Notes: My deepest, most heartfelt thanks to Marla, who beta'd this monster, and saved me thereby from many a mistake, some of which were hideously complicated. Your encouragement and criticism were much appreciated and sorely needed. Thank you.
And thank you to everyone who has emailed me over the last year asking about Thought and Memory. It's your encouragement that has kept this going. I appreciate it more than I can say.
August 22
Casey leaned against her aunt’s knee, and stared into the fire, twisting at the ring on her left hand. The stone glimmered in the light from the hearth, shining and dimming again as she moved. She closed her eyes when she felt Nettie’s hand settle on her head and stroke gently. She smiled a little, grateful for the connection and the unspoken affection. They sat there in silence for a long time.
The quiet ‘snick’ of the door closing still echoed in her ears. Chris and Vin had gone, leaving in awkward silence. Leaving her so alone that she wasn’t sure how she was still able to keep on breathing. Tears burned at her eyes, and she squeezed them shut, letting them fall in slow lines down her face.
“When your uncle passed,” Nettie began, and had to clear her throat. Casey’s face hardened, but she didn’t move. Even if she didn’t want to hear it she knew fine well that Nettie would be heard. In her deepest heart, she even knew that she wanted her rough comfort. Nettie had never lied to her, had never sugar coated things so she wouldn’t feel bad about herself. Never pretended that the world was an easy or fair place. She shivered. It was one of the things that had made JD so wary of Nettie, though had he but known it, they were very alike in their stoic acceptance of the world and its trials. “When he passed, I thought that I would never be able to feel anything again.”
Casey turned her face into Nettie’s leg and pressed her eyes against the soft wool of her skirt.
“Well, you know I,” she coughed and tried again, her voice as brusque as her hands were gentle. “I never felt the same about another man. Your Uncle Peter was the only one for me. When he went, well, I had you, and the ranch. I couldn’t be wandering about only half there. I had to learn that the hard way.” She paused, and Casey knew she was thinking of the long, dreary days after her uncle’s unexpected death from a stroke, when she was just twelve. “I know how much it hurt when you lost your parents.” Casey shook her head and Nettie stopped.
That loss was old, and the pain of it long since muted by time, and love, into something bearable; a bittersweet regret, lingering memories fueled more by photographs and video than actual remembrance. It wasn’t the same. She had been a child then, she’d grieved, but she’d not truly understood what she had lost -- Nettie and Peter had tried their best to make sure she never felt that loss as badly as she might. This... now she was an adult, and was staring, eyes wide open, into long bleak years, empty of the man she had chosen to live out the rest of her life with. This fresh wound was nothing like that first childish confusion.
She had thought she was ready. It had been more than three months, and Chris had kept her informed every step of the way as they desperately looked for her JD. She hadn’t seen Buck since before JD had gone missing; he’d been working too hard, Chris had said. Reading between the lines she wondered what Buck was working on; whether he had felt the same stifling panic she did every time she heard ‘no news yet’. Whether he wished that--
“I thought I was ready,” she said, and choked back a sob. “I knew -- they kept looking, and it’s been so long, I knew he wouldn’t, I thought I would be ready...”
“Oh, honey, we’re never ready,” Nettie said tenderly, still smoothing her hand gently over Casey’s tangled hair. “And he was just about everything to you.”
Casey nodded, trying not to think of the exasperation in his voice, or the love in his eyes, or the secure warmth of his embrace. The way his hair got in his eyes; the way he laughed... She swallowed back another sob.
“I know it’s not like when you lost your Mom and Dad. It can’t be. You’re older now. It hurt everyone when that juggernaut killed them, but you were young. It hurt you, but we could make you happy again. When Peter passed, I knew it was different.” Her hand stilled. “Like with your JD. But in the end, it ain’t no different, Cassandra Jane. You just keep on breathing in and out, and the sun keeps on rising in the east and setting in the west, like it doesn’t care that your world’s stopped turning, and eventually the pain fades. And one day you wake up thinking about tomorrow, instead of yesterday, and you don’t even notice until the day’s half done.” She dropped her hand to the back of Casey’s neck and squeezed. “Doesn’t mean I don’t think of him most days. Doesn’t mean I ain’t surprised when sometimes I turn around to say something to him and he ain’t there smiling at me. Just means that I figured out I don’t stop loving him just because he isn’t here. He don’t stop loving me. And I’ll be back with him one day, God willing.”
Casey couldn’t bring herself to speak; where was God when her JD was murdered? Why did she have to lose everyone?
“He was a good man, your JD.”
Casey nodded mutely.
“It’s going to keep on hurting, little girl,” she said with gruff kindness, “He was a good man, and you loved him, and he deserves to be mourned. It’s okay to miss him. I still miss my Peter, even with fifteen years grace I still miss the old coot.
“But time does heal. He wouldn’t want you to grieve forever.” Casey shook her head in abrupt denial of the words she thought were coming, but Nettie ploughed on regardless. “Maybe you’ll even meet someone else.”
“No!”
“I’m not sayin’ tomorrow, or next month or even next year. It might be you won’t ever love like that again.” She ignored Casey’s protest entirely. “What you had -- what I had, that’s precious rare, girl. You don’t just forget, or move on from loving a man like that without grieving and hurting for a time. But time eases all things, truly.”
“Fifteen years!” she choked out. “I can’t bear it now!”
“I know, child, I know,” and Nettie started stroking her hair again.
“They said there weren’t no body. They didn’t find him, there weren’t no body, maybe--”
“Chris Larabee looked like he’d had his heart broke all over again,” Nettie said inexorably, and Casey’s face crumpled. She’d seen it too. The terrible belief in Chris’s eyes, and the banked rage in Vin’s as they told her gently that JD wasn’t coming home.
Would never come home again.
And she buried her face in her hands and she wept.
---------------------------------
August 25
“That fuckin’ hurts, man!”
“Tell someone who gives a damn. Now, I want you to take me to see Roberts,” Buck snarled, jamming his gun up under Tyler Brown’s jaw until the teenager’s head was tilted as far back as he could get it. And then Buck jabbed the gun up again. “Now!” Tears of pain glinted under the street light, and still the kid hesitated, even with his head jammed against a wall in a seedy, dead-end alley.
“He’s gonna kill me,” he said desperately. “I -- look, I’ll take a message, come back with whatever he says, I swear. I can’t take you there. He’ll kill me, he’ll kill me dead if I take you in.”
“Well now, that’s a problem, see, because if you don’t, I’m gonna kill you!” He cocked the gun, the muzzle still lodged tight against his throat and at the distinctive click, Tyler crumbled.
“Okay! Okay! Don’t shoot!”
“Okay?”
“I’ll get you in. But when he asks how, you don’t tell him it was me, man!”
Buck inclined his head momentarily. “I guess I could do that.” Like Roberts isn’t going to know, moron, he thought acidly, like he doesn’t already know. He put the gun away and gestured for the shorter black man to go ahead of him.
“I’m not stopping, okay? You don’t stop either. Not for nothing.” Tyler called softly and set off at an easy jog.
He followed the teenager out the alley and through Denver’s late night streets, twisting and turning so much that he wondered if he could ever find his way out again. Strange how you could live somewhere twenty years and still be surprised by it. They reached a bar, slipped through the thinning crowds to a door at the back.
“Stay back, okay? Right back.” Tyler said quietly, and Buck nodded. He wished for night vision goggles, but the corridor was lit enough to avoid stumbling on the sporadically placed boxes and junk, as long as he didn’t rush. Each time he looked up Tyler was a little further ahead. Maybe it was a trap.
Tyler disappeared, and Buck’s body tensed. He pulled his gun out again, and then speeded up, finding a flight of stairs at the end of the corridor, heading down, and Tyler staring up at him from the foot.
“Keep up, dammit,” the man muttered, and Buck hurried down the steps, narrowed his gaze.
“Where are we going?” he asked softly, his gun nudging at Tyler’s waist.
“To his place. Look, he doesn’t like people knowing where he is. He’s gonna kill you when he sees you.”
“I’ll take that chance,” Buck said very quietly, and smiled when he felt Tyler shudder.
Long minutes later Tyler hammered on a door. The door opened and, as someone inside started to speak, Buck shoved him forward, and dropped to one knee, gun up, still partially hidden by the door. He smiled coldly at the sound of a gunshot; Tyler collapsed to the ground with a sharp cry. He snapped a shot blind into the dark room and was cruelly pleased by the soft sound of metal impacting flesh at speed, and the soft groan and thud of a falling body.
“Guns on the floor,” Buck ordered from the flimsy protection of the half open door. “All the guns on the ground.”
“I hardly think you’re in a position to give orders, Agent Wilmington,” Keith Roberts’ voice came out of the dim shadows inside the room.
“Oh, I don’t know.” He grinned at the soft snick and the press of cold metal at the side of his neck. His stomach clenched but only for a split second. There would be no second chances if he showed any weakness. “You just ain’t got to know me yet.”
He dropped, swung his weight onto his hands and twisted, sweeping the legs of his assailant out from under him. The man fell to the ground, and lost his gun. It went off, echoing loudly in the narrow corridor. Buck never flinched, but kept moving, rolling smoothly back up to his feet and reached for the man. At the last moment he adjusted his aim from a lethal neck twist to a neck punch, precisely weighted to interrupt the man’s blood supply to his brain, followed by a jab to the vulnerable temple, and as the gunman fell he finished him with a double handed chop down on the back of his skull, the butt of his gun adding weight to the blow.
Before the man had hit the ground Buck was retreating, moving until he had his back to the wall, scanning all around him in the dim light of the corridor. No one else emerged, and for long minutes the silence was unbroken.
“Not bad,” Roberts conceded.
Buck grinned ferally, “Send ‘em all, Roberts, send ‘em all and I’ll show ‘em what a real man’s made of.”
“I’ll give you the boy, since he was stupid enough to bring you here.” Tyler was shoved out of the dark room, bleeding from a gutshot. Even in the poorly lit corridor, Buck could see that unless he got medical attention soon he was gonna die. Tyler staggered, looking pleadingly at Buck, one hand clamped to his belly, the other supporting him against the wall.
Buck looked away. “One gangbanger more or less, what’s that to me?” He jerked a thumb towards the exit, and Tyler started shuffling away, hunched around his injury.
“I like your style, Wilmington. Crude but effective.”
“Better than your boys,” Buck bragged.
“For now.”
Off to the left the unconscious gunman moaned softly, and Buck’s jaw tightened. He should have killed him when he had the chance, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He heard Tyler stumble and moan, and he looked back towards the boy. He wasn’t going to make it out. In another life he would have helped, would have left to get him an ambulance -- but he couldn’t bring himself to do that either. In another life he wouldn’t have been here in the first place. Travis had ordered him to leave it be. He wondered what it said about him that he didn’t much care.
“What do you want?”
“Information.”
“I’ll trade you,” Roberts said with an edge of mockery in his voice. “No free lunches around here, fed.”
“No.” Not that he wasn’t willing to bargain; he’d spent weeks finding himself something that Roberts could use, but he wasn’t going to get anywhere if he let Roberts believe that he held all the cards. Buck had a card or two worth playing. He was just going to take his time before getting to the end game.
“Guess that boy’s life ain’t worth so much to you after all,” Roberts said slyly, and Buck froze.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your little buddy. Dunne. What is he anyway? Baby brother? Fuck toy? Pet mascot?”
“What do you know?” he asked, desperately keeping his voice steady. He wasn’t going to react. Words didn’t matter, not those ones. He was looking for the important words. Dead. Alive.
“Heard a rumor you were making waves, naming names, asking questions. Kid’s missing, big bust, little buddy vanished. Heard that maybe the right news might find a good home with you.”
Buck shook his head. “Anyone with half an ear knows that by now.”
“If you don’t want to know...” he let his voice trail off meaningfully.
“What have you got?” he said, an edge creeping into his voice. Even he wasn’t sure if it was anger, or fear, or hope.
“Oh no, that’s not how it works. Something for something, Bucky boy. You gotta give me something. My game, my rules.”
“What do you want?”
“That’s better.” Roberts chuckled and Buck ground his teeth. Roberts was a fence who traded in everything, but especially information. He brokered it all onwards too, to the highest bidder, for the highest price.
And that price was not going to be exacted in dollars.
“Well, Mr. Wilmington, since you were so kind as to ask, there is something you could do for me.”
“Nothing to do with the job,” Buck warned, and Roberts laughed. The sound echoed off the walls, and Buck tightened his grip on his gun.
“You don’t get to set terms and conditions, Mr. Wilmington. I told you, that’s not how it works. Now, you do something for me, and then maybe I do something for you. That’s how it works.”
“No.” Buck said flatly. “You give me something I can use and I don’t come after you with all the hounds of Hell.”
“Really? Does Larabee even know you’re not tucked up in bed like the good, drunken whoreson that you are?”
Buck’s jaw was aching with the pressure he was putting it under to not say his first answer out loud.
“I found you once, I can find you again,” Buck said softly, once he got his temper back under tight rein. “Or I can put out the word that you’re helping us.” He paused to let his words settle, then went on, “Hell, half the back side of Denver knows I was looking for you. All I need to do is drop some hints in the right places, and they’ll kill ya for me.” His voice was quiet and cold. “Wouldn’t give that,” he snapped his fingers, “for your life if some of those boys you run with think you’ve sold them out.”
“An interesting point.” The man paused. “Or I could just have you killed, and let everyone know what happens even to decorated ATF heroes when they walk into the wrong places. An object lesson.”
“You think you’d survive that?”
“You think Larabee would?” Roberts replied smoothly, and Buck flinched. The man knew far more than Buck was comfortable with. “How do you think Mr. Larabee would feel if maybe we parceled you up a piece at a time and sent you back to him? A couple of fingers, an ear, your balls...”
“He’d hunt you down. You and every man, woman and child that you brought into it.” Buck felt nothing. His throat was locked, his gut ice cold. He really didn’t care. He’d given it all up for Larabee once. Now he had a better cause.
“He’d kill himself doing it.”
“What makes you think either of us would care?” Buck said flatly, knowing that it was both true and a lie.
Larabee would care. He knew that. But he also knew that Chris understood. If he could stop Buck he would; but only because he felt he had to. Of all people, Chris Larabee would understand this drive to find what had been taken from him. He’d looked four square into Larabee’s madness, eight years ago, and thought he had understood. Now he knew he hadn’t. And by the same, double-edged measure, he knew Larabee comprehended his madness now. Hated it. Wished it gone, wanted to ignore it, wanted to pull Buck back from it. Feared it. But understood, bone deep, what Buck was prepared to sacrifice.
Just as well Chris wasn’t here.
Because he was the only man alive who truly knew what he was capable of.
“An impasse, then.”
“Maybe. What if I gave you something? And you give me something. Everybody wins.”
“What?”
“Nothing you could blackmail me for afterwards.” Buck cautioned.
“I’m shocked, Mr. Wilmington.” But a greedy sound had entered the man’s voice and Buck knew he just had to carry through.
“It has a shelf life,” he warned.
“How short?”
“Twelve hours.”
“That will have to be very, very good.”
Buck grinned. He had him. And the information wasn’t even something that the ATF could use. But maybe, offered in the right time and place, this time and place, it would give him the answers he wanted. And as a nice little bonus, maybe take down some people that considered themselves untouchable.
“Oh, it’s real good,” he drawled, lingering over the words, relishing them.
“Really.” Roberts was politely incredulous, and Buck smirked.
“If it’s me, it’s good,” he bragged.
“You don’t lack for self-confidence.” Roberts sounded amused, and Buck shrugged.
“Tzivokis is moving in on the Paulsen family tomorrow. Full out takeover.”
“Haven’t heard a whisper. You know this how?”
“Contacts.”
“Let me guess, you’ve been shaking trees until something fell out.”
“Let’s say, Mrs. Tzivokis ain’t so lonely as she was a week ago.”
“You slept with that harridan?” For a moment there Roberts sounded both aghast and impressed.
“Gentleman don’t kiss an’ tell,” Buck murmured self-deprecatingly.
“How do I even know this is true?”
“Check with her masseuse, or her beauty therapist. Ask ‘em about her tattoo.” He smirked. “Let’s just say the lady has a taste for pain, and likes letting the butterfly fly.”
There was a long silence.
“I don’t know if I can offer you anything that valuable in return,” Roberts said regretfully.
“Guess you’ll just have to owe me one,” Buck said lightly, but his heart sank. He’d thrown it all on this one roll of the die, and had lost.
“I can give you this. Word is, Madison didn’t have Dunne killed. There are people who like to keep an eye on bodies; like to know where they are buried; when they might surface. There’s not a whisper on this. Dunne might be dead, but he ain’t in this town.”
“That’s all?”
Roberts huffed a short, impatient sigh. “Maybe something else. I hear rumors - unconfirmed rumors from places even I don’t go. Someone upstairs needing a computer specialist so badly that they were prepared to pay anything, do anything to get one. Very high level. Very secretive.”
“JD...” Buck mouthed noiselessly, then coolly asked, “What did they want one for?” What would they want one half-grown kid from the ATF for? He was half unsurprised that someone had noticed his little brother’s genius; half startled to have his private opinion partially confirmed.
“I am sorry,” the man genuinely was, he could hear it in his voice, and knew it was the regret of a man who knew that this was not enough to pay for the information Buck had given Roberts. “I do not know. I’ll tell you this. The rumors are coming out of the black.”
“The Company?”
“Deeper than that.”
“Deeper?” Buck shook his head.
“One of the ad hoc committees... I don’t know which one. And that’s all I know.”
“Names? Dates?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry.” And the kicker was, Buck believed him. “I thought -- but if the information was good, the news would have already broken.”
“What? Please?” Buck bit his lip. He hadn’t meant to sound so desperate. Aw, hell with it. “Anything at all,” he begged.
“Something was going down on August twenty. Something real quiet; something real big. Something to do with a place called Tiengo.”
“I haven’t heard anything.” He wondered where Tiengo was -- some town on the Mexican border maybe. Days ago, just days. Maybe there was time...
“I don’t think that there was anything to hear,” Roberts said softly in the darkness. “I think whatever it was, if it even happened, it failed. And if your friend was involved...”
Buck slumped against the wall. If JD had been involved with something like that, and it had failed, then he would never know. Half formed plans to find this place, go there, look died. The government didn’t let go of its secrets. He shivered, shaking off the spell of the man’s words. “Not enough. Not nearly enough.”
“I know.”
“I’m gonna walk out of here, Roberts,” he said slowly, and stood straight. “And you aren’t coming after me. You aren’t coming after me, or mine, ever.”
“Why kill the golden goose?” Roberts’ voice mocked. “I’ll leave you and yours alone. Nobody wants that trigger-happy lunatic on his trail.”
“Larabee won’t be nothing to me if I find out that you knew something and hid it. Anything at all. You know where to find me. You hear something, you let me know. You still owe me.” Buck turned and walked away, the middle of his back itching even under the Kevlar vest he’d worn.
“A pleasure doing business, Mr. Wilmington,” Roberts’ voice followed him.
His back itched all the way back to his car. He put the key in the ignition, locked the doors, and leaned his head on the steering wheel. “Jesus, that was a waste of time,” he muttered. He slammed his hand down on the wheel angrily. He hated what he’d done to get something good enough to offer Roberts, and he’d got nothing back, nothing, except a maybe promise that no one was talking about JD’s grave -- he swallowed hard -- so maybe JD was alive. Or maybe Madison just had a better grip on his people than Roberts.
He dismissed the rumors about the black taking JD. Why would the government kidnap the kid, when he already worked for them? No, Roberts had always been a conspiracy theory freak. It was why he was so damn good at finding information. It was just a pity the man chose to sell it to the highest bidder, instead of sending it to the National Enquirer like the rest of the nutjobs.
He started the car and drove slowly back home. He could start again tomorrow.
Maybe tomorrow would be better.
---------------------------------
August 27
“You’re fuckin’ jokin’,” he said in flat disbelief.
The lead prosecutor, Louise Fenteman threw Tanner an annoyed glance, and turned back to meet Chris Larabee’s fulminating glare.
“Vin,” Chris warned quietly, not taking his eyes off of Ms Fenteman’s face. “Ms. Fenteman, excuse my team, they’re under a lot of strain.”
“Of course, I completely understand, and I’m--” she stopped short as Larabee slammed his hands down on the mahogany conference table and stood, leaning forward until she pulled back.
“So what the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Mr. Larabee, please, language. I believe you are intimidating the poor woman,” Ezra said mildly.
“Good,” Larabee never moved his gaze. “Now. Tell me why after months of investigating and the sworn affidavits of a dozen men that Madison gave the order to kill my agent, you haven’t even bothered to charge him with attempted murder?”
Ms. Fenteman flicked her gaze around the table, but all she found were hostile eyes. “Agent Larabee, we just don’t have the evidence for it. We’ve got him for the kidnapping and false imprisonment, there’s no question of that. We may even make the conspiracy to murder charges stick. But there is some considerable question as to what happened to Agent Dunne after Madison supposedly ordered his death. None of the witnesses are reliable -- some of their stories contradict each other.” She looked away then back. “And the man swears he didn’t do it. I’ve spoken to his defense attorneys and they are inflexible on this.”
“Madison’s a stone cold killer. He’s killed and lied his way out of it for fifteen years, and you’re lettin’ him get away with it again. He’s a lyin’, murdering piece of shit,” Vin spat out. “A drugged out, gunrunning bastard who’d sell out his own mother for a few bucks, and you want to believe that scum? When we’ve lost one of the best men I’ve ever known?”
“I appreciate your feelings, Agent Tanner, all of you, I am so sorry -- but I can’t help you here. I have a job to do, and to be perfectly honest, it’s about putting an illegal gunrunner out of business, not about fulfilling your vendetta.”
“He deserves to die,” Vin said flatly.
“So for the sake of your job you’re letting him get away with murder. Literally,” Jackson asked as Vin subsided, disgust dripping from every word. “So much for justice.”
“Agent Jackson, I’m sorry, I truly am, but I can’t agree with you. You’ve got to remember, I’ve got a duty to the state to prosecute criminals, not pursue vengeance. Mr. Madison’s team have agreed to the remainder of the charges, and we are including conspiracy to murder and attempted murder.” She flicked a reproving glance at Larabee who ignored it. “In return we will not be pursuing murder one. Frankly, I don’t believe we could prove the murder charge without a shadow of doubt, and he will not plead guilty to it under any circumstances. With the wrong jury we could find him being found not guilty on that one, which in turn would damage our chances of securing conviction on the other counts. Such as the gunrunning.”
“This is bullshit! We shouldn’t even be here!” Buck stood abruptly. “You’re just playing stupid political games when we ought to be out there, looking for him!”
“Buck, sit down,” Larabee warned him.
“Do you really want Madison to walk free? Is that what you think your friend would have wanted?” she asked Buck directly. “Is that what Agent Dunne worked so hard for?”
Buck’s eyes darkened with rage. “Don’t bring his name into it. He’s got nothing to do with it. You ain’t even fit to say his name. Why don’t you go back to fouling your own damn nest, and keep your botoxed face out of my way?” He pushed his chair back so hard its feet screeched against the floor. Without a backward glance he stalked from the room.
“Agent Larabee,” Fenteman began, and Chris held up a hand.
“I understand your point, Ms. Fenteman,” he said in a low, icy voice, “but you have to understand mine. Agent Dunne laid down his life for those charges to be brought. Believe me when I say we are not going to fuck it up. The way things are, it’s likely gonna be the only epitaph my man gets. But we aren’t going to forget this, either.” Or forgive, was implicit in his voice and hard, unemotional face.
Jackson nodded in agreement, as did Standish. Sanchez was breathing slow and deep, his eyes half closed, his whole demeanor that of man on the very edge of controlling his temper. Tanner simply stared at his hands where they lay folded, white knuckled, over his briefing notes.
“Agent Larabee, if you intend to hinder--”
“You aren’t paying attention. Like I said, we’ll see your case through. You’ll get your conviction, for what it’s worth.” He stared at her until she dropped her eyes. “If you don’t need us for anything else?” He didn’t wait for a reply, but rose and nodded to the remaining members of his team, who also stood, dwarfing her as she looked helplessly around, trying to think of a way to regain control of the meeting.
“Agent Larabee, you can’t just--”
“Let’s go, boys.” He turned on his heel and walked out, ignoring her protests.
They headed back up to the team’s offices in silence. Larabee didn’t stop with the guys as they paused by the door to Buck’s office, but walked all the way up to the end of the corridor, to his own office. He paused there a moment, drew a deep breath, and punched his right hand through the glass wall.
“Jesus, Chris!” Jackson was by his side in an instant, carefully lifting his arm to examine it. “Damn fool.”
Chris wrenched away from Nathan’s touch. “Leave it,” he said tersely. He clenched and unclenched his fist once or twice, checking that he hadn’t done any serious damage, then shrugged off the concerned stares, and carried on into his office, closing the door behind him firmly.
Nathan stared for a long moment at the ragged hole in the safety glass and the cobweb striations across the rest of the pane, and then turned to meet Ezra and Josiah’s eyes. Tanner and Wilmington had disappeared into their offices.
“And that was merely our revered leader’s feelings on the matter,” Ezra said softly, and as one they looked at the closed door to Buck’s office.
“We’ll get him through it,” Nathan nodded definitely.
“Will we?” Sanchez shook his head. “I don’t know, Nate. I just don’t know.”
“He seemed pretty calm just now,” he pointed out. “It’s only natural to be angry, to try to deny what happened. These things take time. Hell, I was off balance for years after my Momma died, and I was just a little tyke,” he stopped for a moment and sighed. “But it’s been a couple of months, and I think he’s getting there. He’s starting to let go; he’s not reacting violently towards us any more. Look at the way he walked away from that meeting just now. I’m not saying that he wasn’t angry, but he controlled it, it wasn’t controlling him. I’m not saying it ain’t gonna take time but--”
Ezra snorted and at Nathan’s sharp look, said, “You just don’t get it. He doesn’t care if they fail to prosecute Madison for our young friend’s demise.”
“But--”
Ezra had a sick look on his face as he leaned into Nathan’s personal space. “To his way of thinking it is preferable. I think you have mistaken the issue here. Buck is not grieving. He is angry.” He looked away for a moment, and then back, and Nathan’s gut twisted at the look in his eyes. “JD is dead.”
Nathan closed his eyes briefly and swallowed, willing away unbidden tears. “I know,” he said hoarsely, and felt Josiah’s hand briefly squeeze his shoulder.
“Buck, however, Buck’s anger is not because he can’t accept the truth, it is because he believes that we -- all of us, the team, Fenteman, everyone -- have turned on him, on JD. Have failed -- are failing JD by not searching heaven and hell for his living presence. He is not in denial, Nathan,” he said as simply as he could. “It’s nothing so simple and healthy as that. Do you see? He truly believes that JD is out there somewhere, and that we have given up on him. Betrayed him. Betrayed them both.”
“But...” Nathan’s voice trailed off as he looked at Josiah, only to find pity and agreement in the man’s eyes. He looked back to Buck’s closed door. “But--”
Ezra’s mouth twitched. “Indeed, Mr. Jackson,” he said softly. “In. Deed.”
---------------------------------
August 27
Nathan stared blindly at the television until Raine walked in and switched it off.
“Hey, sweetheart,” she said softly, and sat next to him, tucking her feet underneath her and leaning against him. It was a hot, sticky night, so she was wearing as little as possible -- an open backed sports top and cut-offs, and normally he would have been more than appreciative.
“Oh, hey baby,” he said absently, and draped an arm over her shoulders.
“Any news?” She’d come in after a long evening shift at the hospital. She’d asked the same question every night for what felt like centuries, and she didn’t expect any change.
“They aren’t going to prosecute Madison for JD’s murder.”
“Oh. But that could be a good thing, right? They don’t think JD’s dead?”
Nathan shook his head slowly. “They just can’t prove it.” He sniffed, and his free hand wiped at his face.
“Baby?”
“Buck’s still looking.” His mouth worked for a few seconds until he got his emotions back under control. “He doesn’t think -- he really thinks that kid is alive and waiting for us to find him, and I don’t know how to get through to him!”
She didn’t know what to say, and instead rubbed her face against his shoulder, pressing a small kiss against the top of his arm. He leaned in and they kissed, but she knew his heart wasn’t in it.
“Nathan, honey, I’m so sorry.” She turned onto her knees, facing him as his shoulders shook, and she wrapped him close against her, his head beneath her chin, rocking them gently as slow sobs shook him.
“Not fair,” he whispered. “He was only a kid.”
“I know, baby, I know. We all loved him.”
“If it was something we could have done, something we knew about-- if he’d just called me, I’d’ve been there, any of us would.”
“He knew that. Maybe he couldn’t call?” She tried to comfort, “Maybe it was all so quick that--” she stopped herself.
“God, I hope it was quick.” He shuddered, and she ran her hands up and down his back, pressing hard, as though to take his pain into her.
It was a long time before she felt she could speak again. “You want some water, baby?”
He nodded, and as she stood, tried to clear his throat. “Thanks,” he whispered and she rubbed his head.
“I love you,” she said simply, and went to fetch the water.
“Little sips,” she said when she came back into the room.
He smiled at her, a small, sad expression, and impulsively she settled on his lap.
“So what happened today?”
“I --it just -- we had a meeting this morning, and Madison’s plea bargained himself down to kidnapping and false imprisonment.”
“And the gunrunning?” she asked anxiously.
“Oh, yeah, we’ve got him on that sure enough,” he said dismissively. “It’s -- JD’s dead, and it’s not healthy, it can’t be healthy for Buck, refusing to let go like he is. He’s gonna -- I don’t know what he’s going to do, and I’m afraid of how far he’s gonna go, trying to find someone that just ain’t there to be found...” He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. “That poor kid.”
“How’s Casey taking it?” she asked quietly.
“I -- I don’t know. I guess, I suppose Chris and Buck went and saw her. I told you Travis pulled us off the case?”
“Yes. At some length.” She took the sting of her words away by snuggling in close. “Maybe I could call her,” she added thoughtfully. “I think if it was the other way around, I’d appreciate it.” She shivered abruptly, and kissed him hard. “Baby, I’m so glad you don’t do the undercover stuff mostly.”
His arms closed around her, and he said nothing.
“Have you thought about counseling?” she asked after a while.
“For Buck?”
“For all of you. You were so tight, be a shame to lose that,” she said carefully. “You’ve all got to be hurting.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically and then flinched when she swatted at him. “But, Raine, honey, I’m not the one yelling at Travis, or punching holes in walls, or fixin’ to take out Madison.”
“Buck?” she guessed.
“And Chris, and Vin. Ezra’s locked down into himself; I reckon he thinks he forgot something or missed something that meant JD’s cover got broke--”
“You told him he didn’t, right?” she asked anxiously, she liked the man who played with the kids at her pediatric unit.
“Yeah.” He sighed, then rested his head against hers. “Josiah has nothing but damned crows to talk about, and I’m--” he stopped abruptly.
“You’re...?”
“I’m not doing so good, hon,” he said painfully.
“Oh, sweetheart,” and she hugged him close. “I know.”
“I just -- I don’t know if counseling will do any good. Half of them aren’t ready to believe they need it, and the other half don’t want to believe there’s a reason for it.”
“I’m just saying think about it. I hate seeing you so unhappy.”
“I will. I promise.”
---------------------------------
August 29
Josiah looked blankly at his emails, and abruptly shook his head. Buck had looked terrible this morning. Not merely unshaven and red-eyed, but the darkening shadows of bruises on his jaw and knuckles, and the small cut on his forehead suggested that the man had been getting into trouble of a less than spiritual kind.
He rose to his feet, and crossed the corridor to Buck’s office, knocking lightly on the door. Maybe he’d never made it as a priest, but he was a damn good psychologist. Surely there was something he could do?
There was no reply, and he narrowed his eyes, trying to see through the glass of the office wall to where Buck sat, his back to the rest of the world. Perhaps he should let him be.
No. Friends didn’t do that to friends. He rolled his eyes at the trite phrase, but it didn’t make it less true. he tried the door and when it opened, slipped inside.
“Buck?”
Buck lifted his head wearily. “Yeah?”
Josiah sighed and took the hostile word as an invitation, contrary to Buck’s probable wishes, and walked in. Up close, Buck’s injuries were clearly getting worse, swelling and darkening. A thin trickle of blood from his temple suggested that the man had been messing with the cut there. Nathan was going to have a cow when he realised. Or not. After the last round of arguments between Nathan and Buck about counseling, almost certainly not. He sat himself in the chair across from Buck’s desk. “That’s a lot of weight to carry on one pair of shoulders.”
Buck looked away. And after that last bout between Nate and Buck, maybe that wasn’t the best opening gambit either. Josiah waited a few moments, then tried another tack, nodding at the damage to Buck’s face.
“You had any luck? Out there, on the streets?”
Buck’s eyes closed without ever meeting Josiah’s eyes.
“I see.” Josiah knew his worry was clear on his face -- wanted it to be. “I’ll talk to Nathan, shall I? See if I can get him to back off.”
“Thanks,” Buck muttered. “Appreciate it.”
Josiah waited to see if anything more might be forthcoming. The room stayed quiet for long minutes, until finally, he stood. “Buck, if there’s anything I can do--”
“I know.” This time Buck looked up, his voice rough. “Thanks.” He forced a smile, and Josiah felt like he was staring straight into the wreckage of a soul, all jagged edges on the edge of a terrible abyss.
He turned away quickly. That face -- that place, was too close to things he never wanted to remember.
“Jo -- Josiah?” Buck’s voice cracked halfway and he had to try again before he managed to get the word out.
“Yes?”
“Y’ever heard of somewhere called Tiengo?”
Josiah blinked. “I --” he frowned, “yes, I have -- one of those tiny South American countries isn’t it? Principle export ice, principle import tourists.” He thought a moment longer, trying to dredge up anything, “Any particular reason?”
“No, I--” Buck stopped.
Josiah shook his head slowly, “Unless you tell me the truth, I can’t help you, son.”
“No, it’s a stupid question. It’s not important.”
“There aren’t any stupid questions.”
Buck laughed under his breath. “Thought you’d sworn never to say that again.”
Josiah smiled at him, “Well, now, never say never.”
“Thanks, Josiah.” Buck turned his face away again, and Josiah nodded.
“I’ll let you be.” He walked to the door, and paused. “Any time you need an ear--”
Buck nodded without looking up, and Josiah left, puzzled.
Now, what was that about?
---------------------------------
September 3
Vin Tanner glowered at his unresponsive computer. Ten in the evening, with only two more paragraphs left to write up and of course the damn thing froze. He thumped it a couple of times, then growled, and held the power button down until it switched itself off. JD would have thrown a fit if he had seen him at it -- had once yelled at him, telling him that he might as well open up the box and pour coffee on the motherboard. But the kid wasn’t here, which was pretty much the point of this whole exercise, and he had to get it working tonight. He turned it back on and waited for it to run through its starting sequence. It was too late for this crap -- if he didn’t get the report ready for the meeting tomorrow they might not even be able to nail Madison on the gunrunning stuff.
Madison was going to court in less than a week, and he didn’t want there to be any chance of something going wrong. If this was all the revenge he got, then he was going to enjoy every last minute of it.
He smiled ferally at the thought of putting away the man who had killed his friend. Madison could swear till he was blue in the face that he hadn’t killed JD, but he knew better. He drummed his fingers while he waited for the ancient government issued machine to reboot. The only sound was the chirring of the machine’s fan, and the ever-present hum of the a/c. His was the only office on the floor still lit, everywhere else was dim and quiet, his colleagues long since gone home. Even Chris had left nearly an hour ago, with a quiet ‘Night,’ and a nod. He yawned hugely, and arched his back, pulling the kinks out with audible cracks. He’d finished, near enough. One last thing, and maybe he would start to feel like he’d done everything he could for the kid.
The phone rang.
He froze, startled, and looked around. It was his phone; the caller ID display simply said ‘Public’, the number withheld. Not a good sign. It rang again. It was past ten at night, who the hell could be calling him? And how did they know he was there?
He flicked the switch that would ensure the call was recorded, and picked up. “Tanner.”
“He’s alive.”
“‘Scuse me?”
“I can’t stay on the line, but you’ve gotta know. He’s alive.”
“Who? Who’s alive?” He asked, the only possible answer was impossible, even as one name, the only possible, impossible name, repeated over and over in his mind until he thought he would scream it. “JD--”
“Dunne. They took him and -- shit!” The phone clicked dead and he hissed in frustration. It hadn’t been long enough to trace. It was barely a big enough sample to send to Forensics to voice match, even if he had a voice to match it to. He ran the tape back and played it through. There was something in the voice, in the words... he shook his head, trying to shake the memory into his conscious brain. Did he know that voice?
Dunne. He only knew one Dunne...
JD. He shook his head. No. He didn’t believe in anonymous phone calls. He didn’t dare believe in miracles.
The forgotten computer chimed at him, and he looked up, staring blankly at the login screen.
He’d almost forgotten.
Madison. The court hearing. He sat still for long minutes, turning the whole thing over.
He didn’t know who it was who had called him. They’d given him nothing he could use to find the kid -- if it was even him they meant.
He had no proof that they were telling the truth, and every reason save a body to know that they were lying.
God, how he wanted it to be real.
He closed his eyes, trying to batten down the grief. JD -- JD was gone. If he were alive then he’d be there, if there was any chance at all, but there wasn’t, there couldn’t be, no matter how much he wanted it to be otherwise. He’d learned a long time ago that wishing brought nothing. No.
His anger flared again, and he grasped it with something like relief. Hell, for that matter, it was probably one of Madison’s boys trying to save his boss’s perjured neck. That had to be it. Just one of Madison’s people trying to throw them off their game, trying to add weight to their boss’s plea bargain. They knew Madison had killed other federal agents and police officers in his time, even if he’d never been indicted. They knew he’d found out who JD really was. There was no reason to think that, JD’s cover blown, the gunrunner would change his ways. No.
Madison had gotten away with murder, and that was all there was to it. It stank, but there was nothing he could do beyond what he already was. He pulled the tape and hefted it for a moment, then dropped it into the trashcan under his desk, where it disappeared without a trace under the paper and food wrappers.
His computer purred quietly as he finished typing up his report. Printed, he added the folder holding it to the stack of papers on Larabee’s desk, then returned to his own office, shrugged on his leather jacket, and picked up his gym bag. As he left his office he turned and looked back at his desk. The desk where JD had once sat. For a split second he could see the kid, tilted precariously back in his chair, tossing a ball of paper from one hand to the other. Could almost hear the cheerful ‘Hey, Vin, how’s it hanging?’
What if...
God, what if...
For a moment the boyish face seemed to freeze into solemnity, and in Vin’s mind’s eye he sat up, leaned forward, holding out a hand silently. A more imaginative man might have thought he was pleading for help. Vin shook his head to clear it of the unwanted mirage, and swallowed hard.
Tomorrow, he would go ahead with the meeting the way he had planned. He wouldn’t allow wishful thinking and imaginary ghosts to affect him, except to fight harder for justice for his friend.
And after the hearing? he asked himself. He’d keep looking, when he could; JD deserved a proper resting place.
No one had been fooled into thinking that even direct orders from Travis himself had stopped Buck looking for JD. He could keep an eye on him, help him when he could. Not feed him false hope, but maybe even let him know that someone had claimed -- no. Too cruel to give Buck that kind of hope without any evidence. Especially when he himself had no faith in the provenance of the claim. But... he walked back to the trashcan and pulled the tape back out, dropped it into the back of his desk drawer, locking it away.
And if JD was really alive... well then.
He patted the doorframe gently and walked away.
Well, then they would show the bastards who took him the real meaning of pain.
---------------------------------
date unknown
Nothing.
His head hurt, ached, as though someone had hammered a skewer through the back of his neck and up into his brain.
He couldn’t think. Couldn’t move. Distantly his back screamed in pain, and he knew that this was bad, but didn’t care, just longed for the blissful, numb blackness again.
The fog blanketed him, there was nothing there when he tried to open his eyes. Somewhere, far away, people were talking. A steady bleeping burst into his awareness, each bleep matching the spiking pain in his head, until he could almost see the green line he knew it was painting on a monitor somewhere.
He didn’t know how he knew.
He didn’t know anything.
He didn’t even know how to wake up.
He gave up, and let himself slide back into the soft embrace of dreams again...
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | index | gen stories
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the fandoms listed herein. I am certainly making no money off of these creative fan tributes to a wonderful, fun show.