"I was thinkin' we oughtta get these over to DPD, maybe let 'em deal with the case," Tanner said slowly, a glimmer of a smile in the back of his eyes. He crossed his ankles, one hip perched precariously on a corner of Larabee's desk. It was getting late, the sun long since set, and the lights of Denver twinkled in the orange tinted haze.
Ezra had left dead on time, same as every night this week, to a raucous chorus of comments about his new-found boyfriend. Nathan hadn't been much later, Buck had disappeared off to get ready for a date, and Josiah was deep in meetings with Psych, doing analysis of Lasater before the upcoming meet. It was just him and Larabee, and from where he was sitting, it was pretty much looking like just him left in the building.
"Sure." Larabee nodded absently. His thoughts were anywhere but on what Tanner had just said.
Vin's smile flickered and he carried on, "An' I was thinking if you'd just sign off on this visit to the Bahamas, me 'n' Ez thought we could catch some sun, all expenses paid--"
"No way, Standish," Chris said automatically to the phrase 'all expenses paid', and then stopped. "What are you talking about?"
Tanner grinned. "Well, way I see it, it's my job to make sure you don't get shorn next time you walk out of here."
Chris looked at him blankly.
"Looking like a lil woolly sheep, off woolgatherin' like that."
Chris shook his head, a long suffering look on his face. "Shut up, bird brain, and have a look at this." He pushed a sheet of paper across his desk to Vin, who flicked a glance over it.
Vin's brows twitched together as he read the name at the top of the first page. "You sure?"
Chris sat back in his chair with a sigh. "Yeah."
"He ain't gonna be happy when he finds out."
"I can live with that."
"Turning into an old hen."
"Shut up and read."
Vin snickered quietly but said nothing, instead reading over the document. "You got anything that goes with this?"
"Figured that wasn't any of your business."
"Fine time to start worrying about his privacy, after you've gone to all the trouble of getting a full on report on the kid."
"Not that. At the end."
Vin scanned down the densely printed page, and paused. "'Wondering what this John Dunne has been up to -- you're the second LE type to request a full profile on him this month.'," he read out, and looked up. "Ezra?"
"Maybe. Thing is, I went back to the research people, and they couldn't identify who requested the other search."
Tanner frowned, and Larabee nodded. They both knew that within law enforcement there was very few ways to hide a search, and even fewer reasons to try.
"Under investigation?"
Larabee shrugged. "Normally I'd ask Ez to look into it, but--"
Vin nodded slowly. "Ya want one of us to have a look."
"Can ya?"
"How hard can it be?" Vin shrugged.
A pained look crossed Chris's face.
"You got those figures?"
Chris handed him a thick, stapled bundle of papers.
"Shit. You didn't say anything about turning into a computer monkey," Vin grumbled, but took the papers anyway, flicking through them. He stopped and flicked back to a particular page. "Fucking hell!"
"You got to the part where he inherits a cool half a mill from an offshore trust, then."
"Shit..." Tanner re-read the page carefully, and looked up.
"Yeah."
"Did they--"
"Nope."
"Damn. Who did he have to kill to get that kind of money?" Vin murmured, reading more closely through the financial figures relating to the recent history of one John David Dunne. A steady gaze rested on his face until he looked up, and met it. Chris's expression was grim.
"That's exactly what I'd like to know," he said very quietly.
"Shit! You're shitting me! No way! That kid -- no *way*!"
"We don't know anything about him, except he turned up in the middle of last week and moved in with Ezra at extremely short notice."
"His story about the bar --"
Chris's lips turned down and he shook his head. Vin lowered the papers to his lap and looked away.
"You didn't believe it either," he said flatly.
Chris stood and walked away from his desk, stopping by the window to stare out through the twilight at Denver's downtown. "I'd like to. God knows I'd like to."
"Ez is really fond of that kid."
"I know."
"Seemed like a nice kid."
"I know."
"You think Ez knows what his game is?"
"Damn right he knows. That story had Standish written all over it. No, he knows. He just ain't telling."
"If Research can't identify who asked for the previous search, it could be Ez. Be his style."
Larabee shook his head. "Chet reckons that it was someone external."
"We do that?" Vin asked incredulously.
"No. We don't."
Vin looked down at the papers, and said slowly, "So, we got a kid with a fortune that can't be backtracked--"
"That conveniently pays all his outstanding debts," Chris interrupted.
"Sleeping with our best undercover agent... and someone else is investigating him. Someone outside the agency. An' they don't want anyone to know about it."
Their eyes met.
"Shit." Vin said again. "*Shit*."
"This is between the two of us, okay?"
"What the hell do you expect me to do with this?"
Chris sighed and leaned his hands against the thick safety glass of the window. "Whatever you can, Vin. Tell me the kid is legit. Tell me Standish hasn't compromised himself or the job for a bit of tail. Tell me -- hell, tell me where the money came from, and who's looking for JD."
"Ya don't want much, cowboy," Vin said dubiously. "I'm your sniper, not yer research guy."
"I can't--"
"Nah," he waved a hand, dismissing Larabee's protest, "I know why you can't ask anyone else. I'm just sayin', it ain't going to happen overnight." Buck already emotionally compromised, both he and Nathan worried about JD's apparent youth; Josiah on Ezra's side as ever, eager to believe that his young friend was finally finding happiness. No. There was only him -- and he wasn't entirely sure that he was going to be as impartial as Chris would like.
"Thanks, pard," he smiled with relief at his second in command.
Vin didn't smile back. "Guess the fastest way to find out about him is go to the source."
Chris looked up sharply. "Vin--"
"Unless he's a faster draw than me, I'm thinking I'm pretty safe to talk to the kid." He stood and tucked the paperwork under one arm. "I'll look after this for ya."
"Thanks, Vin."
"Wait till I've got something to tell ya before you start thanking me," he said softly, and headed out of the office.
Ezra sighed softly, and reached awkwardly behind him to drag the covers over them both. John was already deep asleep, his head tucked under Ezra's chin, one arm draped over his waist, one leg folded around his knees, holding him firmly in place. He shivered momentarily until the sheets and comforter warmed him, and was charmed as JD's arm tightened on him, snuggling closer. He curled in closer, and slipped both arms around the young man's back.
He could really get used to this feeling of warm contentment, and yet.... And yet, his muscles were wound as tight as though they were still at odds, even though after dinner they'd made a kind of peace.
And John had been right about make-up sex. He arched his back luxuriously at the memory, and smiled wryly. Their first argument. He was so proud. He shivered, thinking how easily JD had told Miss Wells something he had never flat out admitted to anyone but himself.
Maybe he was oversensitive -- an accusation that JD had refrained from making, but that others had not. Given time, no doubt the boy would think of it too.
Maybe it wasn't the kid. Maybe it was the job. He sighed, and tried to roll away, get space to think, but John wouldn't let him go, and he had to content himself with shifting a little, and settling back into his close embrace.
In three days he was going to walk into Lasater's warehouse, set him up, and arrest him.
He stared up at the unseen ceiling. Nothing they had learned about the man suggested he was much more than a penny-ante kind of smuggler. Not someone who was going to go out, all guns blazing. It was about as safe as these things got. So why was he so damn tense?
It wasn't that he didn't trust anyone, he thought, and hesitated. Okay, so it was that he didn't trust anyone, not for certain things. He trusted his colleagues implicitly in matters concerning his and their lives. But it made both his and their lives less hazardous if he kept his preferences to himself. He snorted softly, his embrace tightening on the man in his arms. Preferences. Such a civilized way to describe something that in its time had been thrown in his face in the vilest terms possible.
The FBI had taught him more than just law enforcement. Taught him more than mere vocabulary even. Taught him with ostracism and criticism, with deliberate impediments to his career, and eventually, when his attackers were sure that he would never complain or retaliate, physical torment. It was no comfort at all to remember that when they had driven him too far, he had sued them, jointly and severally, all the taunts and hazing, recorded faithfully, the injuries documented, however minor. It was no comfort to remember that he had won.
He breathed deeply, trying to stop his old anger from rising. The smell of their lovemaking was redolent in the air, and he smiled as the scent filled his lungs, tucking his face into the curve between John's neck and shoulder, placing tiny kisses on his pale throat. He'd much rather think of this.
He licked delicately at the hollow where John's collar bones met his throat, rubbed his stubbled face slowly over the fine, fair skin. Come morning, John would have a fine patch of beard burn there to remind him of his lover. His eyes drifted shut and he let his head rest on his chest. Lover.
Not any of those other words.
He didn't want to think of it now. Now, everything was different. He had money -- an out of court settlement meant he never had to never work again. He'd thought about doing just that.
God knows Maude would have been delighted if he had taken the tersely worded suggestion from his erstwhile superior officer that he should consider 'moving on'. Instead, something made him applied for a transfer to another agency, any agency. And Chris Larabee had trampled all over any number of people's feelings and supposed seniority and dragged him without ceremony to Colorado, where he had installed him as undercover agent in his RME (Colorado) Task Force. He chuckled under his breath.
"Y'okay?" John's sleepy mumble made him smile, and he pressed a damp kiss on the corner of his mouth as John turned his head to meet him.
"Fine. Go to sleep." He waited as JD wriggled until he was wrapped around Ezra, one hand moving in ever slower circles on his back. He shook his head with a grin more open than he would ever show in public. He closed his eyes, relishing the warm proof of John's physical affection. He wanted to sleep, but it seemed that, once started, he couldn't turn off his train of thought, was going to have to follow through to the end.
Chris Larabee's lack of anything resembling tact and diplomacy infuriated him, but that didn't stop him being grateful when it was directed at others.
When Larabee had promised a new start, he'd jumped at it, and hadn't cared about anything else. For all Larabee knew of course, he didn't care about Team Seven either. Not at first. He wasn't going to be taken in again.
It had taken him the best part of his first year with Team Seven to realize that not only had Larabee kept his word, but had kept his silence. No one knew. Or if they knew, it seemed that either they didn't care, or that they were too afraid of Larabee to act on it. Either way, his initial caution slowly eased. He no longer pretended to flirt with women, or to have had dates. His standing comment -- that a gentleman never kissed and told was more than enough to keep them from troubling him, and he was still surprised that this was the case.
Nonetheless, he stayed careful, discreet. Sensible. This freedom to stretch his wings could surely only go so far. A shiver ran up his spine, and he shuddered. All those precautions, those careful rationalizations, and here was John, so easily admitting to a friend that he was gay, that he was living with another man. By implication, dear God, he hoped it was only by implication, that he was having sex with another man.
He stared over John's shoulder at the bedroom curtains as though he had never seen such a thing in his life. He probably had shared far too many details of their bedroom activities with her. Good Lord. How was he going to ever face Miss Wells again. Or Mrs. Wells. Or, and he felt the blood draining from his face, Mr. Tanner.
"Don't be ridiculous, Standish," he muttered and shook himself. He lifted his head far enough to peer into John's sleeping face. Maybe he should just check with the kid how much he had actually shared...
JD mumbled unintelligibly, and rolling them both, buried his face in Ezra's shoulder.
Ezra froze. He'd wondered before if the others knew. He'd thought not, they'd never said anything, but they hadn't blinked when it became clear that he was dating a man. Not Larabee, a man of strong opinions, nor Wilmington who always had something to say about everyone's dating habits, nor Sanchez, the preacher's son, or ...
What if they knew?
What if they all knew?
What if they'd known all along and hadn't cared?
He stared, wide-eyed, into the dark. Had he really been so careful that he had been blind?
Mr. Larabee knew. There was no way the man didn't know, even with the confidentiality agreements that the FBI had included in the settlement. It was arguable whether Larabee would consider confiding in Tanner to be breaking a secret. What Larabee knew, it was a reasonable assumption that Tanner also knew. Maybe Wilmington too. Maybe all of them.
They hadn't said anything, not by word, or action had they ever referenced his dating habits to be other than -- he blinked. When Vin had asked some three weeks ago he'd asked if Ezra was dating. No mention of gender. He'd assumed they didn't know. He frowned, meticulously going back through their interactions over the last two weeks, and then further back.
Good God. And he had thought them obtuse.
With remarkably little fanfare, his world tilted and happily resettled itself.
He closed his eyes briefly, and breathed in, resting his face in JD's soft hair. They'd known. Of course they had known. They'd been waiting for him to trust them enough to say something. Other than that, it made no difference. He only had to think of Josiah calmly offering relationship counseling despite knowing that the relationship in question was homosexual.
Perhaps it was time to offer them some trust in return. He smiled, and almost without thinking nuzzled a kiss into John's hair. Let the lad be as free and easy as he wanted to be. If he said it was going to be okay, then perhaps he should try it. Perhaps if he had been less secretive in the first place. He shook his head and sighed. He had made the best choices he could. No recriminations. No regrets.
Maybe it would be okay if he pushed things to go his way a little more, and the Agency way a little less. In the ordinary course of events, he would be following guidelines that someone off in the psych section had put together without ever meeting either himself or Lasater.
The Lasater bust suddenly seemed far less fearsome. If the team was willing to trust him then perhaps he could try moving outside that neat little box he had built for himself.
His mind kept returning to that word. Safe.
Lasater was a safe meet.
What if he ran it *his* way instead?
It was a safe meet. He knew Lasater. Knew the set up. and he would be briefing the team tomorrow morning. He could change things around to suit him and no one would know. Well, until the reports were in, and presented with a fait accompli, and a successful one at that, Travis and Larabee would have no reason to complain. Which wouldn't stop them of course, but it might make them think a little harder about how they could better utilize his talents.
He nuzzled into JD's neck and smiled as a drowsy mumble was followed by a soft kiss. He had a couple of days to think about it. In the meantime...
------------------------------
JD burrowed deeper into the pillows, protesting as his nice warm body pillow slid out of the bed.
"Do you have to go to school this morning?"
He shook his head and pulled the covers up over him.
"I'll take that as a no," Ezra sounded like he was laughing.
JD let himself drift off again, warm and relaxed. Some indeterminate time later, a hand slipped under the covers and cupped him firmly.
"I've time for a little early morning entertainment, if you're interested?" JD pushed his hips up in Ezra's hand wantonly, and Ezra chuckled. The covers were pulled off of him and he wanted to protest, but his cock was immediately tucked into Ezra's warm, wet mouth, and he groaned instead, stretching out languorously.
"Mmm, Ez..."
Ezra chuckled, and JD hardened further at the vibration tickling him, before slow, rhythmic pressure pulled at his cock. He shuddered. Ez's tongue was stroking him, prying into his slit, licking his foreskin, tracing the length of his shaft as his mouth slid up and down his shaft. He writhed, whimpering, and his hands settled on Ezra's head, his fingers sinking into the soft, damp hair. His hips lifted and Ezra simply sank further onto him, allowing JD deep into his throat, then swallowed, pulling him deeper, rippling muscles holding him firmly. He wailed, and came, gasping for air.
"God, Ez, you just about killed me," he managed eventually. Ezra lifted his head from JD's crotch, his eyes sparkling.
"I sincerely hope not," he smiled, and pushed JD until he rolled onto his belly. "Legs."
JD spread them willingly. "Oh..." Ezra's fingers breached him briefly, slipping in with lubricated ease, replaced in seconds by his cock. JD groaned again, and lifted his hips to the penetration. "God, Ezra," he said with helpless pleasure. "God."
Ezra stretched over JD's back, driving deep. "So eager," he murmured, and steadied his grip on JD's waist, then pulled him up to all fours, ramming home hard at the same moment.
JD yelled. Ezra hadn't done this before, driving into him with no quarter given, barely any preparation, and he was loving it. His spent cock started to fill again in response to the hard fucking he was taking, slick cock filling him deep, stretching him open with each thrust instead of the slow, gentle fingers that he had come to expect in only a week.
"Okay?" Ezra gasped out.
JD braced himself against the mattress, shoved back and begged, "Harder?" Ezra slammed into him, his hands gripping his waist so tightly that JD suspected he was going to have bruises later, but didn't care. All he could think about were their harsh gasps for air, and the slap of flesh on flesh as Ezra took him thoroughly. He shuddered as Ezra nailed his hot spot, and it was all over for him, and he came again, held up only by his lover's hands and thrusting hips. Ezra cried out softly, and collapsed onto JD. He sighed, enjoying the feel of being held so securely, Ezra's knees spreading his legs, pressing against his belly, Ezra's cock fitted deep inside him, and Ezra's chest and stomach draped over his back, his arms wound about his waist.
He was dimly aware of losing that secure embrace, of a kiss brushed over his cheek, and he turned his face to nuzzle up into Ezra's touch.
"Take care," he mumbled, and he thought Ezra hesitated for a long moment, stroking his hair, before kissing him lightly on the lips.
He wasn't sure if he dreamed Ezra saying, "I will, my dear. I will." He smiled and fell back to sleep again.
He woke some considerable time later, sprawled on his stomach, and wondered
hazily if he had dreamed the whole encounter. He shifted his ass cautiously
and hissed. Definitely not a dream then. He reached behind himself and gently
touched his sore opening. His finger felt cool and soothing and he rubbed lightly
there, his hips shifting slowly in time with his touch until he turned his head
to look at the clock.
It was nearly eleven o'clock. He rolled to his feet, then staggered at the head rush. He sat on the edge of the bed and yawned, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, mindful of where his fingers had been. He didn't have to go in to the university at all today. Normally he would have been heading off to one of several part-time jobs, trying to keep body and soul together, and make the payments on the insurance. He grinned, rocking gently on his backside. Well, at least selling his ass meant he got to stay in bed in the mornings.
Ezra probably wouldn't find that as funny as he did.
He stood more slowly, and ambled into the shower. It was immaculately clean and he blushed scarlet. Mrs. Flores must have been through already. He wondered if she had looked into the bedroom or not, and groaned, seeing himself in his mind's eye, face down, legs spread, not so much as a sheet to cover him in Ezra's bed. What must she have thought?
He started the shower up and told himself sternly, "She probably thought exactly the right thing," but he couldn't help cringing in embarrassment. He cleaned up and pulled on old soft jeans and a t-shirt, relishing the feel as the denim seam pressed closely over his aching ass, the waistband cinching roughly over the ten finger shaped bruises darkening there. He was surprised when he tried the bedroom door and found it wouldn't budge. He tugged a couple of times, then slapped himself on the forehead and tried the key, smiling with relief when it opened. He was half way down the stairs when it dawned on him that Ez had probably locked it to make sure that Mrs. Flores didn't walk in on him. He breathed a sigh of relief and bounced into the kitchen to find something to eat, and stopped dead as he came face to face with Mrs. Flores herself.
"Buenas dias, senor," she said cheerfully, packing the dishwasher with their plates from the night before.
"Oh, uh, hi," he smiled nervously at her, hoping she spoke some English. "I'm JD." He stuck out a hand, which she looked at doubtfully, then shook.
"Rosita Flores, JD," she smiled at him.
He nodded and wandered over to the cupboard where a box of Cheerios had mysteriously appeared on Monday while he was at school. He turned to find a bowl, and discovered a clean one had been put on the table, along with a spoon, a bowl of sugar and a jug of milk.
"Oh, hey, thank you, you don't have to--"
"It's fine, JD," Rosita nodded, "Eat up. Is it okay to clean your room now?"
JD blushed and nodded, keeping his head down and stolidly taking another mouthful of cereal. He couldn't remember seeing a condom anywhere, and figured Ez was fastidious enough to have thrown it away immediately after use. He was pretty sure she knew what was going on, but there was no point rubbing her face in it. And that was a nasty mental image.
The dishwasher shut with a click, and churned softly into action. He listened as the sound of her footsteps receded and groaned with embarrassment, dropping his head to the table.
"Such a fucking loser, Dunne," he mumbled, and gritted his teeth, pulled himself upright in the chair and finished his breakfast. How the hell was he supposed to handle talking to a complete stranger who clearly had access to the most intimate information about him. His eyes widened. God, what if she looked in the bathroom trashcan?
"She won't. Why would she want to?" He picked up the bowl and drank the last of the milk straight from it, and wiped his mouth with a sigh, and refilled the bowl. He took the second breakfast along to the study, where he plugged his laptop back into Ezra's newly set up LAN, and dived straight online, checking his university account first, and then his personal one. He smiled at a sprawling email from Casey, and settled in to read. By the time he'd finished the Cheerios he was chuckling at Casey's description of her agronomy professor's last lecture. The man clearly either had a poker face to rival Ezra's, or genuinely had no sense of humor. Casey was betting on the latter.
He typed a quick reply, and moved on to the next one. This was from the ATF Denver office, and he opened it cautiously, wondering if someone was going to jibe at him, maybe hassle him about Ezra or something. He flipped to the end of the message, and saw the signoff was Vin Tanner, and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Whew. What the hell's he writing to me for?" he scrolled back up the top, and read with some trepidation, which slowly spread into a pleased smile. Again he hit reply, and emailed the man back -- he'd forgotten about the autumn track events, it would be great to go dirt biking with him in a couple of weeks. His smile broadened. He could even buy himself a new bike, not risk his baby. He knew fine well that the Kawasaki might just take it into its head to fall apart if he treated her too roughly.
He stretched and arched his back, gasping softly at the dull ache as he rocked on his ass. He felt himself tightening and smiled again. He needed to get Ez to cut loose more often.
He hit send, and shut down the computer. Now, if Ez was here, they could go back to bed. He huffed his disappointment through pursed lips and stood. Maybe he could find something to do outside.
Half an hour later he had decided against the swimming pool (too cold), reading on the deck (too dull), finishing the next chapter of his dissertation (*way* boring), using the X-Box (Mrs. Flores vacuuming), and was wandering around the kitchen on the scrounge for something to snack on.
He was just reaching in to steal one of Tanner's pop-tarts when a voice startled him.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
He jerked back, cracking his head on the underside of the cabinet and swore as he lost his balance and sat on the hard kitchen floor. Not such a pleasant reminder.
"I live here. Who the hell are you?" he snapped back, glaring at the stranger standing over him.
"Does Mrs. Flores know you're here?" The man turned without another word and yelled, "Mrs. Flores? Senora Flores?"
"Que es, Peter?" She came rushing into the kitchen as JD rubbed his head, screwing up his face.
"Peter! ¡Qué le hancho! ¡Sr. Dunne es un amigo de Sr. Standish! ¿Qué le hancho hecho al pobre muchacho? ¿Te lastimaron?"
JD blinked at the torrent of Spanish, but not as much as the large man who swiftly backed away from him.
"Sorry, man, I didn't know you were meant to be here. I just kinda let my mouth run off ahead of my brain." He held out a conciliatory hand and JD gripped it and was pulled to his feet. "Pete Nichols."
JD shrugged, "Guess it's an easy mistake to make. JD Dunne." They shook under the watchful eye of Senora Flores.
"Good. Peter, Mr. Dunne lives here now, he is Mr. Standish's friend, okay?"
Nichols frowned a little at that, and shrugged. "Rosita, I came to ask if I could borrow some of the disinfectant again? Pasada bit me again."
"Again! You should be more careful around that criatura del diablo," she scolded, but walked briskly over to another cupboard, reaching in to produce a box with a green cross on it. "Bring it back when you are finished, no?"
"Sure, Rosie." He glanced thoughtfully at JD, then headed back out of the kitchen door, first aid box in his hands.
"Senora Flores?" JD said hesitantly.
"Yes, pequeño?"
"Who was that? And who's Pasada?"
Rosita smiled, "Pasada is Senor Standish's horse, and a good judge of character," she paused significantly. "Senor Standish has only met Mr. Nichols twice, when he was looking for someone to help with the horses. One day he will no longer even clean the shit from the stables."
"Horses!" JD said eagerly, and then registered the rest of her sentence. "What's he do to them?"
"I cannot prove it. I have not seen him do it. But sometimes I think Pasada bites because Mr. Nichols hurt him first." She shrugged fluidly. "Mr. Nichols, I think, has a bad temper."
"But--" he looked out the window to where Nichol's figure had disappeared around a corner. "But, how come--" he stopped himself. That was a question to ask Ezra. He frowned.
"Is everything OK, JD?"
"Yeah, Rosita," he said absently, his eyes fixed on the empty landscape. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"Stay away from him, JD. Mr. Nichols is usually finished by one o'clock."
"Thanks." He turned his head to smile at her. "Thanks, Rosita."
"Be careful," she said with gentle warning, and JD grinned.
"Just gonna check out those horses. Ez said I could. I guess now's a pretty good time." He caught her worried frown, and reddened. "Aw, Rosita, I'll be fine!"
"Hmphf!" she snorted and shook her head. "I have cleaning to finish. I have no time for talking to muchachos testarudos."
JD grinned. "Seeya later!" He swiped an apple from the bowl on the table and headed out through the utility room to grab his much abused Timberland boots, and pull them on. He ran upstairs in his boots to get a sweater, and then jogged out of the house, down the path that Nichols had taken, following it around a stand of trees to a low white building that looked older than the house.
"Hello?" he called out. "Pete?"
"Who's that?" Nichols' voice was unfriendly, and he emerged from the stable to look disparagingly at JD, and turn away again. "You again. What do you want?"
"Ez said I could check out the horses, maybe have a ride."
"Mr. Standish didn't say anything to me about it."
JD smiled brightly and headed into the stables after Nichols. "Guess he forgot. Wow!" he added with honest awe as he caught sight of a creamy palomino.
"You're a beauty aren't you?" He spotted the nameplate carved from wood hung over the stall, and smiled. He pulled out a pocket knife and sliced the apple in his hand and offered a eighth to the palomino. "You're Pasada, huh? Guess Ez must put plenty of stock in you. He said not to meddle with ya," he murmured softly, letting the horse take her own time investigating his hand before she delicately took the apple, then pushed into his hand for more. "Ahh, you're a sweet girl, aren't you?" he said delightedly.
"Mr. Standish won't like you feeding 'er bits an' pieces of god knows what."
"Oh, one or two bits of apple won't hurt, will they, Pasada?" He offered another piece of apple, and ran a hand down her long neck, over the beautifully kept mane as she delicately took it.
"I'll let Mr. Standish know you said that," Nichols said derisively and JD flinched.
Ez *had* said he shouldn't mess with the palomino. He bit his lip, and let her be with just one more pat, wandering along to the next horse, a chestnut gelding in the next but one stall. "You're real pretty, too, huh," he said softly as the horse lipped up its piece of apple eagerly. "You're all real nice looking horses," he said to himself, eying the two other animals, a black and a bay. "I'm sorry, I'm going to run out of apple if I give it all to you," he said to the chestnut, who whickered disappointedly when he walked away to offer the last four pieces equally to the other two. "There you go, hey, is that good?" His stomach rumbled unexpectedly, and he grinned ruefully. "I sure hope it was, that was my lunch."
"You leave those horses alone, Dunne," Nichols loomed up behind him, and JD spun to face him, finding himself with his back pressed hard up against the bay's stall to avoid touching him. "You hear me?"
"They're Ezra's horses," he said defiantly, "And I think I get more of a say than you do around here."
He flinched, hard, when Nichols' fists clenched, and then the man leaned in close, and whispered, "Don't count on that, boy." He reached for JD, and for a terrifying moment he thought the man was going to strangle him, but he just gripped his shoulders, and whispered again, "You know, I'm still on parole from the last little shit who mouthed off at me, or I'd teach you a few manners."
JD stared wide eyed at him. Nichols leaned back and dusted JD's shoulders off with a mocking grin.
"Now, you leave those horses be. Understand?"
JD bit his lip and said nothing.
"Understand?" Nichols leaned in closer, and JD ducked under his arms and hurried for the exit. "Good boy," Nichols called after him, "You run home to your Momma, boy!"
JD made himself walk away at a steady, casual pace, feeling like a target was painted on his back. He clenched his fists and swallowed his anger as he heard Nichols laughing. He stopped as soon as he was out of sight of the stables.
"I am going to *get* you, you fucker," he muttered.
He drew a deep breath, and then another. Rosita had said the guy was only there until one. He checked his watch, an hour to wait. He wandered around to the front of the house where he found a old hayseed truck parked in the front drive, pretty much blocking access in and out of the place.
"Stupid bastard," he muttered, and headed for his bike. He crouched down by it, checking the tread and the tires. He sighed. He'd sold his tool kit along with the bike, and although Frank had been willing to sell the bike back, especially at five hundred more than he'd paid for it, he'd kept the tool kit, pointing out, with some truth, that if JD could unload a couple of thousand on a beat up bike, then he could afford to put a kit together again.
He could, he just hadn't had the time to go to his favorite bike shop yet. He ran a hand over the seat and decided he'd do that soon, maybe tomorrow when he was back on campus. He'd need some stuff before he could go off with this Tanner guy. He tried the garage door but it was locked. He shook his head with a smile, trying to picture Ezra up to his elbows in machine oil. He'd be willing to bet that Ezra's mechanic made a fortune off of Ez's lack of tools.
He toyed with the idea of just heading off exploring, and then remembered that he was going to go riding once that thug in the stables went back under whatever rock he crawled from.
Maybe he could get himself some lunch. He headed back inside and then remembered the two breakfasts less than an hour ago, and just snagged another apple, or two, or three, and a bag of chips. Rosita was dusting in the living room so he gave up the idea of turning on the X-Box, and drifted back out to the deck, ending up sitting on the edge of it, his legs dangling over the steep drop off. He worked his way slowly through the first apple and the bag of chips, his eyes half shut as he stared out at the mountains.
It was a beautiful September day, and while patches of the ground were yellow and desiccated, there were enough trees to let him almost forget that he was living in a desert. The sky was clear and blue, the mountains pushing up into it, and he felt muscles unknotting as he swung his legs and did nothing in particular.
"You'd've loved it here, Mom," he said under his breath. He drew in a deep breath, feeling the cool breeze on his face, and then shook his head. "How the hell did I get myself into this, Mom? And what the hell am I going to do about Ez?"
He tucked his hands under his arms for warmth, and watched as a speck high in the sky drifted in lazy circles downwards. He wished he had binoculars, and then smiled ruefully. "Wouldn't recognize it even if I had 'em, right, Mom?"
If she had been with him, she would have just laughed at him for putting the cart before the horse again. He grinned. She'd had a dozen phrases for the same thing, and they all boiled down to him being too impulsive.
"I leapt and I didn't look. Or at least, I looked, and then I kinda changed the plan." He couldn't help thinking that she'd be far happier than he was that he was having real feelings for Ezra. "Wish you were here, Mom. Wish I really did meet him at a bar, and drop that drink on him and then bought him another one. We could have talked a bit, and maybe kissed. I could have blown him in that car of his, god, I so need to remember to do that -- er, you didn't hear that bit, Mom, right?" He laughed out loud. She'd always stopped him as soon as he got as far as kissing, and she'd ask him, were you safe? Did you have fun? and as long as the answer was always yes to both she would just hug him, and tell him those were the main things.
"Yeah, we're safe," he said to the sky. "And *man* are we having fun." He smiled, a little bittersweet, and added, "I guess that's the main thing, right?"
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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.