Archive of Our Own

Adam tugs on the cuff for the umpteenth time in as many days. His hisses at the bite of the metal in the reddening skin.

He's not quite sure what he was expecting when he returned to the Sheriff's outpost, down a notorious outlaw and a hefty weight of gold missing from the bag.

Evidently word had reached Roddy's ears before Adam had. Which somehow resulted in Adam sitting with a twisted ankle, Roddy staring at him as if he's waiting for a fever to break.

His hair is greasy and lank, dust itching on his scalp without a wash. Without his jacket and shirt, the cotton vest has gone a pale brown in places from the dirt. His ankle throbs.

“I laid down my life for you man.”

“I know.” Adam lets his head knock back against the wall, staring at the cracked ceiling. They’ve had this conversation what feels like a thousand times.

“I pick you up off the floor after the Bucks left you. I fight Jericho and his fan club for you. I get shot at and have my neck snapped five ways to Sunday, and somehow, you decide you can let MJF, the worst guy out there, walk off.”

“Look, he’s not- “

“Adam.”

Adam lets his head fall to watch Roddy from under his brows. There’s a muscle ticking in his friend’s jaw and a betrayed look in his eyes. The brim of his Stetson is pulled low, the sunlight coming through the window cutting harshly across the shadows and the bridge of his nose.

“What are you doing Roddy?”

The other man gives a half-hearted snort, breaking eye contact to look off to the side. Where Bennet and Taven are napping most likely.

“Just thought it would be different this time,” There’s a tension in the air, bladed both ways and sharp, “We were talking and Matt said something, back we were running stuff, before we set ourselves straight. How it was always One More Score. One more bounty and we’d be out. And when we didn’t go, you kept on, Bullet club, Undisputed, Elite. You didn’t care about us, just yourself and how far you could go, the infamy of it.”

Adam swallows, shakes his head. He opens his mouth but Strong cuts him off.

“And then I got as many of us as I could back together and you looked at me,” There’s the ghost of a smile on Roddy’s face and it hurts to look at, “And I thought this time, this time you cared enough to fucking stay. But now you’re riding around with The Devil of The West like you’re going to rob stage coaches again, and this time you’re going with someone will kill you when you end up doing what you always do. And Adam, I can’t let you do that.”

“But you’ve got to understand-“
“Nope, not today.” Strong’s face is carved from stone at this point. The sheriff’s hands flex in and out of fists.

Adam pushes the hair off his face, licks his lips, “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Roddy shakes his head.

Indignation and disbelief courses through him like a flash flood, brow raising, “You’re just going to leave me in here?”

It remains a mystery if Sheriff Roderick Strong was going to speak because then the side wall collapses.

The silhouette, backlit by the sun, isn't initially recognisable. Tall, broad shouldered, light catching on a square jaw and short cropped hair.

Silence hangs in the air as much as the dust. The only sound being the crumbling of stonework and tumbling masonry.

The moment is broken by a shout as three shapes charge past the first. Two crash bodily into Taven and Bennet who have come in the see the ruckus. Flashes of pink ribbon streak across the hallway.

The third, slides to a halt in front of the door to Adam’s cell.

Max's scarf is pulled up over his nose, eyes narrowed. His gun is already in his hand, and the shot scents the air with bitter smoke. He’s got his hat tilted down to shadow his eyes, the brass devil face glints on his bolo tie. 

The bullet ricochets off the iron of the lock, and buries itself in the wood by Roddy’s feet. The sheriff’s jump back causes the keys at his belt to strike a discordant clatter.

Max swings towards the noise like a rattlesnake. Adam can see the tension gathering in his arm under the tight sleeve of the jacket.

Adam launches forward without thinking. Free hand swinging wildly. His vision narrows to the fight ahead of him.

"Max don't!"

Max pauses, eyebrows raised in an unspoken Seriously? Roddy takes the opening and slams Max across the chest, sending him sprawling. The outlaw snarls, his scarf having slipped down. Two pistol chambers click in near unison.

Adam looks on, wide eyed and open mouthed, half aware of the blood streaming down his wrist.

The outlaw flicks him a look out the corner of his eye.

Roddy’s pistol jams, and the sheriff swears, throwing himself forward.

Max’s lips press into a thin pale line, and he sends an elbow strike across Strong’s face.

All Adam can do is watch them fight, pulling his arm as far it will go without dislocating. This shouldn’t be happening. It can’t be happening.

“You’re pathetic, so pathetic it makes me sad.” 

“Is that right?”

“You better believe it you cuckolding bitch.”

“I’m not a cuckhold!”

“But you are a bitch?”

Adam can’t do anything.

The fight is quick and nasty. Grunts and winded moans and the thud on bone connecting with muscle.  It’s like watching two seas collide at a headland, neither holding ground for more than second.  

Max kicks Strong in the stomach. A pitched wheeze and the two flip, Strong planting blow after blow on the outlaw’s neck.

Pinning a scrabbling Max with sheer weight, Strong reaches and wraps his hand around Dynamite, Max’s pistol. The pale metal with its intricate engraving glinting in the noon day sun.

To Adam, time seems to slow, as Roddy brings it to bear.

There’s shouting. One of the voices is Adam’s own.

The other heralds a blur that tackles Roddy onto the floor. The gunshot cracks through the air at the same moment.

Everyone seems to pause for a moment.

Then there’s a long keen of pain from the shape-that-is-not Sheriff Strong. The fight at the end of the hallway is over, and the largest figure dashes over to the pile of men. Both he and kneel over the other man.

Seemingly satisfied, Max scrambles onto his feet with a groan. And viciously kicks the unmoving Roddy in the side of the head.

The sight of Roddy motionless on the floor shocks Adam to silence. There’s roaring in his ears. Heart rabbiting as if he’s been in the thick of a shootout.

When the lock clicks open, he shoves past Max, hands shaking over Roddy.

It is then he sees Roddy’s chest rises and falling. Still alive. Breathing.

The world snaps back into place.

The men are familiar; The Acclaimed, the robin-hood-esc outlaws this side of the river.

Bowens and Gunn have paused, watching him from opposite ends of the hallway. No, behind him.

Max is staring at some point past Adam’s ear, breathing harsh and heavy through his nose. He hasn’t moved since Adam pushed him.

Max looks terrible; the circles under his eyes are purpling bruises, skin sallow, shirt rumpled. Slowly, jerkily, as if through a zoetrope, Max brushes off the dust. His expression is mostly unreadable, but Adam can see the bone-deep hurt and anger feeding on it.

Adam stumbles back over, half on his knees. His ankle complains at the rough treatment.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I love you remember.” Adam’s hands now hovering a half inch above Max’s shoulders. Catching his eye, “I love you, I love him too, I’m sorry, I’ve missed you.”

The light comes back into the outlaw eyes in fractions, he rubs his nose with the heel of his hand. A red streak is left across the base of his thumb.

“I missed you too,” Max doesn’t duck his head into Adam’s chest like he usually does, but the hand on the back of his neck is tense. Like he’s scared if he let’s go Adam will be gone again. “I’ve missed you so much.”

The moment lingers, and is broken by Bowen’s pointed cough.

“If you don’t mind, we’re going to tie these guys up now.”

Max nods, moves to help.

Both Adam and Caster get propped against the far wall. There’s blood trickling from where the bullet has grazed Caster’s forearm.  Caster scarcely meets Adam’s eyes, hurriedly passing him the bandages for his wrist, and nodding. The smile feels forced.

As Adam wraps the bandage around the split skin, he glances at Caster who’s now switching between picking at his new dressing and the trio of backs down the corridor.

“I wanted to say thank you, for saving Max.”

Caster perks up, “Oh, it’s like no problem. Man deserves everything, you know?”

Adam gives the younger man an odd look, “Can’t disagree with you.”

It’s impossible to miss when Roddy comes to.

The scream of “Adam!!!” echoes through the brick building.  Everyone winces, and Gunn walks over to the window to check the track outside is still empty. The station is a decent way out of town but-

“ADAM!!”

Adam shuffles over to the corner where the three lawmen are tied. Taven and Bennet are quiet, radiating a promise of violence once they’re free. Taven spits at Adam’s boots.

“I’m here, I’m here.”
Roddy’s eyes are watery but his expression is stony, “You were never going to stay, were you?”

"I'm sorry Roddy, I really am."

"Go fuck yourself Adam."

“Okay, we’re leaving.” Suddenly there’s a thick arm under Adam’s and they stand, Adam instinctively grasping at the material of the jacket.

Max pulls Adam's arm over his shoulder and looks at him. Really looks at him, brown eyes like a deer or hot rich coffee or soft fertile earth. In that moment, Adam thinks he could drown in those eyes.

"All good Adam?"

Adam swallows, blinks hard, pulling himself back and nods. The blood from his wrist smears on the shoulder of Max’s jacket. He doesn’t seem to notice.

"I- I'm ready."

His ankle must be worse than he thought, because the pain lances up his leg as soon as any weight is brought to bear. He yelps and Max leans with him as they rebalance. Adam limps heavily the next few steps.

His breaths are shallow and hard, coming through his teeth in bursts.

"It's not far, come on."

There’s a real, actual guitar strapped to the back of Caster’s horse. Adam blinks at it. It’s an odd thing to focus on, but it’s the first thing he properly sees of the outside in what feels like weeks.

Billy Gunn passes Max what looks to be Adam’s gold and black jacket and hat. Max, still supporting Adam, slides the jacket around Adam’s shoulders and places the hat on top of his hair, knocks it back a couple of degrees. His partner steps back, leaving Adam to balance between his good foot and River, and then nods as if the sorry sight Adam makes passes some sort of test. River nickers, nosing concernedly at his pocket. He gently strokes the velvet of his nose, feeling her hot breath against his knuckles.  

To Adam's surprise, Max actually shakes hands with Gunn and Bowens, the later tilting his hat in begrudging respect.

"I wanted to thank you for helping me- us out."

The gratitude still comes from between gritted teeth though, and Adam sees the muscle jump in Max's jaw when Caster pecks his cheek with a grin.

Max shoves the other outlaw off, but there's an undercurrent of tolerance to the gesture, fondness even. Caster bounces on his toes, mood untouched, "Anything for you handsome!"

Adam feels the envy curl in his gut. And buries it. He has no right to it. 

He presses his own kiss to Max's hairline regardless. The slight pressure of Max leaning into it is its own reward.

He keeps his smile to himself when he sees some of the brightness in Caster’s eyes dim. Thank you very much for your help, but this one, he’s mine.

It’s a struggle, getting up on River, but having Max's hands on his waist then thighs for most of it helps. He didn't realise how much he missed those touches. Only a few months ago he would have kicked Max in the face for assuming so much.

He's out of breath when he's finally settled. He spends his shaky hands to work fixing his hat as Max mounts up on Piper, clicking his teeth as she moves into a trot.

They wave the Acclaimed off after a couple of miles, the people’s-outlaws turning south. Caster keeps looking over his shoulder at them, eyes damp in a way that Adam thinks is truly unnecessary. Bowens seems to catch him looking, and slaps Caster over the back of the head.

The three disappear around the corner and are gone.

Max and Adam are finally alone.

Its takes them a good while before they feel comfortable talking, bodies both tense and senses oversensitive.

Adam feels like cow shit that’s been left to bake in the sun and then trodden on by another cow. His bad ankle bounces in a painful rhythm on River's flank.

They haven't seen anyone since leaving the station and it's got both their hackles up, suspicious. But then, who expects-

"Jail break in broad daylight? Are you nuts?"

Max smirks, "What? Like it’s hard?" and then his smile drops, looking at Adam sideways, "Couldn't leave you there."

"It was Caster's idea anyway, freak came up with something just stupid enough to work."

Adam bites his lip with a frown, “Caster likes you a lot.”

For once, Max looks uncomfortable, awkward even. His eyes dart from Adam to the road ahead, hand scratching gently at Piper’s neck rather than it’s typical over-the-top pointing.

“Yeah, I mean obviously I’m irresistible.”

“Max?”

“Okay, I can’t work it out. He’s a complete freak.”

“It’s okay, if you have him as a friend. I means I’d prefer Bowens personally-“

Max picks up what Adam’s putting down and pouts dramatically, “Do you not approve of my choice in friends Cole?”

Adam gives a breathy laugh, eyes sparkling. “Never said that, it’s good for you, I just think-“

The conversation tumbles back and forth until they hit forest, dry plains giving way to sharp ridged hills covered in pines.

The rich smell of pine sap and damp soil makes Adam slump in the saddle, muscles aching with the release of tension. Familiar, not-quite home but close. He feels Max look at him, and let’s himself grin, open mouthed, watching how the sunlight shifts between the long green needles. His skin soaking in the spring warmth coming down in the golden dappling.

There’s a hand on his jaw then.

He hadn’t realised they had been riding that close together, Piper’s chestnut pinto flank brushing against River’s dark bay.

Adam’s hand finds itself on the pommel of Max’s saddle, leaning closer.

They slow to a stop.

Max’s hands are in his hair, and Adam can feel him smiling when they kiss. One of his soft, genuine ones. Adam presses forward, chasing the taste of honey and coffee in Max’s mouth, nearly unbalancing them both. His stomach swoops with gravity, his hand flying up to keep his hat from falling off entirely.

They break apart. Max laughs, “Woah there cowboy.” For all the tease in his voice, there’s a breathlessness that wasn’t there before. 

The clearing is as good as place as any, Max helping Adam down off River like a fainting maiden brings pink to Adam’s cheeks, although from embarrassment or affection Adam’s not sure himself.

Max is in a rush, throwing the tarpaulin over a long branch propped against a tree. Adam leans back on his elbows, watching, giggling every time Max ducks a kiss to Adam’s face in passing like teenagers.

He’s missed this.

By the time everything’s tied, Max almost dives for Adam, forcing them to roll with the momentum. Adam hisses as his ankle shifts uncomfortably. His hat has, by now, left his head completely, sitting somewhere in the fallen pine needles a foot or so away. Max presses his lips to the corner of Adam’s mouth as an apology, eyes flickering across his face as if committing it to memory, “I love you.”

It’s not the first time Max has said it, but the same warm bubble swells in Adam’s chest, and for a couple seconds it’s difficult to breathe.

Adam’s on his back, Max on his side next to him. He tugs Max closer by his scarf, feeling the soft material between his fingertips.

“I love you too, baby.”

Max’s lips are soft against his, slightly chapped. The pull brings them a bit too close, feeling teeth. A little out of tune after days apart. They’re both smirking as they try again, Max’s hands back in Adam’s hair, teasing out the knots. One particularly stubborn one ends up pulling on Adam’s scalp and he gasps.

Max’s tongue takes the opening, softly tracing the roof of Adam’s mouth before slowly withdrawing. The outlaw shifts, swinging a leg over Adam’s hips to bring himself into Adam’s lap. The weight pins him but it’s a comfort somehow.

Adam pushes himself up onto left elbow again, following Max’s mouth, blunted fingertips still scratching lightly over his scalp.

Adam’s free hand rucks up the hem of Max’s shirt as he skims over Max’s ribs, the outlaw shivering under the touch despite the warm air. The calluses, palms and fingers hardened from rope and gunmetal, rasp over Max’s hip bones and back. The skin is pale there, untouched by the sun. There’s the slightest flinch when he strays over a bruise, but they don’t stop. They’re both used to those sparks of pain, both old and new.

The outlaw smells of sweat and leather over yesterday’s scent of bitter orange and cloves.  There’s a prick of pain when Max tugs on Adam’s bottom lip with teeth, the groan comes from his throat on reflex.

“Mine.” The word is almost a growl, soft and quiet though it is.

Max’s eyes are blown wide, the dark iris indistinguishable from the pupil. His mouth is flushed and pink through their kissing. He’s beautiful.

“Yours.” Adam wets his lips, feels the blood hot below the bite.

With a cocky smile Adam levers himself up even further to nip at the mole behind Max’s ear. There’s a slight burn where the scruff on their cheeks rubs roughly together. When he moves to leave a trail of hot, sucking along Max’s neck, he feels the whine before he hears it. Adam finds himself smiling into the sensitive skin at the other man’s collarbone, then biting there to feel Max shift, thighs tightening slightly.

It feels right.

Thoughtlessly, Adam tries to flip them.

The pain is immediate, and so very wrong. The grinding of muscle and bone in this ankle forces a yelp.  The weight in his lap is gone.

Adam screws his eyes shut, hissing a couple breaths through his teeth. The throb in his ankle returns to a distant burn after a few moments, and there’s a broad hand on his cheek, sliding back to cup his neck.

“I’ve been shot, I’ve been left for dead, and somehow it’s a sprained ankle-“
“Hey, hey, hey! You’ve been through a lot.” When Adam opens his eyes again, Max’s brow is pinched, cheeks still dusted pink. The outlaw’s short curly hair is backlit by the sun between the branches, almost giving him a halo out of fly-aways. The image makes Adam snort under his breath. Max catches it, but misinterprets the mocking, chin tilting down, “We can take it easy a couple days. Lay low. Dodge Strong and his band of merry idiots.”

“’Course you’d say that.”  Adam lays back against the ground, trying to ignore what feels like pine needles under his vest. The hand leaves, the phantom warmth prickling his skin.

He hears Max’s head cocking more than sees it.

“What do you mean? Why fight when we can chill out, think smarter not harder Cole.” There’s a gap in the air where the joke would usually go, especially considering the mood not a minute before, which speaks to Max’s concern.
There a soft thump as Max lays beside him, and shuffles close.

“I can care about both of you.”

“And this is me, not shooting him.” Half-mocking.

Adam knows that Max wouldn’t hurt him, not now, at least not with intent. That’s not the problem.

“I need you to not hate me for caring about him.”

There’s a pause then, the uncomfortable kind where Adam forces himself not look at Max’s face.

The sounds of the forest start to encroach; the creaking of the pines, the odd bird.

“I can do that. I don’t get it, he’s a motherfucker, he’s moron and a fool, but I can respect it. The caring.” The hot breath of Max’s exhale against his jaw is surprising, but familiar. Adam finds Max’s hand and squeezes, feeling the other man curl into his side; the press of a living, breathing thing.  The second phrase is more muttered, “There seems to be a lot of things I don’t get about… friendship.”

Adam turns his head in time to see Max’s nose wrinkle in a modicum of self-disgust.

“We’ll get there, trust me.”

“Can’t believe I’m lying in the dirt for you.”
A short laugh punches out of Adam’s chest, “I appreciate it.”
“You’re. Welcome.”

Something warm presses from inside Adam’s lungs, as he feels Max smile under his lips.