Of Names - Magnificent Seven fic - PG

[tigriswolf]

Title: Of Names

Fandom: “The Magnificent Seven”

Disclaimer: not my characters. just for fun.

Warnings: spoilers for pilot

Pairings: Chris/Sarah

Rating: PG

Wordcount: 560
Point of view: third

Dedication: for smilla02. Thanks, lovie, for introducing me to this show.

 

           

             Momma had spoken of soul mates, but Christopher knew she’d always meant a man and woman, husband and wife, sweethearts, lovers—like her and Pa.

            Christopher listened to her stories. He believed in them, knew with absolute certainty that he would find his destiny and his woman, his soul mate. 

            When he met Sarah he was sure he’d found her. He looked into her dark brown eyes, tangled his fingers in her long brown hair, and believed he’d found his home. He was the happiest he’d ever been, sharing a house and his life with her, and then she gave him a son—and he was even happier. 

            Momma smiled every time they visited, held her grandbaby close and kissed his crown, his forehead. She and Sarah spoke of family and history, of knowledge Christopher could never fully understand because he’d never borne a child.

            “What will you name a daughter?” Christopher heard Momma ask Sarah one visit, when Adam was three. 

            Pa chuckled and threw an arm companionably over Christopher’s shoulder. “They’ll be plannin’ your future without ya, if ya don’t get yaself in there, boy,” Pa said.

            Sarah answered, “Victoria, if Christopher doesn’t mind,” and Christopher smiled.

 

            But Sarah died, and Adam with her. Christopher was uselessly in Mexico and knew he’d hate himself—and Buck—till the day he died and joined them. Or not, seeing as how he wasn’t all that sure he deserved Heaven.

            Momma had spoken of soul mates all of her days, until the fever took her. Pa soon followed her, unable to cope.

            Christopher stopped believing in Momma’s stories when he was left alone. And he wandered, killing and fighting, seeking a death that refused to come. He survived when he shouldn’t, rarely got wounded, and cared less by the day. 

            He left his friends behind, forgot those that cared for him, lost himself in the gun. 

 

            When he found himself in a little nothing-town, he expected what he’d found in other little nothing-towns spread out across the west. He hadn’t fought for anything but the thrill and the rage since Sarah, and he expected nothing different here.

            He didn’t care, so he continued drinking, walked through the bullet-ridden room, tempting death—but death did not come.

            Christopher took in the scene—a dozen white boys against one bound black—and decided to stay out of it. Not his fight. Not his town. 

            Then the woman got herself involved. Christopher could distantly admire her courage, as the move was something Sarah might have done. But it still wasn’t his fight.

            And then across the way, Christopher saw the man with the rifle. When he met Christopher’s eyes, Christopher tilted his head toward the wagon moving through the town. The man dipped his head slightly, so Christopher nodded, stepped out onto the dust path that called itself a road.

            They met up in the middle, walked side by side, and Christopher felt no need for words.

 

            Momma had spoken of soul mates. Christopher knew she’d meant a man and woman, husband and wife. Sweethearts, like her and Pa, two people who’d be together till Heaven and the Lord called one home.

            And Christopher’d had that, with Sarah. But Christopher died with Sarah, with Adam. 

            Momma had spoken of soul mates. 

            Chris introduces himself and feels like maybe he’s found himself again.

           

 

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[tigriswolf]

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