Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
The unmistakable cry of a child filled the night air. The shaky, hesitant cry marked a newborn entrance into the world. André Sauville rose from large, burgundy leather wing chair and poured two drinks into expensive antique glasses. He handed one to his son-in-law and clinked his own to it.
"To the future," he toasted, as his first grandchild's wail was finally calmed. "What a difference a year makes. We've accomplished so much...your investments were incredible, Raoul, we've never been so prosperous."
What a year indeed, the younger man thought, grinning like a sated lion. As he swallowed the expensive scotch, he thought back on the last 13 months. He expected her to mourn the poor bastard who ended up in the river, but she'd surprised him. It was as if her heart went under the churning water that day as well. The fiery temptress who he desparately wanted in the garden that night, had turned into the Ice Queen of New Orleans. Despite the frosty, corpse like pose in their marriage bed, her body was luscious and he took her frequentely. That is, until she became pregnant. He would take no chances with his golden ticket to the Sauville millions. She suffered cramps and shows of blood from the start and was confined to bed. He was a man of insatiable needs and had never given up his frequent trips to the French quarter. He maintained his home there and filled his bed with many women. He had his eye on a ripe young creole lass who did his laundry. She'd fought off his advances all week and tonight he intended to conquer her. His thoughts were interrupted when there was a knock at the study door.
"Yes?"
"It's Tess, Sir."
"Enter," André turned as Isabella's maid entered. She'd been with the family since before the new mother was born. She'd hadn't aged much in the last twenty years and was still very attractive. Her features bore the mark of her French father and her cocoa coloring of her Creole mother. He had a mistress of course, but Tess knew better than to turn him away. She was paid well and had a pretty cottage on the grounds. "What of the child?"
"The child is fine, he is strong boy."
"A boy!" Andre exuded, clapping Raoul's back hard. "First time out...well done!"
Tess bit her tongue and swallowed back her disdain for the primping roosters. She took a settling breath, thinking on the horrid twenty hours of labor her poor mistress went through. The whole pregnancy was horrible, leaving Isabella very ill. The child survived and was well, her mistress was not. She stared hard at Raoul Moreau and felt her blood boil. She had a deep hatred for this man and didn't hide her emotions.
"Your concern for your wife is overwhelming," She spat at the cold-blooded beast.
"You keep a civil tongue, Tess or the face of yours won't be so very pretty..." Raoul warned, watching the color rise. "Well? I know that sharp tongue of yours is dying to wag..."
"She bled heavily, we almost lost her. Doctor Lapointe would like to see you immediately."
"Won't you even look at him?" the elderly physician asked the pale new mother. He'd delivered hundreds of babies and encountered many emotions on new mothers. He didn't know what to make of this cold, lackluster body in the bed. She lifted her face and moved her body away as he approached with the child.
"I've arranged for a wet nurse, she's in the east wing where the nursery will be. As soon as his father sees him, Tess will take him to Annette." She said of the young girl hired to care for the child. She's lost her own baby a week before and was heavy with milk. Isabella stared at the dark head in the blanket and felt nothing. He looked like a frog...his features were Raoul's...a cruel reminder of the brutality she'd endured for months at the onset of their marriage. His actions in their bed were beyond the darkest imagination. But that was finished. She looked up when Raoul entered, kissing her cheek dutifully.
"Look at the size of him!" André marveled.
"He's my boy, did you expect any less?" Raoul gloated.
"Annette is waiting, she's his now..." Isabella eyed the men in the room and felt sick. They were so alike it was revolting. Her father thought the sun rose in Raoul. "Father, I wish to speak with Raoul alone, please."
"Of course, of course, I'm sure you have much to discuss. What name have you picked?"
"Louis André," Raoul bragged, not even consulting his wife. "For his two grandfathers."
"You need your rest," the physician snapped his bag closed and put his coat on. "I left orders and medicine with Tess. I'm sorry, Mister Moreau, the birth was very difficult. There will be no more children."
He was momentarily surprised, but that quickly vanished. He had his heir and the tiny red bundle was the key to the kingdom. He nodded as Tess, André and the doctor left. He turned to his wife and saw the first signs of life in her, since the day they'd wed. The amethyst eyes were alive with fire, set in the very pale face.
"I'm moving into the east wing. I've decided to have it renovated. You will remain here. I'll be the envy of society, the perfect marionette of a wife. I'll nod and make witty small talk with your barbaric friends. I'll make this house the very envy of all of New Orleans. We'll have the very best food, parties and contribute to the right charities. I'll dangle quite nicely on your arm."
"...and..." he took a liberal swig from the silver flask in his pocket.
"...and you can torture every poor whore you heart desires, but you'll never touch me again. Annette comes highly recommended. She's not only perfect to nurse your son, but she's quite educated as well. She'll raise him into a perfect little puppet, just like the beast who sired him."
"Had I known this would turn my cold fish into a fiery dragon..." he goaded, cupping her chin, only to have his arm shoved away.
"You keep your trash in town at your house, don't you dare to bring any of them here...this is my house, Raoul, make no mistake."
"Shall we seal it with a kiss?" He sneered, bending over her. The resounding slap to his face only made him laugh.
She seethed in rage, long after the door shut. She pulled the quilt up and relished the fact that the only light in the room was the fireplace. She stared into the deep amber embers and wondered about her angels. They'd be fifteen months old now. Were they talking yet? Did they still look so much like Philippe? Were they safe? This new phase in her life was step one. She intended on becoming the dutiful society wife. She'd lure Raoul into her web slowly, all the while, plotting her revenge. She'd find her babies and escape...as soon as it was safe. He was a powerful man with influence statewide. She'd have to be careful, or word would leak back to him. He was ruthless and would do anything, even murder, to keep his precious money. As she drifted off to sleep, her beloved's face hovered near. She smiled, feeling his warm kisses and longing for the wonderful sensation of raking her hands through that wonderful long, dark hair. She eased into a deep sleep, readying herself for battle.
The fire crackled in the large adobe fireplace, it's warmth invading the festive room. Strings of bright red chili peppers adorned the mantle. The scent of a roast turkey filled the air, along with cakes, pies and cookies. A nativity sat on a small table by the Christmas tree. Family and friends of the host and hostess mingled throughout the downstairs of the fine home.
"Merry Christmas!"
James Gavin turned to embrace his pretty wife, accepting the kiss and taking the bundle from her arms. The small scowling face was red with rage and the large beautiful eyes were full of tears. At four, his youngest daughter was already showing hints of the beauty she possessed. Her dark, curly hair hung in waves down her back, secured by a white ribbon. Her eyes were large and beguiling, a color neither blue nor amethyst, a shade so mezmerizing, it was difficult not to get lost peering at them. But along with her beauty, she had a royal temper, which she was now displaying. He shifted her to his free arm and kissed the tear-streaked cheek.
"What's wrong Princess Lily?" He ticked her, hoping to gain a smile. Alexandra Lily Gavin had just turned four and was the apple of the parent's eye. Lily, as she was known, was a bright child, who loved her parents and idolized her older sister, Sara. The onslaught of company for Christmas dinner had interrupted her nap. She was cranky and irritable and that meant only one person could handle her. He held the squirming, whining body close and made his way through the room, past the brightly colored candles and the large pile of gifts. He paused, eyeing his firstborn. She was kneeling by the nativity, moving the tiny ceramic figures around. His smile broadened, seeing how she placed Mary and Joseph close to the sleeping infant.
"Look, Lily, look what Sara has," He lowered the small girl, who lauched herself at her older sister. James bent down and kissed the top of his daughter's light brown hair. At fourteen, she was tall for her age and exceptionally smart. Science and math, in particular, seemed to be her strongpoints. She was a star pupil at school and he hoped to send her to college back east, when she was older. She was a plain child, her pale brown eyes set in a calm face. She was so full of love, especially for Lily, that it made his chest swell. "I'm afraid your sister was roused too soon from her nap."
Sara rocked the crying child back and forth, stroking the silken tresses that hung down the dark blue velvet dress. Her eye caught the tiny locket, which dangled on a chain from Lily's neck. She sighed deeply, thinking about Isabella and Philippe. Lily was so much like them. She looked like her father, but had her mother's eyes and spirit. What of the twin? Where was she tonight? Was she as happy as they were? She watched the figurines in the tiny manger and moved the infant again. He needed to be safe and warm. She felt her father embrace them both from behind and nestled into his back.
"Sometimes, Sara, I wonder why God blessed me so," he murmured, catching her solemn eyes. "I love you so much..." He felt her kiss his cheek and smiled, cupping her chin. "I'm so very proud of you. No man should be spoiled as I, with two such fine daughters." He paused and saw a flicker of color in Lily's chubby fist. "What've you got?" He pried the fingers loose, wincing at the vise-like grip.
"No!" Lily wailed, eyes flashing, "Mine!"
"Your Mama has fixed a very special dinner. You can have your candy later." Hetook the candy cane and eyed the sticky fingers. "How about you let Sara wash those hands of yours and that sticky mouth? Then you can announce to our guests that dinner is ready. It's a very important job. Sara needs your help."
"Otay," Lily lisped, through the spot where her front tooth should be. "Sawa?" She tugged on her sister's hand and waited until the older girl stood. "I be good...Sawa..." She waited for the soft smile and happily left the room.
"Looking forward to your trip?" Juan Garcia inquired, sipping some wine and standing next to his good friend and brother-in-law. He knew James had been heavily involved with the fight for statehood. It was a battle he'd waged over the last several years. Despite the committee's best efforts, the voters were very leery of the territory's high mix of Spanish and Indian culture. But that ended earlier this year, when the voter's finally approved the entry of New Mexico as a member of the United States. James was one of the delgates selected to journey to Washington D.D. to meet President Taft when he signed the bill.
"Yes, I leave in the morning. We're all going, I've never been separated from my girls or Marie. It should be quite a trip. I can't wait to show Sara the capital."
"She's quite a little lady," the other commented, seeing his friend's dark eyes light up in pride.
"That she is," He nodded, watching his two daughters return to the room. Sara nudged Lily forward and the smaller girl rung a bell.
"The tookey is weady..." She scowled, hearing the adults and older children gathered laughing. "It is weady!" She insisted, stomping her foot. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned her pretty face up to meet her sister's. "What?" She furrowed her brow, then pulled free. "I hungry, I eating tookey..." She decided, turning away and leading the guests to the table.
Later, after their family and friends left, the weary host and hostess settled on the sofa by the fireplace. Marie settled back comfortably into her husband's chest, feeling his arms wrapped around her. On the large colorful Indian blanket in front of the fire, both their girls were settled in their nightgowns. Sara held Lily in her lap, helping her feed a bottle to her doll. Marie smiled, Sara was such a giving child, a pleasure to love. They should be in bed, they were leaving on the train early in the morning. But right now, in her husband's arms with her daughters basking in the warmth of the fire, this was the only place to be. As another year ended and a new one about to be born, she looked to the cross above the mantle and send a silent prayer of thanks. They had truly been blessed as a family
Hidden in the mossy bayous and oak trees of Southwest Louisanna, was St. Martinville, in the heart of Cajun Country. It was the adopted home of French Acadians, expelled from Nova Scotia by the British almost two hundred years prior. They preserved much of their language and culture, blending it with that of the surrounding area, giving the region it's flavor. These ancestors of the original expelled French Acadians, or Cajuns, grew to a vast community over the years.
As he finished his lunch on the patio of their fine home, he thought on his idyllic life. At forty-five, he had a successful career, a good marriage and a beautiful daughter. Usually they spent the holidays with Catherine's family in Savannah. But he was too busy this year to get away, so they had a quiet Christmas at home. There was a roast in the oven and a mountain of gifts by the tree. His thoughts drifted to his most precious treasure, his beloved Grace.
This healthy, loving child had brought such happiness to himself and his wife Catherine. She was a quiet child, who loved music and nature. She could be found on most days, barefoot and playing happily in the gardens, amongst the flowers. She already showed early talent on the piano, having started lessons. This exceptional ray of light, their Grace, was indeed a blessed child. He watched through the window, as her long dark curls bounced as she ran. Her eyes, those equisitie jewels, were large and amethyst, with a hint of blue. She saw him and turned quickly, running and throwing herself into his arms.
"Papa! Papa! I saw a butterfuly, come and see..." She squirmed from his embrace and tugged on his hand.
Charles Anderson, an accoutant, based here, working for a nearby oil company. Catherine, his wife, was more than content in her new role as mother. She thrived on it, taking Grace to Mass every morning, then visiting the marketplace or perhaps stopping at his office to have lunch. They did much together, as a family and he cherished them. He felt his wife's smile before he got to the heart of the large floral fantasy that Catherine created on the grounds of their home.
"I'll miss this place," She mused, taking his arm as their daughter skipped ahead, accompanied by the family dog, a mutt named Candy.
"So will I," he added, thinking of his new position. "But it's the right choice. The city can offer her so much, and I always wanted to teach. We still have until June before we must leave."
"We need to find a house," she sighed, "and there's so much to be done here, packing and shipping our things."
"You worry to much," he laughed, kissing her forehead, "We have plenty of time to find a house. Let's enjoy this beautiful day with Grace. She's growing so fast..."
"Yes, it's hard to believe it's been four years already."
They paused and took a seat in the gazebo in the center of the vast display of fauna. The high pitched laugher of their only child, filled the air like sweet music. She romped among the sea of flowers, lost in their heady aroma. Then she spotted her parents and ran to join them. Charles put his arm around Catherine's shoulders and drew her closer. Grace settled on her lap, content and happy. He thought of their future in New Orleans and all the promise it held, especially for Grace. He intended to give her the very best of everything. Expose her to art, music and culture. Yes, taking the position at Tulane University had been a wise choice.
Isabella Alexandra Sophia Sauville Moreau was the very center of New Orleans Society. The chairwoman of dozens of charities, she was the most talked about female figure in the city. Her beauty was renowned as was her taste in clothing and jewels. She hosted dozens of parties at her lavish mansion and was surrounded by a bevvy of society ladies like herself. They chatted cattily, had tea and gossiped. They made plans for future charitable fund raisers and discussed the lastest rumors. She felt their envious eyes on her, after all, she had the perfect life. A wealthy, successful husband, a healthy child, a magnificent home full of the finest furniture and décor all at her feet. Yes, the hauty, beautiful blond was the envy of just about everyone and the lonliest woman on the planet.
It was their annual Christmas Brunch held in the ballroom of their mansion. Two dozen of New Orleans most affluent citizens were talking, dining and enjoying the string quartet that played in the corner. Raoul was across the room, with her father and several prominent businessmen. She sipped some champagne and caught the eye of Lord Edward Browne. The wealthy, handsome Englishman had come to stay with them a month ago. His father was an old friend and schoolmate of Raoul's, who was looking for a partner in a new enterprise. The senior Browne's wife was from France. The land the family estate was on, was ripe for grapes. Edward was here on behalf of his father, hoping to seal a deal that would create a large winery on his grandparent's landin France. He was fair-haired, blue-eyed and well built. She saw him nod to the people at his table and rise. He left through the side door, leading to the garden. She waited ten minutes and discreetly made her escape, joining him.
As she made her way through the hallway, she flushed, thinking on the many nights they'd spent together. He was an excepional lover and her skinned burned under his touch. She enjoyed the carnal delights, her body longed it, but her heart remained frozen. The handsome young foreigner was to stay with them, finalizing plans until they travelled back to England. Raoul insisted they all go, making a good show for the Browne's. He planned on building a home in France, on the grounds of the estate, planning on spending summers there.
She made her way through the maze, to the hidden center of it, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. By the time she found him, she was hungry, very hungry. He pulled her hard to his body, kissing her and drawing her down onto a soft blanket. Neither uttered a word, they met in a tangle of hot limbs and lips. Later, as she rested against his shoulder, she thought of their upcoming trip.
"How long will you stay?" He asked, tracing a lazy circle around her navel. He nibbled her neck and felt her pulse racing.
"Until spring," She returned, leaning back and growling low as his hands and lips went to work on her glistening skin. "Raoul insists we return in April. He booked us passage some new ship that will have her maiden run then. Apparentley, there has never been anything like it, it's quite magnificent. The Astors, Guggenheims, Strauss's and William Stead have all booked passage." She noted of some of the world's richest people.
"What ship?" He asked, pushing her back on the blanket, feeling his need rising.
"Something new from the White Star line," She sighed as he worked his magic. She locked her fingers in his hair and sighed. While he sated his needs, she thought on her plans. When they returned to New Orleans, next spring, she was going to leave Raoul. She was secure enough in her position and had established herself. She had a will done a few months ago, knowing something even André hadn't shared with Raoul. All Sauville's fortune, money, real estate and investments, were left to her, in trust for Louis when he turned twenty-one. While attending the wedding of an old school friend in September in New York, she sought out the bride's father, a very sucessful attorney. With what he told her, she fashioned her will accordingly, providing for Louis until he turned twenty one. Then the bulk of the money would be set in trust for her two daughters, the rightful heirs, who she intended to find. Raoul's money would be more than enough for Louis to live on. Yes, with a fire burning inside, she decided this summer, to travel back to New York to finish the conversation she'd had with the lawyer.
"You a million miles away," Edward noted of the blank stare on the face beneath him. His kissed her and stroked her cheek. "What about this wonderful boat? Perhaps I should get a stateroom, I'll grow hungry for you," he teased.
"Oh," She sat up and reached for her chemise. "It's called the Titanic."
Chris parked on a side street several blocks from Jackson Square. He eased his lean frame from the car, zipped his hip hugging leather jacket over his form fitting jeans and began his journey. It hadn't changed much, this magical town, but then true classics never do. They retain their charm and body, long after pretenders to the thrown come and go. He walked slowly down the tiny streets of the French Quarter, absorbing all she had to offer. It was so easy to fall in love in this magical place; she romanticizes you like no other city. The large tapestry of vivid colors, brilliant architecture, funky blues and jazzy notes cascading all around, added to the exotic aroma of spicy food was a strong aphrodisiac. He walked down Bourbon Street, his eyes taking in every nook and cranny.
He spotted a familiar haunt ahead and ducked inside. Jean Lafitte's Blacksmith Shop was a tavern that the infamous pirate once called home. A favorite of locals and tourists alike, it had also been a place he and Sara enjoyed. The rustic, eighteenth century cottage is one of the few original examples of old French Quarter architecture. It was built by Jean and his brother Pierre and rumor had it that they used it as a base during their wild adventures. While a blacksmith worked out front, the infamous brothers conducted illegal business out back, selling contraband to Creole businessmen. Dark and cozy, the candles kept the dim interior very cavernesque, which suited Chris Larabee fine. He found a corner table and soon found a curvy waitress at his side. She didn't hide her wolfish gaze as she raked her eyes over his body. The long red fingernails danced across his hand, as she bent over.
"I'm Melody, Darlin' and I got whatever yuh need..."
"I'll bet," Chris grinned, "How about a cold bottle of beer? You got Vienna Amber?" He asked of the Acadian brew.
"For that face of yuhs, Chère," she caressed his cheek and winked boldly, "I'll find it..."
The man in black followed her swaying hips all the way to the bar and back. He enjoyed his cold ale and recalled another evening many years ago. As he guided the tip of the bottle through his lips, he saw a younger Chris Larabee in the far corner. It was nearly four a.m on the first night of the first time they'd been in town. Heady with lust and full of liquor, they couldn't get enough of each other. He clenched his eyes and gripped the bottle tight, still feeling her, tasting her and drinking in her tantalizing scent.
"Ya okay, Chère?" Her voice dropped as her nimble fingers massaged the back of the muscular neck that was damp with sweat. "Maybe ya need Melody ta take yuh troubles away, No?."
"Thanks," Chris whispered harshly, pain filling him. He finished the beer and slid a hefty tip down the front of the low cut blouse. "but maybe some other time."
Daylight pierced his pale eyes as he entered the world of the living again. He made his way to Jackson Square, pausing long enough to buy Vin a box of Pralines. The rich buttery taste created from butter, brown sugar, cream and pecans was a town favorite. The sweet mix was confectionary heaven and would give the Tanner sweet tooth a ride for it's money. He ambled over to the corner and found Sara's favorite spot. He wiggled his fingers, feeling her impatiently tugging his hand.
"Come on, Honey, look at all the vendors. Don't be a grouch or I'll have to punish you!"
"Sara...." He whispered, still seeing her bold eyes and slow grin. He looked at his hand as her image faded, leaving him with bittersweet memories.
Pausing to catch his breath, he shifted the bag to his other hand, adjusted his expensive sunglasses and eyed the French Market. Located on Decatur street, it was a busy venue, full of vendors from all across the state. Everything from CD's and tee shirts to voodoo dolls and other native ware were on display. He stopped at a long table, covered in tee shirts. Some bore colorful representations of Mardi Gras, others held musical notes and scales with saxophones and trumpets, there were alligator shirts and some with harlequin masks and court jesters. He picked up a black shirt with 'We be Jammin'" on the front, along with a pair of gaudy white stick figures, partying hearty. Then he spotted a shirt that brought a warm smile and an image of his Texan friend. It was dark blue with a dog house on front, along with a chained up alligator. The aqua colored snarling beast had it's jaws wide open, displaying rows of sharp teeth. Along the top of the shirt the words 'Louisanna Yard Dog' were splashed in white and aqua lettering. He chuckled aloud and quickly found the right size for the ailing man, already seeing Vin's wide grin. He paid the vendor and turned around, then his breath caught in his throat.
He inhaled sharply as the fog appeared again. He saw her ahead, perusing antique jewelry and bargaining with a savvy local. She turned to him and flashed a triumphant smile, that special 'Sara smile' that lite up her whole face. The mezmerizing blue-violet eyes burned right through him; her long dark hair tickled his skin as she cupped his face and kissed him.
"God..." He murmured, blinking himself back to the present. He eased his tense frame against a street sign on the corner. Here, there were many artists, displaying their talents. Some were painting tourists who were posing, some painting city scenes and others selling their colorful canvases. The mists of time fell again and he saw Sara and Adam. His beautiful wife was holding their dark-haired son on her lap. The three-year old was anxious to 'get down' and his tiny glare gave his dad a proud grin. Sara promised him a trip to see alligators, if he behaved. The gator bait did the trick and the laughing artist completed the portrait. The small treasure was now on the wall in Chris's study. His mind's eyes saw the boy take off as soon as the artist nodded. The flying bundle of boy approached him rapidly, launching his tiny body with an exalted war whoop.
"Daddy!!"
"Adam..." Chris shuddered visibly and paled, physically moving backward and dropping his bag. He eyed the empty space in his arms where his son should be and left out a shaky breath. It was so real...his hands were trembling so bad, he couldn't pick up the bag. He picked the parcel up and made his way back to Jackson Square. He got a cup of cafe au lait at Café du Monde and sipped it slowly, eyeing the vistors and locals passing by. It was a strange sensation, almost as if he wasn't really there, sort of surreal. The sun began to drop behind the large paddlewheeler in the Mississippi, already full of overanxious tourists. He sighed and got to his feet, taking his heavy heart back to the hotel.
The room was dark when he entered and he tossed the keys and his glasses on the table near the door. He took his jacket off, leaving it on the bed and walked into Vin's room. The curtains were drawn, making it difficult to see. He strode over and opened them, letting a low light into the room. There was no signs of life on the bed, the body was completely buried under a pile of blankets. He walked to the pillows and pulled back the blanket, then frowned. Instead of a tangled headful of brown locks, he was staring at two pink feet, one losing a gray sweatsock and the other housing a red one, which was clinging for dear life to the sniper's toes. Rolling his green eyes, he went to the foot of the bed and tapped the lump there.
"Hey, you alive in there?" He waited and watched the lump move, trying to elude. "Tanner! Get your ass up," he tried, yanking the blankets back.
"Fuck off."
He wrinkled his nose at the muffled saucy reply and shook his head as the blanket was yanked back over the wheezing body.
"Come on, Vin, it's almost six o'clock. Get a hot shower and toss some Tanner rags on, you need to eat." Still there was no movement, so he retreated to his room and brought the bag inside. He fished out the box of pralines and opened it. He pulled the blankets back and waved the lid in front of the slack Texan's face. He found a small smile as the nose twitched, the head moved, a single eye opened and a hand reached out. "Uh-uh" he denied, pulling back. "Get your ass up..." he paused as the scowling blue eye bore into him from beneath the blanket.
Vin yawned, sat up and scratched his chest. He eyed the box and his eyes lifted, his tracker's nose told him whatever was inside was loaded with sugar. He licked his dry lips and scowled as the lid went back down. "Hey, them's mine!" He croaked, eyes not quite open.
"Them's mine?" Chris quizzed, shaking his head. "Diagram that into a sentence."
"What?" Vin screwed his face up, not understanding the old English lesson.
"Thanks Vin, make me feel ancient why don't you?" the blond eyed his bleary-eyed friend and couldn't help but sympathize. Slumped over the side of the bed, hair tangled, blue eyes rimmed red and lungs expelling with a harsh roar, the Texan looked bad. Then the green eyes moved past the sweat pants to the sad feet. "Nice socks."
"'s'wrong with m'socks?" Vin growled, eyeing his feet, "M'feet got cold."
"They don't match," Larabee quipped, tossing a praline to Vin.
"So?" the germ-ridden soul grumbled, "Who the hell are ya? The fuckin' fashion police? Leastwise they ain't black." His grumpy face quickly turned upsidedown as the sweet candy was eaten. "Damn," he appraised and eyed his best friend disappearing. "Get yer ass back here with m'candy, Larabee."
"What do you mean your candy?" Chris paused at the doorway of the bathroom they shared and watched the younger man about to argue. Then the coughing began and he went back to the bed, dropped the bag and clapped the sweat-soaked back. "You okay?" He waited until the damp head nodded and filled the glass on the table with ice and water. "Here." He waited until Vin was wheezing again and sat down next to him.
"Thanks," Vin took the glass and drank the contents slowly. He eyed his best friend and saw the pain lingering in the green eyes. He took a deep breath and tilted his head.
"How ya doin', Cowboy?"
The soft, heartfelt drawl gave cause to lift the blond's lips slightly. He turned towards the woeful body next to him and curved his mouth slightly. "I think that was my line."
"I'm okay," Vin assessed, "Slept great," he snatched the bag from Larabee's hands, "This fer me too? Ya got me a present?"
Chris just nodded and watched the Texan's face light up as the tee shirt was revealed. The blue eyes crinkled in warmth and the wheezing mouth broke into a wide grin. Vin loved tee shirts, the more colorful and bolder statments blazing on them, the better.
"Thanks Chris!" Vin boomed, before coughing again.
"Christ, Vin, don't go keelin' over before you get to wear it. You take a long, hot shower and let the steam into your lungs. Then we'll get some dinner in town. I know a great place."
Vin nodded, got to his feet and rummaged in his suitcase, drawing out a clean pair of jeans and a denim shirt. He left his clothes on the bed and eyed the room carefully. "Hey, where's m'candy?"
"What candy?"
"That ain't funny, Larabee," Vin replied to the muffled response from the next room. He peeked in the closet and began opening the dresser drawer's.
"Give up, Tanner and get in that shower."
Vin mimicked the leader's voice as he entered the large bathroom. He flipped the radio on, settling on a familiar tune. As he unleashed the hot water and climbed into the vaporous mist, he began to sing along, loudly.
"We'll get thrown out before we get past the first night," Chris muttered, wincing at the loud, raspy voice. The Texan's drawl and his accented use of the words, through a congested, croaky voice only made the pain more pronounced. Chris fished out his small video camera and turned it own. He did a slow sweep of the room, before settling on the bathroom door.
"Just beyond this door is the watering hole of the elusive long-haired, Texas river rat." Chris poked the door open, wincing as Vin's off key, hoarse rendition of an Aerosmith hit filled the room. "You'll recognize him by his distinctive wheeze..."
"...tell me that yer happy that yer on yer own...yeah, yeah, yeah.
tell me that it's better when yer all a....lone....
tell me that yer body doesn't miss mah touch....
tell me that m'lovin' didn't mean that mu...u...u...ch..."
Chris winced and bit back a laugh as the croaking, unnatural high pitched Tanner voice broke as it hit a high note. He moved the camera closer, as the would be rock star continued.
"...tell what it takes t'let ya go....
tell me how the pain's supposed t'go...
tell me how it is that ya can sleeeeeeep."
"Oh my God," the sneaky photographer gasped in pain as the singer's voice rose too high and cracked.
"...without thinkin' ya lost everythin'
that was good in yer life t'the toss of the di...i...i..c..c..e."
That last high-pitched note was too much and Chris's suppressed laugh turned into a loud snort. The singing ceased and a wet head appeared in the camera's eye.
"What the hell's goin' on? Goddammit Chris! Get the hell outta here!"
"You got soap in your eyes, Vin," Chris said seriously, watching the lather from the shampoo run down the irate face.
"Yer gonna have the whole fuckin' bar up yer ass in a minute if ya don't get the hell outta here."
"What charm school was that you graduated from?" The teasing blond inquired, backpedalling as the blue eyes narrowed and disappeared behind the curtain.
Chris turned the camera off and placed it inside the waist pack that would snap onto his belt. He took his shirt off, took out his toiletry kit and waited for Vin to finish up in the bathroom. He unpacked some of his things, hanging clothes up, placing some in drawers and taking out his magazines and books. Then he took out a five-by-seven oval frame and sat on the end of the bed. He studied the faces closely and took a hard breath, as the lyrics of another Aerosmith tune filled the room.
"I could stay awake just to hear you breathing.
Watch you smile when you are sleeping.
While you're far away and dreaming.
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender.
I could stay lost in this moment forever.
Well, every moment I spend with you is a moment I treasure.
I don't wanna close my eyes...
I don't wanna fall asleep 'cause I'd miss you Babe and I don't wanna miss a thing..."
Vin dried his lean body off and tucked a towel around his slim waist. He combed his hair and was about to plug in the blowdryer, when he realized he didn't pack one. He opened the door wider, and was about to ask Chris for one, when he saw the anguished man's face. His best friend was gazing at a photo of Sara and Adam, his eyes moist and full, full of unabated agony. Vin swallowed hard, realizing that the grief-stricken man was barely holding on.
"Shit," the sharpshooter whispered, ducking back into the bathroom. He clenched his eyes closed as the lyrics hit him hard.
"'Cause even when I dream of you, the sweetest dream would never do,
I'd still miss you Babe and I don't wanna miss a thing.
Lying close to you, feeling your heart beating and I'm wondering what you're dreaming.
Wondering if it's me you're seeing...
Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we're together...
and I just want to stay with you...
in this moment...forever, forever and ever...
I don't wanna miss one smile...
I don't wanna miss one kiss..."
Chris couldn't breath. Every attempt at inhalation ended in a sharp pain ripping through his chest. He clutched the photo to his bare skin, letting their faces press against his heart. The words to the song hit him like fiery bullets, shredding his gut. He let the tears escape, clenched his eyes shut painfully and let out a long, shaky, painful lungful of air.
Vin's first thought was to shut the radio off and his hand launched for the dial. Then he stopped, no that would be too obvious. Chris would know he invaded his private moment. That wouldn't do, he'd have to let his friend ride out the wave. His mind went in another direction entirely. He thought of the small video camera the blond had and a slow grin formed. He padded into his room and pulled his underwear on and a long faded demin shirt, unbuttoned. He picked up his dark sunglasses and donned them, along with a discarded tie of Chris's that he'd hung on the bathroom doorknob. He sat by the radio in the bedroom, tuned to the same station and waited.
"I just wanna hold you close...
feel your heart so close to mine...
and just stay here in this moment...
for all the rest of time...
cause even when I dream of you,
the sweetest dream would never do,
cause I'd miss you Babe and I don't wanna miss a thing."
As the last note of the song finally sounded, Chris remained locked in place. He felt the cold glass of the picture frame pressing into his chest. He swallowed hard, kissed the photo and placed it by his bedside. He dried his face on his discarded tee shirt and tried to lose the tremors that engulfed him. He didn't have long to wait.
Vin dashed quickly to the bathroom and turned the volume down. He scanned the dial and found what he was looking for. The disc jockey of the oldie's station announced the next record and the wise Texan grinned like a fool, turned the sound up full blast and retreated into his room. Clutching the body of the wide-ball deodorant, he leapt onto the bed and waited.
"Jeremiah was a bull frog!"
"Jesus!" Chris jumped up as the time-worn classic song invaded his room loudly. What was worse was the Vin Tanner's loud, phlegm filled voice was drowning out the radio. The blond ran through the room, past the wet bathroom and ducked his head in the other side. He saw the naked tanned legs, still damp, wiggling on the bed. The slim hips gyrated wildly, peeking below the tail of a light blue shirt. A black necktie was tied Apache style around the wet locks and the tune spewed forth into the top of a wide ball deoderant turned microphone.
"....never understood a single word he said but I helped him drink his wine...
and he always had some mighty fine wine.
Singing Joy t'the world..."
Chris moved like greased lightning, gettting the camera out and turning it on. He moved into the blue room, watching the prancing lunatic dance on the bed, before leaping onto the floor and grinding his body against the tall bedpost, representing a woman.
"If I were the King of the World,
I'd tell ya what I'd do...
Throw away the cars and the bars and the wars and make sweet looooveee t'ya..."
Chris began to laugh then, the exaggerated, long drawn out version of the word love, in a deep almost Sanchez like tone, did him in. Vin continued to make love to the bedpost, singing at the top of his congested lungs.
"Ya know I love the ladies...
love t'have m'fun.
I'm a high night flyer and a rainbow rider...
a straight shootin' son-of-a-gun.
Singing Joy t'the world...
all the boys and girls now.
Joy t'fishes in the deep blue sea..."
"Feast your eyes on that America," Chris chuckled, zooming in on the wiggling Tanner butt. Then the would be soloist's air ran out and he began to cough and sputter. He gave up his 'date' and sat on the bed, wheezing hard and grinning at the camera.
"There's goes your career," Chris tossed over with a towel. He watched Vin's smile light up his face, right through those blue eyes.
"Yer just jealous, Old Man," he managed, still catching his breath. He took the blue shirt off, dried his chest and back and winked at the camera, thrusting his body boldly.
"Yeah, that must be it." Chris turned the camera off and his smile widened, "Seein' you humpin' that bedpost's got me green with envy. You keep eatin' your wheaties and one day you'll be ready to conquer a real woman."
"I can 'conquer' yer sorry ass under the table, Larabee," Vin triumphed, eyes shining. It worked. He'd chased the blues right outof the room. He thought of the camera and shrugged. What was a little chunk of pride when you could help mend a broken heart. "Ya just name the time and place...I even spot ya a woman or two, seein' as how yer old and fallin' the hell apart."
Chris smiled all the way back to the room. He picked up the blowdryer and left in in the bathroom. He washed, splashed some CK on and got dressed. The lingering image of Vin's body gyrating against the bedpost, his wet head tossed back and that awful off key singing made his smile deepen. He heard Vin singing woefully over the sound of the blowdryer and laughed again. He pulled his jacket on and picked the picture up again. Funny, it didn't hurt anymore.
Vin pulled his new tee shirt on, tucked it into his jeans and shoved his boots on. He donned his faded brown leather jacket and left the room. He popped his glasses on and met Chris in the hallway. The leader was in black jeans and a shortsleeved black teeshirt, with his classic leather jacket.
"Hell, I didn't know we was goin' formal," he noted dryly of the dark attire. He felt the change before he saw it; the pain was gone and the easy smile was fueled by a teasing light in the pale green eyes. "Where we headed?"
"Crescent City Brewhouse on Decatur," the blond jogged down the stairs and fished the keys from his pocket. "Good food, great beer, atmosphere and good music."
"With words?" Vin scowled, climbing into the car. The cocky grin gave him his reply, "Aw, hell..."
"Look, I'll wait if you wanna run inside and get your deoderant. I'm sure there's a lot of folks down here that have never heard Three Dog Night..."
"Shut the hell up and drive," Vin ordered with a laugh, shaking his damp head. The restaurant was crowded, but they managed to get a table. A waiter appeared, handed them menus and waited to take their order.
"Red Stallion," Vin decided, eyeing the long line of brews.
"Black Forest," Chris said, "...and we'll have an order of the crab cakes and onion rings," he noted of the appetizers. "Vin?"
"Yer the expert," the Texan eyed the long menu and waved his hand.
"Two shrimp and andouille gumbo's and two po-boy sandwiches." He decided on native cuisine.
They ate with gusto, inhaling the savory food and going through several beers. Finally, the bill was paid and the two roamed outside, milling with the large throng of visitors and locals alike who filled Bourbon Street. The air was electric, the crowd lively and the many voices gave the atmosphere a heady edge. Every bar and drinkery that they passed, overflowed with people, each bearing a drink of somekind. All kinds of music filled the air, mixing into a blend of rock, jazz, blues and soul that seemed to fit the night. Chris stole a sideways glance as his younger friend and chuckled at the star-struck face. The Texan's eyes were wide and vivid blue, raking over the street, dancing bodies within in, the balconies bearing woman who displayed their 'wares' and called down invitingly. He fished a hand into his pocket, pulling out a small, throw away camera. He took a picture of the gap-mouthed Texan and then a shot of the street. When he turned back, he laughed outright, taking a photo that Buck would be proud of.
"Damn," Vin gasped as an Amazonesque body filled his vision. He eyed the two large cocoa breasts that were suddenly in his face and blushed. "Double damn," he croaked, before he was hugged high, two well versed hands gripped his butt firmly. He started to call out to Chris, but he words were cut off. An exotic looking creature muttered something under her breath and kissed him hard, sucking all the air from his lungs.
Chris laughed outright, took out the small video camera and zoomed in close. The tall woman towered above his friend, and her fleshy clench enveloped him. Finally, the long kiss ended, leaving the Texan dazed and stuperous. He waited as the bright pink finger nails cupped the wheezing man's chin and the even brigher lips parted. Her eyes left the Texan's briefly, meeting his own, before she spoke.
"Laissez les bons temps rouler..."
"Huh?" Vin croaked, trying to escape. Then one hand disappeared between his legs and she squeezed him hard, causing him to yelp and jump back.
"...joli garcon..." she kissed him again and tapped his cheek, leaving him speechless as she disappeared into the crowd.
"What she'd say?" He managed, eyeing his smirking friend.
"Tell that magnificent blond Adonis I'll see him later," Chris mistranslated, knowing full well she'd given Vin the 'Let the good times roll' standard. He waited a pregnant moment and eyed Vin's rubbing his injured pride. "Short stuff..."
"Yer full o' shit, Larabee!" the blue-eyed man shoved his friend and then narrowed his eyes. "...and I ain't hardly short..." he defended of his manhood.
"No, not compared to most boys half your age," the blond deadpanned, before nudging his friend up the lively street. "You okay?" He asked over the roar of the crowd, spotting Vin's flushed face and hearing his wheezing.
"She damn near sucked m'lungs out...hell I think they moved up a full foot."
"You didn't complain too much..." he joked, clapping Vin on the back and disappearing into the door. "Shorty!"
"Shut the hell up, Larabee..." The Texan sassed, before launching a sneak attack on his best friend.
Chris felt Vin's arm snake around his neck in a mock-choke hold and laughed, cuffing the younger man in the ribs. He watched Vin's wide-eyed wonder, as the younger man took in the incredible scene. Then he drank in the colorful mob, absorbed the lights and loud music, inhaled the scent of the Big Easy and felt lighter than he had in a long time.
"Hey, look at that!"
Chris followed Vin's arm to a window on the second floor of a nearby tavern. He laughed again, his eyes crinkling in mirth at Vin's furrowed face. "Something wrong?"
"Hell, yeah, that ain't spelled right, helluva mistake t'make...could affect their business."
"Oh, I don't think they'll have much time to complain," the blond laughed again and shook his head. "It's not spelled wrong, Vin."
"Course it is," the slim man defended, "It's says' Wash Nude Girls'...Should say 'Watch 'em...like dancin' ....see she's dancin'..." he pointed to the curvy, teddy clad redhead who blew him a kiss and invited him upstairs.
"No, Vin, they mean 'wash' like with water and suds..."
"Huh?" he cocked his head and looked up again, "Oh...Oh..." then he grinned and his voice dropped as he raised an eyebrow. "Oh..."
"Spoken like a true Standish!" Chris teased, then chuckled again, "Close your mouth, Cowboy, you're catching flies!" He propelled the gap-mouthed Texan up the street and into a blues bar. They found two stools near the door and let the cold beer chase the thirst away. He was enjoying the set and noticed Vin smiling softly at him. "What?"
"Nothin'," Vin ducked his head and smiled again, his eyes vivid blue and alive, "Just pinchin' m'self..."
Chris returned the smile and felt the sentiment between the words. He hoped he could share that feeling. They had three days of classes ahead, but then Thursday through Sunday they were free. He intended to enjoy this town through Vin's eyes and share every adventure. That gave him a deep feeling of satisification inside. Somewhere in the darkness, he felt Sara sending her approval, with one of her special smiles.
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