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: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
Big big thanks and a cyberhug to Lynda, for offering her wonderful background in Cheyenne, on behalf of myself, Vin and Gray Eagle, thanks!
Buck limped slowly down the hallway, watching the numbers on the doors. Finally, he was standing outside the right room. He heard a soft wave of laughter and smiled, thinking of the healing power that Kate Larabee held. He ducked in the doorway and cast a quick glance towards the bed where Chris Larabee was dozing. Then he moved towards the other bed.
"I should have worn shades. Your beauty is blinding me."
Kate smiled and turned, smacking her husband's hand as his gruff throat clearing critiqued the rogue's comment. She crossed the room and snuggled into the one-armed embrace. She then stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek. Then she looked deeply into that handsome face. Her eyes filled with tears and she swallowed hard.
"Don't, Kate..." Buck brushed a stray tear with his finger and held the pretty woman's gaze.
"You hush up, Buck Wilmington, and let this grateful wife and mother say her peace. Adam told me... what you did... all of what you did." She sighed and swallowed hard, tears cresting and spilling over. "If not for that foolish heart of yours..." She moved one hand to his chest and gave a pat, "I'd have lost them both... I can't imagine how I'd have..."
"Aw, hell..." Buck whispered, totally undone by the shaken woman. "I told the General if I came back without him, you'd have skinned me alive. It was self-preservation... that's all."
"You're a bad liar!" She hugged him again and then took his face in both hands. "Thank you..." She punctuated her words with another kiss.
"Damn... it was worth it!" he winked, limping slowly to the bed. "Heard your bail's comin' in the morning."
"Not a minute too soon." Adam took the hand offered and shook it, not missing the wince. "Sorry..."
"No, sir," Buck shook his numb hand and grinned. "Now I know why Chris whips everybody's butt at arm wrestling."
"Have you been released?" Kate fretted, her mother's eye spotting a face still too pale.
"Yeah... Josiah's comin' in a little bit. I'll bunk with them for awhile. Orrin and I will go to New Mexico for that..." He hissed, gripping the rail with a death hold.
"Easy, Buck... he'll pay." The General saw the rage in those eyes and was grateful again that his son was so well protected.
"...the arraignment..." Buck finished. "When do you think you'll be able to go home?"
"When my boys are strong enough," Kate stated, sitting on the bed and taking Adam's hand. "My poor Vin... he's so lost. I sat with him while Chris and Adam ate. I got some broth in him but he's so weak."
Buck smiled at that, at how easily Vin had become one of Kate Larabee's 'boys'. He thought of that fine spread in Virginia and the powerful force of love that these two people showered over their home. Chris was the outstanding example of that rain and now Vin would be a benefactor.
"Can't say's I'm surprised," he chuckled, shaking his dark head. "That boy's blushin' and 'ma'am' power are more potent than his gun."
"I feel very strongly that we can help Vin find his way back," she predicted, still feeling those blue eyes melting her.
"Speaking of your boys," Buck eyed the slumbering blond in the next bed. "I think I'll have a word with the older cuss."
"The offer's still open." Kate met his gaze. "You're my boy too!"
"I know, Kate." He kissed the top of her head. "Thanks. But I've got business at home..."
"What's her name?" Adam recognized the faraway look and the softening in the blue eyes.
"Inez Recillos..." he replied. "I've known her for some time, but it was only recently I truly saw her..."
"She's a lucky girl!" Kate took his hand. "And I'm happy for you, Buck."
"Aw, hell, Kate, I'm not rentin' a monkey suit just yet... " Buck fended with a wink and moved to Chris's bed.
While the older Larabees talked softly amongst themselves, Buck considered Chris Larabee. He revisited their initial meeting, through their many years as partners and the good times. The carousing days before Sarah, then the wedding, Adam's birth and the joyous years that followed. That longing in Chris's eyes when they'd come back from a trip and that call of 'Daddy' splitting the air. He'd never forget that look, like glimpsing a ray from heaven, not as long as he lived. As if sensing him near, the sunburned face moved and a soft cough sounded.
"Fine thing, man hauls his busted up body here to see you and you're sleeping."
One green eye peeled open and a crooked smile followed. A hand came up and he clasped it, gripping it hard. Neither man uttered a word at first; the lingering gaze spoke volumes. He watched Chris swallow hard and his eyes fill. He graced his oldest friend with a dazzling grin and a soft chuckle. The voice drifted up and it never sounded so fine.
"We're gettin' too old for this, stud."
"Speak for yourself, old man..." Buck sent back, patting his abdomen. "This here is a lean mean, fighting and female-swooning machine..."
"Don't encourage him!" Chris shot over to his parents who were both laughing. He pushed the button and let the bed rise. "Take a load off..." he nodded to the vacant chair.
"Don't mind if I do." The recovering man eased down and stretched out his bad leg. "Josiah's comin' at eight to pick me up."
"Who let you go?"
Buck laughed and eyed the crabby features. "I'm fine, 'Pa'! Besides, hospital beds and me don't get along."
"Since when?" Chris chased, eyeing the pitcher. "Hit the tap, will you?" He drained one cup and waited while Buck unsteadily filled another. "You love them sponge baths... you made a career laying on your back for nurses."
"Chris!"
"I didn't mean it like that, Mom..." He flushed even over his sunburn and Buck laughed harder.
"Yeah, well, I got an itch..."
"Really?" Chris studied the face with keen interest. "I know her?"
"Am I that invisible?" Buck wondered. "Or just to Larabees?" He settled back, scratched at his leg and sighed. "Inez."
"Our Inez?" Chris's voice rose and then he grinned as it was Buck's turn to flush. "Well, I'll be damned. When did she get a concussion?"
"Very funny!" Buck shot back, then his face softened again. "It was the night I thought you and Vin had died. I drove for hours... can't remember all of it... ended up at her house... it just sort of... happened..."
"That's the way it usually does," Chris recalled, enjoying a flashback to his first meeting with Sarah.
The tides of time closed and he turned his attention to the man next to him. He struggled to find the right words to convey just how deeply grateful he was. Not just for the heroics that Buck Wilmington exhibited so easily but for the bonds that ran far and deep. He sighed and his face grew solemn.
"I knew you'd come, right through the worst it. I knew you'd bring me... us... back."
"...one way or another..." Buck nodded, seeing the relief and admiration pouring from the telltale green eyes.
"That..." the leader choked, overcome by emotion, ".kept me alive. Through the beatings, the sun, the pain... all of it. I knew... Buck... that you would... find..."
"Chris, don't..." Buck's own chest tightened and he found it hard to speak. He'd seldom seen his friend like this and it both upset and comforted him. He reached out and gripped the blond man's shoulder, fighting to control his own emotions.
"I'm okay." Chris let out a long slow breath and welcomed the hand on his shoulder. "Thanks to you..."
"I gave that boy my word," he rasped, recalling his godson Adam's new face the day he came home. What a fine day that was! "...the day you brought him and Sarah home and laid him..." He sighed again and regained his voice. "...right here." He held out both hands. "We had us a real good talk... I promised... to watch your back..."
"Wilmington's word's as good as done..." Chris's lips turned up at the rogue's famous vow. He, too, recalled Buck's face painted with wonderment as Adam stared up at him, hiccupping. Of course, he couldn't see yet, but Buck swore that the boy was gifted. Buck sure did love his son... and someday he hoped to repay that favor. He'd hold Buck's son and make that same pledge.
"Damn straight!" Buck teased, then his smile left. "I would have, you know." He wore his loyalty deep and held it dear. "... brought you two home. No matter how long... and even if it meant..." He couldn't say the words; the image was hard enough - remains zipped into body bags. He exhaled deeply, rubbed his eyes and shook it off.
"I know, Buck," Chris whispered, suddenly very emotive. Nobody was nobler than Buck Wilmington. "... I know..."
Buck nodded, found a warm smile and sat back, just content to watch Chris dozing. The blond was still weak and tired easily. His own body was aching to sleep in a real bed. The pain killers he'd been given with dinner were kicking in. So he settled back and sighed, watching the blanketed chest rise and fall.
Chris looked up as the door opened, blinking and yawning. He'd drifted off to sleep again. It was almost nine p.m. His mother had gone home. Although she protested, she looked drained and both men insisted she get a good night's sleep. His father was asleep already.
"Hey boss!" Josiah whispered, slipping into the darkened room. "No T.V.?"
"Gives me a headache."
"You're losing your touch." The preacher nodded to Buck Wilmington who was stretched out, head resting on the edge of the chair, asleep. "I found a Starbucks down the road apiece." He saw the slight pause and commented. "It's okay, it's decaf."
"Thanks!" he nodded, taking the lid off and sipping the rich brew. He noticed the second cup and watched the gray-haired agent pop the top.
Josiah had his first sip down when he saw the patient put the cup down. The blond's face screwed up and one hand reached out, touching Buck's. The frown deepened and the older man smiled. Like it not, Chris Larabee had become a mother hen of sorts. He knew before the lips parted; he saw the concern.
"Get a blanket from the closet, it's chilly in here." Chris turned and saw the smug grin on the other's face. "What? Just my luck he'll get a cold and be a whinin' mess."
"If you say so, Chris," he chuckled, retrieving a blanket and carefully placing it over the sleeping man. He then settled in his own chair, enjoying his Latte.
They enjoyed the silence for a few moments, then Chris saw Josiah studying Buck's face carefully and thoughtfully.
"What?" he inquired.
"I've read the definition of 'intense sorrow'," the wise man replied, his eyes trained on the heroic mustached agent. "I've read about it in 'the Book'," he noted of the Bible. "But never in all my born days, did I actually see it in living color and feel it through my bones, than when that man thought he'd lost you."
He paused, took an awed breath and smiled softly. "Grief. It covered him like a colossal shroud. It painted his features and speared his heart. He was utterly and totally comsumed by agony. I've never seen anything like it."
Chris struggled for several moments, his mind playing up painful images of Buck's face twisted in pain. Had the situation been reversed, he knew how torn up he'd feel. Losing Buck would create a void that could never be mended. He'd become such an integral part of his life; he couldn't imagine existing without the chivalrous rogue. He'd known during all those lost hours, during the worst of the pain, that Buck would come. Buck would have never given up, not for DNA or any forensic science. He'd have found him, even if it meant just bringing him home to be buried with Sarah. His loyalty went far beyond where the border of friendship stopped.
"Sometimes, Josiah," Chris lauded quietly, turning his face to the handsome Wilmington's profile next to the bed, "I wonder how I got so lucky? He's always been there," he smiled at the bedside spot. "And I mean there. Every time I got shot or hurt, his face was the first I'd see. When Sarah and Adam died, my folks and Buck... well... there isn't a word in any language that can define what they did for me. . I knew, through the worst of it... I knew he'd come." He choked, then took a moment to collect himself. "They don't come any finer than Buck Wilmington."
"You're a lucky man, Chris Larabee," Josiah toasted with his coffee.
"That I am."
"You two women done weepin' yet?"
Josiah laughed and his smoky eyes crinkled with mirth as two dark blue eyes opened and a yawn followed lazily under the mustache. He watched Chris and Buck exchange a momentary glance reflecting the unique and timeless alliance forged long ago. A gaze held steady by intangible elements not confined to time or space. Most men dreamed of what these two shared. Then with a wink, the grinning Wilmington turned to him.
"Hey preacher, I'm puttin' in my reservation now. When my time comes I want you to toss some words over this humble body as it's lowered into the grave."
"Here comes my dinner back up..." Chris groused, with a begrudging grin.
"I'll do my best brother," Sanchez tossed with a nod.
"'Course," Buck continued, helping himself to Chris's coffee, "we may need to travel a bit. I figure, I started wooin' women when I was about twelve. That's a lot of broken hearts... the final count could be staggering. We may need that Cathedral in Washington... even then, there'll be spillage..."
"Spillage?" Josiah laughed, shaking his gray head. "Humble to the end!"
"Wilmington?"
"Yes, sir?" Buck turned to the dark side of the room where Adam Larabee's voice drifted from. Even half-asleep, he had a commanding air.
"Don't make me get up!"
"No, sir..." Buck chuckled and winked at Chris. "Sorry..."
"Spillage..." Adam grinned, trying to drift back to sleep.
Josiah lifted his cup and enjoyed the light shining from Chris Larabee's eyes. It was a strong light, a healing beam of brotherhood and it looked damn good.
"Mister Larabee?"
"Hmm?"
Chris squinted and coughed over a dry mouth. He adjusted his sight; the light from the hall spilled inside the dark room. A nurse was next to the bed. Abigail? Annette?
"Alex...?"
"Yes," she smiled. "I'm sorry to wake you. I got a call from ICU... it's your friend."
"Vin!"
"Hold it!" She pushed the struggling body gently and held firm until he stopped moving. "Calm down. He's fine. Hold on." She poured him a drink and held it out, watching the stormy green eyes regarding her.
"If he's fine," Chris took the water and drained it, then handed the cup back, "you wouldn't be waking me up."
"He's having bad dreams... thrashing around..." She paused. "He's terribly upset and calling for you. It's not our usual practice but your mother said you two were so close. If you could talk to him... reach out... maybe it would calm..."
"Get me a wheelchair," he interrupted, waiting for the bar to be lowered. She helped him into a robe and went out into the hall.
Of course, the elevator seemed to take forever and then they had to stop on another floor to let a lab technician out. He huffed and grunted, shifted in the chair and scowled.
"He's not going anywhere." Alex gave his back a pat, hearing and seeing the impatience.
"Good thing, we get held up any longer and breakfast will be arriving."
He waited while she spoke with the nurse and then his gaze roamed around until he saw the name Tanner on a marker next to a door.
"Alex..."
"Okay, Chris, I know you're anxious," she moved back. "This is Kelly, she's Vin's night nurse tonight."
"How is he?"
"His vital signs are stable and the fever is almost gone. He's still very weak and has difficulty staying awake. The head injury is probably contributing to that and fighting the infections in his leg wound and lungs hasn't helped. He's been too sick to take notice of the fact that he can't move his legs but the doctor is coming by around 8 tomorrow morning to talk to him now that he seems to be past the worst of it."
"I want to be here."
"I'll see if I can arrange..."
"Maybe I didn't phrase that right." Chris's voice matched the determination in his eyes. "I will be here. He's been through Hell and back and I won't have him hearing that kind of news alone. Got it?"
"Your mother said you were tough..." Kelly smiled. "Okay, you visit for a while and see if you can settle him down. Alex will come back to get you in a bit. I'll update her then and she can bring you back down in the morning, 630 or so. His breakfast tray will be here about that time."
"Let's go..." Chris turned, leaning forward and trying to will his injured limbs to work.
"He's quiet at the moment, but he's been having nightmares all night. We need to keep him still because of his legs." Kelly pushed the chair through the doorway and up next to the bed. A dim light revealed the injured man who slept fitfully. "He's really out of it and we can't seem to make him understand where he is... he keeps calling out for you."
"Vin?"
Chris's voice rose in shock at the short haircut framing the ashen face. Then he laughed softly, examining the 'new' Tanner look. "Damn, somebody stole my cowboy and left an 'Obsession ' ad." He eyed the new curls that seemed to peel even more years off the youthful agent.
"I did it... the clay or dirt or whatever it was he was lying in got wet and turned hard. I hope he's not too upset. His other friends seemed shocked."
"Vin's hair is important to him. It's his gift to Gray Eagle, his grandfather." He paused, recalling the emotion shining from Tanner's eyes when he shared the story of the old man with him. "... it's a long story." He cocked his head and laughed again, thinking of Buck's reaction when he saw the shorn locks. "Buck's gonna ride this for weeks."
"I'll be just outside, push that if you need me."
"Thanks, Kelly."
Chris sat facing Vin, his chair right next to the bed. He eyed the plastic tubes carrying oxygen and vital fluids into the battered body and wrinkled his nose at the catheter behind him taking fluid out. He slipped a hand through the side rail, reaching out and laying his fingers against the exposed throat. Bruises peeked over the loose fitting gown and he was again painfully reminded of Vin's brutal treatment. The ragged cut stuck out under the new curling hair and he thought on Vin's lost days. He sighed and studied the quiet face, feeling an overwhelming rise of emotion inside. The right cheek was still discolored and swollen from the brutal backhand from Bull Savage.
A word came to him then, stabbing his heart and chilling him to the core.
Loss.
That horrible void that comes when you cease to have. To be unable to find. To be deprived of. Each group of thoughts came with horrifying images of Vin's coffin being lowered into the dirt. His own grief-stricken face turned to heaven, two fists raised in accusation and anger. His body consumed by the white fire of bereavement as he denied what was and sacrificed his soul forever.
Cold.
Alone.
Shattered.
"God..." he hushed, his trembling fingers hovering over Vin's hand while his eyes raked over the waxen face.
He shook it off, totally unnerved by a feeling he'd only felt once before, when Sarah and Adam were buried. But Vin wasn't lost. He was here; he was real and he wouldn't be alone. Whatever hellish world claimed his dark nights, he'd not battle those demons by himself. Chris rubbed his stinging eyes and shifted in the chair, his aching body protesting any kind of movement.
Unaware that his safe harbor was near, Vin Tanner fought alone. The screaming came first as it always did. An unholy cry as if Lucifer himself was ripping his balls off. There was a horrific noise and pain exploded in his head and leg.
Then the water came, choking him and he saw a flash of silver metal tearing through blurry green forms. A flash of orange flames and black smoke split the blurry vision. The screams came again and a face rose up. A man with blond hair and piercing green eyes. A man who was more than a friend. He fought against the water, trying to reach that man. Was he the one screaming? Was he trapped in a fire?
"Vin?" Chris sat forward, hissing and grabbing his side.
The body in the bed jerked and the breathing became frantic. Gasping pants split the slack lips and a sheen of sweat broke out on the fine features. The face twisted and dissolved in a mask of agony. Both hands rose up and began to grab air as if he were digging.
"Vin! Cut it out!" Chris ordered, grabbing a wayward hand after it clipped his face.
A vine snagged his hand and prevented him from reaching the burning object. He heard his name called. It was a voice he knew, pleading with him. Chris needed him and he couldn't save him. He pushed hard, fighting to get there in time.
"Vin, snap out of it!" He waved his hand over the unseeing, wide eyes. The blue gaze was filled with panic, the eyes darting. His gasping pants were interrupted by the frantically bobbing Adam's apple. He leaned closer, tipping Vin's face to the side to face him.
"Vin!"
No, it couldn't be!
Chris was so close, he could see his face. The flames were licking up, consuming the blond's features. He saw the skin melt and the garish muscle and skeletal remains scream at him in fury. Then the green eyes exploded and he screamed.
"No... no..." he cried out, tears cresting his eyes.
"Vin, you're scaring me." Chris tapped the wet cheek.
"Chris! No... no...!"
"Jesus!"
Chris got a deathgrip on the square jaw of the lost soul's face and shook it gently. Then Vin's body went limp and that scared him more. He didn't like the corpse-like state and gave the slack jaw a tap.
"Vin, wake up!" He charged, sliding his fingers to the pale neck, marked by bruises.
Vin blinked and eyed the cold desert terrain. He loved it here and with the wise old one guiding him, he had learned about the universe. He respected Mother Earth and all her children. He could read the land better than most and was a student of the sky as well. He felt the hand on his neck and smiled, looking up at his grandfather.
He wanted to tell him how much he'd learned. He wanted Gray Eagle to be proud of him as he was of his own father. He wanted to see those dark eyes shining with pride. But he was so tired. His body hurt too much and he felt a cold, emptiness inside. He lifted his wounded eyes to his beloved grandfather, calling to him.
"...nameseme..."
"Huh?" Chris puzzled of the weak whisper. "Come on, Vin, wake up..." he tried, tapping his cheek.
Gray Eagle was worried; he could hear it in his voice. The timbre changed and he felt a tremble in the hand that held him. He sighed and closed his eyes. He was so tired and told the older man.
"...nakahaneotse..."
"What?"
Chris pulled back then, an inner alarm sounding. He didn't know the words, but he knew the dialect. Vin was seeking out Gray Eagle and the defeat in his voice gave the blond a sinking weight in his gut. "Dammit, don't you quit on me! Wake the hell up!" he demanded, shaking the squared jaw.
Didn't Gray Eagle understand? He couldn't fight the pain anymore. His body hurt too much and he was so tired. It was time to say goodbye.
The blue eyes parted halfway and one hand rose up, tapping the slender chest. Chris grabbed it just as the frail voice emerged, colored a scary shade of farewell.
"...nestaevahosevoomatse..."
"What?" His voice disappeared into a shocked shell. He shook his head, dumbfounded at the total and utter defeat in the tone. Then he got angry.
"All right, Vin! That's enough! Snap out of it!" he demanded, raising his voice sternly and putting pressure on his grip. "I didn't drag my ass all the hell over that fuckin' mountain and keep you alive only to have to up and quit on me. I won't let you give up! Open your goddamn eyes and look at me!"
The wind shifted, swirling around him and sweeping into a churning tunnel. The sky exploded into a million colors, showering him with a hot rainbow bath. He gasped and choked, clawing and digging his way out. He heard a voice and it was angry. It wasn't Gray Eagle. It was... it was...
"...ris...?" he rasped, peeling his eyes half open. He saw a blurry face, a pale one with yellow hair. It couldn't be. He was dead. It was all so confusing. The images stormed through his frazzled brain. Silver metal on a mountain, a fire, a brother calling to him, in pain and the horrific vision. The water swallowing him up and then Gray Eagle by his side. But this wasn't his grandfather. This was Larabee. But he was...
"...dead... Chris..."
"Hell, no! I'm not dead," he addressed the fragile question. "I'm right here... I'm..."
He paused then, pulled his hands down and watched the terrified eyes roaming around the room. The breathing was still labored and the arms of the shaken man were trembling badly. The shuddering gasps were punctuated with soft, shuddering cries. Finally, the eyes locked onto him. He didn't speak at first, not wishing to startle the obviously dazed man. Then the damp face cocked and the eyes studied him closely. He never broke the gaze, not even as one shaking hand moved upwards, touching his face. The trembling fingers traced over his eye, the side of his nose and jaw, then his chin.
"I'm real, Vin," he said softly, taking that wobbly hand and gripping it hard. "And I'm not leaving. We made it, cowboy... we're home."
Home.
Chris.
Safe.
Warm.
Chris.
Home.
So many things assaulted his fragile mind. But the feel of the flesh under his fingers took all the pain away. Chris was really here, not in a burning wreck. He swallowed hard, letting his breathing slow down and felt an almost electric charge course through him. He felt that strong grasp and weakly returned it before letting the prayer out.
"Ch..ris...!"
He smiled then, watching the play of emotions unfold on Tanner's face. Fear fled as uncertainty took over, then that was replaced by a healing shade of contentment. He felt the hand trembling still and then a weak tug.
"...it was... s'real... silver... metal... and fire... yer face... I tried t'get t'ya... the water's t'cold... I couldn't breathe... yer face melted... I tried... yer eyes exploded... I couldn't reach ya... I tried..."
"I know, Vin," Chris soothed as the nurse finally moved from her spot in the doorway.
"Vin?"
"Yeah?" He blinked, then coughed a few times, opening his mouth to accept the straw she held. He drank slowly, refusing to let the hand go. He couldn't just yet. He still saw that face melting. It was too real. "Thanks..." he managed, nodding at the concerned health care worker. "I'm okay... sorry fer the fuss... didn't wake nobody, did I?"
"No," she smiled, eyeing the death grip he had on Chris Larabee's hand. "I'll be right outside if you need anything. Okay?"
"Yeah..." Vin nodded, still refusing to relinquish his grip. He eyed the marred face, the injured leg and the cuts adorning his friend's collarbone above the neckline of his gown."... yer hurt...?"
"Yeah, I collected a few more dents."
He paused again, eyeing the room and furrowing his brows. More images returned and he relaxed. A pretty woman with Chris's blond hair and green eyes. A kind voice, a gentle touch... a mother's touch. He pulled his hand free and rubbed his eyes, trying to push the pain back.
"Yer ma?... was... she... here.?" He paused and let his breathing catch up.
"Since they brought you in. She likes picking up blue-eyed strays..."
"Thank God..." he sighed heavily. "...'fraid I dreamt 'er..." He recalled the wonderful angel. "... I felt her... touch... Chris..."
"The power of Vin strikes again..." he teased and then frowned, watching the slim fingers absentmindedly searching his chest. He puzzled at the darting eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I lost... can't find... it..." he paused, sorrowfully glancing at the older man. "...I'm sorry, Chris."
"Sorry?" He scowled and reached for the water, giving Vin another drink. Then he realized what Vin was searching for before his own mind went blank. He remembered little of the journey back. Had one of the medics taken it? Or perhaps someone in the ER? He'd ask his mother to find it. Vin needed it. "I'll find it, okay?"
"Ya ain't sore?"
He sounded so young, and the eyes went so wide, it gave the blond a wide grin. He shook his head and chuckled softly.
"No, cowboy, I ain't sore."
"I like that," Vin decided of the warm feeling that word caused whenever the other man said it. "How come ya call me that?"
"Well," Chris sighed, scratched at his leg and put the empty cup back on the bed stand. The image of the former long-haired Texan donned in faded jeans, a black t-shirt and denim jacket with timeworn brown boots on his Harley, cuttin' loose and riding the wind came to mind. That free spirit, who at times seemed to be from another era, who held justice close. "Because it suits you."
He saw the puzzled face and tried to explain. "It started after a run-in with a bunch of drunks who took offense at my clothes. After we cleaned the floor with them, I was still counting the stars over my head and saw your busted up face. You started to haul me up and said..."
"Give ya a hand, cowboy?" Vin rasped in a daze, his face drawn into a puzzle. "How come I can't see the pictures yet? They're just beyond... I can't get the box open... I want m'pictures back..."
"They will come back, Vin. You have to give it some time. You busted that thick head of yours pretty good this time."
"I don't like it," Vin decided with a pout, "It's like livin' in a black and white television show and everybody else is in color. What if I got a wife somewheres..."
"God forbid!" Chris joked, then saw the frightened gaze. "I told you already, you're not married. Where do you live?"
"Denver."
"Where do you work?"
"Uh... DEA... no, that ain't right... it's another bunch o'letters... FBI... aw, hell... " He peeked over and got no help. "... guns... explosives... ATF!"
"Attaboy!" Chris praised. "How many men on our team?"
"Seven... and there's horses somewheres and a ranch... and a... a... big black... dog..." He rambled too fast, losing his breath and getting a pain in his chest.
"That's my place near the mountains. You freeload there... Sam's the dog..."
"Yeah!" His voice rose. "Hey... hey... I remember him!" He scrunched his brow. "...I got a... a... bike... a Harley..."
"Death trap!" Chris's smile faded when Vin's eyes filled with distress and he choked out a cry of pain. Both fists curled up and he pushed his head into the pillow. "Vin? Vin?"
"...hurts... God!" he choked, eyes tearing. "...it... hurts...!"
"Damn...!" Chris fumbled, trying to find the button for the nurse. He grabbed Vin's hand and held on, but with a final stifled cry, the body went limp.
"You're gonna kill me or cure me, Tanner..." he hissed, slumped in his chair and rubbed his own aching head.
"Time to go, Chris." Alex appeared, Kelly flanking her.
"I'll keep an eye on him," the nurse vowed. "You reached him, Chris. That's a big step. Knowing you're here, feeling you and talking to you, will help him conquer the fear and get rid of those dreams."
She got no reply and watched as he reluctantly but gently placed the limp hand back under the blanket. His gaze lingered on the now serene face in the bed. Hopefully, he'd be able to sleep in peace now, without fighting demons.
"Sweet dreams, cowboy..."
From the deep black sea he was riding in, something called to him. He turned and inhaled the breeze, the tantalizing scent of meat and something sweet beckoning. His empty stomach replied, growling in earnest. He swam for shore, breaking the waves easily.
Chris turned at the moan next to him. He shifted uncomfortably in the stiff chair and eyed the waking patient. He'd pushed the button on Vin's bed, allowing his upper body to rise up halfway. The brows furrowed and a slip of tongue navigated dry lips. A series of coughs followed before the fuzzy eyes opened. Satisfied Vin was alright, he resumed his meal.
The drowsy man quickly woke up as a fork with pancakes dripping in maple syrup danced before him. He opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out, but the tempting food went past. He frowned and waited, then the fork reappeared with a piece of sausage on it. Again, he parted his lips and waited but the fork went past. The third time, the utensil was over laden with pancakes and sausage drizzled in syrup. He moaned, his stomach was screaming for food and he pulled his head up higher and opened his mouth wider, only to be passed by again.
"Gimme m'fuckin' food!"
Chris grinned and turned, waiting for Vin's blinking eyes to find him and then he let the fork go into his own mouth, licking his lips. There was something very satisfying about the return of the cursing, cranky Texan. It was the best medicine he could take in and he swallowed gratefully.
"Damn, that's good!"
"It outta be... forbidden fruit always tastes better."
"Forbidden?" Chris squinted, letting the fork down momentarily to retrieve his coffee. Two small breakfast trays were sideways on Vin's stand which was positioned over his abdomen. Chris had already begun eating his own meal before the grouchy patient woke up.
"Hell, yeah... ya stole it... it's mine!"
"Yours?" Chris took another sip of coffee. "How do you figure?"
"My room... my... my... stuff..." he defended weakly, one hand fumbling under the blanket. "Give it over... what kinda rig is this? Where's m'fuckin' hand?" He wiggled as best he could.
Chris's smile faded and he leaned over, pressing Vin's upper chest.
"Listen to me, Vin, you need to stay still. You hurt your back, your legs were affected."
"Huh?" Vin's eyes were rimmed in suspicion as they studied his friend's face. "Whaddya mean 'hurt'?"
"It's a long story, Vin and we will..."
"Fuck!" Vin vented, suddenly realizing he couldn't move his legs. He moved his hand and pinched the flesh on his thigh and felt... "...can't feel nuthin'... I'm crippled! Goddammit, why didn't ya tell... shit..."
"You finished your tantrum?" Chris directed pressing Vin harder and forcing him to submit. He waited and watched the younger man struggle for breath. His still healing chest wasn't used to that much activity. The face that turned to him was full of anger and venom dripped from the telltale eyes. He loosened the sheet and pulled Vin's hand out. "First of all, nothing's broken, the doctors are confident you'll recover. A specialist is coming in a little while to explain it. It's gonna take some time and rest, but you'll be back ridin' that deathtrap on my mountain in no time." Still the anger was shouting at him from those wide eyes. He felt the ragged breathing bouncing off the walls of Vin's bruised chest. Patience was not his strong suit, so he pushed forward. "You got tossed off a short cliff and landed on a rock. You're lucky to be alive."
"Yer squatted over there, ya got all yer parts workin'. Ya ain't the one layin' like a lump o'clay..." Vin accused, needing somebody to be angry at. "Don't tell me how t'feel!"
"I damn near died on that mountain saving your ungrateful ass!" Chris fired back, "How about you acting your age and not like a whining four-year old."
For several minutes, the only sound was harsh breathing. Both men still had some inner wounds to heal. Chris knew Vin was scared, but he didn't want him drowning in pity. Finally, the face turned back to him with half the flash gone from the eyes. Now where anger once reigned, the blues were bruised.
"I'm sorry, Chris, it's a bit unsettlin', not feelin' anythin'." Vin sighed and nervously tapping his fingers on the sheet. "I wasn't ready fer that..."
"I know you're scared, Vin, hell anybody would be. You're not fightin' this battle alone, okay?"
"Yeah..." Vin managed, then found a half-smile. "...jest fer the record, this ass is mighty grateful."
Chris returned the smile and gave Vin's upper arm a tap. "Scrawny too! Nothing says "Thank You' better than freshly minted bills."
"Well than I reckon yer shit-outta-luck, cowboy!" Vin chuckled, exhaling deeply and feeling incredibly lucky having Chris Larabee by his side.
Chris waited a few more moments, until Vin seemed to be breathing better and some of the naked fear left his eyes. As if sensing his thoughts, the other man spoke.
"I got... some... pictures... I need help with..." Vin confessed. "...been shootin' the hell all over m'dreams... could be talkin' 'em out might help."
"What do you remember?" Chris soothed quietly, "Lay your head back and shut your eyes, it'll help."
"Uh..." Vin obeyed, closed his eyes and tried to snatch at the images passing by. A large bald man with menacing eyes and the sting of leather on his skin. "...some bastard whipped me... a big ugly fucker."
"That's Bull Savage, we ran into him in a diner in New Mexico. That's where we got caught. They were on the run from the law and took us as insurance, right out of the country into Mexico."
"..can't recall... jest feel the leather..." He paused and saw a plane... and Chris being tied up and tossed in the back. "...plane... yer tied up..."
"Go on..."
"Uh... uh..." Vin began to pant and twist his head. "...aw, hell... somethin's wrong... they's screamin' and it's bustin' up..."
"We crashed." Chris moved his hand, gripping the side of Vin's neck. "Get past that...." He didn't want another pain splitting the younger man's head just now.
"... a man with a cross... he's real nice... can't see his face... jest hear his voice... soothin' like..."
"That's the padre who found you. He saved your life, took care of you. What next?"
"...uh..." Vin swallowed and coughed, then peeled an eye open. "Chris, I'm drier than a buzzard's butt..."
"Sorry." The blond moved and picked up his untouched juice, popped the top and stuck a straw in it. "Here... slow and easy..."
"Thanks," Vin gasped, having drained the cold liquid. He settled back, closed his eyes and saw green trees... and felt pain, lots of pain. "I'm hurtin'... uh... marchin' near trees... somebody's with me... he's got no hair... but it ain't the big feller..."
"Arlee, his son, he brainwashed you. Sick fuckin' bastard... died too quick..."
"...his Pa's dead?" Vin opened his eyes again, questioning.
"They're both rottin' in Hell!" Chris fumed, eyes glowing like coals.
"Then ya ain't gotta get so worked up, 'kay? "Vin fretted, seeing too much pain in the green eyes.
"Just releasing steam, Vin," Chris offered, then found a half grin. "But thanks..."
"Uh... uh..." Vin sighed but saw nothing. "...I'm drawin' blanks again..."
"That's okay, Vin, you did good.It's not gonna come back all at once. After we crashed, we got split up. You met up with Arlee in San Pedro in a hospital. He convinced you he was your kin and that I killed your brother, Chris. He used you, tortured you, twisted your mind all up."
"I'm sorry..." Vin blurted, gripping the sheets under his fingers hard. He didn't see a picture but felt a horrible thing had been done to his friend. He felt an explosion of rage and saw his own face full of fire. He felt such guilt and fear wash over him, it choked him. He'd done something bad and he had the feeling Chris was on the other end of that wrath. "I'm sorry... Chris... I hurt ya? I can't see the pictures... I done somethin' awful... didn't I?"
"You had amnesia, Vin," he addressed the soulful eyes which were burning a path right through his gut. Damned blue beacons were worse than a jagged knife. "It wasn't your fault. You have a long, tough road ahead and you need to save your energy for that. Don't be burnin' it up worryin' on that shit. It's old news, okay?"
"But..." Vin rasped, seeing brief flashes of the blond man's face twisted in pain. Then he saw his own face, painted with rage and hate, and he saw the knife. "What the fuck?" he denied, turning away. "I tried to slit yer throat... aw, Jesus..."
Vin slammed his eyes shut, trying to deny what he knew was true. His breath came in short pants and his head was full of red hot fire ants that seemed to be eating his brain. A cold sweat broke out, dancing down his face. He tried to stop the cries of pain but a few slipped out. That he could have killed this man, so easily, scared him. He heard a strange noise and turned his damp face. The back of a blue robe was moving away in the wheelchair.
"Yer leavin'?"
Chris's hand froze on the wheel rims; the small empty voice that was trembling had a chokehold on him but good. He took a breath and kept his eyes on the door. He didn't have to turn around. He knew those blue eyes were large and full of unfathomable pain and guilt.
"You gonna quit draggin' your chin around? You gonna lose that hair shirt?"
"Huh?" Vin furrowed his brows and managed to free one hand from the tight blanket, rubbing his chest. "I ain't got any shirt on..." He wrinkled his nose and felt his skin. "...ain't got any hair neither..."
Chris chuckled at that and shook his head. "It's an expression, Vin. It means to bear guilt unnecessarily. I won't be a party to that. You quit fuckin' around or I'm leaving."
There was a pregnant pause and the only thing he heard was several jagged breaths.
"Don't... go..."
"Damn..." His shoulders slumped. He didn't know if he could face those blue eyes and the riddled agony they'd be shimmering with. He took a deep breath and pulled his head up, tipping his face sideways. "I'm waiting..."
"I'll try... but it's hard, Chris. I can't pick the pictures that come out of the box. They just shoot up in m'head. It hurts like hell."
"Okay, that's fine,Vin. It's a part of the healing. But that guilt isn't and you need to come to terms with it and let it go."
"I want t'hear what happened."
"Okay." Chris turned back and awkwardly got himself to the bed. He leveled an honest stare at the suffering soul and began. "Arlee busted you out of the hospital somehow, and used you... your tracking skills... to follow our trail. Bull and me had gotten picked up by rebels. They held us prisoner but we broke out, with some help." A brief and painful glimpse of a young brave girl with dark eyes lingered. What had happened to Maria?. "By the time we met up with you two, Arlee had you convinced that I was some maniac who tortured and killed your brother 'Chris'."
Chris paused a moment, collecting his thoughts.
"I never saw you so worked up, you were like a rabid dog. Yeah, you tried to slit my throat, but you passed out. They laughed." His face darkened and he pushed his rage down. "We fought again. That's how we both got burned. We rolled through a fire." He scratched his chin and felt a swell of pride rise in his chest. "It was a crazy feeling. I was scared and proud at the same time. That you would have such bloodlust in your eyes, to kill, avenge, 'Chris's' death... it really got to me, cowboy."
"Don't cotton on havin' t'go there again, if it's all the same..." Vin whispered, feeling a smothering loss.
"Me either." Chris sighed, rubbed his eyes and continued. "Your head was getting worse and your fever was rising. I had to do something. I knew come morning, after we crossed the river, Bull would be close to civilization and he'd kill us. So I took out Arlee while Bull was asleep. Then he woke upand we fought. You got the gun... you didn't know what to do. Bull was screaming at you to shoot me... but you couldn't. For whatever reason, despite the agony you were in... " Chris's voice caught then, seeing that awful picture of Vin screaming in pain, one hand on his head. "...you shot Bull instead. He backhanded you, sent you over the edge and you landed on a rock."
He took a long breath then to steady himself.
"I thought... when I saw your body on that rock... I thought you died on me... I was pissed off at you but good." He frowned, then eyed the startled man who was trying to piece all the jagged edges together. "Don't scare me like that again!"
"Yer jest lucky I was busted up..." Vin countered, not liking the uneasiness Chris wore. Try as he might, he couldn't get the image of himself with the knife at Chris's throat from his head. "It wouldn't take much t'put down yer skinny Yankee ass."
"Comin' from a scrawny Reb," Chris smiled then, moving the blanket to free Vin's hand. It came up on its own, locking with his in a grip of brotherhood, "I'll take that as a compliment. Thanks, Vin."
"What happened after that? How'd we get here?" Vin rasped, letting his throbbing skull rest on the pillow. The action didn't go unnoticed.
"We'll finish later. You're pressing too hard."
They rested for a few minutes, each recovering and sifting through a pile of jangled nerves and exposed emotions. Chris felt a headache coming on. His concussion was rearing up again. He rubbed his eyes, trying to push the pain back.
"..'s'that mean I can eat the rest of m'food, afore ya scarf it all up?" Vin settled back, closed his own aching eyes and waited. "...and don't put no more syrup on the sausage... get some ketchup. But don't put it on 'em. Jest dip up once, nice and easy... but not too..."
Something soft, mushy and paste-like invaded his mouth, clamping off the end of his orders. He screwed his face up, shoved his heavy eyes open and swallowed reluctantly. He didn't like it and decided to let the smirking blond know.
"What the hell is that? I ain't eatin' that shit!" the blue-eyed irate man declared, eyeing the congealing oatmeal. "Hell, it looks like somebody already ate it and tossed it back. What are them clumps? I want real food. I got rights..."
"No, you don't," Chris sent back with another spoonful of oatmeal. "...not while you're in here. You're gonna eat every bit of that and like it, understand? I ain't puttin' up with your cursin' mouth. You can't leave ICU until you keep food in that complainin' body of yours. You want to be my roommate, then shut up and eat."
Vin digested the words and grabbed the spoon. He scowled; he cursed; he shoved Chris's hand away and cursed again. He made three different faces, wrinkled his nose and gagged dramatically with every bite. He shot several hot glances at the smug blond before finally finishing, both the oatmeal and the fruit.
"Shut up, Lar'bee!"
"I didn't say a word."
"The hell ya didn't!" Vin fired back, not happy. "I heard ya clear as dirt... spoutin' from them green eyes... could be I don't want yer naggin' ass fer a roommate." He jutted his chin out defiantly.
"Could be you don't have a choice." Chris finished his meal and dumped sugar packets into Vin's tea. "Could be I wouldn't wish the worst patient in this hospital on your ornery, cussin' ass."
For a few minutes, Vin let the familiar tone of Chris Larabee's voice embrace his wounded spirit. It felt good, damn good and he sighed, settled back and tried to sort out his tangled insides. The only reason he was laying in this bed, alive and back home safe, was because of this man. He didn't know all the answers yet, but he would, in time. What he did know was that he was going to thank God again tonight for that privilege.
"Could be," Vin rasped, his hand moving to where the medal should be and then pausing, his fingers nervously tapping his chest. "I'm the luckiest son-of-a-bitch breathin' free air..." He choked, his eyes filling. "I ain't got all the pictures yet... but they'll come. I done some talkin' with the Man upstairs last night. I wanted t'make sure He knew... how much ya mean... t'keep an eye out fer ya... extra-special like..."
"Don't, Vin!
Chris gripped the struggling man's arm and watched him fight hard to control his ragged emotions. Amnesia was a tough thing to handle and coupled with the fight to mend the other physical wounds, it was hard on a man, even a Tanner.
"Funny thing, I tried talkin' to the Man myself last night. His line was busy..." He smiled and let genuine gratitude shine freely through his warm green eyes. "...so tonight you keep them Tanner gums from flappin' too much, you hear? I got my own thanks to give..."
Vin nodded, full of wonderment and anticipation at the ease of which he knew he could naturally trust this man. It was as if an incredible weight was lifted and he could breathe better. He reached for his mug of tea, took a sip and winced. He put the cup down and his eyes carefully scoured both trays until he saw what he needed. He moved his hand but it got slapped.
"Ouch!"
"No."
"It needs more dousin'..."
"You're a diabetic accident waiting to happen," Chris chided. "It's got four packs of sugar in there now. It's only an eight ounce mug. No."
"...goddamn ornery old bear..." Vin mumbled, then wrinkled his brow and sipped the lukewarm tea, coughing in exaggeration.
"I heard that!" Chris shot back, watching the familiar cranky face and liking it.
"I can barely get it down..." Vin complained.
"Well, there's a first time for everything."
"Good morning!"
Both men looked up at the new voice that sailed through the doorway. A white-jacket physician moved inside, pulling the curtain closed behind him, ensuring privacy.
"Mr. Tanner, I'm Dr. Jacobs from Neurosurgery. The ICU Intensivist has asked me to evaluate your back and leg injuries. I dropped by to see you yesterday but you were still unconscious." The man was tall and on the reed-thin side, his hair a mix of salt-and-pepper gray that spoke of long years spent practicing his craft. He turned to greet the blond. "You must be Mr. Larabee?"
Chris turned stiffly in his chair, grunting a little with the effort and extended a hand. "It's Chris and this is Vin," he offered with a nod, hearing Vin's politely murmured greeting as well. The new arrival's grip was firm, the handshake terse but professional.
"Chris told me ya'd be stoppin' by, I reckon we're both anxious to hear what ya have t'say." Vin confessed.
"That's certainly understandable given the circumstances," the doctor sympathized. "But before discussing your injuries, Vin I need to do a complete neurologic exam before I can draw any conclusions. Chris, if you don't mind, could you leave us alone for a few minutes?"
A mutinous expression immediately appeared on the patient's face. The doctor was surprised when a mirrored image appeared on the blond man's face, just as he aired his reservations.
"I'm staying," Chris replied flatly, his tone of voice brooking no argument.
One gray eyebrow lifted appraisingly before he acceded to Chris's demands. "All right, but I'll need for you to move back from the bed, please."
With a quick glance at Vin, noting the slightly nervous look in those deep blue depths, Chris did as the doctor requested. His hands gripped the wheel rims of his chair and he moved backward to create space next to the bed. Then Dr. Jacobs moved forward, sliding the tray table out of the way. Gently, he peeled the blankets and sheet off, exposing the patient's body. One of Vin's hands fluttered restlessly, betraying his anxiety and anticipation of pain.
"This won't hurt, Vin. I assure you, I'll be very gentle," Jacobs soothed.
Calm? Vin's heart was gyrating and he felt cold. His flinched and gasped when the physician's fingers deftly began turning his neck.
"Sorry..." Vin whispered, "yer hands is warm."
The doctor nodded, that having been one of his questions. This gentle rotation was also applied to his elbows, knees, ankles and hips.
"Can you feel my hands? Are they still warm?"
"No..."
Chris winced at that small voice and watched Vin's saucer-like eyes darting from left to right. He watched as the doctor took out a wooden applicator and broke it, creating a jagged edge. He prodded the soles of Vin's feet and watched his face. It remained fixed, there was no response to stimulation. But the fists clenched at either side of his body betrayed his frustraton.
Vin heard a twanging sound and watched the doctor apply a strange looking fork to his legs. He chuffed out another breath and swallowed hard. Prognosis be damned, he couldn't feel a thing. He couldn't feel hot or cold, sharp or blunt or the vibration from the fork.
"Doc?" His voice quavered and his face flushed beneath his sunburn, embarrassed by how weak and frail he sounded.
"Just a minute more, Vin," the doctor requested. "I'm almost done." He missed the look of concern, anxiety and unspoken comfort that passed between the two close friends, Vin needing to see Chris's face and feel his solid presence.
Finally, just when Vin thought he could stand it no more, the neurosurgeon straightened and put his instruments back into the pocket of his white coat.
"Well?" Chris asked the obvious question; Vin's throat was too dry to form any words.
"First of all," the expert began, "the good news is that all of your tests are negative for any fractures or broken bones. Considering what I've been told about the fall you took, that's nothing short of a miracle."
"So how come m'legs is fu... messed up. Why can't I feel nuthin'?" Vin pressed, his anxious tone sending the words out in a hurry.
"You've sustained what, in medical terms, we call a spinal cord contusion."
"Aw, hell..." Vin rasped, eyes like wavering blue saucers. "What the hell's that?"
"It's a bruise to the spinal cord which causes swelling of the nerve fibers. The result is an interruption in transmission of neural impulses from the brain to the lower extremities. The end result is that you can't feel or move your body below the level of the contusion."
"Shit! Aw, shit..." Vin hissed, pounding a fist into the mattress. On the third attempt, his hand was snagged.
"Vin! Calm down!" Chris thundered. "Let him finish!"
"There's a very good chance that this is not permanent. Do you hear me? It may not be permanent."
But Vin's numb brain was still smothered by the words. They echoed in his mind ,stabbing at his worst fears.
'...you can't feel or move your body...'
He swallowed hard and felt a hot rush of color to his face. His breathing began to become troublesome and he felt cold all over. He began to shiver, even his teeth rattled. Then a warm hand covered his cold one. The heat of that touch spread through him and created a fire inside. It glowed, embers long dormant stoked up and he felt a surge of hope. He turned his face and locked onto the other's.
Green eyes met blue.
His breathing regulated and his heart stopped jackhammering. The shivering stopped and he licked his dry lips, took a deep breath and nodded his thanks. He heard the doctor clear his throat and reluctantly left Chris's gaze to concentrate on the assessment.
"More than likely, the paralysis you're experiencing is only temporary. Once the swelling in the spinal cord goes down, you should.and I emphasize the word 'should'..get full return of function."
"When? How soon?" Vin begged anxiously.
"If there's going to be any signs of improvement, we usually start to see them at least by about seventy-two hours after the injury. By that time, the body is working hard to repair itself and decrease the swelling. Have you noticed any tingling sensations, muscle twitches or sharp, shooting pains down your legs?"
"No."
Chris winced visibly at the wispy echo of a whisper that the Texan managed to slip between his tense lips. He let out a long breath and tried to find the right words to take Vin's doubts and fears away.
"That's okay. It's probably too soon to see any improvement just yet. We've got to give your body more time to rest and heal," the doctor noted.
"Are ya sure? What if it don't? What if m'legs never come back?" The anxious man babbled nervously.
"There are no one-hundred percent guarantees in medicine, Vin. I can only give you probabilities and my best guess based on years of extensive clinical experience. I'm very optimistic for your full recovery and I don't anticipate any long term disability as a result of this injury." The doctor paused, still seeing the doubt and uncertainty in his patient's eyes. "What I'm trying to say, Vin, is that I believe you will be just fine. It may take a few more days but eventually, you'll be back to your old self again."
"Ridin' that deathtrap and driving me nuts." Chris barbed, trying to dispell Vin's tension. "Making midnight runs to the store for chocolate and ruining the coffee at work."
Vin knew Chris was trying hard and managed a weak smile, but inwardly he was terrified.
"All right, in the meantime, Vin, I'd like to get you started on some physical therapy once you're transferred out of ICU. We don't want your muscles to atrophy or the joints to stiffen up while the nerves are out of commission. I'll write my recommendations on your chart and have one of the therapists see you as soon as you get to the floor."
"What about the headaches he's been having?" Chris inquired.
"Those are probably a result of the severe concussion that Vin sustained. Those will go away in time, but it might be several weeks before he's symptom free." He turned to the quiet patient, " You just need to give yourself some time and don't be afraid to take something for the pain. You'll only make it worse if you try to fight against it. Any other questions I can answer for either of you?" the surgeon inquired solicitously.
"Yeah..." Vin croaked, fear gnawing greedily on his nerves. "I ain't go no... I can't remember nuthin'... when's my pict... uh... memory comin' back?"
"Amnesia is a difficult thing to predict. Sometimes it's a matter of days, sometimes weeks..."
"Sometimes never..." Vin gasped, shivering as the chills returned.
"Yes, I'm afraid that is true."
"But Vin, you've been remembering pieces of the past. You gotta believe, cowboy..." Chris paused, then gripped the frantic hand. "You gotta try, okay?"
"Yeah," Vin agreed and eyed his useless legs. Despite what both his friend and the doctor said, he was fearful. But he didn't want Chris to worry on him. He had his own injuries and pain to recover from. He turned and managed a weak smile of confidence.
The doctor was fairly certain of a good outcome for the frail-looking patient lying in the bed and he couldn't quite hide the smile of pleasure that lit his face. So often he had to be the bearer of bad news. Today was a welcome respite from the sometimes burdensome duty. "I'll be on my pager if you think of anything and I'll also be stopping by to check on your progress, Vin. I'd like to have you up and at least walking with assistance before we discharge you home."
"Thanks, Doc."
"I'll see you later, Vin. Try to get some rest and let that body start to heal."
It was after the doctor left and Chris was by Vin's side where he felt most comfortable. It wasn't his imagination. The younger man was sleeping easier. Perhaps purging some of the demons helped. Now that Vin had an idea about what had happened, maybe that box inside would open a little freer. Until then, he'd be on guard, keeping those demons at bay.
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