The light was not quite bright enough to make his eyes water but they stung and he blinked against the fuzziness at the edges that had more to do with lack of sleep than brightness. He'd managed to doze, even sitting up. His spine was stiff though and the low-level ache in his ribs told him he'd been in one position too long.
Moving would be the cure, but there was his dilemma: the whole reason for his current discomfort was still and heavy across his lap, trapping his legs and Vin wasn't quite ready to put forth the energy he needed to deal with Chris awake.
The only part of Chris' face he could see was the mottled black and green and yellow of the bruising there. The stitched-up cut over his eye was swollen, the stitches pulling tightly, little black laces running parallel to the pale gold of Chris' eyebrow. There was no blood there any longer, but there were still traces of black-red riding high on Chris' temple: dark flakes and far too many of them. Carefully Vin used his fingertips to try to work them free of the fine hairs there. They stuck to his fingers and smudged his skin brown and Vin wiped his hand off on the sheet, working at the dried smears careful, easily, intently: the same way he would cleaning the chambers of his gun.
Even with the brightening light of dawn, the remnants of the night wouldn't leave him that easily and after awhile he stopped and simply stroked the dark gold hair, lightening his touch when Chris stirred and took a hitching breath and then settled again.
Almost two hours since he'd last woken Chris and maybe not so urgent now. But the doctor had said every two hours for the first twenty-four and if Vin had to take an IV of caffeine and a cold shower every two hours to stay awake, that's what he'd do. He didn't want to miss any signs that Chris' concussion was anything more than minor.
He couldn't miss....
He had to concentrate on swallowing, taking a short breath, or otherwise he'd be making more noise than mere breathing called for.
"Fuck you, Larabee...fuck your god damned stubborn ass..." He said it so softly he barely heard himself. He kept thinking maybe the anger would finally bleed away, but then he'd look at Chris. He'd see the bruises, the ligature marks on his wrists, hear the sharp stutter of his breath when he breathed too deeply despite the support of yards of elastic bandage encircling his chest, and the anger would well up again until Vin thought he'd choke on it.
Fear, too, but he wasn't in any mood to deal with it or even acknowledge it, preferring the clean hot burn of anger, coming over him in waves until it would break and disperse for a bit.
It didn't really help to know that Chris knew how badly he'd fucked up. How guilty he was of the same kind of Lone Ranger tactics he so often dressed down the rest of the team about, dressed Vin down for on a fairly consistent basis.
Vin should have seen it coming. It took Chris like that sometimes, the frustration of riding the desk, long hours that were less about enforcement and justice than procedures and policies and the bureaucratic grease that kept the rest of them moving and on the job. Every few months, Chris would feel the paper leashes pulling a bit too tight and break free of them. He'd take point on an op, or lead an assault instead of sitting back in the van and letting Buck or Vin get the edgy rush of finally being able to put a warrant into action.
But he would plan that, lay it out for them ahead of time, listen to objections -- of which there were rarely any -- and they'd go in. Chris would regain that glimmer in his eye that came with the adrenaline rush and the startled or disgusted look on the faces of the criminals they were taking down. Sometimes Chris needed to be pack leader in more than name.
He had been last night too, although he'd pushed it too far and Vin had yet to ask him what had tipped Kress and his two buddies off; how they'd known Chris was more than muscle for the gun-buying dandy Ezra was holding himself out to be.
He should have seen it: playing strong-arm to Ezra's dealings wasn't the usual way Chris made his play for a bit of excitement, to make sure his edge was still there. It had been an odd choice for Chris to make. It would have been better if he'd been on something that would have let him kick down a few doors.
Vin hadn't though. He hadn't seen it, hadn't noted it, hadn't done more than raise an eyebrow when they went over the details of the op.
Then realized Chris was doing more than slipping his paper leash.
Over an hour before they realised it had gone wrong, that Chris and Ackerman should have been back.More time convincing Paulsen that keeping the location of the stored weapons a secret wasn't really conducive to his continued well-being.
His hand still felt tight and sore and he flexed his fingers in Chris' hair, wondering how that little bit of persuasion would come out. Maybe enough to get Paulsen off. More than enough to get Vin suspended for more than the three days following a fatal shot. Maybe even enough to get him suspended permanently.
Chris hadn't been the only one to fuck up last night.
He rolled his head to the side, staring out the window. He'd need to get up soon, see to the horses, get something to eat, see if he couldn't get the rest of the blood and dirt and sweat off Chris.
See if he couldn't find someway to ease the queasiness in his stomach that hadn't really let up since realizing Chris had gone off on his own. Just his luck that, with everything else he had to put up with his lover, he'd get his ulcer as well.
The phone ringing startled him, and he struggled and rolled for it, trying to not dislodge Chris and answer the damn thing before he woke up, but it was too late. Chris was already waking up and Vin swore softly as he finally got his fingers wrapped around the phone next to the bed.
A bleary-eyed glance at the clock made him swear again. "G'back to sleep," Vin murmured to Chris, rubbing across his shoulders and frowning at the hand shaped bruise he saw there even as he flipped the phone around. "Yeah?" he answered, and then listened, trying to convince Chris to go back to sleep by touch alone. "I can be there, Buck," he said and the name brought Chris' head up again. "Expected it, but I'll be there. Yeah. See you," he said and flipped the phone back down.
"You look like a damn raccoon," he said to Chris, and there was no denying it. The bruises around Chris' left eye had risen to full-color black during the night, but Vin was glad to see the swelling had eased some. The eye was bloodshot, though.
"Flatterer," Chris mumbled and dropped his head back on to Vin's lap.
Vin smiled a little and rubbed at Chris' back, moving his hand lightly as he hit the edge of the bandages wrapping his chest. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes but he could already tell sleep wasn't going to be coming back to Chris any time soon. Or to himself.
He hoped -- knew Buck hoped -- they'd put the review off for a few days. It wasn't like Kress had given them any doubt of his intentions, or that there was a lack of witnesses. But the man was dead, and even a low-life, bad end of a garbage-sucking son of a bitch like Kress should get at least a little contemplation from the man who'd killed him.
Vin gave him five whole minutes. Three if he counted the two minutes it took to run through other ways he might have killed the bastard that would've hurt more.
Chris had settled but Vin didn't think he was asleep at all, closed eyes or not.
"Review?" Chris mumbled and Vin shook his head, staring at heaven for patience.
"Yeah, this afternoon. Turn your damn brain off and go back to sleep."
"You're 'sposed to wake me."
"You are awake. Still stupid, but awake," Vin said. "Go back to sleep."
Chris rolled to his side instead, using his shoulder, and pulling his knees up, like a dog after a roll in the dirt. He moved slowly, using his hands, rather than pulling himself up with his back and his mouth tightened into a thin line.
"Could ask for help, ya' know," Vin said, numb legs tingling, and he shifted, presenting his shoulder for Chris to lean against. He wrapped his fingers around Chris' upper arm, feeling the pull in his own back, stiff from holding a single position so long. But he gave something to brace against, to hold onto until he was sitting, then helped him swing his legs over the edge of the bed. "Bathroom?"
Chris nodded, looking a little paler than Vin liked but he knew the urge.
Some color came back by the time Chris was on his feet and Vin ignored his scowl when he set his shoulder under Chris'. Larabee was just stubborn enough to take on another concussion falling.
He was stiffer, movement jerky and without a single hint of grace, but he kept moving doggedly, almost as if trying to elude Vin's support and Vin felt the anger flare again, fighting it back on every hitched breath Chris took.
In the bathroom, Chris gripped the edge of the sink for a moment and gave Vin a glance. Not embarrassment, and Vin put his hands up, palms out and ducked out of the bedroom to the guest bathroom in the hall to take care of his own needs. When he came back to the bedroom he could hear the shower running.
"Son of a bitch," he spat, jerking the door open and found Chris, bare-assed but leaning on the sink, doing his damnedest to try and get the bandages to unwrap, but all he'd managed to do was get the long beige streamer tangled. "You look like the trees on Main Street after a big football game," Vin commented and then reached out to find the end and unwind the wide ace wrap and roll it up at the same time.
Chris took his help without comment but his breath caught again when the last of the support was gone and he tried to straighten up. Nothing broken, the doctor had said, but Vin wasn't sure how that was possible given the amount of bruising along Chris' side and chest, the red edges of it extending almost to the middle of his stomach on the left side.
"I can manage now," Chris said finally and did straighten up if only to prove to Vin he could, if not to prove it to himself. The lack of grace to his movements cut through Vin even more than the bruises did.
"Fuck you. One concussion in twenty-four hours is enough." Vin stripped down too, then leaned past Chris to set the shower stream and check the water temperature, nudging it up a little. He deliberately moved easily and fast if only to rub it in a little.
He let Chris salvage some dignity though, or tried, not touching him when Chris stepped into the stall and eased his head under the stream of water.
Tension sloughed off like the dried blood in his hair. More pale crimson streams stained his skin where it had collected along his neck from the cut over his eye. Vin stared at the wall until he figured it was mostly washed away, using his body to keep some of the damp heat in until Chris was wetted down and then moved inside the stall, securing the door.
He let Chris stand under the water, let the heat undo some of what sleep had caused: the stiffness and cramped muscles, swollen joints and general aches. Soap on the washcloth and Vin started at the backs of Chris' legs, seeing scrapes and bruises there, on his calves, around his knees liked he'd been kicked. The right knee was a little swollen and Vin washed it, remembering the stumbling gait when Chris had emerged from the low cinderblock storage building. He'd let his gun sight linger on Chris only for a moment, just making sure it was Chris under the blood and the uneven light before shifting the aim of his rifle to Kress' head.
He moved up, letting Chris shift his weight as Vin washed over the stretched leg muscles and up the backs of his thighs, smiling to himself when Chris relaxed even further as Vin's hand worked the cloth and soap over his lower back and ass. Vin spent some time at the shallow curve near the base of his spine, massaging the muscles there more than actually washing his skin. Chris leaned against the tiles, moving his head out of the water to rest it on the tiles, arms pressed palm-flat at chest height to brace himself, and let the warm stream send sent a cascade of water over his back and sides.
More soap and Vin took long firm strokes from shoulder to hip, trying to press on the bruising and Chris' ribs as little as possible, but even so, he got a soft grunt when he washed Chris' side up under his arm. Chris tried to move his arms up higher but the muscles pulled and Vin rested his hand on the hollow between his shoulder blades until the spasm passed.
"Ease back," he said and pressed his hand to Chris' chest so that he leaned back, wetting his hair again and Vin dumped shampoo into his hands then worked it through the water-darkened hair, rubbing the lather into Chris' temples especially, but avoiding the bruises on his face. "Rinse," he said and Chris did, tilting his head back.
He swayed a little, probably from the heat and being upright, and Vin braced his arm on the shower stall so Chris could lean against it. He waited until Chris was steady before adding more soap to the cloth to wash his shoulders and chest, then his lower belly and hips. Vin wasn't even thinking about anything but finishing this before Chris fell over or the water got cold when a surprisingly strong hand caught his wrist, pulling his hand away from where Vin had been soaping up Chris' crotch.
"Don't start something you can't finish," Chris warned and Vin blinked and then looked to see Chris' cock, half erect, and the glitter in Chris' eyes had nothing to do with concussions or showering or water but probably had a lot to do with adrenaline of a different sort. He had an almost cocky grin on his face, more challenge than warning.
Vin felt the heat rise in his cheeks, his own body stirring under that intent gaze and then saw the bruises again and the flash of Chris' bloody and battered face in his sights. "Fuck you," he hissed, dropping the washcloth and stepping back so the water could wash the soap away.
"I wish to God you would," Chris said, half teasing but not releasing his wrist until Vin pulled it away and reached behind Chris to turn off the water.
"I wish to God you were smarter," Vin shot back and opened the door, reaching out to pull towels from the rack and handing one to Chris. He stepped out to get his own.
"Vin...enough," Chris said, drying himself off slowly and the teasing was gone to be replaced with the first darkening signs of anger. Vin glared back and took a perverse pleasure in watching Chris wince when he tried to raise his arms enough to dry his hair. "I said I was sorry. It's enough."
Vin felt the color rise in his face again and his fingers gripped the towel, twisting the fabric to keep from showing the trembling in them. Chris' eyes were narrowed, mouth set again and chin raised, challenge in his eyes.
He damn well knew why...the dam built by anger broke and Vin was suddenly in Chris' face, arms braced on the shower doorway, shaking so hard the metal frame rattled.
"Enough? It's not near enough..." Vin said, throat working as he swallowed, biting back the bile and the sourness. If Chris weren't already looking like the bad end of a bar fight, Vin would have decked him. "It'll be enough when you climb a fucking tree hardly big enough to hold a pigeon and see me through the end of your sight. It'll be enough when you have to check and check again to make sure it's not my brains splattered all over a sidewalk. Two inches...two fucking inches, Chris, and no time...all because it wasn't *enough* for you to do your fucking job."
He shut up then, seeing the shock on Chris' face, the surprise, the chagrin...Chris holding that dark towel against skin made paler by bruises and scrapes and the overly bright light of the bathroom. Dark tiles behind him and shadows and once more Vin could only see through uncertain light cast by the intermittent rounds of white and red and yellow and blue. So uncertain that Vin found himself sighting on shadows more than flesh and blood, where the only difference between his target and his lover had been the fact that Kress had nearly black hair and Chris' hair was still picking up hints of color under the flashing lights.
"Nathan had to tell me," Vin said. "You'd almost moved behind the vans, beyond where I could see. He had to tell me that Kress was dead." He sucked in air, unable to breathe for a moment and saw Chris move toward him. Vin stepped away quickly before Chris could reach out, could touch, could say anything. "Enough? Fuck you, Larabee," he said, backing off, backing away some more, through the bedroom door to snatch up his jeans and shirt, getting dressed after he was as far away from Chris as the house would allow.
The horses needed seeing to and he found his boots but his socks were still in the bedroom and he sat down to pull the boots on over bare feet.
"Vin?" Chris called him and Vin dropped his head in his hands.
"Vin." Again and a little closer, Vin finally looking up to see Chris in the hall, sweat pants on but the Ace wrap was bundled in his hand.
He was leaning against the wall; he needed the support the bandages offered, that the wall offered, more than he wanted to admit it, but Vin could see it in his face.
Vin got up, clenching his hands tightly as he came forward and left just enough space for Chris to sit on the arm of the sofa.
He took the bandage. Crouching a little, he unrolled the elastic cloth. "Put your arms on my shoulders," he said, voice calm and hands steady, using his own back to lift Chris' arms so his lover wouldn't have to use the overtaxed muscles. Wrap and tuck, smooth the fabric, and wrap some more, using his fingers to make sure it wasn't too tight and keeping his eyes on the task at hand. He knew Chris was watching him, so passive Vin almost regretted his outburst.
Not enough though as he tucked and clipped the end of the wrap securely and squatted again so Chris could lower his arms. "I'm gonna check on the horses. Can you get back to bed okay? I'll get some grub together when I get back."
"I'll manage."
Vin looked then, seeing an apology in the green eyes that he was in no mind to hear. "All right, then," he said and stood up. He walked past Chris without looking back.
He could have done what he needed to in half the time, setting out fresh grain and turning the animals into the corral, closing the gate to lean against it. He left the stalls. He could get them tomorrow...or any time in the next few days. He'd already been benched: the review was just to make it official.
He lingered as long as he dared. Chris was in no real danger but as angry as he was, Vin found himself needing to see that Chris was all right with his own eyes. Needed to be close enough to Chris to push him away.
Like that made any sense at all.
He couldn't be fair about this. He knew he was pushing, had managed to keep at least some perspective on it all, but it had worn thin, left him feeling raw and unable to prepare for the next assault by his own emotional state.
Chris was alive. Battered, bruised, but alive and he'd heal. They both would. Kicking at the lowest rail of the corral, he took a deep breath and headed back.
Chris was on the sofa, leaning back with his eyes closed. He opened them and lifted his head when he heard Vin.
Chris looked every bit as wretched as Vin felt and the additional wounding in Chris eyes didn't help. "You'd be more comfortable in bed, don't ya think?" Vin asked after a few long moments of painful silence.
"Maybe. The sofa was closer."
"Hungry?"
Chris was silent for another moment and then nodded. "I could eat."
"I'll get some eggs up," Vin said and headed to the kitchen, then took a detour, going into the bedroom to gather up pillows and blankets as well as Chris' pain meds. He brought them back into the living room. "If you're gonna stay out here, may as well be as comfortable as you can," he said setting the bottle of pills and the glass of water on the end table. He tucked the pillows against the arm, before spreading the blanket and helping Chris swing his legs up until he was half sitting. Vin crouched to tuck the blanket under Chris' legs, and found Chris' hand on his arm. He twisted a little, sitting on the edge of the sofa, facing his lover.
"Helluva temper you've got there, Tanner," Chris said.
Vin felt the irony of it and smiled a little, dropping his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Yeah. I know. Guess I save it up."
"Been working on this one for a couple of decades?"
Vin snorted and braced his hand on the back of the sofa, shifting closer to Chris' hip. "No, just a couple of years." He sighed and looked up, meeting Chris' eyes. The green of them looked more vivid against the bruising, against the red rims. Pale skin showing off every hue of the spreading damage. It was an improvement over the streamers of wet, glistening blood that had marked his face the night before. "There's this *cowboy*, I know...ain't got the sense God gave him, sometimes. But...you know. I admire the hell out of him. He's got guts. He's smart as shit most days, good man...drives me bat shit...makes me a little crazy. Had a real quiet life before I met him...kind a boring..." Vin saw the corner of Chris' mouth turn up. His life before meeting Chris had been a lot of things...but boring really wasn't exactly a true description.
"Sounds like he causes you more grief than not," Chris said.
Vin smoothed the blanket over Chris' legs. "I think I probably give as good as I get...make him a little crazy too, piss him off...stupid stuff. Thing is...can't quite recall what life was like before I met him, not sure I want to know what it'd be like without him." He said the last quietly. "All this time in between...best time of my life. Best thing in my life. Not real good at letting him know that though..."
"I think he probably knows that. Might forget once in a while...you said he sometimes doesn't have any sense," Chris said and shifted, using a foot against the cushion to push himself up a little higher and nudge Vin a little closer. "Maybe he's getting old...forgetful."
Vin shook his head, meeting Chris' gaze steadily. "He's not so old. Wears me out sometimes, trying to keep up."
"Maybe it's you keeping him young," Chris said quietly. "Giving him a reason to..." he fell silent but didn't drop his gaze, reaching up to brush his fingers across Vin's cheek. Vin caught his hand, folding his fingers over the still swollen fingers, seeing the raw places on Chris' wrists, not so angry looking but still rough and red and healing with thin brown scabs.
He pressed his lips to them, tasting the antibiotic cream Chris had used and pressed their joined hands to his forehead. Chris pushed his hand up a little separating their hands, fingers raking through Vin's hair and then along the side of his head to the back of his neck. The pressure was minimal but Vin went with it, glad the worst of the bruising on Chris ' side was protected by the back of the couch as he stretched out.
Chris' arms wrapped around him, strong enough for this: to rub across Vin's back, hold him secure on the narrow sliver of sofa and against his side.
It would be easy to let go, to fall asleep here, like this, Vin weary and tired and worn so deeply his bones ached from it, from tension so branded into his muscles that when they finally did release there really was pain. Fire along his nerves and the ache in his chest so sharp he could barely breathe for the pressure of it.
Chris' fingers worked up to the nape of his neck, rubbing gently. Vin winced at the flash of pain from overstrained tendons and pushed up, dislodging Chris' hand but not really trying to escape. "Should get you something to eat before those pain meds eat a hole in your stomach," he said.
"I won't turn you down. What time's the review?"
"At one. Nathan's coming out."
Chris rolled his eyes. "I think I can handle it."
Vin nodded, then met Chris' eyes again. "I can't," he said and reached up to lightly touch the dark bruise at Chris' temple. "He probably won't yell at you," he offered.
Chris smiled and caught his hand again, pressing his lips to the side of Vin's hand. "Fuck you."
He squeezed Chris' hand and got up to make breakfast. "Give it a day or so, cowboy, and I'll take you up on that."
The End
Next story: Cross Check
