Setting: ATF AU
Disclaimer: The following is a work of fanfiction based on the CBS television series, The Magnificent Seven. It is in no way intended to infringe on the copyrights of CBS, MGM, The Trilogy Entertainment Group, The Mirisch Corp., or anyone else who may have legal rights to the characters, settings or song references. I don't own the characters. This story is strictly for entertainment. No monetary gain will be made from anything contained in this story.
NOTE: Big thanks, no HUGE thanks to Julie, for her invaluable, generous and wonderful medical assistance.
NOTE 2: And thanks to Rosy for her gorgeous collage in honour of this story!
She was a seductress, whose hot breath and bewitching adornments left the most staid body transfixed. A lusty entrantress whose alluring call unleashed the beast in man. Sensual and spicy, her name evokes deep romance and the magic of myths. Exotic and lush, she is steeped in Old World elegance and brimming with new blood and vitality; she bows to no one. She's a free-spirited temptress, whose rich Creole voice and murky bloodlines were tempered by Catholic tradition.
Her birth came unexpectedly, in a bath of moonlight and covered in magnolias. In the latter half of the seventeenth century, she sprung from the loins of her impatient French fathers. Their growing pains saw the establishment of many forts along the banks of the Mississippi in Louisanna. It was here in 1719, that Jean Baptiste Le Moyne christened her New Orleans. Her formative years were rooted in France, but the blushing virginal lady quickly became intoxicated by Spanish Influence. She blossomed and grew, adorned with beautiful streets, grand churches and hotels. The opulant mansions and exotic flavors were changed for good in December 1803. It was then that a tall, red-headed American visonary from Virginia, named Thomas Jefferson, pulled off one of the greasted real estate transactions in history, the Louisanna Purchase.
She grew fast, spurred onward by society and economy. The sleepy fishing communities that dotted the geography outside town, were joined by stately plantation fueled by King Cotton. The nineteenth century saw her blossom; full of rich artistry, music, literature and all that was culturally sound. The economy flourished, financed by the wealthy landowners who fed off the steamboats that prowled the great Mississippi. Like most families, she was not without controversy. The older, more cultured, French/Spanish Creoles looked down upon the crude, noveau rich Anglo Saxons from faraway strange sounding places, like Philadelphia or Baltimore. But as the years passed, the family grew and more colorful sisters were added.
Now, just a few years into the new, twentieth century, the city of saints and sinners was bursting with growth. New buildings adorned the downtown area, the center jewel of which was the elaborate, impressive and monsterous Catheral of St. Louis. Founded in 1721 and named for Louis the IX, then the King of France, the magnificent church stood tall and proud. Industry thrived and expansion brought new blood and money.
Such investors made Andre Sauville a millionaire. Like most self-made industrialists, he yearned for more. At fifty, he was a striking man. Although not physically commanding, his style, manner, dress and charm turned many heads. His jet hair was spiked with silver and the pencil thin mustache gave him a devilish smile. The wealthy widower courted and bedded most of the eligible women in town. Now, his only child, the heir to his vast fortune, was about to turn eighteen.
The elaborate grillwork on the homes that graced Bourbon Street caught his eye as the carriage drove past. Tall, pastel shutters blinked at him lazily, over wrought-iron balconies, which hovered above courtyards heady with magnolia. A slight breeze on the humid night, brought the lusty scent of spicy etouffee. His stomach reminded him of the late hour and the important date. His companion seemed to sense his unease as well.
"Why do you worry so, André?"
"You do not know her, my friend, she is spoiled, petutant, headstrong...and mon dieu, what a temper!" he shook his head, thinking on his beautiful, eighteen-year old daughter.
"A firm hand is what she needs," the tall, muscular man sneered, then chuckled, "I will have the pleasure of driving that fury from her, in our wedding bed."
"She is not like those wanton strumpets you use so carelessly," he turned to his old friend and business partner for many years. "and I won't have her spirit ruined. I want her happy and her belly full. I want grandchildren...I want an heir."
"I'll keep her belly full," Raoul Armand Moreau laughed ghoulisly, "...it will be my pleasure."
They continued in silence, until the large, gilded mansion sprung into view. Like many of his neighbors in the garden district, Andre spared no expense in creating and maintaining his estate. The ninety-five hundred square feet of splendou was a gift to his bride over twenty-five years ago. Marie had died in childbirth and his heart died with her. That child, a strikingly beautiful little girl, had become his life. Now, it was time to turn her hand over to another. The carriage drew up the curving driveway, past the beautiful plants, trees and shrubs to a gracious patio. A elderly black man in formal dress stood waiting. A soft rain began to fall as they climbed out.
"Thank you, Henri," he dictated, handing the servent his coat. "Dinner will be in one hour. Where is my daughter?"
"Upstairs, Sir, in her room. I'll have Tess see to it she is on time." He replied and bowed, taking the stranger's coat as well.
"Very good," André nodded, "Mr. Moreau and I will be in the study. "We are not to be disturbed."
Raoul eyed the massive foyer and smiled wolfishly. Soon this magnificent house and all the trimmings would be his. It was breathtaking, to the point of being obscene. The main hall was split by a rose marble staircase, which wound upstairs to the the second floor. A formal parlor, a study, library, an office were on one side. A large dining room, porch, two kitchens and a pantry were on the other. Two more floors were above, full of bedrooms, bathrooms and more. It was then he saw her, crossing the floor above. Her beauty took his breath away. Taller than most woman of the age, her golden curls and heart-shaped face were accented by large, eyes, almost amethyst color. Large, firm breasts were barely cloaked beneath the pale aqua taffeta gown.
"My God," he breathed, "I had no idea..." His head followed her as she stood, unaware of his raking eyes, above.
"Raoul?"
"Coming," he murmured, his loins tingling in anticipation. "I will have you, My Sweet..." he laughed to himself and tore his gaze away. The hour moved like a dying snail. He thought he'd never hear the dinner bell. They strode into the elegant dining room, rich ruby walls covered with fine paintings greeted his eyes. The table was full of wedgewood china, waterford crystal and fine silver. Andre nodded to the same man who greeted them, and a bottle of wine was produced. The vineyards they'd started fifteen years before, were reaping rewards. The burgundy was perfect...or so he thought. Then she appeared and a flame exploded.
"Ah...there you are, My Pet," André stood and held his hand out to the unusually quiet girl. Her features looked drawn and she looked pale. "Are you ill?"
"No, Papa, just tired," she kissed both his cheeks.
"Good," he sighed, taking her to where his quest stood. The hooded gaze was a little unsettling, but he shook it off. "This is Raoul Moreau. As you know, he is to be your husband." He felt her arm stiffen under his hand and sternly addressed her. "We spoke of this day, Petite, you know this must be done. I've known Raoul since he was eighteen. He is my partner, I trust him. I am entrusting him with my greatest treasure."
She drew her head and stared at the tall man. Her stomach soured and her insides turned to ice. He was a few inches over six feet, with thinning dark hair and an intense stare. His black eyes were undressing her and she felt him ravishing her. Those eyes and the sly smile reminded her of a fat, lazy lizard ready to snatch an unsuspecting fly for supper. He lifted her hand and kissed it, nearly causing her to vomit. She trembled, but did not yield, rather she returned the gaze, with fire in her eyes. As if sensing her rebellion, he laughed and raised a black eyebrow.
"Your beauty escapes words, My Dear," he cooed, "Perhaps after dinner, we can become more acquainted in the garden."
"Perhaps you'll die of indigestion," she retorted, causing her father to clear his throat and her intended to laugh outright.
"You have a fire and I like a challenge." He tossed back, "But you will not win..."
She bit her lip and took her chair, barely aware of the conversation. She ate little and let her mind drift. A face came into view, a set of bright sapphire eyes whose depths burned deep within her. Long, black curls and a smile that melted her. Her lips burned for his kisses, her arms ached to hold him, caress him and devour him. He was the only man she'd ever love...or belong to. Raoul and her father be damned. She felt his hand on her back and jumped. At forty-two, he was old enough to be her father.
"Is that satisifactory with you?" he purred, letting his thumb slide slowly across the nape of her lovely neck.
"W..w..w...what?" She blinked, eyes going to her father.
"Saturday, the wedding will be this weekend. Then you and Raoul will travel to Europe and return this summer. By then, you will be carrying my grandchild."
"You pigs!" She spat, rising and throwing her napkin over the uneaten meal. "The both of you...you gave that chicken more thought than my feelings." She nodded to the remnants of dinner. She turned to leave and her father's voice nearly split the large, ornate chandalier.
"Isabella Alexandra Sophia Sauville!" He waited until she stopped in the doorway and turned back. "You will show your fiance our garden. He has expressed interest in exploring it."
"I'll bet," she hissed, cringing as the half-lidded eyes undressed her.
"You will do as you are told!" he ordered, glaring her down. She moved stiffly as the rough hand took her elbow. The humid air was close and caused her to perspire. The garden was one of a kind. It's flora and fauna were varied and colorful. Statues dotted the perimeter and a white gazebo stood inside a maze. He pressed his body closer and closer, forcing her to flee. He caught her at the gazebo, pressing her back against the frame. The kiss was hard and rough. He forced her lips open and forced entry into her mouth with his tongue. His paw moved down the front of her dress, pressing against the curves in the fabric. She slapped him hard and bit his lip, before pulling away.
"How dare you!" She slapped him again, only to have her hand grabbed. "I will not be used like this..."
"What difference does a few days mean?" He growled as the blood rushed to his loins. "I will have you..."
"Never!" She shoved him hard and ran. Her advantage was that she'd planned this maze and played in it as a child. She quickly found the rear exit and continued running. She didn't stop until she was far from her home. She'd lost one shoe and her hair hung loose. She paused to catch her breath and kept running. The house was simple, in one of the poorest parts of town. She slipped into the small, tidy backyard and through the door. She didn't stop until she was in his arms, sobbing hysterically.
"What is it?" He asked, blue eyes full of alarm. He cupped the face of his angel and stared hard at the mezmerizing eyes. From the first minute he'd seen her, he knew he loved her. He was painting on the sidewalk stand he had at Jackson Square. She was in the carriage, sitting with her father. Their eyes met and they both knew. After that, she came every day, then they began meeting in secret. The stolen kisses and clinches were becoming more difficult to arrange. He held her close, sitting down on the bed and felt her trembling. "Talk to me, Angélique..." he used the nickname that she loved.
"He...had...his hands..on my...he used my mouth...he..."
"Who!" He raged, his molten eyes shooting fire. He gripped her arms so tight, he hurt her. No one would touch his angel...no one. "I will rip his heart out..."
"No, Philippe, please, hold me!" She begged, melting in his strong arms. He was bare chested and the feel of that hot skin against her, revitalized her. Here, she felt safe. Here, in his arms, she was home. "I won't leave you again, ever. I love you."
"Do you know how much I love you?" he kissed her, pulling her close and sighing deeply as her hand raked through his long curls. "I would die for you..."
"I would die before losing you," she returned, "We'll leave the city...tonight...get married in Baton Rouge or perhaps Lafayette?"
"Baton Rouge," he decided, holding hand tight. "Are you sure? I have no money, only my paintings. I cannot give you what..."
"Shhhh!" she covered those sensual lips with her fingers and drank in every fine feature on his handsome face. "I don't want money...I'd live in a hovel with you. I need this," she tapped his heart. "Now and forever..."
"Then you shall have it, Angélique..." he kissed her again, soft and tender, then pulled back. "My sister, Lily lives near Lafayette. We'll be safe there, until we decide where to go."
"Paris!" She clapped her hands. "You can be the poor, struggling artist and I will be your model!"
"So be it, Mon Coeur!" he vowed, stroking her cheek with his finger. That is what she was, his heart. "My God, you are beautiful. I have a little bit of wine I was saving." he kissed her forehead and left for a moment. He returned and nearly dropped the bottle. His Athena was waiting for him on the bed, her dress was hanging nearby. He wanted to say something, but her beauty took his breath. She was perfection and the smile she wore was dazzling.
"Come, my Knight," she smiled, taking his hand, "and conquer me. Teach me what love is..." She cried for joy when he covered her body with his own, and their hearts sang together.
The traffic into the city was lighter than normal, even for a Friday. Clear green eyes peered through the windshield, noticing the large digital clock on the billboard ahead. Six forty two a.m., he was nearly twenty minutes early. The sun was strong as it caressed the handsome face. He cranked the window down a little more, letting some fresh air in the car. The unusually warm weather had become a magnet for germs. He wondered who in his office would be felled next. Josiah Sanchez was still wheezing and coughing, well into his second week. J.D. and Nathan had been out sick Monday, Tuesday and Wenesday with the same strain of a new viral respiratory infection.
"Mornin' Mr. Larabee," the security guard at the garage nodded to him.
"Morning, George," he replied, taking the long curve around the first level of the concrete structure. He pulled into a spot on the second level and turned the engine off. He clipped on his identification badge, just before picking up the envelope. He smiled as he slid it into his inner coat pocket, thinking on Tanner's reaction. Hell, who was he kidding? He was brewing up a nice pot of guilty pleasure himself.
"Hey Buck, do you want some..."
"No!" The tall rogue replied, waving a plastic necklace of garland at the graying agent. "I don't want anything from you, including that creeping crud you're cartin' around." He made a cross with his fingers and eyed the somber face ambling by.
"Trust me, Buck, your neck ain't worth sucking on," the ex-preacher noted dryly of the vampire protective gear.
"Hah!" the notorious ladies man tossed back with a rakish grin, "Shows how much you know," He waited until Josiah was back at his desk and took out a can of disinfectant spray. "This neck has the sweetest skin this side of the Mississippi."
"Were you the victor of another poll among the toothless clientele that line the soup kitchen, Mr. Wilmington?" The gambler joked, placing a large mug of herbal tea on his desk, neck to the rogue.
"That's the thanks I get for watching your back," Buck launched, rising and holding the can up in the air. So far, only he and the Southerner had been spared the flu-like illness. Chris Larabee was only now feeling one hundred percent, having come down with first.
"If you come within five feet of me with that infernal can, I'll..."
"Shut up, Ezra," Buck interrupted, spraying the air, "It's keeping you germ free."
Before Ezra could reply, the door opened and a sorry soul shuffled inside. The head was down, the eyes were reddened, puffy slits and every step was preceeded by a hacking cough. The lean man's shoulder's jumped from the action, dispelling his invader into a napkin. This action caused them all to part the aisle, like the Red Sea. Ezra and Josiah both suppressed a grin, but Buck didn't. The can was tossed down and forgotten; a new prey was to be had. J.D. and Nathan were in the cantina, eating bagels, wheezing and coughing over hot mugs of tea.
"Well, well, if it ain't Lazarus!" he boomed, clapping the heavy jacket, "Finally rolled out of the tomb, eh?" He paused and waited for the surly, colorful response, but got none. Frowning, he eyed the heavy coat and noted the warm air outside. "What the hell are you wearin' that leather coat for?"
"Moreover, why isn't your body reclining in a bed in that flea hotel you call home?" Standish frowned, lining up his vitamins.
"'m cold," Vin rasped at Buck and just glared outright at the jade-eyed conman.
"You know, Ezra has a point, Vin. You hacking your germs all over this office isn't healthy." He followed the smaller man to the end of the aisle, where one lone desk sat outside the cantina.
"Get away from me Buck or I'll cough in yer soup again." Vin's warning dissolved into a painful collection of coughs. He doubled over the trashcan, expelling into a napkin and tossing it away. The effort moved his chair, so it was turned around.
"What do you mean again?" the -agent frowned, thinking back on his lunches this week.
Ezra smiled, seeing how easily Vin could disarm any suspect, even one of his own team. He gave Buck's back a pat on his way past. A few minutes later, he reappeared, placing a large, steaming mug in front of the ailing sharpshooter. He dropped off a handful of vitamins and a glass of orange juice. He saw the shaggy head nod once and make short work of the pills and juice. The tea mug made a wavy journey north, guided by a less than steady hand.
"Aw, hell!" Vin spit his tongue out and wrinkled his nose. "This is worse that the shit Nate makes me drink!"
"I heard that, Vin Tanner," Jackson boomed, making his way to the Texan's desk. J.D. followed slowly, his head pounding.
"Hey, Vin, how you doing?" the wheezing youth inquired. Vin had been out sick all week, miserable like the rest of them. The city had an alarming number of cases in the outbreak. Several schools had closed for a few days, due to the large number of cases.
"'m'okay, Kid, thanks," he managed, giving Dunne a weak smile. He saw Ezra's pen tap his middle drawer and sighed. He pulled the drawer open and took out a small container of honey, squirting a large amount in the tea.
"Now ain't that cute?" Buck grabbed it, "A little honey bear..."
"Buck, I swear...I...I..." Vin sat forward on his chair, flinched and then rolled backwards. He gasped, jerking his shoulders and twitching his eyes. "Aw, hell...I been waitin' on this sneeze fer near on an hour now..."
"Damn!" the culprit dropped the honey container and backpedaled up the aisle. The others followed suit, making a large arc around the solitary desk. The ensuing expulson started a chain effect that caused an outburst of explosive laughter.
The leader of Denver's most potent team of ATF agents paused in the doorway. Buck was doubled over, slapping the side of his leg. Josiah and Nathan were also convulsive. J.D.'s laugher turned painful, dissolving into a coughing fit. Ezra was grinning like chesire cat, clapping the choking Dunne on the back. He counted heads and frowned. He entered the room and walked up to Tanner's desk, his features marked with suspicion. The puzzled green eyes moved to the steam rising over the Texan's mug, bearing the motto 'Mess with the best, die like the rest'. He eyed the honey container and a crumbled up bag from the bakery at the corner. The laughter continued and he craned his neck, just enough to see a pair of worn brown boots and the bottom of two denim-encased legs. The rest of the sharpshooters's lean body was underneath his desk.
"Morning Boss," Josiah recovered, "Orrin called, you got a division meeting at eight."
Chris nodded, just as a rapsy drawl echoed from below.
"Hey Cowboy!"
"Is there blood involved?" the blond asked, peering at the spot where Vin's body disappeared.
"No, don't think so." the feeble call came back.
"Do I need to fill out a dispensary slip?" The leader asked of the medical form needed for any on site care.
"No," the drawl turned into a cough.
"Good," he retreated into the cantina to get a cup of coffee.
"It was a rogue sneezin' incident," the ailing man defended, still lying underneath his desk. The force of the sneeze threw him right out of his chair, where he'd been perched on the edge. He was breathless again and a little dizzy. "Chris? Chris? Aw, hell..."
J.D. went to his own desk, Josiah went to answer a ringing phone. Nate's eyes narrowed, spotting Buck and Ezra whispering.
"Hey, Ez, did you see that?" Buck asked, elbowing the other conspirator."...there by Vin's trash can."
Ezra smiled and eyed the bin, very close to where Vin's head was on the floor.
"I daresay I am surprised I didn't hear it first," the conman winked, his gold tooth glittering. "I didn't think there were roaches that big outside of Mexico."
"Shit!" The body on the floor moved quickly.
All three men near the desk exploded into laughter. Then they jumped and the winced as Vin's usually silent, nimble body hit three sides of his metal desk on the way out.
Vin rubbed his head where it hit the desk with one hand and then his elbow. His red-rimmed blues found the smirking duo and he scrambled free of the fallen furniture.
"Goddammit Ezra, that wasn't funny!" Vin gasped, "It ain't bad enough I got barely a lung workin', ya had t'near gimme a heart attack too!"
"Not to worry, I'll see to it you have a proper dirge," Standish imparted, pushing Buck ahead of him and out of harm's way.
"Come on Vin," Nate shook his dark head, "Get up off that floor." He rested a hand on the flushed face before hauling the coughing man upright. "You still got little fever..."
"I am kinda warm," Vin mused, settling in his chair and shifting his eyes.
"It might help if you weren't dressed for a trip to the Artic Circle."
Vin glared at the blond speaker, who merely raised a sandy eyebrow on his way to his office.
"Chris's right, Vin, you got too many layers on," Jackson frowned, watching a leather coat and sweater come off. Under that was a damp sweatshirt. "Now I know where that got it's name. You been drinking plenty of water?"
"Yeah," Vin nodded, taking a good sip of the tea and pulling out his mangled doughnut. "All I do is drink, piss and sleep."
"Man's best friend!" Buck hollered out, watching the shaggy head disappear.
"Where'd he go?" J.D. asked, tossing a small rubber ball at the back of Buck's head.
"Bottom drawer, dictionary," Wilmington replied, knowing Vin was looking up 'dirge'.
"Vin?" Nate tapped his shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah," the blue eyes softened at the worried tone in Jackson's voice. "Fever broke two days ago, now I'm in the 'decrud mode'. I ain't gotta tell ya how wearin' it is...can't sleep fer the coughin'"
"I've been there," Nate nodded, "but this ain't like home. You've been restin' for a week and your body ain't used to bein' active again. You're gonna feel it after lunch. It's gets to be too much, you go home, understand? I've seen what happens if you get a relapse and it ain't pretty."
"Gotcha Doc!" Vin muffled, reaching for another doughnut. He flipped his computer on and read his emails, while he finished his tea. He went through all his voicemail messages and then picked up the large amount of mail in his in basket. He began the task of making piles and prioritizing them. He flipped open a file and began to read, taking notes on an open arson case.
Chris Larabee eyed the clock and rose from his desk. It was ten minutes to eight and time to leave for the directorate's office. His eyes narrowed as he watched the lone body on the far end of the room, hacking and typing. He shook his head at the large number of wadded up tissues littering the floor. Sighing, he paused behind the Texan, not surprised at how quickly Vin was making up for lost time. He was very organized and easily able to break down a problem. The Texan had a keen mind and sharp eye for details. Adding him to the team had been one of his best moves. But on a personal level, the enrichment went far deeper.
"Some sharpshooter," he teased, as another tissue went airborne.
"Huh?" Vin looked up and then down. "Sorry!" he scrambled, picking up the snowfall and depositing it into the trash. "Ya think we're gettin' called up?" He inquired of the pressing arson case that Orrin Travis had prioritized.
"No, I doubt it," the blond answered honestly. "I think Mike's group will get the nod, they've got eight healthy bodies." He eyed the younger man carefully, seeing his shoulders slump a little. "It's nobody's fault Vin, it happens, besides you're gonna be busy next week."
"Busy?" Vin's head rose, then his eyes narrowed, "Busy where?"
"Look at the time," Chris teased, leaving the bait dangling, "I gotta go."
"Aw, hell, Chris, gimme a clue?" His reply was a cryptic smile.
Chris Larabee wore that selfish half-grin, all the way to Orrin Travis's office. He couldn't wait to see the look on Vin Tanner's face. He thought on the two weeks ahead, anticipating the adventure. It started with a memo a month ago from Division Headquarters. The thought of the trapped hours, stifled him. Then two days ago, a green light went on. With a call to Orrin, the memo turned golden. The director's voice broke his daze.
"Feeling better, Chris?" Orrin noted of the relaxed face before him, bearing a soft hint of a smile.
"Oh, yeah!" The blond nodded, lips splitting as he picked up a copy of the meeting's agenda.
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