Accusations
by Mady Bay and Suzy
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Vin Tanner arrived at the Federal Building at exactly eight-thirty in the morning. He parked the beat-up Jeep in the parking garage as he usually did and, with a bounce in his step, made his way to the elevator. 'It's going to be a good day,' he thought and smiled.
He'd spent the weekend at Chris Larabee's ranch, helping his friend with a new horse, getting it accustomed to being ridden. 'And the horse wasn't the only one that got ridden,' he laughed to himself, remembering Chris and their wild lovemaking in between chores.
The ATF sharpshooter was whistling a tune as he exited the elevator and entered Team 7's offices. He was usually one of the first of the ATF team known as "The Magnificent Seven" to arrive and today was no different. Vin made himself a pot of coffee to start the day and grabbed the files on the latest case they were working on. He stopped and checked his mail slot, grabbing a few new papers and envelopes and took a sip from his coffee as he headed to his desk.
Settling into his chair, he began to go through his mail. He trashed the notice from payroll reminding everyone that his or her health insurance options were due. He put aside a letter from the District Attorney's office notifying him of an upcoming pre-trial conference. The third letter made him cock an eyebrow. It was a folded and stapled piece of paper with his name typed on one side. He slid his finger between the fold and tore the paper from the staple.
As he read the one-word message inside, 'Faggot,' his eyes closed and his jaw tightened. When he opened his eyes again, he balled the paper up and threw it into the small trashcan next to his desk. Putting the vulgar note out of his mind, he plowed ahead with the tasks of the day, opening the case file.
"So much for it being a good day," he muttered.
Forty-five minutes passed quickly as he worked through the stack of files on his desk and his coworkers drifted in. Gradually the office took on the general buzz of activity Vin was accustomed to. Buck carrying on over yet another conquest met with groans of disbelief from Nathan. Josiah's soothing baritone washed over the resulting debate like cool surf on burnt sands. JD's voice pestered Ezra to explain, yet again, the new computer program and why it worked perfectly for Ezra but refused to cooperate for him.
"There's a bug in it, Ez, I'm telling you," JD persisted. "Vin," he called from across the room. "You can't get the thing to work either can you?"
Vin glanced up and shrugged at the two men and bent his head back to his work.
"See, Ezra? You only think it works 'cuz you don't really know what you're doing..." JD's protestations were cut short by Ezra's erudite defense of his superior knowledge. Then a ragged chorus of male voices was raised as each of the team members greeted Chris Larabee.
"Mornin'," the blond man said back to the room in general.
The sharpshooter felt a simultaneous tug in his heart and groin at the sound of Chris's voice. Vin leaned back in his chair and watched as the team's lanky leader strode through the open room, coffee mug in hand. He briefly spoke to each member of his team on the way to his office and, passing by Vin's desk, thanked him for his help with the horse over the weekend. Vin nodded his head but kept quiet. He had plenty he wanted to say, but none of it was fit for an audience.
Chris went into his office and Vin returned his attention to his desk. He let the familiar noises and now-frequently ringing phones lull him into a sense of well being, the early-morning ugly accusation forgotten until his own phone rang.
"Tanner," he grunted into the mouthpiece, cradling the instrument between his shoulder and chin while shoving papers into a folder. He strained to listen above the hubbub in the Team 7 room. "Agent Tanner," he tried again. "Can I help you?" He plugged one ear with a finger while pressing the phone against the other.
"Faggot," a voice hissed.
Vin felt the blood drain from his head while his heart began a rapid thumping. Saying nothing, he waited for the caller to continue, knowing if he'd ever heard this voice before he could identify it. He just needed to hear more.
"Queers die," the voice came back. But it was only a harsh whisper.
"Speak up you chicken shit," Vin said between gritted teeth. "You got somethin' to say, say it." The line went dead. Damping down the rage that began a slow boil in his gut, Vin laid the receiver back in its cradle and stood up. With muscles knotted against the urge to run across the room, he walked with studied nonchalance to the door of Chris's office.
Chris looked up and smiled warmly at him, but quickly adjusted his expression to match the one on his lover's face. "What?" he asked with concern.
"We need to talk," Vin said.
"Yeah, sure," Chris replied, waving Vin into the room with his hand. "Shut the door."
Vin started to comply when a woman's voice cut through the air on the office intercom. "Agent Tanner, Line 6." Vin sighed. "I'll be right back."
He took the call at his desk and, hanging up, grabbed his jacket. He stuck his head back through Chris's doorway. "Got a tip on McMurtry," he said retrieving his car keys from his pocket.
"Did you want to talk to me first?" Chris asked, not bothering to mask his concern.
"Nah, it can wait," Vin brushed the topic away with a shrug. "I won't be long. I'll catch you up when I get back."
"Take somebody with you," Chris said as Vin headed out the door.
The sharpshooter nodded as he walked out, but ignored Chris's suggestion. Tommy Wilkes, his snitch, didn't trust many people. He almost always refused to meet Vin unless the ATF agent was alone.
Vin headed for the Jeep, planning his strategy with the man. Sure, Tommy had initiated things today, saying he had information about Ian McMurtry, but sometimes it was like pulling teeth to get the little weasel to give up the information. A quick stop at the ATM would probably help him talk, he thought.
Half an hour later Vin parked his Jeep, putting a quarter in the meter before jogging across the street to the park. He usually met with Wilkes here, sitting on a bench or picnic table, both having good views of their surroundings. He knew something was up when he saw the snitch sitting on the ground near the trees. But he didn't see anyone else around. And he'd been waiting for a tip on McMurtry, even a minuscule one, for so long that he had to take the chance. McMurtry had been on the ATF's "most wanted" list for about two years already and Vin and the others wanted him bad.
"What've ya got for me, Tommy?" Vin asked, still scanning the area.
"McMurtry's errand boy, Joey Maldonado, he's over across the street," Wilkes replied.
Vin heard the uneasiness in the man's voice, but looked over toward the café tables Wilkes pointed to.
"And?" the agent asked, hoping for further enlightenment.
"And," the snitch responded, "he said he'd talk to you, in return for immunity."
"Why?" Vin demanded, squatting down to look at Tommy Wilkes face to face. "Why now? And what's in it for you?"
"I don't know why!" Tommy returned defensively. "Told me to call you, said he'd give you McMurtry. And now that you're here, I'm leaving," he added quickly getting to his feet. He left without even asking the agent for his usual fee.
Vin cursed silently to himself. He knew this was a once in a lifetime opportunity. If Maldonado was willing to give them McMurtry... "Shit!" he cursed aloud. "Somethin' just ain't right. This is too damn easy."
But easy or not, the opportunity was there. He pulled out his cell phone as he walked across the park toward the errand boy, and dialed Chris. He'd at least let him know what was going on so they'd be prepared when, hopefully, he returned with Maldonado to the office.
"Yeah, Chris, it's me," he spoke. "You ain't gonna believe this, but-,"
"But your faggot boyfriend is gonna die," a gravelly voice finished after grabbing the phone from Vin's hand.
Vin found himself walking across the park, flanked by three men in ski masks, one of whom was pressing the barrel of a gun to the back of his neck.
"You just walk nice and quiet-like and nobody else around here will get hurt, pretty boy," the man with the gun spoke, gesturing to some of the children on the playground.
"Who is this?!" Chris shouted into the phone. "What the fuck do you want?!" he added, but the line was already dead.
Buck, who had heard his old friend's shouts, came into the office.
"What's up, Chris?" he asked, concerned.
"Somebody's got Vin," Chris replied, moving his gaze from the handset still in his grasp to Buck.
"Whaddaya mean 'somebody's' got him? Who's got him? Why?" Buck's line of questioning grew more agitated in proportion to his boss's actions. Chris was now pacing his office, hands raking across his scalp. "Chris!" Buck demanded the other man's attention by stepping into his path. "What's going on?"
Chris stopped and stared hard into the bewildered face of his oldest friend. He weighed his choices and the incumbent risk of admitting an enormous secret, one that he and Vin had together made a pact to keep from all others. One that could possibly destroy either or both of their careers. But in that moment, what had seemed imperative in theory was lost in reality. With Vin's safety in the balance, Chris realized there was no real choice. If ever he needed to trust in his friendship with Buck, it was now.
"Someone's got it out for Vin – and me. They just took him. He was on his cell, checking in with me, when they grabbed him and said they would kill him." Chris tried to relay the facts as calmly as possible but his alarm was threatening to sink him.
The big man placed a steadying hand on his boss's shoulder. "Why? Who's got it out for you?" He shook his head at the nonsense of it.
"Because.... we.... Vin and me.... we," he floundered for a way to say what he didn't want to.
"Chris," Buck said gently. "If this is about you two–" He also started to stumble over his words and resorted to waggling his hands in the air as if that would complete his sentence. "You know—I mean, I know, you know?"
Chris gaped at his friend. "You do?"
Buck shrugged. "Yeah, sure. It's kinda obvious..."
"It is?!"
"Well, I know you better'n most, Chris," Buck back-pedaled. "Probably would never occur to the rest of 'em," he said appeasingly.
"Shiiiit," Chris let out a soft curse and glanced sharply through the window of his office at the rest of his team and back at Buck.
"I haven't said anything," he declared, shaking his head. "Ain't my business, pard. But, what has this got to do with the phone call? And where is Vin?"
Suddenly Chris's panic resurfaced. "I don't know where he is." He tried to look Buck squarely in the eye when he said, "But the message was that they were gonna kill my... boyfriend."
The other man merely regarded him with concern. "Tell me where he went and why," he directed.
Chris finally took a breath then relayed the last conversation he and Vin had had.
Vin felt the blow coming and braced for it. If he could have opened both his eyes enough, he would have seen it coming clearly, but his left lid had puffed up awhile back and now all he could make out was bits of light on that side. But he still knew the punch was coming when he felt the air move before the massive fist connected with his middle. Hands over head cuffed to a chain in the ceiling, he couldn't keep fending off the attack with tightened muscles. For one thing, the very same muscles were about to collapse from the abuse they'd been taking since he had been brought here–a basement from the smell of it–about an hour ago. He didn't think it had been much more than that, although he was feeling like he'd been here a year.
One second he'd been on the phone with Chris and the next thing he knew he was being held captive by three men who were too afraid to show their faces but had plenty of bravado with a defenseless man. He labored to keep his wits, to figure a way to help himself out, but the punches and slams had been coming regularly for so long that now his faculties were muddled. Reflexes were slowing. Breathing was getting too difficult. Either his tongue had gotten too big or his mouth too small. The hearing in his left ear was gone, a persistent ringing in its place. And he didn't need a mirror to know that it wasn't sweat dripping down his face. Waves of chills played up and down his shirtless torso. His mind felt light and he kept forgetting why his arms were throbbing.
Then came the knife.
"That woke you up, didn't it sweetheart?" The voice sounded as close as the blade–right up against his ear. "Thought you queers all wore earrings? So where's yours?"
Vin felt the tip of the knife prod the back of his earlobe but resolved to keep his mouth shut. So far, mouthing-off hadn't gotten him very far.
"Run out of sparkling commentary, lover-boy?"
"You ain't smart enough to keep up," the sharpshooter retorted automatically, realizing his mistake too late.
The knife ripped through Vin's earlobe. Ignoring the strangled cry of his victim, Vin's tormentor hissed angrily, "I figured out that you pissed me off, you smart-assed pansy."
"Stop," an angry voice intruded on Vin's preoccupation with his most recent wound. The man with the green mask had a deep, gravelly voice and was clearly the one in charge.
The knife-man moved away at the other's admonition.
"I told you to rough him up, not bleed him to death, you idiot," the new man complained as he approached Vin. "We need him. At least 'til we get his 'girlfriend,'" he said in disgust. He stepped close to Vin. "You obscene, depraved deviant." Bourbon-and-cigar breath assaulted Vin's nostrils. "How dare you bring your disgusting blasphemy into the Bureau."
Vin lifted his weary, pummeled head. "You don't like Catholics?" he mumbled.
Smack! came the hand across his mouth. "You just can't seem to learn, can you?"
Vin had to agree: he couldn't seem to keep himself from treating these guys like the asinine motherfuckers they were. He was probably going to die and all he could think of was how to tick them off. Wonder if this is what Chris meant about his stubborn streak? He started to throw out another retort when the man's words suddenly clicked in his brain and he remembered the ugly note in his mailbox this morning. If this guy was a coworker, why couldn't he place him?
"You got a problem with me," he choked out, "be man enough to face me." He felt like a stomped-on bug, but he'd be goddamned if he wasn't going to challenge this sonofabitch. And he wanted more than anything to know who this guy was.
"Well, that's just the problem, isn't it? We can't have a man-to-man talk when only one of us is one."
"That covers me, now what about you?" Vin said in spite of himself.
The response came on a voice trembling with rage. "You think you're such a man, you fucking fairy? Let's see how much of a man you are. Strip him," the man ordered. Vin felt two rough pairs of hands jerk his pants and shoes off and prayed for oblivion.
"You know how to contact this Wilkes fella?" Buck asked."I don't know. Vin may have a file on him in his desk. They usually meet at the park near Chestnut," Chris replied, heading out of his office and towards Vin's desk.As Chris began rifling through Vin's papers and files, he attracted the attention of the other team members.
"What's going on, Buck?" JD asked, approaching the two."Vin's in trouble," he replied, going through papers in the garbage. "Someone grabbed him while he was on the phone with Chris. Said they were gonna kill him.""Where was he?" Nathan asked.
But he was ignored as Buck pulled out and read a crumpled piece of trash and handed it over to Chris. Buck saw the pain cross his old friend's face as he read the single word, saw him push it aside as he put the note into his pants pocket and continue to search through the sharpshooter's belongings.
"Where was he?" Nathan asked again.
"Out checking a lead with one of his snitches," Buck finally replied when Chris didn't."If he was with that uncouth Mr. Wilkes, then I may be able to shed some light," a southern voice intoned. The team leader finally looked up from the desk and gave Ezra a deadly stare, telling him that he better give up that information, and soon.
"I had the unfortunate experience of having met the man, while Mr. Tanner and I were engaged in surveillance one evening," the southerner began. "I believe we'll be able to find him at the OTB on Elm."
"That's just two blocks from Chestnut," Chris finally spoke, nodding to Buck as he headed for the elevators.
"What can we do?" JD asked, still confused by the sudden events.
"We'll let you know!" Buck shouted as the elevator doors shut.
"Tell me, Buck," Chris began. "Who else knows? Who do you think suspects? Who would do this?"
"I don't know, Chris," the mustached agent replied. "You two ain't the social butterflies around town – ain't like you'd hit any of those clubs to be seen at. Probably somebody in house," he continued. "But hell, you've heard all the jokes, all the lockerroom talk that goes on in an agency like this. Kinda hard to point to just one person, or even a dozen."
"But who would have it in for me and Vin?" he questioned as he wove the truck through Denver's midday traffic.
"That's an even harder one to pinpoint," Buck chuckled, meeting Chris's resulting glare head on. "You and Vin don't take shit from nobody, no matter what rank or division. Hell, you've both stomped on enough toes to keep several podiatrists in business!"
Chris had to smile at that remark, despite the turmoil inside him. He pulled the truck over to the side of the road when he spotted the OTB Ezra mentioned.
"You ain't gonna get away with this," Vin muttered.
"I beg to differ, Tanner," the man retorted, pushing on Vin's chest, causing him to sway back and forth.
"You know, for a bunch of homophobic assholes, you guys sure are gettin' your jollies playin' around with a naked man," Vin said, despite reminding himself that he would probably get hurt for the remark.
"Don't you even begin to compare what you and your boyfriend Larabee do to each other with what we're doing," growled the heavy-hitter behind him as he dragged the edge of his knife down Vin's spine.
The sharpshooter arched his back as he tried unsuccessfully to stifle his cry.
"Chris's gonna kill you straight out when he finds ya," he gasped.
That brought another blow across his face and Vin actually saw stars bursting against the inside of his eyelids then. As he painfully lifted his head back up, he tried not to smile as he saw the man shaking his hand out.
"He's not going to have to find us, we're going to lead him right here. Come on," the leader then said to the man with the knife, "Let's go call the man in question now."
Vin sagged as he heard the footsteps retreat from the room.
"Keep an eye on him," the older man's voice called back into the room. "And try not to have too much fun...."
Vin felt a wave of nausea as he realized he still wasn't alone. He tried to turn himself around. Tried to see into the shadowy corners to find the quiet third man. He hadn't spoken a word, hadn't initiated any of the attacks on the sharpshooter. He had just followed the older man's orders.
"So, you got something against me and "my kind" too, or you just along for the ride?" Vin asked, trying to sense which part of the room the guy was in. He turned this way and that trying to see, to hear, to anticipate any move on the other's part. Then he twisted the wrong way. He cried out as his battered and abused body protested, muscles and nerves afire.
Chris and Buck walked into the betting establishment, each of them searching the crowd, looking for Tommy Wilkes. Chris had an idea of what the man looked like, remembering how Vin had once described him.
"You see him anywhere?" Buck asked.
"No," Chris replied, obviously disappointed. "Shit!" he swore, pounding his fist onto one of the countertops.
The two were about to leave when the quiet shrill of Chris's cell phone stopped them. Buck waited patiently during the conversation and when Chris ended the call he gestured to the phone still in his boss's hand and raised his eyebrows questioningly.
"That was Nathan," Chris said. "Vin's Jeep is parked at an expired meter over on Chestnut, near the park."
He had turned his attention back to the main entrance of the OTB when the phone rang again. Chris flipped it open again and barked his name into the speaker.
Buck watched his friend listen intently, the scowl on Chris's face turning to a mask of fury and his short, shallow breathing becoming apparent. When he hung up, Chris stood still and stared into space.
"Well?!" Buck shifted his weight waiting for Chris to speak.
Chris gradually met Buck's gaze. "Keep looking for Wilkes and wait for Nate. I'll send him to get you."
"Where're you going?"
"Back to the office. I'll touch base when I get what I'm looking for," he said vaguely.
"But—" Buck hesitated, knowing there was a lot Chris wasn't telling him.
"Do it, Buck," Chris commanded, his jaws clenched. "I'll check in with you in an hour and I'll get the others on it." He turned and stalked out of the establishment.
Chris's hands stroked Vin's chest and kneaded his buttocks. His tongue lapped at his cock and Vin pushed himself forward, aching to be consumed by that mouth. But the tongue left his groin and worked its way up to his navel, where teeth nibbled at the little stretch of skin at the top and his tongue dipped into the divot, swirling around and around.
"Feel good?" Chris whispered.
"Hmmm," Vin acknowledged.
"How 'bout this?" The tongue worked its way up to his right nipple and, just as Vin was about to say, "Yes. More," the teeth bit hard into his sensitive skin. Rough hands worked on the chains at his wrists, high above his head and the fantasy vanished as excruciating pain consumed Vin's shoulders.
"Huh?" Vin's mind crawled out of the blankness it had retreated to. Prying his eyes open just a slit, he recoiled at the bright light that sent a piercing sharpness clear into the back of his skull.
"God, you're a perv, Tanner."
It was the one who had come from the shadows. The last thing Vin remembered clearly was a soft-spoken man talking nicely, promising help, and just as Vin's defenses began to crumble at the thought of relief, he felt the first kick to his ribs. The attacker had kept at it, jabbing and kicking the young sharpshooter like a punching bag, until Vin's resolve broke and he cried out for mercy. In the same calm, soothing voice, the man had promised him more. Then, mercifully, Vin's memory was blank. Until now.
"He's back with us," the leader in the green-mask said to the torturer. "Let me talk to him."
Vin's chin was lifted from his chest by a rough hand. He opened his eyes as best he could to look his demon in the eye.
"You're pretty tough," the man said grudgingly. "...for a fairy."
Finally, Vin was out of retorts. He only wanted to lie down and sleep. Or die. But he couldn't come up with a thing worth saying.
"You must know that you desecrate the Word of the Lord every time you even think carnal thoughts of another man. Are you not fearful for your everlasting soul? If you have no regard for your own fate, have you no concern for the corruption you've brought to one of the finest law enforcement officers there ever was? How will you feel knowing that you've single-handedly purchased a special place in Hell for a once-honorable man? You are a base and vile creature. And Larabee will get a last opportunity to witness your debauchery when he arrives."
The words had droned in Vin's head. The senseless words of a madman. He'd stopped paying attention until that last part. Struggling against the powerful urge to give up and die, Vin lifted his head, squinted at the man in the green mask and somehow managed to lob a wad of bloody spit at his face.
"You'll wish to Heaven you hadn't done that," green-mask said tightly.
For once, Vin agreed with the maniac as blackness engulfed him again.
Pain. It was all around him. It was on him and in him and hovering in the air waiting to land on him and aggravate the pain that was already eating away at his body and his mind. His mind. Playing tricks on him again. For some crazy reason he kept thinking of horses. Being at Chris's and working with the horses. He was thinking about breaking the new stallion. A whip cracked and the horse shied and whinnied. The whip cracked again and a hideous noise filled the room.
Vin's body shuddered in the after-effects of the last whip stroke and he heard the noise again. It was coming from his own throat. I t was a sickening sound. How long had they had the whip out? He couldn't remember. Knife-man had traded in his first toy for this more sinister one. The first few lashes had been tolerable, but then he started to feel the skin on his back shred and the tip of the instrument had curled around his hips, ripping tiny bits of skin away from his belly. And then it had moved lower and then he didn't remember until the shriek had leapt from his mouth.
"That's enough," said the leader of the group. "Get him down."
As the chains above were released, his arms fell heavily to his sides. He tried to scream at the abrupt sensation, for he was sure then that his shoulder had been dislocated, but the sound was extinguished by the tightening of a nylon cord around his throat. His limited vision began to blacken and he prayed he would faint. Instead, blood rushed to his head as he was thrust forward over the back of a steel chair. Handcuffs quickly contained his ankles to each of the back chair legs, his wrists to the front. His throbbing head bounced against the hard seat and his naked backside pointed up in the air. He gasped for air and turned his head as much as possible to try to see his attacker.
"Kinda short on conversation now, aren't you pretty boy?"
"Fuck...you..."
"Well now, interesting you should bring that up," the torturer crooned, moving up behind Vin and stroking the cleft between his cheeks with the end of the whip, stopping to prod at the tight opening. "Because I was just thinking that was exactly what you needed. A good, hard poke."
Vin watched upside down as the soft-talker stroked the long whip handle then whacked it against his palm a couple of times. Let me die, Vin thought. Let me die. His prayer was interrupted by a scuffle at the opposite side of the room. He twisted his head against the seat of the chair and caught a glimpse of long, thin, black-clad legs and boots. Oh God! Chris!
"Excellent! An audience," came the old man's gravelly voice. "You're just in time, Mr. Larabee. Make sure he has a clear view," he directed the man bringing him in.
Vin heard Chris attempting to yell through a gag and struggle to escape a tight grasp. But Chris was outnumbered when the soft-talker joined his comrade to wrestle Chris into a chair.
Once Chris had been secured to it, the one in charge walked over to the ATF leader and, placing a hand on his shoulder, said, "You know this had to happen, Larabee. You know the rules. There cannot be perversion in the Bureau. We have to preserve the sanctity of the ranks. Look what this disgusting abomination has brought to your own door. But, with his elimination, you'll regain your senses." And he patted the shoulder like an old friend. "There now. On with the show."
"Buck? Shouldn't Chris have called by now?" JD asked.
"He said he would. Let me check the office," the mustached man replied, as worry lines creased his face. After a brief conversation, he put away his cell phone, cursing, "Dammit, Larabee!"
"What's happened?" Nathan asked.
"Chris never showed back to the office," he replied. "Dammit, Buck!" he swore to himself. "You shoulda known."
"You should have known what, Mr. Wilmington?" Ezra asked.
"That Chris had no intention of going back to the office. That other call he got, it must have been the kidnapper. And he went to meet with the bastard on his own," he muttered.
"So, we're back to square one," Josiah intoned. "Anybody have any new ideas?"
"Wilkes is still out there," Buck replied. "He's the key. Ezra you and me'll go back to the OTB. The rest of you boys start lookin' for Chris's truck."
"NOOO!" Chris screamed through the gag, watching as one of their captors slapped the whip handle into his palm as he walked around Vin.
"What's the matter? Jealous?" he called over to Chris. "Afraid he'll like this more than your skinny dick?"
Though his words were muffled, Chris's reply of 'Fuck you!' was easily understood.
"Gee, that's what Tanner just said," the leader responded with a chuckle. "My, what an extensive vocabulary you two have."
"Or maybe, he just wants it first," one of the others put in with a sneer.
"No! Leave him alone!" Vin cried out, fear for Chris's safety taking over. "Do what you want to me, just...let him go," he added breathlessly.
"You talk when I say you can!" Vin's tormentor growled, yanking on the nylon cord again.
Chris struggled against his bonds as he watched Vin gasping for air, his face reddening from the effort.
"So tell me, Larabee," the leader spoke casually, enjoying the reactions he was getting from the blond agent. "Are you really willing to give up your career for this piece of trash? Because, you know if you decide to 'come out of the closet,' you won't last in the Bureau. Is he worth it?" he asked, leaning over the arm of his chair, toward the bound man. "You've got a stellar career, with a promising future in the Bureau. But if you're not willing to listen to reason," he whispered, pulling Chris close so he could hear, "then I'm just gonna have to kick you the hell outta Dodge."
Then he stood up and moved over to squat next to Vin.
"Or maybe I should be asking you the question, Tanner," he said, motioning his man to ease up on the cord. Once Vin stopped gulping down fresh breaths of oxygen, the leader continued, pulling the younger man's face toward him by the chin, asking, "What are you willing to give up? What will you do to keep Larabee alive?"
He then moved back so that Vin had a good view of his lover. A view of Chris, bound and gagged, a knife to his throat.
"Over there," Ezra said, pointing to the scruffy looking man.
Buck followed Ezra's gaze and saw Tommy Wilkes as he was entering the OTB. Moments later the two ATF agents were dragging the man out the back door and into the alley.
"Where's Vin Tanner?" Buck growled as he came nose to nose with the snitch.
Wilkes crumbled instantly. "I dunno!" he wailed. "I swear, I don't!"
"You didn't have a lead on McMurtry for him, did you?" the ATF agent stated more than asked.
"No," Wilkes replied, shaking his head.
"So somebody paid you to lure Mr. Tanner to the park?" Ezra asked from over Buck's shoulder.
The terrified informant weighed his chances against the two formidable lawmen and quickly gave up his information. "It was a scam," he admitted. "He paid me to say the tip was about McMurtry and his boy Maldonado."
"He who? Who paid you?" Buck Wilmington snarled at the simpering snitch.
"I—I don't know his name..."
"Not good enough," Buck said menacingly, shoving Wilkes's back against the brick wall and extracting his weapon from its holster to make his point.
"Hold up, there, Mr. Wilmington," Ezra intervened. "If you kill him, we won't be able to procure the necessary information."
"I ain't gonna kill him," the mustached agent retorted, keeping his frigid glare locked on Wilkes's face. "I'm just gonna disfigure him some." The muzzle of his gun poked painfully against the small man's jaw.
"Some old guy! It's some big, old guy. Honest to God, I don't know his name! He's not from around here, though. Not on the streets, anyway. I think—I think..." Wilkes blinked into Buck's angry eyes and chanced a look up at Ezra and gulped. "...he might be one of you..."
Ezra and Buck exchanged a worried glance. "Tell us about him," Buck demanded.
When the snitch hesitated, Ezra pushed the squirming Wilkes's skinny back against the brick wall and said, "Spill it."
Vin screamed as the whip handle was repeatedly shoved into him, his arms and legs pulling uselessly against the handcuffs.
Chris struggled, just as uselessly at his own bonds, screaming through his gag for the torment to stop.
"But isn't this what you two normally do?" the leader questioned both Chris and Vin. "Why, I would think you'd be screaming in ecstacy, Tanner. Getting a good butt-fuck is what all you homos want, isn't it?"
"Stop.... please," Vin gasped the words out.
"Say what?" said the whip-man.
"I...let me.... talk... to Chris." Vin's words, difficult to make out between his swollen mouth and restricted oxygen, were faint, plaintive.
"Nah, think I'll just let you worry about him a little—,"
"Let him talk," the ringleader cut in. "Untie him—perhaps he's ready to repent."
The torturer tossed his weapon back onto the table and unhooked Vin's ankles and wrists, pushing him sideways to fall off the chair in a heap on the floor.
Vin heard Chris calling his name through his gag and pulled himself up, clawing at the ground to get to his hands and knees. Never had he felt the weight of agony like this. Not one single piece of his body was free of pain and misery. But he had to make this stop. He could withstand almost anything, even the ultimate humiliation Chris had just witnessed, but he couldn't bear the thought they might turn on Chris and do the same to him.
Chris had screamed as loud as he could, struggling with all his might to get free. But the gag had let through only muffled bellows and the ropes were relentless. The knife at his throat had stopped worrying him the instant he'd seen that sonofabitch take the clubbed handle to Vin. Let them cut his throat. He'd somehow get Vin free first. He didn't know how, but by God, he would not let the best man he'd ever known suffer any more. But just when he'd decided to play their captors' game, Vin had begged for release. And now Chris watched in fascinated horror as his beautiful friend, no longer recognizable, labored to stand before him. Blood covered much of his beaten, broken body, rivulets of it running down his inner legs. His torn flesh was so excruciating to view that Chris could not imagine how Vin was able to function with the pain.
Vin staggered to an upright position and, taking a step toward Chris, was brutally yanked by the neck cord back to his place by the chair. He fell to his knees with a sickening thud. Chris prayed that he would pass out and quit trying to prove that he couldn't be intimidated, threatened or tortured into submission. Chris knew that whatever happened from here on, he'd never known a braver person than Vin Tanner.
The ATF leader's prayer was partially answered when Vin remained on his knees, no longer able to muster the strength to move. He raised his head and dazedly focused on Chris in the chair before him.
"I...don't..." the words were lost as the battered man succumbed, crumpling to an unconscious heap on the floor.
Ezra had a tight grip on the armrest of the old Trans Am with his right hand as he held his cell phone with his left.
"That's right, JD. Conrad Paulson's the guy Wilkes described. We're heading to his house. Josiah's already checking his office," he spoke, the urgency of the situation outweighing his usual need for a more formal manner of speech.
Buck sped the car around another corner, causing the southerner in the passenger seat to grasp the dashboard. The mustached agent only hoped it would be as easy as finding Vin and Chris at Paulson's house. But somehow, in the back of his mind, he knew it wouldn't be. Ezra's cell phone shrilled and he listened in on the southerner's side of the conversation.
"Buck, forget Paulson's house. Denver PD already checked it," Ezra said. "Josiah said he found an address written on a scratch pad on Paulson's desk with Vin's name on it. Head over to 45 Robinson Street. I think it's on the East Side," he instructed.
Buck slammed on the brakes and cranked the wheel, spinning the car around. They ignored the rude remarks and gestures from the cars behind them and quickly headed east through the streets of Denver.
Twenty minutes later, the Trans Am pulled up in front of 30 Robinson Street. The two ATF agents got out and began to head down the street, each checking around them, looking for signs of Vin or Chris, or the men who took them. Buck pointed and Ezra followed his gaze, picking up the forms of JD, Josiah and Nathan coming from the other direction. When they were close enough, Buck signaled the three to head around the back of the old, run down house, and that he and Ezra would go in the front door.
They waited a minute, enough time for the other three to get into position, before heading cautiously in the front door, their guns drawn and leading the way. Clearing the hallway, Buck silently went to the left, Ezra on his heels, and checked the living room. Next came the dining room. They met up with Josiah, JD and Nathan in the kitchen, where JD was handcuffing an unconscious man.
Josiah saw the look on Buck's face, sensing that he was trying to recall something.
"Mark Jenkins, from Team Five," Josiah whispered, answering Buck's unspoken question. "One of Paulson's boys." He nodded his approval when JD finished up by putting some duct tape he'd found across the man's mouth.
Buck pointed to the three and then to the ceiling, telling them to check the upstairs. He and Ezra would go to the basement. They all agreed and continued their search.
Buck stood back and pointed his weapon at the basement door as Ezra pulled it open quietly. Seeing that the stairwell was clear, they began to enter it. That was when they heard the muffled cries. He looked at Ezra to see if he'd heard them too. He had. With even more determination than before, the mustached agent led the way downward.
Sweeping arcs around the room with their guns, the two agents found themselves alone. Ezra motioned toward a doorway on the far wall. Buck nodded and the two crept toward it. Listening, Buck recognized Conrad Paulson's voice, saying something about repenting. Ezra held up three fingers and raised his eyebrow. Buck nodded, agreeing. On the silent count of three, the two agents burst into the room.
"ATF! FREEZE!" the two ordered, the phrase escaping out of habit, the irony of it being used on fellow ATF agents, lost.
Shots were fired in rapid succession, Buck and Ezra diving for what meager cover they could find, again out of habit. The element of surprise had worked in their favor. The men in the basement, holding their fellow agents captive, had gotten too comfortable, believed the one man guarding the house upstairs would be enough, and therefore were not prepared. They all went down.
Buck and Ezra heard footsteps coming down the stairs and quickly spun around, relieved to see that it was the rest of their team. After removing any other threat, making sure the captors were either dead or unarmed, the team finally made their way to their comrades.
"Oh, my God," Buck whispered, falling to his knees at Vin's side, tentatively reaching for a pulse.
Before he knew it, he was being pushed aside by Chris, who had been released from his bonds by Josiah. The team leader had tears in his eyes as he scooped the fragile form of Vin Tanner into his arms.
"Somebody call an ambulance!" he shouted to no one in particular, his voice hoarse.
"Already done, Chris," JD spoke quietly, putting his cell phone back into his coat pocket.
Nathan moved in and placed his jacket over Vin's middle, taking note of the injuries, seeing if there was more he could do. Josiah and Buck's jackets soon followed until Vin was completely covered. They stepped back and watched as their leader held the sharpshooter tight. Begged him not to leave. Ordered him to stay with them.
Buck went about the room removing ski masks from the fallen agents, stopping when he got to Conrad Paulson, who was still alive.
"He deserved it, the heathen," the older man spat. "Bringing in his vile, perverse ways. Poisoning the Bureau."
"Shut the fuck up," Buck muttered before punching Paulson's jaw, knocking him unconscious.
He looked up to see Josiah checking on the other men, making sure the one that was still alive, Chuck White, was handcuffed. Nathan was still with Vin and Chris, trying to coax Chris into letting him check on Vin's injuries. Ezra had gone upstairs to wait for the ambulance. JD, he saw, was just standing in the middle of the room, a confused look on his face.
"I don't understand, Buck," he said. "Why would they do something like this? Why would they hurt one of their own?"
"I don't know, Kid," he replied quietly, hoping JD didn't see through his lie. "I don't know."
When Ezra finally led the paramedics into the basement room, helping them with their equipment, the mustached agent went to Chris's side.
"Come on, Chris," he said, pulling at his old friend's shoulders. "Let the paramedics have him now. Let them take care of him," he urged.
Finally, as if waking up, Chris relinquished his hold on the younger man and let the paramedics do their job. He surveyed the room, saw his team members, acknowledged each one of them with a look. Then he saw the other men. Vin's captors. Vin's tormentors. He rushed over to Paulson and began pummeling the unconscious man with his fists.
"You fucking bastard!" he shouted over and over. "What fucking right do you have?!"
He'd made a grab for JD's gun, wanting to shoot Paulson dead, when he felt Buck's strong arms encircle him in a tight grasp, lift him off the floor and away from Paulson.
"Easy, pard," Buck soothed, struggling to hold onto Chris.
"Let me go, Buck!" he shouted. "Let me kill the fucking bastard!"
He continued to struggle in the big man's grasp, wanting nothing more than revenge, until the paramedics wheeled Vin past them on the stretcher.
"He needs you more, Chris," Buck whispered. "Come on. JD'll drive you to the hospital. I'll take care of things here. Make sure Paulson and his boys keep quiet."
Seeing Vin again, though he was barely visible under the blanket, bandages and tubes, brought Chris back to the more important task – making sure Vin would be alright. He nodded silently as he relaxed in Buck's grip. Buck called JD over and told him to take Chris to the hospital, handing him the keys to his car.
Chris paced the length of the small space, his stride deliberate, angry. JD watched nervously from his plastic chair in the waiting room where the two had been sent upon entering the emergency room. Chris hadn't answered any of JD's questions on the car ride over except to say that Vin was the victim of a case-related vendetta. JD couldn't think which case that might be, knowing that Vin had had the same amount of contact with Conrad Paulson that he had, but he was smart enough to know that now wasn't the time to press Chris on the issue.
JD had never seen the older man as agitated as he was now. Each of the team members had been injured or at extreme risk in the past, including Vin, and Chris had always maintained his composure. Anger and worry were standard reactions, sure, but staying focused and on the job were traits in Chris that JD admired and tried to emulate. And Chris always defended his men with the fervor of a mother bear. But this. This was unlike anything JD had ever witnessed in Chris.
The vein in the older man's temple throbbed visibly. He stalked around the room with his arms crossed tightly against his chest. The fury he barely contained stood out starkly on his pale, tight-lipped, clenched-jaw face. JD assumed Chris's distress stemmed from the conditions under which the team had found the two hostages. Why on earth had Paulson and his men felt compelled to beat and whip Vin senseless? Weren't they all on the same side? And why, of all things, strip him entirely of his clothes? Something didn't add up at all on this one, JD thought.
Ezra was thinking the same thing. Joining their associates in the hospital waiting room, Ezra and Nathan inquired about Vin's condition. When their leader stormed past them on his invisible path, JD finally spoke up.
"No news yet," he said, throwing a fearful glance in Chris's direction. But the look was lost on Chris.
"Don't like the sounds of that," Nathan spoke quietly. "It's been more'n an hour now, hasn't it?"
He looked at each of the men in the room. Biting his lip, JD nodded worriedly. Nathan said he would find someone who could give them some information and headed out to the ER nursing station. Desperately wanting someone to reassure him that this nightmare wasn't as bizarre as it seemed, JD turned with an expectant look to Ezra.
The Southerner grasped the young man's shoulder. "Vin's a strong man, JD," he said, his usual verbosity lost as he watched his boss from the corner of his eye and tried to piece together a puzzle of mismatched pieces. "He'll pull through this one just like he always has in the past."
At that, Chris finally stopped in the midst of his invisible path and focused angrily on his men. Opening his mouth to speak, he was interrupted by the return of Nathan with a doctor in tow.
"Chris Larabee, JD Dunne, Ezra Standish, this is Dr. Cody, he's been in charge of Vin's case," Nathan began.
"How is he?" Chris demanded, before Nathan even finished the introduction.
The young doctor looked at the four agents, saw the worry in their eyes, their desperate need for news about his patient. Chris was the first to speak when the doctor asked if Vin had any family members present.
"We're his family," he said and noticed that the other three nodded in agreement, standing united.
"Mr. Tanner is in serious condition at this time," the doctor began, stuffing a hand into the pocket of his scrubs. "While no one injury he's sustained is life threatening, the combination of them, and the manner in which they were inflicted," he paused, still not believing what he'd been told, "have been enough to warrant the serious status."
The doctor looked down quickly at his chart before continuing. "Dr. Harrington, from plastics has already taken a look at the, uh, lacerations. She'll suture up the deep ones, along with the ones on his face and earlobe, once he's back from radiology. The orthopedist on call will fix the shoulder dislocation and...." He paused, again looking at the men looking at him, before continuing, "Once that's done, we'll set up the surgery to repair the damage to..." Dr. Cody decided against the clinical, opting for the vague, "...that he sustained from the, uh, sexual assault."
Chris closed his eyes and thus, failed to see the shocked faces of his men as the doctor's words revealed possibly the worst part of Vin's torture.
"Thanks, Doc," Nathan managed to get out, releasing the young doctor from his task, shaking his hand before allowing him to get back to the emergency room.
"That sick son of a bitch," JD whispered, backing away from the group, needing to escape the renewed horror he felt.
Chris opened his eyes then, hearing JD's words. He turned to Nathan.
"Give me your cell phone," he ordered.
The dark man obeyed, seeing the determination in his boss's eyes. They heard him bark Buck's name into the thing as he stalked out of the waiting room, leaving the remaining three in his wake.
Chris continued to talk to Buck as he hailed the cab outside the hospital's emergency entrance.
"Who's left?" he asked.
"Besides Paulson, Jenkins and White are still here," Buck replied. "Paulson took one in the shoulder and White's got a bullet in his leg, but they don't look too bad. We've been able to hold off the paramedics, keepin' 'em on standby in the street until the scene's more secure. Jenkins is still hog-tied and gagged."
"How much does Josiah know?" Chris asked.
"Nothin' solid yet," the mustached agent replied with a sigh, knowing what Chris was referring to. "They're both spewin' stuff about you and Vin, callin' ya homos and all," he said quietly, angrily. "But as much as I'd like, there's only so many times I can punch the two of 'em out without Josiah gettin' too suspicious. And," he paused, running a shaky hand through his hair before adding, "we found something...something they used to hurt Vin."
"I know," Chris said, knowing just what Buck was talking about. "I'm about five minutes away."
"Chris," Buck called before his old friend could hang up. "AD Travis just called me, too. Wants to know what's been goin' on. Said Denver PD called him about the shooting. I've been able to keep DPD at bay, spoutin' about an important ATF investigation and all, tellin' them that we found you and Vin and that we thanked them for their earlier assistance. But Travis is livid. I told him that he'd have to talk to you, that you'd fill him in. He's probably gonna come down here," he added.
"Alright, thanks, Buck," Chris said, hoping his old friend heard the sincerity in his voice, conveying his thanks for a thousand things at that moment, before turning off the cell phone.
A few minutes later, as the cab pulled away from the curb, Chris watched as AD Travis, driving an obvious company car, pulled past the ambulance and parked on the sidewalk. The blond took a deep breath and waited for the barrage of questions that would come.
Travis glared at Chris, motioning him into the house. He was one of the few people able to do that to Chris Larabee and it had nothing to do with him being the ATF supervisor's boss. Josiah had been upstairs in the kitchen and saw the two men enter. After nodding to Chris and the AD, he went back downstairs.
"What the hell is going on, Chris?" Travis asked, once they were inside the house.
"Conrad Paulson and some of his boys kidnapped and tortured Vin," he said, his voice only slightly shaky.
"What?!" the older man exclaimed. "Paulson? He's been with the Bureau for years! An excellent agent. Why would he do that?" he sputtered.
"It was... He..," Chris began, not knowing what to say. He took another deep breath before saying, "He did it because he thinks Vin is gay. That... that he and I are...together."
Travis looked up sharply at Chris's words. He studied the man before him. Wondered briefly if it was true. But then returned to the true matter at hand.
"Is Vin alright?" he asked.
"He's at the hospital, in serious condition," Chris replied, somewhat surprised, but relieved that Travis hadn't asked if Paulson's accusations were true.
"Where're Paulson and his men?" Travis continued.
"Downstairs. Buck and Josiah are with them," he replied, gesturing toward the cellar door.
The two men made their way downstairs, past Josiah's guard position and to the back room where Buck had been keeping watch over Paulson, Jenkins and White. Travis took in the scene of the crime, including the two dead bodies - Joe Martin and Steve Treadwell - recognizing those men as ATF as well. He saw the blood on the floor and, noting the absence of a body to its proximity, he realized that it must have been Vin's blood.
"Wilmington," Travis acknowledged the mustached agent.
Buck returned the AD's acknowledgment with a nod and took a position next to Chris, ready to grab his old friend, prevent a murder, if necessary. The two watched as Travis kicked Conrad Paulson's shoes, none too gently they noticed, rousing the ATF supervisor.
"Paulson!" he shouted, glaring at the man, getting his attention.
"Ah, Assistant Director Travis," Paulson drawled painfully as he looked up. "The man in charge. Come to join our party? Or are you siding with these subversives, participating in the ultimate downfall of the Bureau?"
Buck held on tight to Chris's arm, nodding to the AD before them. Travis had squatted down to meet Paulson at his level.
"You, Agent Paulson," the older man spoke, his tone icy, "are the subversive one in this room."
"It's unnatural!" Paulson spat. "You know -,"
"What I know," Travis countered, cutting him off angrily, "is that you and your men have committed acts against the laws you were sworn to uphold! You kidnapped and tortured fellow agents, for God's sake! And I don't give a damn about your reasons!"
"Well, Larabee," Paulson began, looking away from Travis toward the blond agent. "Regardless of this unfortunate outcome, my plan will still work. You and Tanner aren't going to have jobs in the Bureau for much longer. Once word gets out..." he trailed, smiling.
"Let me hit him again," Buck said, putting up a readied fist.
Travis shook his head in disgust at Paulson. He stood up and motioned Chris into the outer room.
The blond knew what was coming.
"I'm not going to ask if it's true or not, Chris," the older man spoke, meeting Chris's troubled gaze. "That isn't any of my business. But I need to know how you, and Vin, want to proceed. Obviously IA is going to be involved. And I'm suspending all three of them immediately. But how far are we going to go? White and Jenkins will probably go for a deal, trading silence for a resignation. But Paulson won't go down quietly."
"I know," Chris replied, rubbing a shaky hand through his hair. "Wish he'd been one of the fatals," he added quietly, looking back toward the room.
Travis sighed, inwardly agreeing with Chris's statement. He did not like this situation. The ATF had had too many bad raps lately. They didn't need something like this adding to their already less than perfect image. He took another close look at Chris. He was beginning to form an opinion of what the truth about Vin and Chris might be. He pulled out his cell phone and Chris listened as Travis called in members of the Internal Affairs Department and Team One.
"Get Paulson and White to the hospital, Chris," he said, putting a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Take Sanchez with you, I've had some of Team One head there as well, to make sure the prisoner detail is set up. Leave Wilmington with me and Jenkins and we'll start on the damage control."
Chris hesitated for a moment before the older man gave him a reassuring nod.
"Josiah. Help me get this trash upstairs. We're getting out of here," he called.
Several hours later, six men stood huddled outside the glass-walled room of the ICU, sneaking furtive glances at the pathetic form of their comrade as he lay helplessly being hooked to all manner of needles, tubes and monitors. God, what a mess, Buck thought, seeing a nurse lift a limp arm to adjust an IV tube. He heard the low moan all the way out here and couldn't even begin to imagine how effing miserable Vin must be. Shit! And now Chris was all tied up in this way deeper than anyone else could possibly know. They couldn't know. Buck had promised Chris.
As the medical staff left Vin's room, a woman, who identified herself as Dr. Bettini, acknowledged the group and said, "If you want to see him, it will have to be just one of you. He really needs to be left alone to rest...." she left off, looking at the shocked faces before her. She'd seen the look too many times and these men all shared that stunned demeanor that said they simply couldn't believe this was happening to one of their own.
As one, five men turned expectant eyes to their leader. He nodded grimly and walked tentatively into Vin's room. Stopping next to the head of the bed, Chris tried to get his mind to register all the medical paraphernalia streaming into and out of his lover and found that he simply couldn't. Instead, he let his eyes caress the battered, puffy face that even in its extremely wounded state was beautiful to him. Let his eyes touch and love what his hands couldn't have—not with five men who relied on him, who trusted him, who wouldn't, couldn't, possibly understand how he felt about this man lying on the bed, watching his every move from the other side of the glass walls.
"Vin," Chris tried to whisper, but only a croak came out. He cleared his throat. "Pard?" He leaned over the bed, gripping the metal bars tightly to keep from touching the injured man, knowing that even the most innocently intended touch could expose his feelings to his nearby men.
Vin's right eye fluttered open, the left being swollen shut in a purplish-red shiner. "Chris?" Vin winced from the effort of talking through a bruised throat and battered mouth. "Chris?" His voice, low and raspy, held a note of panic. "You okay?"
"Yeah. Sure, Vin. I'm fine," the older man assured him, giving in to the impulse to lay a soothing hand on Vin's forehead.
"I...I couldn't...remember...I thought they...." Vin shook his head slightly, trying to eradicate the last image he'd had of Chris bound and gagged with knife to throat. He grimaced with the effort.
"No, no." Chris worked to keep the despair from his voice. "No one touched me, Vin. I'm fine."
Vin tried to turn his face into Chris's warm hand, tried to feel the comfort of the one person he loved and who loved him. But Chris quickly took his hand away, not risking a peek at the windows.
Vin lay quietly for a few minutes. Just when Chris thought he'd fallen asleep, the patient spoke softly. "We...fired?"
"No. 'Course not. But don't worry about that. I'll take care of everything and nobody's gettin' fired. Trust me." Chris hoped he sounded confident since he had no idea how to make good on his vow. 'At least nobody but that bastard Paulson and his boys better get fired,' he hoped.
"Cowboy?" Vin's harsh whisper intruded on Chris's thoughts.
"Yup?"
"I just....wanna sleep," Vin winced and drew in a sharp breath after trying to move his wrenched shoulder, "...in your arms..." The sharpshooter looked up into the face of his secret lover, then closed his one good eye, causing a tear to run down his temple into his hair.
Chris leaned further over the bed. "You will, Pard, soon. I promise."
The Team Seven leader bowed his head, taking a moment to compose himself, then returned to his men in the waiting area. Outwardly he tried for stalwart; inside, his heart was hammering so hard he could barely think. He just couldn't believe how bad off Vin was and it was all so fucking unnecessary. Preventable. His fault.
He stopped amid the questioning looks. "He—he's gonna rest some. Says to say thanks for being here..."
A barrage of questions flew at him, but Chris couldn't pretend anymore. Without a word, he left the waiting area. Each of the team members looked to the others for answers.
"I'll go see –," Buck started.
"No, Buck." Josiah laid a strong hand on Buck's arm. "Wait here," said the ex-preacher. "I'll go."
"Paulson and his henchmen really did a number on him, didn't they," Buck spoke quietly, continuing to look through the window at Vin.
He hadn't been there for the emergency room doctor's initial assessment. When AD Travis had finally released him from the crime scene and he'd gotten to the hospital, he'd been filled in by the others on Vin's condition. Hell, he'd seen the man when they'd gotten to that house, but he was still shocked at what he saw now.
"Plastic surgeon said she put over a hundred stitches on his back alone," JD remarked.
"And between all the wounds on his back, the broken ribs and the dislocated shoulder," Nathan added, "there probably ain't no painless position for him to lay in. I hope they at least give him some good meds..."
"Ain't no part of him, seems, that don't got a bandage coverin' it," Buck sighed.
"I still don't understand," JD spoke up. "Chris said it was some case-related vendetta. That Paulson had it out for Vin for some reason. But... this...," he shook his head. "It doesn't make any sense."
"No, it doesn't," Ezra responded. "If it was just Paulson, one could write it off to mental instability."
"I mean," JD continued, oblivious to Ezra's response. "I thought I heard Paulson or White call Vin a homo. How stupid is that?" he asked.
"They're just spoutin' nonsense, JD. Anything to make what they did seem justified," Buck responded. "What Chris said about the case thing is true. I remember Paulson and some of his boys bitchin' about us getting the McMurtry case because that put them on backup status, bottom of the barrel," he added, lying to try and get JD and the others on a different track. "They were real pissed because Vin used his Marshal's office connections or something," he added. God, he hoped that worked.
"Yes, I seem to recall Mr. Tanner mentioning that Mr. Wilkes was one of his collars back when he was a Marshal," Ezra added. "And if I recall correctly, before Mr. Tanner was a member of our illustrious team, Mr. Paulson's team was on top, getting all the 'good' cases."
Buck looked quickly at the southerner, wondering if Ezra was lying or if he'd just been lucky with his own lie. He couldn't tell by the expression he saw, but it seemed to placate the others' questions. For now.
"Fuckin' jealousy," Nathan murmured.
Josiah pushed open the double doors to the hospital chapel and found Chris sitting in a pew, head bent. The big man took a seat a short distance away from Chris on the same pew.
"Didn't figure you as a man who trusted in God," he said.
Chris sniffled and cleared his throat. Lifting his head, he let it loll backward as he sighed. "Can't say exactly what I'm praying to, but I sure know what I'm praying for."
"Vin's swift recovery," Josiah stated, nodding his head in agreement.
"Most importantly that," Chris said massaging the bridge of his nose.
"And?"
Chris peeked out from behind lowered eyelids. "Nothing. What else is there to pray for?"
"Vengeance?"
"You can't imagine how bad...." he said then stopped. "But you'd say that one belongs to the Lord."
"So He sayeth," Josiah responded. "How about forgiveness?"
Chris straightened up and looked directly at the deep-voiced man beside him. "Yeah, I could use some of that," he said sadly. "But I don't deserve it," he added in a cracked whisper.
"I was referring to your forgiveness for Paulson."
"That'll never happen, Josiah," Chris swore through clenched teeth.
The big man studied his boss, who stared vacantly ahead. "Chris," he began tentatively. "Whatever Paulson's issue was with Vin, it is not your fault this happened."
"You don't understand, Josiah," Chris said despondently, casting his eyes down to the clenched fists in his lap.
"No, I didn't. But I'm beginning to."
When the ATF leader gasped in panic, Josiah knew he'd hit upon the truth. "I'm not really shocked, Chris," he said softly. "Well, maybe a little," he confessed with a shrug and small smile.
"I...we..." Chris wasn't sure if there was something appropriate to say. If there was, he didn't know what it was. He turned pain-filled eyes to his friend and implored him with his look to not judge too harshly.
Josiah laid a compassionate hand on the lawman's arm. "It's your lives, Chris. Who am I to say what you should or shouldn't do?"
Chris's mouth worked at forming words of explanation, defense, but nothing came out.
Josiah spoke again. "If this was a hate crime, though, brother, you've got to be very careful. You're right not to trust others to always understand."
"That's just the point, Josiah," Chris said finally finding his voice. "We've obviously not been discreet, even when we thought we were. God," he sighed, raking his hand through his hair, "I shoulda never let this happen."
"Who can stop the feelings our hearts develop? If you can do that, you are a stronger person than anyone I know."
Clasping Josiah's hand, Chris stood up. "No. Just the opposite." After a pause he asked in a small voice, as if afraid to hear the answer, "How'd ya know?"
Josiah smiled. "Didn't—'til I let my mind open to the possibility. Then it seemed perfectly evident. You two have a natural way with each other." The big man shrugged. "Don't worry, boss. I just know you better than most."
"Yeah," Chris said, thinking that everyone seemed to know him better than he did himself. And that's what was worrying him.
"I swear! They told me they were just gonna rough him up a bit. Scare him, you know?"
Orrin Travis looked down at the young agent before him. Mark Jenkins had only been with the Bureau for a year. He was barely out of the academy and now his career was over.
"You call beating, whipping and sodomizing a man 'roughing him up a bit?' Scaring him?" he questioned, leaning over the younger man.
"No!" Jenkins exclaimed tearfully. "I didn't have any part of that! I wouldn't have gone along if I knew they were gonna do that!"
"So you went along, because..." Travis began, waiting for the young man to finish the sentence.
"I don't have anything against gays," he started. "I was just trying to fit in. Be a part of the team. It's bad enough being the rookie. But trying to live up to those other guys – Paulson and Martin. Damn, those guys are as legendary as Larabee and his team," he finished, bowing his head.
"But even just 'roughing up' a fellow agent. Sort of extreme, don't you think?" the older man asked.
"I just wanted to fit in," Jenkins repeated quietly. Then, looking up to meet Travis's gaze, he said, "Whatever you want me to do, I'll do it. I didn't think he'd get hurt. I'm sorry."
"Bennett," Travis called in one of the Internal Affairs men. "Place him under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder. After you're done with the processing, I want a sworn statement from him."
"No...no...no more...Please... Chris... no more..."
The whimpered cries were repeated over and over, spilling forth over the swollen and bruised lips. The nurses were almost used to it now, having heard their patient's pleas each time they changed a bandage or adjusted an IV tube. Their own soothing words, "It's okay, Vin. You're safe now. You're at the hospital now," were repeated just as often. And if not from their lips, they came from Chris Larabee's. Like this time.
"Easy, Vin. I'm here," he soothed, gently grasping the fingertips of Vin's left hand.
The others, with Buck's none-too-subtle but persuasive methods, had taken a break. The blond finally felt comfortable enough to give in to the need to touch his lover, no longer worried about prying eyes. At the warm touch, Vin wearily blinked open his eye and settled an unfocused gaze upon his best friend.
"Feel... like... shit," he managed to say in a harsh whisper, wincing as he spoke.
Chris flinched at the sound and sight. He wished he could take all of Vin's pain away. And he actually looked worse now than he had before, the hospital lighting showing all the bruises. Chris tightened his hold on the fingers, felt them make a feeble attempt at returning the grasp.
"Ev..ry..body...know?" Vin asked, afraid of the answer.
"They know what happened to you," Chris replied. "We're trying to keep Paulson and his boys quiet. Everything short of bullets through their heads," he added.
Vin closed his eye and nodded as much as the throbbing in his head would allow.
"They're only accusations, Vin," Chris added quickly, knowing what Vin was thinking. "No one's asked a direct question. Nobody knows for sure about us." He sighed and ran a hand through his short locks when the younger man looked at him again. "Except," he sighed again, "Buck knew already. And Josiah figured it out a couple of hours ago."
Even through the swelling and bruising Vin's panic was evident. "They...gonna...?"
"No, no, they're okay," Chris assured him. "Least, I think they are," he shrugged, a small crease settling across his brow. "Buck is, anyway..." he trailed off.
"I'm sorry," the sharpshooter rasped. "Shoulda...been more...careful." He shifted his position slightly, a groan escaping his lips.
"God, Vin," Chris admonished, not believing Vin could possibly be blaming himself.
"So...sorry..." Vin slipped into a drugged haze, his fingers slipping out of Chris's. The lawman sat desolately staring at Vin's battered and bandaged body, willing his pain and his own fury to subside. He needed to be able to think and act responsibly—for both of them. If he had been doing that earlier, this would have never happened. Paulson and God-knew-who-else wouldn't have gotten even an inkling that something was going on between him and Vin. Chris couldn't shake the burden that had settled on his shoulders from the instant he received Paulson's first vicious phone call. Vin was in dire trouble and Chris should have seen it coming, or, more importantly, prevented it.
Chris was the elder here. He was a smart man with years of training in reading situations, assessing characters, and making difficult decisions. He was a leader. But he'd relinquished his position of control and authority when it came to Vin. He'd been bowled over by the intensity of feelings the younger man summoned in him. Chris had, despite spoken pledges of caution and secrecy, succumbed to his emotions and let his natural guard down. The result of his carelessness and stupidity lay before him. He thought he would never be able to rectify this supreme error in judgment and both wished and feared that Vin would cast full blame on him. Chris Larabee wanted more than anything to atone for having brought this horror on his best friend.
At length Vin stirred but didn't try to open his one good eye. "Chris?"
"I'm right here," Chris spoke soothingly, snapping out of his morbid reverie.
"Anyone....around?"
"You mean the guys? No, they've all gone to eat."
"I...mean...anyone."
Chris glanced up at the window. Nurses worked busily at their station. A few people stood in a clutch and spoke animatedly among themselves. Nobody was paying attention to the men in this room.
"No, Vin. Why?"
Vin gulped, scrunching his face against the pain, then whispered, "Touch me?"
A lump formed so quickly in Chris's throat that he couldn't even speak a response. He lifted his hand and searched the battered and broken body for a place to lay a caring hand, a gentle caress, some form of compassion. He settled for cupping the side of Vin's head, softly stroking his fingers through the tangle of long curls. Vin let out a long sigh, the corner of his mouth roughly mimicking a smile. Chris cleared his throat and whispered to his lover, "When you get outta here Cowboy, I ain't never gonna stop—"
Chris ceased talking abruptly, sitting back in the chair next to the bed. A moment later Vin heard a nurse's voice as she entered the room. When she had made sure Vin's vital signs were within normal limits and made adjustments to the IV drips, she left and a tense silence filled the space between the two men.
Finally, Vin said, "Don't let 'em...run you...out."
Chris hunched forward in his chair, bringing himself closer to the recumbent man. "We're gonna be fine, Vin—both of us. I swear to you. No one's getting rid of us. If anything we're gonna fix it so's nobody else ever gets hurt like--"
"No!" Vin hissed through gritted teeth. "Leave it, Chris." Vin grunted in pain, taking a gasping breath. "I got us in...enough...trouble. Leave it...alone."
"Can't do that, Pard." Chris wagged his head for emphasis. "And, you didn't make this happen," he argued, leaning close to Vin's ear to prevent possible eavesdropping from passers-by. "We're a team in this and that's the way it's gonna stay. Don't even start thinking different. Nothing's changed, Vin. Nothing."
While Chris had been talking Vin's breathing had become quiet and steady. Thinking his injured partner had fallen asleep, Chris whispered softly, "I won't let anything happen to you ever again, Vin. You know how I feel about ya, Cowboy."
"I know," came the raspy voice in response and Chris felt the tiniest pressure on his fingers before Vin surrendered to drugged sleep.
Buck excused himself and went to unload the three beers he'd belted down at dinner. He'd finally convinced his four teammates to leave Vin in Chris's care long enough to grab a bite at a nearby diner. The beers brought a minor, though welcome, buzz that helped take the edge off the apprehension that had settled in his gut as Chris and Vin's dilemma came to light. What had begun as a laughable suspicion months ago, slowly emerged as a reality that Buck thought, frankly, was a little surprising. But what had surprised him even more was how easily he had adapted to the idea of his long-time friend in the arms of another man—and that one yet another close friend. They just worked together. It wasn't very scientific, but that was it. They worked.
Buck sighed at the thought. How in hell were they going to get through this without the whole damn thing blowing up in their faces? And what would become of the team? The idea that the group might possibly suffer as well brought a new wave of dismay to the mustached agent.
"Penny for your thoughts?"
Buck startled at the proximity of Josiah's voice, realizing the older man had joined him in the bathroom and Buck hadn't even been aware of it. He shrugged and pulled up his zipper. "Just the obvious. Worried as all hell about Vin..." Buck avoided looking directly at Josiah who finished his own business at the next urinal.
"Hmmm. Aren't we all? You seemed deep in thought and I wondered if maybe there was something more we don't all know about?"
Buck squinted at the ex-preacher as if to divine his underlying meaning. "No...ain't nothin' else I can think of..."
"No...complications to the situation?" Josiah suggested.
"Such as?"
It was Josiah's turn to do the surveying. He stared at Buck, then stated bluntly, "I know about them." As Buck started to protest his ignorance, Josiah threw out, "—and I want to know how we can work together to help them."
At dinner, the group had discussed Vin's abduction and torture from every possible angle. Except, of course, that Buck had purposely steered the speculation as far away from the truth as possible. Now he looked back at the conversation and realized he had had an ally in that mission and he knew that Josiah was speaking from knowledge and truth.
"You ain't all shocked or nothin'?"
Josiah's mouth turned up in one of his enigmatic smiles. "Didn't say that. But my own comfort level isn't the issue right now as I see it. It's protecting two men I love and respect. You want to help me?"
Buck scrubbed his hands across his tired face and sighed deeply. "'Course I do, Josiah. I'm just leery of everybody right now. Most folks don't take too kindly to finding out that people they thought they knew inside and out have actually been living in a closet, ya know?"
"You seem to be taking it in your stride," Josiah observed.
"Yeah, well," Buck kicked at a speck in the floor. "I come from...an unusual background. I'm more tolerant than most."
"So the idea of Chris and Vin as lovers sits fine with you?"
"What?" JD came around the tiled wall of the men's room and confronted the two tall agents. "What kind of sick bullshit are you guys saying—?!" JD's cheeks flushed a deep rose and sparks of confusion and anger lit his eyes.
Chris woke up to a hand on his shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Chris," Travis whispered as he sat down next to the exhausted agent.
Chris had been escorted out of the ICU only half an hour ago and decided to curls up on the couch in its waiting room.
"How's Vin?" the AD asked.
"Better, I guess," Chris replied, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Chris...," the older man hesitated just a moment before saying, "I need to know what happened to Vin, now... and why. Get a statement from you, too. And... I need to warn you about what's going to happen."
The blond looked carefully at Travis, meeting his gaze, judging the man. He saw compassion and a need for the truth in those eyes.
"Paulson set Vin up," he began with a sigh. "Lured him to the park using one of Vin's snitches. After they took Vin, he called me. White picked me up at the Post Office on Market Street and brought me to the house. When I got there I saw Jenkins upstairs and they gagged me. White brought me down to the basement." He had to pause then, remembering the sight of Vin's bloody body as it was draped over the chair. "They'd already beaten and whipped him. And as if that wasn't enough," he continued, his anger seething again, "if that wasn't enough, they cuffed him to a chair and had me watch as they fucked him with the whip handle. All in the good name of the Bureau," he finished, struggling to keep his temper in check, suddenly hating being a part of an organization that would hire men like Conrad Paulson.
Travis closed his eyes, sighing inwardly, still not believing what men, men he had thought of as good, dedicated law enforcement officers, had done to a fellow agent.
"So does everybody think he's gay? That he and I are both gay?" Chris asked abruptly.
"That's what I need to warn you about, Chris," the other man responded. "You know we have to do a thorough investigation. In addition to Vin's injuries, two other agents were injured and two were killed. We just can't sweep this under the carpet," he paused to let the information sink in. When Chris nodded his acknowledgement of the facts, he continued. "The evidence is all there and Jenkins is willing to give us a full statement as to the rest of the team's involvement. But between his statement and whatever we get from Paulson and White... the reason for the attack is going to be out there. Whether you and Vin deny those accusations or not is up to you. It's not going to be easy either way."
"What do you think?" the younger man asked.
"What I think is irrelevant," Travis replied, trying to stay objective. "My job is to see that Paulson and his men pay for what they've done and to give you and Vin all the support I can."
Buck and Josiah turned in shock at JD's sudden appearance and outburst.
"JD-," Buck began.
"What the hell are you two talking about?!" the young man demanded. "You're saying that Paulson and White were right about Vin?"
"No, JD. We're not," Josiah cut in firmly. "We were merely speculating on the rumor. Wondering why Paulson and his boys could possibly believe it to be true."
"No. I heard you ask Buck if he thought it was fine if Chris and Vin were lovers," JD insisted, disgust in his voice when he said the word 'lovers.'
"Okay, JD," Buck returned, standing closer to the junior agent, looking down upon him. "Maybe he did. And IF it was true, not that it would be any of our business, I'd be okay with it. But you know what? All that's out there are rumors and accusations from a bunch of good ol' boys who think that anybody with long hair or an earring is a flamin' homosexual. And I'm not a man that starts mean and nasty rumors, or gives in to believing them, neither." He stood staring at JD for a moment longer, keeping his temper in check, angry at the intolerance in the younger man.
Making sure the point got across, Josiah added, "And Conrad Paulson is just a plain mean old sonofabitch. He's had it out for anybody that steals his glory for more years than I can count. The fact that he took his grudge out on Chris and Vin this time, and decided to add a nasty rumor to his deed, is just the proof that the man is unstable and should have been kicked out of the Bureau years ago."
JD looked away then, trying to come up with his own explanation for the events. Trying to figure out whether to put merit in Paulson and White's accusations or Buck and Josiah's explanations. He knew he should believe his friends. Hell, he'd never thought Vin or for that matter, Chris, who'd been married, to be gay before. Why should he believe it now? Why should he believe the words of the madmen that hurt his friends?
"You guys fall in, or what?" Nathan called from the doorway. When he saw the serious looks on the three turned faces, he rethought his little attempt at a joke. "Everything okay?" he asked.
Buck cocked an eyebrow toward JD.
"Yeah, just fine, Nathan," Josiah responded. "Me and JD were just trying to drag Buck outta here. Keep him from writing down all the phone numbers on the walls in here."
Vin came awake suddenly to the insistent voice of a nurse. "Mr. Tanner, I'm Madeline. I'm sorry to have to wake you, but I need to check your vital signs and change some dressings. I didn't want to startle you."
Vin was fresh out of arguments. He remembered putting up a big fuss earlier when other nurses and a doctor had come in to check his bottom – see the results of the surgery. He had gotten pretty ugly then. He didn't blame this Madeline for warning him first. He was starting to get a rep as a very unwilling patient. But, shit, he was as miserable as he could ever remember being.
On top of it all was Chris, who was trying to act normal, but couldn't. It made Vin doubly aware of how strained and awkward their circumstances were; how desperately he wanted to erase the last few days; how badly he needed to be held and cared for; how certain he was he'd never let this sort of thing happen again.
Another aggravation was AD Travis, who was waiting expectantly for him to spill his guts. Hell would freeze over first.
Then there was the team, who seemed to think Vin couldn't mend without one of them always being there. God, he was an ungrateful shit, but the effort of keeping up a front with most of them was taking its toll.
At least Buck was an easy visit. The first time Vin had come to and found Buck there, the big man had gently taken his hand and said, "You don't have to pretend a damn thing with me. Wanna talk, we'll talk. Wanna be quiet, that's what we'll do." Vin had simply nodded. Buck sat, Vin drifted in and out of his nightmare, neither spoke, and Vin felt good about it. Buck was a comforting presence.
"That's fine, Mr. Tanner," Madeline said, laying Vin's arm down and removing the blood pressure cuff. "I know this is uncomfortable, but let's try to get you a little more on your side." Together nurse and patient made minuscule movements toward shifting Vin's weight and exposing more of his back. "Now I'm going to...." Madeline kindly informed Vin about her upcoming moves but he chose to let his mind drift to take him out of the moment.
When Ezra had come, he'd been so busy talking about himself that Vin hadn't had to worry about deflecting awkward questions. Sometimes Vin thought that Ezra simply liked the sound of his voice and the way it rolled around them big words Ezra was so fond of. It occurred to Vin that Ezra was talking extra much when he was there and he realized that Ez was nervous. Nervous around him! This was the kind of thing he had always wanted to avoid. No matter how much any of them might say they didn't believe, or didn't mind, there would always be a strain that made the friendship before "The Rumor" different from the one after. Didn't matter if he and Chris denied it 'til the end of time. Still, Ez helped him pass the time by blowing hot air about some wild-ass story or other.
Nate was a good friend, but Vin could tell he was real uncomfortable and had plenty of questions he just couldn't bring himself to ask. Vin pretty much maintained his silence with Nate, too, but not for the same reasons as he did with Buck and Ezra. There was a tension between them that had never been there before. After Nathan's visits, Vin would get surlier than usual.
Often Chris showed up about then and the person who least deserved Vin's anger and venom got a gutful of it. He didn't say so to anyone, but Vin spent a lot of time lying there thinking about why this had happened to him and how he could make it so it would, one, go away, and two, never ever be something that might be repeated. As a result, he hadn't done a whole lot of talking to Chris either. It hurt too much. And not just to flap his jaw.
Once Vin thought he saw JD at the doorway to the room, but the kid never had come in. At least not while he was awake, which admittedly wasn't all that much. It gnawed at him that JD wasn't dealing with the possibility that Paulson's accusations were true. He didn't even have to see him to know the look that JD would give him. That look of sheer disbelief that he might have been so fully deceived while trusting him and Chris. God, he just didn't want to think about it.
This was Vin's worst fucking nightmare coming true, only it was tenfold what he had imagined it might be. Who knew a person could hurt in so many ways at the same time? There were times the tears flowed all on their own, like his body needed to cry even if his mind wasn't working on it. If he was a complaining sort, he would scream out to anyone who would listen that his skin felt like it had been shaved off, chewed up, and slapped back on. That the simple act of opening his eyes was excruciating. That he knew exactly how many ribs a man had because every single one of his was as tender as a newborn's skull. That his insides felt like they'd been rearranged by Dr. Frankenstein. That raising his arm the three inches it took to move a tube or have his pulse taken, made him gulp air to keep from puking from the pain. That his butt felt like it had had a new hole drilled in it. And that none of that--or even all of that together—wasn't as bad as the humiliation of knowing his friends looked at him like he was a scourge on society. And above it all was the devastating loss of the most perfect thing he'd ever had--the pure goodness of his relationship with Chris.
"...peel off this layer of gauze now....."
"Aaaahhh!!!" Vin's attention came full force back to the present as Madeline removed the dressing and packing around one of the deepest lashes. His own flinching caused him to rock onto his back, extracting another anguished cry as the criss-cross of stitched skin on his back hit the bed. One reactive gesture led to another until Vin had twisted himself like a contortionist across the bed, crying for relief from the onslaught of pain. Madeline managed to hit the call button for help while preventing him from disconnecting the various tubes transporting fluids to and from his body. Orderlies arrived at the same time as Josiah, who was coming on his shift as Vin-guardian. Rushing to Vin's side, Josiah grasped the least damaged-looking parts of his arms and spoke in a soothing low voice.
"Vin, try to relax and let them help you." Running a large gentle hand across Vin's furrowed brow, Josiah continued a soft monologue in Vin's ear, trying to calm him while the medical personnel worked to finish the job and settle the patient as comfortably as possible.
Before the task was done, however, Vin's stamina crumbled and he gave in to a flood of tears. Grasping a pillow, he buried his face in it and wailed, unable to stem the anger, bitterness, embarrassment, and plain old hurt that consumed him. The hospital staff finished their adjustments to him and his attendant equipment and quietly left Vin in Josiah's care.
When he couldn't wrench another tear from his drained body, Vin raised his face from the pillow and shuddered a deep sigh. Through tear-sparkled lashes, he looked defiantly at Josiah who waited patiently in a chair next to the bed.
"You think," Vin whispered harshly with his damaged voice, "this is God's punishment?"
The gray-haired man dropped his chin to his chest and shook his large head. Looking up at Vin, he said, "I thought you knew me better than that."
"You probably thought...you knew me, too," Vin pointed out.
They stared at each other.
At length Josiah smiled lightly and said, "And I thought I knew Chris, and JD, and Buck and--well, no one's behaving the way I thought they would."
Josiah shrugged. Vin looked away. After a few moments of silence, Vin finally spoke in a small voice.
"I never meant for this to happen."
Josiah leaned forward and spoke earnestly. "Of course you didn't, Vin. No one's saying anything of the sort."
Vin pressed on, needing to confide at last in someone. "I didn't set out to find me a man—much less Chris. It just...happened. At the time, it seemed so right..."
"Vin, I learned a long time ago not to judge. Ever. Unless you walk around in someone else's place, you can't know all the hows and whys and it isn't right to assume you know better for someone else than they know for themselves."
"'Preciate it, Josiah, but yer one man. What about the rest?"
"You want everyone to like you? That's not gonna happen, Vin. There's too many different kinds of people in the world."
"No. Just don't want the rest of 'em tryin' to kill me for bein'...what I am."
"That seems fair enough," Josiah conceded.
"How am I gonna fix this, Josiah? How?" Vin's question was full of despair.
"You'll know the right thing to do when the time comes, Vin. You'll know," Josiah said tapping his own chest in the region of his heart. "But first, get yourself fixed. Rest now. I'll be right here if you want to talk again later."
Vin had already closed his eyes, a trace of ease settling in between the pain and anguish. Maybe Josiah was right. Maybe he'd instinctively know how to correct this mess.
Chris followed the wheeled bed carrying his lover, and all the medical paraphernalia he still needed, down the hall to his new room. Over the past three days Vin's condition had improved enough for him to be moved from the ICU. There was still a long road ahead to his physical recovery but Chris couldn't fathom how long his emotional recovery would be. He couldn't even take a guess at his own recovery.
Buck and Josiah had kept him up to date on the case and on what the rumor mills were saying. He'd made his statement, told Travis and the IA boys what he'd seen and heard. He'd told Vin about what was going on, for the most part. Vin, when he was lucid enough, didn't want to talk about what had happened, though. And he understood that. But Chris had worried when Vin refused to give Travis a statement. He thought he'd at least do that much. There were missing pieces to what had happened and who did what. Chris and Travis wanted the men responsible for Vin's torture to be prosecuted for every single act, but without Vin's statement, there really wasn't any way for them to know who did what - whom to charge. Sure, Paulson, White and Jenkins were all being charged with conspiracy to commit murder, but Chris hadn't seen any of these men touch Vin. Treadwell was the one he'd seen with the whip handle and he was, thankfully, dead.
The only thing Vin seemed to be interested in was whether or not everybody knew about them. What the reactions were. Did anybody believe Paulson's accusations. He'd practically begged Chris to deny everything. Say that they were just good friends, victims of the "good ol' boy" network's mistaken accusations. And Chris did make the denials. He couldn't believe how much it hurt to do that – deny his relationship with Vin. They'd been lovers for months, a relationship that Chris couldn't believe he'd been in, but was very glad to have forged with the younger man. Denying it hurt his heart more than anything. He felt as if he was betraying Vin's love every time he told someone, 'No. We're not.' In any other circumstance he would have ignored the stupid questions and accusations. But with this, with not only his, but also Vin's career and life on the line, he felt he had to voice those denials.
The nurses and orderlies finished transferring Vin into his new room and they gave Chris nods and smiles as they left. He wondered what they thought. Shit. Who the fuck cares?!
He took a seat next to Vin's bed and gazed at the bruised, but still beautiful face of his young friend.
"Welcome to my new home," Vin rasped sarcastically.
The sharpshooter's voice was still a little hoarse, sounding like a low husky whisper. Doctor Bettini said that the bruising from the nylon cord had done that, and that in a week or two it should be back to normal. If Chris didn't know why his voice sounded the way it did, he'd have thought it sounded damn sexy. But he did know. Saw first hand.
"How you feeling today?" he asked, taking Vin's hand gently into his.
"How would you feel if the first thing every mornin' you got some doctor stickin' his hand up your butt?" Vin irritably retracted his hand from Chris's.
The older man bowed his head at Vin's response. Took a deep breath. "Not too good, huh?" he finally replied, meeting Vin's gaze.
"I just wanna go home," Vin said tiredly. "Feel like fuckin' shit. Tired of everybody wantin' to talk about it. Just wanna go and never have'ta see nobody again."
"I wish we could, Vin," Chris answered, putting a gentle hand to Vin's cheek. When Vin jerked his face away like Chris's hand was on fire, the blond man reassured himself that Vin was only keeping up appearances and pretended not to notice the slight. "But you gotta get better first. Once the docs say you can leave, I'll be right here to take you home."
Vin shifted his position, grimacing and grunting, trying to find a place that didn't ache, throb, or sting. Closing his eyes, he sighed then murmured, "We'll see."
Through the pain meds, Vin conjured enough reality to create vivid, miserable dreams. And, in all of them, he was feeling the bite of the whip as it ate up his skin. He heard the ugly, malicious rantings of Paulson and his sheep as they systematically tried to destroy his character along with his body. The lashing end of the whip went away only to be replaced by the thick, blunt handle as it tried to destroy him again – this time from the inside out. Vin tried to wake himself up, but the pathetic cry that escaped his throat wasn't enough to free him from the vicious diatribe he heard repeatedly whenever he closed his eyes.
Struggling to rise from the agonizing dreams, Vin vaguely heard a voice he knew he could trust. When he came awake enough, Vin was happy to see JD hunched over his bed. But his happiness was quickly extinguished at the sight of the young agent's terrified face.
"JD?"
"Shit, Vin, you were scaring me silly. You okay?"
"Dunno," he croaked. "Wha' happened?"
"The noises you were making –" The young agent's brow furrowed and he shuddered.
"Sorry," Vin rasped.
"No, I meant, it musta been...I mean, no, forget it. Don't be sorry."
Vin hissed in pain as he pulled at the edge of the bed, trying to settle comfortably on his side.
"Vin?" JD asked with concern.
The sharpshooter pressed his eyes closed for a moment, then slowly opened them and refocused on JD. "Feels like a army of red ants crawlin' and bitin' at my skin," Vin said, referring to the hundreds of stitches that criss-crossed his torso like so many railroad tracks gone awry.
"God, Vin. Why? Why'd they do this to you?"
The two young agents eyed each other. Conversation suddenly a strain.
"What did ya hear?" Vin finally asked in a whisper.
JD squirmed then walked across the room. His back to Vin, he said, "They said some pretty sick stuff about you, Vin. About you and Chris," he whispered the last name in disbelief. He turned suddenly, anger sweeping across his youthful face. "It pissed me off real bad. I mean, what kind of pervert goes around making those kinds of accusations and then doing-" JD swept a hand in the air to indicate Vin's tattered body.
JD's distress was palpable. His inability to accept the truth hit Vin head on. And, although JD wouldn't actually formulate the question, Vin knew he needed to hear the answer.
"You know none of it's true, JD. Don'tcha?" Vin watched as JD searched his face for confirmation, knowing the youngest team member desperately wanted to believe that the status quo of his life was untouched by this abominable act.
A big shrug. "I guess. I mean, yeah, of course."
"Chris and me are just good friends, JD." Vin sucked the bitterness back down his throat. "Just like you and Buck's close as friends. Everybody's got to have someone he can talk to, right? You got Buck. I...I got Chris," Vin finished off, out of breath.
JD agreed and seemed visibly relieved to have heard the words directly from Vin. He made some more small talk before leaving, but Vin didn't hear much of it.
Chris came out of the bathroom at Buck's place. Giving in to Bucks persuasion, the ATF leader had agreed to come here for a quick shower. At first Buck had tried to convince him that he needed to get away from the hospital for his own mental health, but that argument had fallen on deaf ears. Then Buck pointed out that it had been days since Chris had bothered with personal hygiene and everyone was beginning to notice. So he'd come to Buck's since the ranch was too far away.
The ranch. Home. He was anxious to get Vin back into comfortable territory where he could be himself, where he would let Chris care for him, touch him freely. Back to a place where they could speak unguarded, a place where Vin would let go of the stoic facade he'd adopted while at the hospital.
"So, how you think Vin's holding up?" Buck's query interrupted Chris's thoughts.
"Uh, good, I think. I mean he's understandably angry and he's tryin' real hard to not show how much he hurts, but I think all-in-all, he's coming along."
"Mmm hmmm," Buck replied.
"Why? Don't you?"
"Well, he seems a little, uh, distant. Not that I blame him, or nothin'."
"Distant?" Chris echoed and a gnawing of anxiety began in his gut.
"Think he'll talk to Travis soon? We'll never nail the bastards if Vin won't talk."
Chris studied Buck for a minute then shook his head and sighed. "I don't know, Buck, he's real...upset. Seems a stupid word for as bad as he's had it, but that's it. This went real deep with him and he's not letting me in right now. I'm sure he'll be better when he gets home."
Buck clapped his old friend on the back. "Yeah, Pard, I'm sure you're right."
"Good-fuckin' riddance."
"Chris, a fellow agent just committed suicide," Nathan admonished.
"Once Chuck White became a part of Paulson's goon squad, he stopped being a fellow agent, Nate," the blond retorted angrily. "And Paulson – did you hear they're actually considering bailing him?"
Nathan watched as his team leader angrily paced the open area of Team 7's office. They'd just gotten the news from the hospital staff about White, how he'd managed to wrangle free from his escort to the federal lock-up and purposely step in front of an oncoming bus. And yes, the dark agent had heard about Paulson's upcoming bail hearing. He was just as angry about it as Chris. Vin was a good friend and he hated that someone like Paulson had been able to hurt him – and hurt him in such a severe way. But even worse, if it was at all possible, were the effects of Paulson's deeds not only on Vin, but on the entire team.
Everyone seemed remote. The jovial camaraderie that usually filled the office had been replaced by uneasy silence. Even members of other ATF teams were acting differently toward them. A few brave souls had actually confronted him, asking if the rumors were true. A few morons even asked if he was gay. Guilt by association.
"Yeah, Chris, I heard," he finally replied.
He was about to say more when someone new entered the office. He saw the old woman and the look on her face. He decided that Chris could deal with her on his own and quietly headed for the break room.
"So, when were you going to tell me?" she asked, walking right up to Chris, stopping his errant pacing mid-stride. "I come back from a few personal days away and what do I hear through the office gossip?"
"Nettie, I'm sorry," he responded, sorrow and pain in his eyes as he looked at her. "It's just... so much has happened..." he tried to explain, hands waving uselessly. "I'm sorry. It's all my fault. And I should have told you, sooner, in person." He slumped back to lean heavily on Josiah's desk.
Her anger for Chris Larabee slipped then, seeing the mix of anger and hurt in his green eyes, the dark circles of sleeplessness underneath them.
"Is he going to be alright?" she asked, putting a hand to Chris's cheek.
"Eventually. Physically," he answered quietly. "Doctors say he'll be in the hospital at least a week more. Less if he agrees to home care."
"What really happened?" Nettie asked. "I've heard the gossip. Now tell me the truth."
The ATF supervisor took a deep breath, tried to find the right words to use. To tell the woman who treated his best friend and lover as if he were her own son. Then he replied, "Conrad Paulson and his boys didn't like Vin. Beat and tortured him. Simple as that." He knew Nettie Wells was a tough old woman, able to hold her own in any given circumstances. But he still couldn't tell her the entire truth. The whys and hows. He didn't know if Vin had told her the truth about their relationship. He didn't want to give her any more information than was necessary. And he couldn't bear to tell her all the details of the assault. He was barely able to handle them himself.
"Simple as that, huh?" she asked, sizing Chris up, not really happy with his answer, but understanding it.
"Yeah, simple as that," he replied, then added, "Maybe you could go visit him today. He hasn't been in the best of moods, understandably, but maybe he won't feel so... I don't know. I just think he wouldn't mind a visit from you."
Maybe Nettie could get Vin to open up, talk about what happened. Give a statement. Nail that bastard Paulson so he won't be free on bail. Get him to talk to me again.
She had a way with Vin. She could charm him or guilt him into doing anything. And Vin had told him about all the things she'd done for him at the Marshal's office and now, with the ATF. It was as if they had needed and then found each other. Chris felt instantly guilty about not calling Nettie as soon as Vin got to the hospital. When he looked at her, he saw understanding, though.
"Apology accepted," she said. "Now tell me what room he's in."
He heard someone come into the room. He kept his eyes closed, though, pretending to be asleep. He was not in the mood for visitors. He had nothing to say. Then he felt the warm, comforting kiss on his forehead. He opened his eyes and looked up into the compassionate and maternal face of Nettie Wells. She gave him a comforting smile as she gently stroked his cheek, eventually pushing an errant strand or two of hair back behind his ear.
"Hi, Vin," she said, taking a seat next to the bed.
"Hi."
He didn't know what else to say to her. His emotions were still on that same, never-ending rollercoaster ride that started in the park... how many days ago? Should he be happy to see her? Or sad, because now there was one more person that had gotten on ride? Or maybe she would be the one that could help him get off this turn?
"There's never been anything you couldn't tell me, boy," she began, looking him right in the eye, sensing his need to say something, but not knowing what. "Nothing's changed. And before you get yourself in a dander, wondering what you should or shouldn't tell me, I'll tell you what I know."
"Nettie," he cut in, blurting out, "What they're sayin' about me and Chris –,"
"There ain't nothing that anybody could say that'll ever change how I feel about you. You know that don't you?" she interrupted right back, grasping his hand in hers.
"So if I told you that me and Chris, that we..." he stopped, wanting to tell her, yet never having formed the words before, he wasn't sure how.
The woman leaned in close to Vin, a humorous glint in her eye, and said, "Vin, I think I knew about you and Chris before you and Chris did." She smiled at the look of shock on Vin's face.
The shock wore off quickly as Vin realized that Nettie probably had known all along. He just never recognized the signs.
"I'm just sorry that a man like Conrad Paulson was around to ruin it," she continued. "Now," she said, changing pace, "How are you feeling? And what can I do for you?"
"Help me get outta here?" he asked, his blue eyes pleading.
Chris moved the papers from one side of his desk to the other—again. He had no idea what they contained. He didn't care. His phone rang. He let voicemail get it. Nate, Ezra, and JD had each approached him with questions about their work; to each he had grunted a consent or denial. He didn't remember what any of them had said. For the millionth time, he checked his watch. Dissatisfied, he consulted the clock on his computer. When he still didn't get the answer he sought, he yelled to Buck in the outer office to tell him what the hell time it was.
"Hey, Pard," Buck said leaning against the doorframe to Chris's office, "it's five minutes since the last time you caterwauled out the door." Buck shook his head in bemusement at his old friend's preoccupation. He came into the office and shut the door, settling into the seat across the desk from the ATF leader.
Chris fidgeted with stuff on his desktop, then stopped when he realized he had company. "What?" he asked gruffly.
"Dang, yer cranky, Chris."
"Vin's comin' home today..." More opening and closing of drawers and rummaging through stacks of paper.
"What the hell you lookin' for?"
Chris looked up at Buck as if noticing him for the first time. "Hmmm? Oh—" his shoulders sagged and he shook his head. "I dunno...don't remember." He sighed deeply then looked helplessly at Buck. "What the hell's the matter with me?"
Buck clucked his tongue. "Exactly."
Chris sobered and gave Buck a thoughtful appraisal. "He doesn't ... he hasn't been the same." Chris shrugged sadly. "We don't talk. Or, more accurately, he doesn't talk." Chris's voice grew soft before trailing off. "He hardly even looks at me...." He cast his eyes downward.
The clock on the wall tick-tocked loudly. The friends sat quietly with their own thoughts. At length, Chris looked up at Buck.
"He talk to you?" Chris whispered.
The question was both hopeful and fearful.
"Nah, not really. Just bullshit. You know, game scores, odds and ends about work. Nothin' specific. Nothin'," Buck gave Chris a direct look, "about what happened. Since he's been up and movin' mostly all he talks about is getting out of the hospital."
Chris nodded, gnawing on his lower lip.
Buck slapped his palms on his thighs. "Speakin' of which," he smiled broadly, "now it's time for you to get your ass over there."
Striding through the hospital corridors, Chris tamped down the squirrelly feeling in his gut. He was nervous. Nervous! Or maybe he was afraid. How ridiculous. He was excited, full of anticipation. His fingers itched to touch Vin, just to touch him. It used to shock him how badly he needed the other man. But he was past trying to analyze why this was the way things were. It just was and he wanted nothing more than to return to the peace and contentment he and Vin had built between them. As soon as Vin got back to the ranch, he'd start acting normal again, too. It was just a matter of time.
Chris rounded the corner and whizzed past the nursing station. He vaguely noticed a hand raised to him in greeting, but his attention was on the door of room 327. Stopping outside he gulped then pushed the door open, entering with a smile and a bag full of junk food.
"Mr. Larabee?"
Chris stood staring at the empty room, his mouth agape.
"Mr. Larabee?"
He turned to look at the nurse who addressed him. Madeline, that was her name. He remembered because she'd taken extra care to keep Vin's pain at a minimum and they'd both appreciated her kindness. He glanced back at the vacant bed then turned questioning eyes to her.
Madeline smiled awkwardly. "He's gone," she said, raising her hands to indicate the empty room. "Discharged just a short while ago." Seeing the consternation on Chris's face, she hastened to add a disclaimer. "He said you had a meeting and that—the others, they were all busy elsewhere, too, he said. He said, you knew—" Madeline stopped abuptly, knowing that Vin had bamboozled them all. She knew and she knew Chris knew it.
The muscle at the edge of Chris's jaw twitched.
"I'm...sorry..." Madeline offered quietly.
Larabee nodded mutely then left the building.
"You rest now." Nettie patted the bed next to where Vin reclined. "I'll fix something to eat and let you know when it's ready." Despite Vin's urgent pleading, Nettie had not given into his desire for a spin through a McDonald's on the way to her house. "And, I'll call Chris and let him know you're all settled in." She smiled warmly at the young man in her care.
"No, that's alright, Nettie. I wanna call him. That okay with you?" He gave her his most plaintive look. When she nodded, he said, "A little later, then. After I rest a spell."
"Okay, then," she added. "Just don't forget that Suzanne, the nurse from the Homecare Service, is stopping by around three." Nettie fussed with a few things on the bedside table, closed the blinds in the room and left quietly, shutting the door behind her.
Vin slowly rose from the bed. Steadying himself at the footboard, he achingly straightened up and began an awkward amble around the room. The pain was less than before—anything would be an improvement—but there still wasn't a position that afforded him real comfort. And he'd been lying down for two solid weeks. Enough. He'd rather feel like shit vertically right now. His left hand fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He'd managed to get the thing on over the sling that immobilized his right shoulder, but now that he wasn't in public he couldn't wait to get it off. The feeling of the cloth against his skin, brushing against the still-healing whip lashes, was horrible. Like an ancient man, he gradually shrugged and winced the offending garment from his arms and let it drop in the middle of the floor.
While his body dispassionately dealt with the physical pain, his mind focused on the discomfort inside. The stuff that kept his stomach fluttering and left his mouth dry. Vin knew there was no way Chris, Nettie, or any of the other guys was going to let him go back to Purgatory to recover. Naturally, Chris expected that Vin would be coming to stay with him. The team wouldn't think that was unusual in that Chris and Vin spent a lot of off time together anyway working the ranch and horses. So, he'd told Nettie that since Chris's ranch was a fair distance from town and Team 7's caseload was heavy at present, he and Chris had agreed that Vin's convalescence was best spent at Nettie's—if that was okay with her. The old woman was delighted at the idea. Vin knew that while she maybe had an easy time accepting his and Chris's relationship (Vin figured it was like a lenient mother be willing to overlook her children's transgressions), she didn't entirely trust Chris, or Vin for that matter, to know what was best for him during his recuperation. And, although he hated admitting it, Vin thought he could use a little taking care of right now. With no strings attached.
He'd told Chris that he would be ready to go home with him this afternoon.
He'd lied flat out to both Nettie and Chris. Played one against the other. Neither of them deserved this. Both of them were gonna be really pissed. He'd just wanted to buy some time 'til he could look at Chris without busting into tears.
He stopped next to the tall dresser and glanced into the mirror above it. Holy shit. A pasty white face dominated by shadowed, sunken eyes stared back at him. One eye looked lopsided, its lid puffier than the other. A shiny red scar highlighted his left earlobe like gaudy costume jewelry. Beard stubble poked messily around still-healing cuts and scrapes.
"You cowardly piece of crap," he whispered in disgust. "Why don'tcha just tell him—"
"Yeah, why don'tcha do that, Cowboy."
Vin whipped his head around at the sound of Chris's sad voice at the doorway.
Chris Larabee had driven like a man possessed to Nettie Wells's house. Vin had played him for a fool and Nettie had been right there backing him up.
He pulled into the driveway of her small suburban home and parked under the broad branches of a huge oak tree. Nettie came around the side of the house as he shut the car door.
"Chris, I'm glad you were able to come so soon," she said with a smile and an armload of firewood. "Vin said your meeting was going to last all after—" Nettie's statement fell short as she registered the anger in Chris's eyes, which quickly gave way to perplexity.
"Meeting...?"
The pair eyed each other.
"You didn't know he was coming here, did you?"
Chris's mouth became a thin line of bitterness.
She tossed her head toward the side door. "He's in the back bedroom on the right."
Now Chris stood in the bedroom doorway staring at the terrifying scarecrow that had been Vin. Waiting for the inevitable words he knew were coming, he felt his legs go weak and his heart triple its speed.
Vin held his left arm out in supplication, showing off the emaciated frame of his body. His pants hung too low on wasted hips, their bones protruding sharply. His elbow looked too big for his arm. And everywhere were long red scars, scabs, and scattered stitches. Chris felt a sob work its way out from his chest.
Vin spoke softly, beseechingly. "I seen the backside of Hell, Chris. Neither one of us is ever goin' there again."
Chris took a halting step into the room, stopping abruptly when Vin put his hand up in a defensive motion.
"G'won, and let me be, Chris."
Shaking his head, Larabee soundlessly mouthed the word "no."
"I ain't comin' back to the team," Vin drew a shuddering breath and exhaled slowly, "...or to you."
"Vin," Chris said, not even recognizing his own anguished voice.
A soft hand fell on his shoulder and squeezed. "I think you better leave, Chris," Nettie's voice said firmly.
He remained rooted to the floor, begging Vin with his eyes to reconsider.
"For now," Nettie amended, gently.
Vin turned away, dropping his chin to his chest. Chris stared at his violence-ravaged back, ignoring Nettie's persistent urgings to leave. "You are not done with me, Vin Tanner." He swiped at the wetness that covered his cheeks and turned to go. "You are not done," he swore on a whisper.
THE END
PHOENIX
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