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.
It was a blinding pain, more fierce and intense than any other he'd ever encountered. It began that frightning moment on the highway, when the sky lit up with blue and red flashing lights. When despite assurances heard in his ears, his heart knew different. The twisting in his gut told him so... and the charred wreckage confirmed it. It hadn't ended yet... it continued through blinding days, where the garish sun dared to rise and scorch his burned eyes, swollen and hidden behind dark lenses. It continued through the blurry nights that followed the burials; endless hours held together by nameless bars and amber bottles.
They were wrong, of course. He heard the whispers... how could they know? Who the hell were they to be critical of his path? The world... his black world, void of all color... was only tolerable when it disappeared. When his friends Jack Daniels and Johnny Walker Red kept him company. To hell with the rest of them... they didn't understand. How could they? They didn't see the blinding light from the nightmares. That because of his badge, that piece of metal, the two most precious things God ever created were taken from him in a horrid fireball.
Who was that? From a faraway place, beyond the comforting, black fog, that had become home, a voice beckoned.
"Go away..."
"Come on, Chris," Buck rubbed his eyes, having been travelling for hours looking for Chris Larabee. It was the same trip he made several times a week. To many of the small bars tucked away in the mountain towns near the ranch. They knew him now and that helped. Sometimes, he got lucky and the barkeep called him. But not tonight. After putting in a ten hour day on stakeout, he'd been on the road since 8 p.m. looking for lost friend. It was painful to look at. He'd lost weight, his eyes, dull and hollow, were sunken in dark circles. He was unkempt, disheveled and dangerous. Buck had already shelled out a lot of money, covering damages and avoiding lawsuits. It was two a.m. and he was tired. In four hours, he had to get up for work and he was cranky. "Let's go..." He sighed, lifting the inebriated man from the spot on the floor where he'd slid to. They got as far as the door, when Chris rebeled.
"Leave me alone," he snarled, shoving the other man hard. Why wouldn't Buck go away? That nagging voice in his ear... the silent lecture in the car... the cold eyes in the morning. It wasn't his business... who the hell did he think he was. If he hadn't been with Buck in Gettysburg, maybe somehow... "Penance comes cheap..." he accused, not seeing how deeply his words wounded the other. Then a rage filled him... the smell returned, the one that permeated the wreckage... a stench so foul he couldn't rid himself of it... Sara and Adam were gone... burned to death, because of him... them... Sara was in his truck... she didn't even like the truck. He should have been killed... if Buck hadn't pushed him into going to that stupid Civil War stunt.
Buck left Chris leaning over the side of the car, while he got the door opened. He never saw the black whirlwind rise up. The pain exploded in his head, as it was smashed into the car. He was on his knees, dizzy and disoriented, when the Larabee venom exploded.
Funny, the house was just as empty the day the moved in, yet now it seemed so large and desolate. She knew how that felt, she was empty all the time now. Max's death left her shaken to the core. Seamus was inconsolable, alternating his time between the funeral and aftermath and Ryan's bedside in the hospital. The NFL star was critically injured and his career was done. Deeper and more painful than the broken bones from the accident, was the consuming guilt her handsome brother-in-law was wracked with. He blamed himself for Max's death... and noone could console him. She'd tried, Seamus tried, they all tried, but he was completely withdrawn.
Sighing, she eyed the large empty rooms, recalling a sunnier day, when two life-drunk newlyweds romped through them. They'd 'christened' each one, with passionate picnics on blankets and losing each other in a tangle of hot limbs. God she loved him... she'd never see that smile again, hear that voice... feel the santuary of his arms in the dark.
"Come on, Honey, it's time to go..."
"Yeah," she choked, letting the tears run down her face. She shut door and let her best friend lead her to the car. Grace was with her mother and grandmother. As soon as she got setted into the historic, Victorian home of her best friend, she'd send for her pride and joy. As hard as it was for her, to hear their child ask for "Dada" in that innocent voice was heartbreaking. She snapped the seatbelt in place, put the dark glasses on, took a steadying breath and began her new life.
The pain medication was strong, easing the burning agony that swept through his battered body. But it wasn't strong enough to keep her out. He felt the tiny hand on his face, heard the stifled sob and felt the soothing caress. He peeled the one eye that wasn't swollen and stiched, open and managed a weak smile.
"...only hurts... when I laugh..."
"I'm so sorry, Buck,"
"Not your fault... Darlin'..." He hissed as the broken ribs protested the slight move and send a tidal wave through him. It crashed into the concussion-ridden skull and broken shoulder. It took several minutes to regain his uneven breathing. He shifted, swinging his legs over the bed and steadying the IV pole. He'd seen courageous before, heard about brave and read about valor. But this tiny woman, who'd been through so much pain and tragedy in her ninety years, absolutely awed him. She'd been so strong, from the moment they told her about Sara and Adam through the funeral and beyond. He couldn't face her... his ears still stung with Chris's words.
"I did this... Lily... it's my fault they're dead... God..." he swallowed hard, trying to hold the bitter tears at bay.
"No, you didn't, you're not responsible..." she lifted the swollen, battered, discolored face and felt a fury rise in her. The police said they had no suspects, that Buck 'couldn't remember' but she knew different. He was trying hard not to let go, she could feel him trembling. "You loved them deeply, I know they and so do they. She's smiling on you now and Adam's laughter will always be a part of you. That boy thought the world of you, Buck Wilmington and so do I..."
"But..." Buck denied, blinking hard.
"Shhh!" She pulled him close, wrapping the broken, broad man into her strong, tiny frame. "I love you, Boy, don't you know that?" her voice broke as she heard the shuddering breath start. "You're my family... I'll be here always... so you let go now... I've got you... and I'm not letting go." She inhaled painfully as the tears rained down, saturating her cotton sweater. She rocked him, crooning softly and rubbing his back. Her mind flashed briefly to Chris Larabee and she got angry. She knew what Buck had been through these past weeks. Taking her grandson home, making sure he was safe, paying damages and making promises to the ATF superiors so he didn't lose his job. Sometimes she wondered if he deserved a friend so loyal. She stayed by Buck's side, .long after he fell into a troubled sleep. She used a damp towel to wipe his face and her strong hand to chase away the nightmares. Later, as she was dozing in the chair by his bed, in the dark, a hand crept over, capturing hers and kissing it.
"Marry me?"
She smiled then, for the first time in weeks. That somewhere, deep inside the bruised soul of this uncommonly generous man, the healing had begun.
Paradise, that what this area had been described as by many who traveled the world. The Hawaiian Islands had been a place to lose himself in. He let the sun bake his skin, healing the bruises. After several weeks in rehab, his broken limbs were finally free of casts. The headaches still nagged him, but he deserved that. He rented a catamaran and was lying in the sun now, letting the heat penetrate deeply. How far could those rays go? Could they burn the memories away? Take away the sight of Max's helpless body and the fireball that took his life? He didn't want any reminder... no people... no sympathetic clicking of tongues and patting on his back. He didn't want to hear that precious child ask for "Dada" and mostly he couldn't bear the pain in Cait's eyes. That was intolerable. She was too understanding, spending hours by his side in the early days afterwards, when his world was one of pain in the CCU. Every time he woke up it seemed, she was there, touching him, encouraging him, running her fingers through his hair. God he loved her... and that made it more bitter. Coveting his dead brother's wife... a brother he'd helped put in a fiery grave. He shut his eyes and let the world go away... from here, he'd go further... to Austraila perhaps or Thailand or Switerland. Anywhere but back to New Orleans.
"Get up!"
"Go away, Lily!" Chris growled, too hungover to care that the elderly woman was in his bedroom.
"The hell I will!" She hollered, yanking the covers off. "I won't let you dishonor her this way! She loved you... adored you... cherished you." She eyed the unkempt creature in the bed and her voice filled with disgust. "I thought you were a man... you're not even an animal, they keep themselves clean."
Chris grumbled, shivering at the cold air in the room. He sat up, shoved her arm away and stood, belching and scratching his bloated stomach. The room smelled like a savory combination of vomit, rum and urine. The sheets were filthy, dirty clothes were strewn from one end of the room to the other. He eyed the bathroom and more filth appeared through blurry eyes. Her words broke through his haze, "You don't know me... leave me alone..."
"She saw something in you," she persisted, dogging him all the way to the bathroom door, "...a special light. Don't you dare disgrace her by drowning your self in a pool of pity and booze."
"I loved her... you don't know... nobody does..."
"Bullshit!" She was angry now, watching over months how he shut off all attempts at help from her, his friends and especially the man he put in the hospital. But somewhere inside this disgusting creature before her, Chris Larabee was hidden and she intended to find him. She saw a brief glimmer of surprise in the red-rimmed green eyes. "Don't be so arrogant, you don't have the right!"
"You don't understand..." Chris's words were cut off by a slap to he face.
"How dare you!" She vented, amethyst eyes blazing, "I loved her too... I adored that boy... Who the hell do you think you are?"
"The guilty party... that's who the fuck I am!" He bellowed, raking his hands through his greasy, filmy hair. "The badge... my fuckin' badge... killed her and Adam!" He pulled the drawers open, looking for a bottle. He moved on to the chest of drawers, pulling them right out of the cabinet. The sound of glass caught his attention and he wheeled around, leveling his unshaven, dirty face across the room. A burst of cold air from the dancing curtains caused him to panic. "No!" he roared as Lily Gavin, who looked so much like Sara it hurt, hurled two bottles out the window. He ambled over, tripping and falling hard on his hands and knees. A mirror was thrust in front of him and two determined hands held his struggling head in place.
"Not very pretty is it? Take a good look..." she commanded, "If you have the guts. Is that the wonderful man my Sara married? Is that the man a little boy named Adam idolized and longed to grow up to become? Is it? Is it! IS IT!"
"Shut up!" Chris lashed out, whipping his arms back. He heard the sharp cry and froze, horrified. He turned just in time to see her holding her face and edging out the door. "Lily..." he croaked, full of shame. He looked at the image in the mirror again and flinched. Sara would be disgusted, Adam would be scared. They both would have been ashamed. A deep, suffocating blanket of revulsion filled him. He crawled over and picked up their wedding photo, tossed to the floor on another long night. He closed his eyes and pressed the glass to his chest. "I'm sorry..."
Appalled by his actions, he felt vomit rising and staggered to the bathroom. A lost soul entered the disgusting room. In the hot steam, after shaving, showering and scrubbing his flesh and hair until it hurt, Phoenix started to rise from the ashes. He combed his shaggy hair, found clean clothes, socks and boots and went downstairs, swallowing his pride in one painful lump. He paused in the den, not recognizing it. It was clean, vacuumed and all the clutter gone. A fire was blazing and the aroma of home made soup filled the air. His eyes saw the large red pillow that Sam used to sleep on by the hearth. The large, black Lab went to Buck's months ago, somebody needed to care for him. That would have to be remedied too. Adam and Buck picked the dog out especially for him. He belonged here. He walked slowly to the kitchen and felt an invisible blow to his gut. The tiny woman at the stove, so strong and much taller than he, bore a bruise on her cheek. Suddenly, the soup didn't seem so savory. He was full of revulsion for his actions and could feel Sara's eyes burning with horror and disgust. He turned away, seeking the fire. He saw the trash bag outside, the bulky shapes of bottles prominent. The orange and red flames basked his face. Something caught his eye on the fireplace. A bag from the jeweler's in town... he opened it and Sara's cherished locket fell out. The clasp broke and they'd dropped it off that day, when they went to the airport. He brought it close to his face and suddenly she was there... her smell, her laugh, her teasing voice, her kisses...
"Oh God, Sara!" He cried, dropping to his knees and finally allowing himself to grieve. He clutched the locket in his hands and sobbed hard. He felt the small arms wrap around him, when Lily appeared.
There it was, after five months. His heart was beating again and those tears were real and needed. She took the afghan from the couch, pulled the shaken man onto the leather sofa and sat beside him. She wrapped him in the blanket and held him close. For a long time, he sobbed, before lifting his face.
"I'm so sorry, Lily... please forgive..."
"I love you, Chris Larabee, they'll be no talk about forgiveness. I believe in the same things she did... I see it very clearly in those beautiful eyes of yours. We'll heal together... I'll never let you go..." She held on tight, eyeing the picture of Sara on the mantle. She winked and sighed, feeling that they both had a special angel guarding them now. She send a silent message, vowing her love and promise to care for Sara's beloved. Her granddaughter could sleep in peace now.
"I'll get it!"
Chris shifted nervously, not sure what to expect. He'd called both Buck and Orrin Travis and the ATF Director returned the call. The message said to come at noon. The leave of absense after Sara and Adam's deaths had extended over five months now. He wasn't sure what the senior Treasury Dept member had in mind. He'd been beyond patient and wouldn't blame Travis if the decision was to be let go. The large wreath on the front door moved as the massive oak piece swung open. A man about his own age stood there, with a blond toddler tucked under one arm.
"Happy New Year, I'm Stephen Travis, this little guy is Billy, my son."
"Hello," Chris nodded to Orrin and Elly's only child. "Is your father around? I think he's expecting me?"
"Sure," he moved aside, "He's uh... in the study. It's Chris, right?"
"Yeah, I'm sorry, Chris Larabee," he shook the man's hand and ducked inside the large home. He followed him through a foyer and towards a door. He waited, while the other knocked.
"Dad? Chris Larabee is here..."
"Okay, thank you, Stephen." Orrin suddenly appeared as the door opened.
"Oppa... oppa..."
"Hello, Billy!" The older man tussled the blond hair and gave the excited boy a smile. "You go with your Daddy now, I'll see you soon." He paused, moving aside. "Chris?"
"Hello, Orrin," he shook the hand and entered, resisting the urge to sit down. He was too nervous.
"Coffee?"
"No, thanks," Chris sighed, trying to figure out what to do with his shaky hands.
Orrin Travis returned to his desk, studying the young man before him carefully. He was human again, his eyes were clear and sharp. He'd lost weight , but looked well. He studied the eyes again, seeking that edge that drew him to the decorated agent in the first place.
"You look better."
"Thanks to Lily, she kicks ass pretty good!"
"I don't doubt that!" Orrin agreed, having met he fiesty woman on several occasions. Even some in the past few weeks, when they'd discussed Chris. "You ready to roll again?"
"Why?" Chris breathed out heavily, wondering about the faith the other man apparently held onto all these lost months.
"Because I know you Chris Larabee and I trust my instincts. It got me this far..." he handed the thick blue folder over. "It's still yours..."
"I don't deserve it," Chris noted of the promotion, prominent role as leader of a super ATF team. "I've said things... done things... I'm not proud of."
"Any man who hasn't is a liar... or not born yet." Orrin noted, sipping his coffee. "You have until April 1st. I need this team organized and formed by the summer. I need you... nobody else fits the bill." He paused, rose and held out his hand. "Welcome back, Son..."
"Thanks, Sir,' Chris took the hand and the faith behind it, "You won't be disappointed."
"I know that, Chris," he nodded to two large boxes, "They're still there..."
"So much for watching the football games..." he felt the nervousness leave.
Buck paused on the doorstep, raising his hand again. He'd tried to knock a half dozen times. He'd been shocked at Chris's message. He hadn't seen him in months, not since the day of the attack. Sam shifted next to him, wearing a red kerchief with 'STUD' written on it. The large brown eyes begged him, the nose nudged his hand again.
"Cut that out!" He chastised, "You sure get cocky with a bag of burgers in you. You're gonna lose that waistline and that Irish setter won't think you're so swell." He noted of the pretty female who Sam played in the park with every day.
The dog whined, nudged his hand again and scratched the door, his tail wagging. He was home and he knew it... needed to get inside. Then the door opened and the large dog bolted, nearly knocking down his master. Buck smiled as Chris was forced to his knees, bathed in dog kisses. The Lab's happy yelps and wagging tail attested to his happiness.
"Hey, fella... you look good. Hey Sam... How you doing? Huh?" Chris finally recovered and the large dog ran inside, his Alpha-ness needing to claim every inch of the house. He stood then, took a deep breath and held out his hand. "He looks great, Buck, thanks for taking care of him all this time. I wasn't even fit for his fleas."
"He's a good dog..." Buck agreed, feeling awkward. "Can I come in, Chris?"
"Shit," Chris moved, "I'm sorry, sure..."
"The place looks good..." Buck's eyes roamed around the warm place that had become his second home. "Lily?" he guessed and saw the other nod.
"When she gets her mind set on something..." The blond hesistated, still seeing the photos the angry woman took of Buck in the hospital. Buck didn't know about them, he'd been unconsious at the time. Lily had been wise enough to wait until he was sober. The pictures arrived the day after Chrismas and the force rocked Chris to the bone. "Listen Buck, there's no easy way to say this. I had no right to treat you... call you names... and beat you like that. Christ, Buck, I'm sorry..."
"I missed you," Buck admitted, with a deep sigh, taking the hand and pulling Chris into a fast embrace.
"Me too, Bucko..."
Buck relaxed at that, hearing the familiar call of his nickname. He knew they'd have tough times ahead, and a part of Chris died on that mountain with his family. But whatever road he chose, Buck would be by his side, always. "No hard feelings, Chris... it's water under the bridge. You're fine now..."
That was the first step. After a satisfying steak dinner, a pot of coffee and a heart to heart talk, the air was cleared. They opened the boxes and began their job. Chris was still reading, when Buck fell asleep. He rose, stretched and eyed the late hour on the clock. He got the afghan and carefully pulled it over true friend. That what he was... the 'through-thick-and-thin' type. He studied the strong features on Buck's face and wondered what he'd done to deserve a man so fine.
"Am I worth it, Buck?" He wondered aloud, taking his gaze to the fire. He'd changed, of course, the world now looked black and white to him, rather than color. He felt a compulsion to do this job, a driving force... a need to wield the sword of justice. But he was cold inside, void of the emotional depth and compassion he'd once held. A part of his soul, the best part, died with Sara and Adam. Even Buck's valiant heart couldn't cure that. He snapped Sam's leash on and went outside, letting the cold air bite his face. As they walked, he eyed the silver moon and wondered if' he'd ever feel whole again. Would the dull, emptiness inside ever go away?
Seven short words, that's all they were. But the force of those scattering of black letters on yellow paper sent the tall, handsome man to the airport in Shannon. After a year of wandering and trying to purge his demons, he'd found a old cottage on Dingle Bay. No electricity or phones... primitive and raw, with the wind whipping around the whitewashed walls. That'swhat he'd called home for three months now. Happy to live in his barren cottage, going to the local pub to hoist a pint and bed a lusty wench. Until the wire came... seven short words. They screamed at him all the way to the airport, across the Atlantic into Newark, NJ and then on the connecting flight to New Orleans.
He clutched the wire as he waited for the elevator in the lobby of the hospital. Seven short words:
"Seamus is sick... come home... Love Cait"
It was late when he got to the room and he paused in the doorway. His grandfather always seemed larged than life... fighting the world in one hand and the devil with the other. Now, lying in a bed, with an oxygen mask covering his face, the white hair scattered on the pillow, he seemed human.
"Hi!"
He jumped as a voice whispered in the dark. Suddenly, she was there, in his arms. He froze, stiff and statuelike, not sure what to do. He recovered and hugged her, afraid to look.
"He's okay... it was close. Pneumonia. He's gonna need care when he leaves here..."
"He'll get it. I'm sorry, Cait, I should have been here..."
"You weren't here when you left." She studied the tall man, seeing the pain still in those beautiful blue eyes. His black, wavy hair was longer and it suite him, falling across his collar rakishly. "It was an accident, Ryan, noboby blamed you, least of all me. I've missed you... I... we... need you. You should see how big the baby is... baby... she's three now and quite a handful."
"Like her mother," he chuckled, bravely looking at the face of the angel. God she was beautiful.
"Welcome home, Ryan," she kissed his cheek and drew him in the room.
"Is it yerself then?"
Ryan winced at the weak voice and found himself gripping the rails in a deathclench. Suddenly he felt like he was a boy again. He swallowed the lump in his throat as his love for this cantankerous, colorful patriarch of the clan rose and gripped him.
"You look like shit, Old Man!" he whispered painfully, taking the large hand. When had he not been strong? The weakness he felt shook him to the core.
"I can still take ye with one hand behind me back, Boy-o!" Seamus smiled, tears in his eyes. "I thought I'd gone to see Mary without sayin' goodbye..." he noted of his long dead wife.
"I'm sorry," Ryan felt his eyes burning and bent to kiss the old man's cheek. The hand gripped the back of his head and he felt the strength again. "It hurts, Sheanair..."
Cait began to cry then, to hear the cocky, brash, NFL star, Ryan McKenna, break down and call his grandfather by the name he'd held most dear. He idolized the old man and only called him 'grandfather' when he was lost. She wanted to hold him close and rock the guilt out of those large blue eyes. But now, he needed Seamus, so she pulled back, taking her coat and purse and leaving.
"I know, Lad," Seamus crooned, feeling the tears running from Ryan's eyes falling onto his chest. "but yer holdin' the devil's fork in yer chest... ye leave it go... now... yer not to blame. I need ye, Boy-o... I love ye..."
Under Ryan's care, Seamus's health soared. He regained the bloom in his cheeks, put some weight on and helped his beloved grandson open 'Seamus's Saloon'. The drinkery with a great menu was soon a favorite among locals and business boomed. Cait came several times a week, toting Grace, who the old man adored. The tiny child easily found her way into Ryan's heart and he couldn't deny her a thing. As Cait watched him rocking her in Seamus's rocker, in the apartment above the restaurant, her heart clenched. He tenderly read to her, tickled her, made her laugh, dried her tears and became the 'Daddy' she needed. But when Cait tried to get close, he froze her out.
A football game blared on the sixty inch television in the large den. Five bodies were sprawled on various positions on the floor and couches. Bowls of pretzels, popcorn and chips littered the tables. Beer bottles were being hoisted as the Bronco's surged downfield. One anxious body eyed the door, where snow fell heavily out the window.
"Where the hell did he go for the food, Houston?" Buck lamented, rubbing his stomach.
"I'm starving!" Nathan Jackson agreed, "You should have sent Ezra..."
"I am not paid to navigate difficult roadways on uncertain terrain." the southern agent addressed.
"Vin is the tracker," J.D. Dunne, the youngest member of the now completed Team Seven agreed.
"The boy does have a way with nature," Josiah Sanchez agreed. "...like he was born to it..."
"Speak of the devil!" Buck pulled the door open, bringing in a burst of snow and a red-faced Texan with snow encrusted hair.
"Hey ya'll!" Vin Tanner boomed, placing two large bags into Buck's arms. He used his snow encrusted gloves to pat the rogue's face. "Miss me!"
"Goddammit Vin!" Buck pulled away from the icy fingers and set the bags down. "J.D. get over here and give Vin a hand."
"Your legs broke?" the Bostonian replied, not moving from the floor.
"No, but yours are younger, now get up!"
"Yeah... yeah... I get no respect..." he grumbled, trudging outside. Five minutes later, they reappeared, bearing pizza boxes, buckets of wings and egg rolls along with other munchies.
"Hey Cowboy!" Vin boomed, shucking his coat and wet boots off.
"Hey, yourself," Chris replied, shutting the door and not missing the icy road outside. "I was ready to send out the Calvary."
"Them bluebellies couldn't find their asses with a map and both hands!" Tanner crowed with a wink of 'I'm fine'. He knew the blond was worried, he was late returning. He turned towards the television. "Who's winnin'?"
"Denver's up by three..." Nate replied, watching Vin shivering. "Get your ass by the fire! Did you wear that old rag? That ain't warm enough... it's twenty degrees out there."
"Quit' hennin' me, Nate!" Vin barked, but his eyes were grateful. He wasn't used to anyone fussing over him, but it felt good.
"Vin?"
"Yeah, Chris?" he turned around and saw the other's palm out. "Oh! Sorry!" he padded over and deposited money. He saw Chris's confused face staring at the crumpled money. "Somethin' wrong?" he asked innocently, eyes wide.
"I gave you a hundred dollars," Larabee growled, "I'm lookin' at a soggy bunch of bills that add up to thirteen. What's wrong with this picture?"
Vin paused, his face serious as he weighed his move. "Aw, hell, I'm sorry, reckon I forgot..."
"Reckon you did!" the blond agreed as the slim sharpshooter's fingers danced on his hand. Then he scowled as more bills disappeared, now he had only five dollars left!
"...fergot 'bout m'tip... what with inflation and locality and hardship and all..."
"Hardship!" Chris roared eyeing the lonely wet face of Abe Lincoln in his hand. "Vin!"
"Huh?" Vin asked calmly, ignoring the blazing green fire. "Oh, reckon yer right..." he took the other five. "I fergot 'bout gas money... course it cost me close t'fifteen... but ya can owe me the rest... cash'll do fine... no need t'scratch out a check..."
Chris's eyes narrowed and his face scrunched up, as he followed the unsuspecting Texan into the den. "Freeze Tanner!" He ignored the riotous laughter from the others, who were paying rapt attention. This newcomer to their team so easily manuevered the leader into a speechless or erratic state, it was always a treat to watch him work. They saw the beguiling blue-eyed Texan's face and felt the mischief lurking there.
Ezra smiled openly as Vin winked at them, before turning. "Somethin' wrong, Cowboy!"
"Don't call me that!" Chris began, chasing the emotional tug that the drawl and smirk brought since the day they met, a scant burst of a dozen weeks ago.
"It's yer name!" Vin defended with a half smile and a wagging eyebrow.
"What the hell did you buy!"
"Pizza, wings, bitty egg rolls and such..."
"Define 'and such'!" Chris ordered, glaring at Buck who was howling.
"You send a boy to do a man's job..." the womanizer shook his dark head, knowing the contents of the bag he'd unpacked.
"Shut up, Buck!" Larabee growled, bearing in on the smug Texan. "Well!"
"Well what?"
"Goddammit Vin!" Chris hollered, face flushed as he began to lose the battle, "The food..."
"Oh," the younger man nodded calmly, ignoring the green fire, "Well, ya see Chris, I got t'thinkin' whilst I was fightin' them howlin' winds and icy roads. The devil hisself was bitin' m'ass... nearly bought the farm a few times... course I don't mind riskin' life and limb t'tote yer grub... no need t'thank me..." he patted the tense shoulder encased in a navy blue sweater and went to turn.
"Vin!" Chris hollered over the riotous laugher and grabbed the soft flannel shirt.
"What?" the other replied, sky eyes all wide and innocent.
"Oh my God!" Chris clenched his teeth and scrubbed a hand across his face.
"That man missed his calling," Ezra noted, grinning openly. "He's a master of deceit... and you call me a con man."
"Hey, Cowboy, ya got a headache? Yer veins is startin' t'bug out and yer eyes is all funny..."
"Don't call me that!" Chris snarled, as the younger man winked and smiled at him.
"It's yer name," Vin repeated. "Somethin' wrong?"
"What the fuck did you spend my fuckin' hundred dollars on!"
"Damn, this is better than a movie!" Buck grinned, enjoying every minute of the slick blue-eyed artist taking his stoic friend apart inch by inch. "That boy is good... damn good."
"No need t'holler, Chris, all ya had t'do is ask," Vin calmly stated. "Ya don't calm down, yer likely t'get a stroke..."
"Not before I strangle you!" Larabee grabbed the slippery sharpshooter.
"Pizza, wings and such..."
"...and such what!"
"Well, brownies and chocolate essentials." Vin coughed, feeling the pressure of the strong forearm on his throat.
"What the fuck are 'chocolate essentials?" Chris's face wrinkled up. "Dessert?"
"Yeah," Vin's damp head bobbed, "So's when folks ask, ya can say "Care fer a chocolate? Like a brownie?" He ducked under the arm and saw the numb, stunned face of surrender on the blond. He gave the shocked cheek a pat and winked. "No need t'thank me, Cowboy!"
Chris shook his head, trying to get his brains in order again. Why was it Vin's logic always tied his thoughts up in Texas knots and left him dumbfounded or cursing? He didn't see Buck appear or hear the convulsive laughter. He blinked again, eyed his empty palms and saw Vin settle on the couch, a plate full of food on his lap.
"You best surrender now, Stud," Buck laughed, draping an arm of sympathy over Chris's shoulders. "You can't win. That slick, little Texas cuss slid right past the mighty Larabee Defense System!"
"Buck's right, Chris," Nate agreed, getting a beer and pausing by the duo. "You ain't never gonna catch up to him."
"The Tanner Logic does boggle the mind at times," the gambler agreed, slipping by to get some wine.
Later, as he returned from putting the trash out, the room was darkened. Some of the others were dozing, while an old movie played. Vin was sound asleep on the sofa, half his slender frame under a blanket. Sam was dozing next to him, having adopted Vin immediately. Chris paused and pulled the blanket up higher, getting of whiff of chocolate breath as he went by. He smiled and shook his head, not aware his eyes were on display.
"That boy is good for you Boss," Josiah noted, not missing the depth of warmth in the green eyes.
"Yeah," Chris sighed, running a hand on his lean abdomen. It wasn't his imagination. The hole was closing, the void disappearing and the world... well it was beginning to turn to color again.
It was a job they'd worked on for weeks. Here on the barricaded property of a large group of survivalists, in the swirling snow, they made their stand. The armed militants had been fighting the co-op group of ATF and FBI for three days. Now, the compound had been stormed and dozens of agents were engaged in a battle inside. Team Seven and Team Four were on the perimeter, blocking exits and rounding up the rebels who were trying to flee. Vin Tanner, the finest sharpshooter wearing a badge, was high on a hill, rifled trained on his shoulder. Amidst the figures moving in the rocks and brush, was a large man in a jeep. The clear blue eyes didn't fail him, as they peered through the scope. It was Moses, aka Loren Weaver, the leader of the group and wanted in several states for murder, arms violations and robbery. Vin fired, the jeep swerved and changed course.
"Shit!" the Texan screamed, "Chris, get down! Chris!" The madman, bleeding heavily from several wounds, was headed right for the thick bushes where J.D. and Chris were stationed. He saw the kid take off, firing at the jeep. It continued to move, then Chris slipped on the ice and went down. Vin heard Moses scream in delight and raise a grenade. "No!" He jumped in a arch, landing on both feet in front of the jeep.
"Vin, get outta there... Goddammit Vin! What are you doing!" Chris scrambled, as the sniper's rifle fired, sending Moses to kingdom come. "Jesus!" he froze, watching the explosion send the Texan's body flying backwards. The thud of the impact tore his guts out. He was paralyzed in fear, watching the wind blow across the navy jacket. The gold ATF letters were silent. "No..." he denied, staggering, then running to Vin's side. He heard J.D.'s gasp and hollered back, "Get some help down here!!" He fumbled with the commlink on his shoulder. "I got a man down... it's Tanner." He turned Vin over gently, wincing at the blood where the young man's face should be.
"Chris, how bad?" Nate hollered in his commlink, running down the hill. "Chris? Copy?"
"Christ!" he recovered, a shaky hand hovering over the bloody face in his lap. "I can't see his face... there's blood everywhere."
"...he breathin'?" Jackson demanded, seeing the two figures on the road. From his side vision, he saw the others coming, Josiah, Buck and J.D. were closeby.
"Yeah..." Chris let out the breath he was holding, then began to wipe the blood away. "Vin, Vin? Can you hear me?"
"Chris, let me at him!" The dark-skinned ATF agent who was a medic ordered, "Chris, come on now... Chris!" He tried to pry the blond away, but the face was dazed, the arms in a deathlock. He turned to Buck and jerked his head.
"Come on Chris, let Nate look at Vin!" he pulled the smaller man away. He felt Chris trembling and heard the ragged gasps. As hard as it was to see him in this state, he was relieved. Somehow, a cocky kid from Texas with a soft drawl and the eyes of an eagle, had melted the icy box around Larabee's heart. "Nate?" he asked softly, watching the dark fingers expertly working.
"Boy's got nine lives!" Jackson predicted. "Aside from a couple ribs, nothings broken. He's breathing's good, pulse is strong. He's got a nasty head wound... he's bleedin' pretty good..."
"Then do something to stop it, Nate!" Chris demanded, dropping by Vin's side again. "Where the Hell is that ambulance!"
"They're coming, Chris," Dunne relayed, stomach unsettled at the amount of blood. "He... saved us... Chris and me... that nut was going blow us up. He jumped right in front of the jeep... Buck... he just..."
"Yeah, Kid, I know..." Buck nodded.
"Jesus, Nate, he's bleeding the hell all over me, do something!" Larabee snarled, "Where the hell are those EMT's!"
"Right here," the first medic dropped down, "How's he doing?" He eyed Nate Jackson, who he recognized.
"He'd be doin' a lot better iffen some green-eyed jackass weren't bustin' his eardrums..."
The others smiled in relief at the cranky Texan's voice, then relaxed a little as two blue eyes blinked through a bloody mask. "Hey Cowboy... we get him?"
"Yeah, you blew him the hell up, Vin!" J.D. crowed, when Chris's voice died.
"Anybody... get... hurt..." Vin eyed the others, his eyes furrowed.
"Only you, you fool!" Larabee replied, still seeing the body fly through the air. "Goddammit Vin! What the hell were you doing!"
"Savin' yer... un...grate..ful... as...s..." Vin wheezed, his ribs on fire. His hand fumbled and he felt Chris grip it tight, taking the pain away. "...s'mjob... ya know..." He closed his eyes a moment as the medics got a collar on him and began to work on him. He felt the warm hand on his own and gave a small squeeze, letting Larabee know he was grateful. His eye was pried open and a penlight flashed on the pupil.
"Name?" the medic asked, testing the head injury.
"Tanner..." Vin coughed, blinking as his stomach began to churn.
"First name," he continued, putting an IV line in the young man's arm.
"...seems t'be...Goddammit Vin..." he managed with a smile to his friends and a wink to the tense blond, who didn't laugh when the others did. He studied those faces of his teammates, friends... hell brothers. That's what they were becoming to him. Without a family for so long, it was quite and adjustment, but he was enjoying his new boots. "...never... seen... such an...ugly... bunch o'faces... in... all... m'days..." he gasped and took several breaths, nearly passing out.
"Yeah, well from where I'm standing, Vin, you don't have any room to talk!" J.D. squatting down, giving his new friend a reassuring pat on the leg.
"I concur in full, your face hardy worth bragging about," Ezra stood behind J.D, caught Vin's weak eyes and smiled, sending a flash of gold tooth.
"Hell, Slick, you ain't hardly pretty, but your in for a gooood night. The Twins will be on duty at the hospital tonight."
"...twins?" Vin coughed, watching Buck Wilmington's face disappearing.
"Yeah... four best hands on any nursing staff. THem little ladies know how to give a bath... and massage the back... I'll put in a good word for you."
"...took a show..er.. today... don't need nobody... fussin'..." he paused and saw the worried faces and found Buck's eyes. "...twins huh? warm hands?"
"Nothin' finer!" Buck grinned and winked at the injured sharpshooter.
Vin smiled back and saw the EMT holding up fingers and sighed impatiently. "...three fingers... Bush is president... today's Friday and one of ya had garlic fer lunch..."
"Wiseass, huh," the older of the EMT's teased, giving Vin a wink.
"That's his middle name..." Chris recovered, his nerves jangled.
"Goddammit Vin Wiseass Tanner," Buck smiled at the groggy sniper. "You gotta admit, it' suits you Slick!"
"A difficult moniker for the best tailor," Ezra noted, joining his teammates, "Mister Tanner, in the future, a little warning? The sight of you airborne without the benefit of wings was hard on the eyes."
"You hurt anywhere else, Vin?" Nate asked, cupping the tracker's chin and trying to catch the blinking eyes.
"...yeah..." Vin rasped, eyes fading. "Somethin's wrong with m'right knee... hurts like a bitch... like a metal clamp's bearin' on it..."
"Shit!" Chris released his deathgrip, unaware he'd been squeezing so hard. "Sorry, Cowboy..."
"Don't be callin' me that..." Vin slurred, eyes shutting, the wave of reassurance he found in green eyes was fading fast. "Chris?"
"How about flying fuckin' jackass..." Larabee added, sensing the change and moving closer.
"...that's... Tex..as... jack...ass... don't be..."
"Vin?" Chris grabbed the limp hand and bent over his fallen friend.
"He's gonna be fine," The EMT predicated. "You guys need a ride?" he appraised the others, who shook their heads. "Okay, let's load 'im..." They lifted Vin onto the gurney and wheeled him down the hill.
"Well would you look at that?" Josiah said somberly, next to Chris.
"What?" Nate asked, wondering what the preacher was staring at.
"Gray hairs... right there..." the eldest's fingers brushed across the leader's blond locks.
"Oh yeah..." Jackson agreed, as the unamused Larabee turned around.
"You're still on duty, we got a mess to clean up. Let's roll..."
The others went up the hill back toward the compound. Buck paused, as Chris turned when the siren's wailed, taking his best friend to the hospital. "For a moment Buck, when he flew and his body hit..."
"Yeah," Wilmington clapped the navy jacket. "I know... come on..."
It was just past closing when Buck arrived, passing others leaving as he strode through the lobby. He paused in the doorway of Vin's room, watching the scene carefully. The younger man was being kept overnight, due to the concussion and ensuing blackouts. The elder stood guard by the bed, not moving, sitting rigid in a chair. Wilmington's blue eyes watched unseen, as Vin fought some invisible demon on his dream and began to moan and twitch. Larabee's hand shot out, latched onto he bare shoulder, peeking from the large gown, and gave a solid tug.
"Easy Vin." Chris soothed, keeping his hand intact until the fine features went calm again. That what this was to him. Easy. Vin's smile, the drawl, the skills of the trade he carried so effortlessly, and the peace he'd brought to his heart. He saw Buck appear by his side and rose, gripping the rails of the bed. He stared down then, looking at the Texan's chest rise and fall, feeling his own breaths in matching rhythm. "Why him, Buck?"
"Why ask?" Buck answered the question simply. He knew since those first early days when blue eyes met green, that Vin Tanner was the answer. He didn't know why Fate tossed the shaggy-headed Texan their way. He didn't care... the boy had a gift and used it well. "Just give thanks to the man upstairs tonight when you hit your knees." He paused as Vin shifted in the bed, losing more of the thin cotton gown. "Damn scrawny Texas mutt needs meat on them bones," he adjusted the hospital gown and pulled the thin blanket up.
"I was lost Buck," Chris admitted, "...for so long... cold... alone... in a dark place..."
"...and that boy gave you the sun back," the wise old friend replied, watching Chris's features soften, "He put the light back in your eyes, he gave you a smile again and few new curse words..." he joined the other in a soft chuckle, then rested his hand Larabee's shoulder. "...he gave me back the best friend God ever saw fit to put next to me... and that's something I can't thank him enough for..."
"Buck..." Chris rocked back at the choked off Wilmington voice and turned to the taller man. He gripped the back of Wilmington's neck and gasped, feeling very lucky suddenly.
"If the Weepin' Willa Society o'Denver is done bawlin' can ya leave now? Some of us sick folks is tryin' t'rest..." Vin opened one eye and looked at both men, "...it ain't bad enough m'heads about to fall off, I gotta put up with all yer snufflin..."
"You look like shit, Slick!" Buck boomed, smiling wide and cuffing the injured man's leg.
"Fuck yer sorry ass t'the Alamo and back, Bucklin!"
"Did that sorry-assed Texan rat call me Bucklin?" Wilmington's voice caught as two blue eyes crinkled in warmth as they settled on him briefly, before raking onto the greenones.
"Rat about suits him," Chris agreed, leaning over the rails. The body was settling into the pillows, breathing evenly. "You okay?"
"mmmm... hmmmm...." Vin nodded ,not opening his eyes. How could he not be? He had brothers now, watching his back.
"That's good, real good," Larabee's voice dropped and he leaned over closer, "'cause tomorrow, when I come to pick you up, we're gonna have a talk."
"...ain't much fer gabbin'..." Vin deflected, feeling the lecture
"Too Goddamn bad," the leader continued, "'cause you're gonna hear about all the regulations you broke when you disobeyed my orders and did a Superman impression. That scrawny ass of yours isn't moving until we get a few things settled." He saw one blue eye peel open and regard him for a moment. The fine nose wrinkled up in distaste, a short muttering of displeasure escaped over the square jaw, before the eye closed again.
"..m'ass ain't hardly scrawny. Leastwise I gotta enough sense t'take care of m'boys and not choke 'em t'death..."
"Huh?" Chris reeled back, the short burst of Tanner logic caught him off guard. "Boys?" The explosive burst of Wilmington's laughter caused him to think harder. Buck was doubled over, tears running down his face. Vin's hand shot up, without opening an eye ,and Buck high-fived him, still laughing. Then Chris got the meaning and shifted, "Goddammit Vin!"
"...t's m'name," Vin managed sleepily, "..don't wear... it... out..."
"Vin?" Chris leaned over the bed and looked hard.
"He's out, Chris," Buck recovered, "...chokin' the boys... damn that was funny." He walked to the door and waited for Chris to join him. "Chinese place across the street is pretty good," he asked about dinner and saw the blond head nod once.
Chris saw Buck's large frame head for the elevator, his deep voice teasing every female on the floor. He chuckled and shook his head, thanking God for two such good friends. He glanced back at Vin Tanner, resting in the bed. He felt his own heart beating in a dual rhythm, something he hoped would remain for a long time.
It was past 3:30 when Chris Larabee drained his beer and picked up the bill. As he ambled to the register to pay, he noted forty minutes passed since he last saw his friend. He waited for his change and saw the black clouds rolling in, just as the wind kicked up and a clap of thunder shook the whole room.
"Thanks," he put the bills away and pocketed his wallet. It was then that a chill ran through him, causing him to shudder and blink.
"Somebody walkin' on your grave, Chèr?" the pretty hostess asked, watching the action.
"Something like that," he acknowledged.
The woods were dense, the sun peeking through the dark treetops. He inhaled a sweet breeze and settled the packages under a tree. God they were beautiful, his little angels... so very perfect. He kissed each chubby cheek and headed for the stream. A pain in his chest, his air was stolen, he felt his ribcage crack and a heat flush his body. His blue eyes shot open as he dropped down.
"Easy, young one, you are safe," Jessenia cooed, stroking the pale forehead of Vin Tanner. A thin sheen of perspiration covered his lean body. Under pale lids, his eyes darted frantically, his breath came in pants and his body trembled. "Look... look and remember... see his face... see the eyes of the deceiver... see him now... study his face... remember... remember... the eyes of the deceiver. Know my words, lesove, remember his face... Look now... look and see through his eyes..."
From the dirt, he turned and looked and saw two men. He saw their faces, then they changed. They wore strange clothes, the taller man had a silver badge clipped to hisbelt. He had short dark hair and brown eyes and a slight curving scar around his left eye and cheekbone. The man with him was thin, ugly dark beady eyes and silver... silver... glove... or something where his hand should be. The voice in his head grew louder, the words scorched his tortured brain.
"...remember his face... eye of the deceiver... see him... remember... remember..."
"Re...mem...ber... face... deceiver... eye... see... re...mem...ber..." Vin mumbled, not aware of the delight in the old woman's eyes as she stroked his temples.
"Yes, young one, now we must fly... see his face... remember..." She held his head firm as he gasped in pain, sucking in a great gulp of air. "No pain... no pain... you are young... and strong... see through his eyes..."
The vortex of brilliant blue lights disappeared and he was on a dark road. Two men were huddled over a body, arguing. The victim was young, reddish hair and alive. Then he moved, a silver hand flashed out and stopped him. More arguments, and the first man left. Tall, good looking, dark hair and eyes, scar under his eye. The other man, with the metal hand, put the body in a car and down a steep, rocky hill. A cry in the night air, a tall man with black hair in anguish screaming the name "Max" fell down the hill. A fireball..a sinister laugh...then the blue lights appeared.
Vin shook and sweat poured from his body. He tossed and tried to flee, but something held him back. "no... no..." he moaned, as the light engulfed his helpless body.
"Not yet... your journey is not done..." the old one soothed, watching the twitching limbs.
Another road, one he knew well, from riding his bike up to Larabee's ranch. A black truck... Chris's truck... a beautiful woman driving. Sara! No! No! Lookout! Another car coming right at her, highbeams on... the rain slicked road... a scream... tires squealing.... Mommy... Mommy... a horrific crash... another fireball... the car stops... a silver hand... sinister face... a phonecall... the eye of the deceiver... dark hair ... dark eyes... scar... remember... remember. He's holding a picture... a pretty woman... Sara? no no another name... he saying it... Caitlin... murder... murder... money... deceit... remember... he laughs and strokes her face in the photo.
"Cait..lin... no... hurt... her..." Vin mumbled, balling his fists...
"Yes!" Jessenia crowed in triumph, at last, they would solve the mystery. "Protect her... find the deceiver... protect your bloodline, young one... protect..." she chanted, annointing him again. His eyelids, heart and temples.
Then another image appeared, a face he knew like his own. Someone he cared for deeply. Blond hair, easy smile, green eyes. A cabin... his friend was in danger... hurt... a gun... dark hair... dark eyes... a scar... a gun rising... the blond man couldn't see.
"Chris!!!!!!!"
The blue light exploded and he jumped through it, shoving the body hard. He ran from the light into a dark cloud. A clap of thunder embraced him as he fled through the unknown darkness. He ran haphazardly, his head was splitting in two. He was freezing, lost and he needed to find someone. Someone... named... Chris.
He was at the door when the pain ripped through him. Vin's scream of agony pierced his skull. He cried out and dropped to his knees, unaware of the hostess and a customer from the bar who scrambled to help him.
"Are you alright?"
"Vin?" he whispered, eyeing the carpet. What the hell was that? He heard it as clear as he was hearing the man who was helping him up.
"Sir?"
"Huh?" Chris blinked, nodding, "Uh... yeah... sorry... lost my balance..." He ran outside, his heart pounding, blood rushing to his ears. He never felt anything this strong. Vin was in danger. His gut instinct took him left, right into the driving rain, high wind and thunder. Oblivious to the rain soaking him, he ran onward.
"Vin! Vin!" he screamed over the howling wind. The pelting rain created a sandy helmet from his hair. Then he saw a body a couple blocks ahead. Brown jacket, long brown hair... Vin. He was staggering, twice fell down and clearly was ill or injured.
"Vin!"
Chris took off, running into the storm, keeping his eyes on the body ahead of him. Then Vin veered off, turning left up a residential street. Chris ran faster, his pulse racing, blood coursing through his veins. He turned the corner swiftly, just as the Texan's legs buckled and he collapsed.
"Vin!" He dropped down and his hand went for the jugular. "Thank God." The pulse was still flowing. He slapped the pale face, noting how clammy the skin was. "Vin, Vin, wake up... Jesus..." his hands trembled and he tried to shield Vin from the driving rain.
"Do fishes sneeze?"
"What?" the driver's sharp blue eyes narrowed as he navigated the slippery road. The storm blew in suddenly, causing their picnic to end in a hurry. The tiny body in the child's seat in the back of the SUV wasn't the least bit concerned. Under the lavender slicker, a short mop of unruly black curls framed the perfect, heart-shaped face. Two large amethyst eyes met his in the rear view.
"I wuv you Uncle Wyun..."
"I love you, too, Buttons," he replied, eyeing the flooded road. They'd have to detour, he eased the car over and turned, seeking higher ground.
"So do they?"
"Do they... what?" he was distracted, punching the buttons on the phone, resting on the steering wheel.
"Do fishes sneeze?"
"No, they can't."
"Why?"
"They don't have noses."
"'course they do!" she answered indignantly, "...they gotta breathe, right?"
"Right, Sweetheart, but they breathe through..." he paused, "Brie? We're gonna be late, we got caught in this mess." Ryan McKenna paused, winking at his five-year old pride and joy. Max's only child was the greatest treasure of his life. He didn't think it was possible to love someone so much. A flash of Cait came to mind, and his heart ached. "No, she's fine... just tell Cait not to worry. Okay." He hung the phone up.
"How do they sneeze?" She demanded, eyeing her uncles wet dark curls.
"Who?"
"The fishes," she exaperated, "For a grownup, sometimes you're not so smart."
"You're right, Buttons," he mused, "their gills, they breathe through their gills."
"What are gills?"
"...slits in their side... just for fishes... for breathing under water."
"So what happens when they get a cold? How do they get the snots out?"
"Don't say snots, you're a little girl!"
"Well? How do they get out? When I get a cold, and I don't... can't... sneeze, it feels like my heads gonna 'splode. Why come them fishes don't blow up?" She frowned, her tiny face screwing up. "You're laughing at me!"
"No," he gasped, his handsome face crinkled in warmth. "I'm not, Buttons..." he continued to chuckle, answering every question she asked. He never got tired of her and his stomach turned at he thought of her calling another man Daddy.
Gabrielle Marquette hung the phone up, relaxing finally. She knew Ryan would be careful transporting Grace in this weather, but hearing his voice helped. She dialed quickly, getting an answer on the first ring. The familiar, almost melodic voice of her best friend and housemate filled the phone.
"Cait? It's me, Ryan called... No, they're fine! You worry too much. He got stuck in the storm, they'll be a few minutes late. You close? Good... see you soon." She replaced the receiver on the cradle and frowned, peering out the window of her office. It was on the first floor of the large, Victorian home. Filled with antiques and richly appointed, it bespoke her French Creole history.
"Oh My God!" She grabbed an umbrella and ran outside, dropping down next to the unconscious man. "I'm a doctor, I can help. What happened?" She asked the stricken blond man, trying to rouse a younger man with dark curly hair. "Sir?"
"Huh?" Chris blinked and for a split second, thought he was looking at Halle Berry. The young woman, about thirty, was exquisite. Short, feathered dark hair framed the beautiful face, set off by large greenish blue eyes. Her skin was creamy and the color of pale cocoa. "I... don't... know... he was running... and collapsed..." He took the umbrella, covering both the doctor and the patient.
"His pulse is racing, breathing rapid and shallow," she commented, picking up his hand. "Skin pale and clammy, fingernails slightly tinged. He's in shock. Did he have a fall? Did something hit him?"
"No..."
"Is he allergic to..."
"Low blood sugar," Chris blurted, "I mean, he had that... he's been having bad nightmare lately, this happened last week too, after a nightmare."
He heard a voice and the black void fell apart. He knew that voice and opened his eyes. A woman, a beautiful woman, he turned away seeking the voice. He relaxed, parting his lips.
"Chr..is..."
"Vin!" the blond jerked his head. "Goddammit, you damn near scared me death! What happened? You look like shit, Tanner. I'm calling 911 and your sorry ass is going to he hospital!"
Gabrielle was about to dress down the snarling blond, the last thing this young man needed was a loud, nasty lecture. Then she heard a weak laugh and saw the blue eyes... amazing blue eyes... open. He was handsome and that weak smile and the hand fluttering up to grasp the blond's caused her to pause.
"...ya had me worried..." Vin managed, seeing the familiar scowl. "...til ya got t'shoutin'... thought I died... no ambulance... I'm okay... just cold... dizzy..." He struggled to sit up, only to have an iron, wet hand stop him.
"Lie still!" Larabee ordered, "This is Doctor... uh..."
"Gabrielle Marquette," she smiled at the pale, fine features.
"Vin... Tanner..." he whispered, "...quit movin' around, Larabee... yer makin' m'stomach twirl..."
"Are you going to be sick?"
"...no... throw up.. on... a ...girl..." he protested valiently, causing a soft laugh to flutter down.
"My office is just inside, let's get him out of the rain... uh... Mister Larabee?"
"Chris," he nodded, handing the umbrella back, and easing Vin to a sitting position, "Okay, Cowboy, easy does it," he draped Vin's arm over his shoulder and used his free hand to snag a belt loop around the slim waist. "Seems we did this before," he muttered of the ill fated trip to the garden. By the time they got inside the door, an warm foyer greeted them. He saw her moving quickly and followed the slim young woman, into a waiting room, through to a large examination room. "He's freezing... shit!" Chris muttered as Vin collapsed. He eased him onto a leather couch, letting him rest in a sitting position. "What's that smell?"
"River water!" she replied, checking his enlarged pupils. "He's in shock. We need to warm him up. Can you get his clothes off and get him on the table. I'll get my bag and some blankets. There's a sheet on that chair, dry him off as best as you can."
"Okay," Chris knelt down and tugged the boots off. Vin never stirred and Chris settled him on the table. He took the excess moisture away and wiped his own face, hair and hands as well. Then, he took the lone blanket from the sofa and covered him to the chin. He began to rub the icy feet, hoping to restore some circulation.
"Here," she put a heavy blanket on him. "Raise his legs," she waited and slid a triangular leather cushion under his knees. "We need to elevate his legs, it'll help." She noted how hard the blond man was holding the other's hand and tried to distract those worried eyes. "Where you guys from?"
"Denver, we're ATF agents?"
"ATF?"
"On vacation, we're staying at Sauville House. He's been uh... affected by that place."
"It's haunted," she said and when he didn't object she looked harder and saw the green eyes flicker. "You saw her? Isabella?"
"He... followed... something..." Chris staggered, "one night... into the garden... when I caught up, he was... wasn't himself. He was speaking fluent French... agonizing over losing her. His heart was broken. He didn't know me, attacked me."
"He doesn't know French?"
"Vin?" he snorted playfully, "Hell, Doc, his English isn't even good."
"And just now... what happened?"
"I was finishing lunch and he was restless... I told him to take a walk. That was before the storm. I was paying the bill and heard him scream... well... I thought I did. I ran outside and took off, spotted him a couple blocks away. He was staggering, holding his head. Then he turned up this street and collapsed. He's okay, isn't he?"
"He will be," She reassured, placing a bandaid on his finger and reading the digital image. "His blood sugar is down and I can help that..." she drew up some liquid into a syringe."...it's glucagon..."
Ten minutes later, Chris heard a moan and jumped up. He'd been sipping hot coffee on the couch and watching her monitor Vin. She took another sample and smiled, "...it's coming up."
Vin eyed the blurry room through a fog. Voices were hovering above...making buzzing sounds. He saw a pretty woman's face and backed away, trying to move. Then he saw a blond blurry head and opened his parched lips.
"Ch...ris..."
"Right here, Vin, you're gonna be fine." Chris spoke to the confused blue eyes.
"...s'wrong..."
"Confusion is normal," she addressed the concerned blond. "You went into shock Mister Tanner, when you're blood sugar fell to rapidly. How do you feel?"
"...thirsty..."
"I'll get you some water..."
"No," she cut the helpful blond man off, "Not yet... nothing by mouth, he could vomit. There's ice in that cup I brought in from the kitchen. You can rub his lips and the inside of his mouth."
Vin shivered under the blankets and tried to control his breathing and anxiety. Chris was here, he was safe. Where was here? Where were they? Who was the pretty girl? He was resting his eyes when he felt something cold hit his neck. He hissed and jumped, both eyes jolting open.
"...ya doin'?" he gasped.
"It's ice, for your mouth, you can't have water..." Chris tried to grab the slippery frozen disc, but it slid further, behind the damp neck.
"...let her do it!" Vin was annoyed, his brows furrowed. "...she don't have ten thumbs... and... she's prettier..."
Gabrielle smiled and gently rubbed the ice cube over his lips, before letting the chargrined blond lift the damp head. "Open up, don't swallow!" She heard the moans and held out a small cup. "That's all for now." She got the cube back as his eyes fluttered. She saw his hand his snap out and fumble.
"I'm here," Chris said quietly, taking the hand and lowering his face down. "Go to sleep... I'm not leaving."
"...sorry... didn't... mean... t'bark..."
"Hell, Tanner, you call that a bark?"
"He's going to need those clothes to keep warm. I have a washer and dryer downstairs..." she needed to distract him. "I also have a large pot of gumbo simmering."
"Coffee'll be fine, thanks," he said, picking up Vin's things and pausing at the door. "Miss... uh... Doctor... uh..."
"Brie," she smiled.
"I'm not normally without manners," he sighed, "Thanks for everything. You took a chance... two strangers... men..."
"Not strangers, friends I hadn't met yet, Chris." She returned the smile and nodded, "its straight back, two lefts and down the stairs. "I'll watch over him."
A few minutes later, she heard him stirring. She took his pulse and was pleased. He was definintely doing better. He was very handsome, with fine features and a strong jaw. Those pretty eyes opened and regarded her curiosly. "Welcome Back, Vin..."
"...where... I... am..." His eyes darted around the room.
"Chris will be back, he's washing your clothes. I'm Doctor Gabrielle Marquette and you're in my home. This is my office. How do you feel?"
"...fuzzy... thirsty... stupid..." he said crossly, frowning. "...coulda swore... dead... lookin' at... angel..."
'Thank you," she smiled, "Do you feel sick?"
"...yeah..."
"Here," she lifted his head up and held out the ice cube. "Suck on this a minute... better?"
"...yeah..." He managed, flushing when he realized he was naked and pressing against a beautiful woman.
As if on cue, she saw his face blush and realized his concern. She eased his head down and pulled the blanket up. "Not to worry, your friend Chris took care of getting you settled."
"...sorry... don't mean t'be a bother... feel like... damn fool..." he rested his eyes and felt her hand stroking his forehead. It felt good and he relaxed, calming his breathing and heart racing.
"That's okay," she eased, drawn to the handsome drawling man, "It's not often Prince Charming lands at my doorstep."
"I ain't... hardly... no... prince..."
"You could be... I'd believe you were..."
"Aw, hell..." Vin panicked, feeling his stomach quelling.
"Here," She held a kidney dish near his mouth, which she turned sideways, so he wouldn't choke. She sighed in frustration, realizing he was holding back. "I'm not just a girl, I'm a doctor. So don't hold back..."
"...it... passed..." Vin finally admitted, gasping and sweating. "I can't... I..."
She eased his head back down and pulled the blanket up. She was on call, due to the storm and high accidents that went with it. She walked to the room next door to call the hospital and check in.
The end of the dream returned... the eyes of the deceiver... the face... a gun... Chris was down... Chris was... was...
"Chris!"
"Shit" Chris hissed, grabbing the doorknob. He had put Vin's things in the wash and even taken some time to toss his stuff in the dryer. At least now, he was damp, not wet. Barefooted, he ran up the stairs, hearing the call. So intent was he to get to his stricken friend, he took a wrong turn and opened the wrong door. Cold rain blew in along with a body, which he knocked down.
"I'm sorry... I wasn't looking where..." His words died in his throat. His heart hammered so loud he felt it coming right through his chest wall. His blood roared in his ears and he blinked, stunned and shocked at the face before him. The dark curly hair, the heart shaped face and those magnificent eyes. "Sara!"
"No, I'm sorry, you're mistaken," She choked, suddenly frightened by the strong, blond stranger who held her arms in a death grip. They were both on their knees. The thunder boomed behind them, adding a colorful exclaimation point. Who was he? What was he doing in their home? Before she could even take a breath, she followed the stunned green eyes.
"Where did you get that!" Chris roared, eyeing the locket that dangled on chain. He knew every inch of that locket. The heart, the rose, the initials...inscription. It was Sara's most treasured possession. How did she get it? It was in the safe at home... wasn't it? "Answer me!"
"You're hurting me!" She cried out, seeing the lost green rage in a dangerous zone. "It's mine... was my grandmother's."
"No, it's Sara's... my dead wife's. How the hell did you get it?" He roared, wanting to ask how she got Sara's face as well.
"I'm sorry, but you're wrong. This locket has been in my family for generations. I've been wearing it for years. It's inscribed..."
"I know... ALD and inside... Now and Forever..."
"But that's impossible... how could you... know?" she stammered.
"Because it belongs to me dead wife, that's how!" He demanded, confused, "Give it back!"
"No, it's mine," She eyed the foyer frantically. Was Ryan here yet? Where was Brie? Had this man hurt her? She listened behind her for her date's footsteps... hearing hard feet approaching .
"Who the hell are you Lady?" Chris demanded, seeing Sara wearing the locket... Sara smiling when Adam's chubby baby fist grabbed it. Sara wearing only the necklace on their wedding night.
Then a beefy fist grabbed him and slammed him hard into the concrete doorway. He tasted blood as his lip split and felt a warmth rush from the new gash above his eye. Steel cuffs were clipped to his wrists behind his back and a knee shoved on his back. He felt his head pulled up roughly by the hair and hot breath on his cheek. Then, he felt the muzzle of a gun against his neck.
"She's my fiancé, Pal, that's who the hell she is," he growled.
"You're buying more trouble than you can handle, I'm Denver ATF..." Chris grunted, spitting out a wad of blood.
"I don't care if you're the head of the fuckin' Government. I'm Lieutenant Geoff Trent of the New Orleans PD and you're under arrest!"
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