In the Beginning by charlotte c hill

The mini-ram took out the door without a hitch and Buck went in low right behind Ezra--and froze. The picture hit him first--two kids, dirty, gaunt faces, huge terrified eyes that brought back harsh echoes of his early childhood with a vengeance, huddled so tightly together. The smell hit him next, of death, of piss, of dirt and grime and fear.

He didn't quite know how he'd gotten his gun back into its belt holster, only that suddenly he was on his knees, on the floor in front of them, and that their little bodies had gone stiff with shock or fear. Then just as suddenly they were clinging to him, tiny arms pinching at his ribs, others strangling him around the neck, and the sobs, big gulping noisy things, that started in the older one didn't come as any surprise. More surprising were the tears in his own eyes and the need inside himself, like instinct awakened, to get these poor kids somewhere safe.

"Room's secure," he heard Ezra confirm. "I'll call the coroner as soon as we clear the rest of the building. Buck?"

"Go on without me, if you can," he mumbled into the dirty hair of the older child, and felt arms squeeze even more tightly around his neck.

"Let's move." Chris's order gave him tacit permission to stay. Somebody had to keep an eye on two minors, after all, Buck reasoned, and it might as well be him.

He missed the actual bust, missed the arrest of Mark Witherspoon, a painfully WASPish New Yorker trading in women of all races whose personal armory of weapons was what helped to make the bust clean.

He missed the rest of the fleabag hotel, its type all too familiar to him, because as soon as he heard the mini-ram on the door down the hall, he tried to draw away from the kids. Arms clung tighter, and he surrendered to their clutches by just picking them both up.

"Come on, let's get you two out of here," he whispered.

The older one with the scraggly hair yelled "mommy!" and even as Buck prepared to keep the kid from wriggling away from him, the little arms just clung tighter around Buck's neck. Ah, shit. Now he knew who the dead hooker was, and she could be nothing else, wearing the clothes she was wearing, living in this hole. A junkie hooker no less, her works still spread across the table beside which she lay. Ah, shit!

"Come on," he said again, trying to swipe away his tears on the sleeve of his jacket. "Let's get some air."

He took them outside and sat down on the stoop. Neither one of them seemed willing to let him go yet and he had plenty of work-related thoughts to fill his head: how was the team doing; had they found Witherspoon; were the weapons confiscated; who would identify and catalog them; how long had that woman been dead; what social workers had he dated who he got along well with, and how could he use his authority to manipulate the system?

"Hey," he said, finally getting them to at least sit on his knees rather than clutch at him, limpet-like. "Hey," again. "I'm Buck. What're your names?" No luck. He shouldn't have hoped it would be so easy. These two emaciated kids had been sitting at the feet of a dead woman for who knew how long? "Hey, it's okay now, Buck's here. I'm gonna help you, all right?" It was stupid to promise, selfish even. "You hungry?"

The older one gulped and nodded against Buck's chest, so Buck lifted his head and looked toward the liquor store at the street corner. In this neighborhood, it was the best these kids were going to get. He didn't try to put them down, just hoisted each onto a hip and walked kitty-corner across the street. The little market was barred, with a camera outside the door and another inside, making him worry that with the kids' knees dragging at his clothes, his gun and holster might be showing.

One problem at a time. The big "ATF" letters on his jacket would probably calm down the clerk.

He actually got the older one to walk unassisted, clutching tightly to his jacket, so he could grab a quart of whole milk, bananas that had seen better days, and three hot dogs from the little machine by the counter.

The clerk, middle-aged and middle-eastern, glared at the elder boy. "I told you I didn't want you in my store again," he growled.

Buck stiffened when the boy cringed behind him, and tossed back a growl of his own. "The kid's with me. I'm with the feds. Take my money and leave them alone."

"They stink," he accused, even as he snatched the twenty out of Buck's hand.

"So does your store, pal, so make change quick and let us get out of here." The boys did smell, to high heaven, and he realized then that it was partly the smell that had awakened this thing in him, of rotted wood and unwashed toilets, and despair.

"At least your whore mother has stayed away this time," the clerk muttered, again talking to the boy.

"You know her name?" Buck asked, grinding his teeth to keep from letting go of the kids and popping this jerk one.

The clerk shrugged. "Annie, Angie, something like that."

"Ann Marie," a tiny voice whispered, and Buck glanced down to the shock of dusty dark hair that had spoken. The younger one, lips barely moving against his jacket, repeated, "Her name's Ann Marie. She's Vin's mom."

So the older boy was Vin. Vincent?

"Hey, Vin, can you help me out here?" he asked gently, pocketing the change and resettling the dark-haired boy once more. Even skinny and young, they got heavy fast. "What's this one's name?"

Blue eyes, huge in a gaunt, traumatized face, stared up at him. "JD. That's what we called him. Mom's dead, isn't she?"

It wasn't a question, and Buck pursed his lips, knowing there was no easy way through this. "Yeah Vin, if that lady was your mom..."

"That's my mom."

"Then yeah. I'm sorry."

JD's stomach rumbled, and Buck got back to the things he could do something about. "When was the last time you two ate?" he asked, grabbing up the bag and trusting Vin not to let go of his death grip on his jacket. He walked outside and recrossed the street, looking up into the dingy building's lighted windows, hearing distantly the crashes and sounds of his people doing their jobs without him. Chris wouldn't be pissed. Hell, Chris would be relieved not to have to deal with these little boys right now, and that someone else had. Chris would probably think Buck had done it as a favor to him.

"While Ann Marie was still awake," JD answered when it looked like Vin wouldn't. "Long time ago."

Shit. Buck had barely put a hand to the corpse's leg, but it was cool and there was no rigor. Then there had been the smell. At least a day, more like two had passed since the woman had died. "Then come on, let's sit down and get some grub into you." He started them on the milk and let them drink out of the carton, unwrapping the hotdogs and setting them, in their little paper trays, on the grimy cement steps. He was afraid of how fast they'd eat, whether they'd waste it all by vomiting it back up, but hearing Vin's next words was almost worse.

"Hey, JD, slow now," Vin whispered, and JD's mad chugging stopped immediately.

"Sorry," JD whispered back. He handed the milk carton back to Vin and picked up the hot dog, holding it with shaking hands before he took one slow, nibbling bite.

Buck thought he might throw up himself; these kids knew how to handle taking in food after fasting. They'd done it before. His hands were free while the kids focused on the hot dogs and milk; surreptitiously, he squeezed the bridge of his nose and swiped at his eyes.

A few minutes later his radio squawked in his ear. "Buck?" Chris's voice, serious, on the job, displaying not a hint of the worry a lover would share. "What's your twenty?"

He unclipped the mic from his collar. "I'm on the front steps with JD and Vin," he said, keeping his voice even. They shook like rabbits under his hands, and while it was probably from the dump of blood sugar at the promise of food, he couldn't shake the idea that it was terror. "We're eating hot dogs."

Ezra chimed in then, and Buck realized the bust was over, and probably everyone had switched to the clear channel. "I hope you bought enough for everybody," he said.

Nathan next. "I'll be right down, I want to check on them."

Buck looked at the boys, sickened that in the five or more minutes they had sat there, they had carefully consumed less than half a hot dog each. They looked at each other, at the food, sometimes sneaking glances up at Buck, obviously waiting for their little bodies to accept or reject the food, obviously hungry.

"No hurry, Nate," he said back, then listened to the chatter in his earpiece, as the team did mop up. Witherspoon was with Chris, the backup team had secured half a dozen unidentified men, and corralled off maybe twenty women. Some of them would know Anne Marie, Buck thought. Some of them would have to know something about these kids.

Vin sped up a little, taking bigger, more confident bites of his hot dog, then his hand scurried like a mouse for the second one, which he carefully tore in half, and he gulped his share down in a couple of bites. JD was still slow, still behind him.

"Have a little more milk, if you want it," Buck offered.

Vin shook his head. "In a minute. Milk don't agree with me, if I ain't had it in awhile."

The accent was soft and rich, deeper south than Buck's own Missouri twang, Arkansas, or Texas maybe. "Well, you can have the rest of that hot dog then, if you want it. I'll get you and JD both some more food, better food, in awhile, I promise."

Vin looked up at him, those big blue eyes examining him, far too streetwise for such a small child. "We stay together," he said flatly.

Buck blinked, realized that Vin was talking about JD, and wondered then how many social workers these two had wormed their way around, that Vin knew anything at all about the system.

It wasn't an unreasonable request. Brothers weren't typically separated these days... "Don't see why you couldn't," he said, carefully not promising. "And I'm gonna stay with you for a few hours at least, make sure you get a good dinner, clean you up, and get you both settled down for the night. I know some ladies that work in Social Services, they'll help us out. It'll be better, maybe, than what your ma could get them to do."

Vin didn't seem convinced, but he sucked on his lower lip for a second before reaching for the rest of the second hot dog. "Thanks, Mister."

"Already told you, Vin, my name's Buck."

More softly then, mumbled around a quick bite, "Thanks, Buck."

Nathan showed up just as Vin swallowed down the last of the second hot dog, and frowned, going medical on him. "You couldn't find 'em anything better than--"

"Hush, Nate," Buck said, honestly enough that Nathan stopped his habitual post-op clucking and dropped to one knee. Without a field kit, he could do little more than be sure they had a pulse, and that their pupils responded evenly, but Buck watched as he did what he could.

"You kids aren't in shock. Strong little fellas, huh," he said absently, making friendly noises and trying to keep his hands out from between JD and the food. It was the only thing the younger one seemed defensive of as he leaned hard against Buck's side, and Buck shared a look with Nathan, about what something like that might mean. "I'm gonna press on your bellies now, just want to see how hungry you've been."

Vin panicked and tried to push Nathan's hand away.

"Hey," Buck said, startling himself with the firmness of his tone. "You probably don't know how to tell the difference between a helping hand and a hurtful one, but Nate's is a helping hand." Vin looked up at him, not quite sullen but not quite glaring, and Buck softened his tone. "Somebody's gonna have to check you both out. Let my friend do it, okay?"

Looking incredibly put upon, Vin actually stood and took two steps away from Buck, and only as Buck watched Nathan thump Vin's chest, and press lightly into his abdomen in several places, did he realize Vin was still scared shitless. Tiny, furtive looks at JD gave it away, that Vin was putting on an act, going first because Vin already knew they were going to be forced. Because Buck had told him flat out.

Suddenly, he didn't want Nathan touching either boy, and hugged the one he still held tightly against him.

"Ungh," JD grunted, but he squirmed back onto Buck's knee and seemed more than content to be squashed right into Buck's ribcage.

"We're on our way out, Buck," Chris called over the radio, maybe reading his mind, maybe just being a good team leader. Either way it gave Buck a chance to scoop up JD and the bananas, and reach down for Vin, who, when he realized Buck was moving, shimmied up him like a monkey and held on tight all over again.

The tears felt hot against his eyelids, unexplained, not understood at all. He didn't know what these two kids were waking up for him, and he didn't know if his heart could stand it.

He turned toward his and Chris's truck as much for his own protection as for the boys'. Over his shoulder to Nathan, he said, "I'm gonna let them sit in the Ram. Maybe fire up the siren or something. Radio's on. Holler if anybody needs me."

Neither child responded enthusiastically, but both of them held on tighter. Once he got his keys out and the driver's side door open, he pushed them in and they huddled against each other once more, sitting in the front seat, Vin on his knees and JD standing up, each of them with a hand on his sleeve. Their eyes were wide and frightened and focused on the front door of the building, fifty feet away, and since they'd lived there, Buck decided not to try and stop them.

He wanted to radio Chris, slide his key into the ignition, and drive off to a Cracker Barrel somewhere, and watch these boys eat until they couldn't fit any more food into themselves. He wanted to get them cleaned up and bathe the stench of death and disease off them. He wanted to take them out to the ranch, and tuck them in like he used to tuck in Adam, and that desire terrified him. But none of it mattered, because he wouldn't leave the scene until he knew his teammates were all right.

He tapped the button on his radio mic. "Chris? Channel Eight." Then flipped his own radio to that frequency and waited.

"Yeah?" Chris came back, a few seconds later.

"I've got those two kids in the truck, figured it was better to keep them out of the way."

A brief pause, and when Chris replied, Buck heard that tight sound that had only ever been there since the fire. "Thanks. They all right?"

Buck wouldn't go that far, but Vin was staring intently at him, listening to every word he said. "Yeah. They're great. You need me?"

"Always," Chris said, with that slightly self-mocking tone that covered the truth of his lover's words from any other listeners. "But I think we can suffer along without you from here on out. Nate's got the coroner on the way. There was another body, in the back. We'll lock down the building, see what we can find out about those kids."

"Thanks. Going back to channel five. Out."

He switched back again, and watched from a distance as men in tie wrap handcuffs were pushed out the front door and women were herded out in a wary, huddled group. Absently, keeping his hand on one of the boys with a stroke of the hair or a pat to the shoulder, Buck kept himself apprised of the kids' states, of how they sat so close to each other in the front seat... of how they still sat so close to him.

Normally an evening like this would be spent at the federal building in the bullpen with the rest of Team Seven, filing paper on the case and celebrating the removal of Witherspoon from city streets, but Buck knew already that he'd be spending the night in Juvenile Hall, that he wasn't willing to leave these two waifs alone until he proved to them that they'd be together tonight, that he'd be there for them, and he'd hand-picked a case worker who would handle these boys with the most delicacy. He'd miss Chris tonight. After a case broke, they tended toward a much more private celebration of their own, affirming their love, confirming that Kevlar had done its job and that each of them was uninjured, undamaged physically or mentally by whatever they'd had to handle.

But Buck was feeling pretty mentally damaged right now, so maybe it was better to keep that away from Chris too.

A few minutes later Chris trotted toward the truck and Buck, acting on instinct, opened the door and stepped out, waving a staying hand at the children. Chris's eyes roved past him only once, assessing the boys in the front seat without feeling anything, and Buck understood. Adam wouldn't be much smaller than JD, maybe, if he was still alive. No way was Buck going to stir up all of that for Chris, if he could protect his lover from it.

Chris's eyes slid back to Buck, clear and bright with the energy of the bust. "Looks like they've taken a shine to you," he said softly.

Buck just shrugged and tried for a smile. "I'm irresistible."

Chris looked more closely, and Buck was glad of the long evening shadows. "You want to take care of them? Get them checked in at juvie?" Chris offered. "We can follow up with a floor officer tomorrow, run the woman through the computer and see if we come up with any intel on them."

"Sure," Buck said. "In fact, if it'll get me out of paperwork, I'll just stay the night with 'em. Get 'em settled in."

Chris frowned, and took a step closer. "Buck?"

Buck reached out a gentling hand and ran it discreetly down Chris's forearm, touched their fingers together briefly. They weren't much for keeping secrets, but they were on a job. "I'm okay. They just... it just... bad memories," he finally concluded lamely. "I'd like to stay with them, get 'em through tonight."

Chris stared intently for a second, licked his lips like he always did when he wanted to kiss Buck but couldn't, then tilted his head back toward the crime scene. "Call me when you know anything. I'll ride with the guys back to the federal building after we process the suspects, and hitch a ride from Josiah to Juvenile Hall, grab the truck to get home. I can bring you clean clothes and stuff when I come in tomorrow."

Buck nodded vigorously. "Okay. Chris--" Chris turned back expectantly. "Thanks." It was heartfelt, and they could share nothing more intense than the speaking look, the frowning care.

"Sure," Chris said, then broke away, turning back to work. Buck instantly heard him on the radio. "Buck's got the juveniles, he gets to play baby sitter, so everybody send him a thank you note tomorrow. Let's get this scene mopped up."

It sounded so much more like work, the way Chris presented it to the other teams, and Buck was grateful.

He climbed behind the wheel and buckled his seat belt. "Either of you ever been to juvenile hall?" he asked, deciding to be straight with them from the beginning.

JD started to cry, and Vin threw an arm over his shoulder, trying to shush him. The older boy's eyes were wary again, frightened.

"Hey, hey now," Buck soothed, reaching out a hand. It shocked him, how much it hurt when Vin flinched back. "Don't trust me already?" he sighed. "Well, I'm not gonna lie to you, son. That'd just make it worse, wouldn't it?"

"What... what are you gonna do?" Vin asked with shaking voice.

"I'm going to take you to juvenile hall and get you checked in. I'm gonna get you some more food, and clean you up, and stay the night with you, and sleep wherever they put you, make sure you're okay. And tomorrow, I'll call some friends to make sure you get a case worker I trust."

He suited words to deed, driving slowly, gratified when Vin eased a little closer and pressed up against him. Easily, carefully, he put his arm around the thin shoulders, making sure to encompass JD in the embrace. They settled down fast, and Buck felt his heart twist a little at the simple, childlike trust they placed in him.

"You think you can eat a little more food?" he asked, remembering the Cracker Barrel.

"We're all right," Vin hedged.

"I know you are. You think you could eat a little more?"

A tiny shrug was answer enough, and Buck headed for the highway, and exit 71.

They loved the place, and he loved watching them enjoy it, the atmosphere, the candy section, the kids' menus with fried everything. He let them order everything they wanted, even though he figured they couldn't finish it; he was wrong. An hour later, they had polished off every bite, burping impolitely and rubbing at their bellies, as if trying to make room for more.

"Okay," he announced, signaling the waitress for a check. "Time to get you checked in, and put you two to bed."

"Buck?" JD's voice, small and scared.

"Yeah, kid?"

"You're gonna stay with us? Really?"

"Sure. Tonight, anyway. And I'm gonna keep an eye on you both, make sure you're treated all right."

"You promise?"

It was such a simple request, and so filled with meaning.

But the answer was simple. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I promise."

FM - FM - FM - FM - FM

The night was precious. Juvenile Hall wasn't a place he was too familiar with, given the kind of work they usually did. But bureaucracy was bureaucracy, and his badge got him a long way. He checked the kids in with the night officer, Daniels his tag said, coaxing Vin's and JD's birthdays out of them, and their full names. JD's last name was different, but that could mean anything. "I'm going to stay over," he informed Daniels.

"We don't have many beds..."

"We won't need many." Buck couldn't explain it, but he needed these kids close, just for a little while. Being able to do something for them somehow helped to ease all of the shit he'd suffered in his own childhood, and he wasn't interested in being told no.

The OoD, a career civil servant with graying hair that he combed over to poorly hide a bald spot, had a bad attitude and grumbled, "Suit yourself," only because Buck was law enforcement. Buck wondered briefly about his gun in the glove box of the Ram, and decided it was safer out there, with the alarm on, than it would be in here. Most of the holding areas were dormitory style, with six to eight beds in each subtly designed cell, and most were full. "There's two empty beds in here," he said, unlocking the room with little regard for the kids already sleeping.

"Okay. Where are the showers?"

"It's after hours," Daniels said, then sniffed. Hesitated.

"Come on pal, give us a break." Buck lowered his voice, even though he still held JD in his arms. "Give them a break."

Daniels knelt down in front of Vin, who quivered and clung tighter to Buck's jeans. "Hey, Vin," he said kindly. "You think you could take a bath? Or get your big friend's help and get washed up at a sink?"

JD whimpered. Vin swallowed hard and Buck, worried, picked him up again. Daniels glanced up, then stood back up, the movement smooth in spite of his bored attitude and age. "Showers are straight down the hall," he said. "I'll get the lights and some towels."

"Any chance you've got some clean clothes for them?"

Daniels shrugged, then eyed the boys carefully. "Might have some scrubs, or pajamas..."

"We'd appreciate it. And a shirt in my size, maybe."

"We're pretty much full these days, Mr. Wilmington. Sixteen and older go to County Jail, so I can't help you there," Daniels said as he turned away.

He'd have to sleep shirtless, as a smelly patch dampened his side where he had hoisted JD; the boy had wet himself, long enough ago that his pants had begun to dry. "Okay kids, it's bath time."

"Thanks, Buck," Vin said quietly, and JD echoed in a smaller, thinner voice, "Thanks, Buck."

Buck swallowed a lump in his throat at a memory of Adam screaming like a banshee, "Don't like water! Don't need a bath!" These kids wouldn't turn away anything they recognized as a luxury: Food, water, baths, clean clothes. He'd have to make sure they got to a dentist, he realized. Maybe they could skip the doctor if there was a nurse on duty at Social Services. But that was tomorrow.

"Come on now," he said, sitting down on a metal bench and settling JD on his feet beside Vin. "Off with them grubby clothes."

Vin took off his shirt and looked at JD, waiting. JD took off his shirt. Vin took off his shoes and socks and waited; JD took off his shoes and socks. JD didn't argue, didn't make a peep, in fact. Buck took off his own urine-stained shirt, wondering if there was another shower somewhere for adults.

Daniels caught up to them in the gym-like shower area before the boys had stripped off their underwear, and pulled a key from his belt. The boys moved quickly, scurrying like mice, to keep Buck between them and the OoD.

"There's a laundry back there," Daniels said, hitching his thumb over his shoulder as he set a stack of towels and clothing on the bench. "If you want I can throw their clothes in..."

"Thanks," Buck said, meaning it. "Come on boys, get undressed."

Buck stepped up closer to Daniels, whispered, "Is there another shower somewhere? I need to get this piss off me."

"Nah," he said, "but you're on candid camera in here. Go ahead."

Buck looked then to the corners of the room and the camera above the doorway. "Live?" he asked.

"All the time," Daniels confirmed. "24-hour backup, to protect the staff."

The kids were still in their underwear, so Buck wriggled off his jeans, seeing if they'd follow suit. Sure enough, as soon as he was stripped the boys gave up their underwear, and Buck threw his shirt in with their clothes and a look of apology to Daniels. "I'll come up front when we're done."

He didn't try to touch the boys, even though they shared the showerhead next to his, instead focusing on getting himself clean and setting a good example. Grateful or not, Vin didn't seem to have a clear picture of what needed washing. So he modeled for Vin, who sneaked glances out of the corner of his eye, then copied the motions, cleaning under his armpits, his face and neck, his behind, between his legs.

JD wasn't nearly so good a student, but Buck let it pass. Just letting the water run over him was going to do the boy a world of good.

Damn, they were beautiful kids. Now that the dust and cobwebs were out of it, JD's hair was as black as a raven's wing, almost inky. Vin's, darker now that it was wet, looked like it would dry not quite as light as Chris's hair color. Too skinny, too pale, they were nonetheless adorable, and working their way into his heart; he knew the feeling too well, and kicked himself for being such a soft touch. There was damned little he'd be able to do for these kids, damned little the system would let him do.

He put his underwear and jeans back on, then helped the boys into the loaned pajamas. Daniels, it turned out, had a good eye, and they fit pretty well. "You want to walk with me up front again, or go to bed?" he asked them.

JD looked to Vin, but sidled up against Buck's leg. Vin, frowning, just nodded. "We'll go with you."

He didn't know if they were afraid of the lockdown or afraid he'd leave, but it didn't matter to him either way. Daniels proved more cooperative, promising to finish the load of laundry so they could go on to sleep.

When Daniels escorted them back to the room and Buck lay down on the nearer narrow cot, both boys scrambled in with him before he had a chance to argue. Well. It was just one night. JD lay in the middle, Vin on the outside and hanging precariously off the edge of the bed. He reached a long arm around them both, dragging them a little closer, a little safer. Maybe Chris would come in to check on them, but Buck doubted it; the teams would be working late, and up early. And Chris had problems with kids, hard problems that Buck intimately understood.

The boys wriggled a little, JD wedging himself even closer to Buck, until he wondered how the little boy could draw in air. Vin pressed just as close, squeezing JD even tighter, and a tentative hand sneaked over the waistband of Buck's jeans, gripping tightly to a loop. Poor little kids. He wondered about Vin's mother, wondered what she'd been like, and whether she was anything like his own mom. She must have had something going for her, to try and keep these two boys. She must have been decent enough, the way they'd waited for her, near-catatonic, the way Vin had cried out "mommy!" Buck felt his eyes misting, and blinked hard to push the tears away. It had been a long while since he'd thought of the bad things, the hard things in his childhood, but these two kids brought it all back like it was yesterday. And they didn't even have a mother who loved them, not anymore. Maybe he could help them have a better life than the system generally afforded orphans.

Maybe.

FM - FM - FM - FM - FM

Chris spent most of the evening on paperwork and wrap up, ordering pizza for the guys and turning the oral reports into a play-by-play in the crowded conference room. He wondered about Buck more than once, worried a little at the look he'd seen in his lover's eyes. But Buck would be all right. Buck was always all right. And--he checked his watch--it was almost ten. If he really was staying with those kids, then they'd be asleep right now, and he wasn't willing to call Buck on his cell and wake up everybody in juvie.

"We done for now?" he asked, wrapping the session.

Ezra groaned. "I was done an hour ago."

Nathan and Josiah nodded, and the people from the other teams muttered various forms of agreement.

"Okay then, let's call it a night. We'll pick up here tomorrow, finish reports while it's still fresh, and see if there's any fallout we'll need to handle."

"What about Buck?" Josiah asked, his interest merely casual.

"He's gonna stay over, make sure those kids are okay. Apparently they were pretty messed up. So I need a ride to Juvenile Hall to pick up the truck. Josiah, you mind?"

"Not at all," Josiah replied, and Chris followed him down to his old Suburban. "Buck seemed taken with those boys," Josiah offered, just making small talk as they drove.

"Yeah," Chris replied, uncomfortable. "You think Witherspoon's gonna confess? He hasn't lawyered up yet."

"I doubt it." Josiah was a profiling genius, and Chris trusted his evaluations.

"Damn. Would have made our lives easier."

"Well, plenty of things would. Like you and Buck taking separate cars in more often," he added with a grin.

"Gasoline conservation," Chris offered.

"Huh. Buck said it was the highway blowjobs."

Chris startled, then laughed out loud. "He said no such a thing!"

Josiah grinned. "Nah. Here we are."

The truck was parked right out front, under a streetlight. On impulse, he buzzed into the reception area and flashed his badge. "Chris Larabee," he introduced himself to the aging man at reception. "I'd like to check on the status of Buck Wilmington and two kids he brought in here."

"What is this, an ATF convention?" the guy mumbled, mostly to himself. "He's with them in one of the holding rooms. Here." He leaned back and flipped toggle switches on a couple of monitors.

There Buck was, in black and white, the image so stark, so nurturing, so--Chris looked away. "Okay, thanks. I'll be by tomorrow to take him off your hands." With that he dragged out his set of keys, unlocked the Ram and headed for home. The truck was unnaturally quiet, so he turned on the radio.

The house was worse. No big deal, they'd both been other places for days or weeks as work called for it, but... seeing Buck asleep with those kids had shaken him a little, dredged up a grief he'd tried so hard to get through. Walking in the dark down the hall and to the bedroom, he undressed down to his boxers, then grabbed a blanket off the bed and returned to the den. TV would do him a world of good, filling the silence and maybe even distracting him from that uncomfortable old feeling in his belly. Landing on "African Queen," he got through twenty minutes of it before he was sound asleep.

FM - FM - FM - FM - FM

Three days later, Buck slipped out of work at 4:15 and headed for Family Services and an appointment with Christine Cameron. Buck had been first shocked, then worried, when blood tests revealed that Vin and JD weren't brothers after all, but while they sat there, the two kids were escorted in, cowering behind a voluptuous middle-aged woman.

As soon as they saw Buck, they both darted out from behind her and made a beeline for him. "You came back!" Vin said.

"Told you I would, didn't I?" Buck swung Vin up into his lap even as JD watched. "How about you, kid? You want to sit up here so you can see what's going on?"

Round-eyed, JD just nodded, then scrambled up onto his other knee.

"They feeding you?"

"Every day," JD mumbled as if in awe, still frightened by all the activity in the room. "Three whole times."

"Yeah," Vin added in his own small voice. "Thank you."

"Stop thanking me," he said gruffly. "I'm not even the one feeding you."

But they refused to be deterred from the idea that he was the one responsible for the quality of their care. It scared hell out of him, and he turned worried eyes on Christine, who looked amused as hell at his predicament.

"Okay, boys, let's get to know each other so Buck and I can help you better, all right?" JD stuck his thumb in his mouth. Vin just nodded. Brothers or not, they were very tightly bonded, and when she finished her two pages of questions, she said brightly, "I need to borrow Buck for a minute."

Vin clung more tightly for a bare instant, before dropping his head and making a move to get down.

"Hold on there, Vin," Buck said, catching him before his feet hit the floor. "You two can stay right here in this chair. Can you do that for me?" Vin nodded. "Okay. And this nice lady and I are gonna be..." he looked up to her for direction.

"Right over in that corner," she pointed.

They settled down at the table by the coffee machine.

"I'll have to put them in a state orphanage, for now," she said, her gentle voice as sweet to his ears as it had been when they'd dated a few years ago. "We'll try to find good foster care, though; it's far better for them to be socialized in a family environment."

"Yeah," Buck nodded, looking beyond her to the kids. JD had slid off the chair and moved to stand beside Vin, pressing tightly against his legs. Vin dropped an arm around JD's shoulder and leaned forward, whispering to him. "Any chance I could check out the foster home before you place them? Maybe keep seeing them, once they get settled?"

"Buck..." he looked up at the concern in her voice. "Foster parents go through a rigorous application process."

"So do cops, but some of them are dirty," he replied, low. "I'd just like to meet them, let 'em know I'd like to drop in from time to time."

She sucked on her full bottom lip, chewing it gently until it took on the sensual, dark color of a new plum. "Let's cross that bridge when we come to it. With no paperwork and only a dead mother to go on, well... " she trailed off briefly. "And we need to get the older one into a school system. Any school system."

Christine had done plenty for them so far, and Buck had already sent her flowers the day after she finagled the case into her care. The kids had no birth certificates, no actual identification of any kind, just a few crayoned drawings in a dirty steno pad, and notes in a dainty hand that might have been Vin's mother's. Their names. Reminders to herself to buy them food: "food before junk; food before junk." He could sense her desperation, or maybe just remember his own, through those words. JD's birth date--just a few months from now--and his last name, spelled out. Ann Marie Tanner's driver's license didn't help much, but Buck was doing a little side research, trying to track down a hometown, a potential relative or father. So far, nothing. Christine, meanwhile, processed paperwork for social security cards and, based on the boys' stated birth dates and ages, started the cumbersome process of building documentation to replace their missing birth certificates.

"So what happens next?" Buck asked. This was a foreign land to him, one he was glad to have a native guide for.

She speared him with chocolate brown eyes. "I won't B.S. you, Buck. It's hard to find someplace for two kids that age. And frankly, they've displayed latent signs of trauma, so they're going to be a handful."

"What latent signs?" he asked, half-rising.

"Nightmares. Bedwetting. The younger boy is consistent about it." She flipped through the paperwork. "Vin got into a fight with a peer this morning." She shook her head. "Why are they so special to you, Buck?"

Buck reached out to touch her hand and said with complete conviction, "I have no idea. I just know I need to be sure they're all right."

She tried to ask him out then; he'd forgotten how much women loved men who loved kids.

"Not that I don't regret it at times like this," he lied with a smile, "but I'm kind of walking on the other side of the street now."

"What?"

"Chris and me."

"What?" she said again, finely plucked brows drawing together in confusion.

"I'm living with a guy."

"I--" her eyes went wide. "You're kidding. You?"

"It ain't that hard to believe," he tried.

"Yes," she said, but she was chuckling now, "it is. I'll be darned," she added, staring at him until he wanted to fidget as much as the boys. She cleared her throat and snapped out of it. "Sorry," she said, and turned her attention back to the case files. "Frankly, the orphanage may be the best place for them. They aren't going to get as much individual attention as they need, but the clinicians may be better prepared to help them with their emotional and psychological problems."

"No drugs."

"I can't promise that," she said calmly.

"Can you ask?" He couldn't stand the idea of kids doped up, tranked out to keep them docile, manageable.

"I can put a note on the file." She touched his hand then, squeezing gently. "I'll keep up with them, Buck. The system does the best it can, and I will too."

Buck glanced over at the boys again. They looked so damned small, so defenseless. He hadn't been defenseless at eight years old, and neither was Vin, but still... had Buck ever looked that young? Orphanage. Stigma. Prostitute's kids. "I can visit them there?"

"Yes."

State run, but that didn't make it any better. Might make it worse. "And they won't mind me hanging around there?"

She made a little note on the corner of the file, and upside down, Buck clearly read the letters, A.T.F. "I'll prepare the staff for you. Just, you know, don't go trying to bust any kids out of there." She grinned. "All right?"

So it was going to be bad. "All right."

"Buck? The facility will appreciate having someone around with an interest in any of the kids. Don't worry."

Until they found out he was living with a man, Buck thought, wondering if he should have told Christine. Until they decided a queer couldn't have the children's best interests at heart. It was 1992, but here in Colorado, it might as well be the dark ages. "Okay," he heard himself say, and stood. "Listen, maybe you could keep it to yourself that I'm shacked up with a guy? I can't see the system smiling at me for that."

She tapped her pen on the file for a moment. "You said 'Chris.' You meant your friend, didn't you? Chris Larabee?"

"Uh huh."

He could see the disbelief in her eyes even now, and grinned flirtatiously. "Aww come on, Christine, don't look at me like that. You know nobody can resist me."

At that she snorted, and ducked her head. "I'll keep it to myself."

He stood then, and bent to give her a brief, grateful hug. "If you'll give me the address, I'll drive them over, help them settle in."

"Buck?" she called before he could turn away.

"Yeah?"

"Don't get too attached. We don't know what's going to happen with these kids."

Buck nodded, appreciating her effort. It was a warning, meant to be kind, and he took it in the spirit it was intended. Unfortunately, he already was too attached.

The facility was pretty much what Christine had prepared him for, brick and wood and chipping paint, wired windows and safety glass, a fence with barbed wire surrounding the perimeter. There wasn't much grass. There wasn't much of anything, and as he sat in the truck and stared at it, JD started crying and Vin's face took on a hard, angry edge.

The boys had both unbuckled their seat belts and climbed into the front seat, staring at the building across the road.

"That gonna be home?" Vin asked, voice trembling in spite of the angry look. His whole body was trembling.

"Yeah, for a little while anyway."

"Ann Marie!" JD whimpered, and dropped into the front floorboard. "Want Ann Marie!"

"Hush, JD, Mom's gone, she ain't comin' back. Hush now." But the words weren't the comforting tone Buck had come to expect from Vin when he dealt with JD, and JD cried all the harder.

"It'll be all right," Buck assured lamely. "I already talked to the man who's going to watch over your dorm of kids." He had called from Social Services and been referred to a kind sounding man named Bill, as much to get a handle on what to expect as to delay the drive over here. "His name is Bill, and he sounds like a nice guy--"

Vin chose that moment to go absolutely berserk, and Buck had to grab him around the waist before he got the passenger door of the truck open. Vin screamed bloody murder, flailing in the cab, while Buck tried to contain him without hurting him. He finally got Vin's legs pinned, his body half-leaning on Vin's to trap him against the seat.

"Vin! Quit it, son! You're gonna hurt yourself!" But Vin kept thrashing, like a wild animal, going stiff and silent for seconds and then wriggling weakly, trying once more for escape. JD, watching from the floorboard, went white with fear. "Shhh," Buck whispered, casting a worried eye down at the younger boy. He reached a careful hand, which JD latched onto so hard Buck knew he'd have fingernail trenches on his skin. "Shhh. It's gonna be all right. I'm going in there with you, and if it's an awful place you won't stay. If it's awful, I won't make you stay."

He prayed to God it wouldn't be awful, because he had no authority to take them anywhere else.

"Come on now, shhh," he repeated, levering himself up a little to stroke the side of Vin's face, brushing the unruly hair back out of the way.

It took long minutes, but Vin came back from wherever it was he had gone to, and relaxed where he lay.

"Vin? You okay?"

Silence.

"JD?"

JD, face still screwed up with fear, tears and snot dripping, nodded once and whispered, "Okay."

This was going to be hard. "I'm gonna get up now, Vin," Buck said gently. "You gonna be all right?"

Still nothing, but when Buck eased off the boy, he jerked himself upright and wiped off his face, then bent down and wiped off JD's.

"What was that, son? What just happened?" He recognized panic when he saw it, but had no idea of the cause.

Vin just looked at him and shrugged. "Didn't want to go."

"I know," Buck said, aching. "I know. But there's good things about it. You and JD get to be together, and sleep in the same room and they'll feed you every day."

Vin looked like he didn't believe a word of it, like Buck had just betrayed him, and that look cut so deep, Buck wanted to just put the truck in gear and drive off, drive anywhere to keep these kids with him and prove to Vin that everything would be okay.

He swallowed hard. "We've got to go in now."

Vin nodded dully, and JD started whimpering again. Damn it! Damn it to hell. Buck started the engine again and pulled up to the gate, pushed the buzzer and talked to the admissions clerk, then the gate slid open. He parked, climbed out of the truck and went around to the passenger side, and opened it to scoop out first Vin and then JD, who was wet again. Great. He wondered how he was going to explain that to Chris.

By the time he got to admissions, it was the least of his worries. Vin looked catatonic, and JD was little better.

Buck checked them in, though, and met the man he had talked to earlier, who actually helped him out with his wet shirt, giving him some kind of spray that neutralized the smell, and letting him rinse the stain a little. The kids stood a few feet away, by the big bathroom door, while Buck took care of his shirt.

Bill was a steady-seeming guy. "Ms. Cameron faxed over some additional paperwork on them this afternoon," he said, flipping through their files. "I'm glad you have an interest in them," he added. "Kids here need all the individual attention they can get."

"I'll do what I can."

"That's all anybody can do," Bill said. "They'll adjust. Kids are amazingly resilient. And we'll get some diaper pants for JD, help him keep from ruining his clothes. That helps wetters' self esteem more than anything else."

"Yeah, thanks," Buck said. He was feeling a little numb by this point.

He stayed with the boys through supper, and made a point of introducing himself and his position in law enforcement to every staff member he ran across, then helped the boys settle into their room. It held sixteen bunk beds, each with two drawers underneath, one for each child. They had only the things he had given them, tennis shoes and socks from Payless, flip flops for the showers at Christine's suggestion, two pairs of jeans, tee shirts, underwear, pajamas. The building Witherspoon had used was still a crime scene, and while Ezra had tagged and bagged a couple of things the boys might want eventually, there was nothing they needed here. The bunk bed near the door would be their home now, for who knew how long? Buck wasn't sure he could stand it.

Whatever fright had taken Vin had receded, and JD looked guardedly hopeful. Buck knew he should leave, but they clung to him again, JD kneeling on the floor with arms wrapped around his calf, Vin sitting on the bed beside him, trying to act mature but holding his hand for dear life.

"I'm coming back, boys. I promise, I'm coming back."

"Yeah," Vin said thinly. "Okay." Buck had seen this already, more than once, Vin sucking it up somehow to be strong for JD.

"I came back today, didn't I? Just like I said?" Buck supposed they'd heard that promise a time or two in the past. "I told you before, all I can do is tell you the truth. I know you want me to stay, but I have a home to go to, chores and work I'm responsible for. But I'll be back. Tomorrow, all right?"

Vin let go then, and climbed down to gently pry JD's hands off Buck's leg. "He's leaving now, JD," Vin said softly. "You gotta let go."

Buck felt his heart breaking. The prostitution, he understood, with an intimate level of love and shame. The heroin, these kids' condition... sitting with a corpse for two days...

"How about I tuck you two into bed?"

It wasn't a solution, and the boys didn't see it as one. But Vin set the example again, pulling down the covers on the lower bunk and then signaling JD to come in with him.

"You've each got a bed of your own, you know," Buck pointed out. "The one up top's yours too."

Vin just frowned, intent and frightened, and shook his head. JD didn't even appear to hear him, scrambling in beside Vin and curling up into fetal position, knees and elbows in contact with his older friend. Buck smiled. "Okay, that works too. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Promise?" JD asked, tremulous.

"Promise."

As he left the room though, he heard Vin's voice, and paused to listen.

"You ought to know better than to ask someone to promise, JD," he chided. "Now if he don't come back, you're gonna be sad."

Buck was ready to turn around when JD replied with a child's absolute conviction, "He's coming back."

Buck drove home in silence, the boys' circumstances paramount on his mind.

It was almost nine o'clock when he turned off the engine in the ranch's wide driveway. Inside, he found Chris at the dining room table picking at a Hungry Man frozen dinner, newspaper in one hand.

"How come you took the Ram?" Chris asked him, as soon as he hit the door. Buck had driven his classic into town this morning, but he'd hoped maybe he'd need the Ram's back seat for the boys.

He shrugged, hesitant. "Miss me?" he asked instead.

"Don't know," Chris said with a grin. "You miss me?"

Buck strode toward him, pulling his chair out and dropping to his knees between his startled lover's thighs. "Yeah," he admitted, wrapping his arms around Chris's waist. "Yeah, I did."

"Buck?" Chris's worry was a balm, and he drew deep breaths that smelled of Chris, and hay, and sweet feed.

"Thanks for taking care of the horses without me," he said.

"Sure. Have you eaten?"

"Nope," Buck admitted, and squared his shoulders to draw away. "And TV dinners don't count, so don't even go there. Wasn't there anything in the freezer?"

"Yeah," Chris said with a smile. "TV dinners." The concern was evident in the soft green eyes, but Chris didn't push. They'd known each other too long, and understood each other too well to push over one unexplained mood or late night.

Buck resorted to peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, on principle. He felt strange, not telling Chris about the boys, but he was afraid his lover would understand his feelings too well. Adam's death was still a raw wound, maybe always would be, and Buck didn't want to add to that pain. So he sat at the table beside Chris and flirted with him, asked how the rest of the day had gone, laughed at Chris's bitching about his old truck, whose engine was in perfect tune and condition no matter what Chris liked to say about it.

"Well, I'll hold onto my girl tomorrow, and you can keep the big dick, how's that?" he asked with a grin. The Ram or something like it was pretty much required equipment on a ranch, just like the old ton and a half flatbed truck they used for hay and hauling, but Buck never tired of trying to convince Chris it was a farmer's version of a Corvette, built and bought only to attract young cowgirls.

"Well," Chris said, playing along and dropping a hand down to cup Buck's buttock, "it does get me laid pretty regularly."

"See?" Buck said, leaning in for a disgustingly peanut butter and Hungry Man Dinner-flavored kiss, "you old guys think it's the vehicle. I'd fuck you if you rode a bicycle to work."

Chris grinned then, and Buck was glad he'd eaten off paper towels. He needed his partner, needed him with an ache he couldn't describe, and wouldn't discuss. Throwing away the remains of the meal, he urged Chris down the hall and into the bedroom, letting him escape only long enough for the brushing of teeth, then following behind him to do the same.

They met in the middle of the four poster bed, worming under the covers together before kicking them down to the foot. Naked, receptive, Chris read him well and pressed him back into the pillows, offering slow kisses that spread out from his mouth to his neck and shoulders, and spread heat even further. Every touch was welcomed, needed, and Buck felt his body respond of its own volition; whatever part of him Chris touched would arch off the mattress, hungry, needy.

"Hey, hey, easy," Chris breathed. "I'm right here."

Buck swallowed, hard, and forced his hands to the mattress. Chris understood what he wanted even if he didn't know why, and Buck trusted Chris with so much more than his body. Chris's grip tightened at his waist, holding him securely, and he let himself be loved, wallowed in the press of their bodies, the tension of muscles, the open depths of too-green eyes. Hands achingly gentle reached down for him, stroked him hard, pushed further to ease his legs open.

"Yeah..." he breathed, following along, spreading his knees wide. "Please..."

And for the longest time, no more words were said.

FM FM FM FM FM

It had taken nearly two months, but the last three times Buck had left the orphanage, neither of the boys had cried. It was a joy to see the growing trust in their eyes, and he only wished they could trust the people who cared for them half as much. But those people didn't have the kind of time or attention that Buck did for two little boys out of almost four hundred children. Vin and JD had settled in as well as they were going to within the first two weeks, the staff psychologist told him. It was a pit, and he couldn't blame the boys for their bitter attitudes, but they had a roof over their heads and three square meals a day, and people who took care of their basic needs if not the more important things.

Teachers came to the institution rather than letting the county figure out how to bus and integrate kids with such a variety of problems and chips on their shoulders. Vin and JD were both in the first grade, much to Vin's embarrassment. But the truth was, he couldn't handle a more advanced class and as far as anyone could tell, had never been to school. Worse, JD melted down completely if Vin left him for very long, so the presiding counselor had decided that they might both learn something if they were in the same room.

Vin got no little flack for being two grades behind, and his file was littered with reports of fighting, his saving grace that most of the kids were his age, or bigger than him. The staff didn't seem too concerned, and in fact privately approved of Vin not picking on the smaller children, which in itself bothered the hell out of Buck. That wasn't something to be proud of, in his book. But there was nothing more he could do. This place was so much better than the flophouse, and being together was so much better for Vin and JD than anything else the state had to offer.

Buck's big problem was not buying them more than the drawers under the bed would hold. Each had more than enough clothes now, his own teddy bear, and while Vin had stuffed his into the drawer with a frown, JD had promptly named his Buck and strangled it in the crook of his elbow. Buck focused now on buying toys that more than one child could use, because as desperate as he was to spoil the boys, he didn't want to prejudice the other kids against them.

And there were so many, boys and girls of all ages, stunted from the loss of parents, or worse, parents who were assholes or addicts or prone to abuse. JD looked so small among them, and Vin wasn't much better off. He wasn't making it easy on himself either; if anybody said a word against JD, Vin ended up on report, which Buck was oddly grateful for; JD was too small yet, too young to hold his own against bullies or resentful roommates. The younger boy couldn't have a better protector in this place, but Bill Markham, the counselor for their dorm, wasn't nearly so pleased. Buck heard it the minute he entered the building, how many fights Vin had been in, if anyone had been forced to visit the nurse, could Buck please talk to him again about the violence.

And Buck did, as stridently as he knew how.

Vin wasn't much for listening, when adults told him something that went against his own beliefs.

And JD still did exactly what Vin said, almost like he couldn't make up his own mind without guidance. Bill had told him last week that JD had excused himself from group counseling to go to the bathroom without whispering to Vin first, and that he considered that a giant step forward.

It all looked like baby steps to Buck, but as long as the kids were moving, he was happy.

The toys he brought up became more public, more community-oriented. Board games and coloring books abounded, and today he had been particularly stupid, impulse-buying a cheap desktop computer with every parental control the sales rep had ever heard of, and about ten video games. He knew it would be a hit with the other kids who shared Vin's and JD's dorm, and while he suspected Vin and JD wouldn't actually get much use out of it, Buck wasn't above bribing children to try and ease the boys' way, or the staff for that matter.

Charlene Simpson came out of her office to thank him for the computer. She was the administrator for the facility, and they had talked a few times before, more often than not by phone. She worked a noon to nine shift, and had called him at home a couple of times when there was a problem she thought he'd want to know about. "They need normal stimuli," she said, looking over the system and booting it up. "It might be a good idea to put this thing in a box, maybe put the monitor behind a wire mesh..."

"I thought you said they needed normal stimulus," he teased.

"They do," she said, glancing up briefly with eyes almost exactly the hazel green of Chris's. "And I'd like them to have it for as long as possible. You know how some of the kids act out, Mr. Wilmington, and I'd hate to see your generosity end up in the trash."

"You ever gonna listen to me and call me Buck, Doc?"

"Are you ever going to stop calling me 'Doc'?" she retorted, irritated. He backed down, not much caring how they did their jobs as long as his two favorite kids benefited.

"How are they doing?" he asked, as she clicked on the startup screen to see what he had loaded.

"About the same, as I understand it." His regular visits had gotten the staff more involved in the boys' condition, so Buck was used to Charlene knowing something about them. "JD's still wetting the bed at least once a night. Vin still won't sleep without him, so they both wake up, change the sheets, settle back down. They've gotten pretty consistent about that." Buck pursed his lips, trying to see that as progress; early on, they'd slept in the piss, because in the flophouse they hadn't had other sheets to put on the bed, and the worn mattress had been infested with fleas. "One or the other has night terrors on average of once a sleep cycle," she continued. "They're still claiming that they don't remember anything, just wake up screaming."

"Claiming?"

She absently pulled at her short little ponytail. "Talk to Bill. He thinks Vin's probably lying, but can't get him to open up. Have you talked to the boys about their dreams?"

He had, but in confidence, so he kept his mouth shut now.

"Think about it," she said, taking his silence as a no. She turned in the hard metal chair. "This is a beautiful system, perfect for their age group," she complimented. "I especially appreciate that you picked games with low violence ratings."

"I figure they get enough of that in here," he hedged.

"Yeah," she agreed, nodding her head, "they do."

Buck was done talking now that he'd made his appearance and handed over his gift. "Can I see them now?"

"Check in with Bill first, all right? There was a problem yesterday."

Shit. There were problems most days, and nobody had figured out how to handle them. "What happened?"

"Bill tried giving Vin another time out," Charlene said. "It isn't a beneficial behavior modification tool for either of them."

Inwardly, Buck groaned. The woman was a psychologist and a damned good one. She had already diagnosed the boys with PTSD and put them in both art therapy and group counseling, but her disappointment at their lack of progress was beginning to show. "What happened?"

"Vin lost control in group and hit another child. So we locked him down and of course JD lost it," she said simply. "Vin was no better, and hurt himself badly enough in the quiet room that he was bleeding when he came out. Then he tore up their bunks, with JD's help. Our only solution was to lock them up together, but frankly, neither one of them perceives that as a deterrent for acting out."

"Vin said he and JD used to hustle into a closet when things got bad. A closet in flop house, Charlene," he added, trying to explain the importance of such an act. "Spiders and molding wood and dank air, pitch black. I can't figure wherever you people put them would be that bad."

"It's not. I wondered..."

"What?"

"The only potential deterrent I can see is restricting your visits. That's what I want you to talk to Bill about."

"Aww, Charlene, come on, don't do that to them!"

"Do you have any other suggestions?"

"I could talk to them again," he said slowly.

"That might help. I don't want to limit their access to you; we're all grateful for the support you've given the staff and your efforts on behalf of the other children. But they're spiraling toward a depression that's pretty typical for kids in state hospitals, and their behavior isn't improving. You're good for them, Buck."

"I'll bet you say that to all the boys," he flirted. It was a natural behavior, as automatic as breathing, and Charlene, in her early forties and attractive in a plump, hair-in-a-bun, bookish kind of way, usually indulged him.

"I'm serious. I wish there were more men like you."

Again he wondered whether she'd continue to think that if she met his lover. But now wasn't the time for dark moods. It was Saturday morning, he'd planned to spend a few hours with the boys, and time was wasting.

A few hours later, Buck chugged along in his old pick up back toward the ranch, and Chris. Vin was trying to learn to hit a baseball, and Buck loved helping him. They had set JD up on a T-ball stand with a wired ball, so he could hit it off and then reel it back in, over and over. Buck stayed longer than he meant to, and the sun was in his eyes all the way home.

When he pulled off the dirt road that led to the house, Chris was uncharacteristically perched on the front porch steps, just looking out at the view.

"Chris?" he asked as he stepped out of the truck. "Everything okay?"

"We've known each other a long time, Buck," Chris said, and Buck tensed. This couldn't be good.

"Yeah..."

"And I expect the truth from you when I ask you for it."

"You get it."

"I know." Hands clasped tightly together, shoulders squared back as if he was preparing himself for a blow, Chris said, "So who is she?"

"What?"

"Who's the woman?"

"What--what woman?"

"The woman you keep slipping off to see. It is a woman, right? The one who calls here?" Chris visibly swallowed. "Or is it another guy?"

Oh, damn. He hadn't thought about what it might look like to Chris, who sometimes disappeared for solitude and whose fidelity Buck had never even thought to question. He was a horse of a different color, though, and he couldn't blame his lover. "Chris, there's no woman," he hastened to assure. "There's no other guy. I'm not fucking around on you."

Chris still wasn't looking at him. "Uh huh," he said after a minute, obviously trying hard to believe it.

"I'm not, Chris. I wouldn't do that to you, even if I wanted, and I don't, all right? I hate that you even had to think it."

"What am I supposed to think?" Chris asked evenly, and though he tried to smile, his eyes were bleak. "You come home late and act like you aren't, like everything's normal. You 'go for drives,' for hours. You fuck me like you feel guilty..." Chris scrubbed at his face. "So let's get it all out in the open, and see where we go from here."

"Chris, no! Damn." Buck dropped onto the step beside him. "I swear I'm not stepping out on you. It's those kids."

"What kids?"

Buck cleared his throat. "Those boys. From the Witherspoon case."

"What boys? Oh, wait, you mean the kids with the corpse?"

Buck winced. "Yeah."

"But that was months ago."

"Yeah."

Chris appeared to digest that for a minute. "You've been seeing them?"

"Yeah."

"Why?"

Buck shrugged and stared uncomfortably at the ground. "I don't know. They just--they need somebody, Chris. They need somebody so bad. And you have to know, I looked at them in that scummy hotel room and felt like either one of them could have been me, with just a little bad luck."

A new silence settled over them, less tense than the first. Chris reached out a hand and Buck took it, settling both their joined hands on his knee.

"So you're telling me that for the last two months, you've been slipping off to go play with those boys," Chris said after a minute.

"Yeah."

Chris drew a deep breath, and his tight shoulders relaxed a fraction. "That the truth?"

"Yeah, Chris, that's the truth," he said solemnly.

"All right, then." Chris used Buck's shoulder to push himself up. "I made chili."

It was humbling, how completely Chris placed his trust. Almost like those boys.

They served up bowls and bread, and at the table Buck ventured a question. "Maybe you'd like to come along sometime?"

"Where?" Chris asked.

"Sasataw State Institution. It's an orphanage off 78."

Chris tensed, and Buck realized his lover had already isolated the facts, tucked them away somewhere. "I don't think so..." he said slowly.

"It's all right." Buck forced a little chuckle. "Hell, it's why I didn't want to tell you in the first place. I was afraid it might bring up too much old, uh, feelings for you."

Chris looked at him, gratitude and love so clear in his eyes that Buck was tempted to push the bowls aside and push Chris over the dining room table. Chris had been right, he thought ruefully; their sex life had been intense lately, Buck throwing all of his fears and tension into the place he was safest, the place he knew best. He'd been getting a little wild, a little demanding, pressing pleasure on Chris in the barn, out in the pasture, the kitchen, the Ram. The dining room table...

Chris's eyes rounded and he leaned back in his chair. "Slow down there, Big Dog," he chided. "Eat your food. Plenty of time for that later."

Buck laughed again, so easily read, so intimately known. "Eat fast," he instructed, and proceeded to empty his own bowl in record time.

They did it standing, Buck spread-legged to line his erection up to Chris's beautiful butt, Chris bent over and grasping tightly to the cross post at the foot of their bed. Intense, guilty, highly charged, they had connected at the desperate level, Chris using a hand to open himself, Buck guiding his cock and then wrapping an arm around Chris's belly so he could anchor him as he thrust home in one long, hard push. Things got a little sketchy after that. All Buck remembered clearly was the electric pleasure that danced over his skin, like he was breathing in lightning, and the way he always felt knowing it was Chris with him, and the smooth slick grasp of Chris's muscles. There was a moment late in the game when he dragged Chris upright and Chris, following his lead, had lifted one leg up onto the bed, opening himself to deeper penetration, shouting as he came, as Buck thrust like a mad thing up inside him and followed.

Semen stained the bedspread. He'd have to start being more careful. Yeah, right.

Buck turned down the bedclothes and ushered Chris in, then sidled up against him, held him like the gift he was. He carded his fingers through Chris's soft hair, soothing him back down as his breath steadied out. "I love you so much," he sighed. He didn't say it often.

Chris looked up, heart in his eyes, then bent forward to kiss him. Chris kept up the kiss, pressing him over onto his back, rolling to pin him to the mattress and working gently, persistently at his mouth. Climax was so recent, he knew he wouldn't be able to respond, but Chris kept kissing him, fitting their bodies together with a care and patience that Buck recognized, and he sighed into Chris's mouth. Half-soft genitals pressed cozily together between them, heat and a fine sheen of sweat making their skin slick and smooth, hands clasping, fingers tangling together. This was one of those nights where they had all the time for each other in the world, and they made sweet use of it.

FM - FM - FM - FM - FM

Exactly three weeks later, Chris made the decision. He toed off his cowboy boots and dragged on a pair of tennis shoes, then slid out of his button down long sleeved shirt and slid on a tee, and wandered out to the barn to see why Buck was still out there. All the horses but Pony were already out, plodding slowly down the hill toward the tall grass and the creek in the lower pasture. Inside the barn it was dim and cool, the smell of horse and aging wood hitting him softly, as familiar and evocative as the scent of baking bread. Buck was at the feed barrels, emptying fifty-pound sacks of sweet feed into the oil drums that kept the rats from getting more than their fair share.

His lover looked over his shoulder when the open door swung and banged against the exterior wall of the barn, and smiled broadly, beautifully. As soon as the bag was empty, Buck dropped it on top of the others and turned toward him.

"You aren't riding?" Buck asked after his eyes had swept down to take in the tennis shoes.

Chris tended to go out with Pony on Saturdays and ride the perimeter of the ranch, pretending to check for broken barbed wire but really just enjoying the ride and the ranch. Until the kids had come along, Buck had gone with him. "Nah. Go ahead and let Pony out, if you don't mind." Buck tilted his head in question, but did Chris the favor, and Chris watched Buck walk down the wide aisle between the stalls, his old faded Wranglers hugging his ass like a well-worn glove. Long legged, boot heels canting his hips, his stride ambled even as it ate up the ground, and Buck was at the third stall in seconds, popping the wood catch and opening it wide.

"Come on, boy, get on out," he called, then whistled low. Pony plodded out and Buck swatted him on the rump to get him moving. The horse ducked his head low and picked up into a trot as he got out the open door. "So?" Buck asked, strolling back to up to him, alert and attentive and undemanding. "What's up?"

Chris shrugged, diffident, emphatically not wanting this to be a big deal. "Thought maybe I'd go into town with you. See what's got you fired up enough to get out of bed so early every Saturday."

Buck's face softened and his eyes shone. "Thanks, Chris. You'll like 'em, they're great kids. Screwed up, but great kids."

Chris wasn't so sure, but they had held Buck's attention for months, and that was reason enough to at least look at them.

The orphanage was pretty good, staffed better than he had expected and filled with toys, games, and an activity schedule for the kids. Buck checked Chris in at the front desk, had him flash his badge too--federal weight meant a lot around here.

"Sherry Miller, meet my friend Chris Larabee. I'm trying to get him interested in helping out a little."

"Nice to meet you Mr. Larabee," she said, extending a hand.

"Chris is fine," he corrected. She was young, and pretty, and obviously the phone girl. Given her blue jeans and tee shirt, he figured she was the gofer for this place as well.

"Where are my boys?" Buck asked Sherry, and Chris felt a deep foreboding at Buck's choice of words.

She checked the schedule. "Six to eight are out back on the courts, playing basketball. Though I think maybe you should talk to Bill. There was another fight."

"Aww, darlin', thanks for keeping such a good eye on them," Buck said, and Chris recognized the sincerity of Buck's gratitude. "Any idea what about?"

"JD this time, I hear. Someone was poking fun at Vin for being in first grade, and JD went a little berserk."

"They fight a little," Buck said to Chris, trying to downplay its significance. "Problems from before, the staff says."

Chris raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"So where are they?" he repeated.

"I think they're isolated in their dorm room. But talk to Bill, he'll know."

"Thanks Sherry, you're a doll." Buck leaned over like he was going to kiss her cheek, then pulled back at the last second, tickling her with his mustache instead. She laughed like a teenager, and Chris rolled his eyes. Buck couldn't stop himself if he tried. And he never tried.

"Come on, pard, I'll show you around."

He led Chris through the back activity room and to a caged staff station, looking for Bill. "Bill is the regular guy here, Tuesday to Saturday, for the dorm Vin and JD stay in. He's a good man. Overworked, you know the drill. There he is," Buck added quietly. "Hey, Bill, how you doin' pard?" Buck held out a hand and they shook firmly. Bill was tall and thin, geeky looking in another life maybe, but his eyes were too compassionate, his smile too quick for him to really qualify. "And this is my friend Chris, he's ATF too."

Chris held out his hand, and concentrated on not hyperventilating. Buck knew all of these people, knew them well, had befriended them and sweet-talked them, because of the kids Chris had never met. Just like Buck had befriended Adam's baby sitters and the playschool teachers and the parents of every toddler Adam had met. Shit. Jesus.

"They're off privileges again," Bill explained, almost apologetic. "I left them in the dorm though; Vin promised they wouldn't damage any property, and I'm trying to give him a chance to start proving himself again."

Buck just nodded. "It okay if we see them?" he asked, sounding worried.

Bill hesitated, then shrugged. "Sure. Just, let's try the one hour limit again today, all right? It seems to help."

Buck nodded and started walking. Chris followed close. "One hour limit?" he asked.

"The kids get a little mad, short tempers and stuff. Bill's trying behavior modification, but the only thing they seem to care about is food and seeing me. So he takes me away from them when they get into fights."

Buck kept walking, seeming only mildly concerned, and they passed down a short hallway then turned left and paused outside a pair of wide double doors. Chris didn't know what he was looking for, but he peeked through the window with Buck, and got the layout of the room: a shit load of metal bunk beds, some unmade, the black and white striped, thin mattresses well-worn. Others had decorations, pictures scotch taped onto the walls, a toy here and there.

"Wait here for a second," Buck whispered.

Chris did as he was told and watched as Buck strolled inside. "Anybody here want to play?" he boomed, purposely putting on a show for them.

"Buck!" two kids scrambled from somewhere to Chris's right and started climbing up his legs. They were heavy enough that Buck had to plant his feet before scooping them up, and he had a vague impression of them in the front of the Ram the night of the bust, and a stink in the cab later. The older boy was almost blond, his short hair unkempt, his body dense with growth. The younger had jet black hair that was just as short but he had bangs that spilled into his eyes. He was so small...

"I hear you got into a dust-up, JD," Buck said. "You know how I hate hearing that."

"They made Vin feel bad," JD replied, as if that explained everything.

"Maybe we'll talk about that later. Right now I brought a surprise for you," Buck went on. "I told a friend of mine about you and he thinks you sound like good boys. He wants to meet you." Buck dropped them onto their feet and came back to the door to wave Chris through.

They had looked like normal, healthy kids until Chris walked into the room. Then Vin backed up three big steps and his eyes went wide. JD scooted behind Vin and held on tight to his shirt, pulling it taut across the older boy's stomach. It looked like he wouldn't come out for love or money.

"Hey," Buck reproved. "Is that any way to treat a friend of mine? You've met him before, anyway. He was at the place you used to live, he helped take the bad men away, and we both helped those other ladies get out of that building and find better places to work."

It was true, technically; the junkies, they had checked into various rehab centers, and the clean hookers, upon release, had been at a loose end. Buck had turned several of them on to more legitimate work in a couple of peep clubs that paid nearly as well as street work with far fewer risks. Anything they did outside business hours, they kept to themselves.

Not that the words had any impact on the boys. "Come on now, it's all right." Buck's voice soothed, and while the older by looked like he was trying to calm down, the younger one hiding behind him could have been deaf.

Chris couldn't help it; he knelt down on one knee to make himself less imposing, and propped his hands across his thigh in clear view. They were so scared. He didn't know why he hadn't expected that. "Hey, boys," he said softly. "My name's Chris. Buck already told me your names, so you don't have to worry about that. You're Vin, right?" he asked, and tried to smile a little. He leaned sideways to try to make eye contact with the little one. "And you're JD? Back there somewhere?"

Buck chuckled, and pulled out a packet of gum. "Come on, JD, come on out. Just a little bit, now. He ain't even gonna touch you. He's my friend. My best friend."

Best friend. Well, Chris supposed it was true, and the easiest way to explain them to a pair of messed up kids.

Buck waived the gum, clearly using it as bait to reel the kid in with. "Come on, son."

JD looked between him and Buck's hand, and edged around Vin's other side, protecting his exposure as much as possible while he sidled toward Buck's offering. As soon as JD's fingers were on the gum, Buck moved quick as a snake, and grabbed the kid around the middle. JD started shrieking, Vin's face shifted to a mask of anger, and before Chris could even rise, Vin had rushed forward and started to kick at Buck's leg.

But the shriek finally defined itself as peals of laughter, and Vin and Chris realized simultaneously that it was no trick; Buck was playing with JD, holding him aloft and goosing his ribs. Vin's face flushed red with embarrassment and he backed up a step, glancing Chris's way.

"Hey, I didn't know he was gonna do that either," he sympathized, then frowned up at his lover. "Buck doesn't exactly know when to control himself, does he?"

Vin grinned at that, and nodded his head in agreement.

"All right now, I'm flying the plane!" Buck proceeded to trot down the center of the long room, holding JD aloft over his head and making jet engine noises. Vin, left alone with Chris, edged back to the foot of the bed. Chris just ignored him, giving him room to protect himself if that was what he needed.

Buck and JD came in for a landing about then, Buck diving and rolling JD onto the bottom bunk in a move that was obviously well practiced.

"There you go, son! Now you get your gum." He held it out and JD snatched it up, red-faced and grinning. "Though I don't know why I'm paying you; you're the one who got the airplane ride."

Buck scooted through the bunk to sit on its nearer side. "Did my big bad friend scare you?" Buck teased Vin.

Vin glared and shook his head, an obvious lie.

"Then how come you decided I needed kicking?" Buck went on reasonably. "You ain't done that in a long time now."

Vin flushed again, and started to move away when Buck caught him too and dragged him into a hug. "Come on now, Vin, it's all right. Chris scares a lot of people." Then he chuckled, and Vin glanced Chris's way again.

"He don't look scary," Vin said quietly. JD, meanwhile, crawled down the bed to kneel behind Buck and peer over his shoulder.

"That's right he don't," Buck agreed. "You think you could say howdy to him?"

Vin nodded. "Hi."

"Chris," Chris offered.

"Hi, Chris."

JD leaned over to whisper something to Vin, who whispered back. Then JD slid off the end of the bed to stand right beside Vin. He looked exactly like what he was: a frightened little boy who had decided to be brave.

"Hello," JD whispered, and Chris realized in that moment, watching Buck with these kids, seeing the change that swept JD at Buck's attention and Vin's obvious trust in him, why Buck kept coming here.

Buck loved them.

FM - FM - FM - FM - FM

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Buck asked, grinning cheerfully as Chris backed the Ram out of the parking space in front of the orphanage.

It was harder than he wanted to let on, seeing those boys, thinking about Adam, seeing Buck treat them like he'd treated Adam. "Guess not," he said, pushing it all down.

"I think they liked you," Buck said then, and started into an easy monologue about Vin's baseball hopes and JD's complete lack of coordination, the way they were coming around, the fact that Vin had never been in school before. They made it to the freeway before Buck announced, "So JD's birthday is in a couple of weeks..."

"Yeah?" Chris prodded when Buck trailed off.

"They let authorized parties check the kids out for day trips, and I'm authorized. I was thinking I could bring them up to the ranch for the day, get 'em some fresh air."

Chris tapped his finger against the steering wheel and thought about it through the long, waiting silence. Then he glanced over at his lover. "You know where this is going, don't you?" he asked.

Buck frowned, and nodded. "I know, Chris," he replied soberly. "I just--I know we can't keep 'em and I know they're not mine, but I can't shake the feeling that I'm doing them some good."

"You are," Chris affirmed. That much was obvious; the kids loved him.

Buck didn't ask again, wouldn't. If Chris never replied, he'd disappear on that day and take the boys to the zoo, or a theme park, or anyplace else they wanted to go. "You really think they'll like to spend the day at the ranch?"

"Did you see all those pictures of horses JD has on his wall? Yeah, I think they'd like it."

"All right then," Chris said, going against his instincts. The more involved Buck got, the harder it would be when those kids found a home. But "later" didn't matter to Buck's heart, never had. When he loved, he loved fully, and he accepted the consequences of his actions.

"You sure?" Buck asked, probably sensing his mood.

Chris reached a hand across the seat to rest it on Buck's thigh. "Yeah, I'm sure. You got yourself into this, so you might as well make the best of it."

Buck unbuckled the seatbelt and slid over before Chris could put up even a token protest. His hand squeezed Chris's leg, and his mouth brushed softly against Chris's throat. "If you weren't such a shitty driver I'd blow you right now," he breathed happily, and Chris laughed in spite of himself. Buck was right, the only time they'd ever tried that with him driving, he'd almost wrapped them around a tree.

"Want me to pull over?" he joked.

"Nope," Buck said simply. "I want you to get us home."

-- the end --

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