ATF Universe
Disclaimer: Not mine, never were, never will be.
Note: Ficlet inspired by a list discussion about the guys night wear. Thanks to Charlotte for the original idea and Sharakh, for the inspiration. Thanks to Kerry for the beta work.
Pre Slash
"Chris?" Buck bellowed as he walked into the house.There was no reply, so assuming his boss and former lover was out in the barn, he headed out that way to try and find him. Some half an hour later he returned, still unable to locate Larabee.
"Damn it Larabee where the hell are you?" he asked out loud, before setting off to explore the house.
He found the man he sought, sitting on the edge of the bed, silent and morose, some kind of dark grey clothing held tightly in his two hands.
"Chris?" Buck asked softly as he edged into the room.
There was no response. He knelt down in front of the man he was beginning to suspect he loved, really loved, more than just a friend he had once had occasional fun sex with. After Chris met Sarah the sex part of their friendship ended, and Buck had pushed the deeper, but unspoken feelings he had for his partner to the back of his mind and done his best to forget about them. But Sarah was dead, worse, Adam was dead, the boy who had called him 'Uncle Buck' and meant the world to him. All he had left was Chris and for a long time he didn't even have him, as Chris had made a determined effort to follow his family into the grave, via the whisky bottle. But Sarah and Adam had been gone nearly two years now, and Chris was beginning to pull his life back together; he'd even started a new job with the ATF.
Looking up into the downcast face he caught his breath. Chris looked so lost, his eyes red and puffy, tear trails running down his cheeks.
"Oh pal, what's wrong?" Buck whispered.
He looked down at the screwed up bundle in Larabee's vice like grip, and took in the other items in the room, things he hadn't even noticed before. A bag from the men's outfitters Chris favoured, when he wanted something a little better than Wal-Mart. Behind Chris on the bed, was what looked like a new pair of pyjama bottoms in the same charcoal grey fabric that was now clenched in his friend’s hands, and discarded cellophane wrap on the floor. Suddenly he had a flashback, surprising the Larabee family one Sunday morning, Chris in pyjama bottoms, Sarah - looking ravishing - in the tops. It was a habit they had fallen into when they were first married. Chris, ever the careful planner, had taken one sent of pyjamas on the honeymoon, but Sarah hadn't taken anything. They had rented a very remote cabin in the mountains. It was June, they were expecting fine, warm weather, what they got was a freak snowstorm. Not really a problem for a honeymoon couple in a well stocked cabin, except it was a cold trip to the bathroom, so they shared the nightwear.
"Chris?" Buck prompted again. Finally he got a reaction, tortured, sad eyes, lifted a little to find compassion filled, dark blue pools gazing up at him.
"I needed new ones," he started, there was a strange tone to his voice, as if he was about to describe events he had witnessed not participated in. "…mine were falling off me, the seam split." He moved the bundle in his hands toward Buck a little, but didn't let go. Buck realised it was the top of the pyjama set, the top that Sarah would have worn. Buck wondered why Chris had bought a two piece set, why not by just the bottoms, lots of places sold nightwear as 'mix and match' these days. Then it came to him, for six years Sarah bought his clothes, all of them, this was probably the first time he had purchased night clothes since she died, it just hadn't occur to him to look for anything different.
"What do I do with this?" Chris asked.
And for once Buck - the great communicator - was at a loss, what could he say? He reached out and lay his large hand over one of Chris' and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Chris felt the extra heat, the reassuring weight, registering that it was Buck who was there, Buck who never left him, and in whose company, and no one else's, he felt alive again.
"I miss them, I miss them so much sometimes." The tears ran unchecked down his cheeks. "I miss my boy," he whispered as his voice began to fail him, choked into silence by the weight of his loss.
"I know, I know," Buck assured.
If anyone else had said that he would have snapped at them that they knew nothing of his loss, but Buck bore the loss too, he too had grieved for his 'sister' and his 'nephew'. The hand over his moved to take hold of the cloth in his hand.
"I'll take it." Came the soft reassuring tones he had come to depend on.
Once he released it, Buck pushed it into the bag on the bed and tucked the whole lot out of sight. With that done, he moved to sit on the bed beside the man he loved and did the only thing he could do to ease his pain, he opened his arms and pulled his distraught friend into his embrace.
Chris didn't resist, he allowed Wilmington's strong arms to close around him and hold him. He relished the musky smell of Buck's old leather jacket, his mild cologne mixed with just a faint lingering soap smell, there was also a touch of that warm, rich, slightly sweet barn smell and a special smell that was all his own. He took strength from the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest and the steady drum of his heart.
"It'll get better pal, it won't ever leave you, but it will get better, please believe me."
Chris didn't respond, but like this, held close and safe in the strong embrace of the only person in the world he had left, he really did believe it.
The End