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They had each lost something in the Battle of Rose Creek. Billy had lost something so close and familiar to him, someone that was too familiar for him that he could look at a sunset with just the right shade of blue and start to cry. He hated the night sky, he hated to sleep without someone curled next to him, protected in his arms. He found himself lighting cigarettes and passing them to someone who wasn't there to take it out of his hand. Sometimes he'd just let the cigarette fall to the ground, smoking in the sand. Vasquez had lost something that had just started to bloom. Years of memories versus a week of bonding, some might question which was worse to endure. What was or what could've been. Vasquez had snippets of visions that he replayed in his mind. Drunken conversations that hinted at things that would get one killed. Jibes at one another, playful wrestling matches that turned to more, more that led to a relationship cut so early in it's budding life, it's a wonder Vasquez doesn't view this as a sign from God that he's better off alone. It's 4 months after the battle when they meet up in a saloon somewhere north. Vasquez walks in and looks around, so used to looking for anyone he might think try to collect the bounty that's still on his head. He wouldn't have come into the saloon at all if he hadn't ran out of whiskey almost two weeks prior, leaving him with nothing to chase the memories away and render him dreamless for a night. It had been days since he'd seen more than a fleeting glimpse of sleep. He'd glanced around the room, his dark eyes coming to a stop on a slight figure in a dark corner. Anyone else would've missed him, but there was something familiar about the way he watched the room without showing his face. It was actually a stray flicker of light from a lantern that caught the silver in his hair that made Vasquez know for sure. He made his way over to the table, head down, hands on his belt. “Billy Rocks.” It wasn't a question. “Vasquez.” Billy looked up from his glass, one hand reaching out for the bottle. He looked into eyes that mirrored his own, not just in color but in the sadness that seemed to have taken root there, like a storm that just wouldn't move on. He gestured for Vasquez to have a seat. The taller man took the one next to Billy, the one he knew Goodnight would be lounging in if he were still there. They didn't say anything for a long time. The barman came with another glass, another bottle of dark liquid. Together they finished off Billy's bottle and started to work on the second. It wasn't until they stood, both laying a few bills on the damp tabletop, that Vasquez spoke. “Been a while.” Billy nodded, sucking in a long drag from a cigarette. He hesitated, his fingers shaking for just an instant, before he passed it to the man to his left. Knowing what he knew now, Vasquez declined with a gentle hand in the air. His companion let the smoke spiral into the sky. “Ye.” Nothing else was said that night as they lay side by side on the hard ground outside town, horses snorting nearby, a fire crackling near their feet. They didn't touch, didn't have to. Hearing another human being that was experiencing the same feelings of loss breathing beside them was enough. It was enough for a while. Eventually, a few months after lying next to each other, Vasquez woke up to Billy crying in his sleep. Vasquez didn't have to hear the name 'Goody' escape his lips to know what he was dreaming about. Sometimes Vasquez envied Billy. Having someone who had loved him like Goodnight had. They had found Billy riddled with bullets beneath the protective arm of Goodnight. The bullet that would've taken his life was embedded in the flask that Billy had left over his heart, the only place he would keep the others' possession while he was away. Billy hadn't talked about the scene but everyone had figured that once they had taken out the last of the riders following Faraday and the Gatling Gun had started pot marking the wood of the church, Goodnight had pulled Billy down with him for cover, taking most of the damage himself as he tried his best to haul Billy to safety. Billy still carried that flask. It was useless now, liquid leaking out of it from around the bullet that was still nested almost at the direct center of the fleur de lis that decorated the outside. He kept it stashed in the saddlebag, never taking it out, but unable to throw it away. The soft whimpering had been what had awoken Vasquez from his own troubled slumber. He looked to his right saw the man that never showed emotion, breaking down in the night. Always the night, never during the day, that was reserved for Vasquez to cry over. Billy was shaking, lying with his face turned away, uncomfortably curled on his side on the hard ground. Vasquez rolled over, and gathered him into his arms. He was smaller than Joshua had been curled into him. Not a perfect fit. He knew that to Billy, it would be the same issue. They had both lost the man that seemed to fit them perfectly, not only in personality, but in size as well. Billy was almost like a child, so small and fragile. Vasquez was a giant to Billy, his larger build loose around his body as he pulled the other close. They never spoke about those nights in the beginning. It still felt like they were betraying their lost lovers. One night turned to every few nights which turned to every night. Some nights, Billy would be curled protectively into Vasquez's front, other nights would see Billy on his back with a head of dark curls on his chest. There were things they wouldn't say or do around the other. Vasquez never told Billy goodnight, he never mentioned the coming darkness in any term other than 'dark'. He never took offered cigarettes, to the point the Billy stopped offering every time he lit up. Vasquez still caught him dropping them in the dirt sometimes, offering them to someone who would never take them. Billy never used any words with 'day' in them. They both found alternatives to things no other man would think twice about saying. Billy never said the names “Ethel” or “Maria”, he would grab Vasquez's attention whenever he saw a man with an eye patch. They never spoke of angels or used the words 'so far so good'. They steered clear of brothels, there was nothing a woman could give either one of them. They never got mad at the other during drunken arousal when the other might moan “Goody” or roll “Joshua” over their tongue. You can't blame a man for falling for a dead man, and you sure as hell can't blame him for calling to him when he's in the throws of an ecstasy that's so close to what he felt with him, he gets a little emotional under the fog of alcohol. After a year of being together, they started to talk. Really talk. It was Vasquez that started it. He couldn't keep it in any longer. He started off with simple small talk about that week in Rose Creek, careful to only talk about his own pain, his own lost one. He would talk about how cocky Faraday was, how they had that one night that started with Faraday showing off his magic tricks that turned into some drunken kissing that turned into a hot night of passion. The second night had been even better, filled with less hesitation. He talked on and on about how he had never felt so close to someone, had never made friends with anyone like he had the other six. He stopped talking when he mentioned how lost he felt when the remaining four had broken off a few days after the battle. It was a few weeks after Vasquez had revealed this to Billy when the latter began to talk about his own pain. Not a flood of words and stories like his partner, more like a silent river that branched off every few days. He would say something offhand at first, like “I've never heard something much worse than an owl”, they packed up camp and rode through the night, away from any trees that could house the birds. It surprised Vasquez one night when he and Billy lie under the stars, perpendicular, Vasquez with his head on Billy's stomach, dozing in and out when he heard Billy say “This is a good night.” He held his breath until he felt Billy breathe normally again. Healing takes a long time when you lose someone you trust with your life, someone you expected would protect that life for many years to come. Someone you expected to go out with, guns blazing, when the bounty hunters finally got the drop on you. It's not for another few years that the two wanted men become close enough to talk freely around one another, finally laugh freely without abandon. The shaking stops in the night, but they hold each other for different reasons now. There are still things they don't say, more so out of habit than the necessity to keep the other from hurting. The word 'Guero' never escapes Vasquez's lips, Billy never says anything that contains the word 'day'. They never tell each other goodnight, and they never share cigarettes.