You May Forget
This work of fiction is owned by the author, and may not be reproduced
without the author's express written permission. The Young Riders was
created by Ed Speilman and is owned by Ogiens/Kane Company and
MGM/UA. No copyright infringement is intended by this work of fiction.
Copyright September 2000.
Okay, the truth is that they are mine; I bought them on eBay.... No?
Damn. It was worth a try. :)
Many many thanks to Chris, who beta-read on the sly. This story is
the first of two dedicated to Echo, who asked for it.
Archive: TRIS, Riding Double
Fandom: The Young Riders
Warning: slash relationship, but nonexplicit
Summary: Ike spends some quiet time musing about the past,
the present, and the future while watching Buck sleep.
I smiled, looking over to the riverbank where my lover lay sprawled
among the long grasses. He made quite a picture for the knowing,
spread-eagled in that lazy way that cats have when there's a warm
ray of sunshine made just for them. However, it would make a
better picture on paper and I have a scrap of paper and pencil just
begging for use.
Buck was just like a big cat. Quiet and reserved, he was certain of his
superior place in the universe so fighting wasn't real important unless
someone else needed help. Never doubt those claws, never forget
those fangs; wildness preserves him. It keeps him safe, that sense of
nature, and I don't doubt that the spirits he believes in protect his
That makes sense, because he protects my soul from any and all that
might harm me. Bullies are one thing, we've always dealt with them
together since the day we met. Women ... well, that was never much
of an issue. Most women aren't interested in either of us; we're too
different from most men, and while being unique might be sought after
by others, let me tell you, it's damn hard being the one on the outside.
Most of the time, we're on the outside together, and that's okay.
So long as we're together, we can face anything. Anyone. I'd die
to keep him safe, and -- like I said before -- he would die before he
let anything hurt me, whether it be a physical pain or a mental one.
I remember that most on days like this, when our chores are done
and we can sneak away somewhere private to do some dancin'
of our own. The other boys would never understand, so we have
to always be real careful-like.
Emma knew, though, I'm pretty sure. She always gave us these
gentle soft looks whenever we'd come in together and I know that
she knew what we had been doing. One night Emma caught us
tryin' to sneak into the bunkhouse a little late, and called us into the
kitchen for a chat. Me and Buck had gotten carried away with our
dance and fallen asleep right here on this riverbank. We woke up
and it was dark and we just knew we were in for it. What a sight
the two of us must have made, looking like a pair of colts surprised
by a rattlesnake in the feedbox. The both of us dirty and run all-out
wet, grass and leaves every which way, our clothes all disheveled,
and we'd forgotten all about the ... decorations ... until Emma plucked
out the wildflowers that I'd twined in Buck's long hair. She didn't say
anything really, bless her, but just quietly reminded us that they
were there and that it'd be best if we didn't leave them there overnight.
I've not before or since seen Buck turn so red, and with his complexion
sometimes it's hard to tell that he's blushing. He was practically scarlet
with embarassment. At least, I thought it was embarassment until he
kissed me, and with Emma standing right there. Then he smiled in that
smug-but-you-love-me-anyway way of his that I love so much, rushed by
me, and left me standing there in the doorway with my jaw hanging open.
She smiled at me, and everything was good.
I still have that picture of Buck with flowers in his hair, hidden in my
trunk where no one -- especially Cody -- will find it. It's a wonderful
This drawing is coming along pretty good, I think. When he sees it,
Buck will say that it doesn't look like him at all, he'll say it looks like
a cow swimming in the water or something. Okay, so I'm not doing
as well with this drawing thing as I'd hoped ... this looked a helluva
lot easier when that other guy was doing it.
Most of the other boys don't understand why these drawings are so
important. I've tried to explain it, that after we're gone, these pictures
will show who we were and how we lived and what was important to
us. There's only so far that journal entries and pages in a ledger can
go -- those won't show you the love in my eyes when I look at Buck, or
the joy I feel when he smiles at me. Words can't say how I feel or
what I hear in his words when he tells me he loves me or even those
soft little almost-moans he makes sometimes when I'm in his arms or
he's in mine.
Drawings show the future, our future, what meant everything.
Is it any wonder that all my pictures are of Buck?
You may forget but
let me tell you
this: someone in
some future time
will think of us
~"You May Forget"
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