wound still gives me trouble,” Wax began, panic bubbling in his chest. Wayne made another attempt at the hat, but he held it out of reach automatically, hardly feeling his own body.

He didn’t like lying. But he couldn’t seem to work up the courage to admit he was fine, and fully healed from the bullet wound. He’d felt back to his normal self for a few weeks now. The scar tissue didn’t even pull.

“Really?” Wayne asked, gaze just a little too piercing. “Then how come you got a perfect score on the test?”

“What—?” Wax paused. The target. Of course. This entire farce was absurd, and yet made perfect sense when framed as something Wayne would do to prove a point. “I could’ve killed you!”

“But you didn’t.” Wayne grinned. “And now we both know you can go back to working with Lessie. On account of you’re fine.”

“I’m—” Wax finally lowered his arm, letting Wayne snatch his hat. “I’m not fine. I came here because I thought you were in danger. But I can’t return to patrolling. Not yet.”

Wayne, hat securely on his head, stopped smiling. “Wax. Come on, mate. I know what you’re doing, and you gotta stop. It ain’t healthy.”

Wax couldn’t seem to breathe for a moment. Wayne… knew? “This isn’t about me,” he snapped. “You can’t fake a ransom note. You can’t drag me all the way out here for some game.” He turned, intending to walk away. “Let’s go—back to Weathering.”

He’d wanted to say let’s go home. But his home wasn’t Wayne’s. That was the problem.

“Ain’t going nowhere with you until we talk about this, Wax.” Wayne wasn’t joking; all the mirth had gone from his voice.

Wax stopped, not turning around. The mist swirled in playful eddies as he closed his eyes. “There’s nothing to talk about.”

“If you let the fear keep winning, you’ll never get back to normal.” Wayne was closer now, right behind him from the sound of it.

“The fear?” Wax slowly spun to face him. “What are you talking about?” Wayne often jumped topics in unexpected ways, but usually Wax could mostly follow.

“You got hurt on the job. Because of me,” Wayne added, looking away. “Hard to move past a thing like that. But you gotta make the effort. The longer you avoid it… the worse it is. Trust me.”

“You think I’m afraid to go back to lawkeeping?” Wax asked, genuinely shocked.

“Why else would you still be pretending you can’t shoot or handle yourself in a dangerous situation?”

Wax stared at Wayne, laughter nearly erupting from his chest. “I’ve been hurt before. That’s not—”

He stopped himself. What was he doing? If he let Wayne believe this was just a response to the trauma of injury, he need never know what was actually going on. But it was too late.

“Then what is it?”

“That’s not important.” Wax took a purposeful step back from Wayne. Somehow, they’d gotten close. Wayne always seemed to do that—slip in past his defenses before he noticed. He had very little understanding of the concept of personal space. “Let’s go.”

“Course it’s important.” Wayne pursued him, getting in his face. “Whatever it is, you gotta figure it out so I can leave.”

His words knocked the breath from Wax’s chest. Everything he’d feared was true, then. Wayne was planning on leaving town—leaving Wax and Lessie—as soon as Wax was fully recovered. He parted his lips to argue, to protest, to ask Wayne to stay, but he couldn’t. If Wayne wanted to leave, he should leave, no matter how painful it was.

“Go, then,” Wax said after steeling himself. “We’ll be fine without you.”

Wayne looked resigned as he stepped back. “Yeah. Goodbye, Wax.” He stooped to retrieve the lantern, then left.

In moments, he was gone, hidden by the mists, and soon even the light faded. Wax couldn’t hear his footsteps past the thundering pulse in his ears. That was it, then. Wayne was going to leave and… Do what? Return to crime? Risk more innocent lives in the process?

“Wayne,” he called. “Wait.”

There was no reply. Tracking Wayne wouldn’t be hard, but he’d had to have come here on a horse. Heading him off there would be easier than chasing him.

Pushing himself into the air, Wax fell down to the level ground beyond the pass. It took him a few minutes, but he spotted a few faint blue lines leading into the mists, moving slightly as the horse grazed. When he approached it, it didn’t shy away. Wax recognized it as belonging to Weathering’s hostler. Hopefully Wayne had actually paid to take the gelding out for a few days… but, realistically, he’d probably left something low value in trade.

Standing between the horse and Tracker’s Pass, Wax settled in to wait.

Wayne had never been less happy to be right about something. This was worse than the time he suspected an old partner was skimming off the top and planning to turn the whole gang in for their bounties (which Wayne had put a stop to). That had been business. This… this didn’t feel like business. Wasn’t even pleasure. Just jumbled up nonsense in his chest, making it hard to breathe, and harder to think.

The most annoying bit was how Wax had refused to tell Wayne why he’d pretended to be worse off than he was. He always seemed so keen to run round playing lawman. Wayne supposed he had his reasons, and they weren’t his to know. Not like they owed each other anything.

As Wayne approached his horse, he was surprised to find Wax waiting for him.

“How’s a fancy lord like yourself not know what goodbye means,” Wayne said.

“I couldn’t let you go. Not without making sure you won’t return to a life of crime.” Wax paused, glancing at the horse. “Not that you’ve really left it. Did you pay for this horse?”

“Course I did. Traded real well for it. Left the hostler a neat rock.”

“A rock.” Wax’s voice was flat.

“It weren’t just a rock. Had a vein of quartz running through it.”

“Quartz isn’t that valuable.”

Wayne slowly walked forward, not sure why he suddenly felt electric, except maybe he hoped Wax would try to stop him leaving. Throw a punch or two. Get angry. Something. “Ain’t that it was quartz. It was the art the quartz was making. The vein looked exactly like an erect penis. It was uncanny. The natural world’s full of wonders, ain’t it?”

Wax sighed. “You have to return the horse.”

“Course I will. I’m a reformed outlaw.” He adjusted his bowler to make the point. This hat was the hat of a person who’d changed their ways.

“How can I be sure?” Wax asked. Wayne had been walking steadily toward him, but he hadn’t moved an inch. Now they were less than a foot away. With the mists, it felt like they could be the last two people in the world. Them, and the horse.

“Unless you’re gonna arrest me, ain’t nothing you can do about it. I’ve overstayed my welcome in Weathering. Time to be moving on.” Anything else would be too painful. Wayne knew Wax and Lessie would be fine without him. They’d probably only miss him for a meal or two.

Wayne moved to step around Wax, but he caught his arm. “You don’t have to leave,” Wax said softly. There was an undercurrent in his voice that sounded almost… hungry. Wayne knew he must be imagining it, but it sent a shiver racing across his skin anyway.

“Not without a kiss goodbye, you mean?” Wayne turned to grin up at him flirtatiously, but that was a mistake. The way Wax was looking at him, eyes dark in the light from Wayne’s lantern… It made more than just a shiver cut through him.

“If that’s what you want.” Wax moved a little closer. Now scant inches separated them.

“Yeah, I think I do.” Wayne smirked, wondering what trick Wax would play on him this time. A kiss on the cheek? Forehead? Whatever it was, he was greedy for it, and not too proud to beg for crumbs. “A kiss in exchange for the promise I ain’t gonna cause trouble for you going forward.”

“What if I like the trouble you cause me?” Wax asked.

Before Wayne could respond, Wax leaned down and pressed a kiss to Wayne’s lips. It started off soft, almost tender. Wayne was surprised, but he’d always been good at adapting to situations, so he leaned into it, letting the sensation of Wax, here with him even if just for a moment, wash over him. Any second now Wax would remember this was a silly game and step away, but Wayne would take all he could get.

But Wax musta lost his mind, because he didn’t stop. He wrapped his arms around Wayne and pulled him close, until they were pressed together enough Wayne could feel how hard Wax was—

And that made no sense, but Wayne wasn’t one to question a good thing. The friction between them made him moan, and he parted his lips. Wax’s tongue met his, and Wayne lost his mind a little, too. He arched into Wax, his cock brushing Wax’s thigh in a way that made him get all sorts of ideas. Ones Wax definitely wouldn’t be alright with.

Reluctantly, Wayne pulled away, panting. This went so far beyond their usual games. Wayne hadn’t even thought about pickpocketing him, for fuck’s sake. And Wax…

Wax didn’t really want him. He was married. And he probably wasn’t even into men, even men who weren’t men all the time. Except the hardness in his pants said otherwise.

Wayne reached between them and stroked Wax, mostly checking to make sure that it wasn’t a concealed weapon sending mixed signals. The way Wax pulled a gasp between his teeth told him that the hard length wasn’t the barrel of a gun.

“This still the kinda trouble you like?” Wayne asked, increasing the pressure from his hand a little.

Instead of answering, Wax tightened his grip on Wayne and Pushed them into the air. Reflexively, he clung to Wax, too off balance from the last thirty seconds to even ask what he was doing.

They ended up back at the top of Tracker’s Pass. As soon as they settled on solid ground, Wax pushed him against a boulder.

“Talk about being between a rock and a hard place,” Wayne said, shifting his hips so he ground into Wax’s cock. “Why we up here?”

“You told me you were a screamer,” Wax said in a low, rough voice. “Didn’t want to scare the horse.” Then they were kissing again, and Wayne stopped caring about their surroundings.

He was still holding the lantern, but he nearly dropped it when Wax pressed his lips to his neck.

“Hang on,” Wayne said, then moaned as Wax nipped him with his teeth. “If you keep on like this, I’m gonna accidentally start a fire.”

Wax paused. Wayne was very pleased to see he was also breathing like they’d been doing a lot more strenuous activities for a lot longer.

“Here,” Wax said, taking the lantern. Then he got on his knees. Seemed a bit much just to set something down—

Wax reached for Wayne’s belt.

“Aiming to tie me up again?” Wayne joked. “If this is some elaborate ruse to arrest me, I’ll go along with it, so long as you promise to fuck me in jail.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted them. This—whatever it was—was real nice. He didn’t want it to end just cause he got too bold.

“I’m not taking you to jail.” Wax pulled the belt off him with enough force to make his hips jerk away from the rock behind him. “I’m going to fuck you right here.” He hesitated, staring up at Wayne with such an intent sincerity his heart stuttered in his chest. “If you’ll let me.”

“Don’t gotta ask me twice,” Wayne said. There was the nagging worry in the back of his head about how all this was happening, and why, but he ignored it. Wax was on his knees in front of him, unbuttoning Wayne’s pants, slipping his hand inside to free his cock—

Wayne bit his lip and rocked his hips into the touch. When Wax leaned forward and took him into his mouth, his knees almost gave out, and he let out a string of curses that were half whimpers. With one hand, Wax pushed him back into the rock, steadying him. With his other he caressed Wayne’s balls and stroked him in time with his mouth.

Maybe he was dreaming. There was no other explanation for this—for Dawnshot himself on his knees, sucking Wayne off with an almost ruthless dedication. Wayne had wanted this for so long. Since the first day they’d met, if he was being honest. But this… this wasn’t like his usual flings. Sure, he’d been pushed against a wall and blown plenty, but it had never felt like this.

With surprisingly steady hands, all things considered, Wayne ran his fingers through Wax’s hair, pulling enough to make Wax moan in the back of his throat. Wayne’s hips jerked against his grip at that. He stared down at Wax swallowing his entire length, then he was right on the edge, about to spill over.

“Wax,” he breathed. “I’m—”

Wax increased his pace a little, and he looked up at Wayne through dark lashes. The whimpers in the back of his throat became a cry, and he came so hard and fast he got a little lightheaded. Wax held him up, swallowing through the waves and only slowing when Wayne’s hand dropped from his hair.

As Wax sat back, Wayne finally let himself collapse, slipping down to sit in the dirt. He managed to pull his pants back up, at least, so the loose gravel didn’t bother him much.

For a long few moments, they stared at each other, panting. Wax’s cheeks were flushed, his lips red and swollen, his hair disheveled from Wayne’s mistreatment.

“What…” Wayne paused to swallow. “What just happened?”

“Did I… not do a good job?” Wax wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The gesture was so obscene it made Wayne a little hard again, like he hadn’t come less than a minute ago.

“You did an excellent job, mate. Well done. Didn’t know you had it in you.” Wayne meant every word. “And here I thought you was only into women.”

Wax hesitated. “Normally I am. This was my first time with a man.”

Wayne stared. “Find that hard to believe. Considering.” He gestured vaguely.

“Lessie gave me some pointers.” Wax met his eye and held it. There was still so much heat there. So much hunger. “Her lessons were very thorough and interactive.”

“But… why?” Not that Wayne minded. It was a net gain for him.

“She insisted I be prepared in case something like this happened.”

“In case I faked my own kidnapping to prove you’re fit for lawkeeping duty and you decided you needed to blow me as some sorta very ineffective punishment? By the way, you gotta learn the difference between positive and negative reinforcement, mate.”

“How do you know the difference between—never mind.” Wax huffed a sigh. “I definitely didn’t anticipate this. But I wanted it.”

Wayne’s breath caught. “You wanted to suck my cock? You coulda asked.”

“I wasn’t sure if you were… amenable,” Wax said, annoyed. “How was I supposed to know?”

“I dunno,” Wayne sat up and tried to straighten his hat only to find it had fallen off his head at some point. He left it lying in the dirt for now. “All the times I made it pretty rusting clear I wanted you to fuck me.”

“You’ve always flirted to get under my skin. You can’t pretend otherwise, Wayne.” His voice had gotten awful stern.

And just like that, Wayne was hard again. He didn’t mind it. In fact, he had a few ideas about how to capitalize on that fact, but he wrangled his focus to the current conversation. “Can’t a bloke have more than one reason for shamelessly flirting with the lawman trying to capture him? Reckon it’s your fault for not realizing sooner.”

“Don’t blame me for this—” Wax paused, then rubbed his eyes. “You’re infuriating.”

Wayne, finally feeling like he could move without collapsing, sat up and crawled toward Wax, ending up kneeling before him. He probably shoulda put his very erect cock away, but he didn’t have the energy. “If Lessie taught you, that mean you told her you wanted me?”

“Stop grinning like that. Yes. It’s not funny. Wayne.” Wax took Wayne’s cock in his hand. It was still slick from before, and the way Wax stroked it was at complete odds with the annoyance in his voice. “If you won’t stop laughing, I’ll make you.”

“She don’t mind?” Wayne asked, while he still had the wherewithal. That window was closing fast.

“No.” Wax leaned down, lips next to his ear. “When we get home, she can show you just how much she doesn’t mind.”

Maybe he was getting soft (metaphorically; physically he was harder than the rock beneath them), but the part of that statement that made his heart race most was the word home. Like it was a place he belonged. Somewhere he had any right to.

Just a slip of the tongue. And not the kind Wayne wanted right now.

He turned his head and kissed Wax, not bothering to hide how much he wanted him. No point in being subtle about it. He moved his hands to touch Wax’s chest, but his rusting shirt and cravat were in the way.

“Why you still wearing clothes, mate?” Wayne asked, reluctantly breaking away.

“Didn’t you once tell me one doesn’t have to undress for sex?” He seemed just as unhappy as Wayne was with the interruption. Wax’s cock was straining against his pants; seemed awful unfair not to free it.

“For back-alley fucking, sure. But for this, I wanna see you.”

Wax’s hand was still on Wayne, stroking with agonizing slowness. “This isn’t exactly a great place to be nude.”

“Only if you lack imagination—” Wayne cut off as Wax ran his thumb over his head in a circular motion, trailing through the wetness already beaded there. He let out a moan he couldn’t suppress and leaned his forehead on Wax’s shoulder. When he could manage it, he said, “Lessie teach you that, too?”

“She didn’t have to. Call it an educated guess.”

Gathering as much focus as he could manage, Wayne reached for Wax’s cravat, intending to untie it. “That your roundabout way of admitting even fancy lords get themselves off from time to time?”

With his free hand, Wax grabbed Wayne’s wrists, stilling him. “If you want to get any clothes off me, you’ll have to undress first.”

That made Wayne so hard it almost hurt. And, because Wax was apparently a bastard after all, he stopped stroking Wayne’s cock and sat back. Waiting. Watching.

“Fine by me.” Wayne sprang to his feet eagerly, pulling off his coat and undoing the buttons of his shirt with the speed of someone used to doing quick costume changes. He would’ve used bendalloy, only he didn’t have any. Even without it, he was undressed in seconds.

The night was colder than he realized; before, he’d been incredibly hot watching Wax suck his cock. Chills raced across his skin, but only some of them could be attributed to the weather.

Wax stared up at him greedily, dark eyes roaming up and down his body with a languid pace, lingering on his erection. Slowly, he slipped his own coat off and began rolling up his sleeves, revealing his muscled forearms. Then he went back to just looking.

“Well?” Wayne asked, impatient. “That it?”

“It’s cold.”

“You said if I got naked, you would too.”

“That’s not what I said.” Wax smirked, and Wayne played back the earlier conversation.

“Oi, taking off your coat don’t count. Ain’t right to use semantics to leave a bloke hanging.” Not that he expected to be kept waiting long. The cold was a little uncomfortable, but the heat in Wax’s gaze more than made up for it.

“It’s not semantics. A coat is an article of clothing.”

“Yeah, one. But you said clothes. Plural.”

Wax considered this for a moment, then nodded and undid his gun belt, setting it aside carefully. “There. Two is plural.” He sat back, in his waistcoat and cravat and everything, smirking like a man who knew exactly what he was doing. “You should really pay attention to the things you’re agreeing to, instead of whining because of your own incorrect interpretation.”

“You gonna make me stand here naked all night just to teach me a lesson?”

“No. That’s not what I’m doing.”

Wayne’s cock twitched. He wanted to touch it himself, for a little relief, but Wax was pinning him down with the weight of his gaze. “Then what are you doing?”

This entire situation still made little sense to Wayne. Wax had always met Wayne’s shameless flirting by sighing in annoyance, rolling his eyes, and, lately, outright ignoring his antics. If Wayne had had any inkling Wax was amenable to a little fun… Well. He woulda done a lot of things different.

“Fucking you, as I said before.” Wax finally moved, pulling a few things out of his coat, which he’d neatly placed beside him. For a few seconds, Wayne was too distracted by those words to pay attention to what Wax was doing. Then he saw that the items were a small jar of a clear, viscous fluid, and a few packages the likes of which condoms usually came in. Wayne looked from the condoms to the jar of lube, realizing that’s what it had to be.

“You came prepared to come, I see.” Wayne was impressed, for a moment. Then he was even more confused. “Hang on, you thought I was out here tied up and helpless, in need of rescue, and you packed lube?”

“Of course not,” Wax huffed. “I—Lessie said I should keep these things on my person. In the event…” He trailed off, seeming unable to finish the thought.

“In the event you had to ravish me?” Wayne grinned and gestured to himself. “Get on with it, mate. It’s chilly out here. And damp. Rusting mists.”

Wax arranged the items on the ground next to him with the same casual, unhurried air as before. “Lessie’s going to be insufferable when she learns I used them. Bet her five boxings I wouldn’t need any of it.”

“I’ll pay up for you, if it’ll get you moving.”

Once again, Wax ignored him. He reached for his gun belt and got the length of rope he always carried. Heat raced through Wayne, heading straight for his cock, which was still erect and straining despite the cold and lack of touch.

Just as Wayne was about to break and handle it himself, Wax said, in the tone of voice that had always demanded obedience, “Come here.”

Wayne’s body reacted before his brain had a chance to. He walked back to Wax and sank to his knees in front of him, since the bastard was still lounging around like they’d been having a picnic.

“Hold out your hands.” Wax’s voice chased away the last of the chill on Wayne’s skin, flushing his whole body with heat.

Wayne did it eagerly. With the same businesslike efficiency as every time this had happened before, Wax bound his hands together. It was the usual knot, tight enough to keep him secure but not so much it cut off circulation. Wayne could slip out of it by breaking his thumbs if he wanted to.

He didn’t want to.

“Lay your coat on the ground in front of that rock,” Wax said, pointing to one nearby that was only a couple feet tall.

Wayne did it, hardly paying attention. This was really happening. Wax was really here, about to fuck him. And people said crime didn’t pay. He’d have to kidnap himself more often.

Following a few more of Wax’s commands, Wayne ended up on his knees, leaning with his bound hands against the stone, gripping the top, with his ass in the air. Waiting. He bit his tongue to keep from rushing Wax again.

Several agonizing moments later, Wax knelt behind him. Wayne turned his head but couldn’t get a good angle to watch. The sound of a buckle coming undone, and fabric shifting, told him enough, though.

There was a decent chance Wax didn’t know to start slow, but Wayne didn’t care. He could heal damage as easy as he’d healed the wounds from the shell casings Wax had lodged in his torso earlier. He was nearly ready to beg for it, only he wasn’t sure if that was what Wax wanted—

Cold lube dripped down his ass, followed by a gentle caress. Wax’s finger circled his hole, lightly, almost teasingly. Wayne let out a strangled moan. Felt like he’d been waiting forever to be touched again. If he hadn’t already come recently, he probably would’ve lost control that second. When Wax finally slid a finger inside him, he couldn’t keep quiet anymore.

“You was lying when you said this was your first time with a bloke, right? You can tell me.” Wayne paused to breathe for a moment. He was panting. When did that happen? “Was it Miles you fucked? Bet he wasn’t any fun, on account of he’s so rusting serious all the time—”

“I should’ve gagged you,” Wax said, voice rough and low. Then he slid another finger into Wayne.

“Or maybe,” Wayne said, breath ragged, “this is how Lessie likes it?” It was stupid—dangerous even—to mention her now, but he couldn’t help it. Imagining Wax and Lessie together like this. A hundred other ways.

“You’ll have to find out yourself,” Wax said, sounding completely unbothered. He never broke stride as he slowly fingered Wayne.

“Might not wanna joke about something like that to a known thief.” Wayne whimpered as Wax pushed a third finger inside him. He was simultaneously too full and not enough.

“What makes you think I’m joking?”

Wayne considered that, then considered the implications, and could only articulate his reaction to that with a wordless moan in the back of his throat.

Wax continued stretching him in silence broken by Wayne’s soft whimpers, until he’d had enough.

“Please,” he begged shamelessly, “ please, Wax. Fuck me. Or put me outta my misery.”

Wax’s hand withdrew, leaving him empty and over stimulated. The faint currents of air across his skin were enough to set his nerves on fire. A few sounds drifted through the mists—the top of the jar coming off, tearing the waxed paper wrapper of the condom, more fabric shifting.

Unable to stop himself, Wayne turned again until Wax came into view. He was still fully dressed, cravat and all, looming behind Wayne with his usual demanding presence. The lantern light illuminated his flushed skin and wet lips (lips he musta licked while watching Wayne).

Their eyes met, and Wayne’s cock began to ache so much he made a noise that could only rightfully be called a whine. Though everything about Wax was as tightly controlled as ever, his eyes shone with a desperate need.

“Come on, mate,” Wayne said in a tone that somehow belied his own desperation. “You gonna fuck me or what? Maybe I oughta go back to Weathering and see if Lessie can do a proper job of it—”

Wax grabbed Wayne’s hips and pulled him forward, pressing his cock against Wayne’s hole. He entered slowly, but Wayne didn’t complain. He could barely think.

A few steady thrusts later, Wayne couldn’t even remember where he was. The solid rock against his hands and forearms grounded him, and gave him leverage to push back against Wax, forcing him deeper. He let out a steady string of moans and curses, hardly hearing himself.

Wax was breathing hard, though. That Wayne did pay attention to. Wax was actually fucking him. Soon his composure would slip, and he’d come, grinding into Wayne all the while. Filling him up.

Wayne wanted to touch himself, but he was braced against the rock with his hands bound and couldn’t move them without losing his balance. His cock was leaking and painfully hard. Wax shifted his hips, adjusting his angle, his head brushing a spot inside Wayne that sent sparks through his vision.

He cried out, the sound swallowed by the mists. Wax—wonderfully, infuriatingly—continued to fuck him in just that way, until heat began to build at an alarming pace. A few moments before Wayne was sure he was going to come whether or not his cock was being stroked, Wax shifted again, and the impending orgasm receded.

“You—” Wayne paused to take a few deep breaths, “you did that on purpose.”

“I still owe you for pretending—” Wax punctuated his words with an extra deep thrust, “—to be kidnapped and in—” another one, this time hitting the spot, “—mortal danger.”

“Wouldn’t a had to do it if—ah, fuck, right there, don’t stop—if you hadn’t pretended to be injured.” Wayne’s reasoning dissolved into barely coherent begging. He was getting close again, but though he was desperate for Wax’s hand on his cock, he didn’t ask for it. He kinda wanted to see if he’d finish without it.

“I wasn’t pretending.” Wax slowed his pace. “I did get shot.” He didn’t sound so put together anymore. Wayne could empathize. A fleeting sense of guilt stole through him—cause he was the one who’d got Wax shot in the first place—but it vanished, pulled under the waves of pleasure that were ebbing inside him. He didn’t have the wherewithal to worry about every awful thing he’d done.

That was, after all, most of the point of fucking, at least for Wayne. A chance to truly forget.

Petty arguments, however, he always had time for. “Two months ago. But lately you been pretending. I mean, look at you now.” Wayne pushed back into a thrust, trying to make the angles work himself, but Wax tightened his grip on Wayne’s hips, controlling his movements. “If this ain’t fit for duty, I dunno what is.”

“I didn’t—” Wax increased his pace again. “I didn’t want you to leave.”

The words made sense, yet Wayne couldn’t really grasp their meaning. Wax was hitting the spot again, fucking him hard and fast, which Wayne loved. He was close again in less than a minute, and by the way Wax was breathing, he was, too.

When Wax reached around to grab his cock, Wayne stifled a scream. He leaned forward and bit part of the rope binding his hands. A scant five strokes—and thrusts—later, he came, and then he couldn’t hold the cry in. He spurted all over his coat, and the rock, but he didn’t care. Everything narrowed to the waves crashing through him, and Wax’s cock filling him up, his hand still wrapped around Wayne, keeping him barely tethered to himself.

Wax’s fist clenched around his cock, not unpleasantly, then Wax let out a low moan and shuddered. He was so hard now, his thrusts barely controlled, each one sending electric aftershocks through Wayne.

Eventually, Wax slowed, then stopped. The mingled sounds of their panting filled the air. Wax slipped out of him, then he moved around Wayne and took his bound hands.

Wayne could’ve freed himself, but he was a little blissed out, so he let Wax carefully untie the knots. The ropes slid away from his skin, not leaving any marks. Wayne supposed Wax was a professional and all.

For a long moment, they stared at each other, breath in sync. Then Wayne crawled forward, straddling Wax’s lap. The fancy suit fabric felt amazing against the skin of his ass. Not to mention he was warm. Too bad he’d put his cock away, though. In fact, he looked completely buttoned up now (pants and all), a lingering flush in his cheeks the only sign they’d fucked. Wayne leaned forward and kissed him, running his hands through Wax’s long hair. Wax’s arms wound around him, holding him close. Wayne was no doubt making a mess of his fancy clothes, but it didn’t matter. He could always clean them later.

Back… home.

Wayne pulled away slowly, staring into Wax’s deep brown eyes. He was smiling at Wayne, looking incredibly smug.

“What did you mean, you didn’t want me to leave?” Wayne asked. The words Wax had said to him finally lodged themselves in a part of his mind that could comprehend them. Or maybe not being bent over a rock and fucked within an inch of his life was the important difference.

Wax hesitated, looking away. “I thought if I went back to patrolling with Lessie, you’d leave Weathering. Leave us.”

Something twisted inside Wayne’s chest. Wax thought he was worth keeping around, so much he’d lived a lie just to see it happen. “Guess you wanted the chance to do this first.”

“That’s not why. I—”

Wayne pushed himself out of Wax’s lap. “Gotta get dressed, mate. It’s getting colder.” That was true enough, and a good excuse not to have to hear whatever Wax was trying to say.

“Here, let’s get you cleaned up,” Wax said, accepting the change in subject. He reached for the usual pocket of his waistcoat where he kept a handkerchief, but came up empty.

Wayne grinned at him and wiggled his eyebrows, waving the stolen handkerchief in his face. “You really gotta stop being such an easy mark.”

He did his best to clean himself (and his coat) off, then got dressed. The conversation stayed light, even as they rounded up their horses and enough brush for a fire. Neither of them had brought a tent, each blaming the other, but it didn’t much matter. They curled up together beneath a spare blanket from Wax’s saddlebag, using their coats for pillows. Wax draped an arm around Wayne, pulling him close, until Wayne’s back was pressed tightly to Wax’s chest.

Wayne had never had a more comfortable night’s sleep.

Chapter Text

When Wax awoke, he was alone, and not entirely sure he hadn’t dreamed the previous day and night. But he wasn’t in his bed in Weathering, and his knees ached from kneeling on hard ground. Both those facts combined meant it had all happened.

He had finally done what Lessie suggested and made a move on Wayne. Wax had only meant to kiss him at first, but the way he’d felt in Wax’s arms…

But now his arms were empty, the fire had burned down to hot ashes, and only one horse stood tethered nearby. His heart sinking even as he pushed himself up to sitting, Wax stared around the makeshift campsite. There was no sign of Wayne.

Wax leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing his face. The thought what have I done echoed through his mind for a while, until he forced it away. Forced himself to get up. It wasn’t yet dawn, but Weathering was a long way off.

Several minutes later, Wax had packed up camp, doused the ashes with dirt, and saddled Destroyer. His return pace was a little less frantic than the one he set getting here, so by the time Weathering appeared on the horizon, it was late afternoon.

He’d spent the long, lonely ride ruminating on last night. On Wayne, and why he’d left. By the time he rode through the dusty streets of Weathering, he knew it was because he’d admitted to not wanting Wayne to leave. Keeping him in Weathering had been wrong, and he’d done it anyway, out of selfishness. Wayne may have enjoyed the sex—that Wax had little doubt about, both because of his responsiveness during and his effusive praise after—but that wasn’t the same as it meaning something to him. When Wax had come close to admitting he had feelings for Wayne, he’d changed the subject. Then, as Wax slept, he’d left.

It was as clear an answer as any.

Wax got home and put Destroyer away in the small stable behind their house. He took his time, too, not especially eager to face Lessie and her justifiable anger at him.

“At least you’re happy with me, right?” he asked the horse. Destroyer snorted and turned away. Wax sighed.

Unable to put it off any longer, he slipped into the house through the kitchen door. Everything was still and silent, reminding him of how it had been yesterday morning. Unease spiking, he drew his gun and stepped forward, burning steel.

Movement upstairs, like someone walking around. It would be his luck to get drawn away dealing with Wayne’s nonsense only for someone to take advantage of his absence to hurt Lessie.

Slowly, he crept up the stairs, gun at the ready, weight lowered to keep the wood from creaking. At the top of the steps he paused. Whoever was moving was in his and Lessie’s bedroom. The door was partially ajar.

A moment before he moved, intending to burst into the room gun raised, someone spoke.

“Don’t give me that look. This is your own fault.”

All the tension left Wax. That was Lessie, and she sounded fine, if annoyed. And… there really was only one person she could be annoyed at in this context, other than Wax himself. He holstered his gun and returned his weight to the usual three quarters, then stepped forward, pushing the door open.

Lessie was sitting in a kitchen chair she must’ve brought up for this purpose. She was halfway through a book, heels kicked up and resting on the edge of the bed. Her boots were off, and she was unarmed. She looked up at him and grinned.

“Oh, good, you’re back,” she said. “Got you a present. Figured we could unwrap it together.”

On the bed lay a prone Wayne, hogtied with Lessie’s usual efficient knots. He was gagged with what looked like one of Wax’s handkerchiefs.

Well, at least he knew where Wayne had gone. Wax stared at the two of them for a long few moments, trying to process it all. Lessie snapped her book closed and stood.

“Part of the unwrapping will be an interrogation,” she said, voice bright and dangerous in equal parts. “He won’t tell me what’s happened, or why he was trying to take his stuff and sneak off.”

Wax sighed. At least Lessie wasn’t angry with him for leaving her behind. “I… can explain. The ransom note—”

“Wayne wrote it himself. I know.” Lessie pulled it out of her pocket and set it on the dresser.

“He told you?” Wax asked. On the bed, Wayne rolled his eyes, obviously dying to chime in but unable to.

“No. The typewriter at the jail has a particular flaw in a few letters. Those flaws show up in the ransom note. You would’ve noticed if you didn’t run off so fast. It’s why I didn’t go charging after you. I knew there’d be no real danger.”

It was something he should’ve seen himself. Wax shook his head slowly, chagrined. “Next time, I’ll loop you in.”

“Did you have a fight?” Lessie asked, voice a little softer. “Is that why he’s trying to leave?”

“No. Not exactly. It’s… complicated.” Wax met her eye and held it.

She broke into a grin. “Oh, is it? Why don’t you tell me all about that, in exacting detail?” She grabbed his hands and pulled him into the room.

He let her.

Chapter Text

This wasn’t the first time Wayne had been, to use Wax’s awful joke, a captive audience, but he had to admit, this was the most fun.

Earlier, Lessie had surprised him in the spare room as he attempted to get his stuff to leave. She wasn’t supposed to have been home in the middle of the day. Not very sporting of her. Worse still, she didn’t fall for any of his hastily built lies. Somehow things had gotten physical, and he’d ended up hogtied on the bed in a whirlwind of hot skin and scratchy rope that made his pulse race just to remember.

Wayne wiggled his fingers and toes; they still had perfect circulation. Lessie and Wax were both professionals, after all. The gag was annoying, but only cause it meant he couldn’t interject if Wax left out stuff.

Wax leaned against the dresser, staring at Wayne, though he was speaking to Lessie. “I’m not sure where to start.”

“Take your time.” Lessie smirked at Wayne. “We’ve got all night.”

“The fake kidnapping was a test.” Wax scowled as he spoke. “To see if I’ve recovered from my injury.”

She let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot, even for Wayne.”

Wayne rolled his eyes. He’d thought it was a perfectly reasonable plan. And it had worked. Gone off better than he could’ve imagined, in fact. Until the end, when Wax had started to say something he ought not. Wayne had woken in the middle of the night and known he had to leave. A clean break. This thing with Wax had to be a one-night stand, because that’s all Wayne did.

“I know.” Wax crossed his arms, looming despite his otherwise relaxed posture. “Once I realized what he’d done, I was furious.”

Despite knowing better, Wayne tried to interject. Wax hadn’t realized , Wayne had told him. Lessie and Wax ignored his muffled outburst, though.

“And you had a fight?” Lessie asked. She’d returned to her chair, sitting with her elbows on her knees, watching Wayne carefully. “Did it get physical?”

Wayne grinned as much as he could past the gag. Wax looked away and cleared his throat. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”

“Must be killing you, not being able to talk,” Lessie said to Wayne. She turned her attention to Wax. “So, you fucked him?”

There was a beat of silence, then Wax said, “Yes.”

“And?”

“And… I owe you five boxings.”

“I knew it,” she said triumphantly.

“Wayne promised he’d pay you.” Wax stared at Wayne again, but this time he was smirking.

“I asked for exacting detail,” she said. “How was it?” Her gaze flicked to Wayne, eyes full of mischief. It sent a rush of heat through him.

Wax hesitated. “I… don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“I’m sure Wayne won’t mind. Do you?” Her voice was all sweet innocence. “See? He’s not voicing any objections.”

He wouldn’t have even if he could speak. He was very curious to hear what Wax would say. And as Wax spoke, giving Lessie the details she wanted, Wayne found himself getting hard. Being unable to do anything about it, or correct Wax when he left something out or got a detail wrong, was making it worse. Or better. Same thing, maybe.

When Wax was done, Lessie stood and crossed the room to sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly, with the light touch of a single finger, she lifted Wayne’s chin until their eyes met.

“That sounds fun,” she said. “I want to see what he’s like for myself. Especially if he’s as responsive as you say.”

Wayne swallowed around the gag, meeting her gaze. He wanted to tell her she was welcome to, though from the way her mouth quirked in a smile, she understood him easily enough.

“If I untie you, will you promise not to run off again?” she asked.

He nodded, glancing at Wax. Not like he’d get far with a Coinshot after him, anyway. The plan had been to grab his things while the house was empty and be gone before Wax caught up to him. Too late for that now. He was stuck.

But maybe it wasn’t so bad, being stuck here. With them. For now.

She untied the gag first. Wayne worked his jaw a little, then grinned. “You seem real adept at this sorta thing. Tie people up for your husband to enjoy often?”

“This is actually the first time, if you can believe it.” She moved to work on the ropes binding his wrists to his ankles. “I don’t want to share him with just anyone.”

Her tone was light and flirtatious, but her words sent a ripple of unease through him. It was true that she and Wax were extraordinary, but Wayne was… Wayne. Murderer. Thief. Outlaw. He’d been playing deputy for a couple months, sure. Didn’t change the rest of it.

Still, he wasn’t about to argue with a pretty lady who clearly wanted his company.

When he was free of the ropes, he rolled to the edge of the bed and stood, healing away the touch of stiffness in his joints and muscles.

“I have to go to the jail for a bit,” Lessie said. “While I’m gone, get cleaned up. And don’t have too much fun without me.” She kissed Wax on the cheek and slipped out of the room.

Without her there, Wax’s silence seemed a little cold. Wayne couldn’t blame him. He’d left in the middle of the night.

“It weren’t about you,” Wayne said. “Just so you know.”

“What wasn’t?” Wax finally stood from leaning on the dresser. He stepped closer to Wayne.

“Me leaving. Wasn’t cause I didn’t enjoy it. I did. Maybe too much.” As soon as he said it, he wished he could take the words back.

If he found the sentiment to be awkward, Wax didn’t show it. He closed the distance between them, pulling Wayne into an embrace, kissing him. It wasn’t gentle, and that suited Wayne just fine. All Wax’s frustration and anger at him—fully justified—came through, especially in the way he bit Wayne’s lower lip before pulling away.

Wayne stared up at him, breathing a little too fast, trying not to obviously adjust himself and give away his erection. “What now?”

“We do what Lessie said.” Wax stepped back, then walked to the door. Before leaving the room, he turned to look over his shoulder at Wayne. “Coming?”

“Not yet, but I’m sure you’ll fix that.” Wayne grinned and followed him downstairs.

Weathering had a bath house, but Wayne didn’t mind taking the trouble to haul water from the well out back and heat enough of it to fill the tub. It sat in a small room off the kitchen, behind a screen. He’d never bathed with an audience before, but he had to admit he didn’t mind this time. Even if there was a good chance Wax was only looming cause he didn’t trust him not to run off again.

Humid warmth filled the small room. Wayne lifted his hands to start undressing, thinking it might be fun to give Wax a show. But Wax—the bastard—beat him to it. With agonizingly slow motions, gaze never leaving Wayne’s, he drew close, taking over unbuttoning his shirt.

Wayne swallowed, staring up at him. “Here we are again.”

“It’s not exactly the same, now.” Wax’s hands were steady and sure. And, unlike the previous times he’d undressed Wayne, they weren’t entirely businesslike. His touch lingered, sending heat through Wayne that radiated from every point of contact.

“I reckon it ain’t.” He kept staring up at Wax, letting his aimless need course through him. He wanted to push Wax’s hands away. He wanted to tear both their clothes off with no regard for buttons and seams. He didn’t want an inch of space between them.

But Lessie had said don’t have too much fun without me, and Wayne suspected he knew what that meant. Wax did too, from the way he was smirking.

He finally, finally, got done with the buttons and slipped Wayne’s shirt off his shoulders. It was bloody from last night, when Wax hadn’t realized who he was and had filled him full of metal. Hard to be mad about it, though, on account of Wax had thought he’d been rescuing Wayne in the process.

The shirt came off easy, and Wax tossed it to the side. His hands moved to Wayne’s belt, which he unbuckled slowly, hands trailing a bit further south than was strictly necessary for the task.

“That ain’t my belt buckle.”

“I’m aware.”

“You really gonna tease me like that? Thought you were a proper gentleman.” Wayne grinned up at him. Wax had barely looked away this entire time, only glancing down when he had to.

“Lessie was wrong to ungag you.”

“Can’t fool me, mate. If you really wanted me to shut up, you’d have tried a lot harder before now.”

Wax pulled the belt off and let it fall at their feet. His hands moved to Wayne’s pants, and his motions were slower than ever.

“Bath’s gonna get cold at this rate.”

“We’ll manage.”

“You still mad at me?” Wayne asked, a little worried it was true.

Leaving had been a low blow, he knew. But he was having a hard time regretting it now. More positive reinforcement. Any more and Wayne would be in trouble—worse than he already was.

“I…” Wax swallowed. “Yes. The fake kidnapping I can understand, even if I think it was way out of line. But leaving, after everything. It hurt.”

“You can hurt me back, if it’ll help.”

Wax’s hands stilled. He stared at Wayne, gaze never wavering. “How would that help?”

“Make you feel better?”

With a sharp motion, Wax jerked Wayne’s pants down. “Don’t worry. You’re going to make me feel better.”

And… he stepped back. His dark gaze roamed over Wayne’s mostly naked body. Wayne kicked off his pants and stepped up to the tub. They still hadn’t broken eye contact, and it felt like a contest now. Who would give first.

The air was a little chilly, and the water did seem warm and inviting. Wayne didn’t mind losing to Wax, not like this. He looked away and stepped into the tub, sinking into the water. The heat relaxed him, making him realize he’d been tense before. Braced for whatever Wax was going to do.

Currently, he was only watching. Somehow that was worse than anything else. Wayne, determined not to let Wax’s looming bother him, picked up soap and a clean cloth and started scrubbing his skin. The awareness of being watched kept his nerve endings alight, making every touch of the cloth electric.

“What was it about?” Wax asked, a few minutes later. Wayne would’ve liked to say he’d forgotten he was there, but that was impossible.

Wax’s question didn’t make sense, so Wayne paused his bathing and turned to stare up at him. “What?”

“You said you didn’t leave because of me, or because you didn’t enjoy…” Wax hesitated, and Wayne could practically see his rich-boy brain trying to find a polite way to talk about the fucking, “…last night. Why, then?”

Wayne faced forward again, then sank beneath the water, wetting his hair. He stayed under a little longer than necessary, until his lungs began to burn. When he emerged, Wax was still there, waiting for an answer.

“Nice interrogation tactic,” Wayne said lightly, lathering up his hair. “Get a fellow naked and wet so he can’t run off on you. Just what I’d expect from a legendary lawman.”

“Stop deflecting and answer me.”

A shiver having nothing to do with the warm bath raced through him. “Figured I’d make it easy on you. Walk away first.”

And, because he was a coward as well as a murderer and thief, Wayne dunked himself beneath the water again, ostensibly to rinse his hair. When he resurfaced, Wax was kneeling beside the tub, arms resting on the edge. Wayne almost visibly started, surprised by his sudden closeness.

“That’s not what I want. For you to walk away.” Wax’s voice was low and a little rough. He was staring at Wayne not like he was a meal about to be devoured, but like Wax was already tasting him. Touching him. “I want you here. With us.”

Before Wayne could answer—not that he had any words left rattling around in his brain—Wax reached out and touched the metalmind Wayne wore. With a practiced hand, he unlatched it, slowly pulling it away from Wayne’s skin.

It should’ve bothered Wayne, or at least made him a little wary. Without it, he was completely vulnerable. Normally, he only removed it long enough to quickly wash and dry the skin beneath. This, though, felt like… a luxury. Even more so when Wax picked up the soapy cloth Wayne had been washing with and gently ran it over his now completely bare upper arm.

Wayne never broke eye contact with Wax, feeling suddenly and uncharacteristically speechless. Wax finished washing his arm and set the cloth down. Then he leaned forward, brushing a soft, featherlight kiss against Wayne’s mouth. Wayne rose to meet him eagerly, parting his lips and deepening the kiss. Wax slipped his hand beneath the water, touching Wayne’s cock with the same slow, gentle motions he’d used to clean his skin. Wayne moaned against Wax, suddenly breathless and hard and desperate for more of this.

Maybe it wasn’t so absurd, the thought of staying for just a little longer.

When Wayne was about to pull away and demand Wax fuck him, Wax broke their kiss, taking his hand out of the water.

“Get up,” Wax said in a tone that expected obedience.

“Already am, mate, or did you miss—”

“Wayne.”

Wax clearly wasn’t in the mood for Wayne’s nonsense, so he stood. The air in the room was chilly, but he was warm all over and didn’t mind. Water dripped down his skin like the faint caress of fingertips. “What now?” he asked.

“Out of the tub.”

Wayne did as he demanded, grinning. Wax stood a few feet from him, still staring at him in the way that made Wayne feel exposed, like he was already being eaten alive. Wax reached up to his cravat and deftly untied the knot. When the cloth was free, he folded it neatly and set it on the little stand that held towels. After that his waistcoat came off, then his shirt, then his boots and pants. Soon he was naked, close enough to touch, not that Wayne intended to push his luck and try. He was too busy staring at Wax, his own gaze hungry. Most of the scars were familiar by now, but though Wax had thoroughly fucked him last night, he’d never witnessed the man completely nude before. He was intimately acquainted with Wax’s cock, too, but only now seeing it. The trail of dark hair down Wax’s stomach and hips led to it, where it was already half-hard.

Wax turned to grab something off the towel stand. His ass was fantastic, unsurprisingly. All that running around chasing outlaws really must’ve honed muscles. Before Wayne could properly appreciate Wax’s naked body, Wax shoved a towel at him.

“Wait for me upstairs. Stay hard, but don’t finish.”

“Can’t I hang around and watch?” Wayne asked. “Don’t seem fair—”

Wax cut him off by giving him his metalmind. The gold felt heavy and chilled in his hands, but Wayne dried off his arm and put it back on all the same.

“Lessie told us not to have too much fun,” Wax said in a low, almost dangerous voice. “If you stay…”

The rest was clear. Wayne’s grin widened. “I’ll be upstairs, then.” He could’ve argued more, but he had a feeling that would ultimately be against his own best interests. Instead, he went up to Wax and Lessie’s bedroom, and waited.

When Wayne’s footsteps had faded up the stairs, Wax blinked and ran his hands through his hair. One of them was still damp from playing with Wayne in the bath. His cock twitched just remembering it. The fact Wayne was now in the bedroom, waiting for him…

Wax took a deep breath, dispelling the thoughts. He bathed efficiently—the water was cooling quickly now—and dried off. He hadn’t brought a change of clothes (an oversight, maybe, but in his defense, he’d been distracted), but he knew all the shades in the house were drawn. He was giving his hair a second round of towel-drying when the back door opened. He burned steel on instinct, even knowing it was almost certainly Lessie returning.

When she popped her head into the room, he relaxed. She grinned at him wickedly.

“I love how well you follow directions,” she said, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Letting the towel he was holding fall to the floor, he held her and pulled her into a kiss. When her tongue flicked into his mouth, his erection returned full force, pressing against her.

She leaned back, smirking. “I missed you, too.” She paused, looking around. “Where’s Wayne?”

The suspicion in her voice was more than warranted, Wax thought. “Upstairs. Waiting for us.”

“You think it was wise to leave him alone?”

“I gave him a fairly convincing reason not to run off again.”

“Still.” Lessie stepped back, slipping her hand down to take his. “Let’s not push our luck.”

Wax followed her for a moment, then hesitated. “You’re… sure you want to do this? That this is all right?”

Lessie’s playful grin softened into something more serious, though still warm. “I am, on both counts. What about you?”

Wax remembered how Wayne had felt last night—how he’d sounded. Maybe he should’ve been guilt-ridden about it all, but he wasn’t. He only wanted more, and to share it with Lessie. “Yes. I’m sure.”

The mischief returned to her eyes. “Okay then.”

This time, when she pulled him toward the stairs, he didn’t resist.

When they got to their room, they were greeted with a sight that knocked the breath out of Wax, like he’d run out of steel halfway through a controlled fall. Wayne lounged across the middle of their bed, head resting on one hand, the other languidly stroking his cock. He was still completely naked, just like Wax.

“I think I’m overdressed for this party,” Lessie said.

“Let me help with that.” Wax stepped close to her and began to undo the buttons of her shirt. He was hyper aware of Wayne watching, though he refused to glance over to make sure they had his attention. He knew they did. His back was mostly to Wayne as he slowly stripped Lessie, peeling away each layer of clothing with unnecessary care and slowness. She let him, the mirth in her eyes giving way to something hotter. Hungrier.

Though Wax had seen her body countless times before, he still paused to marvel at her—all that soft skin and lean muscle, the curve of her breasts and hips, the dark hair between her long legs. When she was fully undressed, he trailed his hand down to touch her there, teasing her with a light brush of his thumb. She kissed him, slow and languid.

When he was nearly breathless from it all, Wax broke away, and they turned to Wayne. He was indeed lying on the bed staring at them. He was no longer touching himself, but his cock was still hard. Wax glanced at Lessie; she wiggled her eyebrows once. He nodded. It was a good idea. She grinned and got the rope.

“What’s that for?” Wayne asked as she brought it to the bed. He didn’t sound alarmed, only curious.

“To make sure you don’t leave before we’re done with you.”

“Fine by me. I ain’t intending to, anyhow.”

Wayne’s words dispelled some of Wax’s lingering worry. He’d never done anything like this before, but both Wayne and Lessie were clearly eager, and if Wax was honest with himself, so was he.

Lessie tossed Wax a length of rope, then moved to grab Wayne’s legs. By now Wax was more than passing familiar with binding Wayne’s hands. This time, as he did, there was no rush of fear about what the dangerous outlaw would do, or if he would escape. There was only the flutter of anticipation in Wax’s chest. He tied the rope to the bed posts, then around Wayne’s wrists, leaving a little slack, but not much. It wouldn’t be wise to give Wayne an inch—he’d always take a mile.

While Wax and Lessie worked, Wayne was unusually quiet and obedient. Almost suspiciously so. Wax glanced at him to find he was grinning.

“What?” Wax asked.

“Oh, nothing much. Just—I always knew it’d end up like this. You and Lessie finally getting me helpless and alone. Only I imagined things like clothes and bounties would be involved.”

For a long time, Wax had expected that, too. Part of him knew it was a strange kind of madness, to have another person here with him and Lessie. This was the sort of thing the gossip broadsheets would have a field day with in Elendel.

But they weren’t in Elendel, and Wax couldn’t see the harm in it. Wayne had consumed so much of his time, invaded so many of his thoughts. Last night had been impulsive but also a long time coming, and… he wanted more. So he was going to take it, without guilt or hesitation.

“Should we stop and get dressed?” Wax asked with a smirk.

“So long as you fuck me again, I don’t really care, mate.”

Lessie, who’d always been the more efficient of the two of them at tying up outlaws, finished securing Wayne’s legs to the bed posts. Wax had only done one arm. He’d gotten distracted talking, and now the sight of Wayne sprawled out and bound was making his focus worse.

“Like what you see?” Wayne asked, insufferably smug.

“I’m gagging him,” Wax said to Lessie.

“Don’t you dare. I want to hear him.” Lessie grabbed Wayne’s free hand and deftly tied the rope around his wrist. Now he was spread out on the bed, cock still hard, face a little flushed, his chest rising and falling a touch faster than normal. And he still looked so damn triumphant, like he’d planned all this instead of being caught trying to run off again. It was affecting Wax more than he wanted to admit—making heat flush his skin and his cock ache—but he could put a stop to it.

Wax crossed to the dresser and pulled out a cravat; this one he rarely wore because it was black, which came off too somber for most occasions. It would do nicely now, though.

“Hey, I said no gags.” Lessie had moved to the other side of the bed and was checking his work with the knots.

“It isn’t for his mouth,” Wax replied, returning to Wayne. He knelt on the bed, looming over him. Wayne stared up at him in that insouciantly mocking way he had about him when he was trying to get under Wax’s skin. Wax bent down until only inches separated them. He wanted to close the distance, holding back only with a significant application of willpower, and he let it shine in his eyes as he gazed at Wayne. He visibly reacted, his grin fading, something needy and impatient in his gaze now. He lifted his head, straining for a kiss—

And Wax used the opening to slip the cravat around Wayne’s eyes, tying it off at the back of his head.

“Forgot you don’t always play fair,” Wayne said as Wax leaned back.

“That complaint is a bit much coming from you.”

“Who says I’m complaining?”

Lessie met his eye from the other side of the bed. Her smile was slow and indulgent. The sun was still a few hours from setting, and despite the shades being drawn, enough light slipped in to illuminate the curves of her body. It knocked him breathless, for a moment, to see her crawl onto the bed beside Wayne—the both of them right there, waiting for him. For each other.

“You owe me a real kiss,” Lessie said in a low, soft voice. She trailed a finger along Wayne’s jaw, turning his head toward her. When she kissed him, slow and deep, their tongues twining, heat rushed through Wax, straight for his cock. They were beautiful together.

When she leaned back, Wayne said, “I reckon I owe you more than one by now.”

Lessie’s gaze flicked to Wax. “What are you waiting for?” She nodded to Wayne’s erection, then lifted her eyebrows meaningfully.

Wax needed no more prompting than that. He lowered his weight to about half—the bed had always been sturdy, but there was no need to tax it—and knelt between Wayne’s legs. Last night he’d taken his time, but not as much as he’d wanted, due to the cold and the reality of being out in the middle of nowhere. But here, they had all afternoon. All night. Tomorrow morning. He looked to Lessie, and words passed between them soundlessly.

Take him apart.

Wax slowly ran his hands up Wayne’s thighs, drinking in the way he responded to the touch, straining for more as much as he could with his legs bound. When at last he cupped Wayne’s balls, Wayne let out a needy whine. Lessie swallowed it with a kiss, but there was still a moan coming from his throat.

The same desire he’d felt last night wound around Wax. He hadn’t been lying about it being his first time pleasuring another man, and he’d been almost surprised at how much he enjoyed it. It was probably that it was Wayne—infuriating, endearing, Wayne—but the why of it hardly mattered. He took Wayne’s cock into his mouth, slow and deep.

Wayne’s breath hitched. Wax looked up as he worked, meeting Lessie’s eye. She watched him for a moment, eyes bright, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Wax flicked his tongue across Wayne’s head, knowing from experience how it would feel. The noise Wayne made was extremely gratifying, and it made Lessie turn back to him.

She kissed the side of his neck, her hand trailing lazily over his chest, teasing his nipples with little pinches. Each time she did it, Wayne’s cock pulsed, growing even harder. Though he was swallowing Wayne with exaggerated slowness, Wax could already taste precome. He kept his pace steady. Wayne’s moans turned to begging soon enough, half incoherent, littered with very colorful swears.

When his balls tightened, Wax lifted off his cock entirely, touching it only with his thumb and forefinger. Wayne swore again, but his voice was still distinctly pleased. Lessie pressed another kiss to his lips and he returned it eagerly. Wax resumed sucking him off.

Each time he felt Wayne get close, he stopped, relishing the way he reacted.

“ Please, Wax,” he said after the fourth time. The desperate need in his voice made Wax’s own cock twitch in sympathy, and he finally increased his pace.

With a cry, Wayne came, and Wax swallowed almost eagerly. Lessie leaned back to watch, eyes alight, hand threading through Wayne’s hair. She brought her mouth close to Wayne’s ear and whispered about how good he looked and how well he was doing. Wax wondered if he could hear it over his own moans.

When Wayne stopped straining against the ropes, breathing heavily, Wax sat up, wiping his mouth.

“You really are a fast learner,” Wayne said through pants, lying bonelessly with his head tipped back. “Could make a career of it, if lawkeeping don’t work out.”

“I think it’s clear lawkeeping is working out for us pretty well,” Lessie said. She crawled down Wayne’s body until she reached Wax, then pulled him into a kiss. The taste of Wayne was still thick on his tongue, and he passed it to her. He could smell her arousal, feel it in the way she touched him, hands circling his waist. One of Wayne’s legs was between theirs, and Wax had the sudden, heady desire to fuck her right beside Wayne, without untying him or removing his blindfold. Making him listen and feel them beside him.

He leaned back enough to meet her eye, smirking as he slid his hand between her legs. Getting close enough to whisper so Wayne wouldn’t hear, he outlined his plan. Her entire face lit up, and she nodded.

Wayne and the ropes were stretched across most of the bed, but Lessie knelt beside him and grabbed the headboard, leaning forward over his bound arm. Wax moved behind her, gently grabbing her hips to lift her ass a little. Lessie loved this position anyway, and it afforded them enough room to work around Wayne, though Wax’s left leg was touching him. He didn’t think Wayne would mind.

Wax thrust into her pussy, almost groaning at how hot and tight she was. He angled his hips just so, and she let out a low, delicious cry.

“Hang on,” Wayne said from beside them. “Are you two fucking? And you ain’t gonna let me watch? That’s cruel, that is.”

“What do you say, Wax?” Lessie turned and looked at him through half-closed eyes, pushing back against him in time with his thrusts. “Should we let him watch?”

“Not yet. I’m still punishing him for leaving.” Wax stopped storing weight, thrusting harder. Lessie closed her eyes and tightened her fists around the headboard.

“Rust and Ruin,” Wayne said, presumably in response to the sound Lessie made. “And I’m the criminal here.”

Lessie laughed, a brief, surprised sound. It melted away to more moans soon enough. A scant few minutes later, she called out Wax’s name, her pussy tightening around him. She tended to swear a lot when she came, just like Wayne. Wax drank in the curve of her back and shoulders as she rode through the waves. The sight of her brought him close, but he held off, thrusting hard and fast until she came again. After that, he could barely stop himself anymore.

“You’re such a gentleman, Wax,” Wayne said. Despite the lightness of the words, his arousal was clear in his tone. An extra pulse of heat shot through him, and Wax groaned aloud as he spilled into Lessie.

“He is,” Lessie said, breathless. “It’s always ladies first around here.”

Wax slowed his pace and loosened his grip on her hips.

“I’m aware,” Wayne said, then he swore. “Forget I said that. Is one of you gonna fuck me, or—?”

Wax slipped out of Lessie, turning to Wayne. “You’re aware? What does that mean?”

“I—I might have come home at inopportune moments a time or two and heard you enjoying the finer parts of blissful matrimony.”

“I think he means he listened to us fucking,” Lessie said, laughter in her voice. She sat back on her heels, shaking out her hands, which bore the imprint of the decorative carving on the headboard. “You ought to have knocked on the door and asked to join.”

The thought of Wayne listening should’ve made Wax feel embarrassed, or a little annoyed, or shy. If it had been anyone but Wayne, he would’ve. But he only felt a spike of arousal.

“Next time, I will,” Wayne said, then groaned. “You gonna make me beg?” He was hard again. Wax almost felt bad about not letting him watch. Almost.

Wax glanced to Lessie. She nodded, then began to sit up. Wax moved back, watching her. She rose to her knees, and a little of his come dripped down her thigh. Wax got off the bed and pulled the chair in the corner closer, then sat in it. Lessie shot him an amused look, then turned her attention to Wayne.

“I’m going to fuck you,” she said, in a very matter-of-fact voice that belied how hungry her gaze was. “And Wax is going to watch. I’ll tell you when you can finish.”

“Hang on, how are you going to fuck me—?”

Lessie straddled him, sinking down onto his cock. That shut him up, for a moment or two. She began to ride him with slow thrusts.

Wax had never had the pleasure of watching her from this angle. It was glorious. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, making him want to touch her more—but there would be time for that. Now he drank it in while touching himself—Wayne’s little gasps, Lessie’s moans, and the way her body moved, so fluid, sweat gleaming in the late afternoon light. Her hair fell around her shoulders as she tipped her head back, increasing her pace. Lessie had always been a woman who knew exactly what she wanted, and it was no different in bed.

She turned to watch Wax for a moment, then her eyes slid closed and she came, her body shuddering. Unable to sit still any longer, Wax went to her. She was still riding Wayne’s cock, but her pace had slowed to something languid. Wax kissed her, their tongues and mouths hot, almost needy. When he broke away, he moved to Wayne, claiming his mouth with the same fervor. Wayne moaned against him. When Wax pulled away to catch his breath, Wayne spoke.

“All right, Lessie, you’ve convinced me. About the fucking me thing. You feel amazing. Especially when you come.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Wax said. He kissed Wayne again, letting his hands roam over Wayne’s skin, which was flushed and slick with sweat. He lightly pinched his nipple experimentally, and Lessie made an agreeable noise in the back of her throat.

“He likes that,” she said, breathless. “Do it again.”

Wax did, and Wayne whined beneath him.

“You’re a right bastard, mate,” Wayne moaned against him. “The both of you.”

“You love it,” Lessie said. “I’m close again. Wayne, you can come now, if you want.”

Wax pinched Wayne’s nipple just a little harder, and he and Lessie cried out nearly at the same time, finishing together, their voices making the most beautiful harmony Wax had ever heard.

A wave of affection washed over him—for Lessie, and for Wayne. It was almost as strong as his arousal. He realized, with the sudden inevitability of putting a name to something that had existed for a while, that he was in love with Wayne as much as he was with Lessie. Different, but no less deep.

He could’ve brushed it off as a side effect of what they were doing, but he knew it wasn’t that.

Lessie collapsed beside Wayne, panting almost in time with him. “That was fun,” she said. Meeting Wax’s eye, she mouthed, your turn.

Wax stood and got the necessary supplies from their nightstand, then untied Wayne’s legs.

“Letting me go already?” Wayne asked, sounding playfully disappointed.

“Not yet,” Wax answered. “Just making it so I can fuck you easily.” He was eager for it, but he made himself take his time with the ropes, and with climbing back onto the bed between Wayne’s knees. He dipped his fingers into the jar of lube and gently ran them around Wayne’s hole. Wayne raised his hips eagerly.

“Can’t believe you’re gonna fuck me again so soon. Musta really left an impression last night. So much for punishing me for leaving.”

Lessie untied Wayne’s hands, at least long enough to bind them in front of him like Wax had done so many times before. Then she moved to straddle his face. Tied like he was, he still couldn’t touch her.

“You two made a mess of me,” Lessie said. “Why don’t you lick it up, Wayne?”

“You’re gonna ruin this cravat,” he replied. “But it ain’t mine, so who cares.”

“I care,” Wax said, sliding a finger into Wayne. That wasn’t, strictly speaking, true. He’d sacrifice every cravat he owned for more of this.

From his angle, Wax couldn’t see Wayne’s tongue move, but he could hear it in the way Lessie reacted. He matched his pace with Wayne’s, slowly stretching him out. Just the sound of Wayne whimpering into Lessie’s pussy was enough to make Wax’s pulse race and his cock throb, never mind the rest of it.

He took his time getting Wayne ready, but it was agony to wait, listening to them both. Finally, he pulled Wayne’s legs up over his shoulders, then slowly thrust into him. Wayne cried out, and for a moment Wax paused, worried he’d gone too fast.

“Don’t stop,” Wayne begged, voice partially muffled by Lessie. She pulled away a little, and he continued, “Please, Wax. Keep going.”

Wax obliged him. His movements were less sure with Wayne than they had been with Lessie. He knew his wife’s body inside and out by now, but this was only his second time with Wayne.

“You’re good with your tongue,” Lessie panted as she rode his face. “I’m not surprised.”

Wayne couldn’t seem to form coherent words any longer. His fingers curled where they rested on his stomach, his hands still bound. When Wax finally found the right spot, his moans began to rise in pitch and volume. And, as he’d done last night, he brought Wayne right up to the edge and backed off, knowing it would drive him mad.

“Oh, fuck,” Lessie said, and even distracted as he was by how Wayne felt, he could tell she was coming again.

Wax couldn’t help but deepen his thrusts at that. When Lessie’s cries faded, she dismounted Wayne and slipped down to lie beside him. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were almost glassy with bliss as she stared up at Wax.

The sight nearly tipped him over into orgasm, and seeing Wayne’s face—slick and wet from Lessie, smeared with a little come, too—made it worse. But Wax was a gentleman, as Wayne had said.

He reached down with his still-slick hand and grabbed Wayne’s cock, stroking it as he angled his thrusts just right. Now that his mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied with Lessie, Wayne began to ramble incoherently between swearing and moaning.

“Wax—please—I want to see you,” he said.

Lessie finally gave him a break, taking his blindfold off for him. He stared at her for a long, breathless moment, lips parted. Then he looked at Wax.

Their eyes met, and there was so much in Wayne’s gaze—lust and need and something too soft and fragile to name—that Wax lost control completely. The heat that had been building slowly rushed to a crescendo, and he came with panting gasps and a low moan in the back of his throat.

Wayne spasmed around him, finishing with a far louder cry. Come spurted up Wayne’s chest, and Lessie bent to lick it up before he was even done. Wax slowed his thrusts but didn’t pull out, content to watch her for a moment as her tongue moved across Wayne’s skin. Wayne was likewise staring at her like he could hardly comprehend what just happened. Wax could empathize; stringing two thoughts together felt impossible now.

Finally, he slid out of Wayne, then got off the bed. Lessie and Wayne lay side by side, breathing heavily, staring at each other. Lessie shuffled closer, kissing him gently. A thin beam of sunlight fell across them, illuminating what messes they were.

On legs that were mostly steady, he went downstairs and cleaned up with the cold bath water, then got some damp cloths and warmed them over the stove for a moment before bringing them back to Lessie and Wayne.

He paused in the doorway, watching them. Lessie had untied Wayne, who still lay on his back, panting. Lessie was curled around him as she often did to Wax, one hand idly playing with his hair, the other trailing over his chest.

Wax crossed the room and knelt on the bed beside Wayne. He’d meant to hand over both cloths, but instead he gave one to Lessie and cleaned Wayne up himself, starting with his mouth and face, moving with gentle strokes. Wayne watched him, not complaining or cracking jokes. Maybe he was finally too exhausted for it.

When they were both done, Wax set the cloths on the nightstand and lay down on Wayne’s other side, curling around him. Lessie joined him again. Their eyes met over Wayne’s head. She smiled, looking as content as he felt.

Whatever had kept Wayne silent broke. “Wow. That was…” He trailed off.

“Don’t have a joke ready?” Lessie asked, her voice languid.

“Just cause I make jokes about lotsa stuff don’t mean I got one ready for that kind of mind-blowing sex. You two are a menace to society. Or at least to me. Never stop. Nice that I finally got my wish, though.”

“Sleeping with both of us?” Wax guessed.

“Nah, not dumb enough to have wished for that. I just got lucky—in every sense of the word. I meant my wish for you two to join my outlaw gang.”

“We’re not outlaws,” Wax said. “You’re a deputy now, so the opposite happened.”

“After what we just did? Some of it had to have been illegal. Obeying the law ain’t ever that much fun.”

“Just because something is enjoyable doesn’t make it illegal, Wayne,” Wax said, not entirely sure why he was bothering with logic.

“Then why do they write the laws like they’re trying to spoil everyone’s good time?” Wayne grinned but closed his eyes.

“They—”

“Leave it, Wax,” Lessie said. She snuggled closer to Wayne. “It’s not worth the headache.”

She was right, of course. Wax pulled himself closer to Wayne, too, and let his eyes slide shut. He was content to lie here for a while.

Together.

Chapter Text

Wayne cooked dinner in a house he’d never expected to call home again, and he ate it with two people who—possibly because all lawkeepers were a little messed up in the head—wanted him there.

And some time after, they went upstairs again, the three of them. One of the best things about being a Bloodmaker (after the whole shaking off grievous injury thing) was being able to heal away soreness. He tumbled into bed with them eagerly, not bothering to wonder why his luck was suddenly so rusting good.

A few hours later, though, he found himself bracketed by Wax and Lessie, both of them sound asleep. That’s when his brain started thinking again, which always caused trouble.

All of this was too good to be true. That was the real problem. He didn’t think they were faking or nothing—and they’d have to have been awful talented actors to manage it—but they didn’t really want him to stay here indefinitely. They couldn’t. Sooner or later, someone from his long career as an outlaw was going to turn up in town and recognize him. This whole thing could end a hundred different, terrible ways for Wax and Lessie. They didn’t deserve that.

More to the point, Wayne didn’t deserve them. Or this—sleeping in a bed with them, in their home.

A home that could be his. All he had to do was accept what they were offering. All he had to do was keep playing deputy. Forget his past and all the pain he’d caused.

With slow, practiced movements, Wayne slipped out of bed. He’d done this hundreds of times before, sneaking off before sunrise to avoid the awkwardness of his one night flings telling him to fuck off. He dressed with similar skill and silence. Pausing by the dresser, he considered leaving the hat he’d worn while in Weathering. Lessie had taken it off him earlier that day, right before hogtying him.

He should abandon it, on account of it was part of a costume he didn’t want anymore. But… maybe he’d need it, where he was going.

He took it, and the bag he’d got halfway done packing before Lessie interrupted. When he got downstairs, he spent a few minutes looking for a piece of paper. He didn’t intend to leave without a word. Not this time.

In the kitchen he finally found an old broadsheet that would work. He pulled a pen out of his coat pocket and began to write.

“Really?” Lessie said from the doorway.

Wayne startled, smearing ink across the page. “Gonna have to put a bell on you both,” he said under his breath.

Lessie ignored him. She hadn’t bothered to dress. In the low light from the lantern Wayne had lit, her bare skin gleamed. It was almost enough to make him want to crawl back into bed with her, even if it was just to sleep.

“You’re leaving again?” Lessie didn’t look in a particularly amorous mood. Her arms were crossed under her breasts—which, come on, she had to know what that did to them—and her eyebrows were drawn together.

“Got something to do, and I gotta do it alone. But I’ll be back. I promise.” Wayne straightened, abandoning his almost-note.

“We can help you.” Lessie stepped into the room, letting her arms fall to her sides. Pity.

“You can’t. It’s gotta be me.” Wayne put the pen back in his pocket and approached her. She could overpower him again—and maybe he wouldn’t even fight.

She didn’t move to restrain him, she only stared down at him with disappointed hurt shining in her eyes.

“Like I told Wax earlier, it ain’t about him, or you.” And, though he didn’t deserve it, especially now, he leaned up to kiss her.

Her lips were as soft as they had been that afternoon, and earlier tonight. Her hands were just as steady as she gripped Wayne’s hair, though now her touch was none too gentle. That was how he preferred it. She bit his bottom lip, drawing blood, and he had to stop himself from moaning aloud, lest the sound travel upstairs and wake Wax.

Lessie, he could walk away from. But Wax… His disappointment would be enough to curtail Wayne’s plans, if given the chance.

“Stop breaking his heart,” Lessie whispered. Some of his blood was on her mouth now. She licked it away almost absently. Wayne followed the motion with his eyes. That was just mean spirited, making him want her this bad while he was trying to walk out the door.

“I’ll be back. I promise. Tell him to wait for me.”

“Wayne—he—we both lo—”

“Don’t.” Wayne stepped back, hands raised as if to block a punch. “Few weeks, maybe. Then you’ll have to put up with me again. Assuming I’m welcome.”

“You’ll always have a home here,” Lessie said.

“See you around, Lessie.” Wayne picked up his bag and headed to the back door.

Then he did what he did best, slipping out into the misty night: he ran.

Chapter Text

While it was true that everyone needed a hobby, Wayne thought some were naturally more worthwhile than others. A prime example: the fellow in this town a day’s train ride from Weathering. He’d set himself up as lawman here, like Wax and Lessie, but unlike Wax and Lessie, the man had an unhealthy obsession with catching infamous outlaws.

His little office boasted a single holding cell that was little more than an iron cage, and the only decor of note were the wanted posters. Rows and rows of them, a few marked off with dramatic red ink. That alone wasn’t too bad—people had the right to keep up with current affairs, after all.

No, the thing making Wayne feel a tad uneasy was that one entire wall was dedicated to him. Poster after poster, disguise after disguise, hat after hat. This man had them all. Even the real old ones, from when Wayne’s crimes had mostly been unremarkable.

“He ain’t dead,” the lawman said when he noticed Wayne looking at his collection. “Folks say he is, but I know better.”

Wayne shouldn’t have been annoyed the man was right—the alternative was him being dead and all—but he still kinda was.

And anyway, he wasn’t Wayne right now. He was a journalist from Elendel. He wore a stiff fedora and a brown suit that had seen better days—but journalists never did get paid enough for their work.

“And you think his old crew is hiding out nearby?” Wayne asked in a crisp accent. In addition to the hat and suit, he wore a thin mustache, the kind someone who was trying to seem tougher than he was might grow in his first weeks out in the Roughs.

The lawman hadn’t looked twice at him. He figured it was due to the ineptitude of the wanted poster artists combined with the fact no self respecting outlaw would up and walk into a place like this asking after local bounties.

“Yeah. They follow a woman named Darla now. Course, she could just be an alias of the Outlaw King’s.”

Darla had a few inches on Wayne, and much broader shoulders and hips. He could never have been her in a way that would convince someone with any sense. Plus, she almost never wore hats.

Wayne pretended to add that to the notes he wasn’t taking in his little notebook. In truth he was doodling a cartoon of the lawman.

“She sounds dangerous,” Wayne said. “Are you going to alert the authorities?”

The lawman puffed up. “I am the authority here! Me and some of my deputies are gonna ride out in a couple days to take care of ‘em.”

“Very exciting. The readers back home will love this. Any chance I can ride along with you?”

“Too dangerous for a civilian. Can’t let you get caught in the crossfire.”

“I’d keep a safe distance. This isn’t my first brush with danger.” Wayne stood a little straighter.

“Won’t be any point in it. The gang’s holed up in the old mine west of here. Can’t see nothing from outside it.”

“I understand. Thanks for speaking with me. After the raid, I’ll circle back to get the whole thrilling tale from you.”

Wayne took his leave. He had what he needed.

When he walked out of the creepy jail with its creepy collection of wanted posters, he almost expected to find three horses tied up waiting instead of one. He brushed those thoughts away. Wax and Lessie weren’t here. He hadn’t wanted to leave, but it was necessary. He couldn’t retire from a life of crime to some out of the way paradise without setting a lot right. The murder he couldn’t take back, or ever erase, but he could help his old crew. And he intended to.

It shouldn’t have made him feel any kinda way to learn Darla and her crew were hiding out in an abandoned mine. He’d done similar himself. But it made his insides itch a little. Wayne adjusted his black bowler—the hat of a deputy lawman—and surveyed the place. No apparent guards, though there’d be people on watch inside. Darla was no fool.

He began to think of a plan that involved Wax and Lessie, then stopped himself. It was just him here. He’d managed to scrape together some cash for bendalloy, enough for a couple minutes of slowed time. His metal mind was mostly full, too. Not that he wanted it to come to violence.

Sometime in the last two months, he’d stopped wearing a gun. He had his dueling canes hidden beneath his coat, though. Darla wouldn’t be expecting them.

He tried not to think about how much he’d changed since they’d last parted. (And he particularly tried not to think about why, or the people responsible.) Darla had probably changed, too. At least she wasn’t dead yet. That woulda been a real shame.

After a couple hours observing the outside of the hideout, Wayne figured there was no way around it. He could try to sneak in at night, but the guards would be more alert then. Sometimes the best approach was the straightforward one, even if it put you at risk for catching a few bullets. Nothing he couldn’t handle, anyway. Chances were most of her crew would recognize him. Let him in to speak to her.

Wayne did his best to dust off his clothes and make himself presentable. As he walked across the open ground outside the mine entrance, he could almost feel the ghosts of Wax and Lessie strolling beside him. Telling him how bad this plan was. Asking him to come back home. Asking him why he didn’t explain himself, cause they wouldn’t be able to understand that he had to do this without them. Not that he could get them outta his head, no matter how hard he tried.

Stopping a few feet before the entrance, Wayne waited. Confused whispers rose from the shadows inside. It was afternoon, and the sun outside was bright and hot. Wayne endured it with as much patience as he could muster.

“Don’t know why I keep people like you around,” Darla snapped. “Letting just anyone walk up here—” Her voice cut off, probably on account of she’d seen him.

His chest felt a little lighter just hearing her voice. “Been a while.”

Darla stepped into the sunlight. She looked exactly as he remembered. Scowl and all. “Rust and Ruin. Wayne. What are you doing here?”

“Came to talk to you. Got a minute?”

That made Darla crack a smile. “For you, I have several. Come inside.” Her gaze scanned the horizon. “Been some heat on us lately. Don’t wanna get caught unawares.”

“That’s exactly why I’m here,” Wayne said cheerfully. “Got any snacks?”

Darla did—at least, she had some hardtack that wasn’t completely awful—and they settled down in a quiet corner to talk. The rest of the crew eyed them with equal parts curiosity and suspicion. Wayne didn’t blame them. He’d vanished for years.

“What happened?” Wayne asked her when they’d gotten settled.

Darla sighed. “The usual. Some good, some bad. Few folks retired. Couple got killed on a job that went sideways. Never did have your imagination when it came to planning. Or your luck.” Her eyes flicked up to his hat, and she frowned.

This hat wasn’t his usual style. And it wasn’t lucky. Maybe it had helped him get lucky, but that wasn’t the same thing. “Sorry to hear it.”

“Why you here, Wayne?” she asked, getting right down to business.

“Came to warn you. Convince you to give yourself up, or give up the outlaw life.”

Darla blinked at him slowly. “You’ve gotta be shitting me.”

“I ain’t.”

“The Wayne I knew would never even joke about this. What’s your angle? The Roughs is plenty big for both our crews.”

“Ain’t got a crew. Haven’t really had one since we parted ways.” Wayne couldn’t mention Wax and Lessie. Not that they were a crew exactly. They felt like more than that, somehow. The word family danced at the edge of his mind, but he refused to look too closely at it. “Not trying to weed out the competition or nothing.”

Darla leaned forward. “What happened to you?”

“An awful lot,” Wayne answered with a grin. “Made me realize there’s more to life than the next score.”

“Without the next score, we don’t eat. Ain’t no way to earn an honest living out here and still expect more than barely keeping body and soul together.”

Wayne couldn’t argue against that. What employment there was out here paid bad and was usually more dangerous than crime.

Except one thing.

“Hunt bounties.”

Darla snorted. “Supposing I start with you?”

“I’d love to see you try.” Wayne sat back and gestured to the crew. “You got enough people. You could take on some of the bigger gangs—”

“No one’s gonna give us the cash for a bounty. We all got prices on our heads, too. How’s that supposed to work?”

“Hire an intermediary to turn the folks in for you. Then get the cash from them.”

“Huh.” Darla at least didn’t dismiss the idea out of hand. “Where am I gonna find someone trustworthy out here? Someone who won't turn us in first chance they get, or take all the bounty money for themselves and run?”

Wayne’s easy smile widened. “I got a couple people in mind—”

Screams rose from the entrance as nearly every piece of metal in the place flew backward. The guards lost their guns, and so did everyone else. Wayne was in the habit of not carrying much metal (all he had on him was a vial of bendalloy flakes), so he alone wasn’t knocked off his feet.

While shouts of alarm and fear rose around him, Wayne sighed. He should’ve expected this to happen, despite the clear message he’d left with Lessie.

Darla stared at him with wide eyed horror. “You led them to us?”

“Not on purpose. And don’t worry. I’ll get it sorted. Just tell your people to stand down.”

Her expression changed to disgusted. “You switched sides, didn’t you? And all this talk was just a stalling tactic—”

Wax—stubborn, beautiful Wax—chose that extremely inopportune moment to fly into the room in the most dramatic manner possible. People were scrambling for their lost guns. Wayne couldn’t let this continue. Someone was gonna get dead.

“Hang on, stop,” Wayne said, rushing into the middle of the chaotic group. “Ain’t no need for any of this.”

“Wayne.” Wax sounded… relieved. Then his voice went all stern and pissed off. “What are you doing here?”

“Trying to have a civilized conversation, which was going great—” He paused because someone shot him in the back. “Until you showed up.”

Wayne turned to the person who’d fired. They still had their gun trained on him. He stepped in close, burned bendalloy, and got out his dueling canes. In half a minute, the man was too worried about his broken arm to go around shooting anyone else.

When he stepped back into normal time, Wax hadn’t moved. He was, pretty stupidly, staring at Wayne with an awful lot of intensity he ought to have been directing at the people around him who, naturally, wanted him dead. He was Dawnshot after all. A legendary lawman. Their enemy. And he seemed to have forgotten where he was. Rusting fool.

“This is why you left?” Wax asked. “To join your old crew?”

“It ain’t like that,” Wayne said. “Put those guns away. We can all talk this out.”

Some of the crew were running for the door. Others were recovering their wits and their guns. Things were spiraling out of control, as they so often seemed to do with Wax around. Only this time Wayne wasn’t aiming to do outlaw stuff.

Darla, for her part, wasn’t trying to get a weapon or run. She seemed to have accepted her fate, though she stood staring at Wayne with barely controlled rage in her eyes.

“Never pegged you for a traitor,” she said to him.

“You never pegged me at all, I think I’d remember—”

“Wayne,” Wax said in his stop-making-sex-jokes-during-such-a-serious-time voice, which he oughta have known was a useless effort by now.

“Put that gun down,” Darla shouted at one of her people. “You’re gonna get yourself killed. This is Dawnshot. We’ve already lost.” She never looked away from Wayne as she spoke, and the flatness of her voice was like a dagger in his back. A wound he wasn’t inclined to heal.

“I promise, I didn’t mean for him to follow me.” Wayne turned to Wax. “And you should have better manners.”

“Don’t turn this around on me.” Wax finally seemed to remember where he was and was now keeping a wary eye on Darla’s crew. He alone still held guns. He didn’t seem inclined to holster them, either. “I thought you’d—” He cut himself off.

“Thought I’d what? Returned to my old ways? Figured you’d know me better than that by now.”

“Wasn’t sure you were here by choice.” Wax’s voice was low and strained.

Wayne grinned. “You thought I was kidnapped? Again?”

“No one kidnapped you before, so it’s not again .” Wax looked almost abashed. “Lessie told me not to look for you, but…”

“But you don’t really trust me.” Wayne couldn’t blame him. He’d been the Outlaw King for a whole lot longer than he’d been a deputy in Weathering.

Wax met his eye, and a wave of heat and want rushed through Wayne. They gazed at each other in silence for a long moment.

“That explains it,” Darla said after a while. “Worse reasons to switch sides than love.”

Wayne finally looked away from Wax to sputter at her. “Got no idea what you’re on about. Love ain’t got nothing to do with this.”

The words were meant to be a shield to keep Wayne from having to dwell on unpleasant thoughts. He didn’t mean them for a weapon, but the way Wax flinched implied he’d felt it like one. Wayne turned away from him.

“You oughta leave, Wax. Got things to discuss with Darla, and you’re making everyone nervous.”

“I’m not leaving without you.” The way he spoke brokered no argument. Wayne knew he’d be digging in his heels about it, then.

“If you put your guns away and act like you was raised right, then you can join us.”

“You expect me to parlay with Dawnshot?” Darla said, crossing her arms. “He’s the one what arrested me last time.”

“We’re all friends now.” Wayne returned to his seat and picked up the hardtack he’d been nibbling on. “Let’s talk business.”

In the end, they got it sorted. Darla took a lot of convincing, as did her crew—especially the one Wayne had injured, though by his math a broken arm was less severe that getting shot in the back, so he felt he’d acted completely within his rights. Darla and her crew would vacate the area, split into teams, and hunt bounties. When they caught someone, they’d send word to Weathering and someone there would make the exchange. The work wasn’t without risk, but he hoped it would lead to better quality of life for Darla and her crew.

Wayne knew it was pointless to hope for a perfect outcome, but that didn’t stop him aiming for one.

When they left, the sun was sinking toward the horizon. Wayne strolled outside, Wax beside him. When they were out of earshot of the mine entrance, Wax spoke in a way that made it obvious he’d been wanting to for a while.

“You should’ve brought me with you.”

Wayne refrained from rolling his eyes. “And you shoulda listened to me when I said I had to do this alone. You almost ruined things.”

“I… I’m sorry. But you left. I wasn’t sure why, or if you’d be back—”

“Told Lessie I’d only be a couple weeks.” His estimation had been correct, too. He’d only been gone from Weathering two weeks.

“That was no guarantee.” Wax sounded angry. At Wayne. Even though he had no right.

Well, maybe a little right. “It all worked out.”

“I spent two weeks worried about you.” Wax came to a stop not far from where Wayne’s horse was tied. “I know there’s no… I mean, Lessie and I don’t…”

Wayne waited for a moment, wondering if Wax would spit it out. In truth, he was fine if Wax didn’t complete whatever thought was rattling around in his brain. An unpleasant feeling squirmed around in Wayne’s stomach. It was suspiciously like fear.

This was why Wayne didn’t do mornings after. It was why he left before any inconvenient attachments could form. Life was hard enough without wanting all kinds of things he had no right to. For an outlaw, desire was something to be immediately satisfied or avoided altogether. Anything in between was dangerous.

When Wax didn’t resume talking after trailing off, Wayne continued walking toward his horse.

“Wait,” Wax said.

“Don’t see why I should,” Wayne replied, not breaking his pace. “You ain’t gonna say nothing.”

“I’m trying to.”

Wayne’s steps slowed. Wax didn’t sound angry anymore. This was worse. A quiet pleading. He turned around, braced for impact.

He stared up at Wax, waiting.

“Did you leave because of what happened?” Wax asked finally.

Wayne might’ve laughed if he hadn’t looked so rusting serious and sad. “No, Wax. The sex was great. Thought I made that abundantly clear after.”

“It’s what you said, but your actions…”

“I needed to set some things right, at least as much as they could be.” Wayne swallowed. There was more to it, maybe, but he wasn’t about to—

“We both know this would’ve been easier as a team.”

Team. The word shot through his chest like a bullet, burning and cold all at once. Wayne parted his lips to refute it—to lie—but he couldn’t.

“If it was because you felt we were asking more from you than you wanted to give…” Once again, Wax seemed unable to complete the thought.

“Ain’t on you,” Wayne said, voice a little hoarse. “You and Lessie done nothing wrong.”

Wax looked away, nodding. Maybe he understood everything Wayne wasn’t voicing.

“Got a room in town,” Wayne said. “If we leave now, we’ll make it before dark.”

With that, Wax dropped the subject. At least for now.

Lessie had stayed in Weathering, Wayne learned on the ride back to town. She’d told Wax not to go chasing him, saying she trusted him to keep his word. Wax hadn’t agreed, but she wasn’t mad at him.

“I can tell when she’s angry with me,” Wax said as they rode along the dusty unpaved road into town.

“I bet.”

“You sound a little too eager about the prospect. I’d advise against angering her on purpose.”

“Mhmm.”

“Wayne, are you listening? Or are you fantasizing about it?”

Wayne didn’t reply, on account of his brain was otherwise occupied.

The room he’d rented for the night was small, containing only one bed that barely had enough room for two. When the door was shut and locked behind them, a little thrill coursed through Wayne. He hadn’t anticipated Wax showing up today, though he’d missed him every second since he’d left their house in Weathering. Now that they were together, he was getting all sorts of bad ideas.

Wayne set his bag in the corner and turned. Wax was there, waiting for him. Pulling him into a kiss. He tasted exactly like Wayne remembered. Wayne melted against him, savoring the way they seemed to fit perfectly together.

Since leaving Weathering, he hadn’t fucked anyone. He told himself there’d been no time, on account of he was tracking down Darla, but the reality was he no longer had a taste for strangers in strange beds or alleys. He wanted Wax. He wanted Lessie.

Now he had Wax here. All the needs he’d been ignoring surged up inside him. Everything he missed about living with them in Weathering—not just the sex, but all of it. Quiet mornings and cooking mediocre meals for them and going on patrol with Lessie and— life. Together.

The loneliness was so much more obvious now that he knew what the alternative was like.

Wax ran his hands down Wayne’s sides and grabbed his ass, pulling him closer. Wayne let out an embarrassingly needy sound. He couldn’t help but remember how it had felt to be tied up and blindfolded, completely at their mercy. Given everything he wanted.

Wayne broke away from their kiss. He unbuckled Wax’s belt, all the while never breaking eye contact. Wax watched him with his usual hungry gaze, but let out a satisfying little gasp when Wayne freed his cock from his pants. Wayne stroked it slowly, savoring the way Wax’s breath hitched. He stepped forward, forcing Wax against the wall.

Then he dropped to his knees.

“What are you doing?” Wax asked, sounding a little dazed.

“Searching for a coin I dropped. What’s it rusting look like I’m doing?” He slowly licked Wax’s head. There were no more questions after that.

Wayne got to work, pulling him deep into his throat with a steady rhythm. Wayne had always liked going down on his lovers, temporary though they were. There was something immensely satisfying about the reactions—the sounds people made, the way they moved, almost unable to control themselves. With Lessie it had been a revelation. The taste of her, the way her breath had stuttered, the sounds she made with every flick of his tongue. Even blindfolded he had never felt more connected to her.

With Wax, now, it was the same. Better than he’d imagined—and he had spent a considerable amount of time in the past two weeks thinking about this. Wax’s hands were gripping his hair, pulling almost to the point of pain but not controlling his movements, as if Wax was content to let Wayne take the lead for once. Wayne did, after all, have considerable skill in the area and definitely knew what he was doing.

“Wayne,” Wax said breathlessly. He wasn’t close to coming yet—Wayne could tell—but he was already breathing heavily. “There’s something I want to tell you. Been trying for a while—” He let out a low moan in the back of his throat. “Keep doing that, please. It—wait, are you trying to distract me?”

Wayne wasn’t sure why Wax was asking him a question, considering how occupied his mouth was (after all, the only real way to get him to shut up was stick a cock in his mouth, as he’d told Wax before). He decided it musta been the fancy rhetorical kinda question and kept blowing him.

He had, of course, been trying to distract Wax. Whatever he wanted to say, Wayne didn’t wanna hear it, and it wasn’t fair to corner a fellow like this when he couldn’t easily interrupt or run out of the room.

Wax groaned. “How can you be so infuriating even while—?” He paused, then continued. “It won’t work. The thing I need to tell you—it doesn’t change things. But I want you to know. If I don’t tell you…”

Now Wax was getting close. Wayne tried to focus on that, but he knew he’d never be able to ignore Wax’s words. And maybe he didn’t want to, not entirely.

It was just so rusting dangerous.

“I love you, Wayne,” Wax said in a low, tender voice. Then his hips jerked and he came, spilling into Wayne’s mouth.

Good thing he had a lot of muscle memory, because his brain temporarily whited out. It wasn’t that he didn’t expect it—he’d been running from it for a while now. But thinking Wax might feel that way and actually hearing in were different things.

His chest ached sweetly, but he was also terrified. Love was, in his experience, always something you lost when the person you went round loving died. And there were lots of other ways for love to end, too. It was why Wayne had avoided it for so long.

He took his time swallowing and slowly pulling away, letting Wax’s cock slip from his swollen lips. He let his hands fall, but stayed kneeling, afraid to look up. Afraid to open his mouth for fear of what might come tumbling out of it.

“Wayne, I…” Wax cleared his throat, obviously trying desperately to cling to dispassion despite his still rapid breathing. “Forget I mentioned it. I was… caught up in the moment.”

Wayne was being terrible, he knew. It was more or less his constant state of being, and he never seemed able to stop. He slowly rose to his feet. “Don’t wanna forget it.”

Wax stopped breathing for a moment.

Finally, Wayne looked up at him, taking in the flush of his cheeks, his wide pupils and dark eyes. “I love you, too.” Saying it felt like drowning. Pain burned through his chest, and he wanted to gasp for air but was unable to get any relief. None would come. Not until all this was over and done and he could get distance from it all.

The people he loved always left him eventually. But maybe if he stuck around Wax and Lessie, he could keep them alive. Maybe they wouldn’t get sick of him.

Wax stared at him a moment, his eyes wide. He lifted a hand to brush Wayne’s cheek, his touch so gentle. “You don’t have to—”

“I ain’t lying.” Wayne leaned into the touch, aching for more. “If anything, this makes too much sense. Me loving you.”

“What do you mean?” Wax blinked.

“On account of I never make any good choices. Course I love you. I’m too stupid not to.”

“I… don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is.”

“Never took you for the type to need constant praise. But if you want me to extol the virtues of your cock—”

“I don’t, thank you.” Wax’s confused expression softened into something fonder. “You love me?”

“Course I do, mate.” It felt strange to say, and stranger to dwell on. Like he was walking into a fight with an empty metalmind and no backup plans. “It’s way more hilarious that you love me. Ain’t you supposed to be some kinda upstanding lawkeeper type? Yet you’re here with me, committing unspeakable acts—”

“How can they be unspeakable if you never stop talking about it?”

Wayne grinned. “Best give my mouth something else to do, then.”

Wax pulled him into a kiss, and Wayne didn’t do very much more talking for a while. At least not of the coherent variety.

In the morning, Wayne woke to a completely novel sensation—sunlight and the warmth of another body pressed close to his, arm draped over his side. He had never spent an entire night with someone else. At least not after sex. He supposed this wasn’t the first night he’d spent in Wax’s company. He didn’t want it to be the last, either.

He kept his eyes closed, luxuriating in the sensation. Wax’s breath was still soft and even, his chest rising and falling against Wayne’s back.

Eventually, they’d have to get out of bed and start the journey home.

The fact it was home they’d be headed toward made the prospect more than appealing. It was, after all, where he belonged.

Weathering hadn’t changed since Wayne had left, which made sense. He’d only been gone a little over two weeks. Lessie greeted him with as much enthusiasm as Wax, and life returned to the strange normal of the three of them.

Some days Wayne thought about leaving, when he got too overwhelmed with worrying about what might happen in the future. He did leave sometimes, just for short stretches to meet up with Darla and make the exchange for bounties.

One evening, when he got off the train at Weathering, coming back from a successful job, he found the house empty. He was back a day early, so it didn’t bother him much. He put his bag in his room—still where he kept his stuff, though he usually slept with Wax and Lessie in their bed—and headed out into town.

His wandering took him not into the busier parts, but outside the edge of Weathering proper. There was a nice spot to watch the sunset there, with comfortable rocks that gave a good view of the surrounding grasslands.

Wayne approached the usual spot, but stopped short when he got close. Someone was already sitting on the boulders. Lessie. That surprised him. It wasn’t that she never came here—it was that she was alone. As Wayne approached, he was horrified to hear her crying.

He hesitated. Maybe she wanted some space out here. Then again, if she did, she could very well tell him. He couldn’t walk away without knowing if he coulda helped ease whatever was causing her tears.

Silently, he climbed the rocks and sat beside her. “Come here often?”

Lessie turned to him with a sad little smile. “You’re back early.”

“Yeah, so no need to keep crying about how much you miss me.” He bumped his shoulder into hers.

She laughed. “I did miss you, Wayne. Glad you’re back.” She started to wipe her eyes, but Wayne produced one of his many, many fancy-lord handkerchiefs and held it out to her. She took it, laughing softly.

“Thank you. I’m so lucky to have two gentlemen in my life.”

“Don’t go hurting my feelings, calling me that. I’m a proper outlaw, even if I’m retired.” He paused. “What’s it, then, if it ain’t missing my skills in both the kitchen and the bedroom?”

Lessie turned to stare at the sunset. A herd of giraffes moved slowly in the distance. She was silent for so long he thought she wouldn’t answer.

“How do you do it?” She asked at last.

“Do what? That thing with my tongue—?”

“No. I know how you do that.” She glanced at him with a smirk. “I meant… how do you keep going, even knowing you’ve done things you can’t take back? Living with the choices?” She hurried on. “Not that I think you should blame yourself—”

“Ain’t no one else to blame. No one made those bad choices for me.” He closed his eyes against the memory of the weight and feel of the gun in his hand as it fired.

“But you found a way to forgive yourself—”

“No,” Wayne interrupted. “Ain’t no forgiveness to be had for that. I could work my whole life trying to make up for it, but at the end of the day, the man I murdered in cold blood will still be dead. His kids will still have grown up without him. I still took him away from a woman who loved and needed him.”

Lessie stared at Wayne, her gaze more open and vulnerable than he’d ever seen before. It wasn’t that she was normally cold or emotionless. She’d always been genuine with him, and seemed the same with Wax. But this was a part of her she didn’t display often—at least that was the sense Wayne got. He wondered what it was like, beneath that hat of hers.

For one fleeting moment, he felt almost afraid of the prospect.

“Something happen?” Wayne asked her.

“No. Nothing recent, at least. I just… I’ve been thinking about my life lately. The past, and the future. What it might hold.” She turned to stare at the scenery again. The fading light from the sun painted her in vivid gold, making her look almost ethereal. Timeless, like artwork instead of a woman.

“That’s the funny thing about life. Ain’t no one knows what it is until it happens to them. Then just when they get used to living, it’s over.”

Lessie smiled. Even in profile, there was something terrible about it. A melancholy Wayne couldn’t guess at. “Life is the longest thing there is. Too long, maybe.”

“Nah, I don’t know about that. It’s pretty fun most of the time.” Wayne kept his voice light and teasing, but his stomach still churned with unease. “If you wanna talk about it, I’m here. I know you got Wax, too—”

Lessie shook her head a little. “I know. But he won’t understand. Even you… Well, you’d probably understand better than most. You know what it’s like—” She cut herself off. “I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t want to think about it. Or anything.”

As she turned to face him again, her melancholy vanished, replaced with mischief. “Did you miss me?”

“Always.” Wayne smiled, leaning up to kiss her. It started out light and gentle, but she deepened it, and he could taste her hunger as well as the remnants of her tears. She didn’t want to think about anything. Well. Wayne could certainly help with that.

With one hand, he undid her belt buckle and pants, then slipped his fingers down. With his other, he let his touch roam beneath her shirt, over her side and stomach, then cupped her breast.

Lessie moaned appreciatively as his thumb brushed her nipple. Then she gasped when he slipped his touch lower, teasing her clit. She was already wet, and he didn’t get the sense she wanted him to take his time. He slid two fingers inside her, marveling at how hot and slick she was. As he thrust into her, using his thumb to rub her clit, she broke away from their kiss.

“Fuck, Wayne. I really did miss you.”

He kissed the side of her neck, letting his hands answer for him. He’d missed her, too, and did his best to convey that with his actions. Soon, she was leaning her head against his shoulder, moaning and swearing so obscenely Wayne thought that alone might have been enough to make him hard.

“Keep going,” she whispered in his ear, then she cried out as she came. She was holding his shoulders, and her grip got deliciously tight. He did as she asked, not stopping. She came a few more times, then collapsed against him, breathing hard.

He slowed his pace, then slid his fingers out of her.

“Thank you,” she said, and he knew it wasn’t just for the handjob.

“It was my pleasure,” he replied, answering her as if that was what she’d meant. By the way she looked up and smiled at him, she appreciated his discretion.

Whatever was bothering her, she’d share when she was ready. Or maybe she never would. Either way, he and Wax would be here for her.

He held her for a few minutes, then she straightened up.

“Come on,” she said softly. “Let’s go home, and I can thank you properly.” She rose, and Wayne followed.

Not that there was any question of that. He’d follow Wax and Lessie anywhere.

Chapter Text

The problem with serving a god, Lessie thought, was that there was functionally no difference between one and the next.

Under the Lord Ruler’s control, she’d committed all manner of atrocities and betrayals. She became whatever she needed to be, with no regard for how her lies would affect others—not because she had none, but because it wouldn’t matter if she did.

Harmony was different, in many ways. He had created a far more stable and prosperous world. Yet control would always be control. It didn’t matter if he phrased it politely while he was giving orders.

I don’t want to die, Lessie thought.

It is not death, merely a transition to another assignment.

This wasn’t the first time they’d had the argument, though it would be the last. Bloody Tan had her in his arms, using her as a shield. This was how the story was supposed to go. She’d allowed herself to be caught unawares and captured. She was to be a tool used to break Waxillum Ladrian so he could be rebuilt into something more suited to Harmony’s purpose. The god themself would never phrase it that way, of course, but that made it no less true.

There’s another way, Lessie thought desperately.

No way that works.

If I ask to go to Elendel, he will take me. He loves me. And the unspoken continuation of that thought: she loved him. It was never supposed to happen. She’d never loved before; she hadn’t even understood it. But she had committed the gravest error there was and gotten too close to him. Seen how genuine he was, how caring, how just. It had been impossible not to love him.

And now it felt impossible to stop. To stop being Lessie.

She didn’t want to. But that was the trouble with wanting things she couldn’t have.

He loves you too much, I think. I should have put a stop to this before. I am sorry.

Their sorry didn’t matter. They were still going to make her go through with this. Dying wasn’t enough.

It had to be Wax who killed her.

From an objective standpoint, she could see the elegance in it. The careful planning, the masterful manipulation. So much had come together to orchestrate this moment. And there was so much more to it than Wax could understand.

Please, she begged. Please don’t do this to him.

Harmony didn’t reply.

The moment came. She wouldn’t do it. She refused. He would shoot at Bloody Tan and hit him, and—

Another consciousness invaded hers, taking momentary control. Jerking her head into the path of the bullet so beautifully it had to have been done by a god. No mortal’s timing could be that perfect.

The bullet hit and she cut all the nerves in her body, paralyzing herself and sparing herself the physical pain. She disconnected her vision, her sense of taste and smell, and almost everything else.

But because, deep down, she hated herself, she left her hearing intact. The thud of her body hitting the floor. The scream of anguish. Wax’s sobs.

She heard them all.

Truly, I am sorry, Harmony whispered in her mind.

This time, it was she who didn’t reply.