Setting: ATF Universe
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.
This story was written for Cin on her birthday. Happy birthday Cin!
"Come on J.D., I'll give ya fifty bucks." Vin's face fell faster than his woeful plea, "Alright, make it a hundred..." he tapped the spot where he housed his wallet.
"You don't have a hundred bucks in there," Nate chuckled, his dark eyes crinkled in mirth.
"Ez'll lend it t'me..." Vin said with gusto.
"That statement rolls all too easily from your purloined lips," the southerner drolled, "and that is more than a little unsettling."
"Purwhat?" Vin's face screwed up as he turned to Ezra, "Don't be talkin' about m'lips and loins...Jesus Ez, that makes me squirrelly," he wrinkled his face in distaste and pulled back in the chair.
"To appropriate wrongfully," Ezra cleared up Vin's confusion with a bemused smirk.
"That's cause you're a soft touch," Buck lauded, clapping the slick undercover agent's expensive jacket. "Give Vin enough time on the team and he'll have half your savings..."
"I most certainly am not a soft touch," Ezra frowned at the chuckling group.
"When it comes to Vin you are," Josiah corrected, grinning with the rest. "That boy can outcon the Con as soon as he bats them baby blues your way."
"How 'bout it Kid?" Vin tried again, standing up.
"No way!" J.D. moved away, following the rest.
"Nate?"
"Sorry Vin," the EMT denied, laughing and hustling down the table.
"To hell with all 'yall..." Vin growled, "Fine lot o'friends ya turned out t'be. Get more sympathy from a sac' of snakes with their tails tied together. Y'all wait 'til ya need a favor..." he sank back into his chair and buried his head along with his problem.
Most of the team was gathered for the mission. As they checked their gear and went over the coordinates, they awaited their leader. Finally, he strode through the room, his handsome face chisled in determination. He reached the group and stopped a few feet away, cocking his blond head in curiosity. With hands resting on his lean hips, he gazed at the odd formation.
"We're all set, Chris," Buck jumped up, J.D. on his heels.
"You're ridin' with Vin," Nate relayed, joining the trio.
Chris's eyes roamed the scattered chairs, that held five of his team. They were located at the far end of a long table. At the other end, alone and obscure, sat his best friend. Only the crown of the long, wavy brown locks were visible. Muted snickers from the rest of his crew caused him to squint his green eyes in suspicion. He moved past them, down the length of the table and paused a few feet away.
"Hard day at the coal mine, Vin?"
The short and succinct reply appeared quickly, extending in noble formation from the middle of his right hand. Chris ignored the howls from behind him and leaned forward.
"It's about time you started showing some respect for my authority," he dictated, "I'm sure there's about a half dozen harrassment violations that witty response infringes on."
"Reckon ya outta look closer then," Vin's muffled voice rose from beneath his arms, where his face was buried in misery. "...ya misunderstood..."
"Huh?" Chris eyed the finger still extended at him and saw the white bandage covering it. "What happened?" he asked, only to have the other five break into boisterous laughter.
"Shut the hell up!" Vin hollered, drawing his head up, "It ain't funny!"
"Vin?" Chris tried not to laugh at the red-faced fury in front of him.
"One of them critters bit me!" His voice was irate and his eyes were blazing. "Got pee'd on, spit on, throwed up on, kicked in the nuts; hell it was like facin' a gattlin' gun. Shit flyin from every direction...all kinds o'body fluids..." he sassed, eyeing the loud laughter from his friends. "Goddammit it ain't funny!"
"It's fuckin' hilarious!" Buck wheezed, wiping his damp eyes and leaning on J.D.'s shoulder heavily. "Hell, Vin, you'll have cable stations lining up to sign you on. The New Captain Kangaroo..."
"Look out Barney..." J.D. chortled.
"Problem with the assignment, Tanner?" Chris asked raising a solitary sandy eyebrow, while keeping a straight face with great difficulty.
"I ain't going back in there," Vin declared, "Ya can't make me...'sides, I'm injured," he decided, holding up his finger.
"My heart's bleeding," Chris deadpanned, "Human bite can be serious," he pursed his lips and nodded in mock sincerity, "You need to get shots and..."
"Been there, done that," Vin cut him off. "I want out."
"Sorry Vin," Chris rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, "You'll just have to dig a little deeper on Monday morning when you hit the trenches again."
"Aw, come on Chris, please," Vin used his most contrite voice and woeful face, full of blue eyes. The blond wasn't buying the act.
"Get a grip, Vin, it's a daycare center, you make it sound like a war zone."
"It's worse," Vin sat back down and pouted, "At least in a war ya can fire back...dammit...Josiah, yer good with kids..."
"I did my time, Brother, sorry!" the eldest imparted, still grinning. Two bomb scares had been phoned in the week before and each of the ATF agents had to 'volunteer' in the daycare center for two days. For the Texan, his first day seemed endless.
"Come on, we're gonna be late," Chris said, waiting for Vin to move beside him. "Jesus, Vin, you smell like the men's room at a bus station." Chris wrinkled his face and waved his hand. This drew more hooting and loud guffaws from the crew. He eyed the multiple, multicolored stains on the sharpshooter's white sweat shirt and smiled. He saw an all too familiar yellowing-brownish substance crusted in the Texan's wavy hair. The rest of the yellowish-brown matter was pressed into the back of the shirt, near the collar.
"How the hell did you get shit in your hair and all over your back?" Chris asked, backing away from the smell. Then he noticed the large stain on the khaki pants and hid his laugh behind his hand.
"It was a sneak attack," Vin defended, "I was herdin' a pack of 'em into the readin' corner. I had t'go after a couple strays. Soon as m'back was turned, them onry critters opened fire." His face grew red in anger as the memory came back, followed by a loud burst of laughter. "Shut up!" he hollered to the other five, doubled over and howling. "It was a conspiracy, Chris..."
"I bet they're linked to the Kennedy assassination," Buck agreed, elbowing a chortling Ezra. "What do think, Ace?"
"I agree, with precision shooting like that, I'd check their whereabouts on 22 November 1963, Mr. Tanner." Standish smiled evilly, adding to the fuel.
"Kinda funny none of the rest of us got attacked," J.D. added. 'Guess they just outsmarted you, Vin."
Vin's face suddenly changed and Chris quickly saw he'd had enough. He turned his body, placing himself in front of the embarrassed agent and made a motion with his hand, silencing the rest.
"We'll see you over there," he said, "Move out..." He waited until the others left and turned back to his shamefaced friend. He rested a sympathetic hand on the lone clean spot on Tanner's shoulder. "Come on Cowboy, if we hustle, we can stop at K Mart, there's one on the way."
"We ain't got time," Vin hissed, dropping his head, "If I hadn't been tied up so long in the damn ER..." he kicked the chair, '...just got here a few minutes ago."
"We'll make time," Chris's voice softened, "You got five minutes to run in a get something. You can change when we get there." He saw the other's head bob once as the younger man slid out the door into the cold night air. "Hey Vin, did you highlight your hair? I like that yellow streak going through it." The finger came up again, this time it was a surly response.
"Get out of the Red Zone, Vin," Chris Larabee warned his best friend. His green eyes slid sideways beneath expensive sunglasses, only to encounter an irate face. He blew out a long breath of frustration and eyed the endless line of non-moving vehicles in front of them. Multiples lanes of snarled traffic for a five mile stretch. A hand slapping the steering wheel caused his blond head to turn again.
"Fuck...fuck...fuck..." Vin Tanner snapped, slapping the steering wheel.
"That isn't gonna move these cars any faster, Vin." Chris shook his head at the pinch-faced silence that was his response. The short-tempered Texan had crossed into the Red Zone. The older man rested his head against the sweaty backrest, thinking on how a well-planned outing could have ended this way.
Several weeks before, Chris read about a sports travel group that was affiliated with the Denver sports teams. They were planning an football weekend in San Diego for the Bronos-Chargers game on October 21st. Airfare, hotel and tickets were included. He brought it up at the team's Monday morning meeting and all of the guys decided to go. They had a great time, flying in on Friday night and hitting a wonderful Hawaiian restaurant called Sam Choy's in Point Loma on the water for dinner. Saturday they split up. Ezra spent the day visiting a college friend who lived in LaJolla , Nate and Josiah went to Tijuana. The Texan was up and out early, as was his custom. He ran five miles, had breakfast on the beach and then came back to the hotel, showering and readying for the trip to Catalina Island with Chris, J.D. and Buck for watersports. The quintet spent the day kayaking, scuba diving, jet skiing and para-sailing. They met the other three in Newport Beach at the Newport Pier Seafood Grill. Dinner and a great bar afterwards capped a wonderful day. Sunday started with a buffet brunch with music and then onto the game. Unfortunately, when they got to the airport Sunday night, the flight was overbooked. Chris and Vin were among those passengers displaced. They received first class tickets for the next afternoon, compliments of the airline, for their trouble. The airline also put them up at a nearby hotel.
The early flight was uneventful, but the trip from the airport to Chris's ranch was another story. Vin was dropping Chris off and hoping to get to the gym in the city to workout before it closed at seven. To begin with, Vin's heater was broken and the driver's window wouldn't roll up, so cold air filled the vehicle. The stench of Vin's soiled clothing from Friday night was all too present, having been in the sun for three days. Then, they were just on the last stretch of interstate en route to Chris's, when they got a flat. Vin hurt his hand on the jack and then not twenty minutes later, they hit the snarl. Far up ahead, a tractor trailer jacknifed. For a long time, they inched along, barely moving. The constant hammering of horns by other frustrated drivers, added to the problems already encountered, had begun to wear on the thin nerves of the Texan.
Three hours later, they weren't much further and Vin was ready to explode. Chris offered to take over, but the stubborn blue-eyed mule refused. Instead, he sat and simmered, pounding the wheel and unleashing a string of colorful language. Then, a lane opened on the right, just in front of them. Vin followed the cars in front of them, easing over and making good progress. Chris's peripheral vision caught sudden movement and his cry of warning came as fast as the gray metal blur.
"Vin, lookout! That car's gonna hit you!" He screamed as a beat-up Chevy soared in front of them, nearly causing three cars to hit each other.
"Jesus Christ!" Vin screamed, eyes bulging. "Ya fuckin' lunatic, ya oughta be locked up for pissin' through yer brains..." He raised an irate fist as the trio in the Chevy lingering dangerously.
"Vin, shut up!" Chris warned, turning to grab the out of control Tanner's arm, just as all hell broke loose.
"Fuck!" Vin screamed as gunfire shattered the windshield, spraying glass all over his face. A blue camaro appeared just in front of him and he swerved sharply to avoid it, going through a guardrail. The car bounced and twisted like a errant billiard ball, all the way down the incline towards a rapidly approaching obstruction. He saw the tree and turned the wheel hard, just before they hit.
Cold. The shivering kind enveloped him, raking icy fingers across his flesh. Pain. It gripped his head, jaw and side, only made worse by his shaking limbs. He jerked as a hand touched his face and something cold pressed against his left jaw and cheek. The frigid temperature caused his eyes to pop open. Artificial light cast an eerie pall on the light blue walls. He saw blurry roses dancing on the trim near the ceiling and followed the pattern. Finally his fuzzy vision encountered a face with short hair and glasses.
"W...w..w..a...w...a..s...wr....." he croaked, creasing his brows at the gutteral sounds emerging. Along with the nonsensical sounds, was a horrid pain in his jaw. He tried to raise a hand to touch the tender area, only to have it gently overtaken.
"Welcome back," a soft voice said. "Open your eyes and look at me, Mr. Tanner."
Mister Tanner? Vin's confused mind caused his aching head to spin. "E..th...ra..." he croaked, blinking at what he thought was his southern friend.
"I'm Mrs. Callahan," the voice answered, "I'll be your nurse overnight."
"O..val...n...ff...t..." Vin muffled, screwing his face at the unfamiliar room. Overnight where? He tried to wade through the mud to remember something...anything. San Diego. Was that where he was? No, he was on plane with Chris. His heart hammered in his chest...plane crash?
"c...wa.....cwa...sh?" he garbled, eyeing the still blurry figure. Was Chris alive? He grabbed the arm near the rail and tugged. "...tell..."
Dolores Callahan studied the battered, swollen face on the bed below and her heart sank. She couldn't imagine waking up in a strange place in such a state of confusion and pain. She lifted his hand and took it in hers, studying the pained blue eyes beneath the discolored flesh.
"You were in a car accident earlier today. You're in St. Anthony's Hospital in Lakewood. You're very lucky, it could have been much worse." She paused and moved her hand, motioning over the raised left side of his body. He was turned on his right, taking the burden off the badly bruised torso. "Your car went off the road and struck a tree. Your left side is badly bruised especially your hip, ribcage and shoulder. Your face struck the tree and you suffered a concussion. Also, you lost several teeth and lacerated the inside of your mouth and tongue, as well as bruising that jaw. It's very swollen, the teeth were removed and you've got a lot of stitches in there, try not to talk. With any luck, you'll be out of her sometime tomorrow afternoon. You rest now, I'll be in to check on you later."
Rest? Where was Chris? What about Chris? He intensified his grip on her arm and pleaded with his eyes. "P..ea..s...C..w..is...Cwis...ok...?" He froze when her face blanched. She averted her gaze to adjust his IV line. She went to leave and he struggled to get free of the bed. He managed to get the rail down and didn't care about the IV pole. He was halfway out of the bed, when she turned back.
"What are you doing?" She cried, watching his body slid towards the floor. "Terry! Get in here!" She crossed the room as another nurse ran through the door. Between the two of them, they got him back in the bed.
"What happened?" Terry Adams demanded, seeing the upset patient almost on the floor. "Calm down!" she warned him, only to have him grab her frantically. She got him back in the bed, while the older nurse righted the IV pole.
"...C...wis...he...ok...p..eas..."
She frowned at the muffled words, putting the pieces together finally. She pressed the weak body back onto the bed, watching his eyes sliding shut. Thinking he was unconscious again, she turned to the senior nurse.
"Is Chris the other guy? The one that was shot in the head?"
"Yes, he's down in the ICU..."
Vin lashed out at the thick, black curtain that fell over his face. He grasped the few words he could and his heart shattered. 'Shot in the head' were the four words that ripped him apart. How was Chris shot in a car wreck? Flashes of distorted faces came into view. A crowded highway, a gray car nearly slamming into him, his own harsh words, fueled by a hot temper and the windshield shattering. Those muddled thoughts overpowered him and sent him into oblivion.
The normally hectic ICU was eerily quiet and the harsh overhead illumination was replaced by the soft glow of the lights positioned over each patient's bed. The nurses were settling in for a long but hopefully, uneventful day. Beth Masters, the Charge Nurse, stopped at bed two and reviewed the new admission's chart. The patient was pulled from a car wreck and appeared to have suffered a bullet graze to the right side of the head. The pretty brunette looked at the still figure in the bed. A white bandage encircled the patient's forehead and he was breathing well through the oxygen mask covering his face. The copious amount of blood was washed away, replaced by a ghostly pallor. The nurse noted that an IV was running well into each arm and the bedside monitor revealed that the vital signs were within acceptable limits. He'd already completed a series of xrays and a CT Scan.
Turning her attention to the bedside nurse, the charge nurse asked for an update.
"Holly, is there any change in his neurological status?"
"No, he tries to open his eyes when I call his name and his pupils are still equal and reacting to light."
"Good." Beth stated as she held the chart up to peer at the name again. It seems that Mr. Larabee is a very lucky man. Let me know if anything changes but I'd say there was an angel looking out for him today."
It was a surreal scene, the snake lines of traffic increased and the blaring horns ripped through his skull. He seemed to be going backwards. He felt his fury building and hot waves of anger rolling through him. A shouted warning, a blur of metal and a windshield exploding; a rush of cold air and a tree looming ahead...God he was going to hit it...
"Uh...n.nnnh...." Vin moaned painfully and sat up, eyeing the dark room in confusion. Sweat poured freely down his face, accelerated by his racing heart. Once the bed stop spinning around, he hauled down the siderail. Gripping it tightly for a few more minutes, he inched his way closer to the bedstand and poured a glass of water. His lips, jaw and face felt large and rubbery. He spilled most of the water, unable to navigate his tongue. His whole body was screaming in pain, but he had a mission. The conversation between the two nurses was still fresh in his brain. Like Thomas the apostle, he needed physical proof. He disconnected the drip line from the IV, leaving the main entry intact, secured with tape. He shuffled to the chair and picked up a clean gown. It took close to five minutes, every movement on his left slowed down by the waves of pain exploding. But finally, he had the second gown on in reverse, like a robe, hoping to ease the chills he suffered from.
Peering in the mirror in the bathroom, he jumped back in shock, not recognizing the face that looked back at him. The entire left side of this face swollen and discolored. The dark purple bruises looked nearly black and covered the whole half. His left wouldn't be open for awhile and his discolored jaw unreal. It looked like a bad cartoon, distended and blown out. His lips were puffed out and he moved them carefully, spotting blood covering his teeth.
Sighing, he attempted another drink and managed to get some liquid inside, before heading out. The hall was dark and quiet and no nurses were in sight. He thought for a moment and saw the numbers on his door. Three seventeen...third floor, the exit was just two doors down on the other side. There would be a listing in the lobby, he could find the ICU from there. Painfully, he inched his way along, holding the metal rail on the wall for support. His head was pounding so hard he couldn't see straight. It hurt to breathe and he was soon covered in sweat. Gasping, he managed to get the door open and made the long descent. Time was lost as he made the slow journey. He sat down and rested at the bottom of each flight. Finally, he made it to the end and peered cautiously in the lobby, wary of security guards. Finding the dim light area vacant, he stole into the darkened room, heading for the directory. His eyes narrowed, adjusting to the dim light and quickly found the marking for Intensive Care Unit. It was on the first floor. He sat down on the hard plastic table near the sign and rested for quite awhile. Finally, he willed his sore body to move.
He poked his head through the doors on the first floor and saw a nurse approaching. Quietly, he closed the door and backed up to the wall. He waited for several minutes, sweat pouring down his already slick torso. Then he checked again and the coast was clear. He slipped inside, following the signs on the ceiling. Finally, he was there and his heart began to pound. His limbs seemed to have a will of their own, forcing him forward towards the double glass doors. The words 'Intensive Care Unit' screamed at him, causing him to push both hands against his throbbing skull. He forced himself to look, wary of the locks securing the door. Then he saw it and pressed his body against the glass. He slammed his eyes shut, water squeaking through the clenched lids. He took a gulping breath and opened his pained orbs. Chris was in the second cubicle. IV Lines ran in his body and a large white bandage covered his head. His skin was as pale as the sheet that covered him. It was true; his rash actions caused his best friend to be perhaps mortally wounded by a bullet in the head. He pressed his hand against the glass, letting the skin cover the area where Chris lie.
"I...sah...we...C...wis...God..." he sobbed, blinking as interior movement forced him away. He shuffled down the hall, spotting an empty waiting room. Chairs rimmed the walls, magazines littered two large tables and a television hung from the ceiling. The desk was empty, behind a glass wall. But in the front of it, was a table with newpapers and candy. There was a box with coins next to it and a sign stating the twenty five cent charge. Vin fished a quarter out and headed for the payphones on the wall. He must have drifted off, the female voice on the other end jerked his head from where it rested against the cool wall.
"Huh..."
"This is the operator, can I help you?" she repeated.
"uhm...co...weckt...call..pea..se..."
"A collect call?" she guessed, wading through the garbled speech. "Are you handicapped, Sir?"
"Yef..." Vin replied and slowly gave the number. She repeated it back to him and he sighed in relief. "Yef...."
"I need your name, Sir."
"Vim...Ten...yer..."
"Hold please."
"Shit!" The body cursed and sat up as the phone next to his head screamed at him. "Yeah, alright," he called back, fumbling with the light. He flipped the lamp on and squinted painfully, eyeing the digital readout of four a.m. "What the hell?" he mumbled, picking up the phone. "Hello?"
"I have a collect call from..."
"Vim...Ten...yer..."
"Who?" Buck repeated, "Vim...Tenyer...Vin? Vin?" he sat up and rubbed his face. "Yeah, I accept. Vin, is that you?"
"Yef..." Vin sighed audibly as the weight on his chest was lifted. His legs were having trouble holding him up and he was extremely dizzy, so he began to speak. "Bu...ck...ox...id...ent...Bu...ck...come..."
"Accident?" Buck was now very much awake and grabbed the notepad next to his phone. "Where are you Vin?"
"Uh...uh..." Vin frowned, as the knowledge disappeared from his foggy brain. "Hoth...pit...ul..."
"A hospital? In the city?"
"No..." Vin's eyes widened, at least he knew that much.
"Are you still in San Diego?" Buck frowned at the heavy breathing and wondered on the almost uninterpretable voice. "How bad are you hurt Vin?"
"...no...no...no..." Vin denied, knowing he wasn't in San Diego. "I...ok...no...talk..mowf...hult..."
"You hurt your mouth, your jaw?" Buck guessed.
"Yef..."
"You don't know where you are? Are you in a room? Read me the numbers on the phone, Vin, okay?" Buck paused and listened as for the next several minutes, the numbers came across. He read them back and heard Vin's muffled agreement. He recognized the area code as being near Chris's ranch, out in Jefferson County. His brain scrambled, and a picture from the evening news appeared. A bad accident on the interstate out that way. "Accident," he repeated, "Vin were you in that mess on the interstate, with the tractor trailer?"
"Yef..."
"Okay, I can find the hospital. Don't you worry, now. Is Chris with you?" The noise that came into his ear was a strange sound. A sorrowful mixture of a choked sob and painful exclaimations, then only a deadly silence. Two words sounded from far away, they weren't garbled and they sent a knife in Buck's chest.
"Oh God..."
Buck pushed his fingers over his eyes as Vin's sorrowful reply hit his chest. The only picture he drew from the awful sound was a fatal one. "Vin, was Chris killed in the accident?" He forced the words out and heard a shuffling noise. Then the horrid, harsh breathing grew louder; Vin was close to the phone again.
"No...dead...I did..ma...fult...ma fult...Bu..ck...I did...shot..in head...tempel...tempel...lose...fuff..ck!" Vin choked, smacking the wall near the phone in angry despair.
"What!" Buck wrote down the garbled words as he heard them. "Chris got shot in the head? Are you sure? How is that your fault? Vin, you're not making any sense. Vin? Vin! Dammit, talk to me!"
"Yef..." Vin managed, wiping his eyes and seeing the stilled, pale Larabee body again. "...all ma fult...wode wage...I yull...he shot...Oh God...Oh God..."
"Road rage?" Buck's voice grew harsh and rose in anger. He knew all too well how that temper-fueled encounters on American highways were on the rise. This growing phenomenon accounted for over ten thousand reported cases nationally leading to unnecessary fatalities and injuries. An ghoulish image of his oldest friend shot in the head because of something so foolish riled him"Goddammit Vin! Jesus Christ! You should know better...What the hell is the matter with you?"
The sudden arrival of burning words caused his heart to sink to his feet. "I sah we...sud be me dud...me dud...not Cwis!" He repented, as his churning stomach sent him on a new mission.
"Vin! Wait a minute!" Buck screamed as the line went dead with the Texan's with to trade his life for the blond's. "I didn't mean...Vin! Aw, fuck!" The dial tone hit his ear sharply and he hung the phone up, his whole body numb. He replaced the receiver on the cradle and eyed the cryptic message. He ripped off the page and started a clean one, rewriting it as he thought it sounded. He dialed the operator and traced the call to a hospital in Lakewood. She said it was a payphone. He got the main number and dialed, waiting patiently for an operator to answer.
"St. Anthony's Hospital, can I help you?"
"I hope so," Buck sighed, "My name is Buck Wilmington, I'm a federal agent in Denver and I think two friends of mine were involved in a car accident. Can you verify if you have a Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee there?"
"Hold please," the curt reply came.
He heard keys being struck on a keyboard, several beeps and then the voice came back.
"Yes, they were admitted last evening. Tanner is in Room Three Seventeen, that phone number is..."
Buck copied the number down and frowned, it wasn't the one Vin dialed from. A vision of the lost soul wandering the halls with his heart broke filled the large man's brain. "Damn..." he whispered, raking a hand through his hair. "...and Larabee?"
"He's in ICU, there is no phone."
"Can I speak with a nursing supervisor?"
"Certainly, please hold," she replied.
Five minutes went by with the light jazz on the recording hitting his dulled senses. Finally, another voice interrupted.
"This is Nancy DiMarco, can I help you?"
"I'm a federal agent in Denver. Two friends of mine are patients there and I'd like to inquire on their condition. Vin Tanner and Chris Larabee."
"Okay, let's see..."
Buck heard the keystrokes again and several minutes went by, before she returned.
"Tanner, he suffered a concussion, multiple lacerations inside his left cheek and tongue, several teeth on the upper and lower side were broken and had to be removed. His jaw, shoulder, ribcage and hip on the left side sustained severe bruising. He's resting comfortably."
"No, he's not," Buck interrupted, "He just called me from a payphone in that hospital. He's out wanderin' the halls and he's in a bad way. How the hell did you people let him get loose? He's in no shape to be walking around."
"Are you sure?"
"Hell yeah!" Buck hollered, raking a shaky hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, but he just called me collect and he's an emotional wreck. I want him found."
"Where did he call from?" She asked and coped the number down. "I'll get right on that."
"Larabee?" Buck's heart nearly stopped.
"He's in the ICU, he sustained a rather serious head wound. A deep graze to the right side of his head..."
"Graze?" Buck interrupted as hope filled his dark air. "Graze? He's not dying then?"
"No, it's serious, but not fatal. He's not regained consciousness yet and that's why he's in the ICU. All his xrays were negative. He's been given blood and hopefully, he'll be moved up to a regular room tomorrow."
"Thank God," Buck sighed, "Can you put him in with Tanner?"
"No, the rooms are all private, but I can try to get him one close by."
"Okay," Buck sighed, "Listen, Vin thinks Chris was shot in the head, he's a mess. He's blaming himself. Somebody needs to tell him, Chris ain't gonna die. What police division got the call?"
"I'm sorry about your friend and I have no idea how he found out. We gave orders not to tell him about the severe injury until somebody in the family was with him. I'll make sure I talk to him personally." She concluded and gave Buck the police division who took the accident reports phone number.
"Thanks, " Buck answered, "When can I see them?"
"General Visiting doesn't begin until eleven a.m., however, in your case, I'm sure we can make an exception. I'll be here until nine a.m. I'll escort you to the ICU myself."
"Thanks Nancy," Buck concluded and hung up. Then he dialed the police departement and got a copy of the report. He requested the officer fax a copy to their office and then began to dial the team, starting with Orrin Travis.
It was five a.m. when Ezra, J.D. and Nathan arrival at Buck's place. The worried agent was already outside, pacing the sidewalk. The cold morning air had his breath in huddled white puffs, swirling around his distraught frame.
"Buck!" J.D. called out, cranking down the window and popping the lock on Nate's GMC Jimmy.
"I sent Josiah ahead," Buck relayed, climbing in the front next to Nate. "No sense making him backtrack." The ex-preacher lived just outside town and near the highway to Lakewood.
"Can you fill us in?" Ezra asked, recalling only Buck's 'Get here now, it's Vin and Chris' message he received less than an hour before.
"I got a collect call at four a.m. from Vin. I couldn't understand him, his speech is all messed up. He was all mixed up, confused, hurt..." Buck paused and sighed, trying to forget the woeful voice. "From what he told me, and the police and hospital verified, they were in an accident near that big tie-up yesterday. It seems they were bottlenecked for hours, then a lane opened up and some jackass sped up, cutting in front of several cars, including Vin. He blew his top and screamed at them, they answered with a gun."
"Oh My God!" J.D. exclaimed, "How bad? Were they shot?"
"Chris got a bad graze in the head, the bullet shattered the windshield. He's lucky, less than an inch and we'd be burying him. He was in ICU overnight, they're moving him out of there later this morning."
"...and Vin?" Ezra asked, already worried about the emotive Texan. Buck's deep sigh and the strong hand scrubbing the face didn't help.
"When the shot came, he lost control and hit a guardrail. The car behind him stopped and the guy jumped out. He told the cops Vin did a great job handling the car. He swerved it so the impact with a tree hit the driver's side. If he hadn't, Chris would have been killed. His whole left side is bruised: hip, chest, shoulder and his face hit the tree. He broke a bunch of teeth and ripped the inside of his cheek. The nurse said he also had a concussion."
"It would appear Lady Luck smiled on us once again," Ezra released a tight breath.
"What's botherin' you Buck?" Nate saw the tension lines increase and the dark blue eyes full of pain.
"He called me from a payphone. He didn't know where he was...he sounded awful. He kept saying it was 'his fault' and "Oh God' over and over."
"A payphone?" J.D. wrinkled his face, "How's that possible? Isn't somebody checking on him?"
"I asked that too, Kid," Buck bristled, "I wasn't so polite. The head nurse promised she'd find him. That ain't the worst part. He thinks Chris got shot in the head. He's wanderin' around that hospital by himself, full of guilt. I didn't help much, I yelled at him too, when he said 'road rage', I went a little nuts..." Buck felt J.D.'s hand squeeze his shoulder from the back seat as his voice cracked.
"We'll find him, Buck." the youth promised.
When they arrived, it was daylight and they approached the main desk. Buck asked for Nancy DiMarco and within minutes she appeared.
"I'm sorry again for the confusion earlier. I want you to know we found Mr. Tanner within minutes of your call and got him back to his room."
"Where was he?" Buck asked, walking beside her as they approached a bank of elevators.
"In the bathroom, down the hall from the ICU. He...uh...vomited and then passed out."
"Goddammit!" Buck punched the wall and Ezra stepped in front of him, as the nurse jumped back startled.
"Easy, Buck, he's safe now." He turned to the nurse. "Was he informed of Mr. Larabee's condition?"
"No, not yet. He hasn't been awake. Your friend Josiah is with him." She waited until the door opened and led them to the ICU.
"I can only take two of you in with me," Nancy informed them.
"You and Nate go in," J.D. suggested, "We'll head up to see Vin and stop back down."
"With any luck, he'll be moved upstairs later this morning," Nancy advised, "He did wake up briefly and was able to speak and react to pain. That's a very good sign."
"Okay," Nate said, entering the room. "You alright Buck?" He saw his friend stop at the foot of the bed and heard the sharp inhalation. He turned to see all the color drain from Buck's face. "Whoa!" Nate moved over, grabbing his arm as the other man swayed.
"Sorry...Jesus, he looks like a corpse..."
"Getting shot in the head does that to you," Nate remarked, easing Buck into the lone chair and skimming the chart nearby. "His vitals are good...he responded well to the neuro-stimuli, with any luck and a bad headache for awhile, he should be fine, Buck."
Buck heard Nate's words but seeing was believing. Until those green eyes looked at him and a that voice he knew as well as his own barked at him, he'd be worried. The bandages was a stark reminder of the head wound underneath and how close a call this way. He slunk down, resting his elbows on his knees and watched the fluids running from plastic tubes into Chris's arm. How many times had he done this?
"We're gettin' too old for this routine, Chris," he murmured, shaking his head.
"There it is," J.D. motioned, pointing to a room two doors down. They paused in the doorway, J.D. winced at Vin's swollen discolored face and slid into the room. Josiah motioned for them to wait outside and quietly joined them.
"How is he?" Ezra asked, not hiding his concern. Buck's picture of a guilt-ridden Tanner wandering the halls with visions of Chris's head blown away was painful.
"He hasn't woken up, but he's having some rough dreams."
"I guess so," J.D. agreed, raking a hand through his hair. "They got a coffee machine around here?"
"I need to stretch my legs anyway," Josiah decided, "there's a donut shop across the street. I'll bring some coffee and donuts back with me. Oh, Orrin called, we're on open alert."
"Shit!" J.D. kicked the wall, "The Boxer Arsonist?" he asked of the serial arsonist that was terrorizing the southwest. The name was coined by a media member in Phoenix, who found out that the F.B.I. in several cities received a copy of an old newspaper clipping about a boxer from the turn of the century. It came two days after each fire.
"Yeah, they think it's going down today or tomorrow," the graying member said rising. "So, be prepared, we'll probably be heading out by eleven or so. I'll give Nate and Buck the heads up on the way out." He turned back at the door, "Oh, somebody stay close to the bed, he's been tossin' around in his dreams."
"Okay," J.D. nodded, then eyed Ezra's clenched jaw. "He'll be okay, Ez."
"Of course he will!" Ezra's voice was unusually gruff. "He is still in arrears of thirty dollars he borrowed last week..."
"Yeah," J.D. smirked at the invisible lie, "that must be it..." The youth watched as Ezra stood at sentry over the battered body. Sure enough, within minutes the garbled groaning began and the arms twitched. The bruised, swollen face screwed up and twisted in the pillow.
"Vin, calm yourself, it's a dream," Ezra said reassuringly, resting a hand on the quaking shoulders. Muffled words came from the swollen lips, but then the body relaxed. J.D. took the other seat, his eyes not missing the purple and blue areas on Vin's hip and back.
"God, that's gotta hurt," he commented. "Shouldn't that have ice or something on it?"
"I don't know," the other replied, but picked up an empty pitcher. "But he might need some if he rouses. I shall return."
"You and MacArthur," J.D. grinned at the famous General's World War II quote. He flipped the television on, keeping the sound down low. He pushed through several channels, before finding a rerun of Emergency. He placed the remote back on the bedstand and saw two blue eyes staring at him.
"Vin!" He jumped up, leaning over the bed. The face held no emotion, not joy, relief, anger or worry. It was void: a pale mask with horrid, garish colors. "Hey, you're gonna be fine. They might even let you out later. Chris is..."
"...dead...ma...fult..." Vin mumbled, turning his face away in shame. How could they face him? They? Were the others here? What could he say to them? Buck, God what about Buck? Chris's oldest friend, they'd been through hell and back. "...Buck..."
"He's downstairs with Chris," J.D. moved to the other side of the bed, "and quit doing that! You can't hide from me. Look at me, Vin!" the angry voice ordered, until the distorted face rose. "He's not dead, he wasn't shot in the head..."
"...yef...wuz...hurd...dem..." Vin insisted, hope flickering. The Kid wouldn't lie...maybe...maybe....
"Whoever you heard was wrong," J.D. vented, angry that some gossiping nurse or orderly had caused this pain in his friend's eyes. "It was a deep graze. He's getting out of ICU later." he rested a hand on Vin's arm and winced when it was pulled back. "Do you understand me, Vin?" he heard a deep exhale of breath and saw the empty face reappear. Once again, it was a blank page, not happy, sad or anxious, just dead...void of emotion and very un-Vin like. "You thirsty, Vin?" he said, hoping for a response of any kind. "Ez went to get water..." the head shook once and the eyes closed.
That Chris hadn't been wounded in the head was a stay of execution. But sooner or later, that would change and the switch would get pulled. His rash actions, the inexcusable, uncontrolable rage had nearly gotten his best friend killed. He was numb, the pain in his body didn't matter...the throbbing jaw and hip were penance. He heard Ezra and J.D. talking about him, using words like 'shock' 'adjust' and 'rally soon'. No, he wasn't shocked, he was shamed. He'd adjust alright, making sure his hot head never hurt any one he cared about again. Rally? not likely. He was counting the hours until he could free himself of this plaster and papered prison.
It was an hour later when the shrill signal emerged from both beepers. The dual high-pitched sound sent waves of sharp pain through the aching head of the patient. His eye flew open and he jerked in shock.
"We're on open alert," Ezra answered the wincing eyes. "The Boxer Arsonist..." he updated, dialing the number in the beeper. "Standish...right away. I'll update the team."
"We're to report to the operation mainstay at the Federal Building and we'll be dispersed from there." He leaned over the bed and caught Tanner's face with his eyes. The blue eyes, usually so very emotive and readable, his best feature, were dull and deflated. That lack of spirit worried the southerner more than the physical injuries. "I'll return as soon as we're relieved of duty. We'll get through this, Vin. Don't shut me...us out." He got no response, the eyes didn't blink or give any indication that he was in the room. As they got to the door, a pale voice sounded.
"...wath...yul...bucks..."
"Rest assured," Ezra smiled at the mangled speech, "all the 'buck's on the team will be covered." He saw half of the unmashed side of the lip turn up and gained a little hope. With a nod and a clap to J.D.'s back, they left.
His hand fumbled again, reaching up to touch the spot he felt sure was gone. Once again, he was rewarded with a bulky bandage where a large chunk of bone and matter should be missing. The pain was relentless, coming in waves of red and black, attacking his every fiber and nerve ending. Even blinking was painful, so he kept his eyes shut. He drifted in and out of consciousness, hearing the buzzing of the monitors nearby, the alert voices of the nurses and the deeper, more direct voices of doctor's giving orders. He felt the light touch of the caregiver's hand to his arm as the IV was adjusted.
"This Chris Larabee, ATF agent?"
A male voice, gruff and crusty, not the foreign dialect he'd been assessing in his void to the doctors. He heard footsteps and smelled the tobacco clinging to the newcomer's clothing.
"Well? How is he? Awake?"
"In and out," Beth answered, "You shouldn't be in here, he's in no shape to give a statement."
"He come around at all?"
"Yes, and he responds to stimuli, Dr. Grant has updated his condition to stable and he'll be moving out of here soon."
"If he's stable, he can give a statement. I need to know what he remembers about the shooter. From what I have, that long-haired kid had a hot head and some kinda mouth on him..."
"Is there something wrong with your hearing?" Beth's moved forward, forcing the middle-aged man backwards.
"Look Sister, I'm Detective Kline, I'm following up on the report about the road rage accident Larabee was involved in..."
"I don't care if you're the King of China, get out!" she forced him into the outer area.
Chris absorbed all the new clues, which would aid him in his quest to plug up all the holes what was left of his throbbing skull. He moaned and shifted, thinking of all his new clues. He had a name, Chris Larabee and a job, ATF Agent. The wound in his head was from a gunshot, a road rage incident. The shooter was a long-haired kid with a hot head and foul mouth..."
"Ahhh..." He rolled to one side, both hands covering the sides of his head. Like a bolt of lightning, the jagged, ripping pain came sudden and without warning. For the first time, he has pictures to go with the waves of agony. As he clenched his eyes shut and rocked in the pillow, a movie appeared. It was slow motion...a highway...long brown wavy hair...an irate face and furious blue eyes. The face was red and angry, screaming at him...then a bullet slammed into his skull. He didn't see the end of the movie...he was unconscious, his limp arm fell from his face and through the rail, fingers slowly uncurling.
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