THREE PM IN DENVER

2:36 p.m. in Denver. Mountain Standard Time.

Four hours earlier in Honolulu, Hawaii. 10:36 in the morning.

God, military time was so much easier. 1436 in Denver. 1036 in Honolulu.

Buck sighed. 'Does it really make a damn bit of difference?

He glanced at his phone. He couldn't have said why he did so. The one person he wanted to talk to wasn't going to call.

That person was getting ready for his wedding. The wedding that was scheduled to start in twenty four minutes, on a beach in Hawaii.

That person was the man Buck loved. The man Buck was in love with. And had been for it seemed as long as he could remember.

Buck let out his breath in an explosive sigh. What the hell was he still doing here, anyway? He'd planned to be long gone by now. Gone from this house, this ranch, this town. On his way to his new life.

Wherever that was going to be.

Not that he wanted to leave Denver. It was home.

No, it was not.

Home was where Chris was.

And although Chris would be back to Denver in ten days, things would never be the same. Because Chris Larabee – Buck's Chris, the man he'd followed into the Navy, into the SEALs, into the Denver Police Department and then the ATF – the man he'd loved and fought with and mourned with and saved, who had saved him – was getting married in…twenty minutes, now.

Restlessly, he stood up, walking around the room, making sure he'd gathered all his books and pictures from the shelves. Neatly packed boxes were already in the back of his pickup truck and in one side of the attached horse trailer. Well, not neatly actually, he'd just thrown some stuff in. He hadn't realized until yesterday, when he'd started gathering his things together, just how much stuff he had at Chris' home. Books, clothes, photos, memorabilia… more stuff here than at his own loft apartment he shared with JD. And funny thing was, he didn't remember bringing all these things here, to Chris' ranch. More like they'd always been here.

But then, the ranch had always seemed more like home to him than his own place had. Ever since Chris inherited it from his grandparents – even before – when he'd bring Buck along on vacations, on their leaves. Oh, they'd go to Chris' parents in Indiana sometimes, too, but this, this place, this little ranch that had been in Chris' family for more than a hundred years – this place was the one nestled in Buck's heart when he thought of the word home.

Buck had never really had a home, before the ranch. Oh, he'd always had a place with his mother, but that was transient, quickly changed, different. A motel room, a trailer, a cheap apartment – often shared with another woman and her kids. There had been plenty of men who had offered Cindy Wilmington a place in their home, but only one or two had not objected her son tagging along. But Cindy never accepted those offers. "It's not much, honey," she'd sighed one night, tucking him into bed in a dinky "motor lodge" on the outskirts of another town. "But it's ours. I might sell my body for an hour, but nobody owns me! Or you! Best you remember that."

Buck had met Chris not too long after his mother's murder.

And from that point on, Chris had been his… home. His everything.

Oh, there were the ladies, of course. There would always be ladies for Buck Wilmington. He could no more stop flirting with a woman than he could stop breathing. But, nobody was ever permanent. Nobody was ever… home.

When Chris met Sarah, and then proposed to her and married her, Buck wasn't jealous. He loved Sarah, and then Adam, with all of his huge heart. And, even though he bought the loft apartment and moved into it, he still considered the ranch his home. Chris and Sarah considered it his home, too; he was part of the family. He had his own room there, his clothes in the drawers and closet, his toiletries in the bathroom. He spent most weekends at the ranch, was Adam's only babysitter, was there every holiday. He went on family vacations with the Larabees. He never even wondered if Sarah would have had it any other way, until one night, at a party celebrating another cop's retirement, he overheard a woman say to Sarah, "I hear Wilmington is going to Disneyland with your family."

Sarah had looked a little surprised, but she nodded her head. "Family trip," she smiled.

"He's your husband's partner. He's not really family." God, who was that woman, anyway? Buck could see her in his mind's eye so clearly, but he couldn't remember her name or even who she was married to, that had brought her an invitation to the party in the first place.

Sarah had looked annoyed. "Partners are sacred in this business."

The woman had laughed a tight, humorless chuckle. "I like my husband's partner just fine, when he's out there guarding my man's back. But I don't take him on vacation like the family pet."

Oh, so the wrong thing to say. Sarah's back had stiffened, her eyes flashed fire. "Not that it's any of your damn business," she'd all but hissed – so completely unlike Sarah, for all that she did have an Irish temper – "—but when I married Chris I knew Buck came along as part of the package. And he's my family, too!" With that, Sarah had whirled around, her eyes widening as she saw how close Buck was standing to her and realized he'd heard the conversation. Then a huge smile lit her face, and in a flash she was next to him, pulling his hand and dragging him out to the area that had been cleared for dancing. "You haven't danced with me yet, Buck Wilmington! Don't tell me you're going to dance with every woman at this party but not your own family!"

And there was no way Buck could mistake the triumphant glance she'd thrown back at the other woman, who was still standing where Sarah had left her, her mouth dropped open.

Buck startled as, with a deep sigh, the grandfather clock started chiming the three-quarter hour. Right behind it were the Westminster chimes of the mantle clock that had been a gift from Sarah's aunt, and the lighter, tinklier bells from the nine-day clock on the bookcase. Only Chris Larabee would have three noisy clocks in the same room.

Well. Fifteen more minutes. Fifteen more minutes until—

His phone rang.

His heart leapt with hope even though he almost immediately realized – from the ring tone and the name appearing on the screen – that it was Vin Tanner calling.

Vin. Good friend. Should be in Hawaii right now, holding the ring in his pocket, making sure the groom showed up at his wedding on the beach. The duties Buck had done at another wedding, so many years before when he and Chris had stood in a church and watched Sarah, a vision in white silk and lace, walk down the aisle on her uncle's arm because her own father refused to show up.

Had Vin refused to be Chris' best man or had Chris not asked, knowing what Vin thought about this marriage? Vin was probably the only person, besides Buck and Chris himself, who knew the real reason of Chris' sudden "romantic, destination wedding" with Mary Travis. Knew the real relationship between Chris and Buck.

Ignoring the phone – he knew what Vin was going to say, or close enough, and it didn't make much difference now, anyway – Buck dropped back onto the leather sofa and stared into space. He was seeing this room, but not this day. He was seeing this room three weeks before when his life had crashed into flames around him.

Buck laughed, dropping his glass back down on the end table. "Oh, that's a good one, Chris!" He was laughing, not feeling any alarm because Chris had to be joking. Or Buck was hearing things… because Chris could not have said…

He stopped laughing, staring at Chris. At Chris' still face, set in lines of – anger? Grief? Sorrow?

"What did you say?" Buck could barely whisper.

Chris sighed, reaching out for Buck's hand, then apparently changing his mind and letting his own hand drop. "You heard me," he said evenly.

"I heard you," Buck agreed. "But I couldn't have heard you right!"

He was sick. Felt the sweat pop out on his forehead, the churning of his stomach. Pinpricks of pain bored into his temples. He sucked in air, but it didn't seem to make a difference. If he hadn't been already sitting down, he would have fallen to his knees.

Chris wasn't even looking at him, was staring over his head. "What can I do, Buck?" And Buck had never heard his voice so flat, so emotionless, in all the years they'd known each other. "She's pregnant."

Another blow, like a physical thing. Bile flooded his mouth. He swallowed hard, once, twice, before he could speak. "Mary's pregnant." His own voice was as flat, as emotionless, as Chris' own.

Chris finally met his eyes, or tried, but this time Buck looked away. "She's pregnant. And it's yours?" Forget flat and emotionless now, he heard his voice rising in shock and fury.

"Yes."

Buck had to move. Had to do something. He found himself across the room, in front of the fireplace, staring at the photos on the mantle. "How the hell can Mary Travis be pregnant with your kid, Chris?"

"Buck –" Chris' voice was broken.

Buck whirled around. "No, damn it! You tell me! Tell me you donated a sperm sample to a fertility clinic or something, because if that's not true, there's only one way I can think of that you got that woman pregnant!"

"You know the facts of life, Buck," Chris volleyed back, his eyes flashing. He was standing now too, took a step toward Buck.

Buck threw up his hand. "Don't come near me," he snapped. "You've been fucking Mary Travis? How long, Chris? When did you start back up with her? Or… did you ever stop with her?"

"You can talk, Buck!" Chris fired back. "How many women have you been with since we supposedly got together? Cause I know you, Buck, and you can't say no to a nice pussy!"

Buck reeled back, spinning to face the fireplace again. His eyes fell on one photo, a picture of him and Chris. Just a plain, candid shot, taken at a cookout on the ranch. Nothing to tell it was different. Nothing that explained why that photo was in a place of pride near the middle of the mantle.

Not unless you knew what had happened the night before…

Buck snatched up the photo and threw it at Chris. Larabee didn't dodge as it slapped into his chest and then crashed to the ground. "You bastard," Buck hissed. "I haven't been with a woman since you and I –" he pointed at the picture, the glass shattered on the floor. "Not since that day. I haven't been with anyone but you."

"You expect me to believe that? Buck Wilmington, the great ladies' man, being faithful to anybody, much less a man?"

Buck was going to leave. He had to leave. He was going to walk out of this room, this house, turn his back on Chris, like Chris had apparently turned his back on him. Chris was spoiling for a fight, and as much as Buck wanted to punch his face -

His face.

Buck stopped listening to Chris' words, and just looked at his face. Into his eyes.

And saw the anguish, the guilt, in the green depths.

Buck dropped back down onto the couch and buried his face in his hands.

And he felt… was it seconds later? Minutes? An hour? …felt Chris' hand on the back of his neck. Felt Chris pull his unresisting body into his arms.

"Damn it Buck, I'm sorry. I'm so damn sorry."

Later, much later, Chris told him how it had happened.

He swore, and Buck believed him, that he had ended things with Mary over two years before. As he had told Buck back then "I just can't be where she wants us to be."

And Buck had known what he meant. Chris didn't love Mary, not like he'd loved Sarah, not even, as it turned out, like he loved Buck. He loved Billy, her son; he'd enjoyed being with Mary, going out with her on his arm. She was a beautiful woman, after all, rich, well known in Denver because of her newsmagazine, Clarion, her family connections, her political aspirations. Not that any of that really made a hill of beans to Chris, who didn't want to play politics and never would marry a woman just for her money. But a man did get a special feeling when he walked into a room with Mary Travis on his arm, and saw all the other men envying him, wanting to be him. And, he'd told Buck more than once, the sex was great. Chris liked sex. What man didn't?

But Chris had come to realize that what he thought of as a friendship, a casual sexual relationship, and being a dad-figure to Billy, was something else to Mary. Or rather, she wanted it to be. Planned it to be. When she mentioned something about marriage – not anything really remarkable, just a casual comment that led Chris to believe that was the destination she had in mind - he slammed on the brakes. Told Mary he still wanted to be there for Billy, but he couldn't be the man she wanted him to be and it would be better for both of them if they stopped dating. "I didn't even know we were dating!" he'd hollered at Buck.

"Well, what did you think you were doing?" Buck had asked, laughing because this was just, so Chris.

"Just – you know – hooking up, or something!"

Buck had laughed so hard then he'd almost had an embarrassing accident.

But that had been before, before Buck and Chris had looked at each other and realized – well, Buck had realized and he'd thought Chris had too – that what they'd been looking for in other people, other places, they'd had in each other, all the time.

"I see forever in your eyes."

Chris had told him that, in an awed whisper, early that morning after their first night together.

They didn't tell anyone. Maybe they should have. Oh hell, they should have. Put their mark on each other in public as they did in private. Announced they were a couple. Moved in together, really, instead of just spending two or three nights a week together when they could. Maybe then, Buck would be standing on a beach with Chris right now, saying wedding vows within site of the Navy base at Pearl where they'd saved each other's lives more than once. Why the hell hadn't they? It was legal!

But Chris – well, and Buck too, if he were honest – came from a time and a background where two men together was forbidden by law. The Navy. the Denver Police Department. Being with a man could get you fired, imprisoned, court martialed, even killed. Hell, even now, even if federal law now preached diversity and forbid discrimination, Buck knew cops and federal agents, even in the ATF, that would take their own sweet time coming, or not come at all, to provide backup to someone suspected of being a fag.

Chris and Buck decided they couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk their lives, their team, because it was more than just their lives. Suppose someone decided not to protect Ezra undercover, or Vin, or JD or any of them, because "You know Team Seven. That's the funny boys!"

Vin, when he'd figured it out, had told them both they were idiots. "It's not like that anymore! There's gay people right here in this federal building, in relationships, getting married!"

There were, a few. But both Buck and Chris remembered, way too vividly, another time and other places.

Besides, even if being together wasn't forbidden by law anymore, anti-fraternization clauses still existed in Federal codes, in the ATF Handbook. Buck and Chris couldn't be together, openly, and still be on the same team. But Buck would not hear of Chris stepping down from the SAC position he'd worked so hard for, and Chris didn't trust anyone else to watch Buck's back - or want anyone else as his 2IC after so many years of Buck filling that role - so they didn't say anything. And then it was a year, and then it was two years, and how could they tell all their friends now that they'd been lying to them all this time? So Vin knew, and Ezra. Not that Chris, or Buck, or even Vin had ever told Ezra, but their resident con artist and undercover agent saw things other people missed. And finally, during a long operation with Buck along as his backup, Ezra let on that he knew the secret.

Or actually, he'd tossed Buck his cell phone and said "Call your lover man before your nervous jitters send me levitating up the nearest vertical surface!"

And when Buck got over his shock and freak out that Ezra KNEW, he'd managed to say "Hell, Ez, you could have just said I was driving you up a wall!"

"I believe I did say that, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra had huffed before he went to take a long shower, giving Buck some privacy to indeed call his "lover man".

But JD, Nathan, Josiah – they didn't know. And neither Chris nor Buck could figure out how to tell them. And more than that, they both worried about their reactions. Nathan Jackson was a good man, a truly good man, but he had some pretty rigid thoughts about things, and some prejudices. It had taken him years to get over his suspicions of Ezra, still regarding him warily long after Ezra had been proved innocent of the corruption charges that had dogged him from the FBI. Nathan had refused to even move in with Raine when they were engaged, waiting until after they were legally married to share a home with her.

And Josiah. Huh. Josiah was a funny duck too, about some things. He was weirdly new age and accepting about some things, and downright hellfire and damnation about others. One minute he'd be talking about the free love in the seventies – which he had, apparently – experienced personally in San Francisco; and the next minute he'd open his mouth and something would come out that was so hard line judgmental that it was easy to remember Josiah's father had been a Baptist preacher and missionary back in the day.

JD. Now, JD was a different story. Buck didn't believe for one minute that JD would have any problem with two men together. Matter of fact, he knew he would not. But to JD, the Team was his family, family to replace the one he'd lost when his mother had died. Anything that could disrupt the Team would disrupt JD's carefully constructed family life. Buck had hoped – believed – that as JD grew closer and closer to Casey, he'd start to mature some in his views of family, realize that eventually the Team would be no more but that they would always care about him. Hell, JD himself had already been tapped for a tech position at Quantico, young as he was. He'd turned it down, because he couldn't leave Team Seven. Buck was afraid that if JD found out about him and Chris, the kid would disapprove because of the effect it could have on the Team. Buck didn't think he could bear it if the kid he loved like a brother disapproved of him for any reason.

So it was a secret. Known only by Chris, Buck, Vin and Ezra.

And Mary.

It had happened so innocently, Buck still couldn't believe it. He and Chris had been having dinner. Not making out, not kissing, not even holding hands; just sharing a nice dinner at a pretty fancy restaurant that had recently opened in Denver. They were celebrating something, Buck couldn't even remember what. Not an anniversary or anything, but just a happy time for the two of them.

And who had walked into the restaurant but Mary Travis and that guy, whatshisname, Gerard or Gerald, the friend of her dead husband whom she'd started dating pretty soon after Chris had broken it off with her.

She'd spotted them right away, came over to say hello, Gerald tagging along behind her. (Buck was pretty sure his name was Gerald, but he really couldn't remember. The man had no personality and five minutes after seeing him, Buck couldn't recollect what he looked like).

So Mary and her date had come to their table and somehow, the foursome ended up having a drink together. Just a casual drink, four people – well, three people because you really couldn't count Gerald – who knew each other, who had some history between them. Mary had chatted about Billy being on Little League, how Gerald was coaching his team because his daughter was on the same team. Buck hadn't missed the look she shot Chris when she said this, because she'd been blocking Chris from having any access to the boy. It was small, and petty, and she was hurting her own son, but Buck wasn't sure she realized what she was doing… until that very night.

They'd finished their drinks, and the maître d had come by, telling Gerald their table was ready. He'd stood up and offered Mary his hand, and as she'd stood in turn, she'd flashed a smile at Chris and then turned to look at Buck.

And he saw the expression on her face, the vicious hatred flaming in her eyes for just a second, and he knew. He knew she knew, about him and Chris. She knew and she was damned pissed about it.

Gerald didn't see the look. Chris didn't see the look and wouldn't have recognized it if he had. But Buck had been raised by a woman, in a community of women; women who clawed and fought with each other as much, if not more, than they supported and upheld one another. And Buck knew what he saw was the look a woman snarled when she saw the man she had marked as hers being taken by another.

And more than that. When the other was considered unworthy.

Buck would never know that if Chris had been with another woman that night, a woman that Mary considered her equal, her peer, would she have accepted it? Given up with good grace and left with her oh so proper and oh so boring new boyfriend?

He'd never know because that wasn't what happened. Mary Travis saw Chris – a man she considered her property – in love with someone else. But not a woman. A man.

Buck Wilmington.

And the look on Mary's perfectly made up face meant War.

Buck tried to tell Chris. That night, on the way home. The next morning over breakfast. Multiple times during that week, and into the next. And it got him absolutely nowhere because Chris didn't – no, he couldn't – believe him. Chris hadn't seen anything on Mary's face but polite social expressions. And he couldn't accept that Buck had seen so much more in the split second that Mary's face had been turned toward Buck and blocked from Chris. By now, Chris had half convinced himself that Mary hadn't really been plotting marriage with him, that she didn't really love him, because look! She was dating Gerald! And when Buck kept trying to convince Chris that Mary was dangerous, harmful, to them, Chris did a one-eighty and argued the other side. If Mary loved him, really loved him, the way Buck seemed so convinced she did, then she wouldn't want to hurt Chris, would she? She'd want him to be happy, and if she did realize Chris and Buck were lovers – and Chris still thought that was a giant IF – she'd be pleased that he'd found someone.

And at that point Buck gave up because the only woman Chris had really ever loved – well, if you made an exception for whatever he'd felt for Ella Gaines so long ago – had been Sarah. And Sarah was a sweet, loving woman who – if she'd lost her man to someone else, be it man, woman or otherwise – would have had too much pride to show anything but acceptance and happiness for him.

But Mary Travis was no Sarah Larabee. And suddenly, she was everywhere Chris was. Calling him about outings with Billy, as if she hadn't been trying to keep Chris away from the boy for months. Casually dropping by the office to say hello because she'd been visiting her father-in-law, AD Travis. Asking if Chris could resume the horseback riding lessons he'd started before with Billy, and if he could teach Gerald's daughter too, and oh, heck, how about if he teach Mary too, because it had been so long since she'd been on a horse and she'd never really learned to do more than just hang on to the saddle horn and this was something she could share with Billy.

Buck tried not to say anything to Chris, but the situation was getting on his nerves and he could foresee disaster ahead. He couldn't help making comments about the amount of time the Travis family suddenly occupied on Chris' tight schedule. And then one night, when Chris and Buck were cuddled in bed after passionate lovemaking, Chris kissed Buck on the shoulder and said, sleepily, "You don't have to be jealous of Mary. I love you." And then Chris started snoring, leaving Buck as suddenly wide awake as if he'd been doused in ice water. Because he wasn't jealous of Mary, he wasn't afraid Chris would leave him for her. He knew Chris loved him, was loyal and faithful and all those other Navy SEAL traits that Chris had had long before he was a SEAL. Buck was afraid of Mary, afraid of what she could do, what she would do, to get Chris away from Buck.

But obviously trying to explain that to Chris Larabee was useless, because, as brilliant as the man was about understanding diabolical and clever criminals, he was clueless about diabolical and clever women.

And then, with the situation just like that, Buck had to go undercover for close to a month with Ezra in Arizona.

And Mary Travis made her move.

That night, in this very room, wrapped in Chris' arms, feeling Chris' tears wet his skin, Buck heard Chris' stumbling, confused explanation. "You'd been gone two weeks, and I missed you so damn much," Chris said. "I wanted to talk to you so bad, but the LEOs said it wasn't safe, that it could risk your cover, get you and Ezra killed."

Buck had just nodded, knowing Chris hadn't been happy about sending two of his men to work with another team in another state, without having control over their safety. But the order had come from Travis himself…and it had to be Buck that went along to guard their undercover agent because Travis had said there were a couple of guys Vin had run across in his federal marshal days that were affiliated with the target gang.

Now Buck had to wonder how much - if any - of that, was true.

He patted Chris' back and stroked his hair as the man blubbered out the rest of the story. The important dinner party, where Mary was being honored by the Governor for a series of articles she'd done on corruption in the foster placement system. Gerald having to leave suddenly, the very morning of the dinner! For an important work assignment. Mary calling Chris, desperate, begging him to be her escort. "Just friends, I know," she'd insisted. "But I'm the guest of honor, I can't go by myself, and – oh, Chris, I would be so grateful…"

Buck could almost hear her pleading voice in Chris' words. He had pushed back from his lover a little and said, as calmly as he could manage, "And then what happened?"

Well, what had happened next was alcohol. Quite a bit of it, apparently. Chris had stopped drinking anything other than beer for a long time after they'd started Team Seven. He'd got way too fond of the bottle after Sarah and Adam's deaths and he knew it. He wasn't an alcoholic, but, as one doctor had said, it wouldn't take much to make him into one. So, a beer once or twice a week, a glass of wine occasionally with dinner, was pretty much it for him now. When he did end up with something stronger, he kept the same drink all evening, watering it down with endless ice cubes.

But the night of Mary's dinner party was different. Mary insisted on a martini – or two - before they left her house. Then cocktail hour, although Chris insisted he'd nursed the same drink until they went into dinner. Each course of dinner had a different wine. Chris had admitted that after so long not drinking, the liquor hit him like a boulder. Buck shook his head. This story wasn't adding up. Chris was more careful than this. "Are you sure you weren't roofied?" he'd asked. He was serious but Chris thought he was being insulting; pissed, Chris pulled away. "Right, like Mary Travis carries rohypnol around with her," he'd said sarcastically.

At this point, Buck wouldn't put much past Mary Travis. But whatever the cause, the story was the same. Chris had gotten drunk, somehow they were back at Mary's house and she was crying about something – Chris couldn't even remember what had her so upset, maybe the anniversary of Steven's death, maybe that Gerald couldn't be with her on her special night. Chris had gone to hug her, just a friendly embrace but somehow, somehow the next thing he knew…. They were in her bed.

The next morning, Chris insisted, both parties had been mortified, disgusted with themselves, horrified. Buck seriously doubted Mary felt anything but smug and satisfied. They'd agreed that nothing good could come of telling their significant others about their night together. It was so fuzzy and foggy Chris had almost convinced himself it was just a dream, just a weird and bizarre dream… until Mary had come to him weeks later, bringing with her a positive pregnancy test.

Mary had insisted the baby had to be Chris'. She explained Gerald had had a vasectomy several years before because his first wife had insisted one child was plenty. Mary herself had been on birth control back when she and Chris had originally been dating, but she had stopped talking the pills due to her approaching fortieth birthday and the increased risk of blood clots. Apparently she and Chris had been too intoxicated to even think about birth control; in fact, Chris reported, Mary had been sure that Gerald had been in bed with her that night, until a look at the calendar had convinced her otherwise. Gerald, Chris had further reported, had walked out on Mary in disgust when she'd told him of her pregnancy. The baby was Chris's child, and Chris would step up and take responsibility.

At this, Buck just shook his head. Trust Mary to haul out the second oldest trap a woman could set for a man, and trust Chris to blunder right into it. Buck thought about mentioning it wasn't 1960 anymore and a man and a woman didn't have to get married just because the woman was pregnant. But he held his tongue because he knew it wouldn't work. Chris might not love Mary, but he was crazy about Billy and already in love with this child Mary was carrying. For Chris, to do anything but marry the mother of his child – well, Buck would have a better chance of asking Chris to successfully fly out the window of Travis' penthouse office and land on his feet, than to stop Chris from marrying Mary.

And even if he could stop him, Buck wasn't sure he should. For a couple of reasons. One, Chris was a man who needed family. As horrible as losing Sarah had been, it had been far worse that the explosion resulted in the deaths of Adam and the unborn baby Sarah had been carrying. Buck loved Chris with everything he was, everything he had; but Buck could never give Chris a child of his own the way Mary was doing.

The second reason was more about Buck. Well, Buck and that unborn baby currently growing in Mary's womb. Buck detested Mary: for setting the trap he'd bet she baited so carefully, for getting pregnant (because not one bone in Buck's body believed this oh so convenient pre-menopausal pregnancy after unprotected sex story Mary was spinning.) Oh he beleived she was pregnant: Mary was too smart to try a story that could be destroyed with a few sprinkles of urine on a stick. But not for one minute did Buck believe Mary was so drunk that night she couldn't realize who she was with.

But Buck had grown up without a father. Never knew who the man was, what his name was. His mother had refused to say, even if she'd known. Buck figured she had to have known: he'd done the math; he knew she was barely sixteen when he was born and her parents had tossed her out of their house for bringing shame upon them.

So Buck had grown up without a father. Without even a father figure, unless you considered bouncers, johns, and pimps, father figures, which Buck did not. Single parent families weren't that uncommon, even when Buck was a kid. But he was often the only boy who didn't have someone to show up for father-son outings in school or Boy Scouts. Added to that the frequent moves and the fact he could hardly tell people what his mom did for a living, or invite them over for an overnight, and it added up to one lonely childhood.

And Buck couldn't do that to this child of Chris's. He couldn't do that to Chris. Because if Chris didn't marry Mary, Buck knew in his bones she would withhold not only Billy, but this new baby. Even if she had to move to Europe, or make up some story about Chris being an abuser. Or hell, all she had to do was find the right judge and drag out the story of Chris' "deviant" lifestyle and his relationship with another man. Whether it worked or not, it could destroy Chris' reputation, in Denver and in the ATF. Her father-in-law was Chris' boss and biggest advocate, but Buck had no doubts that in a battle between Chris and Mary, Travis would be firmly on Mary's side. She could remove his beloved grandson from his life just as easily as she had tried to remove Billy from Chris's life.

So Buck had kissed Chris, and forgiven him, and said he understood. Because he did. He understood in a way no one else ever could, because he knew Chris better than anyone, even Vin. And that's what he'd told Vin when Tanner had wanted to know why Buck was just letting Chris go, why Buck wasn't fighting to keep his lover out of the hands of that viper. And Buck had even laughed, a little, knowing full well that viper was an Ezra Standish word, not a Vin Tanner word, and knowing that his two friends had his back.

And that broke his heart even more, because he realized what he was going to have to do.

The plans for the Hawaii wedding shaped up quickly. Mary sported the pear-shaped diamond engagement ring she and Chris had picked out. Travis came down to personally hug Chris and almost tearfully welcome him to the family. But as he turned to leave, he'd shot a look at Buck that was ice cold. Vin and Ezra had seen it, too, and knew what it meant.

Josiah and Nathan expressed warm wishes to the couple – oddly, it seemed to Buck that Nathan's were much warmer than Josiah's, which surprised him because Sanchez was usually a big proponent of marriage. And JD was ecstatic, because Chris asked him to be best man, and Mary followed up by asking Casey Wells to be her maid of honor. The young couple was getting a free trip to Hawaii. Buck half figured the two of them might come back married, as well – even though Casey's aunt Nettie would no doubt be heartbroken to miss her niece's nuptials.

And Buck quietly made his own plans, telling no one. Well, no one other than Travis, to whom he'd personally delivered his letter of resignation. Travis read it through, then, without one question, offered Buck a transfer, instead of having him resign. Houston, Miami, and Seattle all had new regional teams forming, which could only be benefitted from having Buck Wilmington aboard. It was not unlikely he'd be offered a promotion to SAC. Or any transfer within the federal system. "It would be a shame to lose an agent of your caliber," he'd said.

Buck thanked him for the offer, but refused. Travis actually looked like he might argue about it, then he closed his mouth and swallowed hard. "Chris doesn't know you're leaving," he'd asked, but it wasn't really a question.

"No," Buck responded. "And I don't want him to know."

Travis stared at him for a long moment, and then dropped his gaze. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for giving Mary and Chris a chance."

This pretty much confirmed that Travis had known about Chris and Buck.

"I'm doing this for Chris. And the Team. Not for Mary."

Travis nodded. "Still, I appreciate your sacrifice."

Buck seriously thought about telling the old man what he could do with his appreciation, but then he stopped himself. It was over. Mary had won. Now Buck just had to get out, because he couldn't be there and watch Chris and Mary, whether they succeeded or failed in marriage. And he couldn't be the reason Team Seven split up, because Vin and Ezra were already choosing sides and he would not let that happen. No, it was time for Buck Wilmington to leave, move on, find a new place and a new life and a new job.

"Just process my resignation and make sure Chris doesn't find out about it until he's back from his honeymoon."

Because he knew Chris, and he knew Chris would fight to keep him from leaving, thinking they could go back their relationship as it was before they became lovers, go back to being friends, coworkers, family.

And Buck couldn't do that, even if Mary would allow it.

7777777

So now, knowing all that, his resignation all official and his personal belongings packed, why was he sitting here in their – in Chris's living room, on Chris's couch, staring at his phone, waiting for it to ring? Waiting for Chris to call, to tell him he'd changed his mind, that he wasn't going to get married, that he was on his way home, to Buck.

Hope? Love? Insanity?

With another deep sigh, the grandfather clock prepared itself to chime the hour. Three o'clock. Fifteen hundred hours. Three pm in Denver.

Eleven a.m. in Hawaii.

The time set for the wedding.

Buck held his breath through assorted bells of the three clocks. When the last note faded, he looked down at his phone.

It didn't ring. No "Man in Black" ringtone, no picture of Chris lighting up the screen.

The last piece of Buck's heart broke.

He had known Chris would go through with it. Known all the reasons Chris couldn't walk away from Mary, from his child. Known Chris.

But still, some part of him had held onto the hope….

Well, that was over now.

Buck sat there for thirty minutes, then he forced himself to stand up, to get ready to gather up the few boxes left, load up his horse into the trailer, and leave. There wasn't much to take, really. He'd left the furniture and the kitchen stuff in the apartment for JD. The place was paid off, thanks to Ezra's financial advice. What JD had been paying Buck in rent could easily go towards utilities and management fees. Buck had left JD a letter, explaining all that, on JD's desk in his room. Hell, Casey could move in, even if they didn't end up eloping in Hawaii.

The phone rang.

Buck's heart stopped, but almost immediately he realized it was Vin, again. Vin who didn't actually know Buck was leaving but was obviously suspicious he was planning to do something "crazy".

Or maybe Vin was just worried about him.

Buck hesitated, wanting to answer, but then he shook his head firmly. No. He wasn't dragging Vin into this any further than he already had. Vin was Chris' best friend, he didn't need divided loyalties. He held the phone until it stopped its' noise.

He hadn't left Chris a note. He'd started one, a dozen, but what could he really say? But he couldn't just leave, after all these years, without saying something. He found a piece of paper, hesitated for a moment, then scribbled, Please be happy.

Because, no matter what, that was what Buck really wanted. For Chris to be happy.

And maybe, someday, Buck could be happy again, too.

He folded the note over, then gently placed his phone on top of it. He'd pick up a cheap phone somewhere whenever he stopped for the night, or maybe he'd wait until he got wherever he was going.

He didn't want to be tempted to call anyone, or to answer when they called.

Taking a deep breath, Buck turned and walked out of the room.

7777777

Twenty three minutes later, just as Buck's truck left the property, his abandoned phone started ringing again.

Man in Black.

fini

A/N: For anyone who thinks I've been unfair to any characters in this story, just a reminder there are always multiple sides to any story. This just happens to be Buck's perspective

Thanks to Wendy, as always, for the beta.