with his right hand on his rifle, he swore it on the bible

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He knew what it was like to be possessed by the need to gather everything you had and run. He’d done it plenty of times himself when he’d been Beatrice’s age, maybe a little younger. He’d hated growing up in the same house as his father, especially when his older sister moved out and turned her back on him, intending to forge her own path in life and rid herself of all the memories of a childhood in the Reyes household. It had left Raff alone, with only his old man as company, and that had forced him to spend nights on the street more times than he could remember. It wasn’t easy, being the son of a man who had been to war. Especially when he brought the war home with him.

But Maverick was nothing like Raff’s father. He was far too gentle of a man. Beatrice must have had other reasons for running off.

“It’s alright, I wanna help. You don’t have to ask…” Raff tried to reassure Mav, but his words died in his throat when the other man moved closer.

Raff backed up. He had to, no other choice apparent to him. He felt the doorframe press right in between his shoulder blades, and stared at Mav.

As soon as he felt the other man’s hand gently caress his face, he had to swallow around the lump in his throat. The gesture was too tender and intimate for him to bear and as much as he would have loved to lean into the touch, selfishly and so, so wrong, he had to remind himself that Mav wasn’t in his right mind right now.

He was frantic with nervous energy, worried about his sister, enough to have foregone letting Harlow comfort him. Because Raff had to remember the Harlow of it all, the other man’s broad stature taking shape in his mind, familiar cowboy hat and all. Harlow was probably out there looking for Beatrice as well. Raff couldn’t be here incorrectly reading into Mav’s need for comfort right now.

“Hey. S’okay,” he said, lifting his hands to gently cup Mav’s elbows as the other man spoke.

“I’ll… M’glad you came to me. I wanna help.” He’d said that already, hadn’t he?

His eyes flitted uselessly across Mav’s face, at his agonised expression and he had to lean his own head back, gently thunking it against the doorway.

“Where do you want to look first? Where’s Harlow looking?” he asked.

His thumb caressed Rafferty’s cheek, grazing his bruised skin as he searched the other man’s face. It was as though he were looking for answers – to more than just Bea’s disappearance, but to the cacophony of voices crowding his mind, telling him that there was someone else missing from his life too. He let his eyes flutter shut as he felt Raff’s hands brace his elbows, holding him, keeping him steady.  

It was the other man’s words that knocked him ever so slightly off center again, reminding him that there was another pair of arms that should have been comforting him now. 

“Harlow’s not... He don’t– I came to you first,” Maverick flustered, guilt weighing heavy in his chest. 

He felt awful for having kept this from Harlow, and worse yet was that he didn’t even know why he hadn’t told him yet. His mind had been running wild with possibilities of where Bea could have gotten to, and the sort of trouble she might be in. He hadn’t been thinking straight, and had simply run to the first person he could think of that might be able to help. Rafferty wasn’t one to bluster or lose his composure, not like Maverick, and he knew he’d be able to help keep him on track. 

“Hell, I’m sorry,” he breathed, gaze flitting across Raff’s as he noted the distance the other man was trying to put between them. 

His body was arched away from Maverick’s, his head resting on the doorframe. He wasn’t holding Maverick up, but keeping him at an arm’s length. Of course he was. Helen aside, Maverick was in a relationship, wasn’t he? With the very man that Rafferty has encouraged him towards. His heart plummeted in his chest, bile building in the back of his throat as he finally dropped his hands, his trembling fingers grasping clumsily at the front of his own jacket. 

“Gosh, you must think I look a total mess. I didn’t mean t’make you uncomfortable, I–” he shook his head, a weak attempt at trying to clear it. He wanted to answer Raff’s question, to focus on his sister, but he felt sick. A tidal wave of guilt and shame washed over him at having lost both Rafferty and Bea, for betraying Harlow even in this small way. What was he doing? 

He groaned loudly, dropping his head into his hands as he dug the heels of his palms into his eyes, willing away tears. 

“I don’t know where she is, Raff. I shouldn’t even be here, I– I keep screwin’ things up, throwin’ people away,” he whimpered, certain he only had himself to blame. 

He thought distantly of Wyoming and the firewatch tower that might still wait for him there. Jack’s voice crackling through his talkie. He doubted the other man would still be around even if Raff did get there though. He could be anywhere in the world, maybe even walking the same streets Raff did and he wouldn’t even know unless he heard him speak.

Pulling his attention back to Mav, he looked down, his heart squeezing itself into a fist when he realised the other man was touching him. Through his shirt, but still.

Somehow, that light and innocent touch hurt worse than the pain pulsing by his eye, but he didn’t have the heart to tell Mav to move his hand. Not when he looked the way he did right now, like all the colour had been drained from the world.

Absently, and he hoped not maliciously - but who could control a jealous heart? - Raff wondered if Mav was here after having some sort of argument with Harlow. It didn’t seem likely; both men hardly came across as a couple who quarrelled, although maybe plenty of people had said the same about him and Helen. But if it was something else bothering Maverick, then Raff didn’t understand why he was here instead of seeking comfort from his partner.

Wouldn’t everyone much prefer to be sad in the arms of a low-spoken cowboy than Raff? He was about as comforting as lying atop a jagged rock.

“Yeah, you mentioned her,” Raff said quietly when Maverick brought up his sister. He remembered Mav telling him that she had come to stay, a plus one in tow. He even remembered her name. “Beatrice, right? And her friend.”

It shouldn’t have caused his insides to twist around so much when he realised Maverick didn’t remember having that conversation with him. Evidently, speaking with Raff was not as monumental to Maverick as it was the other way around. Raff tended to remember everything that Mav said to him, but he understood that desperate sort of inclination to hang onto the other man’s every word wasn’t reciprocated.

“Oh,” he breathed, realising what Mav was telling him. It quickly wiped away his sudden desire to feel sorry for himself.

He realised where Harlow must be now: stomping the streets of the city to look for Beatrice. And, like any good older brother, Maverick had come to Rafferty to ask him to join the search party.

Back in Wyoming, he’d found a few injured animals in need of help, tracking them through the undergrowth and following their droppings with skills that were completely amateur. It was easy to see a path in cracked twigs and trampled-down bushes though. He wasn’t sure he’d have any success finding a teenage girl in somewhere as grey and impersonal as New York, especially if Beatrice didn’t want to be found.

Saying that to Mav would be like kicking an already injured dog. He couldn’t stand the heartbroken look on the other man’s face.

“Alright,” he said, reaching for his coat where it hung off the hook by the door. He busied himself with shrugging it off. “Where did you last see her?”

Her friend, Rafferty had added. Because who could forget Santiago, young rapscallion that he was. The kid was kind and teeming with energy and, try as he might to convince people otherwise, his time on the streets hadn’t hardened him a bit. He was just as soft and marshmallowy on the inside as Maverick was, no matter how frequently he shadowed Wardo, trying his best to mimic the other boy’s stature. 

He felt sick with worry for her, and for Santiago too. They were the best of friends, attached at the hip, but they were more than that. A safe haven in an otherwise fiery pit, the two of them had crawled through hell together and come out on top. If Santiago didn’t have Bea, Maverick wasn’t sure what reason the young boy would have to stick around. Losing Beatrice so soon was already terrifying, but he couldn’t stand the thought of them both back on the streets, wandering hopelessly in search of a home to call their own. He’d been there himself many moons ago. It was a lonely life, particularly at their age. 

“I, uh. I don’t– I was out, and when I came home, she was... I don’t know, gone I suppose. It’s just,” he paused, wondering what it was that had truly brought him onto Raff’s doorstep. Bea’s disappearance of course had been the catalyst, but there had to be a reason he’d run to him instead of Harlow, hadn’t there? 

His brows knitted in confusion as he watched the other man fumble for his jacket, pulling it on without even the slightest hesitation. He was ready and raring to go, asking very little questions and expecting nothing in return from Maverick. He thought he might cry. He thought his heart might burst from his chest. 

“I don’t have any right askin’ you of nothin’, Raff...” Maverick sighed, a lump in his throat. His hand was limp at his side where it had fallen as the other man had pulled away, but he inched closer, crowding him in the doorway. If Helen was anywhere to be seen, it didn’t matter. Maverick wasn’t acting rationally because he didn’t feel rational right now. 

His hand fumbled with the lapel of Raff’s jacket as he tugged the other man in, close enough that he could count the lashes that brushed his cheeks, intimate enough that he could observe the soft purple stain of the other man’s skin where his wife hard hurt him. Unthinking, his other hand lifted to cup Raff’s cheek, his thumb carressing the mottled bruise. 

“I didn’t know who to call or where to go, an’ I... I just– I was scared an’ I knew I wanted to see you,” he admitted, shame swallowing him whole as he thought of Harlow.