Conclusions

by Magnolia Belle

Pairing: Ezra/Vin

Disclaimer: This is the place where I acknowledge that I don’t own the already copyrighted material and ask nicely to not be sued because the following is a labor of love and involves no monetary benefit.

Many thanks and much love to my beta-reader, Raisa-sama.


One Saturday morning I was rudely awakened by some rather uncouth language.

“Shit! I slept through my damn alarm!” Vin Tanner threw off the covers, exposing my bare skin to the chill morning air, and leapt out of bed.

Pulling the duvet back over myself, I muttered, “I believe that you neglected to set it.”

“Crap!” my recent bedfellow exclaimed as he began searching the floor for his clothes. “I’m supposed to meet Chris at the practice range in a half-hour.”

“And?” I asked, mostly to my down pillow.

“And, my stuff still smells like a bar,” Vin said, taking a sniff of his newly located t-shirt.

“And I’m sure that you still smell like wild, passionate sex,” I added.

“Ahhhhhh!”

Apparently he had given up on expletives.

“Okay,” Vin said, calming down. “I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick. Ez, can I borrow a shirt?”

I mumbled something into my pillow.

Suddenly, I found the edge of my ear being teasingly licked by a very familiar tongue.

“That a yes?” Vin asked, his warm breath ghosting over my face.

“Mr. Tanner,” I said, “I recommend that you don’t initiate something if you do not intend on bringing it to a conclusion.”

Even though I couldn’t see his face, I knew Vin was grinning at me. “Oh, I have every intention of bringing you to a conclusion, Ezra. It’ll just have to wait until this afternoon.”

“Go shower before I break your kneecaps,” I grumbled.

He nuzzled the back of my neck before heading to the bathroom.

I was falling back to sleep when Vin emerged from the shower. I heard my bureau open.

“Take a plain one,” I said. “I don’t want gun powder on any of my concert tees.”

Across the room, Vin chuckled. “You could come with, y’know. You have to re-qualify soon, too.”

I pried one eye open, peered at the clock, and snorted. “At this ungodly hour? I think not, my friend. It is against my religion to do any form of work this early on a weekend.”

“The Church of the Featherbed is mighty strict about its sabbath,” Vin said. “And I know how devout a member you are.”

“Amen,” I responded.

I was a little surprised to find Vin nuzzling my hair once again. “It okay if I come back later?” he asked.

“I believe, you’ve already promised me some ‘conclusions’.”

“Good. Love you, Ez. See you this afternoon.”

By the time my sleep-fogged brain had processed what he had just announced, the scrawny-ass, scruffy-sharpshooter that I had been casually sleeping with for the last six months had gone.

He did not just say the word love. Did he?

Aw hell.

<><><><><><><>

I had every intention of going back to sleep, but Vin’s offhanded declaration of love had forced me into an unwelcome reality. I had, potentially, only a few hours to make a decision about how I would respond to him, with the knowledge looming over me that no matter what I did, it would irreversibly change our status.

Not that I could truly classify our status. I had considered Friends With Benefits, but I have discovered that all of my newfound friendships (as unintentional as they may be) came with considerable benefits. Terming us Lovers seemed too sentimental; we’re friends who occasionally have sex. I rejected Fuck Buddies out of hand for two reasons: one, it’s such a vulgar term, and two, it denotes a lack of relationship outside of the activity, like oh, say, Tennis Partners.

And the sex does not even comprise that much of the relationship that is Vin and me. First and foremost, we are co-workers and I think it is possibly the most important part. In our line of work it is imperative to trust the people we work with. Especially for me; when I go undercover, I have to give my teammates complete and completely blind trust. It has not been an easy road for me to travel, this ‘faith in others’ thing, but I have come to know the men who have my back. They might not be exactly conventional, but they are, nonetheless, good men.

Which brings me to the second element of the subject at hand. Vin and I are two sevenths of a particularly odd assortment of men who have somehow found ourselves forming a de facto family. Perhaps it is because we all hail from less than ideal backgrounds that we find such kinship, or that we’re each a little on the fringe of life. But whatever our genesis may be, I believe that every single one of us would give his right eye to keep our family whole.

So why would Vin and I dare risk damaging our brotherhood with the complications of a sexual liaison? That answer is relatively simple: we had no idea where things were leading until we were already there.

It all began after a particularly nightmarish case. Following a successful completion, Team 7 converged on our favored bar, the affectionately dubbed Saloon. I had been under far too long in an excruciatingly horrid situation and felt desirous to rid myself of as many of those memories as humanly possible. Whether the others were simply trying to keep up with me or were trying to erase their own gray matter, I’ll never know, but the end result was Inez pouring the seven of us into four different cabs.

Somehow, though I still fail to remember the details, Vin and I were left holding each other up on my doorstep as the taxi drove off. We staggered inside and passed out on my bed, still fully clothed.

I suffer from remarkably vivid dreams which are usually rife with disturbing images from bad cases, especially after I’ve been under. Sometimes it takes a few days for my psyche to process things, but I had already been shutting out my feelings longer than usual as the case had dragged on and on. The dream that night woke me with a violent start, and I discovered that I had been crying. And that Vin had me cradled in his arms. Blaming it on a stress-and-alcohol-induced mental breakdown, I clung to Vin and didn’t stop crying until I fell asleep.

When next I awoke, it was to the smell of bacon and grits. Finding Vin in the kitchen making breakfast, he looked up at me and asked, “Feeling any better?”

Normally I would have lied and said I was fine. It’s such an expected lie that nobody thinks twice about it or even cares. But his blue eyes looked so gentle that I found myself being honest instead.

“No,” I said. “But I will be.”

He nodded, that decisive, knowing little nod of his, and handed me a cup of coffee. “It’s been rough.”

That was the last thing we said on the matter.

A few weeks passed and we were on to the next case. Vin and I were in a seedy, little hole-in-the-wall bar digging up intel when the fellow I was conversing with began acting rather peculiar. It was as if he were trying to flirt with me without being caught by his girlfriend. He was making inclinations about being someplace “private,” which set my alarm bells off with a clatter. I was suddenly suspicious of the bulge in his pocket having nothing to do with being ‘happy to see me.’ Quickly, I began running through scenarios of how to avoid getting shot.

Apparently, Vin’s sixth sense was also alerted because the next thing I knew, Vin was coming out of nowhere and looping his arms around my waist. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he asked, “Who’s your friend?”

The guy looked fairly frightened and I was sure Vin’s eyes were hard and icy. “Sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t know he was taken.”

With an arm still around my waist, we made our way out of the bar. Once we had turned the corner, Vin took his arm away and I realized that I missed its comforting weight.

“Thank you for the assistance in extracting me from that potentially unhealthy situation,” I said.

“Well, can’t let you get perforated,” he said. “Too much paper work.”

It was perhaps two months later when Vin took a bullet to the shoulder, pushing me out of the way of taking that same bullet to the head. And just to add insult to injury, Vin’s collarbone broke on the other side when he hit the floor. Needless to say, my guilt level was extremely high.

I was checking on him one day after he got out of the hospital. I let myself into his apartment and found Vin sitting on the couch reading the newspaper.

“What? Watched all the movies already?” I asked.

“I don’t want anything else with subtitles,” he grumbled.

“And why is that?”

“It’s just artsy, foreign porn.”

I had to laugh at that. Vin does have a way of getting to the essence of things. “And that’s a problem?”

“It is when you can’t relieve the tension.” Vin sighed and looked dejectedly at his blanket-covered lap. “I swear, between you and Josiah bringing me those foreign films and Buck’s American stuff, I think y’all are trying to kill me.”

I chalked it up to the prescription narcotics Vin was on being the reason that he was telling me this rather personal information. Despite the medication, he was still in agony which I felt responsible for. Vin couldn’t even pour a cup of coffee without pain searing through his shoulders. My friend was suffering because of me and I was feeling a rather unsettling urge to provide some relief. Obviously, guilt had caused me to take a leave of sanity.

“I’ve been complimented on my dexterity before,” I said. “Perhaps I could lend a hand?”

That Vin was so rapidly agreeable to my suggestion had me worrying that he might be abusing his meds; his eyes were looking a little over dilated. However, I certainly wasn’t about to back out of my offer, so I curled up on the couch next to Vin and got a bit more intimate than I had ever dreamed of being.

Three weeks later, I dislocated my shoulder. Again. I have a sneaking suspicion that one day I’m going to walk into that hospital and there’s going to be a circus barker with a sign that reads: Ezra Standish’s Amazing-Dislocating-Shoulder! The only joint reset by every orthopedist in the greater Denver area. I intend on receiving a sizable amount of the ticket sale profits.

Vin drove me home and helped me in. He stayed and we ordered a pizza. I was still under the happy influences of the morphine they had given me at the hospital and had already taken my first dose of Percocet when we started watching the movie. If I had been thinking straight at the time, I probably would have selected something else to watch, but I wasn’t and I didn’t.

We had gotten to a considerably steamy scene when I found myself unconsciously squirming, the strain on my pants plain to see.

“Looks like it’s time for me to repay a favor,” Vin said, as he unbuttoned my pants.

Not that I had ever asked for any sort recompense (I had been the one owing him for saving my life), but if he felt an obligation then who was I to deny him the chance to pay off a debt?

With our score settled, as it were, I assumed that would be the end of things. Yet, I was beginning to experience an odd sensation, a feeling of some discontent that I couldn’t seem to shake off. My attitude was snarky and surly, I was constantly irked by practically everything, and I couldn’t seem to concentrate long enough to get any work done. This went on for exactly three and a half days when Vin cornered me in the break room.

“Ezra,” he said. “Just when was the last time you had a decent roll in the hay?”

I choked on my coffee and failed miserably when I tried to form a sentence.

“Listen, I know you. You need to let something out, and you can either get in a fight or get laid,” Vin informed me.

I rubbed my newly healed shoulder. “I’m looking to avoid any more combat at the moment.”

He smiled and leaned in close enough for me to smell the heady aroma that is Vin. “Your Jag’s in the shop,” he said, “and I’m driving you home tonight. If you want, I’ll stay awhile.”

“I could be amenable to that arrangement,” I said slowly, vaguely wondering why my slacks were becoming so tight.

And that started a pattern of unusual ‘booty calls.’ Every other week or so, one of us would make some remark about “not looking for a fight,” with the understanding that the one making the comment was to play host. We ended up at my place just as much as at Vin’s.

What made our liaisons unusual (in my opinion, at least) was the fact that they were never simple wham-bam-thank-you-man, out-the-door-by-10pm affairs. We always stayed the night, often going in to work together as if we were just carpooling. But we never talked of love or dating or anything else of that nature. We were just a couple of friends who got together after work to let off some steam, only instead of going to the bar we went to bed.

So now I was faced with a problem that I had been quite confident would never come into being. Vin Tanner said he loved me. Me, Ezra Standish, ATF Undercover Agent, and all-round-less-than-stellar guy. And he had said it with such casualness, as if it were nothing more consequential than a case file report. Was it a simple reflex? Merely a way of thanking someone for a sexual encounter? Whatever Vin had meant by it, I was now forced to come to a conclusion: Did I love him back?

<><><><><><><>

It was two in the afternoon by the time Vin returned from shooting practice with Chris. After I had finally dragged myself out of bed, I had gone for a run in an effort to clear my head, a result lasting only as long as I was actually in motion. I was stepping out of the shower when I heard the front door being opened followed by the familiar call, “Vin comin’ in!”

Slipping into a pair of slacks, I wandered into the kitchen as I toweled off my hair.

“I trust that both you and our illustrious leader remain imperforated?”

“Yeah, well, the nice thing about paper targets is they can’t shoot back.” Vin gave me a smirk. “Hungry? Picked up Hunan on the way back.” He indicated the Chinese food cartons on the counter.

“No, not at the moment. Actually, I was hoping that we could talk about something,” I said, suddenly feeling very cold and wishing I had put a shirt on.

“Sure,” Vin said, as he opened a carton and snagged a shrimp from it with his chopsticks.

“Right, well, I have been thinking about . . . about what you said earlier . . . before you left this morning.”

Vin furrowed his brow as he finished chewing and swallowed. “What’d I say?”

Panic gripped me for a moment. Maybe I had misheard, in which case I would be ten kinds of fool to not let sleeping dogs lie. I am, however, that many kinds of fool.

“Um, I believe you mentioned something along the lines of . . . of, perhaps, that, um, you loved me?”

“Oh. I’m sorry,” he said, looking down at the carton in his hands.

Damnation! Fan-fucking-tastic, Standish! Congratulations on being the world’s biggest imbecile. How could you possibly leap to the outrageous conclusion that he would have told something that intimate and meaningful to someone like you, when you can’t even--

“I try not to say that when you’re awake.”

Wait. What?

Vin set his lunch on the counter and looked up at me. “I’ve never been sure how you’d feel about me saying that I love you, so I tend to wait until you’re asleep to say it. Guess it just slipped out this morning.”

Apparently my stupefied silence was making Vin nervous because he continued talking.

“I’ve always loved you, even before we started . . . all this. You’re part of my family, and I love all of y’all. Just never feel like I can say it, and, I dunno, when we’re in bed together, it just feels right that I should tell you.”

My chest was experiencing a viselike sensation and I wondered if I was having a heart attack. I hoped it was something that benign.

“You do realize that by loving me like a brother that makes our relationship a little bit incestuous,” I said, trying to process everything.

Vin slid his arms around my waist. “I love you like Ezra,” he said. “The man with a vocabulary as expensive as his wardrobe. The man who couldn’t hurt a child if he tried. The man who can play poker naked. The man who’s saved my life more than once.”

Running a hand up my side, Vin stopped just below my shoulder blade. His thumb rubbed over the scar there and I knew what he was remembering: One of the few busts where Vin hadn’t been acting in his normal role as sharpshooter, instead he had been in the first wave, with me. He had taken four to the chest, his Kevlar vest protecting him, but the force of the assault knocked him on his back. Vin had cracked his head when he hit the floor and lay there dazed. As I was dragging him out of the line of fire, I was unfortunate enough to be struck in the side, the bullet grazing the edge of my vest’s armhole. I had at least enough luck that it didn’t puncture my lung.

“I believe you also bear more than one indicator of having saved my life,” I said, rubbing the shoulder that had taken the most recent bullet.

“So yeah, I love you, Ez,” Vin said. “I love you like you’re this huge part of my world, and if you weren’t in it, well, I reckon I’d feel pretty empty.”

I leaned my forehead against his. “God, Vin, I . . . I . . . I . . . .”

“I don’t want you to say it if you don’t feel that way,” he said, cutting off my undignified stammering. “I know you care about me. It’s okay if you don’t love me.”

Sighing, I looked up into his crystalline blue eyes. “The problem is, I think I do.”

“That’s a problem?”

“Vin, I’m selfish, self-centered, and arrogant. I don’t know how to love someone.”

The corner of his mouth twitched into a little smile. “Loving a body and showing you love them ain’t the same thing. If you can do the first, you can learn to do the second.”

Then Vin shocked me with yet another new display of affection. He kissed me. Not that we didn’t kiss in bed, but never did we stand in the middle of my kitchen, wrapped in each other’s arms, just kissing.

If this was how love felt, I concluded, I could be agreeable to learning more about it.

fin

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