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.
She snuggled closer to the man she loved, still bathed in the sheen of their passion. She shivered slightly as one calloused thumb caressed her breast. She turned and gazed at his face, a sight that still took her breath away. She lifted her hand and ran her fingers through his hair.
"Tomorrow's a school day, Coach," she teased of the late hour and his troubled mood. "So how about you and me getting some sleep, okay?"
He raised his eyes and studied her face, bathed in the moonlight that graced the room, its quicksilver glow enhancing the serene beauty of her features. He sighed and took her hand, shifting so that she could lie in his arms.
"I had a meeting this afternoon with General Fagan. He's retiring."
"Yes, I think you mentioned that a few months ago."
"The job's mine if I want it." He paused and saw the question in her beautiful green eyes. "I accepted."
She rose up on one elbow, cupping his face and leaning over. She kissed him slow and soft, then smiled, tears cresting her eyes.
"I know I'm rather selfish," she admitted, "but you have no idea how much I've been praying for this day."
"It was time," he noted of his decision to retire from active duty. The new role would be demanding and time consuming but would be a permanent one at the base close by. "This is a young man's job. In that jungle in Mexico, I felt every bit of my years. I made a vow to myself a long time ago that I wouldn't 'hang on'." He shoved the offensive two words out. "The men know. Bob and I told them this afternoon. He's their leader now. They're prepping for a trip to Panama. They'll leave in a week."
"But..." She read easily between the lines.
"It hurts like hell, Kate," he admitted honestly. "I didn't think it would."
"It's the right decision, Adam." She moved closer, snuggling against his chest. "Just think of all the changes you can make now. All those designs for improvement in technique that you and Bob talk about."
"Yeah... still, the word 'retire' makes me feel like a Goddamn nursing-home recruit."
"Oh, I don't know," she teased, nibbling on his neck. "I'd say the old stud still has a few miles left." She slid her hand down his thigh and heard him growl.
"Old, huh?" He pulled her on top of him. "I'll show you old!"
The house was quiet. The roamer went upstairs, slowly, gripping the rail hard and keeping weight off his leg. He didn't bring his crutches. He paused in the doorway. The hall bathed the sleeping body in a soft light. A smile formed slowly, rising over the lump in his throat.
"You're up late," Adam whispered, coming to a halt in the doorway of his son's old room. His own smile was warm when he followed the green eyes inside.
"He's sleeping in it," Chris whispered, watching Vin's chest rise and fall inside his new jacket. "Sure looks good."
"Never fit a man better," Adam lauded. "You didn't need to come up here to check on him. You should be resting."
"Wasn't coming to check on him," Chris turned, keeping his balance. "Heard you roaming around. I had something I wanted to say." He paused, scanning his father's face that held a tinge of sadness he'd never seen before. "You okay, Dad? Your checkup was okay, wasn't it?"
"I'm fine, Chris." He sighed hard, staring at the man he'd raised and feeling that lump in his throat again. "I was going to tell you tomorrow but... General Fagan's retiring at the end of the month. I'm taking his job." He paused. "I'm retiring from active duty."
He drilled those dark eyes so hard it caused his father to back up a bit. He saw so much there, so very much. Most of everything he knew of life, how to live it with honor and stand tall, he learned from this man. How did you thank someone for a gift like that? His decision was made for him when his father's eyes filled and he moved forward, touching the side of Chris's face.
"Thank you for that, Chris," Adam choked of the amazing mix of admiration, love and respect that looked back at him. "It's so rare that a man gets to see that in his son's eyes."
Chris swallowed hard and nodded, then straightened up. Using his left hand on the railing to support his weight, he raised his right. Standing tall and squaring his shoulders, he paid tribute to the finest soldier he knew.
"Actually, I was coming to thank you, sir," he paused, his voice breaking. His eyes filled and Chris nodded towards the bedroom. He saw his father turn and glance at the sleeping warrior. He could never repay his father for what he'd given Vin Tanner today. "...so from me... and Captain Paul Tanner," he choked, raising his right hand and saluting, "Thank... you..."
Adam didn't speak; he couldn't. He returned the salute and let his own emotions ride high and spill. He didn't fight the tears, not this time. He embraced his son and thanked God for the privilege of being a father.
Chris paused in the doorway, grateful to be rid of the old cast and the crutches. His brace was uncomfortable and the therapy painful, but the end result was worth it. He'd been put through the ringer today, his first day of therapy on the knee. But after a good dinner, a dose of medications and a nap, now he was restless.
He limped into the kitchen, took a coke from the fridge and paused at the counter. As he sipped it, he thought on Buck's conversation the day before. The normally outgoing, life-chomping, gregarious man was suffering the blues. Nathan had only warned that Buck was worried but wouldn't say why. So yesterday when they talked, he'd pressed his oldest friend. Buck didn't say much, but Chris heard between the words. Something was eating away at the tall man. Something that required a heart to heart talk and he needed to see Buck's eyes. So he'd convinced the downcast agent to fly in for a visit. He was arriving in a couple more days. Sighing heavily, Chris picked up the new Sports Illustrated from the counter and made his way to the den.
Kate was tired and went to bed early. Chris was reading a magazine and his father was watching a CNN special on television. Maggie was sleeping by the fireplace. Vin was antsy. He couldn't concentrate on the book he'd borrowed from Adam's vast library. He carefully put it down and got up, roaming the first floor. He got a root beer and some cookies and continued his journey to nowhere, munching along the way. He was about to head back to the den when he saw a rectangular white box sticking out from a shelf at the back of the pantry. Shoving the last cookie into his mouth, he walked over.
"Risk?"
He put the can of soda down and pulled the game down. It was the original version and, from the carefully lined up bags inside, very well taken care of. He drained his soda, put it on top of the box and headed back. Pausing to rinse the can and put it in the recyclable bag, he made his way to the den.
"Look what I found!" he announced. "Risk."
"I haven't seen that in years!"
The tone of his father's voice as the television went off drew the head of the blond up. He was behind Adam in a large chair and groaned, seeing that the delight on the older man's face matched the voice.
"How about a game?"
Vin was about to answer the general when he saw Chris waving frantically from behind his father's back.
"...the hell's wrong with ya?" he frowned, eyeing the curious motions. "Why ya flappin' yer arms like yer landin' a plane?"
"I'll be right back," Adam announced, heading for the bathroom. "Vin, set it up in the kitchen. Risk... damn, I love that game..."
"Are you crazy?" Chris growled, moving his lithe body from the chair and reaching for a hand up.
"Naw, jest bored." Vin shifted the game to one hand and helped his unsteady friend up. "Can't seem t'settle. Was fidgetin' up a good blister on my butt. What's wrong?"
"My dad and Risk?" Chris shot back, noting the famous military strategy game. He moved past the sleeping dog and sighed. "Why don't you just douse me in kerosene and toss a match? Jesus... hours and hours of pure hell. I thought I trained you better."
"Yer scared!" Vin accused, his blue eyes wickedly twinkling. "Yer boys is quiverin'! Not t'worry, I aim t'win."
"Not if I drown you first!" Chris shot back, following his happy friend into the kitchen.
"Mad dog's car t'Moses antiques..."
"Madagascar to Mozambique," Chris hissed, annoyed at Vin's unethical, unmappable and unpredictable success.
"Whatever," the blue-eyed conqueror dismissed, tossing the dice. "Hah! Yer ass is history. Smokin' like a rack o'ribs on Independence Day."
Chris sighed and finished his beer. He eyed the clock and rubbed his eyes. Then he saw his father's expression and found a small smile. Adam Larabee was what they called a 'risk master'. For over forty years, he'd played the game with friends, coworkers and here at home. He knew the odds of dice rolls, how to best achieve 'world domination' and utilize your armies. What confounded him now was that one slim, drawling grunt from Texas with no strategy, no guide books and no previous experience was beating the pants off him. Vin had an unorthodox style, couldn't pronounce half the countries and didn't follow the usual tactics of the battles. Yet it was his blue army that held 75% of the board.
"Guess that's it," Vin eyed the board, then his friend. "Y'all is toasted! I'll clean up the board and..."
"The hell you will!" Adam roared. "This isn't over. Larabees don't quit!"
"This one does," Chris sighed. "I'm done. I got four sad armies up in Canada..."
"That's your mother's genes talking," the older man chided, then eyed the blue-eyed rat. "Carefully, move this board game intact to the pantry. Put it on the laundry table. We'll resume it tomorrow night."
"Fine by me," Vin gloated, eyeing all his armies. "It's yer funeral." He decided to pack up the dice and box first. Once that was completed, he headed back to the kitchen to get the board. He chuckled as he heard Adam's voice.
"I thought you said he never played this game!" Adam grumbled and his blond son just sighed.
"He hasn't," Larabee sent back.
"Seen Josiah and Nathan play once... " He paused, carefully lifting the game board. He took two steps and the cozy kitchen disappeared. His head cocked and a picture opened in full color. A cozy apartment, a television, his own body leaning in the doorway next to J.D Dunne. A beautiful woman with long curls and cocoa skin kissing Nate's cheek. The preacher and the medic huddled over a game board. A map of the world and colored pieces representing armies. The woman moved, coming towards him. She reached out and patted his face, giving him a wide smile.
"Vin?" Chris rose, alarmed at the now frozen zombie. He limped over and waved his hand in front of the dazed eyes.
"She's beautiful... "
"Who?" Adam asked, suddenly as concerned as his son.
"Nate's woman... wife?" Vin blinked, losing the picture.
"Wife, Rain, and you're right, she's a real beauty. She's a doctor. Your doctor as a matter of fact."
"I seen his house... we was watching TV... they was playin' this game..."
"Josiah's, nobody can beat him." Chris saw Vin wince and hiss, blink his eyes and inhale sharply. "What's wrong?"
"Aw... aw... God... !" Vin's body jerked, sending the game board flying. He dropped to his knees, cradling his head, trying to quell the explosive pain.
"Vin!" Chris, wary of his brace, bent very awkwardly on his good leg and dropped down next to the stricken man. "How bad? Vin?"
"Chris?" Adam felt helpless, knowing there wasn't enough room in the tiny entryway for the other two men and him and his crutches. "Call 911."
"No, please..." Vin begged. "Jest... gimme... fuck... this hurts...!"
"Easy, cowboy, ride it out," Chris guided, holding fast and feeling the body tremble in pain. The harsh breathing slowed and the stiff form finally relaxed in his arms. "Better?" The shaggy head dipped once. "You got pills left?"
"Yeah... up... stairs..."
"Okay, come on." Chris rose stiffly, then held his hand out. "Give you a hand?"
"I was... supposed t'do that..." Vin whispered as even speaking hurt. "Made me a promise... yer the one that's ridin' rough now. Yer leg..."
"My leg is still on my body which is still breathing because of you, okay? No hound dog eyes..."
"Aw, hell..." Vin eyed the mess on the floor. The colored, plastic armies were scattered all over. "I busted it up... I'm sorry, sir..."
"Rematch!" Adam teased with a grin. "Now, you get some shuteye. That's an order."
"Kate's gonna have m'hide... she don't like a mess in her kitchen..." Vin managed, gingerly walking through the room. "Mebbe I'll git up early and clean..."
"I'll clean it up, okay?" Chris offered, worried about the tiny steps Vin was taking. He steered him away from the stairs and into the room he was using. Vin never protested. He sank down onto the bed and curled up. When Chris returned ten minutes later with his pills and some milk, Vin was still rocking and holding his head. No words were spoken. The pills were given and the milk consumed. The sentry sat on the side of the bed, massaging the fallen man's neck lightly. It was an hour before he left, pausing only to clean up the kitchen. He rummaged around the linen closet off the laundry room. Pulling out a thick winter quilt, he limped painfully back to the room where Vin slept. Chris tossed the thick quilt down on the mattress, grabbed the extra pillow on the bed, took his own pills and slept.
Side by side they rested, twin chests rising and falling in steady rhythm. Neither man saw the dark clouds gathering on the horizon. They couldn't know the storm that was about to arrive — and Vin Tanner was in its path
Chris Larabee sighed and eyed the digital numbers on the VCR across the room. It was almost three p.m. He stood and stretched, then yawned as he made his way from the workstation he'd created to the window. He grabbed the bottle of Snapple he'd been drinking and finished it as he watched the horses prancing in the corral.
That must mean Vin was back. Against his better judgment, the younger man had gone riding after lunch. He wished Vin had waited for him, but the project Orrin had him working on left little free time. The house was so quiet he could hear the clock in the other room ticking.
The house was too quiet. Tanner in a quiet house spelled trouble. Just as he turned to investigate where his friend might be, the phone rang. He'd been talking to Orrin just a few moments before and the phone was still on speaker mode. So he punched the red button in lieu of picking up the receiver.
"Hello."
"Hey, Chris."
"Buck." He sat on the edge of the table and rubbed his tired eyes. "How's it going?"
"I wasn't sure you'd be in," the tall man replied. "I get you and Vin mixed up with the therapy."
"We went this morning. I had work to do and he went riding."
"How's he doing?"
"Seemed okay today, a little quiet. He had another episode last night. We were playing Risk and he got a flashback, a bad one."
"They're getting more frequent," Buck countered. "The doctor say anything?"
"Just that it seems each one is more painful than the last and one of them might unlock his memory. It's frustrating as hell though. Other than that, Huckleberry Vin is thriving."
Buck laughed at that, just imagining the Texan drawling and blushing his way into Kate Larabee's heart. He suddenly realized just how good it would be to see his two friends. He missed them, especially now.
"That blue-eyed boy takin' over the house?" Wilmington guessed.
"Yeah," Chris returned. "He's blushin' and �ma�am�-ing his way the hell all over. My folks are ready to adopt him."
"You leave that boy alone," Buck warned in a tease. "Do him a world of good to get some motherin'. Hell, he ain't had one in what, twenty years?"
"Wait until you see him," Chris predicted. "He can make Tiny Tim Cratchit look like Attila the Hun." He paused, walked to the doorway and cocked his head. He eyed the hall and returned to where the phone was. "Funny, it's so quiet. Usually when he's been out and comes home, his mouth runs like a faucet."
"Maybe he's getting something to eat," Buck answered, then thought on Vin's weakness. "Chris, you did tell him where your mother works, didn't you?"
"No, why?"
"Vin?" Buck mocked. "You're kidding, right?"
"He wouldn't!"
"No, course not," Wilmington goaded. "Vin Tanner? What was I thinking? Twenty bucks says you're wrong!"
"Shit!" Chris cursed roundly. "I better check. Hold on, Buck."
Vin picked up the container and eyed it carefully. He made each move with his hand precise and sure. He felt a momentary pang of guilt, having consumed all of the delicious confections. That passed quickly; it wasn't his fault. So intent was the blue-eyed devil on his work, he didn't hear the approaching footsteps.
"What are you doing?"
"Shit!"
Chris flinched as Vin's whole body jerked and something in a glass container went flying, spraying brown matter on the countertop.
"What the hell's wrong with ya?" the irate Texan wheeled and growled. "Ya damn near gave me a heart attack. I could have a relapse �er sumthin'..." His voice faded and he flushed with a nice shade of guilt when the blond came closer, eyeing the sink.
"...seven... eight... nine..." He paused, spotting the last of the 'dead soldiers' rolling on the countertop. "I can't believe you ate them all!"
"Ya oughtin' be sneakin' up on me like that," he tried to deflect. "What with m'delicate condition n'all."
"Your delicate condition, my ass!" Chris growled and pointed to the pile of empty containers. Then he moved to the refrigerator, opened it and bent down. He found the 9 x 13 pan at the back of the bottom shelf. It was where his mother usually kept all her projects. He saw the foil peeled back and lifted the rest.
"What?" the guileless blue-eyed angel replied. "I's havin' me a little snack is all..."
"Little?" Chris's voice rose. "I can't believe you ate my mother's homework." He shoved the foil back down and slammed the door shut.
"Homework?" Vin screwed his face up. "They's some kinda chocolate puddin', not homework."
"Homework!" the blond repeated, picking up a round container and turning it over. "They have numbers, see? She works in a lab."
"A lab!" Vin blanched, then accused, "Yer makin' that up!"
"Fairchild Industries," Chris nodded to the plaque on the wall. "She's working on a new compound. She brings the cultures home to..."
A loud rap on the front door interrupted the blond's explanation and he moved from the kitchen. Spotting a picture of his team on the small entry table, he remembered Buck was waiting. On his way to the door, his hand shot out, snagging the cordless phone. He punched the button and heard music.
"Buck?"
"Yeah, everything okay?" The mustached man turned his radio down.
"I have to get the door, hold on." Chris juggled the phone and opened the door, revealing the Federal Express driver.
"Afternoon, sir. I have a package for Mrs. Adam Larabee?"
"I'll sign." Chris moved outside and put the phone down briefly while he scrawled his name. The driver went to retrieve the package and Chris picked up the phone.
"Cultures?" Vin's voice wavered and one slim hand rode his now churning gut. He moved across the room, read the lettering on the wooden item hanging on the wall. It had a brass plate on the front, commemorating Kate's twenty-five years with the company. "Aw, hell... Chris?" He turned back but the room was empty. Suddenly, the rich chocolate mousse-like treasures weren't so sweet. They were curdling now in his gut and he felt them rebelling. He shot out of the kitchen, heading for the bathroom, gagging the whole way.
"I owe you twenty," Chris admitted, then heard the strong laugh just as from the corner of his eye and through the glass window, Vin's flying form raced past, headed for the bathroom.
"How many did he kill?" Buck wheezed.
"All ten. Christ, how can anybody eat that much chocolate?"
"That's a lot, even for that Texas chocoholic," Wilmington added. "Where is he?"
"Puking his guts up."
"Damn!" Buck wrinkled his nose.
"Serves the little blue-eyed pig right," Chris shot back, nodding to the driver who put a large box down on the verandah. "Thanks," he said as the driver left.
"You told him, didn't you?"
"Just that she worked in a lab and he ate cultures."
"Chris, you got a mean streak a mile wide," Buck chuckled, seeing a mental image of Vin's green face hovering over a toilet.
Vin flushed the toilet and rose, running cold water in the sink. He rinsed his mouth with water and mouthwash, blew his nose and washed his face and hands. Then he walked back into the hall, his mind drawing up images of bottles with skulls and crossbones on them. Chris hadn't told him what the experiments were.
Where was Larabee?
"Chris?"
He padded barefoot towards the study that the blond leader had converted into an office. From the doorway he eyed the empty room, gazing a moment at the table, loaded with work. Just inside the door he saw the Yellow Pages on the bookshelf and opened them, heading for the listings under 'L'.
"Lab... lab..." he flipped, then found it and went onto the letter 'F'. "Aw, hell..." His knees buckled when his eyes caught the name Fairdale Industries. "Insecticides�.I'm fucked..." He wrote the words down and turned to go find his friend when he heard faint voices from far across the large room. Squinting, he spotted a tiny red light on the phone. He walked across the room and eyed the squawk box on the table just as Chris's voice came through.
"Speaking of therapy," Chris continued, sitting on the deck chair and enjoying the afternoon sun. "How's yours coming, Buck? You out of that sling yet? You should be done, right?" Instead of a reply, his ears were met with silence. "Buck?" Then his stomach clenched and he guessed at the reason for the tall man's brooding mood of late. "Is that it? You hit a hitch in your therapy?"
"You could call it that," Buck admitted. "I'll go into more details when I see you tomorrow. Flight's landing at ten a.m."
"Me and Vin will pick you up," Chris answered. "My folks have a wedding in Washington and I'm not sure when they're leaving. Some General's kid my dad knows. So what about this hitch?"
"That bullet did more damage than they thought. I don't have full range. Without full range, I can't get re-certified. Chris, this badge is everything to me..."
"I know, Bucko, I know," he replied quietly, hearing every painful echo in the hollow voice.
Bullet.
Vin backed up, shaking his head slowly as if to clear it. The room dissolved and he was back in Mexico. The walls faded into dense thick trees and humid air. Pain raced through his body; his head was split in half. He was paralyzed, his legs like dead weights. Chris was lying next to him, barely breathing. Then he saw black boots coming closer. Black boots... soliders... danger... danger�! He raised his weapon and fired, then saw Buck Wilmington's face grimace in pain. He staggered through the room and out into the hall. He felt hot, dizzy and sick. He needed air and he needed it now.
"Oh, God!" he choked, the horrid realization of what he'd done hit him like bullets. "What did I do?"
Pain crashed into his skull, driving him into the hall. He hit every wall, clutching his throbbing head and screaming in silent agony. He'd shot Buck Wilmington and the resulting damage might have ended his career. His head began to swim, images mixed in of toxic pudding and Buck's bloody body. Chris. He had to find Chris. He needed help. He got as far as the den and the axe split his skull. His knee hit the sofa and he flopped down, barely avoiding a fall. Dizzy and fading fast, he laid back just before the lights went out.
"What did the doctor say?"
"He gave me some options," Buck paused as a horn beeped repeatedly. "I gotta go, Chris. Josiah is here. He needs some help with the kid's basketball team."
"All right, but don't paint a black picture, okay?" Chris interjected. "We'll talk about the doctor's report and those options. You're the fuckin' best, Bucko, don't you ever forget that."
"Thanks, Chris," Buck managed, his throat tight. "See you tomorrow."
Chris ducked back into the house, hung the phone up and eyed the mess in the kitchen.
"Vin?"
Getting no answer, he limped up the hallway and headed for the bathroom. He saw the slim body on the sofa and frowned, making his way over. The younger man was lying on his back, his features relaxed. He peered closer, watched the even breathing and thought on Vin's busy day. Normally, he took a nap in the afternoon. Talking to the therapist and getting a once over by the doctor wore him out. But he'd also been out for a couple hours riding. He gave the cotton shoulder a pat and heard the dog crying.
"Gimme a minute, girl..." He limped back into the kitchen, rinsed every container and put them in the dishwasher. He used a soapy sponge to clean the chocolate mess off the countertop. A wet nose nudging his tanned thigh just below his cutoffs gave him a grin.
"Okay, Maggie. Wanna go for a walk?"
He took the excited animal outside, grinning as she barked happily, romping ahead on the path.
"Chris? Vin?" Kate called out and entered the house. She put her keys on the small shelf by the door and eyed the empty kitchen. She took a few minutes to check on the fish and chicken marinating in the refrigerator. She was going to grill outside tonight and take advantage of the warmer weather. Grabbing a bottle of iced tea, she made her way down the hall. She saw Vin lying on the sofa napping and then recalled that Maggie was also absent. Her blond son must be walking her just as he'd been doing since his cast was removed. She went upstairs to get changed, mentally drawing up a list of grilling times for the vegetables, roasted potatoes and entrees.
Chris was heading up the driveway when his father's car pulled up. He watched the older man nod to the driver and wave, then the dark sedan pulled away. The dog bolted, yelping in a high pitch and racing for the back door.
"Hello, Maggie, me girl!" Adam grinned, bent down and let the excited animal jump up and shower him with wet kisses.
"You drive all the females weak in the knees, four-footed and two," Chris teased.
"Hello, son. How'd the therapy go?"
"Good, Kathy says I'm her star pupil," he noted of his lively female therapist.
"Must be a slow month," Adam teased, then sniffed. "Damn, something smells great."
"Thank you, dear," Kate cooed, exiting the door of the house and pausing with a tray in her hand. She accepted a kiss and saw his amused face.
"I meant the food," he teased, dark eyes shining.
"You'll pay for that, General!" she tossed back, heading for the large table by the edge of the patio. "Chris, wake Vin up and both of you get cleaned up for dinner."
"Cleaned up?" Chris made a face. "We're eating outside."
"You're all sweaty..." She eyed the naked chest, glistening in the late afternoon sun. "Where's your shirt?�
"Here." He held up a rolled up gray ball of cotton.
"Shower, you have fifteen minutes," she ordered, then eyed her husband. "You too..."
"I'm not a sweat ball!" he protested.
"No, you smell like cigars and you're losing time."
"The General has spoken." Chris winked at his father and made his way into the house. He paused by the sofa and gave Vin's shoulder a shake. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty, dinner time. Vin?" He sat on the edge of the coffee table, used his shirt to wipe the sweat from his face and saw the slumbering body begin to stir.
Vin blinked and saw something tan and wet coming into focus. He inhaled deeply, trying to remember where he was. He yawned and snuggled back down into the soft material. It felt good to sleep and getting up and putting the puzzle together wasn't worth it. Then a voice and a slap to his leg caused his fine features to wrinkle.
"Vin, it's time to get up."
"Fuck off!"
"Hey!" Chris chuckled, covering the colorful mouth with his fingers. "Watch your mouth, cowboy. That's a five star offense. My mom will wash your mouth out."
"Mom?"
"Yeah, you remember her. Small, blond and sassy?"
"Sounds like yer boys," Vin grinned fuzzily and ducked as the hand ruffled his head. "Leave m'hair alone. Yer as bad as Bucklin..."
"Get the fuzz out of your head. My mom wants us showered and dressed for dinner. She's outside cooking. I'm gonna grab a shower. Okay?"
"Yeah..." Vin managed.
"Hey, Vin?" Chris stood up and remembered the stomach upheaval. "You feeling okay now? I'm sorry about that. But you set yourself up..."
"Huh?" Vin sat up, rubbing his eyes. "Damn, I'm beat." He laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Think I'll rest m'eyes fer a bit. I'll be right along."
"Okay, but if you're not up to eating, don't force it."
"Seven minutes, son, you better hurry," Adam ordered from the hall.
"Like a damn boot camp..." Chris mumbled, making his way to the back of the house.
"Force it?" Vin yawned just as the pieces of the afternoon fell into place. It all came back, from the pudding to that horrid sound in Buck's voice and the awful flashback. He sat up and his eyes darted around the room. The words came back again, like daggers in his gut.
"...badge means everything to me... full range... certification..."
He swallowed hard and suddenly his stomach soured. He had to ask Kate about the pudding. He cursed inwardly for being in a fog when Chris was in front of him. He rose on unsteady legs and headed for the kitchen, recalling the blond mentioning dinner.
"Kate?"
The room was empty. His mouth was dry and he felt lightheaded. He headed for the fridge and pulled out the orange juice. He poured a large glass, drained half and sat down. Through the glass at the far end of the room, he saw Kate through the smoke rising from the grill.
Adam left his bedroom, having showered and pulled on khaki shorts and a polo shirt. He picked up the phone to call the base, having forgotten to tell Major Chelsea something. There was no dial tone.
"What the hell's wrong with the phone?"
He replaced the receiver and slowly went downstairs, heading for his cell phone which he'd left in the den. He met his son on the stairs. The younger man was in clean shorts and an olive green t-shirt, his blond hair damp and spiky.
"I tried to call Bob but the phone is out..."
"Aw, shit!" Chris hissed. "I forgot... I left the speakerphone on in the study."
Both men turned into the converted room, now an office. Chris disconnected the call and turned back just as his father was studying a piece of paper.
"What the hell is this?" he mumbled. "Fairdale Industries... bug juice..."
"What?" Chris covered the short expanse and eyed the scrawl. "Vin? Oh, Jesus... he got the wrong name. He thinks he ate poison..."
"Poison? What are you talking about?"
"I caught him in the kitchen this afternoon. He ate all Mom's homework. I told him she worked in a lab. He got the name wrong. Fairdale does insecticides.
Meanwhile, Kate came back into the kitchen to get the salad, bread, olive oil and herbs for their first course. She smiled when she saw the young man drinking juice at her table. She came up behind him and hugged him, kissing his cheek.
"I hope you're hungry. I..."
"Kate!" Vin pulled back, turned and cast worried blue eyes up at her. The tainted pudding seemed to haunt him from the area across the room where he'd made the kill. "I ate yer homework. I'm awful sorry. I didn't know it was yer homework. I thought it was jest puddin' but Chris said I ate yer homework and ya work in a lab and I seen the picture in the Yellow Pages of the dead bugs and I ate all of 'em but I throwed 'em all up so's I don't think I got poisoned but..."
"Stop!" She put her hand on his face and sat down, trying to weed through the nonstop onslaught of words. "Honey, I don't work for an exterminator."
"But I looked it up... Fairdale..."
"Fairchild," she corrected. "We make artificial sweeteners for desserts. I work in a lab that experiments with newer and safer sugar-free sweeteners."
"Aw, hell..." Vin slumped, dropping his head. "I thought... I ate... I thought... bug killers..."
"Didn't Chris tell you what I did? Was he here?"
"Yes, ma'am, caught me red-handed, hollered good. His damn eyes was shootin' green fire. He said ya worked in a lab and I ate yer experiment."
"Christopher Jamison Laribee!"
"I know that bark, son." Adam clapped Chris's back as they left the room. "Your ass is grass!"
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