Alder '03: Simple Truths... Honest Lies

Buck gave Lady a final pat, stroking Pony's nose before turning away from the animals enjoying the corral. Pony had been there when he'd arrived, Lady snorting a greeting, ears perking in anticipation of saying hello. He'd taken his time over the chores of getting both horses settled, heart heavy, knowing he was needed inside but not quite ready to face what was in there.

He took the two steps easily, not bothering to knock, just shouldering inside with determined effort. Buck came to a halt, eyes closing. The place stank. Alcohol and sweat and vomit. Deeper than that was an indefinable stench, clinging to the inside of the cabin tenaciously, sorrow and guilt and despair. It was also dark inside, much darker than the new evening light that was casting icy blues over the landscape. He squinted his adjusting eyes back open, looking about for his missing friend.

He almost snorted. Chris was hardly missing. More like gone on purpose, taking an extended leave from reality until the painful days passed - the day before, the day of and the day after. Painful days that had always been spent this way, drunk and alone, Buck trailing on the peripheries when he'd been around, resolutely ignoring them the years he hadn't.

This year Chris might have had other company, other men willing to ride out and offer support and friendship, but Buck knew how bad an idea that was. He'd shaken his head at Vin and Ezra, waved JD back. He'd go, he'd see how the man was... after all, it was his job. On the way out he'd told Nate to just stay in town, asked him to tell Josiah the same when the big man got back from patrol. No use any of them coming out - even with the dark eyes so worried that someone might need tending, even with the palpable concern of true friends he'd been able to tell them a sure and firm 'no.'

So here he was. Another year, another time to anchor Chris, pull the blond from the dregs after the anniversary of Sarah and Adam's death passed. He huffed and ventured into the small bedroom.

Buck sucked in a breath, chest tight at what he saw. Nearly empty whiskey bottle in one hand, gun in the other, Chris crumpled on the bed. He worked his jaw, anger and resentment and fear spreading through him like wildfire.

He took the few paces to the bed, loomed over the sagging form. With a shaking hand he reached out, tracing a soft line from the crown of the blond hair until it rested against the fluttering pulse in the bent neck.

Buck rocked back onto his heels, exhalation of relief filling him. He'd known Larabee wasn't likely to have really done it. Hadn't seen any blood... but still, the image had scared his own blood frozen cold. He licked his lips.

"Chris?"

There was no answer so he tried again, louder this time.

"Chris?"

A low growl then slurred words were hurled at him.

"Get theee fuuck ouutt, Wilmming-ton!"

Spit hit his boots, Chris' body swaying where it sat, defeated, on the bed. Buck shook his head, standing and staying in quiet defiance.

The last long swallow was chugged down, open throat and numb mind not even registering the burn of the cheap liquor. The bottle was thrown, bouncing once with a strange hollow ring before slamming into the far wall, rattling about as it gained a few cracks. Hazel eyes latched onto his blues, snapping with anger and hurt so deep it pained Buck to look at it.

"Just get out!"

The forceful words were shoved at him, handsome face twisted in a sneer.

"I'm fuuuckin' busssy here..."

To emphasize the point the gunslinger's hand lifted, bringing the gun up to press into a blond covered temple, hammer cocking back with a metallic snick.

Buck set his jaw. "No."

The tiger eyes flared. "OUT! Out ya basstaard sonofva whoore."

He clamped down on his anger, knowing Chris didn't mean it - words the blond would regret once sober - sober after the drink, sober after the pain. He shook his head and kneeled between the splayed legs dangling off the mattress.

"No. Ya wanna do this? Fine. But you're gonna hafta make me watch, Pard. I ain't going nowhere." His blue eyes were fierce, daring the man to act; pleading with Chris not to.

The stubbled face glared at him, the hand holding the gun a bit unsteady after so much alcohol. He just kept staring. Staring in the grim silence, ignoring everything but the swimming hazel gaze.

Minutes pulled like a blade, drawing over them so slow it hurt. But still Buck held, not willing to give; not willing to lose the battle; never willing to lose the man.

Suddenly the arm turned, in a flash bringing the barrel of the gun to press into his forehead, reminding him just how fast and deadly his friend could be no matter the conditions.

"Finee... fiineee... I kill ya and there ain't nooo havin' ya watchin' meee..."

Buck held perfectly still, not allowing himself to swallow or even blink. The gun was pushed harder, the metal denting into his flesh a painful ring.

"Chris..." His voice was a thread, not really a beg but not a command either. It was a rasp, confused and as hurt as the man holding the gun.

The familiar gaze faltered there, hand going limp, the gun knocking against the floor dully when dropped. The eyes welled up, brimming with tears and years of regret. He made to stand but was prevented, Chris dropping from the bed to close around his lap, strong arms pulling him close, handsome face pursuing until dry lips centered over his in a rough kiss.

Buck wrenched away, falling backwards onto his hindquarters, pushing with his outstretched hands as Chris kept after him.

"No," he said firmly.

Hazel eyes glared, the lean blond lunging forward again, ending his further denials with a bruising kiss.

The man tasted of the cheap whiskey and of bile, tongue and teeth having no direction or mercy, just grounding against him with cruel thoroughness. Buck rolled onto his side, slicing his shoulder into Chris' chest with purposeful force. The man grunted and he scrambled away, pulling in short gasps of the stilted air while he watched Chris push up onto unsteady arms, lifting away from the floor, mouth opening and closing with growing shudders.

Buck came onto his knees then stood, lowering over his friend, jamming his hands into sweaty armpits to haul Chris up to stand. He drove them across the room, kicking out with his foot at the back door, one hand locking to hold the blond hair, the other wrapping around to splay against the heaving chest. The action came just in time, the acrid contents of the drunken man's stomach retched violently to slop on the back stairs, into the scrub growing around the cabin. Awhile longer he held, keeping Chris poised, waiting for the last spasm to quit before he drug the blond back inside again.

He propelled Chris into the bedroom, dropping the long body back onto the mattress. Hazel eyes were fighting the fatigue and the drink, trying so hard to stay blazing at him. Buck just shook his head.

"The hangover is gonna be bad enough. You don't need waking up having fucked the wrong person on top of it." His voice was soft, stark contrast to his harsh words. Buck closed his eyes and sighed then let them drift back open again. "Go to sleep, Larabee. Just... go on to sleep."

As if waiting for this permission Chris loosened with a lax sigh, the sprawled body going limp on the bed, mouth staying open as eyes sunk closed, the only thing left a slight snore.

Buck shook his head and went out to get some water and firewood.

He threw several buckets of the cold liquid onto the back stairs, taking away the last remnants of the sick that had been gutted there. Next he came inside, opening the front door to create a cross breeze, inviting the cool night air inside to lift away the stale, putrid mixture of odors that had permeated the small cabin. He started the stove back burning hot, leaving water on to get warm then he went out and got more wood for something to do.

When he returned the water was warm enough to wash himself with and he finished the chore efficiently, not able to prevent scrubbing at his lips that still throbbed with awareness after those punishing kisses.

Buck brought the pan over to the bedside, washing Chris' crusted face and neck with a deft touch, poking a few fingers between the split lips to let water drip inside, rounding over teeth and over the tongue so it wouldn't taste quite so vile when his friend woke again. He rolled the blond one way then the other, taking off the long sleeved shirt and he ran the cloth down each arm, working it under the hem of the undershirt to pass a few times over the muscled torso. He raked wet fingers through the spiky hair then left the man, returning to the stove and saw to the fire.

He scrounged something together to take the sharpness from his gnawing hunger, munching on the few day old biscuits from the dented tin that rested on the shelf over the stove as he closed the house before it got too chilled. He wandered back into the bedroom and fell heavily into a chair brought close to the bedside.

The glint of the gun caught his attention and Buck kicked at it, flare of rage that dampened quickly as the weapon went spinning away across the floor. He stared after it; tired, numb, overwhelmed and completely at a loss.

He'd taken care of Chris before. Had lived through the blackest days with the blond who now seemed to prefer that color above all others. He'd seen the life seep right out of the hazel eyes, dimming the man to a shell of the friend he knew. But never before had Chris threatened their lives. He hadn't believed the violence promised would be carried out, but it had left him shaken all the same. No, Chris had never teetered so close to murder, suicide before.

Never before had Chris forced such intimacies either.

Hell, Buck had never even figured the man was interested in anything after Sarah, much less facing down drunken gropings or other tussles. And Chris had certainly never hinted it was the case before.

Buck's eyes faded distantly, memories that always lurked just beyond rising to the fore - things he didn't want to see again, nothing he could prevent from eclipsing all else as he sat and waited for dawn.

The hours slipped past, starry sky arcing overhead as the silent occupants of the small cabin remained, unchanged. Morning's beacon broke and carried, trails of the rosy light filtering into the bedroom, dappling over the sleeping blond and his companion.

Buck roused himself, stretching out of the chair with a deep yawn, body aching, heart aching. He shuffled to the adjoining room and poked at the fire, the coming warmth of the day requiring him to do nothing more than make sure the glowing embers didn't die out. For something to busy him and in readiness of Larabee's waking he prepared a pot of strong coffee, standing over the percolating brew as it jumped and burbled.

The mattress creaked; Chris groaned. One thud then another, boots scraping followed by a dull thump. Another groan poured over a curse then the boots met the floor again. Buck looked up to watch the blond stagger into the room. He raised a brow.

"Coffee?"

Hazel eyes narrowed to mere slits, a hand raising as if to bat him away. The gunslinger rummaged under the low counter near the stove, bark of satisfaction grunted as Chris bobbled to stand again. One long hand was clenched around a half empty bottle, the other pulling at the cork.

"Don't think you need any more of that." Buck bit right into his tongue, wincing that the thought had come out as words. He hadn't meant to say anything.

A low, sardonic laugh was his answer, followed by, "Go fuck yourself, Wilmington."

Buck huffed, letting the pot clank loudly back down onto the stovetop. The cup he'd been about to fill he let drop as well, noting with satisfaction every twitch and grimace the loud noises produced on his friend's haggard face. For good measure he kicked at the black stove then strode across the room with heavy steps.

"Fuck myself? I don't think so." His voice was raised, staccatoed. "Might just go find someone to do it for me, though, someone who'll be a sight prettier in the morning and damn happier to see me!"

He felt rifled over, weary beyond measure. The worry over wondering if Chris had finally ended it all coupled with the insult of being threatened once with the gun then twice with false intimacy a growing tumult inside, feelings he'd worked so long and hard to contain starting to loosen, willing and waiting to pour from him.

"Figures... yer a damned whore yourself, came from one too. Ain't no wonder you get along with 'em so well." The cutting words were half drowned with tumbling whiskey.

Buck pulled himself to full height, shoulders squaring. He was about to turn on the instigating blond when he saw it. Hazel eyes so sad, filled with years of disappointment and what looked like raw betrayal. They danced with anger to hide the desperate need he stay. Also there was conflict, the terms he couldn't begin to name.

He sighed, body slackening. "Aw hell, Chris. Don't do this. I'm too damn tired for it... too damn tired from a lifetime." His arms dropped forward in a surrendering wave. "If you want me to stay I'll stay. If you want me to go I'll go. But I ain't fighting."

Too many times he'd let himself be baited, answering the snappish challenges thrown his way, letting Chris vent through their brawled arguments. They both knew what the yelling was from and for - both forgave the words as soon as they were aired. This time he just didn't have it in him.

The blond head bent forward, chin falling to rest on the worn undershirt. Their silence came back. That silence which had kept them all these years; undemanding, companionable, understanding. Sadness and knowing and friendship - comfort and words never spoken.

Buck started when Chris' voice trailed to him, quiet and uncertain.

"This year was hardest."

Blue eyes sought under a furrowed brow, waiting. Slowly hazels lifted to meet them and he held the gaze, finally nodding.

Full lips pursed then the man's unsteady tone warbled on. "Thought I'd be alone this year... thought... thou..."

The eyes panicked, flying away from his to scamper right back. Buck eased closer, clamping a firm hand around Chris' shoulder.

"I'm fine. Ya know it, I know it. Wasn't even hit, Chris. Nothing even for me to survive. Okay?" His tone was gentle, ringed with compassion and reassurance.

His hand was knocked away.

"You still almost got yourself killed. You ran right out there, like those bullets flying around somehow couldn't hit you, like those damned..."

Buck lifted his hand, quelling the tirade. "No point to this. I did what was necessary, what you would have done in my position. So let it go. I'm alive, you're alive - hell, all of us lived to see another day. The bad guys are dead or in jail. That's good enough for me." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Should be good enough for you too."

Pupils dilated to pinpricks inside the hazel eyes, always greener in the morning. Chris' jaw set. "Somehow it always comes down to that, doesn't it?"

The words made no sense. Buck waited for more, leaning forward to encourage an explanation but nothing came. He closed his eyes, giving up that much more. Slowly he turned back to the stove, resuming fixing himself a cup of coffee.

"Do you know why I married her?"

Buck's hand jerked, way too much sugar falling into the black liquid from between his fingers. He didn't care, just lifted the cup to his lips and proceeded to scald his tongue on the brew. After two swallows he made himself swivel back.

"'Cause you loved her Pard. 'Cause you wanted a family." He shrugged as if the answer was a given.

"I loved her." The words were right but the tone wasn't. They were strangely delicate, as if Chris was figuring the truth out for the first time, or as if it wasn't quite the truth at all.

"She had blue eyes you know... beautiful deep blue eyes. And her hair. It was the softest brown hair..."

Buck ignored the crimp that etched over his heart. If Chris needed to say this he could listen. He could endure one more time.

The disjointed voice rambled on. "I married her... I did love her I guess. But she was more..."

He found himself nodding, coffee cup falling at a forgotten angle, contents drizzling over the lip. Buck didn't want to hear all the more that she was but he wasn't about to put a stop to the quiet words. He wanted to go close and comfort Chris; he wanted to allow the man space and the ability to finally get this all out, lance deep this festering wound in the hopes it could bleed clear, heal at last.

"She was supposed to keep me safe... supposed to make me... make me..."

Hazel eyes found him, helpless and asking.

Buck nodded. "Make you what, Pard?" The syllables were barely intoned, his voice low and easy.

"Normal."

Buck swallowed, mouth dropping open. Some of the coffee spilled onto his wrist and he cursed, snatching his hand away in reaction, watching as the cup fell onto the stove. It rattled back and forth then stilled. When he looked back Chris was smiling slightly, staring at him.

"She had beautiful blue eyes, the softest brown hair..."

And suddenly he knew.

Before he could reply bitter laughter grated over him.

"All these years... you thinking all this misery was from me losing them, thinking I was almost out of my mind remembering them killed."

Haunted eyes possessed his.

"Part of it was that. Part of me did die in that fire, gone when they left me. But another part made me crazy with remembering what I'd thought when I married her in the first place, the fucked up way I decided she was the one and the fucked up reasons I kept her so close... close enough to finally find a way to keep you at arm's length from me..." The man laughed again, a short bark filled with self-loathing.

Chris turned away then, long sigh leaving the lean body.

"You loved them and you miss them enough so it tears you apart. Leave it at that, 'cause it's true." Buck tried to make the words be enough, wanted them to be.

"It wasn't just them. Still isn't." Chris turned back, body a wild tremor, eyes wide. "How, Buck? How could I have been... how could I still be like that? Doing that to her... doing that to you."

"Nothing wrong with wanting two things, Chris. Nothing wrong with making a choice either. And that's what you did - you made a choice." He paused then added quietly, "It was the right one."

Chris' face blanked pale, eyes retreating to a far off place, hands clenching into quivering fists against the black clad thighs.

Buck cursed internally, taking a careful step forward. "Didn't mean it that way," he said quietly, begging and telling with his tone.

Chris' hand flew up to protect the weary face from his approach.

"You don't have to explain what you meant. I get it... clear enough." A ragged sigh pulsed.

He sighed, knowing the bleak thoughts that were chasing around in that blond head, knowing the fears and doubts and wants. Knowing them so very well.

"I ain't sickened by you, Chris, ain't sickened by what you said. Just surprised is all."

The hazel eyes narrowed with disbelief and Buck shook his head, hands moving away from his body in an easy spread.

"I've long understood what appeal another man can hold, Chris." Here he tipped hand a bit, wanting to reveal without pushing, wanting to reassure without sounding like he was just appeasing. "No one I got offers from suited my fancy, but I damn well had experienced want of that kind a time or two." He kept his gaze even, his blues loaded and meaningful as they held.

Chris' jaw worked. A nerve ticked near the pulsing temple. "It was wrong."

"Ain't wrong to feel confused, Chris. Sure as hell not about something like this." Buck paused, wondering what exactly to say. He honestly had no idea. He closed his eyes for a beat, disappointed but not surprised when the correct words didn't flash before his darkened vision. He sighed and tried again.

"Whatever else yesterday - that day - it has to be hard on you, Pard. It was the day you lost everything. I understand why you were all the way in a bottle and halfway into a bullet. I don't like it, never want to see it again or have you do it again... but I understand it."

His friend sneered at him.

"What would you know about it Buck?"

He tried not to wince, knowing the bile wasn't for him but merely funneled at him. His tone was sincere, mild. "I know at least you were hurting - hurt you have every right to feel. I know every day you hurt from it..."

Chris whirled, left hand hurling the half-empty bottle to send it crashing against the far wall. Pungent, wet spray hit the back of his neck, tingles of glass that glanced but didn't cut. The lean blond was unbalanced from the action, staggering, left arm dangling low, right shoulder hitching when the man righted again. A long finger jabbed through the air at him, words choppy though labored breathing.

"No - no! It wasn't just hurt. I was relieved, Buck. Do you hear me? I was relieved. What kind of sick fucking bastard does that make me now?"

Wild hazel eyes speared into him, demanding a response, demanding he keep quiet.

The blond raged on. "When we got back to find the house gone - Sarah gone... Adam..." The sure voice broke, eyes clamping shut. "I thought... thought it was the answer and my deserved punishment for all the times I'd sat in quiet despair, wondering just what the hell to do about it all, finding I loved and wanted her, knowing I wanted - loved - you... answers to my asking to find a way for it all to be... okay... again."

Buck felt rooted in place, unable to draw closer, unable to flee.

When Chris spoke again the voice was a despairing whisper, hollow and raw. "And then one day you did go. Left after too many times of me saying you had to; after all my efforts to push you away eventually worked." A wet rattle of air escaped the drooping chest. "And I hated you. I hated you for leaving me... I hated it and I was so damn glad you'd finally gone, left me to myself where I belonged."

The desolate gaze found his, held his; implored while it accused.

"God Buck... God..."

The man broke. Strong shoulders collapsed inward, callused hands flailing up to scrub at the weary face, tugging through the cropped blond hair only to fall and rake at the face again. Knees crumpled and down the man went, Buck jerking into motion to catch Chris before his friend crashed.

He darted across the room and gathered Chris close, crooning gently that it was all right, shushing nonsense as he lowered them the rest of the way to the floor, the two puddling together in the middle of the small cabin, legs akimbo, arms banded about each other.

He held and Chris wept and still he held.

Buck tucked his chin into the blond hair, hands dragging over the graying shirt rhythmically, his continual humming never abating. His words were a stream, finding themselves even where he had no idea of what to say.

He held and Chris wept. And still he held.

Buck didn't know how long they stayed, only realized a long time later that the wracking sobs had subsided, the head bending even tighter to him, the blond hair pressed into his ribs, cheek nested in the hollow of his hip. Arms held him loosely, one dragged around his waist, thumb hooked in his belt loop, the other running the length of his sprawled leg, fingers curled around his calf.

"Pard?" He barely heard his own voice. Buck cleared his throat. "Chris, you still with me?"

A trickling sigh was his answer, the hand on his leg tightening.

"Ain't your fault they died, Chris. Sarah and Adam dying - you thinking I'd be driven away from you - that ain't okay either, hear me? Nothing about what you did or felt made you deserve what happened." He pressed his palm into the broad back sheltering his lap. "You loved Adam more'n life itself. And no matter what else you might think or say you loved Sarah too... maybe not that much, but you did."

He laughed, not knowing what else to do with the scatter of emotions churning through him, the sound weak and without humor. His hand circled again and again in a reassuring massage.

"You didn't cause all this madness, Pard." Buck shifted, hauling Larabee up, tugging at the leaden weight that had sent his toes into a painfully numbed state. His legs spread wider, drawing Chris in to tuck the man close against him, head bent so his words murmured over the blond hair. "Madness always finds its own way, never did need a hand figuring out how ta fuck everything up." He squeezed tight with his arms, daring to whisper, "Ya need to let this all go, Chris. Give up fighting against it. Nothing that happened can be changed. Nothing about what you were and are now means ya have to live inside of this for the rest of your days either." His voice ended on a note that intimated 'please.'

His answer was silence. Pensive, hurting silence. He could feel the gears cranking away in the mind of his long time friend, allowed the quiet to endure so the rattling thoughts could be slowed and gathered.

Eventually Chris moved against him, long sigh tickling across his neck. The voice was so close to him yet he had to strain to hear it.

"Ya don't hate me?"

Buck's chest deflated, the pressure of his bated breath leaving in a rush. He jostled Chris, angling down and away so he could meet the clouded hazel eyes with a fierce stare. When their gazes locked and held he smiled gently, the hand resting at the small of his friend's back smoothing up to cup around the strong jaw.

"No, Chris. No. I don't hate ya. Not for any of it."

The hazel eyes wanted to be certain, seeking with silent entreaty over his face, sliding down to flit over his person, the crux of their bodies where they sat tangled together on the floor.

Buck eased away, consoling the anger and the panic he felt in response to his action, keeping his hand steady to cradle the handsome face. Slowly he stood, bending at the waist as his legs uncoiled, grimacing when blood rushed back into all the parts that had been forgotten and cramped from the position and the hard floor. He hauled Chris up with him, supporting the lean man when the tense form swayed, holding that cheek a moment longer then he turned away, trailing down to capture a hand instead.

He gave it a tug, leading them to the small bedroom. Buck left Chris standing there, making his way around to turn down the covers. That accomplished he returned to his friend's side, dragging the man to the bed and he pushed Larabee onto it. He pulled one long black boot off and then the other, toeing out of his as he rounded the bed. When he sunk onto the mattress Chris was still sitting, body an exhausted hunch. Buck scooted across the narrow bed and wrapped his arms around the strong form to lay them both down, stretching and settling them as his arm brought the blankets up to tuck them snug.

Before he subsided into the mattress he admonished kindly, "Ya can stop hating yourself for it too. All you did wasn't wrong, Pard. It was human." After the words were met with further silence he made himself relax into the bed, allowing his gritty eyes to drift closed as they breathed together.

Buck was so tired and emotionally drained he couldn't sleep. He just laid there, holding Chris close, one arm hooked around the lean waist, the other absently petting the blond hair.

The light outside slipped by, heating when noon passed, gloaming to fall into tones of ambers and rose as the quiet hours marched on.

It was in this mellow light Chris stirred, body turning against his, handsome face now mellow too, hazel eyes calmed. They studied him and he allowed it, the hand he'd let trail as his friend spun now clasping into the muscled hip. Without thinking on it he allowed the hand that had lifted to hover float back down, feeling with a bare touch along the distinctive features that held his in thrall.

"Why are you still here?"

Buck smiled, answering simply. "'Cause you are."

"Oh."

The tiger eyes closed, head pushing into him to nuzzle his chest.

"You'll stay?"

The voice nearly broke his heart, sure that it was he'd say no. Buck let his arms circle to close around Chris again.

"Never made other plans, Pard. Staying right here."

The hands trapped between them splayed on his chest, experimenting then pausing.

"You didn't sleep."

Buck ran his chin back and forth across the blond hair. "No. Couldn't."

"Thinking?"

"A-yup."

"About?" The question was part hesitance, part steely determination.

He tilted his cheek to rest on the silky locks. "How much different it all could have been - how much different I'd have treated these last years if I'd known what you finally told me today."

Thoughtful quiet settled then was broken by curiosity.

"How so?"

Buck smiled. "Never would have run so far or run so wild. Never would have fallen into so many beds, lying to myself it was the one I wanted. Never would have believed my being gone and my not seeming ta care when I wasn't was what you needed from me."

Chris sighed, the sound ripe with regrets, textured with the unspoken desires that warred inside them both. "What would you have done instead?"

"Stayed. With you. Just like this."

The answer was laced with incredulity. "Even then? And... and... like this?"

Buck tightened his arms. "Like this and more, Chris." He paused, allowing the revelation to sink in. Buck sighed, starting his hand into motion to rub circles into the tense back. "I don't understand all this so well just because I'm a good friend, because I care and I'm supposed to listen when you need to bend an ear. That crazy, fucked up confusion and conflicting wants deep inside of you were my own, every damn day."

He stilled, dragging his hands to cup two shoulders, pushing Chris away so they could look at one another. Hazel eyes were speculative, hopeful, confused.

"Chris..." Buck took in a long breath and held it. For having harbored these thoughts for so long, the emotions driving so close to his innards and part of his being for all this time they were still damn hard to say. He started again.

"I was relieved too - relieved when you met Sarah and told me you loved her, wanted her. Crazy angry and jealous too, but relieved. It wasn't hard to find myself accepting her, certainly wasn't hard to become hopelessly smitten with Adam. As time went on I thought I could get over it... thought the errant traces I'd believed I'd seen in you answering my wants would go away too, that we could just... I don't know," he huffed helplessly. "That we could start over. Get back to being friends and just friends."

His expression softened. "And for awhile it was okay, being close to you and your family and that blessed little boy, having you all welcome me when I stopped in, asking me to stay and the times I was gone becoming shorter and shorter... it was okay but it was hard." Buck had to look away then, couldn't say the rest facing those knowing eyes. "When we got there... found the house - well, what was left... I was devastated. It hurt so bad they were gone - hurt even worse that a part of me was relieved. Relieved because I thought you wouldn't want me anymore, thinking you'd push me away and I could finally just go..."

Chris' breath was sharp in response and Buck shook his head.

His smile was wan. "I don't know what I expected then. Knew the pain would last, knew the guilt would last too. Couldn't help but hope something... more would come of it between us - more than your retreating into yourself and your terrible anger and me whoring my brains out while thinking on only you, trying to distance ourselves and forget."

Buck let his blue eyes be caught, let them hold. "So, do you hate me now?"

The answer he got surprised him. Chris smiled. A gentle warming of the handsome face, sincere and without doubt, ghosts and shadows chased away to reveal a new clarity of sureness and want.

"No. I don't hate you."

He nodded. "Whew... okay. Good." Buck couldn't prevent the rush of relieved wind that left him, the hands bringing Chris close again, his slight trembling that found echoing tremors in the body pressed to his length.

"What now?" The muffled voice filtered up between them.

"I gotta get some sleep, Pard. Figure you're good for at least another several hours too. Then... then I'd like to talk some more."

"That all?"

Buck grinned. "No. That ain't all. I'll be hungry too, ya know. Think it'd be nice to make and share some dinner."

Chris growled and he chuckled. Arms snaked about him, tugging him, insistent. Buck followed the pull, blue eyes holding the intent hazel gaze with fascination and wordless permission.

Lips pressed to his own, softer than he'd anticipated, gentle and loving - heating promise of so much more, forgiveness and healing its wake. The kiss didn't last long but it was more than enough.

He let his weight fall into the mattress, feeling Chris settle just as fully right beside.

Their silence came back to wrap about them. Buck tucked closer to Chris, the blond answering his insinuations. He smiled softly, thinking of all the good to come that would finally resolve and mend the turmoil that had drove them apart even as it inexorably bound them. His lips parted to rest against a downy temple, kissing lightly as he drifted to sleep.