TITLE: In Living Color

Author Name: Jacki (kbfan)

Feedback: Always appreciated, on list or privately.

Status: New, complete

Archive: Yes, please do. C5, TS, SB, WWOMB...anyone else interested please email me

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: B/K

Category: AU, Romance

Summary: Toby receives a letter that changes his life.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, sadly. Tom Fontana and HBO do. Although I'd be willing to rent the boys from them for a reasonable sum.

Notes: This story is an inverted image of the other fic I just posted, "In Black & White." I had been away from the computer for awhile due to RL and it's problems...when I finally got back I was desperate to write again and these two stories are the product of my need to write. I must thank Caly for my inspiration as well as the beta. Love you sweetie.

In Living Color
by Jacki

Saturday, March 16, 2003

Toby rolled out of bed, the rain still hammered rhythmically on the roof as dim light seeped cautiously through the window. He grabbed his robe and padded, barefoot, downstairs; Toby shuffled across the kitchen and turned on the coffeemaker before slumping into a nearby chair. He had been out of prison for over a year, but on days like this it felt like he had only left the cold concrete walls of OZ days ago.

Toby tried not to relive his years there, save for his weekly letters to Chris; not that he'd ever gotten a response, but being stubborn was one of his trademark qualities and he was determined not to give up. Toby had even driven up there one afternoon months ago, but, of course, Chris had refused to see him. It was probably fruitless, but Toby was unwilling to let Chris's own headstrong resistance to his efforts deter him. So, he kept writing and he would keep writing until the day he died if he had to; Toby would make sure that Chris knew one way or another that there was someone, somewhere who still thought about him, who still loved him.

Toby rose from his seat, pouring himself some of the freshly brewed coffee. It was strange not having the kids around in the morning, but his parents had taken them to the country for the weekend and Toby savored the quiet. He wandered listlessly out into the living room and looked out the front window, hoping that the paperboy had the forethought to wrap the newspaper in plastic this morning. Toby eyes scanned the yard, catching sight of the paper lying half out of the bag in what would soon become a puddle of mud. Setting his coffee cup down on the table next to the door, he jogged across the lawn and grabbed the half-soaked newsprint before quickly pulling the mail from the box.

`I'm already wet, might as well grab it all.'

Toby sprinted back onto the covered porch, wiping his feet gingerly on the mat before re-entering the house. He picked up his coffee and went back into the kitchen; Toby dropped the newspaper into the sink to dry and sat down to look through the only slightly damp mail. He
flipped through the short stack, tossing aside bills to be opened later; the last envelope, however, caught his attention. Toby looked at his address on the front, it was neatly typed, but there was no return address and no postmark. His interest peaked, he grabbed the corner of the envelope and roughly ripped it open. Toby pulled out one thin sheet of plain white paper; he unfolded the sheet and read the typewritten message.

**********

Dear Mr. Beecher,

Sister Peter Marie gave me your name and suggested that it might be helpful to talk to you. I would sincerely appreciate it if you would consider meeting me at Big Tim's Truckstop/Diner just outside the city, March 16th at 7 p.m.. Thank you.

**********

Toby sat there, his coffee growing cold, as he stared at the letter. There was no signature. But, his mind reasoned, if Sister Pete had suggested this man contact him it must be someone who had been paroled recently. He wasn't sure how he could help this guy, but it wasn't like he had any big plans for the evening. Toby had his parents and his kids to help him when he was released, maybe this guy had no one. Maybe he could help.

Toby glanced at the digital readout on the microwave, it was almost one o'clock. He was going to take a chance and meet this unnamed man, maybe it would help them both. Toby rose from the table and dumped his now icy coffee into the sink; he had a few things he wanted to do around the house before he left to meet another man who had survived OZ.

***

It was still raining as Toby pulled into the parking lot of Big Tim's Truckstop/Diner; he had no idea how he was supposed to recognize the man he was meeting, but he figured in a place full of truckers he might be able to pick him out of the crowd.

Toby parked near the front door of the diner and quickly jumped out of the car onto the sidewalk beneath the shelter of the metal overhang. He grabbed the cold metal handle of the door and stepped inside; the place wasn't too busy yet and he noticed a few groups of men huddled over plates of greasy food in the booths surrounding him. Warily, Toby scanned the interior searching for a man sitting alone. His stomach dropped as he spied the back of a man sitting unaccompanied at the counter; Toby couldn't help but imagine the man he saw was Chris...the build was right, the posture was right, even the hair...but it couldn't be Chris.

Slowly, Toby ventured across the tattered tile floor toward the counter. He stopped behind the lone man.

"Excuse me," he began, "I was supposed to meet someone here, and I thought..."

The man slowly turned on his stool, stopping Toby midsentence.

"Hey, Beecher," Chris Keller said.

Toby couldn't believe his eyes, there sitting right in front of him was the man he had tried in vain to connect with all those months. Toby stared, his expression a mixture of shock, pain and anger. He wasn't sure if he trusted himself to speak, his throat felt as if it had closed in on itself. Toby struggled for breath.

"How? Why?" The words a strangled whisper.

"Toby, it's not important right now..." Chris began.

Toby stared at him, watching Chris's lips as the words tumbled out. Shaking his head, he turned; Toby stormed out of the diner into the cold, biting rain. He knew Chris was right behind him, but he wouldn't stop.

`How could Chris do this? Goddammit.'

Toby reached his car, his hand shaking as he attempted to fit the key in the lock. Suddenly a hand clasped tightly on his shoulder; Toby felt the heat of Chris's body against his back as the other man moved closer. The touch sent a brief shiver rippling through is body, but Toby shook it off.

Without turning, he firmly grabbed Chris's fingers and pushed them off his shoulder.

"Don't," he said, voice trembling with hurt.

Toby finally got the errant key in the lock; he pulled the car door open, still much too conscious of Chris's closeness. He turned to slide into the front seat, his eyes set on the dusty parking lot; he couldn't meet Chris's steely blue gaze.

"Toby, look at me," Chris said as he edged closer.

Determinedly, Toby turned his head away as he began to lower himself into the car. Suddenly, he felt as if he was being lifted; Chris's arms were wrapped around him and every ounce of Toby's resolve melted away. He slumped into Chris's powerful embrace.

"Toby," Chris soothed as his hands drew gentle circles across Toby's back, "I think we need to talk."

Toby's answer was muffled, his face buried in the warmth of Chris's shoulder, "Yes."

"I'd rather not do it in there," Chris gestured toward the diner. "I'm staying here, in a room at the motel. Do you mind if we go there?"

"Yeah, okay."

Chris loosened his arms as Toby straightened up in front of him. Chris used his hip to bump the car door shut. The two men walked in silence, Toby trailing behind as Chris led the way to his meager lodgings.

Chris slipped his key into the lock of the thin door, it was scarred by thousands of drunk truckers and the paint was peeling in huge patches. Stepping into the small room, Chris flipped on the light switch, the tiny bedside lamp threw some narrow illumination across the room. The room wasn't much, a double bed covered in a tattered bedspread, a small table and a TV that looked as if it had been transported here from 1970.

Toby looked around; his eyes taking in the room, stained carpet and all.

"Uhh, nice place," he said, a touch of sarcasm tingeing his voice.

Chris turned to him then, his eyes catching Toby's gaze. "Jesus, Beech, at least the fucking place doesn't have bars on the windows."

Quickly, Toby turned away as pink rushed up his neck to his hairline.

"Shit, I'm sorry," he whispered, still unable to look at Chris.

Chris moved around to face Toby; he gently placed his fingers beneath Toby's chin, tipping his head up so that their eyes met.

"Toby, I know this..."

Abruptly, Chris was cut off as Toby spoke. "Please, Chris. I just need to know one thing. Why? Why didn't you ever respond to any of my letters? Why wouldn't you see me? Please, Chris, just tell me why."

"I wanted to, really I did. It killed me every time I got a letter. I read them over and over until the paper was so ragged it almost fell apart. But, Tobe, I couldn't write you back. And I couldn't see you," Chris's voice faltered as he continued. "I was sure that there was no chance that we could ever really be together; shit, I was sentenced to 88 years and it wasn't like I was gonna get anything for good behavior. I'd already hurt you so much, I didn't want to ruin your chance at a happy life on the outside."

"Dammit, Chris, never getting a response from you broke my heart week after week."

"But you would have given up on me eventually," Chris responded, gently running his fingers along Toby's jaw. "And that would have been best, since I was never going to get out of OZ."

"Yet, here you are. Christ, Chris, how did you get out? I still can't believe you're really standing here."

"Long story, including a new lawyer, inconsistencies in the trial transcript and an appeal which ended up with me getting off on some technicality everyone had overlooked. But that's a story for another time. Right now all I want is this..."

Chris leaned in, closing the space between them. Tenderly, he kissed Toby's full lips. Their lips parted as the kiss deepened. Desperation drove the intensity of the kiss... need... desire... sadness... joy, all mixed together as their mouths continued to explore. Intimately familiarizing themselves with one another once again.

END