1211 MDT, Wednesday, August 1
Denver Offices of the ATF Team Seven
"Okay," Chris said as he flicked off the lights in his office, then closed the door behind him. "I'm outta here, so would someone please hold down the fort while I'm gone?" he asked the five men who occupied the desks in the bullpen area allocated to Team Seven.
No one volunteered for the duty. But Nathan did approach Chris, to speak with him quietly.
"I was out ta see him yesterday after work," the former medic began. "He still looks a bit ... I don't know. I was just wonderin' if you were plannin' on takin' him back ta his apartment."
Chris put a firm hand on the man's shoulder. He was only concerned for Vin's health and well being, but Chris still didn't like his other team members doubting Vin's stability. "Just sugar withdrawal, I'm sure, Nate. That's why I'm taking him back to the ranch. I've cleared out all the junk food and, without a car, he won't be able to make any snack runs!" Chris smiled, trying to easy Nathan's worries with a little levity.
Still, he knew what Nathan was talking about. Vin was raw, even nervous -- not a normal state for their cool sharpshooter. It had Chris worried, almost scared. There was something going on with Vin, something deep, something he was trying to work out with that shrink -- on top of dealing with the ATF shrink over the civilian kill last week -- but Chris had his doubts any of it was working. Vin seemed worse now than when he'd been locked up in Psych. He'd watched him sleep: he knew.
Chris only hoped getting him out of the hospital would be enough. The ranch was safe and quiet and Vin would have all the time and space he'd need to recover, both physically and mentally. Chris hoped it would be enough, and that he'd be strong enough to help Vin in whatever ways he needed helping.
"Tell him I said hi," JD called from his desk as Chris started to head out of the office. "We're all praying for him," Josiah added as he passed the man's desk. Buck and Ezra nodded their agreements to both statements as Chris headed out the door.
2242 MDT
Larabee Ranch, Lookout Mountain
It was late and Vin still tired easily, having been released from the hospital only that afternoon. Chris had taken a half-day off from work, to pick him up and bring him back to the ranch -- refusing to allow him to be alone in his downtown apartment, because of his broken arm, or so he'd said.
While Chris was downstairs washing the last of the dinner dishes, Vin had excused himself to prepare for bed, but really he just wanted a few minutes to himself to unpack his duffel. It didn't contain much except the clothes he'd been wearing the day of the accident, and a single envelope which had been hand-delivered the previous evening by Ezra. All the contents needed was a signature to make it official.
But Vin wasn't ready to let Chris know about it yet. He fingered the edge of the manila envelope for a moment, before slipping it beneath the dark sweat pants in the lone drawer which he called his own.
Then he slid the drawer shut and leaned his arms on top of the dresser, staring at himself in the mirror. How'd you get to be so cute? his mother had always asked him. You damned cute-assed fairy, others had taunted him. So fucking cute.
He fingered his long hair, which he always kept in need of a trim, which he always kept just long enough to hang in his eyes. Then he ran a hand over the stubble on his face, always looking like it was a day past his last shave.
"Hey, Vin," Chris said as he entered the room, then moved up close enough behind him to slip his arms around his waist, to press his chest against Vin's back.
Vin watched Chris in the mirror as the man rested his chin on his shoulder, nuzzling slightly against his neck. "You pondering the best way to sort your socks from mine?"
"Naw," Vin said, not bothering to straighten up. "Yer feet're bigger 'an mine, so it's easy ta tell."
"Well, you know what they say about men with large feet," Chris smiled into the mirror as he pressed his groin against Vin's ass. Vin straightened then and Chris eased his hold on the man, enough that Vin didn't have to struggle in order to move away.
He walked over to the bed and sat down next to his now-empty duffel. "Chris?" he began without looking up from where he'd fixed his gaze on the floor.
"Yeah?"
"Do you think I'm ... cute?"
Chris leaned his back against the dresser, squinting his eyes slightly at the question. "You're a little old for cute, don't you think?"
"Yeah, reckon I am," Vin said, finally looking up to meet Chris's eyes.
"Why?"
"No reason," he replied before getting up and heading into the bathroom to get ready for bed. "Chris, ya mind if we, ah.... It's just that I'm kinda tired."
"Sure, Vin," Chris replied from the bedroom. "I can make up the spare room if you want."
Sometimes Vin really hated it when Chris was so damn understanding -- especially when the man had no real idea what he was being understanding about! "No, that's okay. Unless, you'd prefer it."
Chris popped his head around the doorjamb into the bathroom and smiled -- "I'd prefer to have you close by" -- then reached out to rub Vin's shoulder with a gentle hand.
The sharpshooter merely smiled a tired reply.
0326 MDT, Thursday, August 2
It was so dark, Vin couldn't see a thing, but he knew he was in the infirmary. And he knew he wasn't alone. He could hear noises in the distance, footsteps on the linoleum floor, which slowly drew near. He knew what was coming, but he couldn't run and he couldn't hide.
He was on his stomach again. Helpless. His face pressed against the mattress. His left arm ached from the grip his attacker had on him. Then, he felt it, against his bare ass. Flesh against flesh. Pressing against him. Demanding. Forcing.
Tears welled up in his eyes. "Not again. Please, not again," he begged as he recoiled from the attacker's touch, before suddenly realizing, this time -- for the first time -- he wasn't tied down! The goddamn, fucking son-of-a-bitch forgot to tie him.
For a moment, Vin's mind was frozen by the revelation, but just as quickly he reacted, using all the strength in his limbs to force his assailant off his back, then wheeling around on top of him, pinning him. He couldn't see the bastard's face in the dark, but he knew where it was and his fist instantly connected with it, again and again and again.
"Fuck you!" he screamed. "Ya piece of crap! Don't ya ever touch me again!"
"Vin!" he heard his name being yelled. They never called him by name. Never. "VIN!!"
And suddenly the face before him materialized in the faint moonlight which streamed into the bedroom. Vin's hand was poised, ready to strike again, when he realized it was Chris beneath him. Then he heard the pounding of his heart and felt the ache of his lungs as they fought to take in oxygen.
"Chris?" he whispered as a tear sped down his flushed cheek, and he began to tremble uncontrollably.
Then he was enveloped in Chris's strong arms, being rocked back and forth. He felt the man's hand stroke soothingly over his hair and heard gentle shushes in his ear.
When the tension finally deserted his muscles, Vin melted against Chris, his head on the man's firm shoulder, his arms loosely around his waist, as he sat gathered up in his lap. Neither man spoke for the longest time as tears continued to run silently down Vin's cheeks.
Eventually, Vin pushed himself away from Chris and off the bed. He made his way through the dark to the bathroom where he flicked on the light, intent on splashing some cold water on his face, intent on gaining back his self-control. But as he reached for the faucet, he saw the blood splatters on his knuckles.
Immediately he turned around and peered across the darkness of the room, back towards the bed where Chris was still sitting. In the faint glow of the bathroom light he saw a dark shadow on Chris's cheek. He quickly moved back into the room, turning on the bedside lamp as soon as he reached it.
The man had a red, fist-sized swelling on his left cheek, and a dark-red trail of now-clotted blood which had run down over his chin from the split in his lower lip. "Oh, God! I'm sorry, Chris."
Vin turned away, ashamed at what he'd done, but Chris grabbed his good arm. Vin flinched, half expecting a retaliation blow, but none came. Instead, he was merely encouraged to sit back down on the bed.
"It's okay, Vin. It's my fault."
"Ain't yer fault!" he insisted. "How can ya say that? It's me that's done this," he said, pain welling up along with the tears in his eyes. "I never wanted this ta happen. I never wanted ya hurt 'cuz of my past. Not in this way -- not in any way."
"No, Vin. I should have known better. It was too soon. I know something happened to you a long time ago, and those memories got stirred up again this past week," Chris explained, with a hand on Vin's lips to prevent him from protesting again. "But when I woke up and you were here in my bed again.... I missed you so much. I just wanted to feel you next to me."
Vin pulled the man's hand from his mouth. "I never told ya everythin', Chris," he began. "I told ya I was tied and I was beat, but I didn't tell ya ... that...."
"Shh. It's okay, Vin," Chris said. "You don't have to say it. I suspected before, but, well ... I know now. You were dreaming about it, weren't you?"
Vin nodded slowly. "Was a long time ago," he began to explain. "But every time I close my eyes.... Ever since that first night in the hospital...."
Chris pulled Vin back into his arms. "You don't have to talk about this."
But Vin knew he did. Connie had told him it wouldn't go away until he'd confronted it, reconciled it. He'd fought back tonight -- for the first time -- but he'd hurt Chris in the process, just like he always knew he would.
"They tied me. They beat me. They" -- he swallowed hard -- "took ... forced.... They ... they used me, like I was ... less than nothin'."
Chris rocked Vin gently in his arms, allowing the words to come as they would.
"I wanna kill 'em. Ta this day, I still do." Vin's breathing was ragged now, he could feel his chest laboring with the effort, but he couldn't prevent it. "I was so scared ... I never fought back. Not even after, when they'd untied me." He fell silent finally.
Chris nodded his understanding. "You fought back tonight, Vin. You fought them---"
"No, I fought you. I hurt you," Vin hung his head in regret and shame.
"No. You weren't dreaming about me, were you?" Chris placed a firm hand on Vin's chin and raised his face until their eyes met. "You were dreaming about them. You hit them. You won, Vin. You won. They can't hurt you anymore. You're stronger than them now."
Vin nodded. Maybe it was true. He'd always been tied before. Always in his dreams. Until tonight.
Still, there was more to be told. More to hurt Chris with, but he'd done enough of that for one night. And guilt still weighed down his heart. The very least he could do would be to tend Chris's wounds, he figured as he broke Chris's firm hold on him and headed back to the bathroom to retrieve the first-aid kit.
1904 MDT, Friday, August 3
Vin sat on the couch as Chris prepared dinner. He'd been forbidden to cook or clean while his broken arm healed. It was still bandaged, and usually in a sling, but he hadn't lost too much muscle tone yet. He was glad they'd used screws instead of sticking him in some lumbering cast; from past experiences he knew, it would make rehab faster and a lot less painful.
He had the remote control in his hand, but the television wasn't on. He wouldn't have been paying any attention to it if it had been. He was too busy thinking about Chris. The man looked like he'd been in a damn bar fight and it was all his fault.
Vin hated lying to him. He hated that he'd lied. But he didn't know how to fix it. And he was still afraid of losing Chris because of it.
"Vin?" he finally heard his name and turned toward the source: Chris, standing a few feet behind the couch with a dish towel in his hand. "You want baked or mashed potatoes with your steak?"
Vin pursed his lips as he thought for a moment. "Mashed," he finally decided. "And garlic bread?" He could only hope.
"Nope. But you do get all the broccoli you can eat!"
"Oh, joy," Vin sighed. Chris was helping him stick to the suggestions the hospital nutritionist had laid out for him. She'd placed heavy restrictions on sugars and refined carbohydrates -- like his favorites, bread and cake -- but had happily told him there were no limits on anything leafy or green. Unfortunately, Chris had taken this to heart and Vin hadn't seen so much as a tortilla chip since he'd arrived at the ranch. "Ya know, it'll serve ya right if I waste away ta nothin'!" he said, holding this shirt out to demonstrate how loose it already was on him.
But Chris just smiled and shook his head, knowing that shirt had been purchased that big, then he turned back toward the kitchen.
"Chris." Vin stopped him. Scooting himself around to kneel on the cushions, he rested his forearms on the back of the couch. "I heard what you said to Travis at the hospital" -- it was the only visit the Assistant Director had made out to Frisco that Vin was aware of. "Did ya mean what ya told him? 'Bout not needin' yer job at the ATF?"
"You heard that?" Chris raised his pale eyebrows and set his lips in a firm line. "All of it?"
Vin shook his head. "Not all. Just that last part."
Chris nodded his head. "You know, my job used to mean a lot, then, after I lost Sarah and Adam, it came to mean everything."
"I get it. You were just sayin' that ta Travis ta make a point." Vin let his eyes drop to the carpet, hoping Chris wouldn't see the disappointment in them. He had no right to expect anything from this man. He'd already given Vin more than he ever deserved.
"No, you don't understand. It used to be that way, but it's not anymore." Chris was standing right in front of him now. He reached down and placed his hand on Vin's cheek, encouraging him to look up, to meet his eyes. "You know my threats are never idle ones, Vin. I meant what I said to Travis. They were thinking about transferring you to desk duty for a while."
"Ezra said in Phoenix."
For the second time in as many minutes, Chris raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Office gossip travels fast." Vin just nodded as he shrugged his shoulders. "But you're part of the team now, Vin -- an important part -- and it just doesn't function right without you."
Vin nodded again. So that was it. It was still all about work for Chris. And all that mattered was whether Vin was on or off the team, not whether he were here in Denver or hundreds of miles away in Arizona.
Vin sank back down onto the couch and flicked on the television, effectively ending their conversation.
He flipped over to watch the end of "Before They Were Rock Stars" on VH-1 because it was always comforting to Vin to know that some poor, pathetic, fuckingly rich-and-popular rock-star once had to flip burgers to pay for the gas in his tricked-out Corvette back in high school.
But, five minutes later, as the credits began to roll, having learned all he could stand about what happened to these music stars between the cradle and the stage, Chris plopped down on the couch next to him, grabbed the remote and flicked off the television.
"Tell me," the man said firmly, depositing the remote out of reach on the coffee table.
"Well," Vin said turning to Chris, staring him straight in the eye. "Turns out no one ever asked Britney Spears ta her high school prom and---"
"Vin. I mean about before. Why'd you ask me about what I said to A.D. Travis?"
Vin hung his head. He wanted this to just go away. He wanted this to just have never happened. His fingers idly toyed with the end of the drawstring on his sweat pants.
He thought he could tell Chris, but he was afraid of the consequences -- knowing, for Chris, it was still mostly about the job.
"So, ya want me on Team Seven?"
"Of course, Vin! How could you ever think that I don't? We need you. All of us."
Vin nodded. "But if they did transfer me---"
"They are NOT transferring you. Not temporarily or otherwise. If they want you at a desk for a while, well, we got seven of them to choose from!"
Vin could hear the tension in Chris's voice. He could tell his team leader was still angry at the ATF brass for sticking their noses into what Chris felt was his team's business and nobody else's.
"But if they did transfer me. Would ya care where?"
As the man stared at him, Vin watched his brows furrow deeply above his fiery green eyes. "I'll quit before I let that happen."
"That's not what I'm askin'," he stated as calmly as his trembling voice would allow.
"What are you asking, Vin?"
"I'm askin' if all ya care 'bout is whether or not I'm on yer team?" Vin almost yelled, but somehow still managed to keep his voice low. Chris continued to frown at him, still not understanding what Vin was driving at. "I'm askin' ... what matters more: me or the team?"
"Vin, you're part of the team. That's not gonna change," Chris insisted.
"Dammit, Chris. Listen ta me!" He launched himself off the couch and began pacing in front of the fireplace. "If ya HAD ta choose -- me or the team, me or the ATF -- what would it be?"
"Vin, why are you asking me this? Why would I have to choose?"
Vin sighed heavily, turning his back to the man and staring into the cold hearth. His suddenly tight throat was now preventing his voice from sounding much above a whisper: "I need ta know, Chris. It's important."
A moment later he felt strong arms wrapping around his thin waist. He felt Chris's warm breath on his neck. "I'd choose you, Vin."
"Why?" his voice demanded a reply, though still barely above a whisper.
"The ATF is just a job, Vin. You ... you're my life."
Vin wanted to believe him. But, could he? It was one thing to make that claim, but how would he really react when the time came? When he learned the truth?
Chris used his hands on Vin's waist to turn him around so they were face to face. "Before you, there wasn't anything except the ATF, and I was a cold, hard son-of-a-bitch because of it; hell, I might as well have been dead. It took you to show me there were reasons to live again. Reasons that don't have anything to do with paychecks, bureaucratic paperwork, and dirtbags with guns."
Vin lowered his eyes again. "Ya really mean that?" He was scared to death he didn't, that when it came time, Chris would forget all about this conversation.
"I said it, didn't I?"
Vin nodded. Of the two of them, Chris wasn't the liar.
He hugged Chris then, out of both love and sorrow. He had to tell him the truth. Connie said he would have to and that it wouldn't be easy. He just didn't know how.
"Come on. I smell steak," Chris finally said, taking Vin's hand and leading him into the kitchen. For some reason this man was willing to let the conversation drop for the moment. He had to suspect something, Vin reasoned, but maybe Chris just wasn't ready to face the consequences of the truth anymore than he was.
2018 MDT
Their dinner was quiet, with few longing stares and even less conversation. Vin managed to pack away all the food Chris had portioned out for him, including two servings of steamed broccoli, though he would have preferred half a loaf of French bread smeared with garlic butter and topped with Parmesan cheese.
As Chris cleared the dishes and began to run the water in the sink for washing, Vin headed upstairs. He reached for his single drawer in the dresser, but opened Chris's sock drawer instead. Inside there were a multitude of white socks, all neatly folded into matching pairs. At a glance, he couldn't tell which ones were his and which were Chris's, so he removed a bundle and looked at it more closely. Both socks looked brand-new, as if they'd just been pulled from the package. He removed another pair and found they were identical to the first. The third pair he inspected, however, had a few loose threads around the ankle and the soles were beginning to wear thin. He then compared the distance from toe to heel on this set to the same measurement on the first two pairs. The worn ones were a good half-inch shorter. The worn ones were his. The ones which looked new were Chris's.
He closed the drawer, then opened his, placing the worn pair of socks in between his extra pair of old sweat pants and his two spare T-shirts. He fingered the collar on one, noting for the first time the fraying at the edge of the ribbing.
Finally he pulled the dark-yellow envelope out of the drawer, then crossed to the bed, dropping the envelope to the mattress and sitting down beside it. He placed his hand gently over the bandage which covered his left arm, where the bone had ripped through the skin and the doctors had stitched it closed. He was worn, just like his clothes. And he was used and broken, just like his Jeep which still sat in police impound, waiting for Vin to decide its fate.
Vin picked up the envelope again. Stared at it. It contained a decision, if only he wanted to make it.
2041 MDT
"Here," Vin said as he walked into the kitchen, laying several sheets of paper on the counter. "Ezra brought these by."
Chris placed the last clean plate in the drying rack, then came over, wiping his wet hands on a dish towel. He was smiling, hopeful. "You decided to get a new car after all and you need me to co-sign for it? As long as it's got airbags---"
But Vin cut him off: "It's not fer a loan. It's fer Power Of Attorney. If ya still want it," he finished shyly.
He looked up at Vin as a slow smile crept over his craggy features. "You sure, Vin?"
Vin knew it would crush this man if he said no. "Yeah, I'm sure." He just hoped he really was.
Chris grabbed the pen he kept by the answering machine, but Vin slid the instrument from his hand before he could put it to the paper. "Somethin' ya gotta know first."
The older man frowned as he eased himself down onto the barstool. Vin stood before him, forcing himself not to pace, though he wanted to -- right out the back door, into the barn, onto his horse, and over the next rise. He still wasn't sure about telling Chris -- wasn't sure now how the man would react, despite his assurances earlier that very evening. It happened years ago, but it could still fuck up their careers, their lives. Vin couldn't lie to himself about that.
"Chris. I need ta thank ya fer helpin' me at the hospital, fer tryin' when I couldn't look out fer myself. Ya knew I had a problem bein' tied, and I appreciate ya doin' what ya could ta convince the doctor ta remove the restraints."
Chris nodded, but knew better than to interrupt a man who was having difficulty saying what he thought needed to be said.
"But I lied ta ya, Chris. I wasn't a little kid when that happened ta me. I was seventeen. And I wasn't in foster care. I wasn't even in the state facility." Vin took a deep breath, then forced himself to continue. "I know this might change everythin' 'tween us, but ya need ta know before ya decide if yer gonna sign that document."
Chris nodded, silently encouraging him to continue.
"I'd been livin' on the streets at that point. Sometimes it gets powerful cold, in the winter, when the snow and winds come. I didn't mean ta do anythin' wrong. But I was so cold. There was this car, a pretty nice one, and the back door was unlocked. I crawled inside and fell asleep."
Then Vin scoffed. It was so fucking stupid. The dumbest damned coincidence. Just his shitty luck. His shitty life.
"I didn't wake up 'til I heard the sirens. Some other kids stole the car I was sleepin' in. I got scared when we were pulled over. I ran and this cop grabbed me. I wasn't thinkin' and took a swing at him."
When Vin realized he was staring down at his boots, he consciously looked back up at Chris, to gauge his reaction. The man's face was full of patience, his eyes cast down as well, not in the least bit judgmental or intimidating. And Vin was glad for that. It seemed like Chris had always done things right and, try as he might, he wasn't always capable of understanding how things in someone's life can just go so completely wrong.
"I got six months fer a misdemeanor." Vin hung his head again. He had a record and he didn't tell the ATF when he joined up, that was enough to get him booted out of the Bureau. But would it also get him booted out of Chris's bed? He'd thought so once; now he wasn't sure.
Chris didn't say anything for the longest time and Vin was afraid to say anything more.
"Seventeen: you were a minor. Are your records sealed?" the man finally asked.
Vin nodded. "The Army knew and a lawyer there helped me file all the paperwork. He said as long as I kept my nose clean in the service, no one would care, but he made it clear that outside the Army things would be different. Reckon that's one way they get ya ta keep re-enlistin'."
Chris nodded, but then suddenly got up and left the room. Vin tossed himself down onto the hard wood of the dining room chair, bumping his broken arm against the back rest. He grimaced and closed his eyes tight as he felt tears of pain filling them. He'd fucked this up good. Lied to the ATF. Lied to Chris. Hell, he'd even lied to himself, thinking there was a chance this could all turn out okay.
Vin sat up straight in the chair when Chris finally returned. He was carrying a file folder which he placed on the dining table before pulling out the chair opposite Vin and sitting down.
He removed two sheets of legal-sized paper which were stapled together and handed them to Vin. The photo-copied form was titled DECLARATION FOR FEDERAL EMPLOYMENT.
"Did you ever fill one of these out?" Chris asked.
But Vin shook his head as he read over the form: General Information, Military Service, Background Information-- "Hey, this part's all about convictions. The form I filled out didn't have anything like this."
"Read it," was all Chris said.
"BACKGROUND INFORMATION: For all questions, provide all additional requested information under item 15 or on attached sheets. The circumstances of each event you list will be considered. However, in most cases you can still be considered for Federal jobs." Vin glanced up briefly at Chris, but quickly returned to reading from the form.
"For questions 8, 9, and 10, your answers should include convictions resulting from a plea of nolo contendere (no contest), but omit (1) traffic fines of $300 or less, (2) any violation of law committed before your 16th birthday, (3) any violation of law committed before your 18th birthday if finally decided in juvenile court or a Youth Offender Law, (4) any conviction set aside under the Federal Youth Corrections Act or similar State Law, and (5) any conviction whose record was expunged under Federal or State law."
Vin looked up at Chris again. He wasn't sure what this meant.
"Were you convicted in juvenile court, or did they try you as an adult?"
"Juvie," Vin said. The boys who ... who did that to him were sixteen and seventeen themselves. Just bigger than him, meaner, with friends like themselves. He never would have survived among adult convicts. Not back then.
"Then that's it. Number three, right there in black and white: omit any violation of law committed before your 18th birthday if finally decided in juvenile court. It's okay, Vin. You can stop worrying. You're in. You're on my team. Nobody's gonna get in trouble for this."
"So, they can't fire me? Or you?"
"No, they can't! You're off the hook. If only you'd had to fill out this damn, optional form, you'd have known that from the start."
Vin smiled, but then he realized something: "Aren't ya mad at me? Fer lyin' ta ya?"
"Reckon I should be. Guess I really wanna know why you didn't tell me about this sooner."
Vin shrugged. "Thought you'd turn me in---"
"I wouldn't have done that," Chris insisted.
"Or that you'd lose yer job fer coverin' fer me."
"That it?" Chris asked, almost as if he knew it wasn't.
"I didn't know how ya'd react. If ya'd still want me if they kicked me off the team, outta the ATF."
Chris moved out of his chair and kneeled next to Vin's. "I already answered this question. I told you: you mean more to me than some job. And I'd do anything for you, Vin."
"Anything?"
"Except move to Texas," Chris grinned.
"Hey!"
"Sorry, pard, but they got laws in that state."
"Against what?"
"All sorts of things that Colorado doesn't mind us doing," Chris said as he slid a hand over the top of Vin's thigh, while his other hand found Vin's neck and pulled him down into a kiss.
Then Chris pulled back and looked deeply into Vin's eyes, like he was trying to find the horizon in them. "Are you gonna be okay?"
Vin nodded his head, slowly. This was all going to take a little while to sink in, for him to really believe that he hadn't completely fucked up his life, and that Chris was going to stick by him even when his past did come back to bite him in the butt.
"And, are we okay?"
Vin nodded his head again, smiling slightly. "Got one question, though," he said, pointing to the information written on Chris's copy of the DECLARATION FOR FEDERAL EMPLOYMENT form. "What kinda middle name is Garfield? You couldn'ta been named after that comic-strip cat."
Chris stood up to his full height, which caused him to tower over Vin who was still seated. Then he glowered. "Try the 20th President of these United States: James Abrams Garfield."
"Why'd yer ma name ya after him?"
"My great great-grandfather married Garfield's sister," he declared with a certain amount of pride in his voice. But Vin couldn't help snickering. "Really!" Chris insisted.
"Okay. I believe ya," Vin said holding up his hands in surrender. "Don't reckon a man'd have a reason ta make up somethin' like that."
"Fine. Now, you gonna give me back that pen so I can sign those documents for you?"
But Vin just grinned.
"Don't make me search you for it," Chris threatened, then dug his fingers firmly into Vin's sides, mercilessly tickling his ribs, causing the man to yell with laughter. In his struggles, Vin kicked out, landing a firm foot on the floor which forced the chair to over-balance.
But Chris caught the wooden arms an instant later, averting the accident. Both men were now breathing hard from their exertions. Finally Chris just held out his hand. "Give me the pen, or I'm gonna cross off Power Of Attorney and write in Car Loan."
"Like ya really want me drivin' a Porsche," Vin said, finally handing over the ball-point.
"Oh, I wouldn't co-sign for a sports car. A station wagon, maybe," the older man quirked a smile as he sat back down at the dining table and pulled the legal documents from the envelope.
"I ain't drivin' no station wagon, Christopher Garfield!"
"Don't know why not. My mom drives one and you're sounding an awful lot like her right at the moment."
2215, Saturday, August 11
"You know, a suite at The Westin comes with champagne and a hot tub," Chris informed his partner.
"Yeah, but this place has a much nicer ceilin'," Vin smiled, looking up at the night sky, speckled almost white with so many stars. He snuggled his head against Chris's bare shoulder and stroked his partner's palm with his thumb.
He'd been home from the hospital for just over a week and Monday morning he was due to report back for work -- desk duty for now, until the I.A. investigation of the shooting of the female civilian was complete, but at least he'd get to wait it out in Denver, at his regular desk, next to the other members of Team Seven, with Chris glaring at him through the partially open blinds of his office.
Vin smiled at the thought. It seemed odd that he would miss that glare, but to him it meant that everything was okay -- status quo, as Ezra would say. All is right with the world.
He had Chris; they both had their jobs; no one was going to get fired because of some stupid thing that happened to him ten years ago. Even the nightmares were fading. And, when he did have them, he didn't feel as completely helpless as he had before and they were easier to shake off once he did wake up.
His thoughts then wandered to the girl he'd killed, the runaway. Since leaving the hospital, since visits by both the ATF shrink and Connie had practically ceased, he'd begun to think about her more and more. He knew what it was like on the streets, what her life had probably been like there -- the cold, the hunger, the fear, the loneliness. But, how bad was her home life that she felt she couldn't go back? She was fifty miles from a warm bed, a decent meal, a hot shower. Fifty miles. And yet she chose to end her life instead.
Vin sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and resting his forearms across them. Chris sat up behind him, threading his arms around Vin's waist. "Whatcha thinking about?"
"Meghan Caulfield."
"Who?"
"The girl I shot." He knew he wasn't supposed to know her name. The ATF records he'd been allowed to see still referred to her as Jane Doe. It was a similar psychology to what the military uses when engaging enemy troops -- if you dehumanize them, soldiers have an easier time killing them and not feeling guilty about having done it. The ATF figured if Vin didn't know her name, there was no reason to tell him -- no reason to give the body a name, a personality, a history, a reality -- no reason to give him any cause to question his actions. No reason for him to know the whole truth.
He knew this would work well for JD, who'd only seen that gun being raised
at him. But Vin had seen her face, her eyes, her tears. Even if he never
knew her name, he'd always know more about her than the ATF could ever tell
him.
| July 19th, 2001. 10:49. Brt & clr. Fresh SW wind. M-24, 7.62 match ammo. Short, angled shot - 273m - from 2nd story window to street below. Single civilian, |
"How do you know her name?" Chris asked quietly.
"I just do. I also know her folks live out in Dillon. That's why I was out there last week; I wanted ta talk ta 'em." He felt Chris tense behind him. No more lies, Vin had vowed, but he was afraid Chris wasn't ready for it yet.
"Did you?"
"Naw. Sat there fer the longest time, though, thinkin' 'bout what ta ask 'em. But, then I realized somethin': if she ran away, had been living on the streets fer a couple of years, then I prob'ly knew more 'bout her than they did."
Chris hugged Vin a little closer, but didn't say any more.
"I just can't figure out how I made it and she didn't. How all I could think 'bout was gettin' through one more night and she was thinkin' 'bout how ta end it all."
"I don't know. These philosophy questions are more Josiah's thing than mine. But, maybe, for some reason, you kept hope alive in your heart. That's a gift, Vin; something a lot of people don't have. I know I don't. I haven't been through half the shit you have, yet I was so close to throwing everything away after Sarah and Adam died."
Vin turned in Chris's arms, to look into the man's face. "I'm glad ya didn't. I'da missed meetin' ya."
"I'm glad I didn't either, because I would have missed being met." Chris slid his hand up Vin's chest, stopping right above his heart and Vin laid his hand on top of Chris's.
"Reckon this is just about as close ta heaven as I wanna get right now," Vin whispered as he leaned to place a kiss on Chris's warm lips.
"Oh, I don't know. I think I can take you a little higher, if you'll let me," Chris replied with a wide, lustful grin.
"What'd ya have in mind?"
"That depends on what you think you can handle," Chris replied. The pair had yet to do more than kiss, hug, and cuddle since Vin's release from the hospital. They were both too afraid Vin's stirred up memories would make things difficult between them and neither had been willing to go there, especially if all Vin needed was time.
"Oh, I think I can handle ya," Vin laughed as he used his shoulder to push Chris back to the ground, before swinging his leg over to straddle the man's narrow hips.
The full moon was just now over the horizon and it bathed the pair in sallow light as if from a huge kerosene lamp. Chris stared up at him and then smiled.
"I love you so much, Vin."
And those word swept the breath from Vin's lungs. Was it the first time he'd ever said them? Or did it just feel that way? Vin didn't much care. All that mattered was that they were true. And he knew they were true, because Chris wouldn't have said them if they weren't.
"I love you, too, Chris," he said with just as much truth.
Chris then pulled Vin down into a deep kiss.
April 2001
Comments would be most welcome if sent to: C.V. Puerro
Please do NOT repost this story anywhere outside of t the Blackraptor Fiction Website.
Special thanks to C.W., N.B., and S.F. for their technical assistance. And thanks to my beta reader for all her wonderful help and encouragement!
This story is based on the characters from "The Magnificent Seven," which is own by The Mirisch Group, MGM, Trilogy Entertainment, and CBS Worldwide, Inc. The M7-ATF universe was created by Mog, and extra thanks go to her for allowing other people to play within it. The story itself and the character 'Meghan Caulfield' belong to the author. No copyright infringement is intended and this story will not be sold for any reason.