Looking Back

by Shaina

Characters: Chris, Sarah, Adam, & Buck

Rated: PG (angst and sad things)

Author's Note: I don't own the Guys - though I wish I did - and am making no money off of this piece of literature. Thanks to Cindy for Beta reading for me!

Stepping out onto the small porch of his equally tiny cabin, Chris Larabee sat down in a wooden chair with a cup of coffee. He leaned back to watch the sun come up through the trees that dotted his property. Sipping the steaming, black beverage carefully only helped to remind Chris of the terrible hangover he had woken up to and the reason he had gone on his drinking binge for the last two nights.

Though he was too far away to visit their graves anymore, Chris still found time to mourn the anniversary of his wife and son’s death in the only way he knew how - drown out the pain with as much whiskey as he could afford. The others knew he was out here, with Vin and Buck knowing the reason. That had been enough to ensure Chris’ privacy for a few days.

The sun’s first rays of light began to push through tree limbs and brush, painting the Earth in a warm, golden glow. Chris could not help but recall a similar sunrise several years earlier, when his soul, and Sarah, had still been alive.

+ + + + + + +

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Chris?” Wrapped in a blanket and each other’s arms, the happy couple watched the beginnings of a golden dawn forming on the edge of their land. “It’s almost like we’re watching God’s first dawn,” Sarah whispered softly.

Chris looked down at his wife, his so beautiful wife, and smiled. “Or maybe God made this one just for us,” Chris whispered back, gently turning Sarah’s face to his. “Just the two of us.”

Bringing their lips together, Chris tried to convey all the love and devotion he felt for this living angel laying in his arms with that simple touch. Pulling away slowly, Chris opened his eyes to see his wife smiling a knowing smile at him, a hint of mischief in her amazing eyes.


“You mean the /three/ of us.”

+ + + + + + +

Chris remembered that morning with such clarity, it was if it had just happened, and Sarah would soon come out of the cabin to join him in watching the sun rise. But she didn’t, and that fact brought uncontrollable tears to Chris’ eyes, blurring the colors of the dawn together.

The ever-present hole in his chest ached with renewed vigor at the remembered loss of his beloved Sarah and Adam. It felt as if someone had fired buckshot straight into his gut at pointblank range.

The forgotten coffee cup fell from Chris’ fingers, his head falling with it into his hands and he began to weep. He wept for Adam and all the games they would never play, all the horses they would never break together, or the fact that he would never see his son grow into a man. He wept for Sarah, who put so much love and belief into a husband who felt that he was the cause of her death.

Chris wept because he could never hold them, never take them on evening rides around their land, never listen to Sarah singing Adam to sleep, and never tell them just how much he loved them and missed them to their faces.

And Chris wept for himself, for the fact that he had lived when Sarah and Adam had died in the blaze that had once been their home, for falling so far without them, and being unable to pull himself out of the hole his life had become. Chris wept until there were no more tears to weep, when his eyes dried and his head hurt with a resounding pain. Chris wept until his soul bled.

Leaning back, Chris gazed at the sunrise that had already started to lose its intensity and heard a mocking bird singing somewhere amidst the trees. On this day of mourning and sadness, that sweet and happy sound brought back another memory that Chris had tried to drown the day before.

+ + + + + + +

“Dad, what’s the matter with it?” Little Adam had dragged his father from the horse coral to an oak tree by their house to show him something he said was ‘/Really/ important!’ Pointing down at the base of the oak tree for his father to see, Adam revealed a frightened mocking bird with a twisted wing.

“He’s got a broke wing, Adam. See how it’s turned funny.” Though he was still young, Chris told Adam the truth about any parts of life that his son may ask about. It was either that or face his son’s stubborn side aided by the sad ‘look’ that always seemed to make Chris do anything.

“Will it be okay?”

“He may……the wing doesn’t look that bad……”

“Could we take care of him, Dad?”

They had taken the bird in that day, caring for it like a new member of the family. Chris allowed Adam to do much of it, knowing it would make him feel proud. All the while he was supervising from a distance - much to Sarah’s amusement. She had watched it all with a small, sweet smile, greatly entertained by the greatest men in her life doting on a small, wild bird.

That had been a wonderful time filled with nothing but warm feelings and an abundance of laughter. But times change, leaving people standing motionless and not knowing what to do when their lives crumble.

+ + + + + + +

Chris knew that the pain he felt, the guilt that wormed itself throughout him, would never go away. He was sometimes unsure if he /did/ want the pain to leave; it helped him to remember what he had lost. It crippled him with its pain sometimes, but some of the memories were so sweet and euphoric that they could sooth any wound.

Letting out a ragged sigh that came from the depths of his core, Chris heaved himself up from his chair. Stooping to pick up his fallen coffee cup, Chris gave the risen sun a final, saddened, glance before going back into his cabin and shutting the door.

It was nearing noon when Chris was drawn from his cabin by the sound of an approaching horse. Stepping outside slowly, Chris was far more composed than he had been earlier, and was prepared to meet whoever that had come looking for him. He saw Buck riding in on his grey stud. His friend's movements were slow and obvious so Chris would have time to realize who it was - and to decide whether or not the company was welcome.

“Heya, Pard.”


“Ready tah go back?”

“I reckon.”

Chris turned to gather his hat and coat from the cabin before shutting and barring the door. He left the interior as it was until he would need to come back to its welcoming seclusion once again.

Mounting his black mare, Chris looked at Buck……his long time friend……who had stood with him through hell and high water, but stood up to him when Chris would turn on him. After all these years, Buck had never changed from what he had been before losing Sarah and Adam. That gave Chris comfort and hope for the future, knowing there was a steady rock still out there amongst the swirling, black sea of his life.

“Buck let’s go home,”

Buck said nothing for a moment, his face passive as he watched his friend and peered into eyes that had been empty for so long. Content with what he saw there, Buck gave a slight bob of his head and answered,

“Sure thing, Pard.”