Dust in the Wind
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Magnificent Seven. I pay homage to Mog, who introduced us to the ATF version. I make no profit other than the occasional pay-off of feedback.
Warnings: This is pretty straightforward h/c, focusing on the C/V established relationship. There's some cursing and a bit of violence. And Chris is in a nasty mood through most of it.
Summary: A bust gone bad brings back unwanted memories for Chris Larabee; will he take his six teammates into hell with him?
Dedication: To Tonny who gave me the plot bunny when I was at a loss.
Note: This was previously published in the Hoosier Gathering 2007 Fanzine.
I close my eyes, only for a moment, and the moment's gone
All my dreams, pass before my eyes, a curiosity
Dust in the wind, all they are is dust in the wind.
Same old song, just a drop of water in an endless sea
All we do, crumbles to the ground, though we refuse to see~~ "Dust in the Wind" by Kansas
"This is your eye in the sky, letting you know that there's only a few clouds up here, above LoDo."
Chris Larabee couldn't help but smile slightly at the voice that came over his earpiece. Vin Tanner's voice flowed with only a hint of his natural Texas drawl, as he clued them in on the fact that their quarry was approaching, though they hadn't reached the dirty and dilapidated "low rent" district of Denver. The gun runners they had been trying to put out of business for over ten months had proven to be very techno-savvy. To make certain that their operation wasn't compromised, they had developed a code system to transmit information to one another.
Five quick clicks alerted the Senior Agent in Charge that the team profiler had some information. "Luca's Pizza, Tony speaking. How can I help you?"
"Yeah, I'd like to order a pizza," Josiah Sanchez announced in his deep baritone. He was positioned at the far end of the warehouse district, where he could add to Vin's information.
"Sure, go ahead."
"I'd like an extra large, thick crust with mushrooms, anchovies and onions."
Larabee mentally translated that to mean there were more specifically three vehicles approaching, they were possibly armored, and there was no way to see how many men were inside. "Would you like that delivered?"
"No, I'll pick it up, should be there in ten minutes."
Clicking his mic twice more, Larabee signaled the others. "Five minute countdown. Give me a check."
"Two," That was Buck, the big man hidden in the shadows.
"Three," came Ezra's dulcet voice, both from the mic, as well as from behind Larabee, in a black limo, courtesy of the ATF carpool. The undercover agent was playing the role of buyer, while the blond was portraying his bodyguard in this operation.
"Four." Nathan answered from near the warehouse door. He was positioned there in the guise of another bodyguard, and the buyer's lookout.
"Five in flight." Josiah was leaving his position, heading toward the warehouse, where the operation was set to take place.
"Six flying low." JD, announced from the surveillance van, in route now from the other end of the district, where he had been watching for an approach from that direction.
"Eagle flyin' high." Vin checked in, letting Chris know that he was in the rafters, where he could watch over them.
"Follow the leader," Larabee instructed, telling the others to watch for his signal before they made a move. He counted six answering clicks before he let out the breath he was holding. Then came a series of three clicks; a signal from the SAC of Team Three. Their back-up was in place and ready as well.
Textbook scenarios could present most of the possibilities for any type of operation. But there were always those little variables that weren't taken into consideration.
And hardest to fit into the equation was the human factor.
They were nearing the end of what had so far been a flawless operation; preparing to close the deal while sealing the fate of the twelve men, who stood in the middle of the warehouse, dressed in camouflage and well armed.
And then it all went quickly and horribly to hell.
A strange sound, later identified as a child's laughter, came from the back of the warehouse. Suddenly the laughing child - a girl about the age of eight, dressed in a faded yellow tee-shirt baring the number 3 - and her smiling, auburn-haired mother walked unwittingly into the well staged drama. Both were dressed in tattered, dingy clothing, only too obviously, members of Denver's homeless population. It seemed that the drama Larabee and his men had taken such pains in planning out was being acted out in their playground.
One of the men in camouflage reacted without thinking, and the scene was suddenly moving in slow motion and still life with horrifying clarity.
Bullets spit in rapid succession from the man's weapon.
The smiling mother stopped smiling as her chest exploded in Technicolor gore.
The child stopped laughing as her face disappeared, replaced by broken bits of muscle, bone, blood and brain.
Chris Larabee screamed. He bolted forward, knowing it was useless even as he did. He couldn't outrun the bullets.
The rapid fire weapon continued to bark. One of its tiny missiles tore a hole through the blond's black slacks, carved a tunnel through his thigh, and exited through the other side of his leg.
Barely noticing the sudden and gut-wrenching pain in his leg, Larabee continued on his useless journey to save the already dead woman and child.
Bedlam ensued; Ezra calling out instructions in Larabee's behalf, even as he dove for cover. Weapons barked, bellowed and belched in a psychotic chorus that ended in a silent crescendo.
Buck called the scene.
JD called for medical assistance.
Josiah and Ezra, assisted by Team Three, called clear as they disarmed both the living and the dead.
Chris called out to the dead woman and child, an inarticulate scream that only one other person in the warehouse had heard before. He knelt beside the mutilated bodies, sobbing without shame, over them. His hands were clenched in impotent rage; he was oblivious to his life's blood that flowed only slightly slower than his tears, even as he passed out from shock and blood loss.
Nathan called out, letting the others know that Chris was down and that two innocents had fallen.
Vin was silent, although his mind was calling out to his partner, praying as he rappelled down his safety line that his soul-mate was still alive.
Buck understood only too well what was going on. Despite the different circumstances, Chris Larabee was living through the death of his wife and son all over again.~o~
Vin Tanner sat next to the bed where his lover lay, silently watching the other man sleep. From time to time, the handsome face would lose its peaceful expression, a frown drawing down the blond brows. He would mumble something, softly and incoherently, before the pale features would grow lax once more, and he would slip back over the edge into deep, drugged, sleep.
The surgery to repair his torn muscle had been deemed a success, and he was placed in a private room to be monitored. The surgeon foresaw weeks of physical therapy to help the injured man regain full function of his limb, but a full recovery was expected. They also predicted a week's stay in the hospital, to give him time to replace the blood he'd lost, monitor for possible infection, and to begin his PT.
Now, all Vin could do was to sit here and wait for the other half of his soul to wake up.
*Beep*
*Beep*
*Beep-Beep*
He looked up at the sound of the changing monitor, to find himself gazing into a pair of half-opened, glassy eyes. With a smile, he reached forward and took the blond's hand. "Hey, Cowboy."
"Hos... Hospital?" Chris frowned and tried to swallow, finding his throat paved with sandpaper.
Picking up the Styrofoam cup on the bed tray and half-filling the plastic spoon with ice chips, Tanner carefully helped his lover take them and watched as Larabee managed to swallow them with a grimace.
"Better?"
Managing to clear his throat, the bedridden man nodded before he grated out, "How long?"
Glancing up at the wall clock, Vin reported, "'Bout ten hours."
"Anyone else... hurt?"
"Nope, the boys 're fine. They're dottin' all the I's and crossin' all the T's. Ezra's takin' care of the report from yer position, since it was same as his."
"Okay." He wanted to ask more; to talk more; but found the call of Morpheus impossible to ignore. Before he could ask anything else, he drifted back off to sleep.
Tanner watched his boss and life partner as he relaxed under the influence of the medication. He knew that - at some point - those screams would come back to haunt them; Chris most of all. He wasn't positive as to the reason for those screams, but they had a good idea. They had questioned Buck earlier, when all six of them met to wait for news on the SAC's health. The big man had been uncharacteristically quiet, however, reluctant to share what he knew, and going off to the corner of the waiting area to sit sullenly alone.
"Vin?"
The Texan turned, acknowledging the appearance of the object of his recent thoughts. "Hey, Bucklin."
"How is he?"
"Woke up a couple minutes ago. Seemed a bit confused, but knew where he was."
"That's good." Wilmington entered the room, going to sit on the other side of the bed. His eyes still seemed haunted, the blue darker than normal. His shoulders drooped, his posture slumped. He sank into the chair as if his bones were ready to melt.
"Why don'cha go on home? It's late and ya look like five miles of bad road."
With a smirk the older man said, "Gee, thanks. You don't look so good yourself, Junior."
"Yeah, but I'm younger. I can take it."
"Fuck you, boy," A soft smile appeared beneath a thick, black mustache, belying those words. Buck stretched out, long legs disappearing beneath the hospital bed while his dark head dropped to the chair back.
"Buck, go on home. I'll call ya if anything changes."
"I'm fine, Vin, stop tryin' to get rid of me."
Shaking his head, the slender man acquiesced, sitting back in his chair as they prepared to hold a vigil for their friend.~o~
"God damn it, Larabee, settle down." Buck Wilmington glared at the broad back. Chris was scheduled to be released today; the only thing holding them up was the doctor's signature on the discharge papers.
"Piss off." The blond whipped around, leaning heavily on the cane he would be using for a few weeks. "They said, today. It's today. I want out of here. I have things to do."
"Yes, you do," came an all too familiar voice from the open door. Frank Gerry, the doctor who had been treating the blond stood there, metal chart in hand. "You need to go home and relax. I'm not okaying you to return to duty for a few days. And then you'll be on light duty for another month."
"Fine." All three men knew that Larabee only agreed so quickly because he could work from home.
'At least,' Gerry thought, 'He won't have to stand for any length of time.' Then aloud, as he held out two squares of paper to the bigger man, he said, "Pain medication and antibiotic. Someone make certain he takes them."
Accepting the papers with a nod, Buck said, "We'll ride herd on him."
"The hell you will. I'm a fucking adult, I don't need babysitters."
"No, but you do need to use your head," Buck argued. "And that doesn't seem to be happening much, lately."
Ignoring the squabbling, which always seemed to accompany the discharge of any one of the members of Team Seven, Gerry continued. Holding out several pages, stapled together, he said, "Instructions for keeping the wound clean, exercises to help keep it from getting stiff."
As his oldest friend accepted the literature, Chris snapped, "We done?"
"You're done. Now, get out of here, go home, and try to stay out of my hospital for a while."
The doctor was barely out the door before Chris was limping over the threshold, Buck behind him, pushing a wheelchair that carried only Larabee's overnight bag and the paperwork. He couldn't help but notice the looks of relief on each face as they passed the nursing staff. Nor could he help the smile and series of winks that he greeted those looks with.
They rode the elevator in silence to the ground floor, exiting onto the lobby and moving passed clusters of people, most of who hurried out of the way before Chris ran them over.
Several minutes later, Buck was pulling up to the loading area in Larabee's Ram, to pick up the blond. He was relieved that, at least, he hadn't started walking home. Instead, he was leaning heavily on the cane, his features gray and perspiration soaked.
Hurrying around the cab, the tall brunet opened the passenger door, biting down on his desire to say "I told you so". Without a word he helped his friend into the truck, lifting the injured leg in for him and sliding the cane behind the seat before closing the door.~o~
Vin was waiting at the ranch, coming to the truck before it had even stopped. He opened the passenger door to find Chris sleeping, head back against the seat. Gently stroking a hand down the older man's cheek, he said softly, "Hey, Cowboy, time ta wake up."
Blinking owlishly, Chris tracked to the side, finding his partner watching him with a smile. "Hey," he managed in a gravely voice.
"Hey, yerself. How 'bout we get ya inside so you can rest better?"
"Was resting," Larabee grumbled. Nevertheless, he allowed the other two men to help him out of the truck cab and into the house. He barely responded as Vin helped him out of the sweats he was wearing and into bed, wearing boxers and a tee shirt. He grunted as his injured leg was propped up on a pillow, but otherwise he was silent. When Vin leaned down to brush a kiss across his mouth, he lay passively; not rebuffing, but not responding to the touch.
Trying to hide his hurt, the blue eyed man said, "Good ta have ya home, Cowboy."
"I'm really tired," was the only reply, before the hazel-green eyes closed.
Effectively shut out, Vin hesitated only briefly before he left the room. In the hallway, he met up with their friend. "He say anything on the way home?"
"Nope. In there?"
"Nothin'. Damn it, Buck, what the hell's goin' on?"
Canting his head to motion that they needed to move, the bigger man walked back through the house, stopping at the kitchen only long enough to grab a pair of long necks. With the other man right behind him, he strode out onto the deck. Handing over one of the beers, he settled in one of the Adirondack chairs, twisted the cap off the bottle, and took a healthy swig.
"Bucklin, if ya know what the hell's goin' on, I'd appreciate it if ya'd fill me in." Vin held his beer, but made no move to either sit down or to open the bottle.
"All I got are theories, Junior."
"So, share."
Shaking his head, Buck said, "You know he don't like it when I bring up his past."
"Fuck that! Damn it, somethin's goin' on and I wanna know what it is!"
"Ghosts, Junior." The rangy brunet took another drink.
"Ghosts? C'mon, Wilmington, there's more to it than that. I didn't see the Winchester boys anywhere around that warehouse, so what sort 'a ghosts are we talkin' here?"
"Sarah, Vin. And Adam."
With a frown, Tanner dropped to another chair, twisting the top off his bottle. "What do ya mean?"
"That woman and her little girl. Think about it, Vin. Two innocents, murdered right in front of him. There's the fact that the woman was auburn haired. And the shirt that little girl was wearing. Hell, Vin, that could have been one of Adam's old shirts." He paused, gathering his thoughts and calming his nerves. "The woman was smiling... the little girl was laughing, then... nothing. Dead."
"And it reminded him of... before... losin' Sarah and Adam." Tanner took a long draw on his beer.
"That's my theory, pard, and that's all it is. I could be completely off base here, but..."
"But, ya aren't."
Leaning forward and propping his elbows on his knees, Buck held the beer between his hands. Staring at the amber glass, he studied the distorted world beyond. Almost as if he were speaking to himself, he continued. "He saw them... watched them die... and lives every day with the knowledge that it should have been him. He couldn't get to them, Vin... couldn't save them. He swore for the longest time that he heard them screaming... calling out to him. No one else heard a thing and, logically, we all knew that they died instantly..."
"Jist like that little girl and her mama."
"Yeah."
For a time the only noise was birdsong and the wind through the trees.
"The noise," Buck said nearly a quarter hour later, causing Vin to jerk at the sudden break in the silence. "The... sound... whatever you want to call it... that he made back there..."
"A wail, I reckon," Vin said when it didn't seem his friend would continue.
Nodding his head, the taller man said, "That was the same one... I'd never heard a sound like that... didn't think I'd ever hear it again. That's the same sound he made when the car exploded."
"Damn." Vin leaned back, taking another long drink.
"Yeah." Was the only response Buck could come up with.~o~
For the next few days, Chris pulled more and more away, leaving Vin struggling to deal with his lover's grim mood. It all came to a head one evening after the Texan had come home from work, only to find the older man well on his way to a hangover.
"Goddamn it, Chris, ya know damn good and well yer not supposed ta be drinkin' while yer on those meds."
"Didn't take 'em," Larabee slurred, tossing down the last inch of bourbon in his glass.
"What! So what, yer gonna risk infection or worst, so you can git shitfaces?"
"Fuck off."
As the blond reached for the bottle sitting on the table beside him, Vin lunged forward and grabbed the bottle, pulling it out of reach.
"Give me my fucking bottle!"
"No." Tanner spoke softly, a look of pain on his handsome face.
Struggling to get up, hampered by both his injured leg and the amount of alcohol he had consumed, it took three tries before Chris managed to get to his feet. By that time, Vin was across the room, locking up the liquor cabinet. Reaching out, he grabbed his partner's shoulder, jerking him around. "I said give me my fucking bottle!"
"And I said, no," Vin repeated. He pulled away, leaning back against the bar and crossing his arms over his chest.
"I said -"
"I don't care what ya said. I said no."
"Then get the fuck out of my house."
The emphasis on 'my' burned like lightening, and before he thought, the younger man retorted, "Fine, jist sit out here... alone... and pickle yer fuckin' brains!" With that he jammed the key back into the cabinet's lock and jerked the doors open. Anger flared in pale blue eyes, only barely hiding the pain and hurt beneath.
Chris registered the sounds of boot heels hitting the wooden floors as angry strides took his soul-mate quickly through the house and out the door. He recognized the growl of the jeep's engine and the sound of white rock flying through the air so hard that some of them struck the wood of the deck.
Pushing the pain, fear and regret to the back of his mind, the blond picked up the half-empty bottle of bourbon and limped back to his chair. Dropping onto the leather covered cushion, he pulled the stopper from the mouth and drank directly from the bottle.~o~
Over the next several days, six men took turns trying to talk to the seventh. Josiah returned with a split lip, JD a black eye, Nathan a bloody nose. Buck, Vin and Ezra returned unscathed, but the first two knew best how to read him, and the latter was quick on his feet.
After that, they simply allowed the rattler his space.~o~
Chris returned to work, looking pale and haggard but clean shaven and clear eyed. He spoke only when necessary, and only dealt with work issues. There was none of the easy camaraderie that usually marked the close-knit team; the tone more subdued than ever before. Five members did their best to keep the atmosphere from becoming too maudlin, with little help from the sixth and none from the seventh.
By the end of the first week, nerves were on edge and patience was at a premium. While Chris didn't miss a minute's work, it was painfully evident that he was simply going through the motions. Any emotions he felt were being drowned each night at home.
The topic of lunchtime conversation for his six worried team members gravitated constantly toward their concern for their friend and supervisor.
"I don't know how long we can hide this from Travis." Josiah rumbled. "Hell, I'm not even certain we are hiding it from him. Man's not stupid, and the way Chris' been acting at work can't be going unnoticed. Especially after it almost came to blows between him and Wayne from Team Four yesterday. We have to face facts; we're not going to be able to keep this in-house for much longer."
"Maybe he'll feel better after the weekend." JD said in a hopeful tone.
"C'yuh, yeah, right," Buck scoffed. "I mean all he'll have to do all weekend is sit and think... and drink..."
"So then we don't let him."
"Listen to what you just said, Kid, and tell me what's wrong in that sentence."
"Look, fightin' between ourselves ain't helpin' a damn thing."
"Vin's right," Nathan put in. "We need to come up with a plan - "
"I hate to burst anyone's bubble," Josiah added, "but there isn't a thing we can do, until Chris is ready to accept our help."
"I concur. Any plan we establish will be moot until and unless he's ready to let go of whatever it is that has him so upset." Ezra's honeyed tones were a sharp contrast to Josiah's deep baritone.
"So then we just sit and wait?" JD asked, incredulous.
"Not a helluva lot we can do otherwise," Vin drawled as he slid down in his seat. He did his best to ignore the looks of compassion from his friends. It was taking everything in him not to just fall apart at the moment. For all of his appearance of composure, watching his partner trying to kill himself drink by drink was eating him up.
No, Chris wasn't the only one suffering.~o~
The following week found the team falling apart. Not even Josiah and Nathan, typically the most in control, were immune to the overall feeling of frustration, impotence and anger that sat in Team Seven's suite each and every day.
Chris moved like a wraith through their midst, the evidence of his self-destructive path more evident every day. Seeking the protection of their friends, the others spoke to him only in the office. The effect was almost as violent, although it was now limited to the furnishings in his office. Each evening, after he had all but flown out of the suite, Vin would enter his lover's office and pick up the unlucky recipients of Larabee's rage. The most difficult was finding the picture Larabee kept on his desk of the two of them, lying torn amongst the shattered remains of the frame it had once been in.
It was Friday night; Josiah was the only person there when Vin exited the SAC's office. While there were tears in the lost, blue eyes, his square jaw was set hard, nearly to breaking.
Tanner looked up in surprise when he realized there was someone else still in the office. Managing to hold himself still, he said in a tight, determined voice, "Son of a bitch might give up on us, but I'm not gonna."
"Vin - "
"NO! Don't give me one of yer sermons, Preacher! It's time he got his head outta his ass, or..."
Josiah watched as his friend seemed to deflate before his eyes. Softly he prompted, "Or what, Brother?"
"Or it's the end of us."
Watching the slender man march out of the suite, Sanchez knew he didn't have to ask just what he meant. It would not only be the end of a relationship; it would be the end of a team.~o~
He thought his heart was going to beat a hole through his chest in an effort to escape. The crunch of the gravel as he rolled down the lane toward the ranch house sounded like rifle shot, and not even the hot summer wind blowing through the open windows could warm him. The sprawling ranch house loomed before him, as dark in the late evening as the mood of his partner had been for weeks.
Pulling up beside the other man's Ram, he turned off the engine and then just sat there for several minutes. Now that he was here, the fire that had burned in his gut had died down, even the embers dying as pain and fear soaked through his soul. What was he doing here?
Suddenly, the distant sounds of what sounded like a fight came to him. With a frown, he located those sounds as coming from the barn. Pushing quickly out of the jeep he sprinted toward the big building. Hitting the door, he shoved it open; heedless of what was on the other side. In the end, he would recognize that he'd already known what he'd find there.
Chris was in the middle of the barn proper, dressed only in sweatpants and his workout shoes, dancing around his punching bag. His stance wasn't as fluid as usual; he was favoring his healing leg far more than he had seemed to since returning to work. Clear indication that he had been out here far too long, abusing it.
"Jesus, Cowboy," he murmured, staying in the shadows. Larabee didn't even seem to have noticed his entrance.
For over an hour, Chris Larabee took out his anger on the heavy bag. Sweat sprayed the area while his grunts and curses filled the air. He favored his injured leg more and more, eventually standing stationary, barely putting any weight on it.
Then he fell.
With a sharp intake of breath, Vin watched his lover collapse onto the dirt and straw littered floor. Restraining himself, he waited to see if the other man would rise again. When several minutes passed and Larabee still lay, sprawled out on the floor, Tanner finally allowed himself to act.
Moving quickly across the barn, he knelt beside the older man. The panting, wheezing breath was almost painful to listen to, but he restrained himself from simply gathering the other man in his arms. Instead, he said in an emotion roughened voice, "You 'bout done?"
"Yeah." The blond didn't seem surprised that his partner was there. Lifting his head, he stared with tear-soaked eyes into the other man's face. "For the moment."
With a partially false grimace, the younger man said, "Damn, Larabee, you stink."
"Fuck you." There was no heat in those words now.
"Yeah, well, it's been a spell."
With an irritated snort, Chris mumbled "Smart ass," as he raised one taped hand toward the other man.
Vin took the proffered hand, carefully lifting his partner to his feet. Or, more specifically, foot. He steadied Chris as the latter fought to gain his balance. When that didn't seem to be in the cards, he shifted his hold, wrapping an arm around the other man's slender waist, while the other hand cupped his elbow.
"Come on, let's git you to the house and git you cleaned up."
"I can take care of myself." His words sounded hollow. Lost.
"No, Chris. Ya can't. Not right now."
Pushing away he limped away several steps. "Fuck you! I'm fine. Go away, Vin. Just go away!"
"No," Vin said quietly, his words barely above a whisper.
"Excuse me?!" His expression was incredulous.
"I said, no. I didn't stutter."
"Get the hell out of here."
"No." Vin moved slowly toward his lover, watching the other man move away. Chris was exhausted, hurting, and couldn't move with his usual, fluid grace. It didn't take long for him to overtake the fleeing man. "I'm not leavin' you."
"Do what you want. But I'm leaving you." The angry man took three more steps, then found himself on the ground once more.
Reaching the other man, and reaching down, Tanner pulled Larabee up with slightly more force this time. "Yeah, well, I've had a couple weeks to get used to that. Thing is, you've never been my boss... 'cept at work - "
"Yeah, like you ever pay attention to me - "
"Then why're ya actin' surprised?" With that, he wrapped his arm once more around the slightly bigger man and led him from the barn and toward the house. Chris didn't struggle to move away this time; he simply tracked along side him, still favoring his healing leg.
Entering the usually immaculate house, Vin coughed, nearly gagging at the stench. "Shit, when's the last time ya cleaned up?" He didn't expect an answer, and he didn't get one. Flipping on lights as they went, he saw the carnage as they passed through the house toward the master suite. Neither of them spoke, and in the disheveled bedroom he pointed the blond toward the bathroom. When the door closed he looked, dismayed, toward the mess at hand. He noticed that the bedding on the large bed they shared was the same he had put on the day Buck had brought Chris home. The sheets were stained and even bloodied, smelling of perspiration and stale body odor.
Stripping the bed to the mattress, he carried the stinking bedding to the laundry room, returning with as many cleaning supplies as he could carry. Dropping most of the stuff just inside the door, he flipped on the switch that operated the overhead fan then moved over to the windows. Cranking them open, he took a deep breath, smiling as the country air entered his lungs.
Quickly and efficiently, he worked to set the room right, setting the cleaning things in the hall as he finished with each one. He had just finished redressing the bed when Larabee limped out of the bathroom, a towel draped low around his slim waist. Vin saw the half-healed wound. It didn't look infected, but neither did it look healthy. He opened his mouth to say something about it, but closed it without a word. Instead, he just left for the kitchen, where he grabbed an ice pack, wrapped a clean dish cloth around it and re-entered the bedroom. Chris was just easing down onto the mattress, the towel now replaced with a pair of boxers.
Slipping up beside the bed, he grabbed a pillow and slipped it under the injured limb. Ignoring the blond's glare, Vin wrapped the pack over his thigh, pressing the ends of the towel between the man's thigh and the pillow. Without a word, he pulled the comforter up over the prone body. Ignoring his own desires, he did nothing more than whisper "Night," as he turned out the light and left the room, closing the door behind him.
Behind him, Chris whispered softly, "Good night, Pard."~o~
By sunrise, Vin had cleaned the house thoroughly, carrying out bags of empty bottles, half-eaten boxes of take out, and other evidence of his partner's headlong trail of self-destruction. Wiping away the last dried spill of bourbon, he tossed the paper towel toward the wastebasket before dropping to the recliner with a tired groan.
Reaching for the cup of strong coffee he'd made earlier, he stared with only marginal interest at the game being rebroadcast on the Sports Channel. He was numb, the long hours of physical labor, added to the emotional toll of finding pictures of Sarah and Adam strewn all over the house, had drained him.
"You make it as strong as ever?"
Turning toward the sleepy-eyed man in the doorway, Vin said, "Mite stronger, I reckon."
With a grimace, Chris turned toward the kitchen, muttering about sludge and axle grease. Behind him, Vin smirked. Then he pushed himself up, following the other man. In the kitchen, he asked, "You hungry?"
"No. Look, Vin, I appreciate what you did last night, but it doesn't change anything."
"Changed something... the house ain't quite so foul."
"I'm being serious here. I don't want you out here, all right? I appreciate your help last night, but I need some space."
Leaning against the counter, Vin crossed his arms across his chest. "Why?"
"I don't owe you - "
"The hell ya don't! Ya do owe me an explanation, and I ain't leavin' 'til ya tell my why."
With a sudden explosion of anger, Chris threw the full mug of coffee across the room, smashing it against the far wall. "Because, I can't do this any more! I can't pretend that everything's okay, damn it! I can't, because it's all a lie! It... isn't... all right... I'm not all right! Goddamn it, Tanner... I can't do it any more!"
"Ya don't have ta do it alone!" Anger colored Vin's voice, making it far louder than it had been.
"The hell I don't!"
"Ya got friend - "
"I have co-workers, that's all. I don't want friends!"
"Well, too damn, bad, 'cause ya got 'em!"
An inarticulate scream split the air, and the blond dropped to the floor, not even responding to the pain that lanced through his thigh. Wrapping his arms over his head, he continued to scream; anger, pain, grief, loss, fear, it all poured out on the wings of those tortured cries.
His gut wrenching at the pitiful sounds, Vin dropped down beside the older man. Tenderly, he gathered Chris in his arms, gently rocking him as he stroked a hand over the tense, trembling shoulders. There were no words, nothing he could say that would be anything near adequate at the moment, so he said nothing. He simply began to rock, holding his partner while he continued to cry.
Time passed unnoticed until, finally, the blond slumped tiredly in the Texan's arms. Brushing the perspiration soaked hair back, Vin said, "Chris, I swear to you, you're going to get through this, and I'm gonna be here for ya. If you need me to stay away, I'll do it, no matter how much it hurts, I'll do it. But, I'm gonna be here for ya, anyway."
"I don't want you... please Vin, don't leave me, okay? I need you."
Smiling in relief and love, Tanner said, "All ya gotta do is ask. First off, how 'bout we get you up off this floor and back into bed? Then I'll make us some breakfast... in bed?"
Sighing and snuggling into the loving embrace, Larabee said, "In bed."~o~
Later, the two men lay stretched out beside one another, a tray of emptied dishes and bowls on the foot of the bed. His head leaning against his partner's shoulder, Chris said softly, "it was those two... the woman and the little girl... it brought back such memories. I... I thought I'd made my peace with... with their deaths..."
Vin knew that the other man wasn't talking about the mother and daughter, but his dead wife and son. The recent deaths were catalysts to bring back the pain that Chris had tried so hard to convince himself he had gotten past. The rest of them had followed suit, believing that Chris was whole once more. Had they truly believed it, or only allowed themselves to?
It didn't really matter. Not now. The only thing that mattered was helping Chris deal with that pain. Whether or not he managed to get past it all would remain to be seen, he knew that. All they could do was deal with the here and now.
Reaching down to entwine his fingers with those of his lover, Vin whispered, "then we find the way to help you make peace. You've got six friends who'll stand by you 'til ya do. And ya don't get rid of me, no matter what."
"Yeah, I got that." Chris squeezed the other man's hand. "I'm... I'm sorry..."
"Stop, okay?"
"No, I've got to say this. I'm sorry. I've been pretty damn terrible to you. All of you."
"We understood." He thought about telling Chris about the conversation he and Buck had had earlier, but decided against it. Enough time for that later.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"Understood the split lip?"
"Yeah. And the black eye... and the bloody nose. Don't matter what the boys on Team Three say, we ain't that dense." He smiled as a silent chuckle rocked his partner, vibrating against his side. Then he sobered. "Look, Cowboy, it don't take a rocket scientist ta understand how Liv and Jasmine's deaths hit you."
"That was their names?"
"Yeah... you didn't read the report, did ya?"
"I tried," he sighed, "but no, I couldn't. That's not important now. What I did to you... to our friends... that is important. And I swear, I'm gonna make it right. I just don't... I don't know..."
"Ya know, we've got a long weekend next week. Reckon a blow out barbeque might take the sting out of all those hurts yer so hell-bent on makin' up for."
"Vin, I don't think - "
"Good. Reckon you've bein' doin enough thinkin' lately. Why don'cha just lay back and relax fer a while?" Tanner drawled seductively.
With a sigh, the blond replied, "It's not that easy..."
Easing around so he could see his partner's face, Vin reached out and stroked a hand down the face that he loved more than anything. "It can be that easy... for now. For now, Chris, you can just lay back and relax. You've got six people willin' to hold ya up... ta carry ya if need be. So, let us, Larabee. Let us take care of ya for a while." Finished with his speech, he leaned down and gently kissed the wide mouth that trembled slightly as emotions began to well up.
"Vin..."
"Shhhh... let go, Chris. Just let go and lay back. Relax, Cowboy. Get yer strength back, then we'll face it all. Later."
Chris found himself all but mesmerized by that soft voice. Slowly, he nodded, snuggling down in the pillows, nuzzling against his partner's shoulder, and letting Vin's words wash over him. Hazel-green eyes struggled to stay out from under the falling lids but, finally, gravity and long nights of drinking won out. With a final sigh, he allowed himself to relax, drifting off to a much needed and deep sleep. Just before he succumbed to that rest, he murmured, "I love you, Tanner."
Grinning as he felt the other man relax against him, Vin replied, "I love you, too, Larabee."
Epilog
"Those two are gonna end up breakin' something." Vin grumbled lightly as he watched Buck and JD roughhousing out in the broad backyard. He shook his head as he carried a tray filled with raw beef and pork to the barbeque pit, where Josiah was reigning over the grilling, having argued Chris out of that job. They had been successful in getting the SAC to rest.
Larabee was stretched out on a well-padded chaise lounge beneath one of the big trees that bordered the yard. He was enjoying the light-hearted mood, and camaraderie, that filled both his home and his heart. Then his eyes darkened just a shade at the sight of Ezra Standish coming across the yard. He wasn't certain if he was ready to talk to the undercover man, but knew it would gnaw at his until he did.
As the Southerner neared, he held out several papers, stapled together at the corner. Handing them over, he said, "It's all been taken care of. Their final resting places are now marked with the stones you requested."
Larabee smiled, the shadows on his face speaking of barely restrained pain. "Thanks, Ezra. Were you able to find any relatives?"
"No, no one. It would seem Ms. Olivia Danner and her daughter Jasmine Rose, were truly alone in the world."
Taking a deep, trembling breath, Chris said, "So sad. Everyone should have at least one person to mourn their passing."
"They do, Cowboy," Tanner came up beside the other two men. "They've got all of us to mourn them, even if we didn't know anything but their names."
Reaching up, Chris squeezed the hand that had come to rest on his shoulder. "It doesn't seem like enough."
Ezra nodded and left the two men alone, recognizing their need for privacy. Pasting on a smile that quickly morphed to a real emotion, he walked over to where Rain sat with Nathanial and Evan, the two Jackson children. Slipping up behind their toddler, he scooped 'Thanial up from behind, eliciting a squeal and a series of giggles.
Behind him, the partners smiled at the Southerner's antics. Then, changing his hold, Vin wrapped his arms loosely around his lover. "Ain't nothin' else we can do. No, you're right, it ain't enough. But it's more than they could've had." Then, leaning close to the blond's ear, he murmured, "That's somethin' you and the doc are gonna work through. So, let it lay fer now."
Another deep breath and he held it before releasing it. Softly he replied, "Yeah... okay."
"Chops are ready, steaks are still mooin'," Josiah called out from the barbeque. "Come and get 'em!"
The cheerful words broke the spell and the two men smiled at one another. Larabee shifted so he could get off the lounge, Vin quickly there to help him up. With a cocky grin, the blond said, "Race you!" He limped off toward the closest picnic table, Vin laughing and coming easily to his side. This journey, like every other one, would find them side by side.The End
June 9, 2007