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.
Christmas used to be a holiday he enjoyed. He spared no expense in decorating the house and lavishing gifts upon his friends and family. Family...he sighed and eyed the barren room. There was no tree or crêche this year. He wanted to hang black ribbons in lieu of garland. He knew she would rebel against his choice, but his misunderstood her strength. For twelve months he searched for her. He paid the best dectectives to search far and wide. No a trace was found. He couldn't bring himself to think that she'd killed herself. No, not his Isabella. She was live...somewhere. Just when his hopes were dying, nearly one year to the night she disappeared, the telephone rang.
"André! I think we found her."
"What?" His heart pumped, "Are you sure, Raoul?" There had been false hopes before, several over the year.
"Theodore Garson, one of the Pinkerton's finest, discovered a lead. It seems Isabella met a young man the summer before last. She was quite taken with him. A nobody...a poor artist who lived in the street. It was thought he was an orphan...but today, Theodore learned he had an older sister. She never married and moved away five years ago, when he turned eighteen. She had a different name...different father, so it was hard to find her."
"...and..." the father asked anxiously.
"...and she has a home near Lafayette. That is all we know. We're leaving now."
"Call me!" He ordered, the sun finally rising on twelve months of darkness.
"You spoil them!" Isabella smiled, peeking at her husband through the window.
"How can I not?" He answered, his breath wavering. "Have you ever seen anything so fine?" He eyed his twin daughters, cooeing happily in their baskets. At two months, they already had the mark of beauty. Headfuls of curly black hair and tiny heart-shaped faces looked up at him. Two sets of eyes, a color so unique it was undefinable, took his heart. They were somewhere between amethyst and blue, large and beguiling. Yes, his daughters were the lovliest creatures every born, he was certain of that.
"They are yours, My Love," she answered, joining him outside, "How can they not be beautiful?" She settled happily on his lap and took his kiss. She never tired of these moments. Lost in a year of rapture; was is possible for anyone to be so happy. The tiny cottage was on the outskirts of town, near a river. Philippe travelled each day to the town square to sell his paintings. She cared for her babes, devouring every minute she spent with them. Then at night, the two lovers became lost in each other. "What is that?" she asked, seeing him draw a small velvet pouch from his shirt. "A present?" She squealed, "for me?"
"No, My Sweet, you'll get your present later," he growled, nibbling on her neck and giving her a blush. "These are for my angels..." he announced, drawing out two beautiful lockets suspended on chains. They were gold hearts, each edge trimmed with a single rose and bearing the twins initials. "I ordered them last month. A jeweler from New Orleans was passing through town."
"But..they are exquisite!" She admired the fine work, "Where did you get the money?"
"I traded for it..." He took them back, grinning like a fool has his petite princesses.
"Traded?" She frowned, "I don't understand..." Then she saw his smile fade and her heart sank. "Oh Philippe, you didn't..."
"It's the best thing I've ever done," He defended, "It was worth it. Someday, they will look at those lockets and know how much I love them." He saw her eyes tear and felt bad. The painting in question was the first portrait he'd painted of her. She was draped in a rich orchid silk robe, reclining in wildflowers. He'd been offered a King's ransome by many who'd seen it, but never considered it, until he saw the lockets in the jeweler's case. "He is retiring, his hands can longer do the fine work. They are two of a kind, unique, there is no others like them. Don't you see? They are as perfect as my angels!"
"Angélique Rose Dubonnet," he said, putting one on the babe to his right and kissing her rosy cheek. and "Alexandra Lily Dubonnet," he eyed the fiesty face that scowled at him. One tiny fist waved indignantly in the air, the mezmerizing eyes glared at him. "She is your daughter," he laughed, caressing the tiny cheek. "Mon Dieu what a temper!" he chuckled, letting the tiny fist wrap around his finger. "Open it..." he encouraged his wife.
She picked up the locket on Angelique's neck and popped it open. "Now and Forever..." her breath caught and tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh Philippe...you remembered..." She choked of that first glorious night.
"I'll never forget!" he vowed, kissing her, then each of his angels. "I wish Lily could have seen them."
"I know," she snuggled closer, into his chest. His older sister died of a fever eight months prior. They'd sold her house and bought the tiny cottage, where they lived a full life.
"Well?" Raoul asked impatiently, as the detective and his hired help left the small church.
"She's buried out back," Garson answered, climbing back into the car, "She died eight months ago. The old priest described Isabella exactly. She was married to that painter and they moved away."
"Where?" He demanded.
"We can start by asking around town...I've got men covering the north side."
They turned up nothing, covering two more towns before nightfall. The inn they found to sleep in was small and they got up early the next day, eager to leave. Raoul sighed in frustration, seeing his fortune slip away. The old man vowed he'd take the money with him, leaving it only to a blood heir. His restless pacing took him into the small dining room, where a picture hung on the wall. It was the name that caught his eye.
"Where did you get this?" he demanded, taking it from the wall.
"What?" the clerk looked up. "Oh, my wife bought it from a painter who passed through town awhile back."
"Where does he live?"
"I don't know!" the angry man drew back, until a pile of money appeared.
"Will this help your memory?" Raoul pressed.
"Annette!" The man called, waiting for his plump wife to appear.
"Yes?" She answered, wiping her floured hand on her apron.
"The young man you bought this from, do you know where he lives? These gentlemen would like to buy some of his work."
She sighed and furrowed her brow, thinking hard. She shook her head, "I'm not sure...but he mentioned a cottage...a river...not far??? Does that help?" She asked, "Sir???" She walked around the counter, but they were gone. "That's strange!"
"I have to go to the market." Isabella nuzzled her naked husband, kissing him from neck to hip. " Can you manage?"
"Why wouldn't I?" He perplexed, rising and kissing her. He stretched and moved towards his canvas nearby. He pulled on his pants and a large shirt, eyeing the sleeping babies. "What trouble will two tiny angels be?" He turned at the peals of laughter and frowned, "Why do you laugh?"
"You'll see!" She kissed him again and picked up her purse. "I'll be back. Sara will be close by if you need anything."
"I know," he answered, knowing the small mute girl was never far. She loved their garden and hid all day in it. She lived with her grandmother in the next cottage, a mile or so away. The ten-year old was shy and only came near him once. But she was friendly to his wife and quite taken with the twins, often helping with them
Fearing her father's wrath, they kept to themselves for the most part. The cottage was well hidden and they kept their privacy guarded well. Aside from Sara and her grandmother, no one knew of their existance. The child was amazingly bright. Over the course of the past seven months, since they found the abandoned cottage, his wife taught the silent orphan well. As soon as they were bigger and he had a little more saved, they would make that trip to France. He promised Isabella that they'd take care of Sara. If her grandmother's health continued to fail, she could live with them.
He made sure he went to several towns throughout the district, never presenting a set schedule. When his wife journeyed to town, which was rare, she wore a cloak with a deep hood. Her face hidden, she spoke to no one, making her purchases and resuming the long walk home. He finished his meager breakfast and eyed his jewels. He sighed, watching them dream, their tiny jaws moving in their sleep. God, they were magnificent!
The sun came out and he took the baskets outside, pausing to nuzzle both fat bellies as he changed their nappies. The tiny sounds of their laugher brought tears to his eyes. He couldn't stop staring at them, his chest nearly burst with pride. He walked down to the river, selecting a good place to paint. He deposited his sleeping infants in the cover of a thicket of trees, several yards away, in the shade. Tucking the blankets carefully around their warm little bodies, he eyed the river nearby and decided to quench his thirst. He spent several minutes gazing at the terrain, thinking of what would leap onto his canvas. Finally, his thirst called out. He was bent over, when a hard blow slammed into his ribcage, taking his breath away. He curled up, fell over, watching skyrockets exploding. The next two blows were to his head, cracking it and sending blood down his face. He saw a set of legs and a large gun, but he didn't fear for his own life. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sara appear in the distance, next to the babies. Their eyes met briefly and she nodded once, picking up each basket and disappearing. He sighed and his eyelids fluttered, his angels were safe.
"Philippe?" she called out, putting the parcels on the table. The tiny cottage was immaculate, they had very little to display. The babies tiny things were in the top of the closet. She eyed the few rooms and frowned, before going outside. "Darling? Where are you?" She called out, walking through the garden. She saw the back gate opened and followed the path.
"I told you, she would come..." Garson said, lighting a cigarette.
"So you did," Raoul grinned, watching the lovely vision walking toward them. He stepped out of the shadows as the scream descended.
"Nooooooo!!!!" She ran, stumbling and falling, ripping her dress and landing near his body. There was blood everywhere, on him, under him, covering his beautiful face. "My God...Oh My God..." she wiped the blood with her dress, then saw the eyes blink. His lips moved and she shook her head. "Don't talk..I'll get help...I'll...." She froze then, she knew he was dying. She lowered herself, trying to keep his shivering body warm. She kissed him once and buried her face in his shoulder. Then her heart froze...the babies???
"...angels...safe...Sara...took...safe..." he whispered for her only, "...now and fo...r..ev..." He sighed one last time, letting the last warm touch of her lips become his final memory.
"No! Philippe! Noooooo!" She wept and cradled his body, until the aroma of the tobacco assaulted her. "Who are you? Why have you done this?"
"I told you I'd have you, My Pretty, Raoul gets what Raoul wants..."
It couldn't be, not here, not now. She turned her head and saw him, leering above her. He laughed and spit on Philippe, as the other man pulled his body away. She clung to her husband, screaming until a viscious backhand took her senses away. Through a haze of pain, she saw his body tied up and weighed down. The large stranger hefted it over his shoulder, taking it several yards into the churning current. A pain ripped through her, before he was tossed in the angry water, just before she fainted.
"The house?" he asked, holding her up. He tilted her face forcing a bottle between her slack lips. He then doused her clothing with the liquor as well, before wrapping her in a blanket.
"Empty," the guard replied, "I walked through fast. They were dirt poor...a few bits of furniture...and a bed...some paint and canvas. It was empty."
"Good." He hiked her body up and went to the car. "Let's move...I want to get out of here and find the nearest church. We'll skip a few towns, head back to New Orleans."
She woke up in a strange place. She was lying on a bed in a room she didn't know. She got up too quickly and the room spun around. A soft voice caused her to squint.
"There now...all better?"
"Who are you?" She asked of the middle-aged woman handing her water.
"I'm Mrs. Davis and you'll be late. Come now, here's a new dress. Such a shame about your accident."
"Accident?" She moved slowly, letting the frisky woman help her dress. "Where are we?"
"About twenty miles from Baton Rouge. Hurry now, we don't want to keep Father Daignault waiting" The hostess dragged the pretty woman from the room.
"Waiting?"
"Poor thing, you really did hit your head," She shook her head at the dazed eyes. "Such a pretty girl. Not to worry, that cut on your head wasn't serious." She led her downstairs, watching the legs buckling. "You'll get a nice rest later."
"Later?" Isabella shook her head, her whole body was numb and she was freezing cold. Her mind was thick with mud and she blinked through the haze. She felt the small bandage at her hairline and frowned. Then she saw an elderly priest and a strange man waiting, and her bewilderment increased.
"Here she is, isn't she pretty?" Mrs. Davis announced.
"That's my beauty."
The voice chilled her to the bone, setting off shock waves. The ripple effect caught her off guard, nearly sending her to her knees. "No....no...you bastard!" She screamed, punching his chest. "You killed him...you murdered him....I'll kill you."
"My word, she really did have a nasty bump, eh?" the priest shook his head. "Poor thing," he clucked his tongue. The man told him his fiancé took a nasty spill. She'd been pale and unconscious when they arrived, she reeked of alchohol. He hovered over her, obviously worried, claiming they had to get married. He feared she was with child and wanted to make amends. That and the generous donation made the decision easier.
"She's been talking out of her head..." He gripped her arm tighter. "Babbling nonsense..." He pulled the priest aside. "I'm afraid before I met her, she had a nasty problem with drinking. She goes off the deep end every now and again, like this morning, before she fell. She hallucinates..."
"Ah..." the priest nodded in sympathy. He and the housekeeper both smelled the scent of liquor on her breath, when she was brought inside earlier.
"No...my husband...he killed...they both did...Philippe...in the river...I..."
"No, Dear, you've had a bad dream, I've been with you all day!" Mrs.Davis shushed her. "You must settle down now. The doctor said you would be confused and telling tales. It's very common with a head injury. Now settle down and let's get this done. I have a nice pot of soup waiting:"
"It was a bad dream, Bella," he mock-soothed, patting her hand. "If they continue, I'll find a nice place for you to stay, where no one can hurt you." His intense stare silenced her. She knew it was no idle threat.
She was defeated then. She sagged, her foggy mind wavering. They didn't believe her...she'd end up locked up in an asylum. The cloak of secrecy they'd been so careful to hide under, now smothered her. She studied his face carefully and thought of her angels. She couldn't find the babies, if he locked her away. She had to play the game. She needed to gain his confidence, and money, before leaving him. She'd find her babies and take them away. She'd find them. She blinked and nodded, mumbling and staring at the priest's lips. She didn't hear the vows, she didn't even feel the lizard kiss her. She didn't taste the dinner. She didn't utter a sound, when he turned the lights out and crept into the bed. Later, when he'd fallen asleep, she wept silently. The bitter tears fell not for herself, but for her beloved Philippe. Then she dried her cold eyes, as her heart turned to ice. There was nothing left inside her; she'd never weep again.
Two hours later, Chris reappeared, "Everybody in the conference room for a meeting." He paused and looked up, "Where's J.D. and Vin?"
"They're already in there." Nate said, with a wicked grin. "Czar Buck banished the two of them."
"They were too damn noisy," Buck answered the pensive blond's face. "If one wasn't coughing, the other one was. I was trying to get Phil Harker's notes over the phone," he spoke of a detective across town, "and J.D. was barking in my ear, couldn't hear a damn thing." He paused and caught his oldest friend's eye, "The Kid took his files with him; Slick's doing shots of Phenegren," he updated of the strong cough prescriptive cough medicine.
"They belong on rock in the ocean," Ezra noted of the California's famed haven for seals, near San Francisco.
"I get the picture," the leader nodded, "I'll be in there in a minute," he commented, going into his office. The others were gathered, when he went into the conference room a short time later. Josiah, Nathan and Ezra were at the table waiting. Buck was standing a few feet away, shaking his head and grimacing. Chris moved over and eyed the far side of the room. J.D. and Vin were each sprawled on a leather sofa, watching something on television. Two case files were open on a table in between the sofas. He frowned and eyed the cartoon on the screen.
"What the hell is that?" he inquired, his face screwing up.
"SpongeBob Scaredy Pants," Buck mocked of the popular children's show.
"Square Pants!" J.D. corrected loudly, without taking his eyes from the screen.
"Like it makes a difference," the rogue tossed back, rolling his dark blue eyes. "Did you ever see such a stupid cartoon? I'll tell you what's a crime, that somebody is making a mint off that shit. A damn sponge wearin' pants that lives in a pineapple in the ocean with a snail named Patrick."
"Patrick's a starfish, it's his best friend," Vin interrupted, "Gary's the snail, he's Bob's pet. That there," he pointed to the screen, "is Sandy Cheeks, Bob's girl...well squirrel, she'sa surfer and..."
"Vin, spare me!" Chris put both hands up and watched the animated images for a moment. He heard the two youngest laughing and coughing. Buck was right, he decided. He peered closely at Vin laughing and shook his head. "You scare me sometimes," he mumbled.
"Snob!" Vin tossed back, sitting up. He saw a hint of something in the green eyes and smiled, raising an eyebrow. "Plenty o'room..." he patted the couch next to him.
"Vin, I wouldn't be that desperate if I was unconscious," the blond repelled, biting back a smile.
"It's better than that crap ya watch with all them fuzzlebutt's arguin' over a bunch o'stocks. It ain't bad enough they dress like undertakers, they gotta have all them bitty numbers scrollin' across the screen." The Texan declared.
"Well if you had money, you'd be more interested in investing in your future. So you'll be prepared," Larabee assessed.
"I live fer today, Cowboy," Vin coughed, drained his mug of water and grinned. "'sides, got m'future all wrapped up." He spoke cockily, unaware that they weren't alone in the room. Having been on the couch, he didn't see the others enter and sit at the table.
"Really?" Chris nodded, intrigued. "How's that?"
"I'm gonna shack up with Ezra's widda," he annouced boldly, coughed and frowned, eyeing his empty mug. Before he could get up, the mug was taken and a cold bottle of water was placed in his hand. "Thanks," he took the cap off and took a swig. "Where was I? he frowned, swiping his mouth.
"Ezra's widow?" Chris prodded, amused by where the Tanner logic was moving next. He sat down next to the wheezing sharpshooter and waited.
"Oh yeah," Vin nodded, eyeing his best friend carefully. "Ya see I figure, knowin' Ez, she'll be a real looker," he predicted, not seeing the southerner rise and move silently behind the couch, Buck was in tow, grinning like a fool. "'bout six foot, red hair, stacked and hot," he wagged his hands, "with a whole lot goin' up here, ya know?" he tapped his head.
"...and that's important?" J.D. asked, dying to laugh, spotting Ezra's bemused face.
"Hell yeah," the ailing Texan crowed, "So's she can run a bunch o'companies and I can retire."
"You're going to be kept man?" Chris's eyebrows went up.
"No, 'course not!" Vin retorted, coughed into his napkin and tossed it away. "Ya see, after Ez dies..."
"In the line of duty?" Dunne guessed, coughed and drank his coke.
"No, heart attack," the bleary-eyed sniper predicted.
J.D. had to turn away and hide his face, his shoulders quaking. Between Buck's expression and Ezra's mouthing the words 'heart attack', it nearly did him in.
"How's that?" the leader wondered, watching the humor dancing in his best friend's sky eyes. "the heart I mean."
"Oh," Vin nodded, not missing the light in Larabee's eyes. He smiled and continued, "It's real scientific, ya ever see all that rich shit he eats? Got heavy cream in his coffee, cooks and loads all his food in butter or rich sauces and eat's all them fancy desserts...never breaks into a sweat," he noted of the lack of exercise. He shoved the last half of his doughnut in his mouth, which was covered in jelly and powder. "He don't eat right, bound t'catch up with 'im." Vin belched, sending powder all over his face and shirt.
"...and you being the very temple of good health," Chris said somberly, eyeing the junk food king of Denver.
"That's different, perfect cholesterol," he boasted, wiping his face and tapping his chest."'sides I come from a long line of good stock. I'll be one o'them old guys on the T.V. news. A hundred and four, at the nursin' home, all wizened up with a pack of young nurses carin' fer me."
"That's something to look forward too!" J.D. teased, shaking his head and coughing over his laughter. Buck was red-faced and had to bite his hand. Ezra's face was priceless.
"So after you marry the merry widow, where will you live?" the rogue recovered, standing next to Chris, leaving Ezra out of sight.
"I ain't marryin' 'er," Vin made a face, "said I was shackin' up. I'm gonna...uh...uh..."
"Aw, hell, Vin, you havin' another monster sneeze?" Chris jumped up, protecting his expensive dark gray suit.
"No!" the blue-eyes lit with anger. "I was explain' how I was gonna...divest...no...digest...no...invest...no...get us a lot of real estate in other countries."
"With her money?" J.D. chuckled, eyeing Vin's grin.
"Our money," Vin corrected.
"But you retired," Dunne asked, "So it'll be her money."
"She wants this honey," the Texan announced, jutting out his chin and thumping his chest, "She's gotta put up the money."
"What a romatic devil," Wilmington laughed.
"...and just what makes you think the grieving, beloved Mrs. Ezra P. would ever get so desperate?" the conman asked, moving into Vin's view.
"She's got eyes, ain't she," Vin sat back smugly and wagged his eyebrows at the charmed southerner.
"I sincerely doubt that," Ezra sniffed. "Most likely she would have to be blind by that point."
"Makes no nevermind," the cough-syrup-chugging man boasted, heady with codeine. "I can do things t'her that'd make the blind see."
"Oh God, Buck, what did you do to our quiet sniper?" Josiah shook his head as Buck collapsed into laughter.
The rogue saw Vin's eyebrows wag suggestively and that made him laugh even harder. "It wasn't me!"
"I daresay that the high content of sugar in his system, combined with the strength and misuse of that cough medicine has unlocked the Tanner tongue," Standish noted, grinning at the wavering body.
"Yep," the ladies man agreed, grinning widely, "He's loose as a goose," he translated of Ezra's observation. "'runnin' his mouth all over the place."
"So you intend to live in sin with my grieving widow, without the benefit of employment?" Ezra asked the smug Texan, barely containing his own mirth.
"'course not!" Vin defended, coughed into his napkin and sneezed twice. "I'm gonna get a job in Switzerland, that's where one of our houses'll be."
"One of them?" Ezra nodded thoughtfully, "You intend to use my money to invest in many homes?"
"Hell yeah...pays t'travel ya know, but Switzerland will be home." Tanner boasted, drowsy from the medicine he took a short time before.
"Why?" the youth asked, wheezing and rubbing his watery eyes.
"Chocolate, cheese and lots of mountains...and more chocolate." Vin bragged, "I'm gonna need all that energy fer m'job...in the mountains."
"Somehow I can't see you herding goats and yodeling." Buck joked. "But I bet you'd look cute runnin' around the Alps in shorts."
"I ain't gonna be no damn goat boy!" Tanner laughed, "Ski instructor!" he paused, coughed and glared at the laugher cascading among his friends. "What's s'damn funny 'bout that?" He directed his ire at his best friend, who was grinning widely. The short snicker from the blond seemed louder to him than all the other's laugher combined.
"Why the hell would anybody in Switzerland, unless they were blind, hire a scrawny, drawlin' damn Texan to teach them to ski?" Chris shook his head. "Vin, most of the world champions come from that area."
"Reckon," Vin yawned, blinked, coughed and grinned cockily at his boss, "they ain't t'bad...but they ain't Tanners."
Chris saw the effects of the cough medicine on the younger man and slapped his knee. "Come on, I got a lot to discuss before you keel over. Once the meeting is wrapped up, you and J.D. are going home. You shouldn't have come in today."
A half-hour later, the rest stood up to leave. Josiah and Nathan were discussing where to go to lunch and Buck and Ezra were talking about their double dinner date. "J.D., go home." Chris directed of the ailing youngest. "You're not ready to be here. I'm gonna need you here next week. Go on..." He said, signing a sick leave slip and handing it to the grateful Bostonian. The room clear, he turned his attention to his sleeping sharpshooter. Vin's head was nestled in his arms on the table. He'd fallen asleep halfway through the meeting. The blond moved to his side, shaking the damp sweatshirt. "Vin...Vin, wake up."
"Huh?"
"Jesus, what did you take?" He eyed the stuperous face, then recalled Buck's words. "Phenegren? with codeine?"
"No, thanks," Vin yawned, his eyes starting to open. "Already had some."
Chris chuckled at the confused response and disappeared, returning with a bottle of water. He opened the bottle and tapped Vin's shoulder. "Here," he folded the cold hand around the plastic, "You awake? We need to talk."
"Ya takin' t'growin' these?" the ailing man noted of the new bottle. He took a long swig and watched the odd look on his boss's face.
"After we're done, I'm taking you home. You take all your prescriptions and keep that ass of yours in bed. I need you functioning as semi-human again by Monday."
"Monday?" Vin frowned, coughed and recalled a conversation from earlier. "Busy? Ya said I was gonna be busy next week."
"I'm going away," Chris said straightfaced, sliding a paper towards the blinking man.
"Buildin' a better team," Vin read aloud, his eyebrows furrowing, "...communication skills, cooperation and team building, turning weaknesses into strengths, diversity and acceptance of differences," he stopped not quite halfway down the long list. He saw the classes outlined for five days, eight hours a day. "Damn...yer gonna be stuck in a classroom?"
"Uh-huh," Chris said rising, "That's where you come in..."
Vin misunderstood Chris's words and panicked, "Ya ain't puttin' me in that chair. Bucklin can be in charge while yer gone."
"As a matter of fact, Buck and Nathan will be splitting that duty. You'll be busy."
"Busy doin' what?" Vin's head was pounding, the room was closing in and he was tired of the Larabee riddles. "Quit fuckin' around Chris, I ain't feelin' good."
Chris felt the change in atmosphere, before the flushed face scowled and the harsh tone was sounded. He paused and placed a new paper in front of the wheezing agent.
"Tulane University?" He cocked his head, fuzzy with codeine, all the pieces didn't fit yet. "Yer goin' away t'class?"
"Yeah, be gone for two weeks," he said, pulling out the final set of documents.
"Oh," Vin returned quietly. Eight months ago, riding solo, it would have made no difference. Now, his whole world was different. Two weeks without his best friend would be long. "Uh...Tulane, that's in New Orleans, ain't it?"
"Yup," Chris grinned behind Vin's back. He saw the dejected face and that only made his decision sweeter. "You didn't look inside..." he noted of the Tulane information. He watched the slender hand open the folder and scan the list inside. He heard the sharp intake of breath, just before the shaggy head flew up.
Vin eyed the list of names, classes, times and instructors. He saw Chris's at the top of a list and just before that list ended...
"Vin Tanner!" He choked, "Me?" He turned and saw the wide grin and smiling green eyes. "Damn...Goddamn. Two weeks!"
"It's a required course for all of us. It was held hear almost a year ago. I missed it, we were heavy into a case and I couldn't leave. You weren't on the team yet...the makeup session for all federal workers in the southwest conference is in New Orleans.
"They pay fer everythin'?" Vin amazed.
"Airfare, hotel and per diem," Chris grinned, "Which is very generous. Normally, the classes would have run Monday to Friday. But some of the material hasn't arrived yet and so the classes are split up. Three days week one, and Monday and Tuesday on week two." He smacked the gray sweatshirted arm and grinned again. "Me and you, Cowboy, loose in New Orleans!" Chris boasted, enjoying every bit of Vin's enthusiasm. He winced when Vin's war whoop dissolved into a severecoughing fit. He saw the water coming up and got a trashcan.
"What the hell was that?" Nathan asked of the loud wolf call. He joined the others, scrambling to the conference room.
"You told him?" Buck guessed, painfully eyeing the gasping Texan. All he saw was a mane of hair over a trashcan. "Damn, Vin, you don't gotta kiss his feet!" He teased of the close proximity of the expensive Larabee Italian leather loafers to the flyin' matter. He laughed when a single finger came up over the trashcan rim.
"It's refreshing to know you have not lost your quaint sense of humor," Ezra noted with a grin. The finger came up again, directed at him.
Chris waved them all away, before settling Vin into his chair again. "That's why you need to go home and suck up all that medicine. I'm not dragging an iron lung or oxygen tent with us to New Orleans, okay?"
"Yeah," Vin agreed, "They all knew?" He asked of his teammates.
"I told them yesterday, they were almost as excited as you." Chris explained and saw Vin's face soften. The water was sipped slowly, before the head came up. The blue eyes were open and exposed. Few people affected him like this man or those soulful eyes. "You okay?"
"Ya got no idea what this means t'me, Chris." Vin returned quietly, "I ain't never had a real vacation. There's always t'many bills and ridin' solo, well...it never seemed important."
"There'll be plenty of time for play," Larabee agreed, "but you're gonna have homework to do. It looks like a pretty good course, but there is a lot reading and work involved."
"I know ya pulled strings 'r somethin'," Vin read the warm green eyes above him. "Thanks, Chris." He lifted his arm and took a deep breath.
"Your welcome," he clasped the extended forearm. "Come on, let's get you home." He hauled the younger man upright and waited until he got his coat. He smiled as Buck backed up, waving plastic garlic at Vin and coverning his face with a small painter's mask. Vin flushed slightly as the team tossed comments at him, before wishing him well. As the elevator doors opened, he turned to his sleepy friend. "You need anything? Soup? Food? OJ?"
"No, Mom, I got it covered!" He laughed, "Reckon I need t'do some wash..."
"That'd help," Chris nodded. "Josiah'll pick you up Monday morning at 5 a.m., be packed and ready."
"Packed?" Vin grinned as the doors opened and they headed for the parking garage. "All I need is clean underwear and a credit card."
"Yeah," Chris grinned wolfishly, eyeing the sniper's jeans. "That would just about cover it!"
"Ya think yer smart, don't ya?" he shoved the older man, shaking his head. "Ya let me know what I need t'take fer class?"
"I got a list made up, in the car. You'll be fine." He watched Vin duck inside the passenger side of his classic black Ford Mustang and smiled again. Two weeks in sin city with his best friend, damn it felt good. He couldn't know, as he pulled out of the lot, what danger they were flying into.
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