Work Text:
Title: Listen To The Wind Blow.
Author: Lopaka Tanu
Disclaimer: I do not own The Magnificent Seven or Without A Trace.
Characters: Martin, Chris, Buck.
Words: 1143
Fandom: The Magnificent Seven/Without A Trace
Pairing: Chris/Vin mentioned.
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Language, Angst.
Summary: A special date has similar results.
Author's Note: Autumn - 1999
______________________________________
It was a track from Fleetwood Mac, but Martin wasn't sure of the name. All he could recall was that it was one of Chris' favorites. There were so many, he had never bothered to learn them all. His lover had always made him stop what he was doing so they could dance to it.
That usually happened in the kitchen during dinner.
Closing his eyes, he swayed gently to the beat. His movements were only half because he liked to move to the music. The rest was the drink in his hand. It was half empty already. "And if you don't love me now, you will never love me again," he shouted at the tops of his lungs.
Someone in the apartment below his banged on the floor, but he didn't give a damn.
Tapping out a rhythm to the music, he danced across his kitchen. He staggered as he spun to face the stove. The water wasn't boiling yet, so he had plenty of time to continue dancing.
Martin closed his eyes as the singing started up again. "Run in the shadows, damn your love, damn your lies!" He started to bounce his head to the beat.
Tugging at his collar, he sucked on his glass. He started humming to the refrain as his mouth was full of whiskey.
The pounding on his floor started up again.
Pissed, Martin picked up a skillet from the counter and knelt down on the floor. Raising it above his head, he slammed it down against the linoleum. "And if you don't love me now, you won't ever love me again!" With every other word, he pounded the pan. "I can still hear you saying you would never break the chain!"
Some time during his screaming and banging, the pounding from below stopped.
Martin stood up, smug in the feeling that he had won. He went to take another drink of his whiskey only to find it empty. Sighing, he staggered over to the counter where the half empty bottle sat. After refilling his glass, he spun to face the stove.
The pot still wasn't boiling.
He needed something to occupy his time. There were nothing wrong with dancing in the kitchen while drunk. It just lost a lot of appeal when he was doing it alone. Though, he wouldn't have been doing it alone if that bastard hadn't slept with that homewrecking slut!
What, did she think that they had just happened to spend six years living together as roommates? It was so obvious by the fact that neither of them dated. Hell, Chris had introduced the guys to him, not the other way around.
Chris should have told them all and settled it from the beginning. Of course, it would have caused him problems with his job, but so what! They would have gotten through it. He should have meant more to Chris.
A lot of things should have been different. They weren't and they never would be. That was all Chris' fault.
Finishing off his drink, Martin glanced over at the phone. He would have been well within his rights. Martin closed his eyes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Seven years." Peering over the edge of a beer bottle, Chris watched the Broncos. They were getting their asses handed to them and it was only the first quarter. "Today."
His own bottle clenched in his hand, Buck refused to glance over at his friend. "All this time?"
"Yep." Chris knew that was the understatement of the century. What he had just revealed wasn't the easiest thing to take.
"Wow." Buck was still a little stunned. Daring a peek, he looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Despite his new knowledge, Chris was still the same guy he had been five minutes ago. Resentment started to take over the confusion. "Why didn't you ever tell me? Do I have to state the obvious, pard?"
"No, Buck, I know you're my best friend. This was just something I didn't think you needed to know." The urge to wince was kept under control by lots of booze and his own fatigue over the situation. Chris was tired of the lies.
Turning to full face Chris, Buck quickly shifted to annoyed. "Didn't think I should know? Just what the hell does that mean? Do you have such little respect for me?" Groaning, Buck frowned and looked away. Chris was not Missy, he had to remember that. "At the very least, it would have stopped me from throwing all those lovely ladies your way."
Chris didn't have it in him to even snort. He worked at fiddling with the label of his beer. "I miss him, Buck."
"Of course you do. Seven years is a hell of a long time to love someone, Chris." Exhaling, Buck let the emotions go. Telling his friend what he already knew wouldn't help their situation. He had learned that one awhile ago. Instead, he found that there was nothing he could say to make the situation better.
The silence that settled softly between them became almost solid. On the television, the Broncos finished the quarter down by fifteen.
Chris was considering preempting the commercials by muting the television when the phone rang. The sudden interruption startled them both almost off the couch. Stretching over the arm rest, Chris picked up the extension from the end table. Putting it to his ear, he sighed in to the receiver. "Larabee."
"Hey. Can you tell Buck not to pack away too much beer tonight?" It was JD and he sounded annoyed. "I just got a call from Yosemite. My bike's going to be another week at the least and I'm going to need a ride tomorrow."
Glancing over his shoulder, Chris peered at the grinning Buck. When the man seemed to perk up, he shook his head. "Sorry, Buck's already half crocked. Call your girlfriend."
"Aw, come on, Chris! She drives like a granny..." JD was cut off by the phone being hung up.
Settling back in his seat, Chris sank down deep in the cushions. "That was JD. His bike's in the shop for another week."
"That kid's going to get himself killed one of these days." Shaking his head, Buck missed Chris' wince.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The dishes done, Martin dried his hands off on the towel. His fingers were pruned and would remain that way until he went to bed. The shower would see to it that they did.
As he walked past the light switch, he flicked it off and headed for his bedroom. The lights in the living room were next. A lamp by the door and the one on the ceiling fan burned most nights. As he bent down to turn off the table lamp, he saw the phone and his hand stilled.
There were still ten minutes until midnight in Denver.
THE END..........................