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: I want to thank the kind, generous and understanding editor, aka KET, for effortlessly going through this with her red pen. Thanks Pard, you got no idea how relieved I am to have my 'assets' covered. I am very very grateful, KET, thanks a million.
J.D. put the phone down, brows crossed in frustration. A beer sat next to him, lukewarm and half empty. Across the room, the sound was down on 'All the President's Men'. He sighed, rose andwalked to the window. He eyed the lights from the city; the tall buildings winked at him.
"Where are you, Buck?"
His voice was raspy; he was worried. He'd left four messages on Buck's machine. He even drove over to Buck's apartment and checked all his favorite haunts. He called the guys; nobody talked to Buck all day. Josiah got a message from the ailing soul stating he was 'going for a ride to clear my head'. The ex-preacher said not to worry.
J.D. worried.
He sighed, pressed his throbbing head against the cold pane of the window. He nearly felt Buck's large hand ruffling his hair and teasing him. He knew the older man was grieving deeply, but he had a feeling Buck was hiding something.
A slim pair of hands wrapped around his waist from behind and a soft pair of lips nuzzled his neck.
"You okay?"
"No," the youth sighed without lifting his face. The cold glass felt good and dulled the throbbing pain somewhat.
"Headache?"
He nodded and finally gave in to the gentle tug of a hand on his. He let her lead him back to the sofa. She sat down first. He followed, resting his head on her legs. He closed his eyes and let her fingers massage his tense neck and irate temples.
"He'll be, okay, honey," Casey whispered, wincing at the tension she encountered. "He's hurting... he had almost twelve years with Chris. That's a long time..."
"I know... I know!" J.D. hissed in frustration. "You sound like Nathan and the guys. But you don't know Buck like I do."
"I know more than you think..." the second year law student pressed. "He's got close to sixteen years wearing a badge. He's tough, J.D., and he's smart. That's kept him alive... in tight spots. You know how many times he's been undercover, odds against him? Twelve years is a long time... a lot of memories... he needs to say goodbye his own way..."
"They're not dead!" J.D. sat up, shoved her hands away and stood up."You're all wrong. They're out there, I know it..."
She sighed, waited five full minutes while watching him pace around their apartment. They'd dated over six months before the overnight stays became harder to manage. So when J.D. suggested splitting expenses and sharing a home, she fell into his arms. That was three months ago and she'd never been happier. She loved him and they'd marry one day when the time was right. Finally, he stopped, looking out the window again.
She moved then, slowly, and did not speak. She embraced him, kissed him softly and used a trio of fingers to push his dark hair from his face.
"Did I ever tell you, John Daniel Dunne, just how much I love you?" she whispered, stroking his cheekbone and kissing him again.
"Not nearly enough..." he replied huskily, holding her close. "I knew... when I joined the ATF... this might happen. But... it... I can't..." He began to choke, his breath coming in short pants.
"Get it out..." she coached, rubbing his back with her head nestled on his shoulder.
"...believe I won't ever see them... again..."
"I know," she replied, her mind drifting back in time. "...when my folks died..."
"Oh, I'm sorry, Casey..." He pulled back, tipped her face up and wiped the tear running down her cheek. "I didn't mean to cause that..."
"You didn't,a drunk driver did a long time ago," the S. A.D.D. chairperson for the Denver area pronounced. "But I know that shattering inside. The disbelief... the numbness... denial..." She stared hard at those large hazel eyes and could drown in them. "We'll ride this one out together, okay?"
He kissed her forehead and hugged her again. She smelled great... felt good too. Warm and fuzzy... fresh from the shower.
"You're amazing, Casey," he managed. "I must be the luckiest man alive." The flowery aroma from her damp hair floated up. "You smell great..."
"Herbal Essence," she noted of the shampoo. "And Caress...." she added of the soap.
"Hey," he teased, smiled and snaked a hand under her robe. "I thought that was my job..."
"Come on, sailor," she teased back, reluctantly pulling away. "You rewind the tape and I'll make some hot chocolate."
Despite the backbreaking work they'd endured all day under a brutal sun, neither man slept. They lay like statues on the canvas bunks inside the tent waiting for a signal. Sweat poured freely, both from the heat of the stifling night and the mounting tension.
Chris closed his eyes, ran a hand over his face and cocked his head. Somewhere just beyond the tent flap, a radio was playing. It wasn't loud, but he was able to hear the song. A slow smile formed, quickly turning into a chuckle, as his mind went back in time. The tune was the same, but the words of his memories were all Tanner.
"Who let the rats out? who who who who... who let the rats out..."
The visual image of the cocky Texan doing a strut-like dance gave him a wide smile. He saw the bobbing shaggy head and the smooth body motions again. Then the antics that followed, right down to the maid's entrance, her face at their positions and Vin's misleading dialogue that brought another chuckle.
"...wiseass..." he murmured, his heart heavy.
"What?" Maria leaned forward from her spot on the floor. She had seen the changes in his expression and wondered about the memory playing in his mind.
"You know that wound... the, uh... bite?" He peered sideways and saw her head nod in the semidarkness. "I sat on a toilet... but it wasn't empty. Rat came up through the hole..."
"Ouch!" she sympathized with a smile.
"Vin thought it was the funniest damn thing he'd ever seen. He carried on like a nut... singing 'Who let the rats out', 'Ben' and the 'Stray Rat Strut'..." He chuckled again seeing the devilish light from the animated blue eyes. "Then, just when I was bent over and he was ready to put the patch on... the maid walked in."
"Oh, no..." She covered her mouth, stifling a laugh.
"Oh, he played that up ...dropped every innuendo he could think of... wiseass..."
She saw the smile die so quickly from his face that it startled her. Gone was the softness around his eyes, replaced by a burning pain. His deep sigh told her before the brief words came out... slow and forced... heavy and wrought with pain.
"I'll never see..."
"I'm sorry, Chris." She reached out and took his hand."He sounds like a wonderful friend..."
"He was a helluva lot more than that..." he choked. "He was that knight you were talking about, right down to the fuckin' armor..."
"...some armor..." Bull leered, rubbing salt in Larabee's wound. "...didn't stop me from takin' that long-haired freak down a peg or two. He cried like a woman... beggin' and... snivelin' like the yellow dog he was..."
"No!" Maria hissed, throwing herself on the growling blond as Bull Savage's sarcasm invaded their privacy.
Chris gritted, baring his teeth and fisting both hands. "You'll be having a reunion in Hell with that demon seed you spawned by sundown... mark it down!"
"No!" She stood between them, trying to placate them." Listen..."
Chris cocked his head and heard a thump... then another one. Maria went to leave and he pulled her back, put one hand over her lips and the other one up, gesturing to wait. Five minutes went by. They stood, lost more sweat and waited. Finally, silence reigned and he nodded, pointing to the tent flap.
It seemed like forever until she returned. She shook her head when Chris held his hand out.
"Where's the key?"
"Shhhh!"She motioned for them to come closer. "There are only three of them out there... unconscious. The others didn't drink the coffee I left. Jose did not have a gun or the key, he is out back. Manny and Diego were too far away. The others... I heard them returning... I..."
A series of curses and footsteps interrupted. She pointed to the back of the tent.
"Go!"
"Not without you..."
"Go, I will distract them... Go..."
It happened so fast, Chris didn't have time to react. Bull's large hand came out, backhanding the unsuspecting girl and sending her to the floor.
"You fuckin' ani..."
"You talk too much, blondie..." Bull answered verbally after his fist sent the smaller man into oblivion. Effortlessly, he took the man bound to him by a chain and heaved him over his shoulder. He ducked out the back way, skirting past the fallen soldier and heading for the river. He heard the anxious call of the other three men and thought for a moment. Maybe the river wasn't the best idea. That would be the first place they looked. He splashed a few moments, then ducked back into the thickness. He kept going, heading back towards the path they came up several days prior. He heard the guards in the water and hoped his ploy worked. He shifted the weight on his back, vowing to find a way to break the chain and free himself. Even if it meant hacking off Larabee's foot to do it.
Later, long after the movie ended, his roommate went to bed. She had a test early the next morning and had been studying for days. He couldn't rest. He went out on their patio, ignoring the cold night air nipping his bare chest. He eyed the stars and wondered about Chris and Vin. After all, if Arlee survived... they might be alive despite the badges found. A distant musical medley drew him back. He frowned, then his eyebrows shot up. It was his cell phone.
"Buck!" he panted, having scrambled through the apartment to his coat.
"Hey, kid!" the missing man called back. "I tried callin' you a few times and your line was tied up..."
"Where are you? Why didn't you call me here? I have a machine!
"I used your cell phone so I wouldn't disturb Casey..." Buck intoned of the youth's loud voice.
J.D. moved back outside, sliding the door closed. He shivered in the night air and gripped the phone tighter.
"...and a computer too..." Buck recalled of the busy signals. "Casey still preppin' for that test?"
"Oh," J.D. sighed, raking a free hand through his hair."Are you okay? Where are you?"
"I'm fine," Buck answered from his rental car, hawk-like gazed fixed on the figure walking from the building across the street.
The meeting went overtime and Orrin and the delegation finally left for their flight. McClendon didn't. He and three other agents departed in a dark sedan with federal plates. They went back to their office and he followed. Hours passed and he'd found the coffee shop across the street. He ate and freshened up before returning to his car.
"Fine where? Orrin called from the airport before he left for Mexico. He wanted to talk to you."
"I've been out... I went for a ride to clear my head..."
His voice trailed off as the man he sought finally lost his three friends. They left in separate cars. McClendon was alone. For a few minutes, the solitary figure didn't move... then he headed for the opposite street.
"Buck?" J.D. frowned at the distant voice. "You okay?"
"Fine... just tired... been a long day..." he said distractedly. "I gotta go, J.D. I'll see you tomorrow."
"You better call Inez... she's called here four times... she's worried..."
"Damn," Buck hissed. He thought she would have bought his message. "Thanks, kid... I'll give her a ring..."
"Where are you?" JD pressed, worried. "I'll come to you. If you're tired... maybe you shouldn't be driving..."
"I'm fine," Buck vexed, watching the F. B. I rat slink into a bar on the corner. "And I'm gonna take a walk... to, uh... work out my tension. "He heard the deep sigh of frustration on the other end of the phone and found a genuine smile, deep and firm. "Hey... thanks, kid.for worryin' on me... "
"Well," J.D. went back inside, it was too cold. "It's a dirty job but somebody has to do it..."
"I'll see you, tomorrow," Buck replied, flipping the phone shut. He dialed Inez and was relieved when she answered. "Hey, darlin!"
"Where are you?"
"I told you, I'm takin' a couple days to think... I took a long ride... I'm fine."
"Then you should be able to tell me where you are..."
"I'll be home tomorrow... no cause for that pretty face of yours to get worry lines. I talked to the kid ..he's pissed... "
"If he did something this thoughtless..."
"I'd tan his hide..." Buck finished. "But I'm not a kid... and not as reckless..." He paused, seeing her face in his mind. "Wipe that frown off..." he teased. "I miss you... your touch... your warmth..."
"Then come home... to me..." she whispered, frightened.
"Soon... angel... soon..." he vowed, tapping his chest. "I put a claim on that heart... it's mine now."
"Buck..."
"Shhh...." he soothed, wincing at the soft sob. "Aw, hell, Inez, don't go cryin'... I'm not worth you spillin' salt."
"Yes... you are... to me..."
"You are one fine lady..." he whispered. "I gotta go... I got last night's memories to keep me warm. You do the same... until I come home."
It made little difference, this trek through Hell. Darkness... light... it was all the same now. The undefinable explosion of pain in his head made all that should be real seem terribly distorted. The sky twisted, the ground swirled, and the air choked him. He staggered blindly, two steps sideways for every one forward he managed. His only point of focus the limping body somewhere in front of him. Sweat clung to every inch of him. His rebellious gut was on fire and his leg throbbed. The loud, gasping sound he heard was himself, trying to find air.
Finally, he took the last step beyond the point of endurance. He fell to all fours, shaking his head and waiting for the ground to stop spinning so fast. His shoulders jerked twice as his already empty gut constricted. He bit back the pain and tried to remain awake.
"...no... more..."
"Okay," Arlee whispered, taking the fallen man's canteen. Tanner had done alright today. They'd stayed hidden, listened when they could and taken advantage of the soldier's absences, however short. Tanner was able to see the tire tracks, footprints and the ragged trail. But with darkness came the unknown. Now, with soldiers blending in, armed and full of venom, they were the prey. He was returning from the river when he heard muffled voices. Limping quickly, he dropped down, pressing the gasping man flat.
Vin heard too and kept his face buried, sucking up the dirt. The voices became clearer and the footsteps, crunching twigs and gravel, got closer. Much to his amazement, Vin understood every word in Spanish they spoke.
Arlee frowned; it sounded like Greek to him. He remained flat, soaking wet from sweat and trying to quell the urge to cry out in pain. His leg was killing him. They remained stock still for an immeasurable amount of time. Finally, he sat up, listened and tapped the other man.
"They're gone... I think..."
"They went t'find their captain. They're movin' out. Somethin' t'do with some fella named Juan Xavier bein' spotted east o' here. He's the leader of a... a... bunch o'rebels... sounds like we walked int' a hornet's nest..."
"We're not giving up!" Arlee raged, grabbing the shaken man hard. "My Pa's out there... them bastards have him... and you're gonna find him!"
"What the hell's wrong with ya?" Vin scuttled backwards a little, like a crab, his heart pounding. Something just beyond his failing memory flickered briefly, then extinguished. "I'm on yer side..."
"Sorry... Troy... I'm ... just... worried... I didn't mean that... " He fumbled badly, cursing himself inwardly for nearly blowing it. He'd have to control his temper... just a little longer.
"Okay, jes' don't let it happen again." Vin was angry, tired and in more pain than one man should have to bear. "Them tracks... they lead up int' the mountains... they must have a camp up there..."
"Why didn't they follow that up?"
"I dunno," Vin yawned and scratched one of the dozen places where bugs of all kinds were having a party on his tender flesh. "Could be this Juan fella's troops is split up... maybe he left the camp... I dunno."
"Okay," Arlee sighed. "Get some sleep. I'll take first watch. We'll pull out at dawn."
What neither man knew was that in twenty four hours, they'd find that which they sought... and the ground beneath them would run red with blood.
Eric McClendon tossed back his third shot and glared at the bartender.
"Mind your own business..."
"You trashin' up my place is my business," he noted of the famous temper. It wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last. The short-fused agent often 'unwound' here and drank too much. That led to fights, broken furniture and insurance claims.
"You shut your trap or I'll put you out of business..."
The barkeep grunted, shook his head and turned away. It was a quiet night, only three other patrons in the small taproom. He'd hoped to close early, but it looked like McClendon was in for a long sit. His eyes went to the clock, nearly ten p.m. Then they shot to the door as a stranger entered. He was tall, dark-haired with a mustache... and wearing a mask of revulsion and rage.
"Somethin' for you, pal?" he inquired, putting the dishrag down and moving towards the man.
"Satisfaction."
Eric McClendon's lips turned into a jagged smile as the familiar voice hit his ears. He poured downed another shot, letting the fire burn a hole to his gut. This was just what he needed after being dressed down by his superiors and suspended. Fools. They all had their heads up their asses. Now he needed to hit something... get out the venom. He couldn't think of a better target.
"Well, well..." he turned, raked his eyes over the other man and sneered. "Come for a pound of flesh, Wilmington?"
"I came to separate your pinhead from the rest of your pathetic body, you stupid fuckin' prick."
"Glad I saw Tanner and Larabee in person." McClendon stoked the blue flames dancing before him in the other man's eyes. "Their pictures don't do them justice!"
"You arrogant son-of-a-bitch!" Buck vented, grabbing the other man and slamming him hard into the wall before burying two fists into the slime ball's gut.
"Hold it!" The bartender jumped over the bar and snagged the left arm as it rose again. "I don't want trouble..."
"It's a little late for that," Buck kicked the downed man. "He's leavin' a slimy trail on your floor..." He flicked his jacket back, exposing the badge pinned to his belt.
"Take it outside..." the owner backed off, jerking his head. "I can't afford my premiums now..."
"Get up you piss-piddlin', stench-reekin', spineless pile o'shit..." the ATF man panted, rage encompassing him.
He heard every cruel taunt that McClendon heaved at Vin Tanner and J.D. when they first met. The cruel discussions when they were kidnapped and now the filthy remarks about the photos from the wreck. His arrogant and callous tone, his negligence and lack of duty that might have cost the two agents their lives... and he was going to pay for that.
"...or I'll throw you through that window..."
"Okay, candyass," Eric stood. "I hope your hospitalization is up to date."
"...the only thing you better be worried about is drinkin' all your meals through a friggin' straw..." he noted of the potential broken jaw. Buck grabbed the struggling body and propelled him towards the door.
The cold night air hit McClendon hard, right before he was shoved hard into the side of a car. He tasted blood as his bottom lip hit the window frame.
"Travis know you're out of your cage?" He panted, turned and squared himself away. "I'd like to know what fuckin' story your imbeciles fabricated that got me suspended."
"You're lucky you're not makin' license plates for a living, you stupid son-of-a-bitch!" Wilmington vented, "That reporter called you the night the plane went down. They picked up Arlee Savage, you stupid, fucked-up loser..." His right fist found the soft belly of his opponent and his left found the side of the man's face sending blood from the nose and lips.
McClendon wheeled and fired back with a flurry of punches to Wilmington's gut and face. For several minutes, they exchanged blows, careened off cars and a nearby mailbox.
"Why?"Buck seethed, fists flexing. "...didn't call him back? Why didn't you call us? Even you can't be that stupid..."
"You know how many calls our office gets...?" McClendon panted from the ground, spitting out blood.
"You're bein' paid to answer those calls, you maggot-infested pile of shit..." Buck vented, holding his aching side. "That's your job... or it was..." He read the shifting eyes well.
"I didn't waste them! Now back off!"
"You didn't give a rat's ass... you're a disgrace to that badge. Chris and Vin..."
"...long-haired, fuckin' freak... couldn't even speak English..."
Too furious and far too deep into the danger zone to reply verbally, Buck's line of vision turned into a hazy red inferno. His fists replied instead and he didn't stop even when the distant wail of sirens scored the macabre ballet. He didn't see the red and blue lights flashing or hear the order to freeze. He finally blinked when he was thrown to the ground by three policemen, all using their combined strength to contain the hurricane.
"Enough!" Gary Zimmaro ordered, getting a choke hold.
"ATF!"His partner identified the badge and wallet tossed to him by the pair struggling with the flailing body. "...from Denver..."
"You're under arrest." Zimmaro cuffed him, hauled him to his feet and shoved him towards the car.
Buck looked at the broken body sprawled under a cement and wooden bench at the bus stop. Blood covered his face and both eyes were swelling over the broken nose. He felt blood running down his own face and his bruised body would pay the price in the morning. But he also felt partially satisfied.
"Was it worth it?"
Buck looked up at the doe-eyed boy in the glass. Younger than J.D., no more than twenty-two perhaps. A rookie... so green it hurt his eyes.
"Ask me in ten years, kid... when you got more miles."
He turned away, let his head rest on the back seat and closed his eyes to the garish glare of the lights.
The shrill call in the inky darkness caused both slumbering bodies to jerk. One hand fumbled out, reaching blindly and hitting the sharp edge of the night stand.
"Dammit!"
"I got it, honey." Rain Jackson picked up the phone. "Hello... who? Pete? Pete who? I can't hear you... the line is breaking up..."
"Gimme that!"
"What's wrong with you?" She jumped at the unnatural high voice and handed over the phone.
"Pete? Yeah... yeah..." His heart hammered, his throat went dry and he was now fully awake. He shut both eyes, saying a prayer of thanks and breathing again. "Say again? You're sure?... Thank God... When? Where? Is he okay? What?" He winced as a burst of static came through. "Pete?... Pete?... it's gone..."
"What was that?" she asked, hanging up the phone. She moved as he climbed over her, sat on the edge of the bed and flipped the light on.
Nathan sighed, scrubbed his face with his hand and took several deep breaths before turning to his wife. The smile was soft and easy, one from the heart.
"Vin's alive... at least, he was a couple days ago. Some priest plucked him out of the river."
"What about Chris?"
"I don't know... the line went dead."
She saw a frown line forming and sat up, tapping his arm.
"What else?"
"I think... I couldn't hear clearly... I think he said Arlee's got Vin... they're missing... "
beep.
"Hey! I sure wish I was there... damn shame I missed your call. You leave your number and I'll call you back."
"Buck!" Josiah waited several seconds, but no one picked up. "Buck, when you get this, you call me, right away. Vin's alive... we don't have all the details yet but a priest found him... Nate got the call and he thinks Arlee's got Vin... Listen... Call me! I tried your cell phone and it's turned off..."
Click.
The only sound in the well-kept condo was the ticking of the clock. The red light blinked as the eager machine waited for the homeowner to receive the message. It would be a long wait....
"Wake up!"
"Huh?" Buck squinted up into the light casting a dark silhouette in the cell door.
He sat up slowly, his aching body stiff and sore from the beating. One eye was swollen shut and his lip was puffy. He felt sick, the combination of urine and bleach was not a pleasant one. The door slid open and the tall cop came closer.
"Get up! Come on, dog meat... I ain't got all night..."
Buck felt the tap of the baton on his leg and frowned.
"Where?" he croaked, his dry mouth tasting of blood and night breath.
"Captain wants to see you."
"Now?"
"No, next week!" The angry guard hauled him up and shoved him towards the door. Two more armed guards were in the hall.
Buck stopped, his veteran senses reminding him of the small town he was in. Could be the kind of place a rat like McClendon was owed favors. Could be the kind of town where an accident could happen. A convenient accident.
"No way." He stopped.
"Look, we can do this easy or hard. Whatever's up, it's past our level. Someone got the Captain out of bed and down here in the middle of the night. He's pissed off and that's not good... for us or you. Now move it!"
Reluctantly and with his one working eye taking in every angle, corner and space, he shuffled along. Finally, they reached a row of doors. He was shoved inside the third one and onto a hard bench. A disheveled, red-faced, angry policeman sat across from him. For several seconds, neither man moved. Then the disgruntled cop shoved the phone to the edge. Buck's eyes saw the blinking button.
"Pick it up."
He eyed the doorway, the guards and then the man who spoke.
"What's goin' on?"
"You're one lucky prick, Wilmington. You got friends in places I can't name."
Puzzled, Buck picked the phone up.
"Wilmington."
He heard the voice and couldn't believe it. The color drained from his face. His heart began to hammer and his dry throat shriveled up. His reeling mind took in every word and he sat stunned into silence for several moments. It didn't ... couldn't... be... possible. Yet it was. His tongue finally found some composure and he parted his lips, allowing it to work.
"No... I'm fine, sir..." he managed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Actually, I'm stunned. Yes, sir... I know... now?" He shook his head. "I don't think so... there's charges and... dropped?" His eyes shot to the irate Captain, and he could almost see steam coming from his ears. The man was clearly not happy.
"No, sir, I guess that's not a problem after all. No, sir, it won't happen again. Yeah, I'll keep my head out of my ass... yes, sir..." Then he stood, sucked in a shocked gasp of air and felt the room sway a bit. "Can you repeat that, sir?" The words hit him like bullets.
"You'll be picked up at 0600," the voice barked, angry and stern. "Don't fuck this up, Wilmington. You keep that hot head of yours on straight. Are we clear on that?"
"Yes, sir... but I need to call home. They'll worry and..."
"It's been taken care of... 0600... be ready to roll."
"Yes, sir... and thank you."
He was still holding the phone when the dial tone bit his ear. He felt someone take it from his hand and sat down hard. He still couldn't believe it, the how's and why's swirling around inside his fuzzy head. He heard the captain order one of the guards to get him some food and clothes. He ate without tasting, drank a coke and was ushered to the shower. He'd just completed dressing when the tap came.
"They're here for you."
He exited the police station in Silver City, New Mexico, and ducked inside the vehicle. It was the first leg of a journey that he'd never forget.
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