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.
"He's still out." Nathan moved, lowering the bed rail and resting a hand on the damp forehead. "And he's a little warm."
"It's hot in here," Chris sent back. "Take that blanket down a little, maybe to his waist."
So while their fallen one slept, resting in a healing light, they closed the circle. They cleaned up, watched television and talked, each keeping the circle around the injured man intact. Finally, Chris eyed the clock and moved towards the door.
"Well, if that don't wake him up, nothing will," Nathan predicted when the blond reappeared.
"Not even Miss March?" Josiah asked and Buck hit his knee.
"I got one minute," J.D. announced, throwing a five on top of Vin's chest.
"I got thirty seconds." Nathan tossed his bill on the other.
"Forty-five." Buck tossed a greenback.
"Fifty-seven," Ezra announced, watching the sleeping man's contented face.
"Fifty-seven?" Josiah wrinkled his forehead. "Ezra, you're a puzzle."
"You in Josiah? Better hurry," Buck warned as Larabee approached the bed.
"Yeah, twenty seconds flat."
The brows furrowed, the eyelids twitched and the wheezing they'd grown accustomed to halted. A cough sounded, soft and fuzzy; the face twitched and the lips parted. A slip of pink tongue appeared, navigating over dry lips.
"You're out, Josiah, you too, Nathan," Buck announced, eyeing his watch. "Damn..." he hissed as the slumbering man's mouth opened and the whole tongue came out.
"mmmm... damn..." Vin groaned when something wonderful landed on his tongue. "...heaven..."
"No, chocolate chip brownie, chocolate ice cream with peanut butter-filled chocolate footballs inside, whipped cream, hot fudge and jimmies," Chris announced of the custom-made creation.
"Sprinkles," J.D. corrected.
"Jimmies!"
"Jeez, you old guys are sensitive," the youth winced of the unison reply.
"No way!" Nathan balked when Buck picked up the bills and handed them to the grinning Southerner.
"I demand a recount," J.D. complained.
"Fifty-seven on the nose," Buck lamented.
"It's in the blood, gentlemen," Standish grinned.
"Tanner special number six," Chris said quietly, meeting Vin's contented gaze. Each man recalled that night in Vin's apartment. The younger man had some doubts surface about himself and the blond had quietly dismissed them, right before Tanner appeared with a huge homemade snack. He had so many combinatons, he numbered them.
"...nope..." Vin murmured, swallowing some of the sinfully delicious dessert that was offered. He stuck his tongue out, eagerly awaiting more. "...no crushed Oreo's..." he thought on 'Tanner special number six'. "This here's a brand new one, Larabee special number two."
"Two?" Chris paused while digging out a huge piece of brownie with melting ice cream. "What's number one?" He watched as the contented cow digested it before the animated eyes faced his own.
"What ya give me the first time I met ya and every day since."
The look on the team leader's face brought a group of warm smiles to the men who worked for him. Each was aware of just how much the trust he placed in Vin Tanner had caused the young man to grow and excel. Larabee never let Vin or anyone else use his informal background as a means to hurt him.
"Now you tell me how any college professor can top that?" Buck stated, wearing a soft smile.
Vin saw the spoon move and opened his mouth, waiting for the luscious chocolate. There it was, just inches away. Rich brownies with chocolate chips and ice cream. Just the smell could cause him to pass out. He sighed, scowled and thrust his tongue out farther. The spoon started to move again and the recipient moved with it. He tipped his face up and waited, inhaling the rich aroma. But the spoon remained hovered above his mouth, inches from salvation.
Chris was lost in thought, trying to catch the spiraling pictures in his head. It seemed like a year had passed since they'd left for the dirt bike rally that started the whole horrible nightmare. From the harsh jungle in Mexico through the torment at the hands of the guerrillas to the lost days when he and Vin were trapped, it hit him all at once. He swallowed hard, thinking on just how much he'd nearly lost. His father and mother, his friends, these men who'd become his brothers... so much, so very much. Then he thought on the 'rat bite' and a smile formed. He heard Vin's off key warbling and saw that animated body in the mirror again, dancing to 'Who Let The Rats Out?'
Vin saw it coming and tried to move, but it was too late.
SPLAT!
The melting glob landed on his forehead causing the others to dissolve into a fit of laughter.
"Dammit t'hell, Lar'bee!" Vin snarled, blinking as ice cream ran into his eyes. "Get me outta this fuckin' rig. Look what ya done! Ice cream drippin' the hell all over." He tried to move when Nathan wiped his face with a wet cloth, still hearing the others laugh. "Shut up, all o'ya. Seen buzzards lickin' the toes o'corpses with more heart."
"Nice, cowboy!" Chris quipped, digging out a huge spoonful and shoving it into Vin's mouth. "I'm sure the nurses appreciate the earful you've been giving them." He saw the blue puzzlement looking back at him and nodded to the wall behind the bed. "Intercom's on..."
Vin blanched, nearly choked on his food and began to cough. He lost his breath and his face turned red. He continued to cough, sending the ice cream back out. That brought four sets of hands over. Too many bodies wiping and fussing over him. Then he saw the blond sitting back and smirking.
"Gotcha."
"That ain't funny..." Vin wheezed.
"Hey!" Nate scolded, seeing the right arm move. "Keep that arm down."
Just then, a voice from the speaker in the hall announced that visiting hours had ended. They stood, stretched and each bid their friend goodbye.
"Yer all goin'?" Vin felt the coffin lid coming down. "What if one of them flyin' critters comes back?"
"Or a crawling one?" J.D. wagged his eyebrows.
"Thanks," Vin scowled. "What if I gotta sneeze?"
"Hold it in," Chris quipped.
"What if I got an itch, wicked like?"
"You're on your own there, Vin." Larabee shook his head.
"Nate?" Vin hoped.
"Sorry, Vin," the dark-skinned man denied. "I draw the line at wicked."
"J.D.'s enough itch for me to handle," Buck laughed.
"Sorry, brother," Josiah grinned.
"Surely you jest?" Ezra huffed.
"Go on and leave then, like rapid rats leavin' a stinkin' ship."
"You mean rabid rats on a sinking vessel," Ezra corrected of the misnomer.
"Don't be twistin' m'words up."
"Yeah, Ezra!" Buck elbowed the conman. "Leave the boy alone. If anybody knows about 'rapid rats' it's Vin."
"Kick a man whilst he's down..."
"Quit raggin', will you?" Chris shoved the straw from the soda into the irate mouth.
"Don't you worry them curls of yours, Vin, me and Era took care of business."
"Whaddya mean?" Vin panicked, eyeing the sly Standish and sneaky Wilmington with wary blues. "What did ya let them two jaspers do?" he grilled Chris.
"They're over eighteen and what they do on their time isn't my concern," Larabee touted. "See you in the morning, Vin."
"Well, now, look who's here!" Buck announced and held the door open as two very shapely nurses entered. One was carrying a plastic tub full of bathing tools, the other towels and some containers of ointment. Both paused to smile at the handsome mustached agent.
"Hi, Buck!"
"Ladies, you look lovely."
"Thanks, Ezra," one oozed while the other winked at the smiling Southerner. Then one moved past him towards the bed.
"Hey!" She eyed the startled patient, then turned towards Wilmington. "He doesn't look like Marty Feldman. He's adorable!"
"Ain't no puppy!" Vin wheezed, eyeing both females who now hung over the bed. "I ain't not no adorable."
"Ouch!" Ezra winced, tapping his chest. "Somewhere, Shakespeare is turning in his grave."
"Look, Miss," Vin nodded to the pretty redhead, then turned to the pretty brunette, "..and Ma'am..."
"Ma'am?"
"I know yer all jest earnin' a livin'. I ain't go no problem with strippers..."
"Strippers!" J.D. blurted, shoving Buck. "You said they were nurses."
"They are," Buck laughed, holding his hand up. "Vin, you cut that out. They are real nurses, on staff here, and they'll stay with you, take care of all your needs..." He wagged his eyebrows.
"...wicked and otherwise," Ezra added with a wink and a glint of his gold tooth.
"I'm gonna knock that gold tooth outta yer head, Ezra, git over here!"
"Settle down now!" The redhead pushed the button sending the bed down into a horizontal position while her partner filled the tub with warm water.
"After your bath and rubdown, we'll take care of your other problem," the other one added, setting the tub down and pulling the curtain around the bed.
"Bath?" Vin spat out like a dead bug. "I ain't hardly dirty..."
"You have chocolate all over you..."
"Don't be doin' that..." Vin wheezed as the sheets came off and two cold hands went behind his neck. "Hell, why don't ya ice yer hands up more and stop m'heart altogether..."
"Just relax, honey," the brunette winked, taking his gown off.
"Relax...?" Vin croaked. "Hell, the boys are awake. Damn cold hands and cold air..." Then his eyes narrowed. "What other problem?"
"Mister Wilmington was nice enough to mention it. It's okay, we know you don't like to talk about it," the redhead nodded, taking a warm soapy cloth and washing the irate face.
The nurses didn't understand the muffled reply that was hampered by the washrag, but the men standing on the other side of the curtain and half in the hall did.
"That didn't sound good, Buck," Nate warned, eyeing Ezra as well. "He ain't gonna forget this."
"Tanner paybacks are a bitch!" J.D. predicted. "I can't wait..."
"Now calm down, Vin, or you'll make your delicate condition worse," the redhead warned, soaking the rag again.
"Condition?" Vin huffed. "Wouldda been nice if he clued me in. Hey... cut that out! The boys don't like bein' woke up like that. They don't need cleanin'..."
"That's funny," the brunette perplexed. "I don't see a creeping rash."
"Sometimes it hides, you have to prod and poke a bit," Buck offered.
"Creepin' rash!" Vin hissed. "There's a faa..."
"Hey, watch that Tanner mouth, Vin!" Chris hollered, biting back a laugh.
"...six foot creepin' rash in the doorway wearing a mustache. Yer dead, Buck, mark it down."
"Night, Slick," Buck wheezed, twisted over in laughter as the door closed.
The others were ahead of them, headed for the cars. Buck paused a moment when he saw Chris stop in the shadows at the edge of the small, dark parking lot.
"Hey, where'd you go earlier, you know when we first got here with the food? You go back downstairs or something?"
Chris nodded, caught his oldest friend's concerned face and found a half smile.
"I went to the chapel and hit my knees," the blond said simply. "I had a word with The Man. Had some thanks to give."
"Yeah," Buck smiled, cuffing the back of the other man's neck. "I guess we all do."
"Buck?" Chris said as they headed for the car, "I'm flying back with you next week."
"I'm okay, Chris, I can handle the surgery..."
"I know."
Buck looked up sharply then at the tone filled with such faith and confidence that it drilled him to the spot. Sometimes Chris spoke with such simple eloquence that it took his breath away. Chris would be there when he went down for the operation and would be the first face he saw when he woke up. But more than that, that unmovable faith coursed through him, a gift from those green eyes. Two words, but oh, what they meant to him! He nodded and the other nodded in return before they slipped silently into the car and drove off. Buck glanced out the window, rubbed his aching shoulder and suddenly thought the stars in the sky were shining just a little brighter tonight.
Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison
Buck sighed heavily, his fingers straying over the cotton fabric spanning his abdomen. He gave a gentle tug, trying to quell the butterflies that were dancing inside. It was silly. It made no sense. Hell, he'd had surgery before; this wasn't new territory. There wouldn't be a lab report to sweat out with the dreaded 'C' word. He leaned back in the chair, lifted his mug and sipped the hot coffee, his mind wandering again.
Other Possibilities.
That was the list he'd made up. It was a short one. He�d always thought when the time came to hang 'em up, he'd get a little place of his own, not unlike Inez's. A sports bar maybe with wall to wall televisions. A comfortable place with rich wood and brass and lots of room. A place where 'boys could be boys' and brag about their dates, scream at the referees and cheer for the home team. He loved people; he loved talking to them, laughing with them and partying. He'd worked in enough bars in college to get the general idea.
It was a short list.
Some guys had a degree to fall back on. They went into writing, teaching or accounting maybe. Others, they had families with businesses. A father-in-law with the right connections or brother who got you in the 'back door'. Some went back to school; that wasn't his bag. He�d kissed those days goodbye when he graduated from college.
"Buck, you want pancakes?" Chris stood in the doorway of the foyer, speaking to the other man through the screen. "Buck?"
Frowning, he eyed the somber profile and the circles under the dark blue eyes. Sighing, he padded outside barefoot and gazed at the new sun rising. It was almost eight a.m. and another pretty day was about to begin. In the corral, the horses pranced and whinnied. Nearby, some geese were voicing their opinion and the splash of running water could be heard.
Running water?
He slipped behind Buck unseen and walked to the edge of the patio. At the end of the driveway, Vin was hosing down his mother's car. The blond's grin spread slowly as he watched Maggie following Vin around the vehicle. The Texan's mouth was running a mile a minute. Chris walked down the drive and winced as the hacking cough split the morning.
"...dammit... phlegm flyin' the hell all over... don't git t'close, girl..."
"Nothin' like a Tanner cold to start the day."
"Hey, Chris!" Vin continued on his mission, rinsing the grime off the side of the car.
"What are you doing, Vin?"
"Paintin' a picture!" he shot back. �What's it look like I'm doin'?"
"A one-armed, barefooted, car-washer with drawl..." He shook his head. "Rare in these parts. You givin' the folks a discount, seein' as how you're only doing half the job?"
"Don't need two hands t'rinse the dirt off..."
"You ever heard of soap?" He bent and gave Maggie's head a scrub. "Hey, girl..."
"Yup, got it all took care of," Vin touted, raising his head. His stomach reminded him that the morning meal was overdue. "I got a hankerin' fer sausages, eggs and hotcakes."
"The soap, Vin?" Chris perplexed, trying to follow the Texan's logic.
"Huh? Oh..." He walked closer. "It's what ya call 'delegated'. Ezra learned me 'bout that."
"Yeah, he would," Larabee snorted. "Delegated how?"
"I figger by the time I get the crud hosed up and movin' around, them sausages and such will be ready. That's where yer part comes in."
"My part?" Chris arched a sandy brow.
"Yeah, the soap and brushes is yonder."
"Volunteering my services, Vin?"
"Ya want yer Ma t'be ridin' t'work in a dirty car?" Vin sent back. "I'd do it but with m'arm an' all..."
"There's a carwash in town," Chris said.
"Ya hurry and ye'll have time t' get finished and get somethin' fittin' on before we eat."
"What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" He eyed his green shorts and gray t-shirt.
"Yer ass is hangin' out. Hell, them shorts' got more holes that Bucklin's alibis..."
"I like these shorts!" the blond defended.
"So do half the moths in Virginia. They ain't even fittin' fer the rag bag."
"You got balls!" Chris picked up the scrub brush and gave the driver's side a good wiping. "At least I'm not wearing a yellow rag with eyes on my chest."
"Ya leave SpongeBob alone," Vin defended of the popular cartoon character. "...'er I'll wash them hot pants yer wearin' whilst yer still in 'im."
Vin paused then, an evil smile spreading across his face. He put his finger across the mouth of the hose and flicked a stream just inches from the ducking blond.
"Vin, that's not funny. I just got showered... Vin..." Chris tried to turn and got soaked. "Dammit, Tanner!"
"Leave me be!" Vin dropped the hose as the dripping man sprinted over. "I ain't armed. Ya wouldn't hit a cripple..."
Chris got Vin in a headlock and gently wrestled him to the ground, wary of the injured arm. Maggie barked and jumped into the fray, nipping and licking at both laughing wet bodies. Vin finally wiggled free, moving away and sitting up, panting and wiping his face.
"Look what ya done..."
"You started it..." Chris sent back, then drew his knees up, resting his arms across them.
He studied the profile next to him and wondered about the last few days. Initially, upon his release from the hospital and suffering from a nasty cold, Vin hadn't moved from his bedroom. But the last couple of days, he'd been taking to the hills, Maggie trotting behind him. He'd been unusually quiet at night, declining the card games the others played or the movies they put in the VCR. Then there was the night prowling which the blond heard clearly. He�d peeked outside both of the last two nights well after two a.m. and seen the younger man in the moonlight by the corral.
"Talk to me, Vin."
Vin cast his eyes to the figure sitting outside the house and then flicked them back again. With each day closer to the day of departure, the animal lurking in his guts was trying to gnaw its way out with razor sharp teeth. What the hell did Chris expect him to say? Shit, it wasn�t his bullet that had done the damage that might cost Buck his job, might cause the big-hearted ladies man to turn in his badge. How could Chris ever understand? He wasn't the one who put it there. He wasn't the one responsible. It was his fault, not Chris's. How could he make Chris understand that he'd give anything, including his own good arm, to give back everything Buck had lost?
"I best git done." Vin shut off the conversation. "Thanks fer doin' the one side, won't take me as long."
"I'll finish up and you take a breather. Then you can rinse it off. Okay, partner?"
"Guess that means I'm the pretty one then," Vin smiled, letting the other man help him up. "Thanks. Guess it wasn't such a good idea."
"Oh, I don't know." Chris tousled the long wet locks. "For a one-armed hose-man, you're not so bad."
Ten minutes later, Chris ambled back onto the patio. He headed for the table where Buck sat. A hand shot over, sliding a full mug of black coffee at him.
"Thanks." Chris sat down and studied the face of the man across from him. "You want to talk?"
"Hell, it's stupid..."
"Try me."
Buck sighed, sipped some coffee and eyed the mountains. It sure was pretty here. It was easy to see why the General and Mrs. Larabee loved this place. But as peaceful and serene as the landscape was painted, it didn't quell the turmoil inside. He turned back, feeling the green eyes bearing down.
"Hell, Chris, I've had surgery before. I shouldn't be this worked up..." He placed the mug on the table and leaned forward, playing with the band of his watch. "Every time I give myself the pep talk about 'the favorable odds' and 'it could be worse', I end up with the same bellyache. I love this badge..."
"Nobody wears is better," Chris stated simply, getting a soft smile of gratitude. "And this isn't the first close call. I should know, I've been there..."
"Yeah, you sure have. But it's not the same... when you're critical, you can live or die. This is like being alive with no pulse." He paused, casting a very open pair of eyes at his oldest friend. "What would you do?"
"I'd like to think I'm a survivor. Depressed, yeah, that'd be natural. But quitters never win... you're not a loser, Buck. You're a fighter. Worse case scenario, you'll land on your feet. There are other jobs in the federal government that..."
"I'm not a desk jockey..." Buck replied.
"Isn't that putting the cart before the horse? Shouldn't we wait until we get the results before we host your retirement dinner?"
"Strip bar?" Buck teasingly suggested, then nodded in a somber light. "You're right. I'm sorry..."
"We'll get through it together, Buck."
"Yeah." He sighed hard, rubbing the back of his neck. He saw the green eyes stray to the driveway and thought on the quiet Texan. "He talkin' yet?" Buck asked, eyeing the younger man who was tossing a ball for Maggie to fetch.
"Nope."
"Something's not right in Tannerville," Wilmington decided. Like his friend, he'd noticed the change in the still healing, younger man, especially the closer they got to leaving. "You don't think he's afraid of going home, do you?"
"Maybe... he's been through a lot."
"But..." Buck turned back, seeing the concern etched on Chris's face. "You're not buying that?"
"No..." Chris sighed, sipped his coffee and chuckled a little when Vin sat down and the Irish Setter showered him with wet, sloppy kisses.
"What should I do, girl? Huh?" Vin asked, scrubbing the pretty dog's face. "Every time I look at 'im, I see m'hand pullin' that trigger. What if this operation don't work? All this thinkin' on it's got a good hole workin' in m'belly."
Then the excited animal sneezed several times.
"Aw, hell... dog snots..." He spat his tongue out. "Jest m'luck, I gave ya m'cold ..huh? Ya sure are pretty. I'm gonna miss ya, yes, I will..� he cooed, eyeing the expressive eyes. "Puts me in mind of an old song Bucklin likes t'sing... like t'hear it?" he asked and got an enthusiastic woof and another kiss.
"Hey, where did we go...
Daisy and rain game...
down in the holla'...
playin' a nude game..."
"Damn," Buck laughed. "You'd think that head injury would have fixed that."
"Pretty, ain't it?" Chris winced at the loud warbling, off key and complete with the usual misconstrued lyrics.
"Our hearts r'all jumpin' with yeeewww..
m'brown eyed dawg...
YEEEEWWWWW...m'brown eyed DAAAWG..."
"WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?"
Buck laughed so hard that he had to sit forward, both at the irate voice barking from several feet above them as well as the angry face covered in shaving cream. The patio off the Larabee's master bedroom was on the roof of the overhang by the kitchen door. Chris had the misfortune of having a mouthful of coffee. The sputtering blond was half-choking, half-laughing and wiping his wet eyes.
"You okay?" Buck asked, jumping up and clapping his back. He waited until the blond head bobbed and turned his face upwards. "Morning, Sir!" He squinted up at the wet military man just at the loud painful melody continued.
"Whatever happened to Tuesday and slow snow...
drownin' down the old man...
with a transistor radio..."
"Chris!" Adam heaved a bar of soap at his hysterical son.
"Sorry, Dad!" the sheepish reply came. "I forgot to warn you about that. We're all used to him."
"He's terrible!" the elder Larabee declared.
"God Bless 'im!" Buck trumpeted, eyeing the 'crooner' who was being kissed soundly by the excited redhead. "That's the beauty of it, he don't have a clue that he's that bad."
"Prouder than hell," Chris added of the warbling Texan.
"He's gonna find out soon enough when every damn dog in the county arrives at our door!" Adam growled.
"Sir, you got soap in your hair!"
"Excuse me?" the senior Larabee glared.
"Not that it doesn't look good..." Buck backpedaled.
Sometimes... I'm overgrown thinkin' bout makin� love in green glass... " He paused, shaking his head. "Aw hell, that ain't right.... makin' love in green trees... naw, that ain't right neither..." he scowled, eyeing the dog's face. "Mebbe we'll jist skip t'the good part..."
The general's eyes narrowed when the earsplitting screeching stopped. Satisfied, he was about to turn away when he saw both his son and Buck grinning. Buck's head turned slightly and he shook it, cocking his ear.
"This is my favorite part, when he corrects himself in the middle of the line..."
"He's not done?" Adam's hopes dropped.
"Done?" Chris laughed, eyeing his father's shocked face still covered by shaving cream. "Not when he gets the line wrong."
"He starts over..." Buck completed, wagging his eyebrows.
"The hell he will!" Adam thundered just as the Van Morrison wanna-be continued his concert.
"Do ya remember when we usta sing sha la la la la la...."
"Vin!" Adam hollered. "Vin!"
"...m'brown eyed gerl...
Yeeeeeewwww m'brown eyed gerlll"
"We'll be put out!" Adam hissed, then snapped his fingers at his blond son who caught on and tossed the soap back.
"OW!" Vin halted his song when something hit his chest. He looked up and saw the naked wet chest of the General and the 'white' beard. Then he saw the 'glowing' eyes. "Somethin' wrong?"
"You need a pass for the dispensary, son?" Adam shouted.
"Dispensary?" Vin screwed his face up, then shook his head. "No, sir... I'm fine."
"Are you sure there's not a ferret attached to your balls?"
"What?" Vin cocked his head and then narrowed his eyes when both his friends began to laugh. Then he caught on and stuck his chest out, defending himself. "I ain't hardly that bad. Ya damn three jackals look like somethin' the dog keeps under the porch fer a slow night," he huffed. He paused to lean over and accept the smitten pooch's kiss. "Ya love me, don't ya, girl? They don't know shit... do they?... no, they don't... we'll finish our song later..."
As he leaned back to let the sun warm his face, he thought on Buck again. His first impulse had been to talk it out with the older man. But Buck had surgery coming up and Vin didn't want him upset. He knew if he confessed, Buck would be upset that he felt guilty. That wasn't the right frame of mind to be in when you were fixing to go under the knife.
After.
He nodded, scratching the red dog's belly. He'd talk it out with Buck afterwards. Then a thought occurred to him that lifted his spirits. There was a strong chance the surgery would work. Then his worrying and fretting would be in vain.
"Ain't no milk spilt yet..." he mused, deciding to banish the gray storm clouds for a little while longer.
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