Sean
It’s still early in the afternoon when I find a good spot to lie in wait for the man I’ve been tracking for days now. They told me he’ll be looking over his shoulder all of the time and also how he’s mean as a rattlesnake, so I decided to get the bulge on him by getting ahead of him. I am pretty familiar with this part of Arizona and he’s not, so I managed to get in front of him quite easily. All I have to do is wait until he emerges. Sooner or later he will; I know where he’s headed, as there’s nowhere else to go from here.
I tie up my horse to a tree behind the rocks, so Mortensen won’t spot him and I make myself comfortable on the sandy ground behind an outcrop, my rifle loaded and prepared. It’s a perfect hiding place, allowing me to see anyone or anything approaching within miles. Every now and then I drink a little water from my canteen, while I wait patiently. I am determined to get this job done.
I grew up on a ranch, but it was clear from the start that I would never follow in my father’s footsteps. I was barely able to walk, when I tried climbing a horse, not to go check on the herd, but for the sole purpose of getting away. I didn’t know where, but I was certain I would like it better than where I was. My folks thought it was funny and I guess my pa saw it as a first sign of masculinity and he liked that. By the time I was six he gave me my first horse, a little paint mare and he was pleased, for I took to riding like a duck to water.
Me not giving a damn for the other things he wanted me to learn was a big disappointment, though and he just couldn’t understand how his son didn’t want to lie down in a bed so neatly spread for him. It made things between us tense and difficult. Maybe for some time he told himself I’d grow out it, but the old man is no chump and at some point he just gave up and let me have my own way.
Of course I still helped out on the farm, but my heart wasn’t in it. I was around eight years old and feeding the horses one morning, when I heard my mother calling out for help. I ran out and saw her standing in her little vegetable patch, like she was frozen, staring at a huge snake right in front of her feet. It hissed and rattled, clearly pissed off and about to attack. My eyes fell upon the gun on the front porch; Pa was probably inside the house and never heard her calling out.
I grabbed the gun and ran back. I’d never fired a gun before. It was strictly forbidden, but I had seen my father use it hundred times. I raised the gun and aimed, then pulled the trigger. The recoil was so hard, I fell down backwards, but the snake sure was dead. That’s how I discovered my special talent.
After that my pa reluctantly allowed me to practise shooting and soon enough, I was better with the gun than he was and it didn’t improve our relationship. It only got worse over the years after that, and even though my poor mother tried, we never could sit long together without fighting. I was eighteen when I left, not knowing where I would end up, but eager to find out.
I never stayed long in one place; just easily bored, I guess. I always managed to find work and earn enough money for me and my horse to live and for years that was enough. Then one day I was having a drink in a saloon in some one horse town somewhere, when I noticed a guy playing cards. He seemed familiar and I wracked my brain wondering where I’d seen that face before. It was two glasses later when I remembered the ‘Wanted – dead or alive – ‘ poster I’d seen in the small town I’d left yesterday. I also remembered a considerable award and it got me to thinking that if I could round up this guy and bring him in to the sheriff, that money would be mine.
I paid for my booze, then waited outside the saloon till the guy came out, crossing the street to the town’s ratty hotel. There was no one around to see and I stepped from the shadows, cocked him behind the ear with the butt of my gun and he went down like a lamb. Twenty minutes later I had him tied up in front of me in the saddle and we rode out of town. It was as simple as that; I delivered him at the sheriff’s office and got my money.
That’s how I became a bounty hunter and a damned good one too. The men I capture are dangerous scum and should be either in jail or dead, so I don’t feel sorry for them. Until now I’ve always managed to deliver them alive and I want to keep it that way, but I won’t hesitate to shoot if I need to.
The man I am waiting for now seems to be a real badass. I don’t know what he did exactly; I never bothered to find out. I’ve just taken in the warnings. They said he was quick with a gun; well so am I. I have the law and surprise on my side and I think this sonofabitch, Mortensen, has seen his last day as a free man.
I hope he’s enjoying it.
Viggo
The shadows are lengthening as Leta, my grey mare, picks her way daintily through the mesquite and loose rocks at the foot of a big, red outcrop. I know that I will have to make camp for the night soon and need to look for a good, safe place.
We’ve been on the trail for days, weaving about, looping back on ourselves and now venturing into unknown territory to try and throw off any pursuers. If I know that sidewinder, Jensen, he’ll surely have sent people after me, vindictive bastard that he is. We’ve both felt it too, that sensation of being followed and it’s made my gal nervous and jumpy, but that has faded today and she’s moving carefully, but confidently.
I rein in Leta and bend to pat her neck and murmur words of encouragement. She turns her head toward me and wickers softly in reply,
“It’s okay, sweetheart, you’ve done well. We’ll rest in a while. I need for us to get up onto higher ground, so as I can see anything that’s coming.”
I sit up straight again in the saddle and cock my head, listening. It is very still.
Turning around, I look behind me, but there is no tell-tale cloud of dust on the horizon and nothing is moving, as far as I can see. Maybe they gave up chasing us, or Jensen’s money ran out. I take off my hat and wipe my brow with the back of my sleeve. I want to take a drink from my canteen, but I will wait till I can give Leta a drink too from the skin slung on my pommel. We are a team for sure and she has been my faithful companion for the past five years, since I won her in a poker game back in Nevada.
I am kind of the black sheep of a respectable, God-fearing family of immigrant farmers, who settled in Utah from Denmark. Never cut out to be a farmer and with a widowed father, who believed in sparing the rod and spoiling the child to the extent that I still carry some of the scars to this day, I lit out on my own just as soon as I was able. I was sixteen years old and rode out on a trusty old workhorse, Tobias, who was my only friend, with a bag of food I stole from the larder and several of Pa’s guns and ammo. That morning I never looked back and I have never looked back since. What was is gone and all we have is the here and now. There is no heaven, except for passing pleasures and hell can be found right here on earth.
‘Course, my pa woulda told me I’d be struck down by a thunderbolt for my blasphemy, but I knew he was wrong, ‘cause he was never struck down and if ever there was a wicked bastard, he was it! If he’s dead now, which I truly hope he is, he’ll be turning in his grave at the life I’ve lived. Good!
Growing up on the farm had made me strong and self-sufficient and I was a fair shot with a rifle and a handgun by the time I left. I was able to turn my hand to most things and found farm work easily as I travelled, but I was attracted to a different life, to the bright lights and saloons. By the time Tobias died, I’d earned enough to buy another horse. On my travels, I was taken under the wing of many folk, some good and some with very different motives and I learnt a different set of skills, chiefly a talent with playing cards and the handy ability to drink most other people under the table. I learned other things too, which tended to get me in trouble on a fairly regular basis, like now.
When I am sure that we are safe from pursuit, I think we’ll head back to Nevada, where I know I can earn a living playing poker and I still have some useful contacts. The people I trust can be numbered on the fingers of one hand and up until now, that, quick wits and a strong streak of luck, have kept me alive.
Thing with luck, though, as any gambler knows, is that she has a nasty habit of running out on a man, sooner or later. As I go to put on my hat again, Leta whinnies and shies, the way she does when another horse is nearby. The hairs go up on the back of my neck and I anxiously look up at the rocks to my right. At first I can’t see anything, but Leta is trembling and side-stepping and I trust her instincts. In any case, I have begun to feel uneasy myself, a cold trickle of sweat beginning to work its way down my spine. I know, as surely as if I could see him, that there is an enemy up there.
We need to get out of here pronto, but as I take the reins and kick Leta into a gallop, my hat still in my hand, I see a flash of silver up in the rocks and feel a searing pain in my right temple. A wave of nausea takes me and the last thing I hear as I topple from the saddle is the report of a gun.
Sean
It’s a couple hours later when I see him. I am pretty sure it’s him, as I’ve seen no one else whilst tracking him. Besides, not too many men wander around this godforsaken area, it’s too hot and dry.
I stay flat down on my belly until he’s close enough to get a look at his face. Jensen, the man who hired me, has shown me Mortensen’s picture, but also spoke about the horse he rides, a grey mare. Man and horse seem inseparable it seems and it just shows you how even a thieving and murderous bastard like Mortensen has a weak spot. I am fond of my horse too, so that’s at least something we have in common, not that it will save him.
I grin when he takes his hat off to wipe his brow; not only does he make it easier for me to identify him, but it also solves the problem of how to bring him down. I’d like to keep him alive, even though they’ll probably hang him. A shot in the shoulder won’t kill him, but it will sure make it hard to escape and impossible to shoot.
I notice his horse is jumpy, sniffing the air and restlessly moving. Horses have better senses than we do and she is probably aware of my horse, even though she can’t see him. I know I must be real quick now, so I raise my gun and aim, but my target must have sensed something too, because he suddenly looks up, straight in my direction. I curse and fire, but he has just spurred his horse, ready to flee and the bullet hits his head. He jerks in the saddle and then falls off and lands in the mesquite.
His horse bucks and whinnies, then lowers her head to sniff at the man, who doesn’t move any more. I get up and run to my horse, mount him and steer him down into the valley. Mortensen is still down, so I guess he’s dead. I tell myself he has only himself to blame, and he would have shot me on purpose if he’d had the chance, but I still don’t like shooting a man who can’t defend himself. It will be an easy job collecting the money now, though. Dead men don’t argue.
As soon as I approach, Mortensen’s horse bolts. For a moment I consider going after her, but then I see my ‘dead’ man stir a little and I slide from my saddle to have a closer look. The shot must have been a glancing blow, creasing him just at the temple, where there’s a trickle of blood and a spot as big as a silver dollar is turning black and blue. It was enough to bring him down, but he will surely live.
As if to prove me right, he moves his feet and mumbles something. Quick as a flash, I get the ropes I always carry with me from my saddlebag and start tying him up neatly. By the time he blinks and opens his eyes he’s trussed up like a calf at a Sunday rodeo and bucking like one too.
“It’s no use,” I tell him,” you’re stuck with me now. You and me are going for a little ride, Mortensen, all the way back to Glory, where Mr. Jensen is waiting for you.”
He tries to sit up and groans and I smile, “I bet you have a splitting headache. Well, it coulda been worse; I coulda blown your brains out.”
“Who are you?” he says, looking up at me and squinting against the sun, “one of that fucking bastard, Jensen’s boys?”
In all honesty, I met Jensen only twice and I didn’t like him much, but I’m not going to tell that to Mortensen. The deputy sheriff backed up his story about this outlaw and that’s good enough for me.
“I am no one’s boy. I am my own man,” I say, kicking his leg with my boot. The name is Sean Bean and I’m a bounty hunter. It’s my job to bring outlaws like you into the place they must answer for their crimes.”
“I haven’t committed any crime,” he says indignantly, “that bastard Jensen is a lying sonofabitch. Hey, where the fuck is my horse? Did you shoot her too?”
I grin down at him, giving him another kick,” Look, I’ve brought in hundreds of men like you and I have yet to meet the first one to admit he’s guilty. Now pipe down. Your horse has bolted, so unfortunately we will have to share my horse until we’re back in Glory. Now I am a peaceable man, but I don’t like tricks, so I advise you to behave.”
With that I grab the ropes around his wrists, pull him to his feet and more or less drag him over to Bounty, my horse. His arms tied to his upper body as they are, there’s no chance of him getting up on my horse, alone, so I drop him to his knees unceremoniously, pick up his canteen and put it into my saddle bag. Travelling through deserts has taught me the value of water and I won’t spill a drop unnecessarily.
Mortensen glares at me as I haul him to his feet again, but he says nothing. He does try to resist when I start pushing him up onto the saddle, but then I pull out my Colt and hold it against his ear. “Move your ass,” I say and he gives in, climbing onto the horse and I mount and sit right behind him.
“Now, isn’t that nice?” I ask and click my tongue to get Bounty going. “Let’s head for Glory,” and then I snigger.
Viggo
When I come to again, it feels like I was kicked in the head by a steer and even worse than the pain, is the fact that I seem to have lost the use of my arms.
*What the fuck…?*
It slowly dawns on me that my hands are tied in front of me and there are ropes wound around my body, lashing my arms to my torso. My legs, though are free, as I discover when I kick out with them.
I open my eyes and a deep, husky voice chuckles somewhere above me and talks about Jensen and the town of Glory. I struggle to try and sit up - big mistake - and the bastard tells me he supposes I have a splitting headache, but that it could have been worse.
Even though the sun is low now, it is still too much and I squint up at this smart alec, who must be working for Jensen. I am helpless, in pain and getting as mad as hell. It would be real satisfying to wipe that grin off his mug and I ask him who he is.
He introduces himself, accompanied by a kick to my leg and informs me that he’s a bounty hunter, who brings in ‘outlaws’ like me.
*Of all the fucking nerve!*
I tell him that I am no criminal and then it dawns on me that although I can see his horse, a fine red chestnut stallion, my Leta is nowhere to be seen, so I ask him angrily what he’s done with her. If he‘s shot her, I swear that I will kill him somehow. Nobody hurts my horse.
He gives me another kick (*I am keeping tally, asshole. There will be payback, just as soon as I get free*) and tells me that he never met a man guilty by his own admission. But he also tells me that Leta bolted, so at least she’s okay for now. Warning me to behave, he hauls me up onto my feet and drags me over to his horse, who is a proud and handsome beast.
He shoves me to my knees, puts my hat on my head and takes charge of my water bottle. He took my gun, when he tied me up too and the rifle is strapped to Leta’s saddle, so even if I could somehow knock him out and make a run for it, I wouldn’t make it far. It had crossed my mind that I could head – butt him, but right now, the thought makes my head jangle like a bag of spurs. Having stowed my canteen, he hauls me up again like a sack of grain and I give him the evil eye, as he indicates that I should mount his horse.
For that I get the barrel of a Colt shoved in my ear and I give in for now, putting my foot in the stirrup and letting him grab a couple handfuls of my ass and heave me up. Without the use of my hands, I sprawl across the horse’s neck, but he rights me and mounts up behind me, pulling me back against his chest and holding me with on arm, while he takes the reins in the other hand and the bastard makes another goddam joke as we set off.
We ride in silence until dusk and I try and think of ways to escape, but the throbbing in my head and waves of nausea that keep washing over me get in the way. Often it’s only his arm tight around my waist that keeps me on the horse and I am very aware of his strong body pressing against my back. I am tortured by thirst and getting hungry, but I won’t let him know. He is pretty much holding all the aces in this game.
We come upon a small creek with flat stones either side in the shelter of some rocks and he stops to make camp. He dismounts first and pulls me down, dragging me over to the rocks and propping me up. I note that he tends to the horse before me and their clear affection reminds me of my poor Leta out there alone somewhere.
Satisfied that the horse, Bounty, is fed and watered, he comes over and squats in front of me, offering me water from my own canteen. I close my eyes and feel the cool draught sting my dry lips and trickle over my tongue, swallowing gratefully.
I keep my eyes closed and only open them when he moves away to make a fire. I take the opportunity to watch my enemy and learn. He doesn’t look like the type Jensen usually recruits, is obviously strong and tough, but doesn’t have the mean, pinched killer look. True he said he was his own man, so maybe he’s not on the payroll.
His movements are graceful and compact and his hands are a surprise, kind of elegant. They would look more at home tinkling the ivories in some fancy salon than living this kind of life.
He has opened cans of beans and fried up some belly of pork and he looks across at me, grins and says, “Grub’s up.”
“Fine,” I say sarcastically, “and do I just get to smell it, or do you feed me?”
“I guess so, ‘cuz I sure ain’t stupid enough to untie you.”
“I need to take a piss. Are you gonna help me with that too?”
“It’s a dirty job, but it comes with the territory.”
He grins again, comes over and yanks me to my feet again, spins me around and using one arm to keep me upright, unbuttons my fly and pulls out my pecker, holding it in his big hand and pointing it at the ground between my feet.
“Go ahead and be quick. The food is getting cold.”
Sean
Of course I have to support the guy; he can’t ride without the use of his arms, but I am impressed by the way he manages to stay upright. I take it as a warning not to underestimate the bastard and keep an eye on him, as he seems a stubborn breed. I’ll bet he also has a killer headache, but that’ll only keep him from playing dirty tricks.
Daylight is already fading when I find our camp for tonight. Most important thing about it is the small creek, so I can refill the canteens and water Bounty, who had a double load to carry, even though my prize ain’t what you’d call a heavy weight. When tying him up I did notice the hard muscles on his arms and I reckon he’d be able to kick ass – though not mine – in a fight.
I drag him off of my horse and make him sit down against some rocks, while I tend to Bounty. I can see Mortensen’s feeling sick and he’s probably craving water and food, but he doesn’t complain; just like I thought, stubborn like a mule. Anyhow, it won’t kill him to wait a little longer and my horse comes first.
When Bounty is taken care of, I go to my captive and offer him water from his own canteen. He drinks greedily, but keeps his eyes closed, refusing to look at me. The life I’ve lived has sharpened my senses, though, and I can feel his eyes on my back while I make fire and fry up some food. Helpless as a calf, the bastard still manages to get smart with me and he still tries to lure me into untying him. I’ve been through the mill before and helping him piss doesn’t unnerve me.
I feed him chow and he scowls at me with every spoonful I give, but still eats like he’s starved. After that I roll a cigarette and lean back against a rock, content with today’s work. I see him look at my cigarette and I lean over and offer him the rollie.
“Care for a smoke?”
He draws on it so hard it makes him cough and I slap his back until his breathing calms down.
Averting his eyes he mumbles, “Thanks”.
“Have to keep you alive, don’t I?”
“For what? For giving that lying rattlesnake Jensen the pleasure of hangin’ me?”
“He ain’t gonna hang you. You will have a fair trial and then they’ll hang you.”
“A fair trial? I’ll be dead meat before you’re in the saddle again.”
“The deputy sheriff was there,”
“The deputy sheriff is on Jensen’s payroll, just like you are.”
“I am on no one’s payroll! I told you I am my own man. Now shut yer cock holster, or I’ll hang you myself.”
Mortensen sniffs, “Easy.”
“Easy what?”
“Easy to threaten a man who can’t defend himself.”
“It is, yes, very easy. You owe this all to yourself, so quit whining.”
“I am not whining, I am telling the truth.“
“Tell it to the judge, I’m hittin’ the hay.” I get to my feet and walk over to Bounty to take my bedroll from the saddlebag. I hesitate, then take a blanket and a shirt and walk over to my captive.
“You wanna lie down?” I ask, tossing the blanket over his legs.
“Isn’t it a little early to hit the sack?”
“Your blarney tires me. Now do as you please.”
He doesn’t say a thing, but throws himself to the ground sideways. I wad up the shirt and shove it under his head, then spread the blanket over him.
“There you go. Sweet dreams. I sleep very light, so don’t you try anything foolish.”
I lie down on my bedroll and look at the stars. I know I won’t be able to sleep yet, but at least I have a little peace and quiet now. Somehow though, his words have wormed themselves into my brain and I think about how I didn’t like the look of that Jensen. On the other hand, it’s my job to catch criminals, not to judge whether they are guilty or not. It is the first time I took on a private job. I’ve always worked for the sheriff’s office before, having only accepted because of that deputy. *And don’t forget the large sum of money offered.*
Still, I would hate to see the man killed without a fair trial. There is only one thing to it; I will have to stick around a while after I deliver him, I decide, just to make sure. Perhaps he’s just a good actor, because he did manage to raise a doubt. I wasn’t planning on letting him know. Letting him sweat a little wouldn’t hurt him. I turn over and close my eyes. There’s a snoring sound from next to me and finally I sleep.
I am not sure exactly what wakes me, but it’s still dark when something does and I sit up and reach for my Colt lying next to me. It is silent, too silent. I can’t even hear the man next to me breathing and I know something is wrong. He is either holding still – and for what purpose? – Or he is dead. I cock the pistol and point it at him, my voice still raspy with sleep.
“What’s going on here, Mortensen?”
He makes no sound and with my left hand I pull down the blanket. I reach out behind his back to check his ties and then curse when I feel they are frayed. Again I put the Colt against his ear and then I haul him up and then turn him over onto his belly.
“I warn you, smartass, not one single word or move. I told you I am a light sleeper.”
I put my knee on his back, squinting in the dying light of the fire. I take my knife to cut the ropes and then tie them again. Because I have less length, the ropes are tighter now, which won’t be comfortable, but I don’t give a shit. I examine the space around him to discover a small rock with a jagged edge he has put to use. I get to my feet and drag the bastard closer to the fire, where there’s just sand and nothing else. I turn him around and lean in so our faces nearly touch.
“Nice try asshole. Have you got anything to say for yourself, any reason I shouldn’t kill you right now?”
He blinks and spits out some sand,
“I needed to piss and I didn’t wanna wake you, ‘cuz you have a real bad temper.”
Summary: Sean is a bounty hunter and is on the trail of outlaw Viggo.
Rated: NC-17
Categories: Actor RPS Pairing: Sean/Viggo
Warnings: AUChallenges:
Series: NoneChapters: 4 Completed: Yes
Word count: 20047 Read: 3493
Published: 17 Feb 2010 Updated: 17 Feb 2010