Chris followed the wheeled bed carrying his lover, and all the medical paraphernalia he still needed, down the hall to his new room. Over the past three days Vin’s condition had improved enough for him to be moved from the ICU. There was still a long road ahead to his physical recovery but Chris couldn’t fathom how long his emotional recovery would be. He couldn’t even take a guess at his own recovery.Buck and Josiah had kept him up to date on the case and on what the rumor mills were saying. He’d made his statement, told Travis and the IA boys what he’d seen and heard. He’d told Vin about what was going on, for the most part. Vin, when he was lucid enough, didn’t want to talk about what had happened, though. And he understood that. But Chris had worried when Vin refused to give Travis a statement. He thought he’d at least do that much. There were missing pieces to what had happened and who did what. Chris and Travis wanted the men responsible for Vin’s torture to be prosecuted for every single act, but without Vin’s statement, there really wasn’t any way for them to know who did what - whom to charge. Sure, Paulson, White and Jenkins were all being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, but Chris hadn’t seen any of these men touch Vin. Treadwell was the one he’d seen with the whip handle and he was, thankfully, dead.
The only thing Vin seemed to be interested in was whether or not everybody knew about them. What the reactions were. Did anybody believe Paulson’s accusations. He’d practically begged Chris to deny everything. Say that they were just good friends, victims of the "good ol’ boy" network’s mistaken accusations. And Chris did make the denials. He couldn’t believe how much it hurt to do that – deny his relationship with Vin. They’d been lovers for months, a relationship that Chris couldn’t believe he’d been in, but was very glad to have forged with the younger man. Denying it hurt his heart more than anything. He felt as if he was betraying Vin’s love every time he told someone, ‘No. We’re not.’ In any other circumstance he would have ignored the stupid questions and accusations. But with this, with not only his, but also Vin’s career and life on the line, he felt he had to voice those denials.
The nurses and orderlies finished transferring Vin into his new room and they gave Chris nods and smiles as they left. He wondered what they thought. Shit. Who the fuck cares?!
He took a seat next to Vin's bed and gazed at the bruised, but still beautiful face of his young friend.
"Welcome to my new home," Vin rasped sarcastically.
The sharpshooter’s voice was still a little hoarse, sounding like a low husky whisper. Doctor Bettini said that the bruising from the nylon cord had done that, and that in a week or two it should be back to normal. If Chris didn’t know why his voice sounded the way it did, he’d have thought it sounded damn sexy. But he did know. Saw first hand.
"How you feeling today?" he asked, taking Vin’s hand gently into his.
"How would you feel if the first thing every mornin’ you got some doctor stickin’ his hand up your butt?" Vin irritably retracted his hand from Chris’s.
The older man bowed his head at Vin’s response. Took a deep breath. "Not too good, huh?" he finally replied, meeting Vin’s gaze.
"I just wanna go home," Vin said tiredly. "Feel like fuckin’ shit. Tired of everybody wantin’ to talk about it. Just wanna go and never have’ta see nobody again."
"I wish we could, Vin," Chris answered, putting a gentle hand to Vin’s cheek. When Vin jerked his face away like Chris’s hand was on fire, the blonde man reassured himself that Vin was only keeping up appearances and pretended not to notice the slight. "But you gotta get better first. Once the docs say you can leave, I’ll be right here to take you home."
Vin shifted his position, grimacing and grunting, trying to find a place that didn’t ache, throb, or sting. Closing his eyes, he sighed then murmured, "We’ll see."
+ + + + + + +
Through the pain meds, Vin conjured enough reality to create vivid, miserable dreams. And, in all of them, he was feeling the bite of the whip as it ate up his skin. He heard the ugly, malicious rantings of Paulson and his sheep as they systematically tried to destroy his character along with his body. The lashing end of the whip went away only to be replaced by the thick, blunt handle as it tried to destroy him again – this time from the inside out. Vin tried to wake himself up, but the pathetic cry that escaped his throat wasn't enough to free him from the vicious diatribe he heard repeatedly whenever he closed his eyes.
Struggling to rise from the agonizing dreams, Vin vaguely heard a voice he knew he could trust. When he came awake enough, Vin was happy to see JD hunched over his bed. But his happiness was quickly extinguished at the sight of the young agent's terrified face.
"JD?"
"Shit, Vin, you were scaring me silly. You okay?"
"Dunno," he croaked. "Wha’ happened?"
"The noises you were making –" The young agent’s brow furrowed and he shuddered.
"Sorry," Vin rasped.
"No, I meant, it musta been…I mean, no, forget it. Don’t be sorry."
Vin hissed in pain as he pulled at the edge of the bed, trying to settle comfortably on his side.
"Vin?" JD asked with concern.
The sharpshooter pressed his eyes closed for a moment, then slowly opened them and refocused on JD. "Feels like a army of red ants crawlin’ and bitin’ at my skin," Vin said, referring to the hundreds of stitches that criss-crossed his torso like so many railroad tracks gone awry.
"God, Vin. Why? Why’d they do this to you?"
The two young agents eyed each other. Conversation suddenly a strain.
"What did ya hear?" Vin finally asked in a whisper.
JD squirmed then walked across the room. His back to Vin, he said, "They said some pretty sick stuff about you, Vin. About you and Chris," he whispered the last name in disbelief. He turned suddenly, anger sweeping across his youthful face. "It pissed me off real bad. I mean, what kind of pervert goes around making those kinds of accusations and then doing-" JD swept a hand in the air to indicate Vin's tattered body.
JD’s distress was palpable. His inability to accept the truth hit Vin head on. And, although JD wouldn’t actually formulate the question, Vin knew he needed to hear the answer.
"You know none of it’s true, JD. Don’tcha?" Vin watched as JD searched his face for confirmation, knowing the youngest team member desperately wanted to believe that the status quo of his life was untouched by this abominable act.
A big shrug. "I guess. I mean, yeah, of course."
"Chris and me are just good friends, JD." Vin sucked the bitterness back down his throat. "Just like you and Buck’s close as friends. Everybody’s got to have someone he can talk to, right? You got Buck. I…I got Chris," Vin finished off, out of breath.
JD agreed and seemed visibly relieved to have heard the words directly from Vin. He made some more small talk before leaving, but Vin didn't hear much of it.
+ + + + + + +
Chris came out of the bathroom at Buck’s place. Giving in to Bucks persuasion, the ATF leader had agreed to come here for a quick shower. At first Buck had tried to convince him that he needed to get away from the hospital for his own mental health, but that argument had fallen on deaf ears. Then Buck pointed out that it had been days since Chris had bothered with personal hygiene and everyone was beginning to notice. So he’d come to Buck’s since the ranch was too far away.
The ranch. Home. He was anxious to get Vin back into comfortable territory where he could be himself, where he would let Chris care for him, touch him freely. Back to a place where they could speak unguarded, a place where Vin would let go of the stoic facade he’d adopted while at the hospital.
"So, how you think Vin’s holding up?" Buck’s query interrupted Chris’s thoughts.
"Uh, good, I think. I mean he’s understandably angry and he’s tryin’ real hard to not show how much he hurts, but I think all-in-all, he’s coming along."
"Mmm hmmm," Buck replied.
"Why? Don’t you?"
"Well, he seems a little, uh, distant. Not that I blame him, or nothin’."
"Distant?" Chris echoed and a gnawing of anxiety began in his gut.
"Think he’ll talk to Travis soon? We’ll never nail the bastards if Vin won’t talk."
Chris studied Buck for a minute then shook his head and sighed. "I don’t know, Buck, he’s real...upset. Seems a stupid word for as bad as he’s had it, but that’s it. This went real deep with him and he’s not letting me in right now. I’m sure he’ll be better when he gets home."
Buck clapped his old friend on the back. "Yeah, Pard, I’m sure you’re right."
+ + + + + + +
"Good-fuckin’ riddance."
"Chris, a fellow agent just committed suicide," Nathan admonished.
"Once Chuck White became a part of Paulson’s goon squad, he stopped being a fellow agent, Nate," the blonde retorted angrily. "And Paulson – did you hear they’re actually considering bailing him?"
Nathan watched as his team leader angrily paced the open area of Team 7’s office. They’d just gotten the news from the hospital staff about White, how he’d managed to wrangle free from his escort to the federal lock-up and purposely step in front of an oncoming bus. And yes, the dark agent had heard about Paulson’s upcoming bail hearing. He was just as angry about it as Chris. Vin was a good friend and he hated that someone like Paulson had been able to hurt him – and hurt him in such a severe way. But even worse, if it was at all possible, were the effects of Paulson’s deeds not only on Vin, but on the entire team.
Everyone seemed remote. The jovial camaraderie that usually filled the office had been replaced by uneasy silence. Even members of other ATF teams were acting differently toward them. A few brave souls had actually confronted him, asking if the rumors were true. A few morons even asked if he was gay. Guilt by association.
"Yeah, Chris, I heard," he finally replied.
He was about to say more when someone new entered the office. He saw the old woman and the look on her face. He decided that Chris could deal with her on his own and quietly headed for the break room.
"So, when were you going to tell me?" she asked, walking right up to Chris, stopping his errant pacing mid-stride. "I come back from a few personal days away and what do I hear through the office gossip?"
"Nettie, I’m sorry," he responded, sorrow and pain in his eyes as he looked at her. "It’s just… so much has happened…" he tried to explain, hands waving uselessly. "I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. And I should have told you, sooner, in person." He slumped back to lean heavily on Josiah’s desk.
Her anger for Chris Larabee slipped then, seeing the mix of anger and hurt in his green eyes, the dark circles of sleeplessness underneath them.
"Is he going to be alright?" she asked, putting a hand to Chris’s cheek.
"Eventually. Physically," he answered quietly. "Doctors say he’ll be in the hospital at least a week more. Less if he agrees to home care."
"What really happened?" Nettie asked. "I’ve heard the gossip. Now tell me the truth."
The ATF supervisor took a deep breath, tried to find the right words to use. To tell the woman who treated his best friend and lover as if he were her own son. Then he replied, "Conrad Paulson and his boys didn’t like Vin. Beat and tortured him. Simple as that." He knew Nettie Wells was a tough old woman, able to hold her own in any given circumstances. But he still couldn’t tell her the entire truth. The whys and hows. He didn’t know if Vin had told her the truth about their relationship. He didn’t want to give her any more information than was necessary. And he couldn’t bear to tell her all the details of the assault. He was barely able to handle them himself.
"Simple as that, huh?" she asked, sizing Chris up, not really happy with his answer, but understanding it.
"Yeah, simple as that," he replied, then added, "Maybe you could go visit him today. He hasn’t been in the best of moods, understandably, but maybe he won’t feel so… I don’t know. I just think he wouldn’t mind a visit from you."
Maybe Nettie could get Vin to open up, talk about what happened. Give a statement. Nail that bastard Paulson so he won’t be free on bail. Get him to talk to me again.
She had a way with Vin. She could charm him or guilt him into doing anything. And Vin had told him about all the things she’d done for him at the Marshal’s office and now, with the ATF. It was as if they had needed and then found each other. Chris felt instantly guilty about not calling Nettie as soon as Vin got to the hospital. When he looked at her, he saw understanding, though.
"Apology accepted," she said. "Now tell me what room he’s in."
+ + + + + + +
He heard someone come into the room. He kept his eyes closed, though, pretending to be asleep. He was not in the mood for visitors. He had nothing to say. Then he felt the warm, comforting kiss on his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked up into the compassionate and maternal face of Nettie Wells. She gave him a comforting smile as she gently stroked his cheek, eventually pushing an errant strand or two of hair back behind his ear.
"Hi, Vin," she said, taking a seat next to the bed.
"Hi."
He didn’t know what else to say to her. His emotions were still on that same, never-ending rollercoaster ride that started in the park… how many days ago? Should he be happy to see her? Or sad, because now there was one more person that had gotten on ride? Or maybe she would be the one that could help him get off this turn?
"There’s never been anything you couldn’t tell me, boy," she began, looking him right in the eye, sensing his need to say something, but not knowing what. "Nothing’s changed. And before you get yourself in a dander, wondering what you should or shouldn’t tell me, I’ll tell you what I know."
"Nettie," he cut in, blurting out, "What they’re sayin’ about me and Chris –,"
"There ain’t nothing that anybody could say that’ll ever change how I feel about you. You know that don’t you?" she interrupted right back, grasping his hand in hers.
"So if I told you that me and Chris, that we…" he stopped, wanting to tell her, yet never having formed the words before, he wasn’t sure how.
The woman leaned in close to Vin, a humorous glint in her eye, and said, "Vin, I think I knew about you and Chris before you and Chris did." She smiled at the look of shock on Vin’s face.
The shock wore off quickly as Vin realized that Nettie probably had known all along. He just never recognized the signs.
"I’m just sorry that a man like Conrad Paulson was around to ruin it," she continued. "Now," she said, changing pace, "How are you feeling? And what can I do for you?"
"Help me get outta here?" he asked, his blue eyes pleading.
+ + + + + + +
Chris moved the papers from one side of his desk to the other—again. He had no idea what they contained. He didn’t care. His phone rang. He let voicemail get it. Nate, Ezra, and JD had each approached him with questions about their work; to each he had grunted a consent or denial. He didn’t remember what any of them had said. For the millionth time, he checked his watch. Dissatisfied, he consulted the clock on his computer. When he still didn’t get the answer he sought, he yelled to Buck in the outer office to tell him what the hell time it was.
"Hey, Pard," Buck said leaning against the doorframe to Chris’s office, "it’s five minutes since the last time you caterwauled out the door." Buck shook his head in bemusement at his old friend’s preoccupation. He came into the office and shut the door, settling into the seat across the desk from the ATF leader.
Chris fidgeted with stuff on his desktop, then stopped when he realized he had company. "What?" he asked gruffly.
"Dang, yer cranky, Chris."
"Vin’s comin’ home today…" More opening and closing of drawers and rummaging through stacks of paper.
"What the hell you lookin’ for?"
Chris looked up at Buck as if noticing him for the first time. "Hmmm? Oh—" his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. "I dunno…don’t remember." He sighed deeply then looked helplessly at Buck. "What the hell’s the matter with me?"
Buck clucked his tongue. "Exactly."
Chris sobered and gave Buck a thoughtful appraisal. "He doesn’t … he hasn’t been the same." Chris shrugged sadly. "We don’t talk. Or, more accurately, he doesn’t talk." Chris’s voice grew soft before trailing off. "He hardly even looks at me…." He cast his eyes downward.
The clock on the wall tick-tocked loudly. The friends sat quietly with their own thoughts. At length, Chris looked up at Buck.
"He talk to you?" Chris whispered.
The question was both hopeful and fearful.
"Nah, not really. Just bullshit. You know, game scores, odds and ends about work. Nothin’ specific. Nothin’," Buck gave Chris a direct look, "about what happened. Since he’s been up and movin’ mostly all he talks about is getting out of the hospital."
Chris nodded, gnawing on his lower lip.
Buck slapped his palms on his thighs. "Speakin’ of which," he smiled broadly, "now it’s time for you to get your ass over there."
+ + + + + + +
Striding through the hospital corridors, Chris tamped down the squirrelly feeling in his gut. He was nervous. Nervous! Or maybe he was afraid. How ridiculous. He was excited, full of anticipation. His fingers itched to touch Vin, just to touch him. It used to shock him how badly he needed the other man. But he was past trying to analyze why this was the way things were. It just was and he wanted nothing more than to return to the peace and contentment he and Vin had built between them. As soon as Vin got back to the ranch, he’d start acting normal again, too. It was just a matter of time.
Chris rounded the corner and whizzed past the nursing station. He vaguely noticed a hand raised to him in greeting, but his attention was on the door of room 327. Stopping outside he gulped then pushed the door open, entering with a smile and a bag full of junk food.
"Mr. Larabee?"
Chris stood staring at the empty room, his mouth agape.
"Mr. Larabee?"
He turned to look at the nurse who addressed him. Madeline, that was her name. He remembered because she’d taken extra care to keep Vin’s pain at a minimum and they’d both appreciated her kindness. He glanced back at the vacant bed then turned questioning eyes to her.
Madeline smiled awkwardly. "He’s gone," she said, raising her hands to indicate the empty room. "Discharged just a short while ago." Seeing the consternation on Chris’s face, she hastened to add a disclaimer. "He said you had a meeting and that—the others, they were all busy elsewhere, too, he said. He said, you knew—" Madeline stopped abuptly, knowing that Vin had bamboozled them all. She knew and she knew Chris knew it.
The muscle at the edge of Chris’s jaw twitched.
"I’m…sorry…" Madeline offered quietly.
Larabee nodded mutely then left the building.
+ + + + + + +
"You rest now." Nettie patted the bed next to where Vin reclined. "I’ll fix something to eat and let you know when it’s ready." Despite Vin’s urgent pleading, Nettie had not given into his desire for a spin through a McDonald’s on the way to her house. "And, I’ll call Chris and let him know you’re all settled in." She smiled warmly at the young man in her care.
"No, that’s alright, Nettie. I wanna call him. That okay with you?" He gave her his most plaintive look. When she nodded, he said, "A little later, then. After I rest a spell."
"Okay, then," she added. "Just don’t forget that Suzanne, the nurse from the Homecare Service, is stopping by around three." Nettie fussed with a few things on the bedside table, closed the blinds in the room and left quietly, shutting the door behind her.
Vin slowly rose from the bed. Steadying himself at the footboard, he achingly straightened up and began an awkward amble around the room. The pain was less than before—anything would be an improvement—but there still wasn’t a position that afforded him real comfort. And he’d been lying down for two solid weeks. Enough. He’d rather feel like shit vertically right now. His left hand fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He’d managed to get the thing on over the sling that immobilized his right shoulder, but now that he wasn’t in public he couldn’t wait to get it off. The feeling of the cloth against his skin, brushing against the still-healing whip lashes, was horrible. Like an ancient man, he gradually shrugged and winced the offending garment from his arms and let it drop in the middle of the floor.
While his body dispassionately dealt with the physical pain, his mind focused on the discomfort inside. The stuff that kept his stomach fluttering and left his mouth dry. Vin knew there was no way Chris, Nettie, or any of the other guys was going to let him go back to Purgatory to recover. Naturally, Chris expected that Vin would be coming to stay with him. The team wouldn’t think that was unusual in that Chris and Vin spent a lot of off time together anyway working the ranch and horses. So, he’d told Nettie that since Chris’s ranch was a fair distance from town and Team 7’s caseload was heavy at present, he and Chris had agreed that Vin’s convalescence was best spent at Nettie’s—if that was okay with her. The old woman was delighted at the idea. Vin knew that while she maybe had an easy time accepting his and Chris’s relationship (Vin figured it was like a lenient mother be willing to overlook her children’s transgressions), she didn’t entirely trust Chris, or Vin for that matter, to know what was best for him during his recuperation. And, although he hated admitting it, Vin thought he could use a little taking care of right now. With no strings attached.
He’d told Chris that he would be ready to go home with him this afternoon.
He’d lied flat out to both Nettie and Chris. Played one against the other. Neither of them deserved this. Both of them were gonna be really pissed. He’d just wanted to buy some time ‘til he could look at Chris without busting into tears.
He stopped next to the tall dresser and glanced into the mirror above it. Holy shit. A pasty white face dominated by shadowed, sunken eyes stared back at him. One eye looked lopsided, its lid puffier than the other. A shiny red scar highlighted his left earlobe like gaudy costume jewelry. Beard stubble poked messily around still-healing cuts and scrapes.
"You cowardly piece of crap," he whispered in disgust. "Why don’tcha just tell him—"
"Yeah, why don’tcha do that, Cowboy."
Vin whipped his head around at the sound of Chris’s sad voice at the doorway.
+ + + + + + +
Chris Larabee had driven like a man possessed to Nettie Wells’s house. Vin had played him for a fool and Nettie had been right there backing him up.
He pulled into the driveway of her small suburban home and parked under the broad branches of a huge oak tree. Nettie came around the side of the house as he shut the car door.
"Chris, I’m glad you were able to come so soon," she said with a smile and an armload of firewood. "Vin said your meeting was going to last all after—" Nettie’s statement fell short as she registered the anger in Chris’s eyes, which quickly gave way to perplexity.
"Meeting…?"
The pair eyed each other.
"You didn’t know he was coming here, did you?"
Chris’s mouth became a thin line of bitterness.
She tossed her head toward the side door. "He’s in the back bedroom on the right."
Now Chris stood in the bedroom doorway staring at the terrifying scarecrow that had been Vin. Waiting for the inevitable words he knew were coming, he felt his legs go weak and his heart triple its speed.
Vin held his left arm out in supplication, showing off the emaciated frame of his body. His pants hung too low on wasted hips, their bones protruding sharply. His elbow looked too big for his arm. And everywhere were long red scars, scabs, and scattered stitches. Chris felt a sob work its way out from his chest.
Vin spoke softly, beseechingly. "I seen the backside of Hell, Chris. Neither one of us is ever goin’ there again."
Chris took a halting step into the room, stopping abruptly when Vin put his hand up in a defensive motion.
"G’won, and let me be, Chris."
Shaking his head, Larabee soundlessly mouthed the word "no."
"I ain’t comin’ back to the team," Vin drew a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly, "…or to you."
"Vin," Chris said, not even recognizing his own anguished voice.
A soft hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed. "I think you better leave, Chris," Nettie’s voice said firmly.
He remained rooted to the floor, begging Vin with his eyes to reconsider.
"For now," Nettie amended, gently.
Vin turned away, dropping his chin to his chest. Chris stared at his violence-ravaged back, ignoring Nettie’s persistent urgings to leave. "You are not done with me, Vin Tanner." He swiped at the wetness that covered his cheeks and turned to go. "You are not done," he swore on a whisper.
THE END
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