The man barely talks, and most of the time it's to give someone an order. Yet with just one touch he is able to convey so much.
With Vin it had been that time when he was in the hospital, delirious with fever, hallucinating that he was facing an enemy alone. With just one touch, Chris let Vin know that he had friends, that Vin would never have to face an enemy alone again. It was a simple touch really, just a light brush of his fingers over Vin's brow, yet it imparted all of our thoughts and feelings.
Or the time that JD had saved Josiah and Nathan from being shot with his swift judgement. Just a fleeting squeeze on the shoulder had let the boy know that he did well, that he was an important member of this team. That one simple touch had instilled in the young agent a sense of pride, belonging, and friendship.
With Buck, it had been a callused hand, cupping one side of his face, telling him to hold on, not to give up. Chris needed no words, just that light caress, to tell the rogue that there were people who wanted, no, needed him to live.
He would rub Nathan on the back, his thanks for saving yet another member of his most cherished team, of his well beloved family. With that one point of contact, Chris could communicate all the feelings of gratitude that he would not or could not voice.
Josiah would make contact with him first. Often it was just Josiah's hand placed on his upper arm, but then Josiah would just smile as Chris covered the larger hand with his and lightly squeezed. That light contact would often communicate the exasperation at the antics of the "youngins" or a thank you for the spiritual support and foundation that Josiah provided for all of us.
He could calm Billy with just a touch. One touch would impart to the boy how important he was to Chris. The boy thrived under those simple touches, having long forgotten his own father's touch.
Mary always blushes when Chris touches her, from pleasure, of that I am sure. His touch seems to make her feel safer, it calms her, lets her know that he cares for her. For in his small touches are all the words that he cannot say.
As for me, I find myself sitting on the floor of his living room, leaning against the chair he was sitting in, watching a sports program I absolutely abhor with him and the others. And as he absently rubs the back of my neck with his callused hand, I find that I have finally found the foundation that I have been searching for all my life. His hand anchors me to him, to the others. Chris's touch gives me a sense of belonging, of family, of acceptance.
Words and feelings must fight their way pass his lips, but flow freely from his touch.
Finis
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