This story is intended as a companion piece to Carla's wonderfully emotional Careless Whisper, and that story really should be read first.
I check my watch as I enter the elevator -- 8:15 -- and I groan. Later than my usual arrival time, much later. He's probably here already, that is, if he's going to be here at all. No, don't go there! Don't even think about the possibility that he might not show up, might never show up again.Oh, God! They've got the Muzak going again, some syrupy selection that makes me want to puke. The bile is rising just like this elevator, and the pounding in my head is like a hammer striking an anvil. I brace my hand against the side of the car and close my eyes, but it doesn't help. Should have stayed home, should have called in sick, should have . . .
No! I may be a coward about some things, but not the job, never where the job is concerned. I can do this. I have to do this. I have to face them, have to face him.
Damn! I swear even my hair hurts. Shouldn't have started working on that second bottle of single malt last night. Hell, shouldn't have started the first! Come to that, if I hadn't gone out drinking with the boys on Friday, none of this would be happening.
Ping! The door's opening -- my floor. I stand up straight and brace my shoulders. With any luck, Josiah and Nathan will be the only ones in so far. And Vin, of course, that little voice in my head reminds me. Vin's almost always the first one in the office. I'm usually second, and we sit in my office, drinking coffee, talking about our current case or sports or anything and everything under the sun, or just sitting, quietly enjoying each other's company.
Will we ever sit like that again? Can we? If you don't, it's your own damn fault, Larabee. There's that little voice again. Hate that fucking little voice! It's been talking to me far too much over the last week or so.
Okay, there's the entrance to the office suite that's home to ATF Team 7, my team, the team for which Vin acts as crack sharpshooter and sometime undercover agent. Is he still part of this team, the best one in the Denver office? If he isn't, will Team 7 stay the best? Or have I destroyed that, too?
My steps slow -- I really don't want to go through that doorway. Coward! Shut up! I tell that voice in my head. Just shut the fuck up!
I take a deep breath and walk forward with false confidence. Once through the door, it's only a few steps through the bullpen to my private office -- my safe haven -- and I can close the door and relax again.
I enter, and one quick glance tells me all I need to know, all I don't want to know. Five men are already there, looking towards the door with anticipation and hope. Then five pairs of accusatory eyes glare at me and ostentatiously turn away. I force myself to say "Good morning," but I'm met with silence -- no greetings, no coffee cups lifted in salutation, nothing. That hurts, but worse is the fact that the sixth set of eyes -- Vin's eyes -- the eyes I really need to see again -- are not there.
I falter then, momentarily, but I recover quickly and go into my office. I close the door, but not quite all the way -- I want to keep tabs on what's happening in the bullpen. Only then do I exhale the breath I didn't even know I was holding. I move away from the door and walk on shaky legs to my desk, where I finally fall into the desk chair with relief. I lean my elbows on the desk and drop my head into my hands.
Vin's not here! He's never this late. He's not coming in, he's gone, he's never coming back, he's . . . Wait, maybe he's just going to call in sick! Maybe he's just got a hangover to match mine and doesn't think he can face me today. Oh, Lord, let that be it. Fool! You know that's only wishful thinking! There's that damn voice again.
The others -- Oh, God! Buck, Josiah, Ezra, Nathan, JD -- the look in their eyes. Condemning, accusing, telling me that, if Vin really is gone, it's all my fault. And they're right. It is my fault, all of it. There's no one else to blame but me. Oh, sure, if Vin was here, he'd be blaming himself, but that's just his nature. What he did may have started the ball rolling, but I'm the one who sent the whole situation pin wheeling out of control. Me, no one else. Just me and my big, fat, fucking, drunken mouth!
I lean back in my chair and stare at the far wall. I don't see the pictures, the plaques, or the bookcase, though. How did it all come to this? Why am I sitting in my office, early on a Monday morning, with the mother of all hangovers, hiding -- oh, yeah, hiding -- from the rest of my team, from my friends? I ask myself these questions, and memories begin to overwhelm me.
It all started early on a Saturday morning, only ten days ago. God, such a short time for so much heartache! Vin and I were leaving Inez's saloon after spending Friday night with the rest of the guys -- neither of us drunk, but we weren't feeling any pain either. I don't remember what we said, if anything, but suddenly Vin leaned forward and kissed me and told me he loved me. I can still feel the panic, the sheer terror that swept through me before I jumped in my truck and peeled out of there. It's a wonder I had any damn tires left!
I don't remember getting home, but I woke up on the couch in the den hours later with the most God-awful hangover and an almost empty bottle of whiskey sitting on the coffee table. Then I remembered -- Vin had kissed me! Vin loved me! Vin . . .
I sat up on the couch and stared at the fireplace. I could feel that kiss again, feel the shock, feel the sudden desire that had surged through me like a bolt of lightning. For a millisecond, I'd wanted to kiss him back. Hell, I'd wanted to toss him on the back seat of my truck and fuck his brains out! Just thinking about it hours later was enough to send a flash of heat through my body, but just like before, that heat was followed by sheer terror. The same terror that had sent me fleeing from Vin's presence.
As soon as I felt that terror again, my stomach turned over with a lurch, and I barely made it to the bathroom before I tossed my cookies. Staggering into the bedroom, I collapsed on the bed and passed out.
It was late afternoon when I woke up again. And I realized it hadn't all been a dream. Vin really had kissed me and told me that he loved me. You love him, too, and you want him, said a little voice in my mind.
"NO!" I screamed. "No, I don't love him. I can't love him." Oh, God, I was talking to myself.
I went out to the den and poured myself a drink, the first of many I consumed that weekend. By Sunday night, I figured I had it all sorted out in my mind. Yes, I loved Vin but as a brother, as the man who'd given me back my life, the man who's the other half of my soul. But, when all was said and done, he's a man, and Chris Larabee, the bad-ass leader of the baddest ATF team in Denver, couldn't love a man.
I'd reminded myself I liked women, had been married and widowed, had fathered a son, for heaven's sake. That sudden flash of desire was all due to sexual frustration -- hadn't gotten laid in a while -- or proximity or something. Whatever it was, I was not in love with Vin Tanner! Besides, it's not a good idea being a homosexual (which I'm not!) or even a bisexual (which I'm not!) in an agency like the ATF, and I'm certainly not going to put my job in jeopardy.
I also thought I had a plan. I needed to spend more time with desirable women and less time with him. Oh, I wouldn't snub Vin or shut him out totally. That would raise too many question from the other members of the team. I'd just act in a completely professional manner where Vin was concerned -- restrict time alone with him, avoid physical contact, do whatever it took to convince him I wasn't interested in him in that way and never would be. Or convince yourself? that little voice whispered in my mind. I ignored it.
Come Monday I put my plan in action, and it was working -- I just knew it was. Sure, I saw the sadness in Vin's eyes, but I knew it was necessary and couldn't be helped. I accepted the ribbing I got from Buck when he realized I was asking a different woman out to lunch every day, and I even tolerated the comments from Ezra when I asked him to get me tickets for a concert I wanted to take the Ice Maiden, Mary Travis, to.
Thud! I jump and come back to the present. Sounds like someone dropped something in the bullpen. I look at the wall clock -- only 8:35. God, I need something to get rid of this headache. The throbbing is going to drive me crazy if it doesn't stop soon. I leave my office and head for the break room, where I pour a mug of coffee and pick up a doughnut. I walk back to my office, feeling those eyes glaring at my back the whole way. Still no Vin . . .
I gulp down three acetaminophen tablets and burn my tongue on the hot coffee. I take a bite of the doughnut, but my stomach roils, and I push it aside. I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, waiting for the pills to kick in and do their job. I can't escape that movie, though, and the images start appearing behind my eyelids.
My plan was working -- at least, that's what I told myself every night last week when I drank at home. And then it all fell apart. I'd just gotten back from lunch on Friday (Suzanne from the IRS steno pool) when Vin came to see me in my office. He said we needed to talk, but I told him no, we didn't because nothing had happened. That sadness in his eyes deepened, and eventually, he left. I had a few drinks from the flask I'd started keeping in my desk and tried to work, but I sure didn't accomplish very much. Vin's sad eyes intruded every time I looked at a report, and my lips tingled with the remembered feel of his kiss. No! my mind screamed, over and over and over again. Nothing happened, nothing!
My relief was unbelievable when Buck poked his head through my door and told me that everyone was heading to Inez's for a few drinks, like we often do on a Friday night. Anything to get out of this office and away from this building. I told myself that, even if Vin was there, with a few drinks, I could ignore him, that the other guys would provide a buffer.
So I went, and I drank and drank and drank some more. And I watched Vin, watched him interacting with the rest of the team and other agents, watched him watching me with that disturbing little smile on his lips, that knowing look in his eyes. And the more I drank and the more I watched, the more angry I became. Vin was supposed to be my friend -- what right did he have to disrupt my life this way? Who the hell did he think he was?
JD draped his arm around Vin's shoulders, leaned close to speak to him, and my rage overwhelmed me. I didn't think -- I just started spouting off. I warned JD he needed to be careful around Vin, and I announced that Vin had a major secret that only I knew. Vin knew what was coming, and he went pale. He stood up and asked me to stop, pleaded for me to stop.
Did I listen? No, of course not. I was consumed by rage and wanted to hit out, to hurt, and I succeeded. Oh, yes, I succeeded. My mouth was running on autopilot, disconnected from my brain, fueled by alcohol and rage. Without a second thought, I proceeded to tell everyone -- and I mean everyone -- that Vin was gay, that he'd made a pass at me, and that he'd even told me he loved me.
For about a minute, you could have heard a pin drop -- it got that quiet in the saloon. The look of betrayal in his eyes sobered me faster than any cold shower could have. Then Vin squared his shoulders, straightened his spine, and in a quiet, but deadly, voice, he called me a bastard and walked out.
There were comments, catcalls, laughter, and I think someone even threw a drink at his retreating back, but they didn't really register with me. All I wanted to do was scream out his name and run after him, to grab him and tell him I was sorry. I wanted to fall on my knees and beg for his forgiveness. I wanted to take it all back, to turn back time and make it never happen. But that's impossible -- words once spoken can't be unsaid. So I just sat there, shaking, in a state of total shock, as an eruption of noise swirled around me.
The rest of the team must have sobered up pretty fast, too, because they were looking at me like they couldn't believe what I had just done. Hell, I couldn't believe it myself! Then they looked down or at the ceiling or across the room -- anywhere so they didn't have to look at me. I didn't blame them -- I didn't want to look at myself. I reached for the glass of whiskey in front of me, but my hand was shaking so badly I knew I could never pick it up.
Buck must have noticed because he leaned over and snarled at me to go home. I was surprised he didn't offer to drive me home, but I guess he couldn't stand being around me just then. Besides, I desperately wanted -- needed -- to be alone.
I didn't go straight home, though. I drove to Vin's building. His Jeep was parked outside, and I could see a light on in his apartment. I needed to know that he had gotten home and was safe -- well, as safe as anyone can be in Purgatorio. I wanted to park my truck and race up the stairs to his apartment, to pound on the door until he opened it. I wanted to tell him that, somehow, I would make it all better, that everything would be all right because I really loved him. But, of course, I did none of that because I didn't really love him, couldn't really love him. Chris Larabee could never be in love with a man! No, I simply picked up speed and drove home.
When I got there, I wandered out to the kitchen. I thought about making some coffee but knew it would only keep me awake. I thought about making a sandwich, but my stomach rebelled at the thought of food. I walked into the den and thought about making a fire, but it was too much work. I sat on the couch, totally spent. There was nothing on television I wanted to watch, no book I wanted to read, no magazine I wanted to leaf through. I had no energy, no ability to concentrate on anything, anything, that is, except the image of Vin's eyes and his voice calling me a bastard.
I felt dirty, as if the stench of betraying a friend coated my skin and permeated my clothing. I forced myself to stand, to walk to the bedroom, to undress and get in the shower. I don't know how long I stayed there, but the water was freezing cold when I finally turned it off. Like an automaton, I dried myself off and fell into bed. I know I slept, but it wasn't very restful -- the bedclothes were a tangled mess when I woke up shortly after dawn.
It was overcast, gray and gloomy outside -- a perfect match for my mood. My head was pounding, my stomach was doing flips, and thoughts of Vin and last night were running through my head like a hamster on a wheel in a cage. Hell, I felt caged! I took something for my head and stomach, brewed some coffee, and escaped to the barn, hoping that physical activity might give me some relief.
It didn't, though. How could it? The only thing that might halt my thoughts would be if I was in a coma, and I wasn't even sure about that. So I fed and watered the horses, mucked out the stalls, replaced the straw -- anything to keep moving, but every time Peso, Vin's horse, looked at me, I imagined there was accusation and betrayal in his eyes, too. I gave up and went back to the house.
By noon, I was desperate. I had to see Vin, had to tell him how very sorry I was, but I also had to make him understand that there could never be anything more between us, that I wasn't in love with him, could never be in love with him.
I drove to his apartment, and he finally opened his door. He wasn't happy to see me, but he did let me in, and he did listen to what I had to say. Then he stunned me by asking if I wasn't just trying to deny to myself how I really felt about him. When I got my breath back, I told him I did love him but like a brother. I wanted -- needed -- him to understand that he and his friendship were still very important to me. And he did. I could see it in his eyes, along with something else, something I didn't want to see.
Then he touched my arm, and it was like an electric shock. I bolted to the door, stopping only long enough to tell him how sorry I was, and then I was out of there. I haven't seen or talked to him since, and now I'm afraid I'll never see or talk to him again.
What will I do if he's really gone? What about the team -- how will they react if he's gone? Oh, God, I feel sick again.
The rest of the weekend is mostly a blur. When I got home, the light on my machine caught my eye, so I checked my messages. JD was first -- "Uh, Chris, uh . . . 'bout tomorrow. Uh, well, uh, Casey just called, and she wants ta go ta the Bits, Boots, and Saddles grand opening. They're givin' away lotsa gear, so uh, I ain't gonna make the cookout. Uh, see ya Monday." Then came Josiah, Nathan, and Ezra, all saying pretty much the same thing -- oh, not about visiting the new store -- but all giving legitimate sounding excuses for not coming out to the ranch on Sunday. And I knew they were all lying, knew they couldn't stand to be around me. I started drinking and kept it up until I passed out on the couch.
Sunday -- gray and gloomy again. Hung over, sick to my stomach, no cookout to prepare for, no friends gathering around. I wondered if my life would ever be normal again. I did some chores, prepared my notes for Monday's briefing, and went to watch football on television.
Imagine my surprise when there was a knock on the door, and I found Buck standing there. He didn't say anything, just strode into the den, expecting me to follow him, which I did, of course. He ordered me to sit down on the couch and proceeded to ream me out but good. He ripped me up one side and down the other, and when I tried to speak, he yelled at me to shut up. Finally, he ran out of steam and stormed out.
I just sat there on the edge of the couch for the longest time, feeling sorry for myself. Sure, I knew what I had done to Vin, and I knew everything Buck said was true, but I also thought I had some justification. Vin had started all of this by blind-siding me with that kiss and declaration of love. Right, and Vin made you betray his friendship, made you tear his life apart. Be honest with yourself, Larabee. You really are the bastard Vin said you were! There was that fucking voice in my head again.
So, of course, I started drinking, and now, here it is Monday morning, and I'm sitting in my office, thinking, replaying everything, trying to figure out how to get my life back under control, and worrying that I might never see my best friend again. God, Vin, how could I do that to you? You saved my life and not just on the job. I remember our first meeting and how we instantly connected, how we communicated so easily, often without words being spoken. Stop, I tell myself, you're making yourself crazy.
I sense a stir, movement in the bullpen, and look at the clock -- 8:58. Voices, words I can't make out, then "Mornin', Brother" -- that's Josiah. My heart jolts, and I rush to the window to peek through the blinds. Vin! Vin's here! He's hanging his jacket on the back of his chair and leaning over to turn on his computer. Oh, God, he's really here! Out of the corner of my eye, I see JD step forward, but Buck gently restrains him, and then they all return to what they were doing.
I keep watching Vin, and I know I'm smiling. All I can see is his back, but I drink in the view, my relief palpable. He's obviously opening his e-mail, getting started with his day's work. He's not coming to my office with an envelope containing his letter of resignation. Does that mean -- dare I hope -- that he's staying, that we can salvage our friendship?
I go back to my desk, that sappy smile still plastered on my face. I gather the notes, handouts, and other things I'll need for our regular Monday morning briefing, finish my coffee and doughnut, and notice that outside the sun is shining. Everything's brighter -- in just a few minutes, I'll be seeing Vin's face, connecting with his eyes, silently reaffirming our friendship. Fat chance! snorts that voice, but I tell myself that I know different. I know that everything will be all right -- as long as he stays, I'll be able to earn his forgiveness and regain his trust.
It's time. The bullpen is empty as I pass through; everyone's already waiting for me in the conference room. They're in their usual seats with Vin at the foot of the table. I sit down at the head and look at the members of my team. No one is smiling at me, and my own smile fades as I see what's in their eyes -- disappointment (Buck), anger (JD), sorrow (Nathan and Josiah), disgust (Ezra). And Vin's, the most important eyes of all? What's in them? I don't know. I can't see them. He has his head down, watching his fingers play with his pen.
I start the meeting, and it proceeds like most of our weekly briefings. I hand out the latest bulletins from ATF headquarters, the Office of Homeland Security, and the FBI, and tell everyone to study them. There's a memo from Judge Travis about being more careful when filling out certain forms. Look at me, Vin. Ezra provides follow-up on the Rivera bust that went down last week, and JD talks about some proposed legislation being considered by Congress that would make it easier to trace explosives. And I'm still waiting for Vin to look up. Please, Vin, raise your head and look at me.
The briefing is wrapping up -- everything on my agenda has been covered. I ask for questions or comments, and when no one says anything, I adjourn the meeting. We all stand up, picking up our stuff, and I watch Vin. He finally lifts his head, looks directly at me for the first time, turns around, and heads out of the room. The others quickly fall in behind him, a protective phalanx watching his back like he's watched theirs on so many occasions.
And me? I feel like I'm going to pass out or throw up or both, so I hurry to my office -- my sanctuary -- and close the door, all the way this time. Once safe from prying eyes, I stagger to my chair and literally fall into it. Tears fill my eyes.
Dear God Almighty, what have I done? What the fuck have I done? My tears spill over, unchecked, and run down my cheeks.
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul, and I've always believed that to be true, especially when it comes to Vin. And now, I know I've done the impossible, done what all those people who hurt and abused Vin in the past couldn't do -- I've killed his soul. I know because the eyes that looked at me in the conference room were dead -- no spark, no light, no life. I did that, probably the only one who could have. And I don't know if it can be fixed.
I swipe my hands over my face, wiping away the tears. Are you satisfied now? Is this what you wanted? asks that voice in my head. Did the punishment fit the crime?
I don't understand.
Vin Tanner kissed you, told you he loved you -- isn't that his crime? You've been judge, jury, and executioner, and now Vin is paying the price. No! Damn you, no, I never meant for this to happen. Why can't he just understand that I could never feel for him what he says he feels for me? Why can't he realize that I can't love a man, any man, not just him?
Maybe because he knows the truth. Why were you watching him so closely the last few weeks? Why were you so aware of everything about Vin Tanner -- the soft, brown hair that frames his face, the long, slender fingers that hold a rifle with such competence, the impish light that appears in his beautiful blue eyes when he's playing a joke on one of his teammates, the tip of his tongue that appears when he's concentrating deeply? Why are you so attuned to his presence, his movements, in a room even when your back is turned? Why did you start spending even more time with him, why did you sit so close to him, your shoulder brushing his, why did you feel such desire when he kissed you, why . . .
I cover my ears, trying to shut out that insidious, relentless voice. I don't know why I did those things, but I tell myself that it's not because I want Vin, not because I love him. Because I don't, don't want him, don't love him. Yeah, right. How about that hard-on you got just thinking about his kiss? Explain that away. You can't, can you? And what about when he touched your arm on Saturday? You can't deny how you felt then either, can you?
God, that voice is maddening! I don't know why I reacted the way I did to Vin's kiss or his touch, why I felt the way I did. It doesn't matter! Everything I am, everything I've ever done, everything I believe about myself, everything tells me that I could never love a man, not like I loved Sarah.
I can't love Vin Tanner.
Can't you? whispers that voice.
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