Universe: Yellowstone National Park AU
Rating: NC-17, FRAO
Warnings: Angst - but this time, for Chris; slash, m/m sex.
For Wendy and Marnie. And Sara, of course.
Later, after the drinking, the fight, and the sex, when he finally forced himself to think about it, he'd realize that it wasn't the color of her hair, or the smile of her eyes, or even the fire in her voice, but it was the curve of her breast, soft and white, and just barely visible in the open circle of her sleeveless shirt.
Friday, 7:48 p.m.
The bar was crowded with the remnants of the post-work-week crowd and the beginnings of the weekend-celebration crowd, the groups overlapping and happy. Most of Chris' team were still accounted for - JD and Josiah throwing darts with a couple of hikers in for the weekend, Buck at the bar working two of the ladies from Brinson's Travel Agency, Vin sitting with Ezra and Marielle, looking attentive but relaxed as they talked, Reservation business most likely. Ezra and Marielle were still seeing each other in an off-again, on-again sort of way - friends with benefits, apparently, but mostly friends.Vin was reaping a sort of reward from it as well, getting to know someone loosely-related to him, someone connected to his past, without suffering re-immersion in the past.
Chris was leaning on the bar himself, watching his people and content in that. Nathan had just left, wanting to spend some time with Rain; she was on call tonight, which meant she would probably spend the later part of the night and early morning fixing up drunken idiots and the occasional sick child. Chris was enjoying the momentary solitude, alone in a crowd, just watching and listening.
She came in in a crowd, six or seven of them, all just in from the trail, shorts and hiking boots and fleece jackets over t-shirts, laughing and talking and thrilled to be alive.
He was paying no attention at all, watching Vin, marveling yet again at how lucky he was.
Thinking of the things he wanted to do tonight if they had a chance, thinking of the other things they could do tomorrow night as they were both off on Sunday.
Which was why his first awareness of her was in her laugh - a warm, bold sound to his right. He heard Buck's rumbling voice, looking over to find her between them, trying to wedge her way in to catch the bartender's attention.
Auburn curls, long and loose and thick, smelling of sunshine and heather, tickled over the skin of his arm as she moved. She held up two slender fingers toward the bartender, and as Buck leaned back, flirting with her even before his eyes had seen her, Chris' heart stopped.
Her shirt was a simple sleeveless cotton weave, grass-green, baring her tanned shoulders, accentuating her strong neck. From this angle, it gaped just enough to show the side of her breast, a swell of pale flesh defined by a white racer-back bra.
An instant, frozen in time, an image that reached into the heart of his memories and extracted a symmetrical one.
It burned through him, a sense of deja vu so strong that he lost the present, felt only the new world he had created for the woman he would marry, the passion that had knocked him from his sense of self as only first, true love can. Felt all the joy and hope and innocence of a life untouched by the loss of it.
She turned then, smiling at him. Her lips were lush and supple, her nose and cheeks tanned but splattered with freckles, her eyes a warm brown flecked with gold and framed in slender eyebrows slightly darker than her hair.
"Hiya," she said, and the depth of her laughter rang into her words as well.
He was unaware that he was staring, unaware that anything was happening around him or with him or even with her. He was lost in another time and place, looking into eyes that looked like hers, a smile that was almost like hers, a voice that was just a little deeper.
She was turning away now, and slowly, as if he were under water, sound and smell and sensation began to drift back into his consciousness. He wanted to hold them off, knowing they would also bring other things, pain and memory and the present and all it was.
Sarah, as she was the day he'd asked her to marry him, happy and teasing, warm and sweet, innocent.
They'd both been.
"Chris?" Buck's voice - deeper than it had been that day, a lifetime ago, strained - "Chris, don't."
Then Buck was in front of him, between them, the memory, the idea, Sarah, was shattering -
"Chris."
He tried to push Buck away, tried to hold on to the peace and happiness, the innocence, to her -
"It's not her." And of course it wasn't. She was nothing like Sarah, especially now, staring at him and Buck, her eyes confused.
All the years between then and now fell back into place, the pain of the loss as new and wrenching as the moment of reliving that night so long ago had been sweet and pure.
He wasn't aware of Buck's hand around his shoulders, guiding him outside, was barely aware of time and place at all.
The grief was almost debilitating, but by the time they made it to the quiet of the sidewalk outside, the privacy of one of the establishment's many nooks, it was manageable.
"You okay?" Buck asked quietly.
Chris looked at him, anger instant and honed - the defense mechanism he had used for so long.
But Buck looked as haunted and shocked as he felt, and he knew that he wasn't alone in the memories or the pain.
"God," he said instead. "Sarah."
"Yeah," Buck agreed. Chris could feel his friend's worry, could feel the weight of those eyes on him as they had been so many times in the past.
"Been a while since it . . . caught me like that." He swallowed, letting his eyes roam over the garden beyond them, mixed colors of flowers interrupting the perfect greens, browns, and tans of the Park beyond.
"She looked just like her, sounded just like her," Buck acknowledged. "It was like being back ten years ago." Buck sighed, shifted. "Then coming back to now . . . "
"Wasn't ready for the ride," Chris acknowledged. "Like . . . like it's all new again. All of it."
Buck's hand tightened where it still rested on his shoulder, and Chris felt the breath catch in his throat.
"There you two are!" JD's voice was shrill behind them. "What the hell happened?"
Chris was already turning to face farther away, not wanting anyone to see him until he was back in control.
But Buck was ever Buck; with another firm clasp to his shoulder, his friend turned around, stepping back quickly to intercept the youngest team member.
"Who won the game?" he asked with a chipperness that Chris knew was fake, but that JD would accept. "You and Josiah must've done some serious catching up if you're already out here looking for us."
His voice was growing quieter as he herded JD away, giving Chris space, but Chris still managed to catch JD's response.
"We were worried about you guys - you and Chris left like the room was on fire! Vin's looking for you on the other side of the building. . "
Vin.
Chris' stomach roiled. Not now. He wouldn't, couldn't - the memory of Sarah was still there, a presence of its own seeping in the outer reaches of his mind, drifting still, like the lingering smell of perfume on a pillow or the neon after-image of a light on the inside of a closed eyelid.
Like the last wispy vapors of smoke twining away from a dying fire.
He made it to his Explorer quickly, aware that Vin had seen him, aware of the other's voice calling, worried, and a little hurt.
Friday, 10:38 p.m.
He couldn't go home.The irony was too good, too rich; before he'd come here, when he was still living in the house they had shared, he couldn't go home because she was there, they were there, constant reminders of his loss, his failure, his pain.
Tonight, he couldn't go home because they weren't there.
There were pieces of them - the photos, of course, some of the furniture that they'd picked out together, sheets and towels that he couldn't part with - but these were small pieces, things that were integrated into who he was.
The space that they had shared together, the feelings that the woman in the bar had recalled - those weren't in this house. Sarah had never been in this house.
Worse, this house had memories of someone else.
He knew it wasn't fair, but right now, that angered him. He loved Vin, needed him as much as he'd loved and needed Sarah. Their love was different but equal.
But right now, it seemed - wrong.
He drove for a while, no radio, just the wind whistling through the open window. This area of Wyoming and Montana was beautiful - it called to him in ways he'd never known before.
But like Vin, right now it was alien. He wanted the flat, dusty heat that he'd shared with her, long flat roads that seemed disappear off the face of the world. They'd drive for hours, just the two of them, listening to the radio, talking about nothing, laughing.
Then her hand would be between his legs, teasing him to hardness with her fingers and her smoky voice. She'd stretch out over the seat - always a bench seat, she'd have nothing less - take him in her mouth, and dare him to stop the car.
Because he couldn't come as long as he was driving. That was their rule.
He got hard at the memory, the thoughts of the places where he'd finally have to stop. Most of the time, she'd be sitting in his lap before the car was completely stopped, their bodies joined in a laughing, screaming, rocking dance that never lasted more than minutes.
Later, at home, they'd make it up to each other with slow, deep sex.
They'd always debated whether Adam had been conceived in a car or in the bedroom.
The Explorer's console seats were intentional; he'd never have another bench seat.
At that thought, he knew he had to find somewhere else to be. Pulling out his cell phone, he wasn't surprised that there were six messages.
He was surprised that they were all from Buck.
"Where are you?" the other man asked as he answered.
"Driving," Chris answered. "But getting tired. Where you?"
"Your place," was the somewhat expected reply. Buck had been worried enough to check on him, more worried when he hadn't been at home.
Chris took a breath. "Vin with you?"
"No," Buck answered instantly. "He was worried but - well, he understands."
It was possible, Chris supposed. Vin was almost psychic at times, especially when it came to the two of them. When it came to him. "You tell him?"
"Didn't have to. He saw her. Boy's seen the pictures at the house, he knew." Buck's voice was softer now. "Was thinking of heading to my place," Buck continued, demonstrating his own brand of mind-reading. "Wanna come have a beer?"
Chris ended up in Buck's guest room that night, too tired to drive, maybe a little too drunk.
Saturday, 9:14 a.m.
He woke late the next morning, stumbled to the bathroom and found a note; Buck had gone in for him, covering his ‘sick day'. Chris had about three months worth, so it wasn't a real problem.He went back to bed, dreamed some more of Sarah. It was almost a relief when the phone rang around noon.
"You up?" Buck asked, cheerful. "I was thinking about picking up something for lunch. Wanna meet me or want me to grab something and come back?"
"Where's Vin?" Chris asked, not sure whether it was relevant or not to Buck's question, but feeling the need to ask.
"He took the day-trails today. Won't be back in until later - you want me to call him?"
Vin would have one of the radios the rangers used while on-duty. Since he still didn't have a cell-phone, it was about the only way to talk to him unless he called or he was right there.
"No, not . . . not yet." Chris scrubbed his hand over his face, wondering what he was doing. "Where you wanna meet?"
Lunch was quiet, Buck chattering aimlessly about the status of the Park, several of the hikers who'd come through - women, of course, nothing serious, nothing important, all distracting.
Chris was picking at his potato chips when Buck said quietly, "Vin's worried about you. He's not pressuring or anything, but - it might be good for you to at least give him a call." Chris nodded. Buck wasn't telling him anything he didn't know.
And it wasn't like he didn't want to call Vin - he did.
He just didn't want to hear him. Or. . see him.
Oddly though, the thought of fucking him held surprising appeal.
He paid for lunch, promised to buy Buck dinner at some point as well, as a pay-back for covering for him today, and promised to call Vin.
Going to his house wasn't so bad now. It was a little stale from being closed up for two days, a little untidy from yesterday morning when they had left, running late because Chris had forgotten to put the clothes in the dryer before they went to bed the night before.
He drifted through the living room and kitchen, only a little disquieted that she wasn't there, that he didn't feel her. More disquieted when he knew he didn't want to feel her here.
It was only when he made it to the bedroom that he felt the guilt turn toward anger, because he knew why he didn't feel her here.
This place was already someone else's. This place was Vin's.
He should be happy, he told himself, he was happy. Vin filled spaces in him that Sarah had never known about. Spaces she couldn't have known about because, until her murder, they probably hadn't existed.
The anger wasn't at Vin, though, it was himself. And at Sarah for letting herself get killed.
The irrationality of that - that he was angry at her for something so far beyond her control - made him even more angry.
He left the bedroom, left the house. For a few minutes, the urge to return to the old house was almost overwhelming, and he found himself sitting in the Explorer, the engine idling.
He knew he couldn't go back. But right now, with the memory of her so real and tangible in his head, he didn't seem to be able to go forward.
At some point, he turned the engine off, and moved back to the porch. As the sun was setting, he was sitting on the short stairs, thinking of everything and nothing.
Of the redhead in the bar and wondering if she was back in the bar tonight, drinking, laughing, looking for some fun.
Wasn't nothing to drive there, nothing to park and watch people come and go. Looking.
Other women came and went, some red-heads, a few even close to being the woman from last night - but they weren't her.
He'd missed her, he thought, missed the one chance to be as close to his wife as he would ever have.
It wouldn't be Sarah, the little voice whispered from the back of his mind, reminding him of the reality of it.
But it would have been darn close, his grief and anger countered. Was almost her smile, almost her laughing eyes, almost her teasing voice. Almost her perfect breast.
His erection spoke for him, loud and insistent, angry in its own right. It needed, demanded, wanting Sarah, wanting heat and warmth and satiation. With all the power of animal instinct and primal biology, it took his confusion and pain and frustration and welded it into one desire.
That desire, based in the chaos of emotion, took the path of least resistance. In the periodic flashes of thought, he remembered that he had promised Buck - of all people - that he would call Vin.
This was better than calling, wasn't it?
He hadn't realized it was so late - almost midnight, his cell phone told him when he pulled it from his pocket. Four calls this time, three from Buck, one from the pay phone near Vin's camper. At 10:15.
Chris didn't listen to see if there was a message; he didn't want to hear Vin's voice. Didn't want to do anything but fuck him.
The camper was dark; this late, Vin was already asleep, Chris knew, preferring to rise with the dawn which was about five hours away.
The old Harley and the older truck were both present and accounted for, so Vin was most likely home. He'd damned well better be, Chris through with a viciousness that almost gave him pause.
Not that he needed to have worried. By the time he was out of the Explorer, the doors locked and security system engaged, Vin was pushing open the door to the camper. He was a light sleeper, a honed survival instinct, and he knew the sound of Chris' vehicle.
He was bed-tousled, even though he didn't look like he'd gotten much sleep. He was rubbing at his eyes, but even in the dim light cast by the camp ground's distant light poles, Chris could see the shadows under his lover's eyes, and the tiredness in the sharp features. He wore sweats and a t-shirt, his standard bed wear, and he was barefoot - it wasn't cool enough yet for socks at night, even though it was getting close.
"Chris?" he called, his voice rough and almost plaintiff. "You okay?"
Part of him felt an irritating tenderness - how like Vin to ask first about him, to worry first for him.
But more of him, the part still tangled together in the barbed-wire twist of his id, wanted to stop that voice, keep at bay the emotions attached to this man, this part of himself.
Vin was standing on the top step of the three that led into his camper, his eyes wider now, one hand on the door knob of the open door, the other dropping to rest on the door frame itself.
It left him open as Chris swept up to him, one arm catching around his waist and pulling him close, while the other caught in his loose hair, holding his head. The speed of Chris' step drove them back into the camper, so that Chris was forcing his tongue into Vin's mouth, silencing him, by the time they slammed back into the tiny counter.
Vin tensed at the initial contact - like the light-sleeping, it was an instinct. But he didn't give any other resistance, his body moving with Chris', his mouth opening to accept the plundering even as he hissed at Chris' roughness.
The kiss was deep and hard, leaving them both breathless. By the time Chris had to breathe, Vin's arms were around him, stroking along his back, holding him close.
Loving him.
Chris tore himself away, the anger surging. Didn't matter that it was mostly at himself and at the fates that had taken Sarah, didn't matter than he loved Vin with as much of himself as he had loved Sarah.
Only mattered that it was anger and that it needed a place to rage.
"Strip," he ordered, already pulling at the hem of the t-shirt even as he knocked Vin's arms open and off of him.
"Hello to you too," Vin countered lightly, a smile ghosting over his features.
The light from outside didn't reach as deeply into the camper and there were no lights on so it was harder to see clearly the play of his features. But Chris knew there was a hint of fear in his lover, a sliver of it under the playful words.
It was enough to curb the impulse to slap him, to shut him up. To stop that voice he knew better than he knew his own.
Instead, he caught Vin's head again, forcing it to an angle that would leave a kink in the morning. Vin gasped a protest, but it was cut off as Chris took his mouth again.
This time, he used the distraction to lever Vin the scant few steps to the bed.
Vin was less relaxed now, aware that anger was driving Chris, not love. His hands gripped at Chris' arms, trying to break the hold, trying to put some space between them. He succeeded just before the back of his legs hit the bed and they tumbled onto it.
Vin landed under Chris; the bed was comprised of a type of futon mattress over a bare frame, so there was no give. The impact knocked the wind out of the smaller man, giving Chris time to take control.
The sweats were old, the elastic so loose that all it took was a strong tug to pull them down, then a quick grab at the ankles to draw them off entirely.
By that point, Vin was pushing himself to his elbows, his eyes glittering with his own anger. "What the fuck do you think you're doin'?" he snarled.
"Thought it was pretty obvious," Chris snarled back. He leaned down, gathering the hair at Vin's neck and pulling it hard.
Vin had been pulling away, so he was caught off-guard when Chris pulled in the same direction. He fell flat onto the bed, his neck pressing hard over the contours of Chris' fist under it.
His arms came up though, his knuckles jamming into Chris' chest as Chris tried to swoop in again.
"No!" Vin spat, his tone as hard as the muscles locking his body. "Stop it, Chris!"
Chris pushed against him, appreciating, despite himself, the fight. The violence.
For an instant, they were equal forces, held in place. With no warning, Vin's elbows bent and Chris started down, reaching to grab at the other man -
Only to find himself unbalanced and thrown off to one side as Vin used the momentum and Chris' shift of weight to roll him aside.
By the time Chris rolled back to his knees on the bed, Vin was standing just out of reach, his arms crossed over his belly, his breathing fast.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Vin demanded, his voice strained. "You so fucked up that you want ta rape me?"
"You want it!" Chris countered instantly. "You always want it - you could be dying and you'd want my dick up your ass!"
Vin jerked, his fingers folding into fists. His voice, though, was so soft when he answered that Chris had to strain to hear it. "That what this is about? Me dying?"
"What? Why would you even think - " But the thought hit him then, settling suddenly into his reality. Filling in the places in his head that he'd been avoiding since the pain of Sarah's loss had hit him last night, taking him back to that first day without her, the shattering of his world and his reality.
Something could happen to Vin.
The images flashed before him in Technicolor patterns, Nathan pulling Vin's body from the mud bog as rain hammered around them, Vin going down in the midst of the crowd, Chris unable to get to him, the mountain lion in mid-air descending on Vin who was reaching for his knife as the sharp claws stretched - he was dizzy, reeling from the replaying memories, his heart beating too hard, his lungs not working -
"It's okay," Vin's voice was soft in his hear, and he felt the warmth and safety of the other man's arms as they slid around him. "I'm right here, Chris, right here."
He cried then, wracking sobs that he hadn't felt since the night he buried Sarah and Adam. The loss of them wasn't new now, not even as new as it had been yesterday when the memories came crashing in again, but the thought of all that emptiness tied to Vin doubled the intensity. He was aware of clinging, of trying to say things around his body's attempts to excise the grief and terror, but he knew nothing was tangible or even comprehensible.
And he also knew it didn't matter. Vin understood - just as he had understood what was happening tonight, what had been happening to Chris since he'd seen the woman in the bar. It was another one of the things that they shared; not only did Vin fill up spaces in him, but for some reason he would never fathom, he filled up spaces in Vin. And where they touched each other -mentally, physically, emotionally - they shared knowledge.
Vin knew what he was trying to say. Knew how he needed to be held. Knew where he needed to be touched.
Knew why he needed the sex, needed to possess.
He didn't know at what point the crying stopped and the kisses started. All he knew was that his tongue was again in Vin's mouth, and his hands were cupping Vin's head. But this time, Vin's hands were on him, pulling the two of them together, his mouth sucking on Chris' as he pulled Chris against him, laying them back into the pillows.
Chris was stretched along his lover, aware that Vin was still bare from the waist down, and that his own cock was again showing interest, expanding as it rested in the concave curve of Vin's belly.
Better was the feel of Vin responding to him, one leg crooking lightly over his, rubbing suggestively as Vin's hips pressed upwards just a little, encouraging.
Even if he was rubbing sensitive skin over the denim of Chris' jeans.
Even as he was thinking it, one of Vin's hands wormed between them, working the button and zipper of Chris' jeans, then slipping them down far enough to free his erection.
Chris arched enough to give Vin the ability to move, which he did, stroking with the assurance of experience. All the while, they kissed, Chris' tongue becoming more demanding as his need grew.
At some point, Vin whispered as well as he could, "Lube," and Chris fumbled for the far corner of the mattress, at the place where the mattress met the side of the camper. A small corner shelf was there, more a ledge than a surface, but it was big enough for the things they needed, the tube of lubricant and the condoms.
As he opened the container, he hesitated, another thought forming. They'd never done it - he'd never offered, Vin had never asked. He'd never been comfortable with the idea of it. But now . . .
The movement and the new idea had distracted him, leaving Vin's mouth free, giving him the ability to speak.
"Not yet," he said softly, his voice warm. "Not what you need tonight." He was still giving attention to Chris' erection, but his other hand caught at Chris' hair, forcing him to look at Vin. "Not what I need. Want you."
To emphasis his point, he shifted, spreading his legs wider and drawing one up, opening himself.
Chris studied his lover, truly looking at him. Vin was male, hard lines, strong features. Some called him pretty, and in ways, he was; the long curly hair that softened his appearance, the wide round eyes so blue they often seemed unnatural. He was long but slender, rangy and strong, but not bulky or thick. Not small, but not large in any way.
But there was nothing soft about him, no flare of hip or feminine smile, no delicate gestures or lilting voice.
No swell of breast, no red hair.
Vin was - Vin. And like Sarah before him, he was everything Chris could ever want.
The hand in his hair dropped to catch his own hands, flipping the top of the tube open. Vin lifted his other hand then, leaving Chris bereft as his cock throbbed in the unwanted freedom, and squirted the clear gel into his hand.
"Now, Chris," Vin pushed, but there was amusement in his tone.
They were practiced in this as well, and it took little effort to for Chris to apply the condom and then for Vin to return to his ministrations, now coating the latex with the gel.
Chris made his own preparations, pleased at the raspy moans Vin surrendered as he was slowly teased to open. Remembering his earlier force, the cruelty in his words, he strove to be patient and gentle; Vin didn't deserve what Chris had been trying to do and he certainly did deserve to enjoy this as much as Chris was going to.
For the sparest instant, as Vin lifted his hips, his long legs cradling Chris even as they helped position him, Chris held a memory of Sarah. He could just remember the last time they'd made love: the morning he'd left, in the bedroom - not in the bed; he'd just gotten out of the shower, she had come in to pull on sweats under her short gown. She leaned over to pull the sweats from the bottom drawer of the dresser and he'd just stood up to tuck his shirt into his slacks - and they had had it hard and fast, her bare ass framed between the gown riding on her back and the waistband of the sweats just above her knees.
She'd been ready for him, wet and warm, her eyes glazed with want as she'd met his gaze in the mirror.
That was his last true memory of her, her eyes filled with him.
The eyes he met now were far different in shape, color, size, and clarity, but in that one thing, they were the same: they were filled with him.
He didn't deserve either of them, Sarah or Vin, but he knew he'd never let either of them go, not in his heart or his head.
Remembering the last time with her, he took Vin slow and carefully, wanting it to last forever.
It lasted longer than he'd expected, longer than Vin wanted, for the younger man was soon begging, rolling his hips up to meet the deep thrusts, his hands clutching at Chris's shoulders. He sobbed with desperation when Chris grabbed his wrists, keeping them away from the junction of their bodies, from the erection trapped between them, begging for release.
He kissed Vin then, letting his mouth match time to the tempo of their lust, and Vin clung to him. They were pressed tightly together, Vin's body bent so that his knees bumped against Chris' shoulder blades.
With Vin, it was little things, an unexpected tug at a nipple, a strong suck on his earlobe, a quick bite at the corded muscle at the junction of his neck and shoulder.
And sometimes, like now, it was words, or a word, that Vin needed to hear.
"Nea," he said, licking his way around Vin's ear. "Nea, Vin, oyose."
Vin gasped, his eyes snapping open as his climax ripped out of him, through him, his body lost in euphoria.
They held the gaze, though, even as the contractions of Vin's body pushed Chris over as well, so that he was drowning in the purest love he'd ever known, physical and emotional coiled together, a line of energy connecting them through the eyes and groin.
As the rigor passed, Vin pulled him close, kissing his forehead. "Can't believe you learned that for me," he whispered, "Can't believe . . . " 'Mine always'. Simple words, but the language was barely known. Chris had found a dictionary at one of the local bookstores, asked Josiah for a little pronunciation help. The big man had made no comment, hadn't even looked the slightest bit surprised by the request. But he had looked pleased, and he'd been more than happy to help.
Chris looked up, catching a kiss on the lips. He held onto it, letting it warm him with the awareness of how little it took to make Vin happy.
"I'm sorry," he said, shifting to one side to take his weight off the other man. The movement reminded them both that they were stuck together by the cooling splatters that had rained between them, and Vin sat up long enough to strip off his t-shirt and wipe them both off.
Pulling up the sheet, he rolled onto his side to face Chris. Despite the darkness of the camper, his eyes were bright, reflecting the moonlight that came through the window above the bed.
"Did she look that much like . . ." Vin stopped, licking his lips, not saying her name.
Chris let one hand stroke through Vin's hair, pushing it from his face. "Yes. And . . . no." He paused, thinking, trying to find the words.
Vin, patient as ever, let him.
"She could have been Sarah. But she wasn't. Took me a while to figure it out, didn't ‘til I was here with you. There's one thing you and Sarah have in common that no one else in the world has, Vin, or will ever have if things go the way I want." He swallowed. "The way you look at me. Like I'm something worth having, even though I sure as hell don't deserve either . . ."
He couldn't finish it, but Vin didn't want him to. He caught his hand, bringing it to his lips. "You're worth it," he said softly. "She knew that too, Chris, don't ever doubt it."
Chris sighed, but it was in sadness. "I . . . I waited for her tonight, the woman who wasn't Sarah. I thought maybe . . . "
He didn't have to finish it, Vin knew what he was saying.
But the sparkling eyes never wavered; Vin wasn't surprised. And if he was hurt, he didn't show it.
Instead, he smiled slightly. "But you came here instead. Came to me."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking - "
But Vin leaned in just enough to stop the words. "No, you weren't thinking. But it don't matter, Chris. You still knew where to come."
The guilt was still there, and he knew he should feel it, suffer every bit of it for how he had hurt Vin.
But more overwhelming than the guilt was the sense of wonder, that someone trusted him more than he trusted himself.
Knew him better than he knew himself.
Knew him as well as Sarah had.
Fin