Damn
spring-cleaning. Chris really did not want to be doing this. Not
now. Not ever. But it needed to be done. He'd put it off and put it
off. Vin had offered to help, though, so here he was, moving
furniture, dusting, vacuuming, cleaning all those rarely-cleaned
places in his big house.
Dammit.
He was an ATF Team Leader. He was in charge of one of the best ATF
teams in the country. He was not hunting dust bunnies in the corner
of his bedroom. He groaned. "Shit."
"How
ya doin' in there?"
Chris
cursed under his breath. "Fine!" he yelled, trying to hide
the sarcasm. Vin meant well. Hell, he was a true sport for cleaning
the cabinets out in the kitchen.
Chris
would have to be more careful the next time he was pissing and
moaning about the state of his house when the men were over. He shook
his head. He hadn't meant for Vin to come out and help him clean.
He'd just been sneezing a lot lately, and Nathan had mentioned it
could be from dust. And then the tall medic had asked Chris when he'd
last spring-cleaned. 'You know, all the nooks and crannies. Dust
bunnies. The places you don't get with normal cleaning.'
Chris
had grumbled that he knew what he meant for the love of god. And his
house was clean. At least, as clean as he could get it with the
vacuuming and dusting he did once or twice a week.
Now
he had his bed moved into the middle of the room and was cleaning
back in the corner. He picked a crumpled piece of paper up and
started to throw it away. Something stopped him. A memory. A flash.
He swallowed hard and started to straighten out the balled up paper.
His heart stopped. He sat down hard, leaning back against the wall,
his knees bent, wrists resting on them, paper held out in front of him.
Damn.
It
all came back to him. The funeral. The well-meaning friends. The
cards. The letters. The poem he held in his hand.
It had come in a sympathy card from one of Sarah's oldest friends. He
could still remember the scream of rage when he'd read the poem. How he'd
crumpled it up and thrown it as hard as he could. How he'd fallen on his
bed and cried heartbroken sobs. Buck coming in, talking to him, comforting
him, crying with him. He could remember waking up later and thinking it
had all been a bad dream. Hoping that it had all been a bad dream.
The
damn poem. The one that had made him cry for the first time after
Sarah and Adam had died. The one that he didn't want to remember and
couldn't forget.
He
carefully flattened the brittle paper out until he could read the
words. Taking in a hitching breath, he let it out slowly before
letting his gaze drift over the poem.
|
I'll
lend you for a little time, a child of mine, He said,
For
you to love while he lives, and mourn when he is dead.
It
may be six or seven years, or twenty-two or three.
But
will you, till I call him back, take care of him for me?
He'll
bring his charms to gladden you, and shall his stay be brief,
You'll
have his lovely memory as solace for your grief.
I
cannot promise he will stay, since all from Earth return,
But
there are lessons taught down there, I want this child to learn.
I've
looked the wide world over, in my search for teachers true
And
from the throngs that crown life's lanes, I have selected you.
Now
will you give him all your love, nor think the labor vain.
Nor
hate me when I come to call, to take him home again?
I
fancied that I heard them say, Dear Lord, Thy Will Be Done.
For
all the joy this child shall bring, the risk of grief I'll run.
We'll
shelter him with tenderness, we'll love him while we may,
And
for the happiness we've known, we'll ever grateful stay.
But
shall the angels call for him much sooner than we planned,
We'll
brave the bitter grief that comes, and try to understand.
|
Chris
sniffed once, twice and then just let the tears flow unimpeded down
his face. The small black letters swam in his sight until they were
gone. Tears dripped off his nose, hitting the paper and spreading the
ink into dark splotches.
He
heard a sound and looked up to find Vin Tanner standing in the
doorway, his eyes wide, his face horrified. "Chris?" he
gasped, concerned "You okay?"
Chris
swallowed hard as he tried to nod. Bringing a hand up, he wiped it
over his face, rubbing the tears away.
Vin
took a step closer. "Are you hurt?"
Chris
paused for a moment before slowly nodding his head. He let the tears
come again as he watched Vin slowly move closer. His best friend
watched him like a hawk.
"Something
I can do?" Vin looked slightly uncomfortable.
Chris
shrugged even as he smiled a little at his friend's awkward dilemma. 'Do
I leave and let my team leader sit on the floor of his bedroom,
crying like a baby - or do I come closer and risk being a part
of an afternoon bawling session?' The corners of Larabee's mouth
turned up into a crooked grin while he cried. He couldn't seem to
stop crying but he couldn't pretend that he didn't see the strange
humor in the situation either.
Friendship
must have won out because Vin sat himself down beside him, his head
cocked to the side, watching him warily.
Chris
wiped his hand over his face again before he glanced over at his
friend. "Sorry, pard."
Vin
nodded once while he studied Chris's face. His gaze drifted down to
Larabee's hand and the piece of paper.
Chris
hesitated a moment before reaching out, offering it to his friend.
Vin
took it hesitantly. Laying it on his jean-clad leg, he flattened the
crumpled paper out and wiped the wet splotches off.
Chris
watched him as he read the poem. Vin stared at the paper long after
Chris knew that he'd finished reading it.
Finally,
the sharpshooter glanced up and locked eyes with Larabee. "Damn."
Chris
nodded once, his gaze returning to the paper. "Yeah."
Pulling the tail of his tee shirt out of his jean's waist he ran it
over his face, wiping away any wetness that remained.
"Damn,"
Vin hissed again and Chris glanced over at his friend to see him
wiping his own eyes.
"Yeah,"
Chris repeated, his voice soft, understanding.
Both men sat in silence for a long while before Chris sighed, a long,
drawn out sound. He reached out and fingered the paper. "When I first read
it, it was just a few days after the funeral. I'm sure the woman who'd
sent it in her sympathy card had mean well." He looked up at Vin with a
grin. "At least now I do. Then I
wanted to hunt her down and rip her heart out." He laughed
slightly. "I didn't care if she was an 80-year-old lady who'd
taught Sarah in Sunday School."
Vin
smiled over at him then, his eyes twinkling.
Chris
chuckled. "Let's just say this letter led to one of my longest,
hardest drinking binges."
Vin
nodded.
Chris
sighed sadly as he looked down at the floor. "Thank God for
Buck," he spoke softly, reverently. "He probably saved me
from killing myself, drinking as hard as I was."
Vin
nodded again, his face solemn. "I thank God every day for what
Buck did during that time."
His
voice was serious and Chris's startled gaze landed on his best
friend's face.
"You've
told me enough for me to know that you might not've made it out a
that time if Buck hadn't been there. I'll never be able to thank
Buck enough for that, or pay him back." Vin's gaze drifted down
to the hand that was holding the paper. "You're a good friend,
Larabee. An asshole sometimes." His eyes crinkled at the corners
as he grinned over at Chris. "But a good friend
nonetheless." He sobered. "I'da hated losing you to grief
and booze 'fore I ever met you." Vin looked away then, his lips pursed.
The
two men sat in awkward silence before Chris reached out and grasped
Vin around his neck. "We both owe Buck, Vin. If I hadn't come
through that time..." He grinned slightly when Vin looked over
at him, the sharpshooter's eyes suspiciously bright. Chris continued,
his voice lighter, "I might not've ever known that a stubborn
damn ex-bounty hunter from Texas could've become my best friend,
become family."
Vin
sat, watching his friend. Chris squeezed his neck again before he
dropped his hand down on the paper, snatching it out of Vin's hand.
"Who
you callin' stubborn, you asshole." Vin cleared his throat as
he reached up to wipe his hand over his eyes.
"If
the orifice fits..." Chris grinned as he quoted Standish.
Vin
curled his hand into a fist and sent it sailing into Chris's bicep.
Chris
rolled away from his friend and then stood, smiling down at the
sharpshooter. "Damn, Vin. That hurt." He fake-whined as he
rubbed his arm.
"I'll
show you 'hurt'," Vin said as he slowly stood, his eyes menacing.
Chris
rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever," he said flippantly as
he turned and walked away. Opening a shiny wooden box on the top of
his dresser, he folded the beat up piece of paper and then laid it
reverently inside.
The
two men stood, side by side, both looking at the paper lying on top
of the pictures and memories from Chris's past.
"It's amazing," Chris spoke, his voice soft and serious now, "how
sometimes it just matters when you hear something, or read
something. Back then," he cocked his head towards the paper,
"this tore my guts out. Now, it's..." he looked down as his
voice drifted off.
Vin
reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder.
Chris smiled slightly as he glanced over at his best friend. "Now,
it's almost..." his voice cracked as he tried to put his
feelings into words. "Well, it doesn't hurt as much now. It
almost feels like the poem was from Sarah. It's just something she
would have liked. Would have saved. Would have used to offer comfort
to a heartbroken friend."
Vin nodded. "Maybe it was from her." He looked over and
caught his best friend's eye. "I mean, it was still there after
all this time. You can't tell me you haven't cleaned that corner out
in four years." His eyes narrowed as a wolfish grin slowly grew
across his face. "Well, actually, you could tell me that."
His eyes widened dramatically for a second and then returned to
normal. He tried to hide his smile. "I wouldn't be surprised,
either, Larabee. We both know how much you like to clean." He
shook his head and then laughed loudly as he ducked out of the way
when Chris took a swipe at his head.
"Now,
now, Larabee. Is that any way to treat the fella who's cleaning the
old boxes of Cream of Wheat out of the back of your kitchen
cabinets?" A small knickknack flew by his head, missing him by
less than an inch. "Damn, pard." He chuckled as he started
for the door. "You didn't tell me that cleaning your house with
you was such a dangerous, heartbreaking job." He glanced over
his shoulder and made eye contact with his friend.
Chris
swallowed hard as he slowly closed the lid on the wooden box and
stepped away from it. Looking over at the Texan standing in the
doorway, he grinned slightly. "I didn't know it was a
heartbreaking job." He shrugged as their eyes met. "Sure am
glad you were here."
"Me
too, pard," Vin spoke softly, seriously, before his voice rose
an octave. "And I learned something too."
"You
did?" Chris asked as he walked towards his friend, propelling
him out of the bedroom with a shove from behind.
"Yeah,"
Vin's face turned serious as he cast a solemn look towards Larabee.
Chris
waited stoically, wondering what he would say.
Vin's
mouth turned up into a wicked grin as he took a step away from the
team leader and out of arm's length. "We need to contact
Nabisco, let them know that they're missin' out a great opportunity
here. Bet they didn't know you could breed Bo' Weevils in three year
old Cream of Wheat boxes." He took two jogging steps forward,
barely avoiding the kick that was aimed at his backside.
"Asshole,"
Chris called out from behind him.
"I'm
an asshole?" Vin asked, wounded. He shook his head in mock
hurt. "Least I ain't lettin' critters take up 'residence' in my
cereal boxes."
Chris
glared at him. "Residence? All right. That's enough. You're not
spending any more time with Standish."
"How
come?" Vin asked as he cocked his head to the side. "'Fraid
some of his anal housekeeping ways'll rub off on me?" He
grinned wryly. "Maybe you're the one should be spending time
with 'im."
"Smartass!"
"Dick!"
The
two men's voices grew softer, more distant.
Sarah
smiled as she watched the two friends walk away.
The End
