Merry Little Christmas

by Limlaith

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Later that night …

Everyone eventually ended up at Ezra’s. It started with a phone call from both Buck and JD looking for Chris, who had turned off his phone. Not that JD didn’t already know where he was. The GPS trackers in their vehicles had been installed for that purpose. Josiah and Nathan arrived shortly afterwards. Chris called them; he figured, by that point, the more the merrier.

The only person missing was Vin, his absence a palpable void.

They viewed the tape from the bar over and over. Much to Chris’ relief, it looked like Vin hadn’t gone home with anyone. In a way, it was more depressing than if he had. Depressing and promising all in one. Was Vin so hung up on Chris that he couldn’t go out and have a good time like every other normal person? Or did he possess a stronger moral fiber than most, unwilling to jump into a one night stand with a stranger? The more they watched the tape, the more Chris felt for him. The more strongly he felt for him.

Ezra narrowed it down to the man in the leather jacket, dismissing all the other people who paid attention to Vin, some being too obviously not in the employment of the federal government, some of them women, one other man too old, another too young.

“Besides,” Ezra embellished, “look at the way the man carries himself,” speaking of the leather-jacketed suspect, “look at his body-language. He may be addressing Vin, but he’s watching the rest of the bar. And he’s wearing a gun in a shoulder holster under his jacket. See how the material bulges right there?” He paused the tape and pointed to the still image, then unpaused. “And here’s the most tell tale sign. Watch his lips. The words ‘shower’ and ‘afterwards’ are very distinct.” Ezra looked up at Chris apologetically. Had it been anyone else, he wouldn’t have felt the least chagrined reminding them that they might be spied on while showering.

Chris smiled at him. “Don’t worry about it, Ez. We all heard it. And I look damn good in the shower,” he said in mock pride, trying to ease the tension in the room. Buck chuckled behind his moustache. “Right, then is this is our guy. I don’t need to see Sean the bartender. I’m still waiting on a call from a contact I have with the Marshalls. JD, what did you find on your little hunting trip?”

A little shifting and turning off the VCR and everybody settled back to listen to the youngest, and perhaps smartest, member of their team, who was grinning like an imp. “I don’t think they ever knew I was there,” he said conspiratorially, “I dug up two dozen wire requisitions for the last two weeks, three for Friday night, but without a name or anything it would be difficult to connect them with our guy on the tape.”

“Who are the req’s for? Those names I can match with whatever my contact tells me.”

“Phil Sterling, Jack Hunter, and Mario de Salva.”

“Good. Good work. I might meet with the bartender later anyway, see if he caught a name from our mystery man.” Chris sighed and looked over at Buck. “You see him earlier?” Meaning Vin.

“Yeah. I was wondering when you’d ask. He looked pretty rough, but we talked a little.”

“And?”

“And I let him know I sure as hell didn’t care that he has the hots for you.”

Chris rolled his eyes in grand slow motion. “Gee, thanks Buck. You use those words?”

“Yep.” Buck stretched his long denim legs and booted feet on the antique coffee table, much to Ezra’s annoyance. “And I told him I may be a bastard son of a whore, but that didn’t make me a bigot. Same goes for the rest of us. Except the bastard whore’s son part, of course.” He grinned devilishly.

“And we are most grateful for that generous allowance, Mr. Wilmington.” Ezra reached over and picked Buck’s feet off his coffee table, dropping them onto his Turkish rug with a baleful glance.

“He didn’t say he was coming back to work tomorrow, but he didn’t say he wasn’t.”

“I saw him a couple hours ago.” All heads turned at Josiah’s quiet statement. “He got into a fight in the gym. Evidently, some of the guys from Team 3 were making unsavory comments about homosexuals, and Brother Vin decided to take offense. Don’t be too surprised if he comes in bruised tomorrow.”

“Jesus Christ,” Chris swore between his teeth, “Not real bright of him. I’m sure Travis will hear of this.”

“No doubt,” Ezra chimed noncommittally, swirling and then sipping at his brandy.

Chris ignored him. “Did you break it up?”

Josiah nodded, his blue eyes fixed broodingly on the senior agent. Everyone in the room pretended to have somewhere else to look as Chris and Josiah stared at each other intently, exchanging some sort of silent conversation. “Buck and Ezra can question the bartender, Chris. I think you have someone you need to talk to.” Chris looked away, like not looking means not listening. “I think he’s ready to listen, Chris. At least a little. And you need to be certain that he’s not gonna go off and do something else more self-destructive than start a fight in the basement of the federal building.”

“Like what?” JD couldn’t help himself.

“Like get drunk and start a fight in a bar, kid,” Buck uttered in a stage whisper.

“Oh. I don’t think he’ll do that Chris. I just think he needs to know …” JD’s voice faltered, fearing he’d stepped over some unseen barrier of personal interference.

“Needs to know what, JD?” Nathan’s voice, heard for the first time, bolstered JD to continue.

“He just needs to know that you care.” He looked right at Chris as he said it, and couldn’t help the nervous flush that stole across his face.

Chris dropped his gaze to his hands, folded in his lap. “I do care, JD.”

“And I … I didn’t … I don’t mean in that way, Chris, I just …”

“I do care, JD.” Chris’ eyes shot up, but he was staring at Buck, staring a hole right through him. Wilmington gave him a soft smile, like a memory was washing over him, and he nodded, satisfied about something he wasn’t sharing.

Setting his snifter down with a gentle clink, Ezra decided it was time to disperse. “Mr. Wilmington, might I suggest that we adjourn to the Blue Flamingo and pay a visit to the bartender?”

“And if we stay around for a few drinks it wouldn’t hurt, right?” Buck winked at Ezra and put on his most lecherous grin. Ezra disregarded the comment and picked at invisible lint on his slacks.

“Well, you two kids don’t stay out past your bedtime. And I,” Chris began to announce as though just making the decision, “will go see Vin. And guys,” he added as they all rose, “Thanks. Thanks for helping me do this. For Vin.”

A chorus of “anytime’s” rustled through the air of Ezra’s townhouse, falling softly on the designer furniture and imported rugs. They all knew they’d do anything for one another, but somehow this mattered more than just watching each other’s backs in the line of duty, or being designated driver some late night at the saloon. This was deeply more important.

Nathan pulled Chris aside as they were all leaving, pausing on the threshold while Ezra just told them to lock up as they left.

“I know this isn’t the best time to bring this up, Chris, but I can’t help thinking about it. Both Ezra and Vin. All the times I’ve treated them when they’ve been wounded, all the ME’s and all the nurses … it wouldn’t hurt to require mandatory AIDS testing. I mean I’m sure that they’re pretty good about such things, but people never think it can happen to them, and I don’t want to have to worry about their carelessness should any of us have to treat them in the future.”

Larabee regarded the team medic with an expression of undisguised disbelief. “We’re this close to losing our sharpshooter, our teammate and friend, and you’re worried about his blood. For fuck’s sake, Nathan! You think Vin whores around?” For some reason, the mere suggestion made him bristle. “You think Ezra does? Of all people, you can’t possibly think that of Ezra. He may be gay, but he’s practically asexual for all the attention he pays anyone, of either gender. And Vin … I … I cannot believe I’m even having this conversation with you.”

Chris threw up his hands and turned to leave, in disgust. Then he stopped, sizzling rage beginning to heat his entire body, and turned again to face Nathan. With clenched jaw and clipped syllables, he warned, “And if you breathe a single fucking syllable of this to Vin, it’ll take more than the whole team to pry my hands off your throat. You get me? The last thing he needs is for you to treat him like a walking infectious disease.” Chris was practically shaking as he closed the distance between them, raising a single finger for emphasis. “Am I clear?”

Nathan said nothing, but brushed past him onto the front walk. At times his professionalism got in the way of his humanity.

As he locked Ezra’s door, Chris was overwhelmed by the sudden desire to drive to Vin’s apartment and wrap his arms protectively around the Texan, holding him until their collective anger had subsided. Holding him until his arms went numb. Holding him until their was nothing left to feel but peace.

His feet carried him to his truck, the truck carried him to Purgatory, and his emotions carried him swiftly up the stairs to Vin’s door. There, he almost didn’t stop to knock. When Vin opened the door, Chris knew the shock on his face was no less than the surprise on Vin’s.

“Jesus, Vin,” he hissed. Of its own accord, one of his hands reached out and touched Vin’s bruised face. Vin flinched and drew back, ducking his head and muttering something Chris didn’t hear.

“What, you figured you needed to prove how much of a man you are?” Chris knew the words were the wrong ones to say, but there they were. He had never yet learned tact.

Sapphire eyes were angry and instantly defensive even as they filled with tears that didn’t fall. “No, Larabee, I was really hoping you’d rush over here and berate me for being stupid. That’s actually what I need most right now. So go ahead, get it out of your system. And when you’re done, the door’s right there.” Vin turned his back on his boss and headed for a beer.

“Don’t you walk away from me, Tanner! I didn’t come here to tell you that you’re stupid. I reckon you’ve figured that out all by yourself.” Emotions too strong to contain came tumbling out, concern well-buried beneath all the anger. He slammed the door behind him as he followed Vin into the kitchen.

“Yeah,” Vin shouted, “then why did you come here? I didn’t figure it was for a … social call.” Those words carried significantly more weight than when Dave Paquette had said them. Chris entered the kitchen, and Vin looked up and down the length of his body with as much outrageous brazen candor as he could muster.

Chris withstood the inspection, more than withstood it, found he enjoyed it. It made his heart skip a beat and his throat go dry as Vin’s keen gaze raked over his body and then those blue eyes met his with the most open sexual invitation he’d ever seen. He had half a mind to startle the fuck out of the man and kiss him senseless, but not when he was feeling as combustible as he was at present.

His words were bitter and caustic, but knowing that didn’t stop him from saying them. “I came over to apologize.” He waited an appropriate length of time for bewilderment to cross Vin’s face. “To apologize for being as much of a heartless, soulless prick as you seem to think I am. That you think I’m such an asshole that you’d need to tuck tail and run home because you’re too scared to face me. Never figured you for a coward, Tanner. Then again, I never figured you for a fag either.”

The words achieved the desired response as Vin lunged for him. But Chris was ready, and had the slightly smaller man in an arm lock, shoved face-first against the kitchen wall. If Vin really wanted a fight, he’d oblige.

“This how you like it, Tanner, up against the wall,” he whispered, nasty and close to Vin’s ear, twisting the arm in his grip, shoving and pressing his pelvis into Vin’s ass.

“Fuck you, Larabee,” Vin yelled, mouth against the wallpaper.

“Yeah?” Chris inflected the word as if to say, Are you sure that was the best choice of phrases?

“Yeah, go ahead. It won’t mean anything. It never does. Don’t you know that about us fags? Go ahead. It won’t be the first time it wasn’t consensual either.” Tears were dripping uncontrolled down his smushed face. He had never felt more humiliated in his life, crying in front of his former best friend, crying out of shame.

“Holy Jesus, Vin.” Chris let go instantly and recoiled like he’d been electrocuted. He stood back with his hands held out low in front of him, whether to steady himself of Vin he didn’t know. Vin remained leaning against the wall, palms pressed against it, breathing unsteadily. Chris felt all his anger dissolve, rush out of him to be replaced with horror and sorrow and disbelief. “Jesus. Vin, I didn’t mean …” Didn’t mean to hurt him, didn’t mean to frighten him. Did not mean to come over here and say any of this. “Fuck, I’m an asshole.”

“Yeah, you are,” Vin agreed shakily. “Are you done? Do you think you could leave now?” He expected nothing less.

“No. I’m not done. This wasn’t what I came here to do or say and I’m not leaving til you look at me.” As if to hurry is departure, Vin turned and faced him, tear-streaked and thoroughly miserable. Chris’ heart plummeted and he seriously thought he might be ill. “For fuck’s sake, Vin, don’t cry.”

“Why not, isn’t that what sissies do?”

“Christ almighty, is that what you think of yourself?” Chris squinted his eyes closed and shook his head rigidly. “I meant don’t cry because of all the things you could do … I don’t think I’m strong enough to stand it.”

Vin misunderstood. “Yeah, I’m sorry to be such a fucking disappointment to you, Larabee. Now aren’t you sorry you let me on your team.” It was a statement, not a question.

“You really don’t get it do you?” No, obviously Vin didn’t.

Chris crossed the space between them in two steps, Vin bracing for a fight that didn’t come. In stead, strong arms were wrapped around him and his head was drawn onto a collarbone and cradled there. The words he heard were soft and fiercely intense.

“You don’t disappoint me Vin. Never have. Never, you mule-headed, cagey, scrawny jackass.” He squeezed Vin as he punctuated his words. “You can’t disappoint me unless you give up. Don’t give up on yourself, on the team. Don’t you dare give up on me. This is a fucking despicable thing that’s been done to you, but it doesn’t change what you mean to me. What you mean to all of us. And I am not letting you go. You want a fight, Tanner? Do you want to fight someone?” He pulled back and held Vin’s face in his hands. “Then you take your best shot at me. You fight me, cause I guarantee I can give as good as I get, and I’m a fuck of a lot more stubborn than you are. You’ve never seen stubborn before.” His eyes glinted hard and turbulent and he wanted to kiss Vin so bad he could taste it, but he just pulled the man back into his arms and let him cry.

This was the worst thing in the world, Vin Tanner crying, and slowly they ended up in a huddle on the floor, Vin’s shoulders hitching with every repressed sob. Chris felt them hit him somewhere deep, somewhere he’d thought long since impervious to pain.

“I’m sorry, Vin. For what I said and if I hurt your arm. I’d never hurt you. Jesus. I’d never …” He didn’t know what to say to make anything right, but he knew Vin needed to let this go. He needed to quit struggling, quit fighting against something he shouldn’t have to fight. “Just let go, pard. Just let go. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not gonna let you destroy yourself over this. I’ll stand by you whatever happens. You know that, right? Right?”

He nudged Vin’s head off his shoulder to meet his gaze. “You tell me you believe me, pard, or this is gonna be one long damn night.”

“Yeah. OK.” Vin sniffled and tried not to look Chris in the face. This was pathetic.

Chris’ eyes narrowed with determination. “I don’t think you believe me.” Vin truly hadn’t ever seen stubborn like Chris Larabee. He gently wiped the tears off Vin’s flushed cheeks with the backs of his fingers, searching the red-rimmed eyes as he spoke. “I haven’t lied to you yet, Vin. Goddamnit. And I’m not gonna start now.”

Chris surprised both himself and Vin with the kiss. It was such a simple thing, really, eclipsing the inch of distance between their faces and touching his lips to Vin’s. It was instinct and desire, and wholly spontaneous. They were too close and too far apart, and Chris shut his eyes and turned off his mind, forgetting everything else in the world but the space in between them and how desperately he wanted to erase it.

So he filled it with his heart.

Their mouths moved softly, sweetly, giddily in tingling exploration. Only the faint essence of tears reminded Chris that they had been crying, that Vin’s lips tasted like sadness. His every impulse wanted to devour the younger man, younger only in years, but he held back, embracing Vin with tender care, drawing his mouth open gently, using his tongue only to hint at the level of ardor he felt for this man. His hands remained on Vin’s face, coaxing, caressing, drying the few tears that somehow continued to fall.

But then Chris felt palms pressing against his chest, pushing him back, and Vin moved aside. Vin turned his head away and down, stood up, and left the kitchen, his sock feet padding noiselessly on the carpet.

Chris remained crouched on the kitchen floor for a moment, berating himself soundly for moving too quickly and scaring Vin off. Jumpy and wary on a good day. Josiah had gotten it right, as usual. He heard the bathroom water running and got up, his knees reminding him how much older he was than Vin. Walking into the other room, he leaned himself against the end of the decrepit sofa and waited for Vin to reappear. Both the sofa and its owner had seen better days.

Vin had washed his face and was still holding a hand towel as he timidly entered the living room. The light from the kitchen cast Chris’s shadow across his body, leaving only his face spotlit in pale gold. “I ‘preciate what ya said, Chris, all of it.” His Texas drawl was heaviest when he nervous or drunk and Chris knew he wasn’t drunk. “But I don’t want ya to think ya need to do anythin’ ya don’t really want to … jus’ ta keep me on your team.”

He fell silent a moment and tentatively touched the bruise on his jaw. As much as Chris wanted to contradict him, to reassure him that he very much wanted to keep doing what they’d started in the kitchen, he held silent, patiently waiting, knowing that Vin had more to say.

“I … I don’t get close to people. For a lotta reasons. ‘N I’ve been through somethin’ like this before. When I was with the Marshalls.” He gave a tight shrug as though it didn’t matter, hadn’t mattered then.

Creases deepened in Larabee’s forehead. He’d thought as much, but … “Did they … were they the ones who did … what you said …?” He thought he might lose what was left of his self-restraint if Vin said yes, “Did they assault you?” And depending on the answer, he might feel the need to be on the next available flight to Dallas.

Vin pitched the towel at an available chair and ran his hands through his hair. “No, Chris. That was before, a long time before.” And I’m sorry I mentioned it. “But it got ugly in Dallas, real ugly, and I was just afraid that it’d be like that all over again.” He was standing now with one sock foot placed on top of the other, like a fretful toddler. “But I don’t want to leave the team. I ain’t proud of what I am but I don’t flaunt it, and if that’s good enough for you ‘n the team, then I’ll stay. And I promise I won’t start any more fights in the gym,” he threw in, with the barest hint of a wry smile.

Chris nodded a little and rubbed his lower lip with his thumb. A thousand things he wanted to say, but he knew he had to choose his words carefully. Novel concept, that.

“Vin, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to, but I don’t want you hiding shit because you think it’ll make one ounce of difference in how I feel about you. You understand?” He waited for Vin to nod, albeit uncertainly. “If you ever want to talk about it, about anything at all, I’m here. And I’m gonna be here … in whatever capacity you want me. You understand? I don’t do things I don’t mean. You should know that by now.”

He let that lie between them for a moment or two, watching the meaning juggle itself around Vin’s mind, before slowly raising himself from his perch and heading toward the door. Pausing, and softening his usual commander-in-chief demeanor, he looked back across the room, clear hazel eyes eventually resting on Vin.

“I don’t know who hurt you …”

“Who hasn’t.” Flippant, reflexive.

“Well I hope I haven’t.” Chris bored a hole straight through the younger man with the intensity of his gaze, then reminded himself to soften it again, his tone of voice with it. “Vin, I don’t know who it was that taught you to be ashamed of what you are, but I hope I don’t ever reinforce that. Cause I’m proud of you. Of who you are. What you are, I guess, is up to you to reconcile. But from where I stand, there ain’t a hair’s breadth of difference between the two, and for what it’s worth … I’m just as proud of both.” And I’ll take you any way I can get you, he thought, but didn’t voice. “Put some ice on your face, pard. See you tomorrow.”

“Chris,” Vin called out just as Larabee had his hand on the door knob. “Who’s Steve Allen?”

“Where’d you hear that name?” Chris pivoted and arched an inquisitive brow.

“Buck told me I should ask.”

“Huh. Yeah, I’ll have to smack him later for that.” Chris fished his keys out of his pocket and smiled strangely at them, fingering his Navy Seals keychain. “Steve was a guy I dated in the Navy.” He didn’t wait for a response, didn’t look to see what flurry of wonder swept across Vin’s face. “Night, Vin.”

Vin watched the door close, his mouth slightly ajar, wanting to repeat Chris’ words in question form. A guy you dated in the Navy? A guy. He dated. In the Navy.

A guy he dated.

An odd nervous giggle escaped Vin’s lips and he shook his head. Guess he wasn’t the only one hiding something. Only … Chris didn’t seem the type to hide anything. He probably didn’t think the matter needed discussing. It wasn’t as though any of them openly volunteered information about their personal lives, except for Buck of course. And that made up for all of them.

Vin felt light-headed.

Chris wasn’t the type to fake things either. That was Ezra’s job, Ezra’s m.o. Of all fucked up things that he and Chris should arrive at some mutual attraction in the wake of this mess. What Vin felt was light years beyond mere attraction and he stared up at the ceiling as if the cracks in the plaster could help him figure out exactly what Chris felt, what he wanted, what he thought he could get from Vin.

His lips still remembered their kiss, remembered it strongly. It had taken herculean effort to push Chris away, and maybe, now, he didn’t need to. Shouldn’t have. He had thought Chris was just caught up in the moment, trying to be too supportive, trying to convince him not to quit.

Now maybe not. It was too much to hope for, and too much to ignore. On dizzy caprice, Vin found his cell phone and pushed the speed dial for Chris. Chris answered immediately.

“One more thing, cowboy – you tell anyone I cried and I’ll shoot you. You know I can do it. At five hundred yards. In high wind. At night.”

Chris chuckled, music to Vin’s ears. “You don’t quit calling me cowboy and you’ll have desk duty for the rest of the year.”

“Heh. This year’s almost over, cowboy.” Vin hung up before Chris could have the last word. He smiled stupidly and held the phone in his hand for a long time after.

Funny. Just twelve hours ago he’d thought his life was over.

Tuesday

It appeared to be business as usual. The only person who seemed to expect something different was Vin, although he really didn’t know what he anticipated. Buck greeted him with the usual smack on the backside, something he did to Vin and JD because they were still the adopted children on the team and Buck was nothing if not ornery. JD pretended to be doing work most of the morning, all the while playing some online multi-person shooter game that looked like he was trying to invade Germany during WWII. Nathan was his normal reserved self, going over notes from the forensics conference he had just attended. The only thing odd about that was that he didn’t bother Vin about his bruises.

Vin reckoned that Nathan had been briefed, and probably threatened not to mention them. He was thankful for it.

Josiah smiled warmly, a little fatherly, and patted Vin on the back when he arrived, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. The only person who did anything totally unexpected was Ezra, who found Vin in the break room where he was making coffee. Ezra stopped him, turned him slightly by the shoulders, hugged him, and placed a kiss on both cheeks. How European.

“Good to see you, Vin.” He squeezed Vin’s shoulders just once, and left.

Vin said nothing, not that Ezra was expecting him to. Ezra’s personal space was sacrosanct. He never exchanged more than a handshake with anyone, if absolutely necessary, and never used people’s first names. It was a touching gesture, one that wasn’t repeated in all the years Vin would know him. And in all those years, until his death, it was never forgotten. It spoke volumes.

Chris greeted Vin as he normally did, said no more or less than ever, and shut himself in his office for most of the morning. Vin tried not to act skittish, even if he was feeling it, and wondered if now would be a good time to say any of the zillion things on his mind. Probably not at work, probably not during business hours. He wondered if this is how it would be, if anything should happen between them – if it would remain strictly business during the day. Probably for the best. Should anything happen.

Should anything happen?

He tried to think about something else, even if that was nearly impossible.

Some time around 10 am, Chris called Ezra and Buck into his office. They had learned nothing from the bartender the previous evening. Sean was dippy and inattentive, and apparently as gay as a Christmas tree. Balls are for decoration only. Ezra said that, earning well-rounded laughs from both Buck and Chris. In a bizarre display of aren’t-you-glad-I’m-not-like-this, Ezra actually recounted his side of the story with a heavy, feminine lisp and tone of voice, crossing his legs primly and gesticulating flamboyantly. Chris finally glared at him until he behaved. It was actually a turning point in Buck’s and Ezra’s relationship.

But that’s another story.

An hour later, Chris got his phone call. “Chris, it’s Dave Paquette. You want to do this over the phone, or you want to meet with me.”

“Meet you. Same place?”

“Sure. Give me fifteen minutes.”

Chris grabbed his coat and told the rest of the team that he’d be taking a long lunch. It would take him fifteen to get there. He revived JD from his battle-induced, post traumatic stress by asking him to come along. JD stuck out his tongue at Buck, as if to taunt him, that he was chosen to for some unknown adventure, and not Buck.

“Yeah, don’t stick it out unless you’re willing to use it, kid.”

“You only wish, Buck.” Dunne grinned idiotically. Chris tugged him into the hallway. “Is this about Vin?” He was all excitement at getting to do something interesting, possibly clandestine.

“Yes, JD, but it’s not for public announcement. We’re going to meet a friend of mine. And if he tells me what I think he’s going to tell me, then I have a surveillance job for you.”

JD rubbed his hands enthusiastically and continued to chatter about nonsense until they arrived at the diner. Dave Paquette was waiting. Necessary introductions made, the three sat down at an available table. Their serious conversation easily mingled with the rest of the crowd in the busy place. Blue collar workers grabbing a quick lunch, truck drivers waking themselves up with pots of bitter coffee. Waitresses hollering their orders to the overworked kitchen staff.

“Chris,” Paquette looked uneasy, “I found out way more than I intended to.” He looked sideways at JD.

“It’s ok, Dave. Whatever you have to say, you can trust him with it. My team doesn’t keep secrets.”

Paquette swallowed and nodded. “I spoke with someone I know in Dallas, a guy I met at a seminar last summer. Name of Johannson. Another Dave. I never liked him then, really, and like him less now, but I pretended to be signing up for another seminar and wanted to know if he was going. And I asked about, as you called it, a nasty rumor. He began to tell me about Tanner and what happened more or less a few months before he transferred to your team.” Paquette looked entirely uncomfortable telling the story, but he forged ahead. “It appears that Tanner was … outed.” He waited for some kind of surprise and, getting none, assumed that this was the part of the rumor Chris had said would be true. “Johannson saw him kiss a guy outside a bar in Dallas. And his teammates didn’t take to kindly to it. Johannson bragged about all the nasty stuff they did to him. Slashed his tires, vandalized his jeep, put crap on his desk and in his locker in the gym.”

“What kind of crap?” Chris interrupted, needing to hear the sordid details, even if he didn’t want to.

“Well, gay porn in the office, signed his email address up to all sorts of internet sex sites. Kiddie porn, although probably fake. Gay rape fantasies, lots of S&M stuff. They put make-up in his desk, spandex workout suits in his locker. Perfume, tampons, douche. Stuff like that. They didn’t ever do anything to him physically, at least not that he admitted to. I doubt they’d risk getting fired or arrested for assaulting him, but they made him life as miserable as they could for as long as they could. Until you took him. Sorry, but that’s the story. I played it like I was on his side, that gays are a disgrace to the force, a disgrace to humanity. By the end of the phone call I wanted to shower and rinse my mouth out with soap.” Paquette shuddered and wiped his hands together as though they were still dirty.

“God. I can’t even imagine. I mean I thought my life was hard … or had been hard, you know … I mean no one’s lives are ever easy, but no one should have to live through …” JD’s comments drifted away as he looked over at Chris, who resembled a hitherto dormant volcano. JD was fully prepared to take cover.

“And how did this motherless son of a bitch learn about Vin in Denver?” Only Chris could make syllables shiver with fear.

“One of his partners got transferred up here a month ago. Jack Hunter.” Chris shared a meaningful glance with JD. That name they knew; that name was on their list. “I asked Dave if he had anybody up here that I could get together with, to go to this seminar. He suggested Jack, told me he was on the team back then with Tanner. Dave was sorry to see him go.” Paquette made a gagging sound as if the thought grossed him out.

Chris was nodding now, a small, consistent, methodical motion, like he was pondering all the violent things he’d like to do to Jack Hunter. “Ok. Thanks, Dave. I really appreciate it. This won’t get back to you.”

“Yeah,” Dave half chuckled, “Only now I am going to some seminar in a month with this asshole.” He smiled, ruefully. “I had to continue the charade. But, I got his home phone number and address. If you’re interested.” The smile became sincere, malevolent even, but he didn’t want to be anywhere near the unfortunate, soon-to-be-dead man when Larabee caught up to him.

The answering grin that hung on Larabee’s lips was chilling in its ferocity. JD shuddered unconsciously. He took the name and address, but said nothing. Being near Chris when he was this angry was truly terrifying.

They parted casually, shaking hands and promising to get together again under more amicable circumstances. Unless they had to get together under less amicable circumstances. Paquette made it clear that he was in, for better or worse.

Six steps propelled Chris to his truck and he slammed his door so hard the whole vehicle jerked. JD was almost afraid to sit down, hiding on the far side of the cab, as near to the door as he could squeeze. “JD, this is what I need you to do. I want you to cross-reference the partial print Jeanie got with the one on record with the Marshalls. Hunter isn’t our guy in the bar, but I’d bet my badge it’s his boss.” Jaw now rigidly clenched, “And I want this fucker tailed. I want to know where he goes, what he does, who he sees, how many times he takes a crap in a day. Got it?”

“You’re not gonna kill him are you?”

“The thought had crossed my mind. Fuck!” Chris slammed his hand into the steering wheel and breathed loudly through his nose. JD flinched and rubbed his hand in sympathy, more with the poor truck than with his boss. “I don’t actually know what I’m gonna do, JD, but when I make up my mind, I want to know everything about this asshole that I can. It’s bad enough that he had to do that shit to Vin back then, but to bring it all the way to Denver … He has no fucking clue who he’s messing with.” Chris wrenched the truck into gear and peeled rubber getting out of the parking lot. “You don’t need to come into the office til late if need be. Make this like a regular op. If I need to, I’ll come up with an explanation to Travis. And I’ll be the one to tell Buck.”

“Ok Chris. I’ll do everything I can. Is Vin doing alright? Did you see him?”

“Yeah,” he responded by default, then repeated, a little more thoughtfully, “Yeah.”

JD wisely concluded the rest of the drive in silence. He always been in awe of Chris Larabee, his reputation no less daunting than the man himself, and JD knew how seriously he took his job, how pissed off he could get when things didn’t go exactly as he planned them. But he had never seen him this angry for this length of time. He wanted to know if Buck had ever seen him this mad, wanted to know if Chris was really angry enough to take the law into his own hands.

After hearing what Paquette had to say, he was starting to understand a little now of why it had been so hard to get to know Vin in the beginning. It made it hit home all the harder – Vin had finally loosened up around them, joined in their practical jokes and office antics, stood by his side against Buck’s perpetual teasing – that Vin had gone through something so vicious and mean. Something so unfair. Not for the first time, he wished he knew what to say.

Back at the office, JD gathered what he knew he would need, looked up all the info he could find on Jack Hunter from the Marshalls database, and left. Chris was moving about like a dark storm cloud; flash floods and lightning in the forecast.

“Ezra! Office. Now!”

Ezra and Buck exchanged a furtive glance, and the undercover agent rose dutifully from his desk, muttering something about funeral arrangements should they be necessary. Chris’ office door slammed shut, windows rattling the wake.

“I need your mind, Ezra.”

Ezra seated himself slowly and cocked an eyebrow at the request. “I don’t believe brain transplant technology is yet available to modern science, Mr. Larabee, but I am flattered nonetheless.” His smartass reply notwithstanding, Ezra was genuinely charmed. It isn’t often a man gets to act as Counsel to the Czar.

Chris glared at him, a little less than sincerely. “I need your underhanded imagination for something off the books. Only I don’t know what yet. Fuck.” Chris stood abruptly and began pacing back and forth behind his desk, clenching and unclenching his fists.

“Sir, might I suggest, before the carpet suffers irreversible attrition, that we adjourn to a location where you might be able to put your nervous energy to better use?”

“Either the bar or the gym, Ez, your choice.”

Hiding a smile, the undercover agent looked down at his manicured nails. “It has been far too long since we shared a private libation and a heartfelt tête-à-tête.” Actually, it had been never, and Chris snorted at the statement. “Unless you are no longer drinking your lunches, Mr. Larabee.” He raised his eyes, just enough to let Chris see the humor, and the kindness.

“Watch yourself, Ezra. I’m not above hitting a lady.”

Ezra’s bright laugh could be heard all the way in the break room; Josiah and Nathan leaned their heads out aiming inquiring glances at Larabee’s office door. Ezra was still smiling as he walked out, as was Chris, so that was an encouraging sign.

“Buck, you have the floor, but I’m gonna want to talk to you when we get back.”

“Sure thing, old dog. I’ll just make myself comfortable in your office while you’re gone.”

“If I find porn on my computer when I get back, you’re a dead man.” Chris stopped in his tracks as he said it, grimacing, but didn’t turn around. Even if no one else in the room knew the details of what had been done to Vin, he knew Vin knew, but Vin didn’t know he knew, and JD already knew, and oh fuck it. He felt like an ass for having said it.

“Oh I dunno, cowboy,” Tanner’s raspy voice penetrated the sudden quiet, as if sensing that Chris needed to be let off an invisible hook, “I’ve got a whole collection that might learn ya a thing or two.”

Buck nearly fell out of his chair. Josiah actually tittered, a high-pitched sound no one could imagine he was capable of producing. Vin’s incandescent blue eyes were forgiving and warm as Chris turned briefly to meet them.

He let a tiny grin play on his mouth as he pushed his way through the double glass doors, undercover agent in tow. The only thing Ezra could be heard muttering was, “As do I.”

“Shut up, Ezra.”

“Very good, sir.” He tried valiantly not to smile.

The mood shifted when they reached the saloon. Inez greeted them happily, took them to their usual booth and was genuinely surprised when Ezra said it was going to be his treat. Evidently this was his week for breaking precedents; they would be drinking imported Stout for lunch.

A few minutes of sitting in pregnant silence, watching the other patrons at their tables, watching the muscles in Chris’ jaw flex, and Ezra spoke. “What is it that you require, Mr. Larabee? I possess an inexhaustible wealth of devious machinations.”

Chris took a long drink of his beer, and then another, before responding darkly, “I don’t need you to be devious, Ez. I need you to be mean.”

Ezra’s eyes glinted and hardened. “I would think you are eminently capable of that, Mr. Larabee. No offense intended.”

Larabee’s mouth twitched at the corners, but his expression was icy. “You don’t know the half of it, Standish, and I hope you never fucking learn.” He cracked his knuckles and swallowed another lungful of beer. “In this case,” he resumed, not any less hostile, “I don’t trust myself not to kill him actually. I’m not … I lack self-restraint where this is concerned. I need to tell you something that I trust you will not feel the urge to repeat to anyone. Ever.” He speared the smaller man with a stare that would reduce most men to quivering jelly.

Ezra just smiled. “Tell me, what have you learned about our young sharpshooter that might require my peculiar talents?” He didn’t mention Vin by name, like a judge in a courtroom referring to someone as ‘the defendant’. It might keep things less volatile that way. Might.

In a long and almost uninterrupted monologue, Chris explained to Ezra everything he and JD had learned from Paquette. Ezra listened calmly, his schooled expression never changing, nodding every now and then at appropriate intervals. When Chris paused for breath, and for his second beer, Ezra leaned back in his seat and took out the deck of cards he always kept in his breast pocket. He began to shuffle them mindlessly, giving his agile hands some occupation other than punching them into the back of the booth. Or perhaps through the saloon wall. Inez wouldn’t look very kindly on that.

“I want …” Chris snapped a hand around a fistful of air as it if contained the words. His teeth were chattering.

“Divine retribution, perhaps?” Only Ezra’s clipped syllables, delivered nearly without accent, testified to the depth of his own anger.

“Yeah. I really, really want to go Old Testament on the son of a bitch.”

“Smiting,” Ezra provided dryly, “I was always a big fan of smiting.”

The way he said it made Chris laugh low and long, more of a snarl than a laugh. “Yeah, something like that.” He scrubbed his face with one hand and leaned back in the booth, the leather squeaking against his jeans. “When I saw Vin, he told me … he told me more than just this about … He didn’t go into detail but … the shit that’s happened to him … I can’t …” Words were failing him entirely, and he closed his eyes, remembering Vin’s tear-streaked face and wounded blue eyes. His fingers found his lips and touched them wistfully.

Ezra read Chris’ body language without even looking, his lips almost forming a smile. “If I may speak freely …”

“For fuck’s sake, Ezra …”

“Chris,” he waited until Larabee met his eyes, “I need know no more information than that with which you have already parted. It is more than enough. More than enough.” Returning to his cards, he laid then out in an elaborate form of solitaire on the polished table top and continued quietly, “And if you love him half as much as he loves you, then that, Mr. Larabee, will accomplish infinitely more than the worst sort of Biblical vengeance could ever achieve.”

“You sound like Josiah.” Chris said that in lieu of admitting that he did, as a matter of fact, love Vin right down to his socks. But Ezra had pretty much deduced that anyway.

“Wise man, Mr. Sanchez. Mr. Tanner would benefit from your kindness far more than your ire. Nonetheless, I would never be one to stand in the way of your fury. Perish the thought,” he said under his breath, as if to ward off demons, “And I will do my best to aid you in your quest for retaliation. Anything specific you have in mind?”

“JD is out tailing the fucker. If we can’t find anything to use against him, then that’s where you come in. If we can ruin his career, I’ll be happy. Or at least embarrass him thoroughly. I’m not asking you, or anyone, to do my dirty work for me, but I was serious when I said I lacked the self-restraint.”

“Oh I believe you,” Ezra’s eyes shot up, “Have no doubt, I believe you. Besides, death would be too kind for Mr. Hunter.”

“Unless we ask Vin for some wicked Comanche form of punishment involving red and hills or scorpions or something.”

“How deliciously horrid!” He was genuinely intrigued. “I shall have to take notes should the topic ever arise. Another round, Mr. Larabee?” He flagged Inez and ordered more of their dark Irish Stout. “Might I propose one thing, sir? Don’t require Vin to complete any more paperwork than is absolutely essential.”

“Why?” Chris bent his brows over his beer.

“I am not truly at liberty to say.”

“Standish …” Last names used as threats were invariably accompanied by a fairly lethal glare.

Ezra sighed and looked to the heavens. “Mr. Tanner has taken me into his confidence and …”

“And I’ll beat it out of you if you don’t tell me.”

Deeply annoyed, “Our young compatriot suffers from … well, perhaps I should say, copes with dyslexia.”

“What? Why the fuck didn’t he say something?” Chris leaned over the table and held his hands into the air as though waiting for rain, and Ezra regarded him with soulful pity.

“Oh. Yeah. Right. Just something else he thinks he should be ashamed of. How did he make it through the Army? Jesus, didn’t he have a mother?”

Standish formed a bitter little caricature of a smile. “Not all mothers are exactly the most supportive and unconditionally loving of creatures, Mr. Larabee. Why do you think I turned out the way I am? Being this eccentric takes years of preparation and indoctrination.”

“Really? I always figured you were dropped on your head.”

“Touché.”

Chris half chuckled. “Oh well, fuck it. Nobody’s perfect. I’m beginning to think we’d all be better off if we’d been born in brothels.”

“Oh yes, let’s talk about Mr. Wilmington while he’s not here.”

“There’s a lot of material there, Ez. We’ll be here til next Thursday. Here, deal me in.” Chris rubbed his forehead and took another drink.

“Seven card stud?”

“You makin’ a personal reference there?”

Lips curling an impish grin, “It is your nickname, after all. Just how did you earn that particular moniker from Mr. Wilmington? I want all the juicy details.”

“There aren’t any.”

“That’s quite alright,” Ezra quipped merrily as he dealt the cards, “feel free to make them up. I do it all the time.”

Chris hadn’t ever felt exceptionally close to Ezra before that day, but as they played poker, betting for the privilege of buying more alcohol, their meeting honestly turned into a heartfelt tête-à-tête. Their conversation slid away from less pleasant things toward the fanciful realm of childhoods, invented and genuine, where they lived, what they dreamed, truth and fiction weaving together in wildly humorous anecdotes. Ezra carried most of the conversation, possessed the far greater ability to improvise, and by the end of the long lunch had Chris laughing until he cried.

In years to come, Chris would rely more on Ezra for personal advice than anyone he had ever known. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to learn that underneath all the pretense, Ezra was a sincerely caring, thoughtful, and deeply emotional man, despite his best efforts to conceal or deny it. It was a beautiful surprise.

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