It had been weeks. All his stuff had been moved in. Hell, he'd even been back to work, cleared for active duty. His burned hands were, for the most part, healed; even the shiny pinkness of the new skin was starting to fade to normal.

Vin stood in the kitchen now, washing the dinner dishes; he still wore the sea green, Rubbermaid gloves Chris had bought him to protect his hands from the soapy water. If he looked to his left, he had a clear view of the dining area and the liquor cabinet, which stood against the far wall. He also had a clear view of Chris, who was standing in front of the cabinet, pouring himself another drink. What did that make it? His third tumbler of whiskey tonight, or was it his fourth?

The man could hold his alcohol, that was certain, but Vin didn't like that he'd been testing his limits nearly every night since he'd moved in. Granted, this may have been Chris's normal habit, but it wasn't something the man had done while Vin had been here recuperating. Maybe it had something to do with how helpless Vin had been — his hands bandaged and practically useless for weeks. Chris had to do everything ... come to think of it, maybe he hadn't had time to drink. Not like now, not with Vin doing half the chores, both in the house and in the barn.

Was he bored? Was that it? Was Chris drinking for lack of anything better to do? Or, was he still fighting back memories of Sarah and Adam, memories that might come when he had too much time on his hands? Or maybe it was Vin. Maybe Chris was regretting that he'd asked Vin to move in, that now it was too late to go back to just being friends. Maybe he was even beginning to regret Vin was in his life at all.

"Chris," Vin called.

The man downed the remaining contents of his tumbler before turning around, having to grab the back of one of the dining room chairs in order to steady himself at the last moment.

"Chris, could ya come 'ere?" Vin requested as he removed the rubber gloves and hung them over the dish rack to dry.

The older man made his way slowly toward the kitchen, looking, for the most part, still evenly keeled. He breathed heavily before answering Vin. "Yeah?"

"Just, ah, just wonderin' if ya wanna do somethin'...." Vin began, trying to think what he could do to get Chris's mind off that rapidly emptying bottle of whiskey: cards, maybe, or a movie?

"Shurr..." Chris leaned forward, slipping his arms around Vin, inadvertently leaning all of his weight on the younger man as he pressed his lips firmly against Vin's. The kiss was long — Vin could both taste and smell the alcohol Chris'd just consumed — but it was hardly deep. Chris had been drinking so much these days, they rarely passed this point, and, when they did, they never went much further before Chris simply fell asleep.

Vin had thought things would be so perfect when Chris had asked him to stay. He thought he'd finally found a home. And, for the first time in his life, someone whose love and desire equaled his own. Not that sex was the only expression of those feelings, but.... They had yet to go all the way and it was something Vin longed to do. He wanted to be with Chris, completely. But it just hadn't happened.

"Chris?" Vin finally pushed him back until the man was supporting his own weight again. "Chris, why ya drinkin' so much?"

" 'Mm not," Chris replied, shrugging as he tried to lean in and kiss Vin again.

But, Vin held him off. "Yeah, ya are."

Chris ran his tongue over his moist lips as if they felt dry, then he swallowed hard. "Just ... thirsty."

"A man doesn't drink whiskey 'cuz he's thirsty. I know that as well as ya do, Chris." Vin turned away. He reached into the dish rack and pulled out a newly washed glass, then he filled it with water from the tap and handed it to the man. "Drink."

Chris cupped the glass between his two hands and downed the contents in a few large swallows. He then nodded his thanks as he handed the glass back to Vin, who simply set it aside on the counter before taking Chris's hand.

He pulled Chris with him out into the living room, to the couch. "Chris...." He had to know. If it was time to move on, time to find a new job, a new life, in another town, why put that off? Hell, he could be gone by sunrise, if that's what Chris really wanted, if that would make him happy. "Chris, if ya want me ta leave, just say so."

"Leave? No! W-why would you think that?" Chris asked, suddenly a little more sober, a little more alert, than he had been when he'd slumped down onto the sofa cushions.

"What am I s'pposed ta think? Ya get so drunk ev'ry night, I gotta practically pour ya inta bed. It's like ... it's like yer doin' it ta avoid me." Vin was afraid to look over at Chris, afraid to see the confirmation in those blood-shot eyes. He didn't want to leave. But if being here was making Chris as miserable as losing Sarah had.... He just wouldn't be a cause of suffering to this man.

Chris remained silent and Vin's heart sunk right into his stomach. That was it, after all. The man was getting drunk so he wouldn't have to deal with Vin being there, in his house ... in his space ... in his life.

"Fine. I'll just go pack...." Vin stood, but Chris grabbed his arm in a grip firm enough to belie his drunken state. Vin looked at Chris then: his friend, the man he'd been in love with for so long now — hell, probably since the first day he'd laid eyes on him. This was the most regrettable thing he'd ever had to do, and Chris — or maybe it was just the whiskey in him — was going to make it as hard on Vin as possible. "Chris ... don't. Just ... don't." He pulled his arm free, turning his back on the man.

But before he reached the hallway, he heard sobbing and turned. Chris was sitting, his head bowed, his hands covering his face. His entire upper body was shaking as rough, irregular hiccoughs broke across the silence of the room.

Vin stood staring. He didn't know what to do. He'd never seen Chris cry before. He'd only ever seen anger from the man, mixed with concern or grief or pain, but never tears, never like this. He wanted to wrap his arms around him, hold him, comfort him, but if Chris didn't want him, going to him now would be the worst thing.

He should just leave. Pack, the quicker the better, and then get out of there. Never look back.

So then why did he find himself walking toward the couch, sitting down, and drawing Chris into an embrace? Because he loved Chris, but he knew it would be the wrong thing to say. Hell, he couldn't do anything right, so why should this be any different?

"I love ya."

Chris wrapped his arms around Vin's waist, squeezing him close. "Don't leave, Vin. I— I love you, too," his voice straining through a tight throat.

Vin just held him then. He didn't know what more to do, and he sure as hell didn't know what more to say. He was afraid to say anything, not knowing if it would be the right thing or the wrong thing, the thing that would cause him to lose Chris forever.

He sank back against the couch, pulling Chris with him. Soon, the hiccoughs stopped, as did the labored breathing. After a while, Vin guessed Chris had fallen asleep — a new night, but the same end result. And he was no more certain of Chris's reasons for drinking himself into a stupor than he had been before. Maybe he'd be able to talk to him in the morning, when he sobered up, pissed away all the whiskey and replaced it with coffee.

Then again, when Chris didn't want to talk about something, he usually didn't, and there wasn't much anyone could do to change the fact. That's when Vin made up his mind. He'd find out tomorrow exactly what was going on, or this would be his last night in this house, in Chris's life.

Vin pressed a kiss to the tussled blond hair, well aware that it might be his last one, then leaned his head back. It was getting late and this whole thing had him bone tired. He closed his eyes against it all, willing it, just for a little while, to simply go away. At least when he'd been alone, he'd only ever had to worry about himself. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing, after all.

Vin dozed for a while, his mind still full of thoughts of leaving, of being alone again, of being lonely and just needing ... someone. Maybe Chris had been having these same thoughts. Maybe Vin was just someone to pass the time with; maybe that's what Chris saw in Mary as well. Just someone ... not THE one ... not Sarah.

And maybe that was why Chris had to get drunk enough, so he could forget it was Vin standing there; so he could pretend it was Sarah instead. Like the one time they had done it, and Chris had called out her name. He'd been drunk then, too — well beyond drunk, actually.

After a while, a feeling of calm settle over Vin like a warm blanket, and thoughts of Sarah and leaving faded from his sleepy mind. For a few moments, he lay still, soaking in the soothing sensations, before his eyes fluttered open. He realized then that he had, at some point, shifted his position; he was now lying across the couch, with his head in Chris's lap. And Chris ... Chris was ... stroking his hair.

Vin closed his eyes again. If this was a dream, he hoped it would last forever, unchanging. But if it was real....

"Vin?" he finally heard Chris's quiet voice. "There's something I have to tell you."

Vin knew he should sit up, look Chris in the eye, find out the truth, but, as the man's fingers continued to play over his long hair, Vin couldn't find the will to move.

"I have been avoi— I mean ... I didn't think this was gonna be so hard, having you here. Being with you.... It's just brought back so many ... memories, feelings...."

Chris's voice trailed off and Vin waited for a few moments, but when the man didn't continue, Vin tried to reassure him. "It's okay, Chris. I understand. What ya had with Sarah was ... special—"

"Sarah?" Chris interrupted, his hand in Vin's hair suddenly stilled. "... Special, yeah, it was ... she was. But, this isn't about her. Hell, it's not even about you ... not really."

Vin had to sit up then. He had to see this man's eyes, had to know the expression on his face, to gauge what was going on inside his head.

"Then, what's it about?" he finally asked, but Chris didn't answer him. He was silent for a long time, even turning his head away, refusing to meet Vin's inquiring gaze. Vin didn't know what to do. Either Chris was going to tell him, or he wasn't. While Vin waited, he dared to reach out a hand, placing it on Chris's knee, needing the tangible contact. Gently, he began to move his thumb back and forth over the worn, denim fabric.

Finally, Chris took a deep breath and hung his head, his eyes no longer staring off into the distance, but, now, seemingly focused on Vin's hand.

"There ... there was this guy ... in my high school — Trevor Daly — cute, probably like you were—"

"Were?"

A hint of an indulgent smile threatening the corners of Chris's mouth, but it didn't stop him from continuing his story. "I didn't ever hang out with him, even though his mom knew mine, but, sometimes, I'd give him a ride to school or something.... This one day, I had to stay late; I don't even remember why ... when I was done, Trevor was waiting at my truck, wanting a ride home. We started talking and ... the next thing I knew, he's giving me a hand-job. Right there in the high school parking lot. I was so afraid we'd get caught...."

"Did ya?"

"No. We were so ... lucky ... I guess. Because it wasn't just that once. He jerked me a couple more times ... over the next few weeks ... then it got out of hand..." — Chris let out a little scoff — "... and into his mouth."

"He sucked you off?" Vin asked, incredulous at the very notion of straight-laced, tight-assed Larabee allowing such a thing to happen.

"Blew me," Chris nodded. "Right in the locker-room. Anyone could have just walked in ... but no one did. I kept my distance after that. It really freaked me out — feeling all those feelings — and here was this guy making me feel them.... I hadn't been raised that way. Hell, I hadn't done more than feel up a girl at that point in my life."

"What about Sarah? I thought she was yer high school sweetheart."

"College. I didn't meet her until later. She wasn't my first, and I'm sort of glad; I wasn't very good my first time. But, at least I knew what I was doing by the time I was with her.... And I loved her, Vin. I did ... I do. But ... I guess I've always had these other feelings ... feelings I could never quite work out. The things I felt when I was with Trevor...."

"So, what happened? Did ya meet up with him at yer high school reunion or anythin'?"

Chris slowly shook his head. "He died."

Vin looked at Chris, the questions poised on the tip of his tongue: how? AIDS? But he kept silent, just letting Chris continue.

"He was a year younger than me. I was off at college when it happened. I don't know all the details, only that ... the new quarterback ... he, ah, he took a.... He beat Trevor."

"Oh my gawd...."

Chris hung his head again, but not before Vin saw the tears welling up in his eyes. "He died ... in the hospital."

"What happened ta the guy who did it?"

"He was seventeen. They didn't try him as an adult."

"Shit," Vin breathed.

Chris just shook his head. "It was over twenty years ago. There was just ... less tolerance, a lot less understanding in the world ... well, at least in provincial Indiana. The kid said he didn't mean to do it; he only wanted to scare Trevor ... but he used a ... he used a goddamned tire iron. What'd he think was gonna happen?"

Vin felt the salt of his own tears now stinging his eyes, but he made no attempt to wipe them away or even to stem their flow. He could have been Trevor, in another life, another time. He'd been beaten by a bunch of homophobic jerks who'd only meant to teach him a lesson. And they easily could have gone too far. Hell, they'd beaten him unconscious, and then just left him. They couldn't have had any idea how badly he was hurt, yet they'd just left him. So why was he the lucky one, instead of Trevor?

Vin reached out and slid his arms around Chris, pulling him close, hugging him. "I'm sure ya would've stepped in ta save him, if ya'd been there."

"That's just it ... I don't know that I would have. I was pretty freaked out by what we'd done ... I was just a kid ... I—"

"I know ya, Chris. Ya didn't just wake up one mornin' and decide ta save the world. It's in ya. It's who ya are, and it's why ya do the job ya do. It doesn't matter how freaked out ya were, I know ya wouldn't've let it happen. Ya would've done the right thing. I wish ya'd had the opportunity."

I wish ya been there for me, Vin silently added.

"Yeah. Me, too. He didn't deserve to die, especially not like that," Chris said. Then he reached his hand up and began stroking Vin's hair again, the motion seemingly more to steady himself than anything else.

Vin breathed in the scent of the man as he snuggled his head against his shoulder. He tightened his grip around him, hoping he would never have to let go, but he wasn't sure that was even possible. Chris was right; Trevor didn't deserve to die, but the boy had. So, what did that have to do with Vin, now? What did that have to do with Chris drinking so much?

"So, me bein' here's made ya remember Trevor?"

"Yeah ... no...." Chris sighed heavily, and Vin felt the warm air against the back of his neck. "I mean ... it's made me remember those feelings ... and all the confusion that went along with them. And I ... I started feeling.... Aw, hell, Vin. It's like an old wound's been torn open again, like it never really healed in the first place."

Vin knew that feeling all too well himself. He'd had a lot of wounds over the years, and the worst ones weren't physical. He hugged Chris a little tighter, trying to show him that he understood, but Chris pushed him away. Sad, green eyes met wide, blue ones, and Vin suddenly realized he didn't understand at all.

"I'm so afraid of losing you, because I won't be there for you ... like I wasn't there for Sarah and Adam ... like I wasn't there for Trevor."

"I ain't gonna die, Chris. I'm a stubborn cuss and I've survived worse than ya can know."

Chris nodded his head, but there was no relief in his eyes, no real reassurance. "I'm even more afraid of losing you, because I ... I don't know how to love you."

Vin's brows came together in a tight frown. He didn't know what this meant. No one had ever said those words to him before. It had been I love you, whether they'd meant it or not, or I don't love you, and that they'd always meant. But, don't know how?

"There ain't no how, Chris. There just is ... or there isn't. Ya wanna be with me or ya don't. Ya want me ta stay or ya want me ta go. I'm here, so ... the rest is yer decision."

Chris stared at Vin for the longest time, as if he were committing every contour, every line, to memory, as if this might be the very last time he'd ever have the chance, and Vin's heart slowly sank as his hope for happiness with this man began to bleed away.

"I'm here, too." Chris finally spoke, but Vin wasn't certain he'd actually heard the words or if the sound had just been some cruel twist of his imagination. He didn't believe it, though he wanted to; how could he, when, ultimately, no one ever wanted to stay with him?

"But, you're wrong, Vin. There is a how, only I don't know what it is." Chris took Vin's hand in his. "Ain't never done more than what I did with Trevor — twenty years ago ... hell, it might as well be a hundred years. Besides, he did all the work."

Vin nodded. He didn't mind. He could do all the work. Just as long as Chris was happy and he was the one making him that way.

He slipped his hand from Chris's, reaching down to unzip his partner's fly, but hands immediately stopped his from taking this any further. Somehow, Vin had misunderstood his words. Again. Chris didn't want to be touched, after all.

"Vin, I...." Chris began, but then simply leaned forward, pressing his warm lips to Vin's.

It was the tenderest kiss Vin had ever experienced, from Chris or anyone else, and it felt so ... full of love. But it wasn't until Chris wrapped his arms around Vin, pulling him close, that he deepened the kiss and that love Vin felt turned to desire. And that's when Vin knew.

"I want you, Vin. I want you to show me how, so I can please you."

Vin needed to look into the man's eyes, needed to see the sincerity, needed to have proof that this wasn't just another line he was blindly buying into. I know how we can both get off ... he'd heard that one before. And he was afraid, deep in his gut, so he closed his eyes. He didn't know if he could do this anymore — allow himself to be lied to, used. He didn't know that he wanted to, especially if it was coming from the man he care about more than anyone else, ever, because Vin knew how all those other relationships had ended. He didn't want to hate himself again, and he certainly didn't want to ever hate Chris.

So, he opened his eyes, staring deep into the green eyes that readily met his. In those oceanic depths, he saw a man who still loved his wife and son, after all these years; he saw a man determined to fight injustice in the world; he saw a man who was opening his heart; a man able to admit that he didn't know everything and to allow someone else to teach him. But, more than anything, Vin saw a man who not only wanted him, but who loved him.

Vin smiled, slowly, as the realization sunk in. This wasn't just for today, or tomorrow. He finally understood: this was for all time. And it was only natural that Chris should be nervous. Hell, Vin'd be lying to himself if he didn't admit he was nervous, too. For all that he'd done in his life, Vin had never done it with someone who loved him like this, who wanted to please him, and who feared losing him. It was something to be appreciated, cherished, savored.

He pressed his lips to Chris's now, for the first time truly tasting the man beneath the lingering hints of whiskey. He felt Chris's hands on his back, slowly moving up and down, in gentle caresses. He would teach this man, all that he could, about the physical acts. In turn, he hoped Chris would teach him, all he knew, about being loved.

~ fade ~

Series Index

March 2002

Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of the Blackraptor Fiction Website.

Characters from "The Magnificent Seven," were used without permission and this story in no way signifies support of, or affiliation with, The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, or CBS Worldwide, Inc. The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play within it. The story itself and any non-Magnificent Seven characters belong to the author. This story will not be sold for any reason.

Thanks to my beta reader for all of her help and encouragement!