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.
It didn't take long for a routine to settle into the now full house. Vin was an early riser and was washed, dressed and taking Maggie outside by sunup. Kate would come down next to the wonderful aroma of coffee. Adam would soon appear, sharing coffee with her and small talk. Then Chris would arrive about the same time Vin would amble back inside. All four would eat breakfast and the table was lively. Kate would then go to work and leave the three males to fend for themselves.
Healing bodies required rest and for the two younger men, the first several days included long periods of sleep. Vin quickly found that by pushing himself too hard and not resting, his headaches were worse, the recurring pain forcing him to lie down. And more often than not, he'd wake up later only to find twilight approaching with most of the day gone - all of which only just served to depress him even more.
Generally, the evenings were good, sharing a movie or a game on the television or both. Vin would excuse himself first, seeking some solace in his room. He had a lot on his mind and didn't want to weigh the Larabees down any further. And then the waiting game would begin. He'd lie in that bed, pushing off the pain medication. He'd try to force his brain to work, like a sifter in the sand, searching to find those hidden treasures. But his efforts yielded no harvest; his box remained closed.
As darkness fell, so would his hopes and the night became a garish enemy. A stealthy invader that stole his resistance. Fear would settle in, swirling around him and stoking his already tender brain. Tonight was no different. He moved gingerly on the bed, wincing as his weary body protested. Exhaustion pushed into the space behind his eyes, giving his headache a nudge.
"...hell's the use..." he muttered, sitting up and getting out of the bed.
The cast on his leg was cumbersome and Chris couldn't get comfortable. Tonight, he was really exhausted and had a Godzilla of a headache. He punched the pillow and shifted but couldn't settle. He groaned, twisted and turned, thwacked against his good leg with the cast. Then just as he began to get drowsy...
"Goddammit!" he hissed, eyeing the ceiling over his head. His eyes followed the 'singing' floorboards above him that creaked with every step. All the way across the room and back again, each board vying for a solo spot. His eyes followed the pattern twice. Chris cursed and sat up, reaching for his crutches.
Silence.
He paused, frowned and waited.
Silence.
He sighed, eased his aching body down and drew the covers up. Just as his eyes closed....
"...creak... creak... creak...."
"Ahhhhh...." the blond growled, jerking his body up and grabbing his crutches. "Concussion, my ass! I'm gonna kill him," he vented, hobbling slowly into the living room and toward the stairs. "...don't have the sense to sleep at night... prowlin' around like some Goddamn hundred and seventy pound rat..."
By the time he got up the stairs, Chris's face was red from the laborious effort. He shoved the door open with his crutch and loomed in the doorway. His sweaty chest was heaving, his head pounding, and his anger boiled over, the intense emotions very clear on his livid and flushed features.
"What the hell are you doing? It's three fuckin' a.m...." he growled, squinting as the light from the bedside lamp hit his eyes. "Get your ass in bed!"
"Can't sleep," came the soft reply as Vin looked up from his spot by the window.
"Neither can I..." Chris grunted, entering the room and easing his lean body onto the bed. "For one scrawny-assed Texan, you sound like a whole fuckin' herd stampeding around up here."
"Don't be gettin' loud with me!" Vin tossed back, angry at himself more than his irate friend. He knew Chris was still recovering from serious injuries too. By the end of the day, those crutches must cause an awful strain on the back and shoulders. "Ya think it's easy sleepin' in here. Hell, 'tween the trophy glare blindin' me and the medals blinkin' at me..." he huffed, waving his hand at the crowded walls. ".'s'like sleepin' in the fuckin' Hall of Fame," he scoffed. "Wall to wall Larabees totin' medals and gropin' dopey girls."
"They weren't dopey!" Chris defended, then rubbed his tired eyes and grinned while eyeing the photo on the wall near his chest of drawers. It was from a picnic about two weeks before graduation. He was in swim trunks and hugging a very well-endowed brunette. "Well, most of them weren't." He nodded to the old photo. He chuckled when Vin looked closer and his blue eyes widened.
"Damn... she's a... a... real healthy girl."
"Yeah, she was stacked," Chris translated, recalling the object of his teenage lust. "Me and Bambi shared many hot nights by the lake."
"Bambi?" Vin laughed, sitting down next to his best friend and offering over the bottle of Snapple. "Yer makin' that up!"
"Swear to God!" Chris held his hand over his heart and took the raspberry iced tea. "Name she was born with."
"Calculus tutor?" Vin smirked and drank in the low, guttural laugh.
"Hell, no!" the former star quarterback grinned evilly, handing the bottle back. "But she was schooled in bodily arts and I was a goooood pupil!" he recalled with a wicked leer.
"Scored a few touchdowns by the lake, did ya?" Vin teased, swallowed the tea and handed the bottle back.
"I did okay!" Chris nodded, wagging his eyebrows. "Bambi was quite the gymnast..." He heard the infectious Tanner laughter and realized just how much he'd missed it. He drained the tea and put the bottle on the nightstand. When the laugh lines that rimmed his friend's eyes faded, Chris saw something he didn't like.
Fear.
"Talk to me, cowboy."
Vin sighed and tried to reply. He studied the carpet pattern for several minutes. Then he shifted his weight, trying to fend off the pins and needles. The doctor said not to worry... but he did. Tanner licked his lips and opened them, but no words came out. He huffed and shook his head, bit his lower lip and eyed both of his open palms.
"It's stupid."
"Not if I haven't heard it, it isn't."
Funny thing, Chris mused to himself, watching Vin going through his usual motions. Having amnesia, the younger man didn't know he was following his normal patterns. Chris knew those body signals as well as he knew himself. Vin Tanner was hiding. Hiding from what faced him in the morning, when he would go to the Medical Center to resume his rehabilitation. But it wasn't that physical workout that was troubling his friend. After the PT came the other therapy, where Vin was supposed to talk about his trauma.
"You'll do fine," he offered. "Look how much better you felt after we talked. Your headaches and nightmares aren't as bad since you and my mom..."
"Yer kin!" Vin exasperated. "They're a bunch o' tight-assed fuzzlebutts... it ain't the same."
"Give it a chance, Vin. They're trained pros... they can help you. Maybe even get your box open."
"I don't like it..."
"I know." Chris winced at the small voice that trailed off. He scratched his cheek and wondered just how to put some wind in the downcast Tanner's sails.
"They're gonna gimme that look," Vin objected. "I hate that."
"What look?"
"The 'I-got-a-fuckin'-sheepskin-and-yer-the-dopey-bastard' look," Vin sassed. "Fuckin' hairy eyeballs. I can see 'em now. Probably have fake glasses jest squatted so on his nose..."
"Well," Chris thought. "Hairy eyeballs do work up an appetite. Want me to give Bambi a call? Meet you at the lake?"
"Ya think yer smart, don't ya?" Vin laughed, shoving the smirking blond lightly. "Could be me and Bambi would score a few TD's."
"I don't think so..." Chris wrinkled his nose.
"Why?"
"Well, time hasn't been kind to old Bambi..." Chris sighed, scratching the back of his neck. "She's gained about two hundred pounds."
"Hell," Vin pouted. "My ribs ain't healed yet. Reckon she'd squash me like June bug."
"Reckon," Chris agreed, giving Vin's knee a pat. "You'll do fine. Don't force it. If you're not comfortable, say so. It's the first day. Nobody's expecting a cure. Don't paint a black picture, Vin, okay? Could be this guy's a good fubbleslut."
"Fuzzlebutt!" Vin scowled, arching an eyebrow. "....slut? Ya been off the circuit too long, cowboy. I think while I'm gettin' m'tongue untwisted, ya need to give yer boys a good workout. Ain't there a nursin' home out that way?"
"Thanks, Vin!" Chris made a face. "That's a great picture. You know I don't like wrinkles."
Vin laughed then, the image of Chris 'scoring' a touchdown with a very wrinkled octogenarian was too much too bear.
Twice, Chris saw Vin rub his eyes and flinch. He moved over and picked up the painkillers. He saw the brown head bob once and the body move, shuffling to the bathroom next door. While Vin was gone, Chris shifted to the chair beside the bed.
"Trust me."
Vin paused by the bed and eyed the open hand. He exhaled deeply and took that hand and the words that went with it. He stared hard into the clear green eyes and felt some of those worry lines fading.
"Okay, I'll give it m'best shot," he nodded.
"Just be yourself, you'll do fine," Chris guided, watching the weary face carefully. "Good thing though that doctor isn't getting paid by the word. He'd starve..."
"Shut up!" Vin chuckled. "Ya mind squattin' somewheres else?" He slid into the bed and pulled the blanket up. "Yer crowdin' me, go find yer own room to pass out in."
"This is my room!"
"Was..." Vin yawned. "Possession is twelve-tenths of the law."
"Twelve-tenths?" Chris shook his head, wearing a winsome grin. "That's my Rhodes scholar."
"Rose who?" Vin mumbled. "..'nother gal ya wrassled with?"
"Vin?" Chris leaned over, frowning as the lips parted and the light snoring began. "How the hell does he do that?" he wondered of the sharpshooter's uncanny ability to fall sound asleep while talking.
It was five a.m. and Kate was showered and dressed. She left her sleeping spouse and went downstairs to start breakfast. Passing the first door in the hall, she paused and her breath caught. Her blond son was sleeping in the chair, keeping vigil by his troubled friend. Vin hadn't been himself the night before, eating little and going to bed early. She knew he was nervous about his appointment with the therapist. Somehow, Chris had eased those fears. She walked into the room and kissed her golden child's cheek.
"What?"
"Just like your father." She shook her head at the grumpy face. "Shhh!" She held his crutches out and waited for him to stand. She didn't miss him studying Vin for a moment. Satisfied, he hobbled out of the room.
"When did you come up here?" she asked.
"I dunno... three maybe... he was pacing the floor like a father with triplets on the way."
"My poor Vin," she fretted. "I wonder if it's too soon. Maybe I should..."
"No!" Chris paused, eyeing his mother. "I know you want to protect him and I'm grateful for the love you've showered on him. God knows, he needed it. He's been alone a long time. But he has to face this. Something's locked up inside his head and it needs to get out. If that doctor can find a key, we need that. He might not open up to a stranger, but the prodding might help."
"You think that will work? That he'll find his lost place? Talk to you?"
"I hope so," Chris said quietly. "I miss him, Mom. I want him to come back."
"I know, sweetheart!" She eyed the fatigue on his face, the price for being the big brother. "You didn't get much sleep..." She walked slowly, pacing him as they went downstairs.
"I'll catch up today. Nobody'll be home," he yawned. "Dad all set?"
"Yes, Major Chelsea is picking him and Vin up at nine a.m. They'll drop Vin at the Medical Center and go on to work. I'll pick Vin up at noon and hopefully, have some lunch with him, then bring him home. Sleep!" she ordered, holding his door open and lifting her face for a kiss.
"Yes, ma'am!" he saluted and eased his crutches inside the room, aiming for the soft bed.
"That's a sin." Chris shook his head, eyeing the sleeping body on the floor. The flannel shirt rose and fell in even rhythm. Two slim hands were folded peacefully across the lean chest. The lips were parted slightly, allowing the warm breath to escape. The features were relaxed and serene. "He waited all day for this game," the blond noted of the NHL playoffs. "Vin's a hockey nut."
"Looks like therapy wore him out," Adam noted, scrutinizing the young man sleeping across the den.
"It's been a long week for him," Chris noted, thinking on the younger man's first week of therapy. He had known Vin would work hard at the physical therapy to improve his injured back and legs. But it was the other therapy that he worried about. He knew how hard it was for the defensive younger man to open up to strangers. But part of the healing process was speaking with therapists, to try to come to terms with the trauma. "But he's a Tanner," Chris noted with pride, addressing the fact that the blue-eyed man was trying to face his fears and move on.
Of course, it didn't take Adam long to become bored. Not a man used to sitting idle, by the end of the first week, he'd returned to work. His team was working under Major Chelsea in the field, but Adam's experience was invaluable and he soon became quite at home at headquarters.
Like his father, Chris was soon anxious to get back to work. He enjoyed the time with Vin since they rarely got so much time to relax in Denver. But Vin was going to therapy three times a week and wiped out when he got home, often sleeping the afternoon away. So one morning, when Orrin called to check on them, Chris pitched his boss an idea. Two days later, he was set up in his mother's old craft room with a pc, fax machine and printer. J.D. sent him overnight copies of the files on the three cases they were working.
By the end of the second week, the three Larabees were busy and needed, their days full and vital which helped in the healing process. Nights were quiet, sharing a movie, conversation and laughter. The pieces of their lives were slowly fitting back together.
But for Vin Tanner, the road was getting murkier. He worked hard at therapy and didn't even mind talking to Doctor Peterson, the therapist. He slept most of the afternoon and with the General's extensive library, he had a great choice of books.
But the nights were awful. He'd wake up usually around two a.m. In the wee hours between dusk and dawn, when the valley was quiet, he was restless. The furies in his mind poked at him, driving his eyes open and causing his stomach acids to rouse. Knowing the floorboards were noisy, he didn't pace anymore. Vin never realized how loud digital numbers on a clock could be until the minutes and hours slipped by in front of his tired eyes.
Today had been another long day. He didn't want to bother Chris. The man had already carried him too far. Besides, he knew Chris needed time with his father. Hell, who wouldn't want the General for a father? Chris seemed to have a peaceful light in his eyes, no doubt from the healing place his parents created.
Vin paused in the doorway, watching Adam and Chris going over some schematics that Josiah faxed. The older Larabee's experience gave him a razor sharp edge. He watched the blond head nodding as the two sat side by side, taking apart evidence from an arson case.
To Vin's credit, he'd tried. He tried hard. And Chris was very generous, giving him plenty of time and space. But the more he read, the more everything looked like Greek. He didn't understand the code words, the procedures or routines. What began as frustrating several days before, when Chris first asked him to help, now turned to depression. What was the use of staying? So he'd get tossed a bone of pity? He shuffled away, not even seeing Maggie's mournful eyes following him.
Kate was dining with friends in town tonight. Adam, like his son, was driven and often worked through meals, and so Vin missed the petite blonde woman. She was so easy to talk to. He slipped outside, eyeing the dark blue evening sky and gingerly walked to the bench. He eyed the brilliant sky above; the newborn stars were winking at him. But he didn't see their splendor. He sat down, welcoming the cold night air. By his count, and the date on the newspaper, it was nearly a month since the plane crash. Of course, to him it was just a date. He had no memory of it, just flashes of events in the aftermath. Nothing existed before that.
All he had was just a big black hole.
The nightly parade of 'what ifs' surfaced and gnawed on his tender insides. What if he never remembered? What if his box remained locked forever? The fact that the job his blond friend claimed he loved so well was foreign to him terrified Vin.
At least Chris was healing, and more than just physically. The time spent with his father was giving him strength and fueling his soul. Adam too was benefiting from the time shared with his only son. Vin thought on his time here and reflected as the moon rose. His physical therapy was progressing well. His legs were getting stronger and he could walk farther without the numbness setting in. His headaches were still too frequent and the doctor wasn't happy about that. Sighing, Vin eyed the long curving road that twisted into the horizon.
What was down that path? What did his future hold?
Despite the growing darkness and chilly night air that surrounded him, Vin remained rigid on the bench. His mind was heavy, fighting off the specter of the unknown future. Phantoms lurked in every corner of his beleaguered brain, snatching flickers of hope as they dared to cross his path. So lost was he, he didn't hear his friend calling to him. He finally saw lights blinking in a Morse code-like fashion and looked over.
"Vin! Vin!"
"Huh?" Vin blinked, spotting Chris balancing his weight on his good leg and waving from the kitchen door.
"Food!"
Vin nodded and shuffled back inside. He eyed the large pot on the stove that had beef stew inside. Carefully, he lifted it with a potholder and carried it to the table. The bowls, tall glasses with ice and a pitcher of iced tea were there already.
"Silverware," Chris read his mind.
"I'll git it..."
"That's okay, Vin, I can manage to..."
"I said I'll git it!" he hollered, yanking the utensil drawer out and sending silverware all over the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?" Adam growled, easing his crutches through the door.
"Well, hell, everybody else has a job... reckon even a backwoods boy like me can figger out how to ladle stew in a dish! I ain't good fer nuthin' else!"
"Who do you think..." Adam started to reply hotly only to have his blond son glare openly at him and hold up a hand in warning.
Chris didn't say anything. He watched Vin shoving knives, forks and spoons back inside the drawer. He saw the fisted rage and the telltale eyes exploding in a livid shade of blue. The handsome face was red with rage and the veins on his slim neck were screaming. He knew Vin had something to get off his chest. But Chris waited. Finally the drawer was replaced, save a handful of utensils.
"You done with your tantrum?" he asked quietly, watching the short, laborious breaths causing the chest to heave. He saw the wall of silence forming and took the utensils. "Fine. We'll eat first, then we'll talk."
"Don't tell me what to do!" Vin growled, needing something to hit. His pent-up rage was working overtime. He shoved Chris into the refrigerator. "I ain't yer child!"
"Sit down!" Chris hissed. "...and stop acting like one!"
"Don't fuckin' touch me!" Vin shoved the hand off his shoulder. "I ain't hungry."
"Dammit!" Chris hit the door of the refrigerator with his crutch as the slender body disappeared up the back stairs. He collected himself and made his way to the table. Dumping the silverware, he sat down hard and kept his hard face on.
"Am I allowed to talk now? In my own house?" Adam demanded, pointing to the stairs. "What the hell was that?"
"Frustration." Chris poured them each an iced tea.
"I want a beer!" Adam decided, rising and grabbing his crutches. Then he scowled, realizing he couldn't carry them back. "Shit!"
"Pockets."
"That's my boy!" Adam made his way slowly to the ice box, took two beers out and put one in each pocket before coming back to the table.
"God, I hope they're twist tops," Chris teased, taking the offered bottle, pulling the top off and drinking deeply of the full-bodied liquid. He studied the condensation rolling down the glass and thought of the angry body upstairs. "You have to understand, Dad, how hard this is for him. He's not used to sitting. The fact that he can squat in a tiny space for hours with that rifle without even breaking a sweat is amazing. Because when he's not on duty, he's never still long enough to make a shadow. Cycling, biking, ice hockey, jogging, racquetball..." He paused, sipping his beer. "Hell, even in the office he bounces. Desk to desk, in the aisles. If he's sitting, that damned knee gets to jiggling."
"I understand your need to defend him, Chris." Adam buttered a piece of sourdough bread. He dipped it into the stew and thought on their guest. "But I won't have him throwing tantrums in this house. It'll upset your mother. She's crazy about that boy."
"I know, Dad." Chris chewed his meat thoughtfully and took a long swig of beer. "He wouldn't do that with Mom here. He'd turtle up. He's tryin' so hard to find himself again, it hurts twice as much when he comes up short." He sighed hard. "Then those damn eyes..."
He recalled the large blue mirrors when he'd given Vin some information about a warehouse they were staking out. The old Vin could draw up mental blueprints of just about any building. He'd eye the building plans once, then make up his own map, study every angle. Seeing the lost soul earlier today eyeing a warehouse he knew like the back of his hand, like it was written in a foreign language, hurt.
"Dammit, he's trying so hard, it's not fair!" Chris vented. "I'd like to dig up Bull Savage and beat the shit out of him for doing that to Vin. I want the old Vin back. I need him, Dad. I want to feel that grin on my face watching the confident, ballsy sharpshooter who don't take shit from nobody. And the magnificent poet whose beautiful words can move me to tears. This isn't Vin..it's half of him..."
"I'm sorry, Chris, I hate to see you so torn up." Adam eyed his blond son carefully, not missing the fists curled up across from him. "We've only been home two weeks. Give it time..."
"Spare me the clichés, Dad. The crash was over a month ago. Most amnesiacs recover by now."
"So if worse case scenario unfolds," Adam shot back, "and he doesn't get his memory back, he can learn. That skill with the rifle you talked about, Chris, doesn't come from a book. If he's that good..."
"Best I've ever laid eyes on," Chris admitted. "Scary good."
"Then he was born with it and he'll get that back. Maybe we should take him to the range at the base. Maybe if he holds one, presses it to his cheek, feels that wood against his fingers..."
"Maybe... but it's more than that, Dad," Chris worried. "His mother, he can't remember her. That's tearing his guts up. Christ, you oughta see his eyes when he picks up that picture. I can't look at him..." Chris sighed hard, raking a hand through his hair. "And what about his grandfather? You can't find what he learned from that man in a book. It came from generations of Cherokees, passed down from the old to the young. He spent years in New Mexico absorbing all that man could give."
"Alright, son, I'm sorry. But he's young and strong and smart. He can learn and we'll help him. But he has to realize that it may be a possibility."
"He can't... not yet. Hope is all he has now. I won't take that away from him."
"You know," Adam lauded quietly, his dark eyes shining. "When I first saw him, bleeding and half-dead, all but naked, using his body to protect you on that mountain.." He paused and smiled. "My gut reaction was 'Christ, that kid's got balls'. He was ready to give his life for yours..."
"No question," Chris replied. "And he'd get it back, he knows that."
"That's more than most poor bastards find in a lifetime, son. You hold onto that, and you carry him if you have to. But he needs to feel that, to know that his stance hasn't diminished one iota in your eyes."
Adam let the words sink in, wanting to physically tear that disheartened look from his son's face. He knew how much his boy was hurting for Vin Tanner. He knew that if Vin didn't recover fully, Chris would be scarred too. His mind's eye drew up a picture of a cocky, blond kid with cool green eyes who made him proud every day. He'd watched that boy grow into manhood, take a wife and father a son of his own.
"Have I ever told you..." Adam swallowed hard, ".just how very proud I am... to have a son so fine."
"You wear it proud, like your father before you and his before him. You get it clean and respect it, honor it and pass it to your own boy." Chris nodded, thinking on his gift. He tipped his bottle up and smiled. "Thanks, Dad, for making Larabee something worth fighting for. You set the bar, sir. I'm still the pupil."
Adam stood and balanced himself, placing the dishes on a waist high, rolling laundry cart on wheels. He shoved it across to the sink, following slowly. He placed the dinnerware in the sink, filling it with hot water and suds. Eyeing his silent child, he then turned, moving to the other side of the table. He left the crutches and gripped the back of his son's shoulders. He didn't say anything, but let the strength of his touch speak for him. He heard the labored breaths and felt his own emotions rising.
"Why don't you check on Vin? Maggie and I will be outside."
"Dad?" Chris stood, grabbed his crutches. "How 'bout tomorrow we play hooky? Maybe go fishing?"
"Your mother could come home at lunch and drop us off by the lake," Adam thought aloud. "Might be a good dose of medicine for that boy."
Vin paced in the large room, his eyes catching reflections everywhere of Chris Larabee. From the cherubic six-year old little leaguer to the twenty-two year old All American, he felt the power; it shrouded him. He didn't like losing control. He usually could keep his troubles buried. But frustration was building up and he had no where to put it.
Chris.
It wasn't his fault. He hadn't put the plane into the ground and caused this mess. Neither had Adam Larabee who'd opened his home to him. What about Kate? What if that strong woman with that kind touch got in the way of his raging temper? He continued to pace, then picked up his mother's photo.
"I don't know what to do. I got no past..." he whispered, eyes painfully trying to find her inside the woman in the photo. "Without that, I got no future." He kissed the photo and lay back on the bed, fingering the harmonica. He began to play a sad song, letting the gentle notes surround him.
"Saddest fuckin' song ever written," a voice from the doorway noted of 'Taps'. "Can I come in?"
"..'s'yer room. I'm only the half-witted boarder..." Vin tossed the harmonica aside and rolled over, facing the wall. He hunched up, almost fetal-like, curling his arms across his chest.
Chris chuffed out a breath of frustration and eyed his closet. An idea came to mind and he moved across the room. He opened the door with the bottom of his crutch and scrutinized the interior. Had he not been encumbered by the injuries, he'd have pushed the lean Texan into a physical match of some sort. An arena where he could put his demons to work, slamming a racquet ball or maybe even boxing. That brought an idea to mind.
"Aha!" He spotted what he sought high on a shelf. "If you're done wallowing in self-pity, how about putting your money where your mouth is?"
"I ain't got no money," Vin replied, but turned around, his blue eyes narrowing in curiosity.
"Get your whinin' ass over here, Tanner."
"Why?"
"It's time to put up or shut up."
Curious, the blue-eyed cat slid across the room, standing next to the figure on crutches. He looked past Chris into the closet, spotting footballs, basketballs and other sports gear. Then, he saw a group of games on the shelf. Although they were old, they were in pristine condition
"What the hell am I lookin' fer?" Vin rasped, then saw a crutch fly past. "Watch where ya swing that thing!" He waited until it tapped a large white box.
"Rock 'em Sock 'em Robots..." Vin read the box. "Hey, I seen them once on one of them old timer shows on TVland..."
"Don't make me hurt you, Tanner," Chris snorted of the insult. "Just set it up and be prepared to die."
"Hah!" Vin's eyes lit up, his competitive spirit rising to the occasion. He was very eager to challenge the smug blond. "Jest 'cause a chicken's got wings don't mean it can fly! Get yer ass in that chair"
Chris moved across the room and smirked as another one of Vin's Texas winners came out. He watched the younger man move the nightstand so that it was between the two of them. Vin then sat on the bed and put the box on the makeshift table. He pulled the lid off and took out the boxing ring.
"How's this rig work?" Vin pondered, eyeing the blue and red boxers. He began to fiddle with the levers, then saw the blue head duck and a fist shoot out, striking the red boxer and knocking his head off. "Hah! Glass jaw, most likely he's a Larabee, soft head n'all..."
"Ten for every knockdown, double up for the final round," Chris dished out. "Don't worry about cash, cowboy, I take checks."
"Ya shoot hot air like a corn-guzzlin' horse, Larabee!" Vin tossed back, wiggling his fingers. "Draw!"
For an hour, they traded punches and insults, and Chris watched as the anger melted and the familiar blue light came back. It wasn't the answer, but for tonight, it would do. It would give them both a good night's sleep. Tomorrow, they could conquer bigger things. Finally, the red boxer unleashed a rocket, sending the blue one over backwards.
"Sweet!" Chris gloated, rubbing his back, which was starting to nag him.
"Ya cheated!" Vin accused. "Ya gave me the retarded one."
"Retarded?" Chris retorted sharply, hackles rising. "They're plastic, they're both the same!"
"Hah!" Vin snarled, jerking his index finger at the smug blond. "Ya plucked that red one fer a reason, ya crooked bastard. Ye'd swalla nails and spit out a corkscrew."
"What?" Chris tried not to laugh but caved. For some reason, he couldn't control himself. It was one of those times when you're struck funny by something, and no matter how hard you try, you can't stop laughing. Vin got caught up in the infectious moment as well, collapsing back on the bed, mirth sailing in the air.
"Chris?" Vin panted, rubbing his eyes that were wet from laughter tears.
"Yeah?"
"Thanks," he offered along with his hand. "I'm sorry about bustin' up yer dinner. Seems the harder I try, the behinder I git. What if I don't never remember?" he hushed in a painful whisper. "I don't know how... I ain't got trainin' fer nuthin' else. I don't want t'lose y'all." He slumped a bit and dropped his head. He wanted Chris and the other five men he'd met briefly to be a part of his life. He felt a need inside, a longing for that camaraderie. He heard movement and looked over as the body dropped down on the edge of the bed next to him.
"We ride together, Vin, no matter what's down that road. I'll help you, but you have to see the whole picture."
Chris watched the shaggy head drop and the slim fingers twist themselves into knots. He didn't preach anymore; he just sat by the worried man's side. He couldn't explain it, but he had a gut feeling Vin Tanner would be fine. But 'gut feelings' only went so far and the younger man needed proof. So for now, he'd be the guardian, the keeper of Vin's hope. A familiar voice brought both heads up and towards the door.
"Hey, Kate!" Vin grinned, genuinely glad to see her.
"Hi, Mom, how was your dinner?" Chris greeted, accepted a kiss.
"Oh, we had a wonderful night!" She eyed the game board and put it back into the closet. "Who won?"
Vin thought for a moment, suddenly seeing very clearly the rules to the game. Rules that weren't in the directions. Rather they were the refrain of the brotherhood song. He ran a hand over his lean abdomen and felt that nasty hole shrinking up. He found a half-grin as he thought on that and the talk afterwards.
"I did, Kate," he managed, catching Chris's arm with a brotherhood grip. He offered his own laurel wreath with a winning smile and a blue beacon in the emotive eyes.
"That's my boy!" Chris noted with a wink. "It's late and you need your beauty sleep. If you're up to it, we were thinking of going fishing tomorrow."
"Fishin'?" Vin wrinkled his nose. "Me and two cripples... reckon m'odds could be worse." He yawned and winced, rubbing his lower back. He'd been in one position too long and now was paying the price. He stood and flinched again as pain shot from his calves to his waist. He resigned and slipped into the bed, resting against the backboard.
"What's that?" Chris paused by the door, watching his mother re-enter with a large tray. "Food? Is there food under there? We're upstairs! What happened to 'no food allowed'?"
"Your father told me Vin didn't eat. He can't take his medicine without food." She turned back to the younger man. "I don't know what else went on, but sulking isn't the answer. There's some soup and a sandwich... "
"Ya didn't hafta t'go t'any fuss, Kate. I couldda come downstairs."
"He's allowed to eat up here?" Chris repeated. "I lived here for eighteen years. Not sickness or surgery got me food up here..."
"Yes, dear..." Kate turned to replace the lamp on the bed stand. As she bent over, Vin stuck his tongue out at Chris, then settled back into a bank of pillows. Seeing an opportunity to devil the blond, his blues lit up.
"Ya watch yer mouth, Larabee, yer Ma's in the room. Show some respect."
"Chris!" Kate warned, without turning around.
"I didn't say a damn thing!" he flustered, face flushing as the sated prince gloated at him while wearing an angelic smile.
"Tsk... tsk..." Vin clucked his tongue. "There ya go again. It's disturbin' t'me. M'tender ears ain't used t'such noise."
"Your tender ears, my....!"
"Christopher Jamison Larabee!"
"Uh-oh!" Vin wagged his eyebrows as the tiny woman turned, backing up the flustered male.
"Aw, come on, Mom," the blond protested. "You can't be that blind, he's playing you!"
"Kate?" Vin whispered, sinking back on his pillows and placing his hands on the edge of the tray. His voice grew 'suddenly' weak as he continued, pious eyes on the blonde woman. "Maybe I oughta eat downstairs. Chris's likely t'bust a vein soon..."
"You'll do no such thing!" she scolded, not missing his true discomfort, before turning and shooing her son from the room.
Chris looked back just in time to see the 'patient's' head rise, his neck craning. Both eyebrows wagged and a mug of soup was lifted in toast.
"Gotcha!" Vin mouthed, enjoying every bit of the older man's disgruntled expression.
"What the hell just happened?" Chris eyed his mother who was walking toward the stairs. He followed slowly, carefully maneuvering behind her. "Hey, remember me? Your adorable son?"
"Adorable?" Adam wrinkled his nose from the sofa in the den. "You worry me, son."
"Don't pout, sweetheart." She waited for him to land on solid ground and cupped his chin before kissing his cheek. "You're still adorable. I did bring home a Dutch Apple Cobbler but if you're too upset..."
"From Grahams?" Chris's head whipped up as an image from his boyhood resurfaced. The small bakery in town had many wonderful treats, but their Dutch Apple Cobbler was his favorite.
"Coffee?" she smiled, patted his hand and eyed her groom.
"Thanks," Adam nodded.
"Two scoops or one?" She waited, watching her boy salivate.
"Two and toss some cinnamon on top..." He hobbled to the sofa, easing his body down. "Damn, I haven't had a Grahams Dutch Apple in... well, years."
"How are things on the frontlines?" Adam tossed his crossword puzzle down and rubbed his eyes.
"Good. Not great, but better. He knows the score." Chris eyed the movies lying on the table nearby. "Cape Fear? The original with Mitchum?"
"Yeah, that's a good one..." Adam nodded, smiling as his wife returned with a tray. Three mugs of coffee, two cobblers and one mountain of ice cream melting over a dish of cobbler were waiting.
"Worth coming home for," Chris grunted, reaching for the dish.
"I thought we could watch some of Titanic." Kate settled into the large recliner, frowning when both males groaned in twin pained voices.
"That's a chick flick..." Chris moaned.
"Well, honey, I am a chick," his mother sent back. Then she saw the twin scowls and laughed, shaking her head. "Alright, compromise." She moved forward and shuffled through the stacks of movies. "Primary Colors?" She held up the John Travolta movie and saw two heads nodding. She took the movie and slid it into the player, then sank back to enjoy another warm night of family
Page 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29
Return to Deirdre's Fic Archive | Return to Lady Angel's Library
