He sat in the passenger seat staring hard out the side window as Chris drove the Dodge Ram east on Interstate 76."You missed my exit," Vin said, speaking for the first time since they'd gotten into the truck.
"I know."
He turned his eyes on Chris, puzzled. "I thought ya were takin' me home."
"I am."
"My home. Not yers."
"But all your stuff's out at the ranch," Chris reminded him without taking his eyes from the road.
Vin glared at the man for a moment, but then turned away to stare out the side window again. Chris was right. All of his things were out at the ranch. And Vin wasn't quite sure how that had happened, now that he began to think about it. He'd been at the ranch for a month and, every few days, more and more of his things had just shown up. He thought about what things might still be left at his apartment, but nothing of any value or importance came to mind.
It had started with a single duffel bag—
No, that wasn't true.
It had started with Vin finally working up enough courage to leave.
He had packed the duffel — loading it with all his weapons, two changes of clothes, and a few necessary toiletries — and thrown it into the back of the Jeep before dawn. He'd had every intention of hitting Utah before anyone realized he was even late for work.
Vin'd thought it would be easier that way: telling them he quit after he'd left. He'd stayed too long as it was, gotten too attached to these men, to one man in particular. It was well past time to move on.
He'd thought about maybe heading to San Francisco. He hadn't seen the ocean in a long time, and he'd heard the weather there was pretty nice most of the year. He even wondered if the Golden Gate Bridge was really golden in color. He doubted it — few things lived up to one's expectations of them — but he wanted to know just the same. He'd recently learned the hard way that fantasies rarely measure up and so it was of little use harboring them.
And he'd been harboring one particular fantasy for a long time. But, too late, he realized Chris Larabee fell into the category "Be Careful What You Wish For, Because It Might Come True."
Vin knew Chris was straight. He knew Chris was still in love with his late wife, dead only three years now. Her picture was still on his mantel; her brush and perfume were still on his dresser. Hell, as far as Vin knew, Chris hadn't even gone on a real date in those three years, as much as Buck tried to get him back in the game. And Vin admired the man's devotion, even though it meant he had no chance of ever winning a place on that same mantel, in that same heart.
He'd been drunk at the time; otherwise, he never would have allowed it to happen. Chris was even drunker and Vin doubted the man remembered, or, if he did, he now thought it some intoxicated dream.
They'd made love, out there at the ranch, in Chris's bed, in the bed he'd shared every night with Sarah for all the years they were married. And when it was over, when Chris had collapsed beside him — spent, exhausted — it was her name the man had whispered before falling asleep.
"Sarah...."
Vin still heard the name, even now, echoing through his mind, sounding in the stillness of Chris's bedroom, down the back hallway, out at the ranch. She still lived in that house, with Chris.
And he was just visiting.
Vin planned to pack up his things when they got back to the ranch and, tomorrow, he'd be out of Chris's hair, out of his life. He wished it hadn't come to this, but he had no one to blame but himself.
Again, he began thinking about leaving: his friends — Denver — the ATF — all of it. Maybe he'd actually make it this time. Barring any more pre-dawn warehouse fires, he scoffed to himself.
It was just his luck. As he'd been driving away, he'd felt the explosion, seen the flames. He'd called 9-1-1, but he couldn't just sit there and wait for the fire trucks, not after hearing the screams and realizing someone was trapped inside the blazing structure.
For his troubles he'd received a lung full of acrid, black smoke and burns on his hands severe enough to keep him out of commission for the past four weeks. But he'd saved the teen-aged boy.
JD called him a hero, but Vin didn't feel like one. He wouldn't have been near that abandoned building if he hadn't been sneaking out on his friends. And he could easily have been killed, as Buck and Nathan constantly reminded him. What had Josiah mumbled during their first visit to the hospital? Fools go where angels fear to tread, or something like that. Whatever it was, Ezra had agreed with the man. Foolish and foolhardy, the Southerner had said, especially with fire trucks on the way.
Only Chris seemed to grasp why he'd done it, but the man had waited until the others had left the hospital room before saying anything. "Ten years ago, that could have been you," Chris had said, and it wasn't a question. Vin had just nodded, his throat still too raw from the smoke for him to talk, but that man's understanding had meant everything to him.
Later, Chris had been the one to pick him up from the hospital; only he hadn't taken him home. He'd taken him to the ranch instead. All of Vin's friends seemed to think he couldn't take care of himself with two bandaged hands and they were probably right. But the ranch wasn't really the place Vin wanted to be, especially not alone with Chris, not after the night they'd spent together in that very house.
The man had stayed with him, constantly by his side for the next few days, so Vin actually felt relieved when Chris had finally gone back to work. But that feeling quickly fled as the sound of the shutting door echoed through what should have been an empty house.
Vin had moved outside to the porch for the remainder of the day. He couldn't stand to be alone inside, not even for a moment. He kept hearing things, noises which sounded like words or laughter, faint, toward the back of the house where Chris's bedroom was. And out of the corner of his eye, he'd caught glimpses of someone watching him, but when he'd turn, no one would be there.
It unnerved him and he felt helpless enough as it was with his hands virtually useless. He never told Chris, but Vin suspected he was hearing Sarah and Adam. They were reminding him this was their house, their home.
After two long weeks, Vin had finally mustered up enough courage to venture alone into the back of the empty house. He'd opened the door to Adam's bedroom and went inside. The room was dusty and Vin suspected that nothing had been touched since the day the five-year-old had died. He couldn't blame Chris; he could feel how much the man still hurt even after all this time.
Vin had sat down on the floor, leaning back against the bed, which was covered with a dark-blue comforter printed with cowboys atop bucking broncos. He looked at all the toys and books Adam had called his own and couldn't help feeling a pang of jealousy. Other than clothes, Vin had been given only a few non-essential things over the years, but not many. A book, once. A popgun. A Matchbox racing car. Those were the things he could remember. He looked through Adam's bookcase to see if the book he had owned was there and he smiled when he found it.
"I am Sam. Sam I am. Do you like green eggs and ham?" he read from the first few brightly colored pages. He had to smile at the genius of the man called Dr. Seuss. To this day, he still loved poetry, whether it rhymed or not.
He'd eventually fallen asleep on the floor, but not until he'd pulled nearly every book from the shelves. They surrounded him and he'd poured over them all.
That was the first time he'd dreamed of Adam. They had played together. Adam had placed his small hand in Vin's larger one and had shown him all of his things, telling Vin what toys he liked best, what books were his favorites. Then he'd turned to Vin and, with a smile that only Chris Larabee could copy, Adam had told him he could come play with his things any time he wanted.
A moment later, Chris had shaken Vin awake. The man had glared down at him and Vin had been certain he was going to yell or lash-out because Vin had violated the sanctity of his son's bedroom. But, instead, Chris had sunk to the floor. Through tears he simply couldn't hold back any longer, Chris told Vin he hadn't set foot inside that room in three years. Then he began to talk about Adam, about places he had taken his son, about places he had planned to take him, about things he had taught him, about things he had planned to teach him. Finally, when the tears forced Chris's throat into silence, Vin had handed him a book. He'd turned surprised eyes on Vin then and Vin knew why. It was the book Adam had told Vin was his most favorite, "Where The Wild Things Are."
After that Chris didn't seem quite so hesitant to talk about Sarah and Adam. And Vin stopped hearing the disquieting sounds in the house. He didn't stop seeing things out of the corner of his eye, though. He knew Sarah and Adam were still there, but he didn't think they minded him being there as much as they had before.
Vin shook himself out of his reverie when Chris steered the truck down the highway off-ramp. As they started up the dusty, dirt road leading to the ranch, Vin began to wish he didn't have to leave. Today the doctor had taken the bandages off his hands and there was no need for him to stay with Chris any longer. He could do for himself again and that meant moving back to his apartment.
"The boys are coming out tomorrow to watch the game. Thought we'd have a barbecue."
"That ain't funny, Chris," Vin glared over at him, the pain of his burns still too fresh in his mind.
"Don't worry. Nobody'd let you get near the grill even if you wanted to."
"Reckon I could hitch a ride back ta town with one of the fellers after," Vin said, giving voice to the subject he'd been pondering about more and more these past few days.
"I thought your hands were still hurting some," Chris said, still not taking his eyes from the road, still not looking over at Vin.
"Some, but not too bad," Vin replied, glancing down at the still-pink and tender skin he'd come very close to losing.
"Maybe you oughta stay a little longer. There should be enough chicken and steak left over for meals on Sunday."
"If yer sure ya don't mind..." Vin finally said.
"Don't mind at all."
Fine, Vin thought. Prolong the agony just that much longer. Why was this so hard? To just let go? To just put this damn fantasy about him and Chris aside? Give it up, Tanner. Just give it up.
Too soon they were pulling into the driveway. Vin immediately headed into the house, to the guest room that had been his alone for the past four weeks. If he had to force himself, he was going to get this packing over and done with. Then he could worry about putting some real distance between him and the man he so longed to hold close. But Chris called him outside instead.
Vin followed him out, and then fell into step beside him as Chris continued to walk across the backyard toward the corral.
Chris then pointed off toward the west. "See how the setting sun glances off those rocks, making the quartz and mica flecks in them sparkle like diamonds?" His voice seemed to catch in his throat for a moment. "Sarah loved this view."
"I can see why," Vin said quietly, nodding his appreciation. As much as Vin wanted to hate Sarah, because he envied what she had with Chris, he couldn't. The more he learned about her, the more he thought about her and the more he wished he had known her.
Chris crossed his arms on top of the corral fence, and then leaned his chin upon them. He pointed over the top of the barn, to the north. "Adam liked that view. He used to climb up these railings and watch the Canadian Geese flying south for the winter."
Vin smiled. He could almost hear the small boy trying to imitate the distinct honking sound of the birds.
Chris remained staring into the distance for a long while, as if lost in memories of the past, but finally he let out a heavy sigh before turning around. He leaned his back against the fence post, looking south now, toward the house.
"That's my favorite," he motioned with a slight lifting of his chin. Vin noticed that all of the lights seemed to be on inside, creating a warm glow behind each of the curtained windows, though he hadn't turned on any of the lights and he didn't think Chris had either. "Not all that long ago, I could hardly bear to look at it. It was so empty after they died, Vin.... I was so empty...."
The silence of the growing night hung around them. The air was still, without the rustle of wind through the trees. There were no chirping birds or crickets. The only things Vin could hear were his own heartbeat and Chris's soft exhales of breath, as if, at that moment, nothing else in the world existed.
"Don't seem that way anymore," Chris finally said as he slipped his hand casually into Vin's, like it was meant to be there.
Vin was suddenly afraid to move. Afraid that he was dreaming yet again. That maybe the past weeks had been some fevered hallucination of a man burned beyond recognition, lying near death in a hospital bed, alone.
Chris shifted his fingers to entwine them with Vin's. They felt rough, weathered — almost painful, like sand paper against Vin's newly healing skin — not like silk, as he would have imagined they would feel. He dared to look over at Chris then, but he was unable to hide his fear and uncertainty. He was too afraid this would all end in rejection as it had the last time.
But Chris met his eyes; the man's green orbs were calm, warm, and inviting like a tropical lagoon. He smiled gently at Vin, as if he were trying to coax a timid child out into the open. Finally, Chris asked, "Which is your favorite view?"
Vin immediately knew the answer, though the words his mind conjured, like so much about himself, didn't seem adequate. He swallowed hard, never taking his eyes from Chris's. "East," he finally managed, though it was barely a whisper. "I, ah," he took a deep breath, bolstered by Chris's patient and encouraging gaze. "I like ta watch the dawn, the beginnin' of a new day. When I ... see the sun comin' up over them hills ... it reminds me I can put the things of the past behind me ... start again, fresh."
Chris nodded and his smile grew as he continued to stare at Vin. "It's a real good thing this ranch has so many nice views."
Vin turned his head away from Chris, trying to hide the blush he could feel rising in his cheeks. He glanced back toward the house, the home he'd been sharing with Chris these past four weeks, truly sharing, though he only now realized it. Then, for a moment, he thought he saw Sarah on the porch, leaning against the railing, watching them. Smiling.
He smiled back, as he heard the words, "Welcome home, Vin."
~ fade ~
May 2001Please 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!