A Rock and a Hard Place
Thanks to Charlotte for her fantastic ideas and for always improving anything I write
The minute he walked into the kitchen Chris realized he was about to be ambushed. Something about the way the three men in the room exchanged looks and nudged each other, and the way Vin sidled up beside him, tipped him off that they were hatching a plot that they didn't think he would like. So he saved them all some time and beat them to the punch.
"No," he said unequivocally.
Vin's mouth fell open. "Damn it, Larabee, you haven't even heard what I'm gonna ask," he exclaimed.
Chris snorted. "But I already know the answer. And it's no."
"Come on, man, just for tonight," Vin cajoled. "We'll return him to you tomorrow, all safe and sound."
Chris frowned, quickly putting two and two together. Whatever they were planning, they wanted Buck to join them, and that would put the kibosh on his plans for a nice quiet evening alone with his lover. He and Buck had worked conflicting schedules for several days and had hardly seen each other and all he wanted to do tonight was to close the door to their suite and cuddle on the couch with Buck, maybe polish off a decent bottle of wine, but mostly just reconnect – by themselves.
"It's midnight madness," Josiah chimed in, as though that somehow explained everything.
"Why don't you come too?" Vin suggested. "Let your hair down for a couple of hours. Hey, maybe you'd even have a little fun."
Chris scowled at his friend. "My idea of fun isn't a cheesy sci-fi triple bill at a cinema that should have been condemned ten years ago," he huffed.
"Buck'll love it," Vin wheedled. "You know he will."
Chris opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again with a snap. Vin was right. Buck would have a blast. He loved those old flicks and got a real kick out of hanging out with his friends and flirting madly with whatever hapless females ended up sitting close to him in the cinema. He even seemed to like the disgusting cardboard popcorn and flat, watered down drinks the flea pit served at these things.
He glanced up at the tiny smile of triumph already tugging at Vin's lips, at the grins that spread across Josiah and Nathan's faces. They really had his number. They knew exactly what card to play to manipulate him, knew he'd do just about anything to make Buck happy, even suffer through 6 hours of the most God-awful crap ever committed to celluloid. Shaking his head, thinking that sometimes there was no accounting for his lover's tastes, he nonetheless shrugged in defeat.
"Okay, count us in. Both of us," he sighed. And maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all, he mused. He'd wait for the lights to dim, then return his lover's flirtatious attention back where it belonged. He'd slip his hand into Buck's fly, watch out of the corner of his eye as his lover slid down lower in his seat and spread his legs wider. Then he'd really work him, until Buck inevitably grabbed his hand and dragged him into the washrooms. Then they'd fuck each other's brains out in one of the tiny stalls…
His fantasy ground to a halt when he heard Vin's laugh, soft and knowing. "Horny bastard," Vin chided, obviously guessing what Chris was planning.
Chris just grinned at him. "We'll meet you back here at 11:30. I'll buy the popcorn," he said cheerfully. He rose to leave, but stopped when the door to the kitchen burst open, slamming back against the wall with a loud bang, and Buck walked in, a frown creasing his face.
"Buck?" Chris said, surprised. "You're home early. Everything okay?"
"I want that asshole Martin Greyson off the books. Now," Buck said harshly, and the others exchanged a worried look. Buck was rattled, and he was not a man easily thrown off guard.
"What happened?" Josiah asked.
Buck ignored the question and sat down heavily on a stool at the kitchen counter. He raised a hand to push his hair back off his forehead, and in a flash Chris was by his side, pulling the hand down and turning it over in his palm.
Buck's knuckles were skinned and scraped and a bruise was forming across the back of his hand.
"Buck?" Chris said.
Buck pulled his hand away. For a moment there was silence while he seemed to collect his thoughts, and the men in the room strained forward when he finally began to speak softly.
"Everything was fine. He was pleasant, we chatted a bit, he told me what he wanted. No problem. We moved to the bedroom and he asked to use restraints. I said no. I was polite but I set him straight, told him I wouldn't do that until we knew each other better," he paused, nodding gratefully when Vin poured a large measure of scotch into a tumbler and pushed it across the counter to him. He took a long swallow.
"Go on," Chris said, tension cracking his voice.
"He seemed to accept that and we carried on. But when he got onto the bed he grabbed my arm and snapped a handcuff around my wrist. It was already attached to the bedpost, hidden behind a pillow. So I hauled off with my free arm and I cold cocked the fucker. Knocked him right off the bed."
He stopped again, reaching for the glass with his other hand and the men in the room hissed out a collective breath. The skin around his wrist was bruised and swollen, a ragged cut running right around it. Chris reached out, his own hand shaking, and pulled Buck's arm towards him. He examined the damage gently, turning Buck's wrist to look at the front and the back. He didn't say anything, just clamped his jaws together tightly and felt the muscles in his face twitch with tension.
Buck allowed himself to be inspected, waiting until Chris raised diamond bright eyes before continuing, talking directly to Chris while he finished his story, his hand cradled by his partner the whole time.
"The key was on his bedside table. I couldn't reach it and the bastard was getting up so I yanked the damn bedpost as hard as I could, pulled the cuff clear through it. He went berserk, Chris. Kept yelling he was gonna call the cops. I unlocked the cuffs and grabbed my clothes, I couldn't figure out whether to get the hell out of there or hit him again, and he was yelling and screaming the whole time. Crazy bastard," he muttered, shaking his head.
"Who is he?" Vin asked quietly.
Buck shrugged. "New trick. A referral I think."
"Didn't you check him out, Chris?" Josiah asked, with no hint of accusation.
Chris' fear suddenly found an outlet. "Do you seriously think I'd send Buck out without running a complete check first?" he exploded. "I swore I'd never make that fucking mistake again…"
"Chris!" Buck snapped out sharply, and Chris immediately subsided into silence. They never discussed the hurt Buck had suffered two years ago, before the others joined the agency, when a trick had hospitalized him with a brutal beating.
"I ran him, Josiah," Chris continued, more reasonably. "He came up clean, no police record, no complaints filed against him. Not so much as a damned speeding ticket. And Ezra vouched for the family, well-connected Boston blue-bloods."
By now Nathan had stepped in close, jostling Chris aside so that he could take a better look. "Gotta get this cleaned up, Buck," he said calmly. "Don't want to risk infection."
Buck's eyes had never left Chris' face and he rose now and held out a hand. "Come upstairs with me, Chris," he said, half command, half plea.
Chris threw him a cold look and his resolute expression hardened even further.
"Go on up. I'll be there soon," he said.
"What are you planning?" Buck asked, sounding tired.
Chris turned away, lips firmly clamped together.
"Chris…" Buck demanded.
"I am going over there and I'm gonna beat the living shit out of that motherfucker," Chris snarled.
Buck laughed, the nervous sound startling in the tightly wound atmosphere. "Chris, he got a little rough and I took care of it. It's finished."
"It'll be finished when I teach that asshole a lesson he isn't likely to forget," Chris snapped, his harsh tone leaving no doubt that this was not an idle threat.
"Don't, Chris," Buck ordered, rubbing at his eyes, fatigue and tension obvious in his drawn face. "This isn't one to get worked up over; I'm fine, and he isn't worth the aggravation. We'll take him off our books, add his name to the blacklist and spread the word. It's one of the risks of the trade, that's all."
"It's not a risk I'm willing to take," Chris retorted sharply. "Not for you, not for the rest of the team."
"We have no choice," Buck said sighing in resignation. "We do what we can to minimize the dangers but sometimes we have to suck it up and deal with the shit. You know that better than anybody. It's over, you hear? We'll never have to deal with that asshole again."
***
Two days later those words were echoing around Chris' head when he called the team together for an impromptu meeting. Buck walked in, an arm slung around Vin's shoulder, laughing uproariously at something the younger man said. He had bounced back quickly and easily, a hell of a lot quicker than Chris had. Only the bandage on his wrist indicated that anything untoward had happened.
The laughter died on his lips when he saw Chris' face, and each of the men took a look at their boss and settled down quickly and quietly when they noted his serious expression. He wasted no time in sharing the bad news.
"Martin Greyson called. He's threatening to press charges against Buck. Soliciting and assault. Plus he says he's going to file a police report against the agency and against me for pimping."
"Jesus, no!" Buck breathed, his face suddenly draining of all colour, his eyes wild with panic. The other men exchanged stunned looks.
"Ezra," Chris said tightly. "You know this asshole. Will he go through with it?"
Ezra shook his head. "I don't know him that well, Chris. I know the family," he said quietly. "Martin is a distant cousin, he only attends family functions if the whole clan is invited. He's not part of their inner circle."
"Damn it!" Chris cursed. He glanced at Buck, who looked absolutely stricken. He wanted nothing more than to walk over and gather the man into his arms, swear that he would never ever let anything ugly happen to him again. But he knew he couldn't make that promise right now.
"Will they pressure him for us, Ezra? To keep their names out of the papers?"
Ezra shrugged. "Perhaps. I could make a call..."
Chris scrubbed a hand through his short hair. "I'm gonna push back," he said firmly. "I'm gonna threaten to counter charge. He assaulted Buck first. We'll plead self defense."
"Chris…" Buck began.
"That's enough," Chris snapped, more harshly than he'd intended. "I'm not arguing this decision with you," he said.
There was silence in the room until Ezra's voice rang out loud and clear.
"What was the deal he offered?" he asked calmly.
Chris turned a cold look on his colleague. "Leave it alone, Ezra," he ordered darkly, but Ezra refused to be cowed.
"This is our livelihood and we have the right to input into any final decision. A prostitution charge would get you into the newspapers and destroy your chances of working in this town. Probably ours too. Buck needs to know."
"Know what?" Buck asked.
When Chris didn't answer Buck turned to his friend. "Know what, Ez?"
Ezra continued to stare at Chris and Buck's head swivelled slowly between the two men, as dawning comprehension slowly tracked across his face. He turned towards his partner. "Why would he call to threaten you? If he was serious about pressing charges, he'd have gone to the police two days ago when I hit him."
Chris refused to speak, and Ezra dropped his eyes when Buck looked to him for confirmation of what he was beginning to clearly understand. "What does he want, Chris?" he demanded.
Chris shot Ezra a furious look then stepped up closer to his lover. "He said he'd leave it alone if you went back and finished the date," he said, and saw a look of shock and fear flash across his lover's face. "I told him to shove it up his ass," Chris spat. "No fucking way is that bastard ever laying another hand on you."
Buck swallowed hard, but he raised resolute eyes to his lover.
"If that's the only way to get him to back off…" he began.
"No," Chris said distinctly. "Absolutely not."
"I got us into this mess…" Buck tried again.
"No," Chris repeated, his tone harsh. "You didn't get us into shit, Buck. That asshole's trying to drag us into a mess and it's not going to work. I've made my decision. If he goes ahead, we'll counter-sue. He won't want the family name dragged through the gutter. He'll drop the charges."
"I want to hear what the others have to say," Buck persisted. "You can't make this decision without their say so."
"Well, you're not going back there on my account," Vin said quietly but firmly.
Josiah shook his head. "It wouldn't be wise, Buck. He's unpredictable and untrustworthy, we know that now. I don't want you to put yourself at risk. We'll fight this in the courts if we have to."
"Agreed," Nathan said simply. "And we all have favors we can call in."
"Ezra?" Buck prompted when the man continued in his silence.
Ezra raised his eyes and looked directly at Buck. "I'll support whatever decision you make," he said.
"That's settled then," Chris said. "I'm going to call Carol right now. Get her legal opinion. We might have to shut up shop for a few days. I'll let you all know what she advises."
He left the room and one by one the others drifted away, leaving only Buck and Ezra, sitting facing each other across the coffee table, both knowing that there was more to say on this matter.
"Ezra, if I ask you a question, will you give me an honest answer?"
"I've always been 100% honest with you, Mr. Wilmington. I see no reason to change that now."
Buck weighed him up and nodded his head slowly. "Will Greyson drop the charges if we threaten to counter-sue? Will he want to protect the family name?"
"Doubtful," Ezra said quietly, his green eyes boring into Buck's. "He's a very minor branch of the family, he's not linked to their business ventures in any way. I doubt that the possibility of tarnishing the family name will be a consideration for him."
Buck nodded. "And our connections?" he asked. "We service half of Boston's high society. Hell, we have two judges on our client list, and God knows who Chris has on the payroll to keep us off police radar."
"That could just as easily work against us." Ezra sighed. "They'll be worried for their own reputations. No telling if they'll jump to our defense or try to bury us to protect themselves. And Greyson's powerfully connected in his own right. Chris will be playing in the big league here and I'm afraid you won't stand a chance if this goes to court. It will likely end badly for you both."
"That's what I thought," Buck sighed. "Thanks for being straight with me, Ez."
"Our best bet is with the family directly. Let me speak to Elizabeth and her husband, see if your trick is controllable from the inside."
"All right. You check, and then you tell me right quick, okay? Not Chris. Me."
Ezra nodded and they sat in silence for a few moments until Ezra finally asked, "What will you do?"
Buck looked at him and smiled weakly. "You know what I have to do, Ez. There really isn't a choice. I won't let that asshole destroy what we've built here and I won't let him go after Chris."
"He'll find out. He always does," Ezra said.
Buck shrugged. "I'll tell him myself. But only after it's all over."
Ezra nodded. "Okay. Let me make that call. If there's no help to be found there, I'll support your decision in any way I can. Just let me know what I can do to help," he said.
"Thanks, Ez," Buck murmured, grateful that he didn't have to explain himself at least to one of his friends.
"I'll be right back."
Ezra left the room and Buck got up to pace, hoping against hope that this would go easy for once. Seemed like they deserved a little more easy, in the shit department. But Ezra came back just a few minutes later and shook his head.
Buck pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and pushed one of the pre-set keys and sucking in a deep breath he said, "Hi Dotty. Do me a favor darlin'. Get me Martin Greyson's phone number."
***
Ezra closed his cell phone with a loud snap and sighed deeply in relief. Buck had made it through. He didn't exactly sound like his usual outgoing, gregarious self, but he was in one piece, he was coherent and he was on his way home.
The door to the den slid open and Chris walked in, looking around the room, a small frown furrowing his brow.
"Where's Buck?" he asked.
Ezra cleared his throat. "He's taking care of some business," he said.
"What business?" Chris asked, his frown creasing his forehead more deeply.
Damn it, Ezra thought, he should have anticipated this and come up with a more plausible reason for Buck being out of the house. These two never made a move without the other knowing about it and there was no way Buck would have any business he hadn't discussed with Chris first. He should have been more creative with his excuse, but he hadn't planned on Chris' meeting with the lawyer ending so quickly, and he certainly hadn't planned on being caught in the middle of this thing when it blew up.
Chris fished out his cell phone. "You don't have to call, he's on his way home," Ezra said. He wanted to protect Buck as long as possible. The man hadn't sounded strong enough to handle an argument over the phone.
"Ezra, what the hell is going on?" Chris demanded.
Ezra was spared having to answer when Nathan, Vin and Josiah walked into the den and Chris was momentarily distracted. Damn. Facing Chris was going to be tough enough, but now Buck had an audience to contend with.
Chris wasn't distracted for long. "Ezra," he barked. "Where's Buck?"
"He just left the Clarence Hotel. He turned a trick for Martin Greyson."
The stunned silence in the room was absolute, the atmosphere immediately charged with tension, and the look of profound horror on Chris' ashen face was appalling to witness. Chris opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard and tried again. "You knew?" he croaked.
"Yes," Ezra said simply.
"You let him go?" Chris said, equal parts incredulity and fury coloring his voice. "You let him go even though you knew what Greyson would do to him?"
"It was his decision," Ezra snapped, on the defensive now. "We worked together to minimize the risks. We chose a public place for them to meet, a hotel I know for the… encounter, a schedule of phone calls, a code word if he ran into trouble. I'd have called the police immediately if he didn't check in at the designated times, or if he raised the alarm by using the code word. The plan was as foolproof as we could possibly make it."
"Foolproof?" Chris spat, "foolproof? How did you expect to protect him from the pain that bastard wanted to put him through? From the humiliation? You think a god damned phone call would be able to stop that?"
"Buck knew what he was letting himself in for," Ezra said tightly. "It was his decision to make, not mine, not yours. He is his own man, despite the fact you seem to think you own him." His voice had risen until the last few words were almost shouted.
Chris took a menacing step forward and Josiah inserted himself bodily between the two of them and held up a hand. "This is hardly the time for this kind of infantile bullshit," he said firmly.
Both of them continued to bristle until they heard the front door slam, then all eyes turned as Buck walked in, stopping dead in his tracks when he saw the full room and obviously sensed the tensions swirling. He looked terrible, Ezra thought: visibly shaken, pale and sweating, as though he was ill.
"Guess you've all heard," Buck said quietly, walking into the room and stepping up close to Chris. "He got what he wanted, he won't be bothering us again."
Chris stared at Buck, eyes blazing. "Did he hurt you?" Chris demanded.
Buck paused, unwilling to respond.
"Did he fucking hurt you?" Chris hissed and Buck couldn't control a flinch.
"Nothing that'll leave a permanent mark," Buck said, and his voice wavered just a little.
Every man in the room held his breath, expecting the inevitable explosion, but instead of launching into a diatribe, Chris simply whispered, "What the hell have you done?" then turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving a stunned silence behind him.
Buck watched him go, eyes widening in shock. "God, he's really angry," he whispered, to nobody in particular.
"Jesus, Buck. What did you expect?" Vin asked.
"I expected him to throw a punch like he usually does when he's pissed at me," Buck said frankly.
"He's not pissed at you, son," Josiah said and Buck turned a puzzled look on his friend. "He's scared for you. He's been terrified for you since that asshole called yesterday, and you just upped and walked right back into the lion's den."
"I thought it was for the best," Buck said doggedly. "I thought it was the quickest way to settle this thing without causing any damage."
"Well here's the problem with that," Josiah pointed out quietly. "You don't know it's settled. You don't know he won't call on us again, since the threat worked the first time."
The very idea nauseated Buck, and he looked to Ezra for reassurance. Ezra shook his head. "No, he won't, Josiah," Ezra said carefully. "I took certain … precautions."
"I don't want to know," Buck blurted. Whatever it was, he didn't want to think about that animal anymore.
"Anyway," Nathan put in, "I think the real damage is between you and Chris."
"He'll get over it," Buck said, although he didn't feel nearly confident enough.
***
"What the fuck were you thinking you stupid bastard?" Chris snarled.
This was a bad idea. He should have stayed clear of Chris until his temper settled down. "Chris, be reasonable…" Buck urged. He was too tired for this, and too sick with himself already.
"Reasonable? You think it was reasonable to put yourself in danger like some brain-dead street hustler who doesn't know any better? To whore yourself out like a worthless piece of ass?"
Buck flinched in the face of his lover's cruelty. "It worked, didn't it? He's off our backs."
"Right, and now every one of our clients will know that we can be blackmailed, that when push comes to shove we'll fold, let them do anything they want to us. You've turned yourself back into a twenty dollar a night hooker with no pride, no standards, who'll just bend over when he's told to. And you've dragged us all down with you."
Buck stiffened at the contemptuous tone, the bitter venom in his lover's voice. "I did it for us," he said, half-heartedly. What the hell was there to defend? What he'd done was revolting.
"You let some sick son-of-a-bitch fuck you over for us? You let him degrade you, humiliate you because you thought it's what I wanted?"
Buck's head was reeling. He didn't know what was worse, the stomach-churning disgust he felt for what he'd done, or the abject loathing he heard in Chris' voice and saw in his eyes.
"You might as well go back to sucking cocks in alleyways." Chris said, voice so cold that Buck shivered. "Strip away the expensive clothes and the fancy haircuts, underneath it all you're just a cheap street corner whore. I can't deal with this right now. Just get the hell out of my sight."
***
His hand trembled so badly that the Jack Daniels splashed on the counter, missing the glass completely. To hell with it, Buck thought, pushing the glass away and upending the bottle straight into his mouth. He gulped greedily, feeling the burn as the amber liquid slid down his throat. His head was pounding, and his gut clenched in nausea as the Jack mixed with the half bottle of scotch he'd already tossed back.
He wanted nothing more than to stand under a scalding hot shower for a couple of hours. See if he could scrub the stink of the evening off his body. He had showered briefly before leaving the Clarence, getting most of the blood and filth off, but he knew he'd never feel clean until he'd spent time in his own bathroom erasing all traces of Greyson. But he couldn't go back to his own suite. Not while Chris was still up there.
He needed drugs too. Because Greyson had hurt him. So much he could scarcely stand the pain. Not just physically, not just with humiliations heaped on him, not just demanding things he wouldn't sell for any amount of money, but that man had made feel like an insignificant piece of shit, a feeling he'd spent years trying to shake and had only managed to bury with Chris' unfailing encouragement.
And worst of all, Chris had finally told the truth. What had he called him: a worthless piece of ass, a cheap street corner whore. Hot tears tracked down his cheeks and splashed onto the counter top and he threw back his head and poured another measure down his throat. What had he ever done with his life except get fucked by people in exchange for a few lousy dollars? What had he ever given Chris besides pain and worry, a constant reminder of sorrow and everything he had lost. It was little wonder Chris had thrown him out, because it seemed like Buck was hell-bent on fucking things up.
He heard a noise behind him but didn't turn around. He didn't have the energy to deal with anybody right now and hoped that whoever it was would take the hint and just leave him alone. But the person walked into the room and stepped up beside him. He glanced over and saw his lover, and all he wanted to do was to bury his face against Chris' warm body, to feel strong arms wrap around him as they had so many times in the past, to cling to the man who had been his rock, his comfort, his shield; who had been at the heart of every decent and good thing that had ever happened to him since his mother died. But Chris was so pissed with him right now, seemed so disgusted. So Buck turned away, hoping to hide his pathetic, clinging weakness.
The tear-stained face turned away from him, but not before Chris had seen the profound sorrow etched on it. "Oh God, Buck," he breathed. What the hell had he done?
Buck scrubbed the back of his hand across his cheeks but he kept his face averted.
"I'll bunk in one of the empty apartments for a while," he said and Chris felt his stomach lurch. He'd finally pushed the man too far with his foul tempered tirade that had been born out of sheer, unadulterated terror. If he couldn't stop Buck from tricking a known scumbag, even after all this time, how the hell could he keep his lover safe from the other risks, the unseen dangers? But instead of telling Buck how petrified he had been for him, he had done what he usually did, lost his temper and disgorged the most hateful invective, and Buck had finally had enough.
"Don't, Buck. Please," Chris implored.
Buck threw him a startled look. "You told me to get the hell out of your sight," he whispered, voice so laden with pain that the sound twisted at Chris' heart. God, how sorely eroded the man's confidence must be to actually have taken Chris' thoughtless words to heart like this.
"I was just being a bad-tempered bastard," Chris said. "You must be used to that by now?"
Buck didn't even smile, just turned his head away again. Tonight he had sacrificed himself totally, for the guys, for Chris, offering himself up because he thought it was the only thing to do. It had been a mistake, and Chris sure as hell wasn't going to forget that, but the damage had already been done, and instead of supporting him, helping him through the anguish, showing how deeply grateful he was for the effort if not the act, Chris had let the adrenaline surge of panic overwhelm him.
After Buck had walked out of their suite, Chris had fumed and cursed, replaying the events of the past days over and over, wondering where he had lost control of the situation, what he could have done differently. Eventually he had looked back over his encounter with Buck and had slowly begun to realize just how unhinged Buck was over this whole mess. His lover had just stood there and taken everything Chris had thrown at him. If he had been in his right mind, Buck would have given back as good as he got, would have stopped Chris' rant with a well-deserved punch. Remembering the docile way Buck had accepted all the insults, the look of sheer misery on his face, the way he had walked out of the room without even trying to defend himself finally sobered Chris up completely. Something was seriously wrong. And when Chris put aside his own frustration and fear and anger he realized that he'd scarcely allowed thoughts of what had actually happened to Buck to penetrate his own selfish absorption.
"Look at me," Chris pleaded, almost afraid to touch this man until he'd been forgiven. Buck turned his head slowly, and the tears were running freely now.
"I'm so sorry," Chris whispered, his heart clenching painfully. He had so many reasons to apologize: for his inability to keep the man safe, for disregarding him, for failing his lover when he needed him most.
Buck made a small noise in his throat, and Chris didn't know which of them moved first, only knew that suddenly his lover's wet face was pressed into his chest, tears soaking through his shirt, arms clinging tightly around his waist. He dropped his own arms and gathered Buck as close and as tight as he could without hurting him, repeating his apology over and over while Buck shuddered against him.
The storm of tears eventually subsided and Buck laid his cheek over Chris' heart while Chris stroked through his lover's hair, cradling his face gently.
"Why don't you come back upstairs with me, sweetheart," Chris whispered, the unaccustomed endearment bringing Buck's head up. He nodded and disentangled himself from Chris' arms, flinching and hissing out a breath when he stood.
"You're hurting," Chris said tightly, suddenly remembering Buck's earlier words, and if he hadn't had his head stuck up his ass he would have realized what Buck had been trying to tell him.
"I don't want to talk about it," Buck said vehemently, swaying unsteadily on his feet.
Chris clutched at him with both hands. "Whoa. Easy big fella'," he said. Buck was more than a little drunk. "We won't do anything you don't want," he promised. "Just come upstairs with me and we'll get you settled down for the night."
Buck regarded him blearily for a minute, then grabbed up the bottle he'd been drinking from and started towards the door. They made it upstairs, progress hampered by Buck's drunken stumbling and his occasional need to stop and draw in a deep breath.
Buck was pale and trembling with fatigue by the time they reached their third floor suite. Chris tried to steer him towards the bed, but Buck squirmed away from his guiding hands and lurched into the bathroom instead.
"Gotta get clean," he rasped, sitting heavily on the lid of the toilet. "Gotta get clean," he reiterated, tugging uselessly at his shirt.
Chris didn't think his lover would be able to stand long enough to take a shower, so he put a restraining hand on Buck's shoulder. "Let me run a bath for you," he offered. At least Buck would be able to sit down in the tub, and Chris would be able to slide in behind him and hold him upright.
Buck nodded and Chris set about filling the tub with hot water.
"Come on, darlin'," Chris whispered, using Buck's favorite endearment. Buck gave him a wan smile and stood up, and with Chris' help he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open. Chris gasped when he saw what the shirt had covered, but he bit down hard on his lip to stop any further sounds escaping when Buck stiffened and tried to pull away.
"It's okay. It's fine," he soothed and waited until Buck relaxed his iron grip on the shirt and allowed him to pull it off and throw it onto the floor.
Buck looked as though he'd been attacked by a wild animal. His chest was covered in scratches and cuts, and damn it to hell if that fucker Greyson hadn't left teeth marks on Buck's body.
"Chris…" Buck whispered, and he looked up into frightened blue eyes, in which fresh tears trembled against the lashes.
Chris clamped strong hands to each side of his lover's head. "I'll take care of you," he said firmly. "Trust me, okay?"
Buck nodded, biting down on his lower lip, and Chris used his thumbs to brush away the tears that had spilled over the man's dark lashes and tracked down his face. Why in God's name would Buck have any reason to trust him, he thought bitterly. He was a colossal failure; he couldn't protect Buck, couldn't care for him properly, couldn't give him the strength and support he needed.
His lover had never cried this much, not even when they were teens and he had a hell of a lot more reason to shed tears. He had been so stoical then, so resigned to his awful fate. But that was supposed to be behind them now. He wasn't supposed to be dealing with this shit all over again.
Chris dropped his hands to undo Buck's belt and ease his pants down over his hips and despite his best efforts he couldn't suppress the hiss of horror that escaped.
"Ahh, Jesus, Buck. You're bleeding. I'll have to fetch Nathan."
"No!" Buck reached out and grabbed his wrist in a firm hold. "Nobody else," he gasped. "I don't want anybody else touching me tonight."
"But, Buck…"
"You p...promised," Buck stammered. "You said nothing I don't want, and I don't want anybody else here. Please," and his plaintive tone tore at Chris' heart so that he nodded, though the more rational side of him wanted to scream for Nathan to come and help.
"Will you be okay in the bath or will it hurt too much?" he asked instead.
"Gotta get clean," Buck said stubbornly, even though that didn't answer Chris' question.
Chris knelt and helped Buck out of the rest of his clothes, sickened at the blood that had tracked down the insides of his legs. From this position he noticed what he'd been too fucked up earlier to see, that both Buck's wrists were torn and bloodied where he had fought against restraints. Chris knew Buck in this department, knew that he was great at holding still, at not injuring himself, and the fact that he'd struggled told Chris more than he wanted to know about just what a crazy sick bastard Greyson must be. Chris thought grimly that if their paths ever crossed he would have no qualms whatsoever about beating the asshole into a bloody pulp.
And maybe he wouldn't wait for their paths to cross.
He helped Buck climb into the bath, then stripped his own clothes off quickly and slipped in behind his lover, a leg on either side of his body. Buck's back was clawed and scratched, worse than his front, and there was deep bruising over his shoulders and his kidneys, as though he had been punched repeatedly. Chris thought the acid wash of anger was going to eat him up from the inside. But Buck was in no shape to deal with his fury right now, so he ruthlessly pushed aside thoughts of revenge and reached around to gently pry a washcloth out of Buck's hands, one that he had scrubbed so hard over his skin that it was now red and raw. He used the cloth to clean and soap Buck's damaged back, all the time crooning endearments and encouragements in a soft voice.
Buck reached for the bottle of Jack Daniels he had brought up with him and took a long swig from it, and Chris accepted the proffered bottle gratefully when his lover held it out, sucking back several mouthfuls before putting the bottle back on the floor. Out of Buck's reach.
He leaned against the side of the tub, and gently eased Buck back against his chest, wrapping one hand around his waist, and with the other he tipped his lover's head so that it rested against his shoulder, and held it there with a hand stroking through dark, damp hair.
The heat from the water and the warmth of the liquor helped to soothe his ragged nerves. Having his lover tucked up in his arms, wounded, damaged, though at least safe, helped the burden of self-loathing he had been carrying ease up just a little.
He should have figured that Buck would do something so stupid and ill-advised and just so hopelessly selfless. Would it have been so fucking hard, he reflected, to just tell Buck that he was scared instead of going off on him. The man had just been trying to save Chris' own sorry ass, had only done what he thought was right, however misguided, and he had reacted like a selfish, overbearing bastard. And, God the thing's he'd said!
"Cheap street corner whore," Buck said quietly, and Chris flinched violently, unnerved at the way his lover had seemed to read his thoughts. "You were on pretty good form tonight," Buck continued, and he actually chuckled a little. "I thought worthless piece of ass was a bit much though," he added.
"Buck…"
"Forget it," Buck said, cutting him off. "You don't do apology very well."
And wasn't that the understatement of this evening, Chris thought. He reached for the bottle, swallowing quickly, then handing it to Buck who only sipped now. When Buck spilled some onto his chest, hissing as the liquid splashed into the cuts, Chris tensed, relaxing again only when Buck did.
"Do you know I thought about you," Buck said, slurring only slightly. He threaded his fingers through Chris' and gripped tightly. "When he was hurting me, I thought about you. How it was all worthwhile because you'd be safe."
"God, Buck…" Chris tried again, but Buck cut him off once more.
"What did that asshole pimp used to say to me all the time when we were kids – 'you can't shine shit', and you tried so hard to prove him wrong. You spent all that time trying to make something of me but in the end I'm still nothing. Just a worthless piece of ass, a street whore in fancied-up clothes."
"You know I didn't mean those things," Chris defended.
"You meant them well enough at the time," Buck said quietly. "We both know that."
The words cut deeply, razor-like in their ability to wound. Tears rose and slid down Chris' cheeks, and he let them fall unchecked. Buck was right. He'd hurled those filthy words at his lover earlier with the sole purpose of hurting him and it would only add insult to injury to pretend they hadn't been designed to cause sorrow and pain. Buck knew it. And all Chris could do was to hold tightly to this man and help him ride out the grief of that knowledge.
"My life would be shit without you," Buck continued, a whispered confession that broke Chris' heart. "It would be nothing. You're the best part of it, you always were."
"I can say the same," Chris promised. "I don't know what I'd be without you."
"You'd have had a better life," Buck said with conviction. "You had a wife, a family…"
"You were a part of that family," Chris protested. "I wouldn't have had that happiness if you weren't there."
Buck shook his head, but he didn't pursue the bleak line of thought.
Chris gently manoeuvred his partner until he was lying on his side in the wide bath, his head tucked under Chris' chin, with an arm wound around his waist. He tightened his grip around Buck's shoulders and because there was nothing he could say that would penetrate Buck's alcohol-fuelled melancholy, he simply held him close.
***
The first thing Chris became aware of was a groan right up against his ear. Then Buck disentangled himself and rolled away from him, settling on his back with a loud grunt.
"Buck?" he said anxiously, waking completely and rising onto his elbow above the man. "Buck, you okay?"
"Jesus, Larabee," Buck groused, eyes squeezed shut against the sunlight pouring into the room. "Do you have to fucking shout? I'm in agony here."
Chris smiled and relaxed. A hangover. A real mother by the look of things, but nothing more alarming than that.
"What the hell did I drink last night?" Buck groaned, cracking open a blood-shot eye.
"Bottle of Jack, Christ knows what else."
"Jesus," Buck growled, "Why didn't you stop me?"
Chris' smile grew wider. "You seemed to be enjoying it," he said dryly.
Buck rolled onto his side and sat up, swinging his legs off the bed. "Gotta piss," he declared, climbing unsteadily to his feet and stumbling to the bathroom.
Chris waited a minute or two, then followed him. Buck was standing in front of the bathroom mirror, a finger tracing over the teeth marks, faded to bruises now, but still noticeable on his chest.
"You hiring me out to vampires now?" he asked, although Chris could tell by the look on his face that he remembered at least some of yesterday's events.
Chris took aim at the toilet before he answered. "That particular night crawler won't be calling here anytime soon, pal," he assured quietly, catching his lover's eye in the mirror and Buck threw him a grateful smile. They wouldn't rehash all the things they'd said to each other last night, when they were both half cut on booze and the joint they had shared after the bath. But they both knew that things between them were settled, that they were back on track.
Buck kicked at the pile of bloodied clothes he had discarded last night. "Throw those out," he said, matter-of-fact, reaching for his toothbrush. "And don't forget to spread the word about that bastard."
"Done," Chris replied, coming up beside him to wash up at his own sink.
Buck groaned again. "I'm giving up alcohol. I'm dry from here on in."
"That's what you said last time," Chris snorted. "Go on back to bed," he ordered fondly. "I'll bring you something to take the edge off."
"Thanks, darlin'. Love you," Buck sighed.
Chris ran cold water into a glass and opened the cabinet door. He shook out a couple of aspirin and, after a minute's hesitation, he added a sleeping pill. He was going to cancel all of Buck's appointments for the next few days, right up until nest Thursday when he had one of his favorite female clients. Buck needed to rest and recover. And he needed to steer clear of male tricks for a while.
He stepped into the bedroom and handed the drugs to Buck, who swallowed them down and lay back with another loud groan.
"Let me put a pot of coffee on," Chris said.
"Mmmm. Good," Buck murmured, already burrowing back under the covers.
Chris walked into the small kitchen and rustled around for filters and coffee beans while dragging down two large mugs. While the coffee dripped into the pot, making his stomach growl in appreciation, he wandered back into the bedroom and sat on the bed, back resting against the headboard. Buck, already more asleep than awake, shuffled across the bed and laid his head on Chris' stomach, an arm thrown across his legs, sighing in contentment.
Chris looked down the long, beautiful body. The marks looked raw and livid to him, although he knew that really they were already significantly reduced. He remembered last night, when he was drunk enough to drop the last barriers, surprised in a way that barriers still existed between him and Buck after so many years and so much between them. He'd sworn he would never fail his lover again, and Buck had smiled at him and murmured, "you've never ever failed me, Chris." That wasn't true, but the promise had been real enough. Whatever it took he would do. He'd start by putting some extra security measures into place. Minimize the risk as Buck and Ezra had said.
And he had one last piece of business to attend to before he could close the book on this incident.
He sniffed deeply of the delicious aroma of coffee and started to get up, but Buck mumbled fretfully, almost asleep now, and he froze, waiting until his lover relaxed again, his face nuzzling against Chris' belly. Buck had had a rough night and needed to sleep. So he sighed heavily, sniffed the air once more, a little regretfully, then slid down in the bed as carefully as he could until Buck was nestled in his arms, head on his shoulder, and he settled down to watch over his lover's rest.
***
"These are impressive references, Mr. Donovan."
"Call me Mike."
Chris nodded. "Mike. You've obviously had a lot of experience in this line of work."
Mike smiled, although his face didn't soften much. "I've been around, Mr. Larabee," he replied, voice low but carrying without the slightest problem.
Chris weighed up the man sitting in front of him and re-read the page of notes in his hand. An ex-boxer, a bouncer for several of the shadier clubs in Boston, Mike Donovan was short and stocky, looked as though he could handle himself in most situations, and like he didn't take shit from anybody.
"You know what we do?" Chris asked, eyes fixed on Mike's face, watching him intently.
Mike's expression remained impassive. "Yes, I do," he replied.
"And do you have any problems with that?" Chris pressed.
Mike raised an eyebrow. "I've never questioned what my employer does," he said.
Chris shook his head. "I appreciate that, Mr. Donovan…Mike. But I can't afford to let any personal prejudices get in the way. I need to know that if any of my team are in trouble, you'll be there for them. I need to be able to count on you absolutely."
Mike cocked his head to one side, and Chris felt that he was being measured.
"I do the job I'm paid for, Mr. Larabee," he said softly. "I don't make judgements, I don't stick my nose where it isn't wanted. As far as I'm concerned, what goes on between you and your people is strictly your business," he paused for a moment, then his face broke into a huge grin, making him look years younger than the terse 'fifty plus' he'd given as his age. "My personal philosophy?" he added, "Live and let live."
Chris felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth and he held out his hand. "Welcome to the escort business, Mike."
***
"Door's open. Come on in," Ezra called out, the loud knock at the door of his suite pulling his head out of the stock report he had been scanning.
The door swung open and Chris stepped across the threshold, hesitating until Ezra acknowledged him with a barely raised eyebrow.
"How's Buck?" he asked when Chris walked into the room.
"Sore," Chris replied curtly.
Ezra waved towards a chair and Chris sat down. Ezra chose to remain standing, feeling the need to maintain distance until he knew where this was headed.
Chris cleared his throat and looked up, green eyes clear and calm. "I just wanted to hear your side of all this. Help me understand how abetting Buck didn't make our problems worse in the long run."
Ezra stared at that calm, handsome face for a long moment, then went to his desk and unlocked a drawer. He pulled out a mini-DV tape and held it up. "I told you I know the hotel. I've conducted business there myself. I had the proceedings taped," he admitted quietly. "I won't be sharing this with you because it isn't pretty; instead I'll merely say that Elizabeth Greyson has seen it, and was suitably unimpressed. She might not have been willing to intrude before, but she definitely won't let Martin risk this tape becoming public property."
Anger flashed across Chris's face and Ezra braced himself for an explosion that didn't come. "I don't want Buck to know it exists, do you understand?"
Ezra raised an disdainful eyebrow. "Don't worry. Now that it has served its purpose, this will go into my safe deposit box. I'm sorry if you don't approve, but it was the only way to be sure we had a hold on this particular reprobate."
Chris nodded, and slowly relaxed again. "I wasn't really thinking straight the other day when all this shit came down," he said, sounding sincere.
Ezra chuckled. "You usually don't where Buck is concerned," he observed.
Chris smiled faintly. "I would have reacted the same way if any of the guys had gone off like he did…" he trailed off when Ezra made a small skeptical noise. "Okay," he conceded, "maybe I wouldn't have been quite so extreme. But Buck and I have a little history in that area and I hate fuckers like Greyson who think they can do whatever they want to a person because they have money or power or connections."
Ezra sighed and sat in a chair opposite Chris. This was obviously an apology. Of sorts. "For what it's worth, Chris, I'd have turned the trick too in Buck's place. I understand why he did it. He didn't think there was any choice."
"There's always a choice, Ez," Chris said. "Just depends how much you're willing to put on the line for it."
Ezra looked closely at his friend, at the way his face settled into determined lines. "And you'd made that decision? You knew how much you'd be willing to risk?" he prompted.
Chris stared long and hard and Ezra knew he was weighing up how much he was prepared to reveal. But in the end Chris shrugged.
"To keep Buck safe? Nothing's worth more to me," he said.
Ezra processed that information and nodded slowly as the implications sunk in. "The business, the money, this building?" Chris' face remained impassive. "The rest of us?" Ezra pressed gently and only a slight tightening of the muscles in Chris' face and a flare of something unreadable in his eyes betrayed that those words had more power, more meaning for him.
"We could have relocated. All of us. Fucked movie stars in L.A. or computer geeks in Seattle."
Ezra shook his head. "Unlikely. Greyson seems like the vindictive type. He'd have pursued this until either you or Buck were behind bars."
"Then we'd have disappeared," Chris said, without hesitation and Ezra wondered if he would ever be fortunate enough to share his life with somebody who would sacrifice everything for him in the way that Chris and Buck were prepared to do for each other.
Ezra shrugged. "Then I, for one, am glad that Buck made the decision he did."
The two men sat in comfortable silence for a moment, digesting newfound knowledge of each other until Chris asked, "That tape'll really hold Greyson?"
Ezra nodded, and flipped it between his fingers. "Without a doubt. Between the threat of public exposure and criminal prosecution…"
Chris recoiled violently at the implication, then his expression went smooth, almost blank. "Good. Because I have a little something that still needs doing," he said, completely without emotion.
"May I ask what?"
Chris smiled, shark-like. "You met Mike this morning. Let's just say I didn't hire him for his driving skills alone."
"I must say he did look more Sonny Corleone than Mario Andretti," Ezra said dryly.
Chris laughed. "You know he used to box?"
"Really?" Ezra smiled. "Does he have a bout scheduled in the near future?"
"Now that you've shown me that," Chris nodded his head toward the tape in Ezra's hand, "I reckon I'll be scheduling a few rounds for him with a certain ex-client."
"And I presume the - er - 'bout' will act as a clear message to the rest of our clients?"
"Anybody who sees Greyson's face, anybody who wonders why he's sucking his food through a straw for the next month," Chris said, grim satisfaction clear in his tone. "The only thing I regret is that I'm not going to kick the shit out of the bastard myself."
Ezra smiled. "Now that would be bad for business," he said.
"Screw that," Chris retorted. "Just that Buck would know. And he gets a little, um, bad tempered about me taking risks. I'd prefer to keep my ass off that painful shit list if I can."
Ezra couldn't help the incredulous laugh that exploded out of him and Chris grinned sheepishly. "Yeah. I know. We're as fucked up as each other," he admitted.
"Maybe just a little mutually over-protective," Ezra suggested. Blindly, desperately, profoundly bound by love was more likely. But Ezra didn't think Chris would appreciate it if he shared that observation.
"How did the others take to Mr. Donovan?" he asked, changing the subject.
"I'm just about to introduce them to him. Wanna come watch?" Chris grinned.
"Oh, I wouldn't miss it for the world," Ezra smirked.
***
"He'll accompany you every time any of you has a new client, or whenever I schedule him. Mike takes his orders directly from me and I've already told him what I expect. I want you to make him feel welcome, gentlemen, he's part of the team now."
He paused while the men exchanged handshakes and greetings then added, "Buck, Mike's with you tonight."
He saw his lover stiffen and turn angry eyes on him, but Buck didn't say anything until Mike had saluted and walked out of the room, car keys dangling from his gloved hand.
"You can send him out with the others," Buck said pointedly, "but he's not coming out with me. I don't need a fucking baby-sitter."
Chris sighed. Was there any chance that his orders would just be accepted without question by these men, or did somebody always have to pick a fight every time he wanted to do something new? He hated to do this, but his lover was out of line.
"I run this agency, Buck," he said firmly. "And you'll take Mike wherever and whenever I tell you to, starting tonight."
"I don't need him," Buck rebelled.
"That's not your call," Chris said, feeling his temper begin to rise, noting the way the other men sat back and watched them.
"Why me?" Buck challenged, obviously feeling sensitive about how Chris was judging his ability to look after himself.
"Because I said so," Chris snapped. he thought.
"Stop treating me like a fucking child," Buck snarled.
Chris took a deep breath. This was not going to deteriorate into a pissing contest. "I'm treating you like the most precious thing in my life," Chris said, calmly. What the hell. It was the truth. And the startled look on Buck's face was beautiful to see. "I'm treating you like the person I can't live without, the person I can't stand to see hurt. I'm treating you like my lover," he persisted and was amused at the fierce blush that spread across Buck's face.
"Jesus, Larabee," Buck muttered, glancing around the room at his colleagues' grinning faces.
"You about done bitching?" Chris asked sweetly.
Buck nodded.
"And you'll take Mike along if I ask you? Just for me?" he cajoled.
"It's a pain in the ass and I don't need him," Buck began, "but all right. Just for you."
"That's all I wanna hear," Chris said, smiling. He threw a challenging look at the rest of the team, but they didn't seem inclined to argue with him on the need for Mike Donovan's services.
He crooked his finger and Buck walked over and brushed a small apologetic kiss against his cheek. "So you gonna behave and make nice with Mike, or am I gonna have to get him to kick your ass, teach you a little respect for your elders?" He slid his arms around Buck's waist and pulled him in.
"He really an ex-boxer?" Buck asked, bending his head.
"Semi-pro," Chris confirmed, shivering as Buck licked at his ear.
"Guess I'll behave then," Buck said grudgingly. He raised his head and looked into Chris' eyes, face aglow with wonder. "The most precious thing in your life," he whispered. "Is that really what I am?"
"Of course," Chris smiled and nuzzled his face against Buck's neck.
Buck sighed deeply, then pulled back again suddenly. "Wait a minute. That include your BMW?" he asked suspiciously.
Chris pulled Buck's head down and kissed him firmly on the lips, then patted him on the ass and whispered, "Let's not push it, sweetheart."
The End
*Author is deceased