Disclaimer: The Seven aren't mine. As per tradition, I thank Mog for her translation of the Seven to modern-day Denver. Boston would have been more convenient, however, and I apologize for the vagueness of my geography.
Note: I know this violates fanon a little, but I've always thought that in order to have a young but experienced JD on the team he'd have had to have joined VERY young.
Rated T for violence and language.
Also - this story is pretty old, and has been rec'd here and there, so it may seem familiar. I'm posting this to partially to see what kind of response M7 stories get here.
Dunne Deal
by Helen W.
Denver, CO, a recent April 1
ATF recruitment officer Frank Johnson thought the application was a gas, and, in honor of the date, emailed a copy to his friend Hal Smyth out in Denver.
Hal was only mildly amused, but forwarded it anyway to that sanctimonious SOB Assistant Director Orrin Travis, who seemed to think he had a special gift for recognizing hidden talent, with the subject, "Your kind of find."
Orrin mused that Hal's sense of humor was improving, and sent it off to his favorite subordinate.
Special Agent Chris Larabee had endured three (and counting) April Fool's Day-related pranks by noon on the first, but wasn't expecting anything from the eminently respectable and always business-like Orrin Travis. So, he opened the email from Travis with the subject heading "Maybe the guy you're looking for" with hopeful anticipation. Orrin knew Chris was on the lookout for someone with strong technical skills, and, after all, he'd referred Josiah to him a year prior, and had just sent Ezra Chris's way, proving his understanding of the characteristics Chris looked for in his people.
A moment later, Chris barked out a laugh, then got up and stepped out of his private office. He had to share this guy's resume with someone.
His five subordinates seemed to be consumed with the set-up of some of the new surveillance equipment that Orrin was insisting they start using. Or, at least, Vin Tanner was trying to make sense of it, while his other four men watched.
The whatever-it-was was beeping softly. Based on the expression on Vin's face, this wasn't what it was supposed to be doing. "Darn thing's broke out of the box," Vin hissed when he noticed Chris had joined his audience.
"The only thing broken here, Mr. Tanner, is your grammar," commented Ezra.
"Your head too, in a minute, Ez," said Vin. "Ain't in the mood for your shit."
Vin pushed another button, and the beeping began to accelerate and increase in volume. Cursing, he switched the device off before it blew up, or melted, or whatever it was that high-tech electronics did if you didn't gentle them right.
"Least all y'all could do is help," Vin muttered.
"I offered..." said Ezra.
"NOT you," snapped Vin. "Josiah?"
"I only fix things in the metaphorical sense, son."
"Right... Nathan?"
"Well, perhaps if it had a pulse..."
"Pulse is the only thing this piece of shit DOES have..."
"Has Buck had a go?" Chris asked.
"Uh, Vin rescued it from me, or me from it," said Buck. "I should know by now not to touch anything that doesn't have a carburetor or ain't female."
Chris decided that him hovering wasn't going to do anyone any good. "Buck, come into my office a minute," he said. He could take some of the heat off of Vin, and deliver a little payback for that noisemaker someone, presumably Buck, had stuck behind the top drawer of his desk. And the ten minutes and two scraped knuckles it had taken to get rid of the darn thing.
He closed his door and motioned to the computer screen. "Lookee here, Orrin's found the perfect seventh guy for us. Check out his application."
Buck pulled up a chair and looked at the OF-612 being displayed. It was from a John D. Dunne, date of birth February 17 twenty years ago. Which made him, what, barely twenty? He scrolled down to the education section and saw that Dunne had AS degrees in both Criminal Justice and Computer Science from Bunker Hill Community College, which Buck assumed must be near Boston.
Too young, and no BS or substantial law enforcement experience. Why was Chris showing him this kid's application? He scrolled through to the job history section; as he expected, Dunne had listed only a couple of low-level, poorly-paying service jobs, with his current gig being pizza delivery.
The section where the applicant was asked to state other qualifications was packed, though. He claimed to have organized a neighborhood watch program; to have assisted local police in the disruption of gang activity; and to have organized a tutoring program through which retired police officers worked with Criminal Justice majors at his school. Under a subheading of technical skills, Dunne had listed a slew of computer languages and operating systems he had experience with, and also said that he 'kept abreast of advances in the fields of police surveillance, identification, and night vision technology'. Whatever that meant. He also gave the names and phone numbers of three references, which, while a bit unorthodox on a OF-612, at least got that information into hands that might be able to use it.
He looked at Chris and shrugged. "Maybe when he finishes up a four-year degree somewhere, or does a stint in the army like Vin, he'd be worth looking at."
"Doubtful," said Chris. "Can you believe some kid like that having the nerve to apply to be an investigator? Orrin sent this down so that I could get a laugh out of it."
"Oh," said Buck, pushing his chair back. He felt his face redden, something he seldom experienced these days. "You know, just because college isn't being handed to this kid on a silver platter doesn't give you, or the A.D., or ANYONE the right to pass his application around like it's a joke."
"But..." Chris realized he'd stepped in it. Buck didn't have a lot of sore spots, but Chris sometimes felt he had a talent for finding them. Chris considered his own background to be solidly working-class, and he'd footed most of the bill for his own college education. But he'd grown up always knowing that he'd have the opportunity to go to college, and that his parents would give him all the moral and physical support they could. He'd been able to get through in four years, always having a place to call home even when he'd chosen not to live there. This wasn't an experience Buck shared. Still... "You didn't apply to the ATF when you were nineteen."
"Dunne's twenty," said Buck. "It's April. And, how do you know what I did or didn't do?"
Chris nodded, conceding the point.
"Plus, look at section 13, all that stuff he's done. That ain't half-bad. And, let's see, born twenty years ago, that puts him in line to have graduated from high school two years ago this June. But, see where he lists his high school info, section 11? Got out a year early. Then got TWO AS degrees in two-and-a-half years, while working twenty or thirty hours a week. Chris, this kid might be worth taking a closer look at."
"Not as a special agent."
"No, but who says that's what we offer him? Aren't you looking for someone technical?"
Chris looked up, through the glass wall of his office into the bullpen. Nathan was now poking at their new toy, but Chris wouldn't have given good odds that it was going to be functional without some outside help, which would take another day to get, if they bothered to deal with it at all. They really needed someone doing technical support at least half-time, what with the new technology coming down the pipe. He'd started out looking for someone with around ten years of investigative experience and strong hardware and software skills, and had quickly found that he was overshooting the talent pool. He'd then interviewed a few people who were right out of college, but been unimpressed. There were simply too many better-paying opportunities for someone with the kinds of skills he was looking for. Those with those skills who wanted to work for the ATF tended to be either be marginally competent or overly interested in bashing heads.
"Let's just call one of Dunne's references. I bet there's a back story worth hearing," said Buck.
"You want a puppy, I can ask Nettie Wells when she's breeding Lady again," Chris grumbled.
Buck did his best just-ate-the-canary grin, then rolled his chair over to Chris's white board and wrote and underlined 'Buck' and 'Chris'. He then reached over to Chris's desk and put the phone on speaker, then punched in phone number of Dunne's first reference, a Graham Morley, who Dunne had written was the Police Chief in some town Buck had never heard of.
"JD!" Morley's voice rung out when they got him on the line. "Just a great, great kid. What's the ATF's interest? Hasn't gone into business for himself, has he?"
Chris and Buck traded looks. Was Morley serious?
"That something he'd be likely to do?" Chris asked.
"No, just yanking your chain. That's why they call us New Englanders 'Yankees'."
Buck reached up with his marker and put a mark under Chris' name; Chris deserved a point for having to talk to this guy.
"He's applied for a job with the ATF," said Chris. "Wants to be an investigator. He's underqualified, but his technical expertise seems impressive for someone his age, and we were considering seeing if he might be interested in applying for an opening as a technician of some sort. We wanted to check out his references first, though, to see if he was someone it would be worth pursuing."
"Mite paternal of you, isn't it?" asked Morley.
Buck didn't look away from Chris quickly enough to keep from seeing the shadow pass across his face. 'Paternal' was one of those words that one just didn't use around, or about, Chris Larabee these days.
Back to the business at hand. "Since John put you down as a reference, and you're in law enforcement, it made sense to call you," Buck tried to explain, realizing as he did so that he wouldn't have contacted a reference before talking to Dunne if the applicant had been even a year or two older. But twenty WAS young.
Chris seemed to be reading his mind; or, at least, enough of it that he felt free to give himself a point. A sign that the gentle barb from Morley hadn't put Chris into a tailspin, like it would have even a few months before; Buck smiled.
"Well, let me give you a bit of his background, then," said Morley. "I've known him, let's see, about ten years. My force is involved in activities for at-risk youth, and JD grabbed everyone's attention immediately. This feisty little thing, always almost getting himself trounced and talking himself out of messes at the last minute! Drove his mom crazy."
"Think his mom would mind him moving out to Denver?" asked Buck, adding, quickly, "...on the chance we decide to see if he'd be interested in a support job?"
"Mom passed away two months ago," said Morley. "Saddest thing. She was sick for a couple of years and JD was her primary caregiver. I'm pretty sure that's why he went to Bunker Hill instead of UMass or some private school - wanted to stay with his ma, and didn't want to spend more than he had to."
At this, Buck grimaced and looked at Chris guiltily; this WAS NOT the interesting back story he'd been hoping for. "Give yourself the friggin' point," Chris hissed though. Well, seeing as he was down two-zip, Buck couldn't rightly refuse.
"Dunne put down that he was involved in anti-gang work," Buck then said, trying to get the conversation back on more comfortable footing.
"Oh, yeah, absolutely. I mean, we're not talking the Crypts and the Bloods, but we'd had problems with twenty or thirty kids getting together in parks and throwing rocks at pigeons and breaking bottles and that sort of garbage. JD and a couple other kids a few years younger than the hooligan crowd managed to put it to them that if they didn't stop being minor league vandals then we'd have to really crack down on them. Shamed a lot of them into good behavior, you might say. You don't say 'no' to JD Dunne!"
"And the mentoring program?"
"At Bunker Hill, you mean? Well, that wasn't so much with guys from my force. Heard good things about it, though. Gives those eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds a chance to see what police work was like before spending a couple of years in school, gets help for some of them with their class work - ya know, the usual. Didn't surprise me at all when I heard JD'd gotten it going. Just heard last week it's still going strong, even with JD graduated."
"Got through both degrees pretty quickly."
"Let me tell you," said Morley, "the kid could be studying anything, anywhere."
"And yet, he doesn't seem to have been able to land a job in computers," said Chris.
"Economy sucks around here," said Morley. "Firms are laying off MIT grads. Nobody's hiring IT guys without experience right now. Talked to JD some about this last week. And, anyway, I think he'd be bored stiff in most low-level IT jobs, from what I know of them. Installing software and cleaning monitors, mostly, he says.
"Let me add, I'd hire him myself in a minute. In fact, I had him out here a few weeks ago, finally getting our PCs networked at the station. But I can't give him something permanent with my force. Our tax revenues are down and I'm fighting laying off three guys as it is. And I think he'd be bored doing what we'd have him do anyway. You know, traffic control and what-not. I'm certainly not going to send someone like him into anything dangerous. Not until he's a little older, puts on a little weight and maybe adds an inch or two."
"Sounds like he should get his BS and then try to get a job," said Chris.
Morley laughed humorlessly. "Right now, he's just trying to earn enough to keep a roof over his head. Says his landlord was keeping his place affordable on account of his mom being sick, but's about to pretty much double the rent. He's looking for a roommate, but I think that would be hard for him, sharing where his mom died with some other twenty-year-old. I really think just moving out of town would be the best thing for him. A fresh start."
"Think he'd be happy helping maintain a small cluster of computers and keeping a bunch of luddites from breaking their high-tech gear?"
"Maybe," said the chief. "I think JD'd be happy anywhere he can use his brain and be close to big time law enforcement, at least for a while, 'til he'd learned everything you could teach him."
After they hung up, Buck surveyed their scores. "You're up by one," he said. "Wanna call another reference, or watch Vin swear at that contraption some more?"
Taking Chris's shrug as an answer, Buck punched in the next phone number of Dunne's next reference, 'Sherry Highlander, HS Guid. Counsel.'
Ms. Highlander's take on Dunne was a lot like Morley's; 'JD', as they both called him, was a bright, energetic, enthusiastic 'kid' who had been dealt a problematic hand in life. "He was at the top of his class through tenth grade," Highlander said with a sigh in her voice. "Then... well, let's just say that, if his mom's diagnosis hadn't happened the week before he took his PSATs, he'd probably be at college on a scholarship. And having to work after school was a strain on his grades. I think he ended up ninth or tenth in his class."
Buck looked at Chris expectantly; Chris mouthed 'give yourself two.'
After ending the call with the guidance counselor, Chris shook his head. "Sounds more like a puppy all the time. Young, positive, downright peppy - everything we aren't."
"Well, that's the point, ain't it?" asked Buck.
Dunne's third reference was one of his college instructors in computer science, who described Dunne as being competent, well-liked, and a bit adrift at present.
"Would you hire him?" Chris asked.
"I'd love to," the man had answered. "And if I still had my consulting company I'd do it in a minute. But things have been really slow..."
As the call was ending, another came through; Chris was about to let it go through to voicemail when he recognized the incoming number as Morley's.
"I just remembered... someone donated some frequent flier miles to the department a month ago as a tax write-off. They're about to expire, and I'd rather give them to JD than turn 'em over to the mayor and have him fly to Aruba on them. So, if you want to interview JD, I can get him out there."
"That's mighty good of you, Graham," said Buck. He paused. "Can I ask you something? We've talked to a couple other folks who know Dunne, and they both say the same things you have - good kid, everybody likes him, ain't it a shame he's down on his luck. Why hasn't anyone just taken him in?"
Chris was a bit taken aback by the question, and imagined that Morley would be, too. But this WAS typical Wilmington, this lack of understanding of why people wouldn't take care of each other.
After a pause, Morley said, "JD know he can come to me, or any of the guys at the station, if he needs to. But, well, we tend to be private up here. Just not sure I'd WANT a twenty-year-old around the house, eating all my food and playing video games on my TV or whatever. It's just not something I'd do. I raised my own, and I'm not too sad they're out of the house now."
Buck shook his head at that; Chris motioned for him to keep quiet, and said, "Graham, you've been a great help here. We'll let you know if we decide we want to interview JD."
"I just don't get it," said Buck after the call ended. "He sounds like a great kid. Why not do what you can to make things easier for him."
"That's what they're trying to do," said Chris. "To the best of their abilities, I'm sure."
"So what are we going to do?"
"Well, you're up three-to-two, so I might as well see if I can reshape the job we've got open. It'd let up some of the strain on our budget, to only have to fund a GS-4 or whatever, and not full-time at that."
"Not full-time?"
"I don't think we need a full-time tech. And I probably couldn't justify it to Orrin either. But maybe Dunne can go to school the rest of the time on the Bureau's dime, get his BS and then see if he has it in him to get hired as an investigator."
Buck chuckled. "Ya know, the next time folks say Chris Larabee doesn't have a heart, I can tell 'em about what you're doing for this kid."
"Who says I don't have a heart?"
"Nobody, boss-man."
"Tell me WHO, damn it!"
Laughing, Buck ducked out the door.
A.D. Travis was surprised when Chris Larabee came to him and asked to downgrade the open position in his group. It went against bureaucratic law. But of course, this was Chris Larabee, who didn't seem to care about prestige in the normal sense. And the request made sense - might as well start looking at a different type of applicant, given Larabee's luck at trying to find an agent he liked with the right skill-set.
Chris decided to omit the part about crafting the position with a specific twenty-year-old in mind. A twenty-year-old they hadn't even spoken too, who might not even have interest in a tech support job.
A surprisingly efficient woman in HR put together the specifications of a thirty hour/week position that afternoon. It wasn't until the next day at eight a.m., though, that Buck Wilmington placed a call to Dunne.
The conversation went something like this.
"Yumphph?"
"Howdy, this is Buck Wilmington, ATF Denver office."
"Yumphph?"
"Came across your application yesterday, and we were wondering if you'd consider changing it a bit."
"Applllliiiiic..."
"See, you're not qualified to be an investigator..."
"Whahhh?"
"Special Agent. Not yet, at least."
"Whahhh?"
"But we need someone to work with a group of investigators - crack group, if I do say so myself - and keep our equipment running, keep our little intraoffice network going, maybe help with some other computer stuff. Whadaya think?"
Buck stared at the phone a minute. Wasn't Boston two hours ahead?
He almost dropped his bid to get Chris to hire Dunne right then and there. A minute later, though, his office phone rang, and groggy voice was apologizing for hanging up on him. "Sorry, I rolled over onto my phone. Are you really with the ATF?"
"Maybe, if you can tell me what you're still doing in bed."
"What time... oh, shoot. Wow. Ten. I was delivering pizzas until two, then I couldn't get to sleep."
"Well, okay. Guess we've all been there. John..."
"'JD.'"
"JD, my office is looking for someone to keep our gear going. My boss has been given a free hand to put together an elite group within the bureau, and there's been a push from above for our equipment to match our personnel. But none of us really has a talent for handling all that hi-tech stuff. We need someone to keep things working..."
"In the field, or just from the office? Because some of the really new stuff can be twitchy, I've read..."
"Office. And we don't need someone doing this sort of thing full-time, so the job's a thirty hour/week position, and you'd also be expected to keep our office computers humming, maybe help with some research, that sort of thing."
"Ah... what GS?"
"GS-4. Maybe up to 5 after a few months."
"Let's see, that'd give me... I can make more than that delivering pizzas. I mean, not that I'd prefer delivering pizzas to working for the ATF! But I've got to support myself."
"Rents are cheaper here than Boston," said Buck. "And the ATF would help pay for any classes you might want to take."
There was a pause, then a rather quiet, "I could go to college?"
"On your own time, of course."
"Well, THAT'S not a problem," declared Dunne, the sleep finally leaving his voice. "I've been working twenty hours a week for years. And, uh, taking care of some other things too. Wow, this would really be great! What sort of equipment do you have, anyway? I'll download everything on it today. And your office computers, I'm guessing you all are on the Dark Side, right? What operating system? My home computer is this old Mac, but I've used PCs plenty at school, even put together a network for the a police department a coupla weeks ago."
"Hold on! First, we've got to bring you out here, see if there's a good fit between you and the rest of the fellows, see how Larabee likes you..."
"Larabee? Chris Larabee? I've heard of him..."
Shit. "Well, don't let him on to that, okay?"
"Okay, no problem. Denver, Denver, how do I get out to Denver? Would a bus ticket cost me more in hours off of work than it would save in airfare?"
"Yes, without a doubt," said Buck, "and, anyway, your friend Graham Morley says he has some frequent flier miles he can let you use."
"Wow! Graham said that! You mean you talked to him already?"
"Checked all your references yesterday."
"Wow! That's just... it's like this job was designed for me!"
"Well, uh..."
"But I know you must be interviewing a slew of people for it. So when can you fit me in?"
"Get yourself a flight as soon as you can, then call us."
After hanging up, Buck stared at the phone for a moment or two. JD seemed like a likable kid, just as Buck had figured he'd be. A bit talkative, but that had to be nerves, right? Right?
Several thousand miles away, JD Dunne hung up the phone and collapsed back onto the twin bed he'd had all his life.
A job in Denver. Could really leave everyone he'd ever known? Leave where Ma was buried? For a job with the ATF which wasn't even real investigative work?
All he'd ever needed was a foot in the door, though
JD managed to snag an early flight on Thursday of the following week. Buck met him at the airport, figuring that would be simpler and quicker than having Dunne make his own way to the office. Although it made him feel like an idiot, Buck printed out a sign saying "Dunne" to hold out, but didn't end up using it: there was only one kid deplaning who looked like he was heading to an interview, the brown polyester suit being the big give-away.
Dunne was chin-high and looked like he was about fifteen. Even so, his suit was a touch too small, giving him that still-growing look. Buck could see why Chief Morley had said that he'd hesitate to send him into a situation which might require the ability to project force. Hopefully, their team's tech gear wouldn't put up too much of a fight for him.
"The systems in place here are fascinating!" JD rattled after quick introductions were exchanged. "But they could be improved so much! Like this part where they're streaming us all to the same exit. How hard would it be to make it more obvious which flight went with which passengers, for people who can't get as close as you could? And in Boston, they made us all sit together for, like, an hour before the flight left. Is that really smart? We could have all been shopping, or eating breakfast, or playing video games or something."
"Guess they don't want people missing their flights," said Buck, wondering if JD'd been in an airport before today.
"Ah, but they could give you wrist bands that vibrate when it's time to get to the gate. Color-coded, even - like, orange could mean there's an important message, like your flight's delayed or something. The bands could even speak, so that vision wouldn't even be necessary."
"The things would probably walk away."
"Not if you made people give them back as they got on the plane!"
And it went like that. JD happily held forth on how foot traffic could be improved, on how the isle markers in the garage Buck'd parked in could be made more clear, on how the exit and entrance lanes were misplaced...
Chris was gonna hate the kid.
An ascending plane flew over, and JD got absorbed with identifying it and trying to figure out where it was headed based on its initial path and the local wind conditions.
Then JD spied the distant mountains and was full of questions about their distance, origins, access, and the livelihoods of their inhabitants.
When they reached downtown, JD switched to noting all the ways the city was different from Boston, and trying to determine whether these differences were due to variances in culture, history, terrain, or the availability and price of various construction materials over time.
By the time they got to the office, Buck was exhausted and pretty sure Chris was going to have his hide for getting JD within a half mile of him. To his surprise, though, JD shut up as soon as he was introduced to Chris and stammered a greeting. Chris drew JD into his private office and for thirty minutes Buck covertly watched through the glass as the interview progressed. He got nervous when JD jumped up and went to the white board, but Chris seemed to be interested in whatever it was that JD was diagramming.
The two were laughing when they emerged. "Make sure everyone gets to talk to JD for a bit, and run him past Herb up in IT and Sally Foster in HR," Chris instructed Buck. "I've got business upstairs, then across town, so you can use my office if you need to. Oh, and take JD to lunch when you go, okay?"
Buck and JD both watched Chris leave, then Buck whispered, "What'd you talk about?"
"The joy of knowledge, and the psychology of the criminal mind," said JD. "I was showing I was educable."
"Not technically competent, or useful to have around?"
"Naw, that comes later, when I meet the rest of the team, I guess," said JD.
Buck had been cake. All JD had had to do was talk a lot about whatever popped into his head and the big guy just listened and nodded and argued a bit. JD really liked that sort of person, though he wondered what he'd have to do to get him to open up a bit about himself. He seemed a little shy or something.
(Little did JD know that he was the ONLY person to ever think this of Buck Wilmington!)
Chris had been even easier than cake. Easy-bake cake, say, the type you cooked with a lightbulb. Oops, bad analogy, those things tasted like cardboard.
Chris had wanted to make sure that JD wasn't an idiot, and that had been simple enough for JD to prove. Chris'd probed into what sorts of courses JD'd taken and JD had expanded a bit on what he'd learned from them and from the stuff he'd done in his neighborhood and at school to get people talking to each other.
The only awkward part had come when Chris had asked him why he wanted to be a cop. He'd known the question would be posed, but he'd never been able to come up with an explanation that made sense to his own ears. It was just something he wanted to do, but you couldn't just say that, he figured. So, he'd started with the stock, "Because I want to help people," and Larabee had scowled. "I like trying to figure out what makes people do what they do, and trying to keep them from screwing up more," he'd continued, and Larabee had just looked puzzled. "I'm pretty good at figuring stuff out," he'd concluded, "And I think it'd be really neat."
That last bit had gotten him a bark of a laugh. "There's a price to pay sometimes, though," Chris had said. JD'd wondered what he'd meant by that, but had decided he'd hold off asking.
Sally Foster, the HR lady, was hard to read, but seemed nice enough, and JD figured she probably didn't really care about him too much one way or the other. The one odd bit was when he'd asked her about the amount of competition for the job and she hadn't seemed to understand the question.
Then Buck had run him up to the IT guy, who'd been pissed that Chris hadn't made an appointment weeks ago. He'd finally fired off about ten questions, rapid-fire, and JD'd answered them all correctly, he hoped. The guy'd shrugged and said that JD seemed to know his stuff well enough, and, anyway, he didn't see why Larabee needed his own tech support when that's what HIS department was for. Since that's the way IT people seemed to be everywhere, JD hadn't minded, though it did reconfirm his desire to not pursue more education in computers. Computer people were just too grumpy.
By the time he was finished with the IT guy, the three breakfasts he'd had on the plane had worn off, and he was starting to get beyond hungry, so Buck had taken him down to the building's cafeteria and bought him a couple of slices of pizza. Because, of course, you couldn't have too much pizza in your life.
Now came the hard part.
Buck had briefed him a little on his potential co-workers over lunch. The team was new in forming, but one, Nathan Jackson, had been friends with Buck for years. And any friend of Buck's, JD was figuring, was a nodding acquaintance of Chris Larabee's, though JD hadn't yet worked around to asking how far back Buck and Chris went, or why it was that Chris was the boss and Buck got to do whatever it was that Buck did.
"Don't talk too much, don't seem too accident prone, and Nate'll like you just fine," had been Buck's advice regarding Jackson. JD figured he'd better not mention his crutch collection.
Buck had also been pretty sure that JD would be liked by another team member, Josiah Sanchez. "With him, just be yourself. He'd see through anything else anyway. Oh, and don't swear."
"Damn," said JD, then, "Oops."
"Now, the tough numbers are Vin and Ezra," Buck had said. "Vin's hard as nails, canny as a cat, silent as a leopard, strong as an ox... "
"That would make quite a t-shirt," JD had been unable to stop from commenting.
"You laugh," said Buck. "But Vin knows more ways to kill someone that I know to lick an envelope."
"How many ways are there to lick an envelope?" JD'd asked. "And how often does the average Special Agent have to kill someone anyway? Don't most of you go a career without pulling a gun?"
"Maybe MOST, kid."
"So... around Vin, I should just speak when spoken to?"
"A good idea, yeah.
"And then there's Ezra Standish. He just joined us last month. He and Vin have been sniping at each other ever since. Don't like him much personally myself. Don't understand him half the time either. Don't really know how you should approach him."
"What's his role on the team."
"I'd tell you, but I don't talk like that in front of minors."
"I'm not THAT young! Anyway, if he's so unpopular, does it matter what he thinks about me?"
"CHRIS listens to him, though I don't know why. And Chris's boss, too."
"Orrin Travis?"
"Heh, sure did your homework."
"He gets a lot of press."
"Don't ever tell Travis you've heard of him either."
"Check."
Dealing with these four had seemed daunting enough when he'd thought he'd be facing them one at a time. He'd planned on being able to customize his persona for each of them based on Buck's suggestions and his own evolving take on how things were going. Buck's booming, "Hey, look, everyone's in! You can talk to everyone at once," killed that plan, and almost sent him running for the restroom to hide for a minute or two.
Instead, he straightened his back, puffed out his chest, and marched in as Buck said grandly, "These are the guys who are changing the way we fight organized crime out here. Guys, this here's JD Dunne. He's interviewing to be our tech support."
Four men looked up from paperwork or computer screens. Four men who didn't give a shit who he was, and who looked liked they'd had enough of Buck Wilmington to boot.
"Uh, hi," he said, and waved like an idiot.
"So, y'all, Chris'd like you to get to know JD a little, see if you think he'd fit in around here."
"Does he know his stuff?" asked the oldest. Josiah, the profiler, presumably.
JD shrugged. 'Stuff' was a very broad term.
The youngest of the men, who JD assumed was Vin, was now eying him closely. "Well, can he get THAT thing working?"
'THAT thing' was a X311 Handy-ear made by ListeningSolutions. "Oh, neat!" JD exclaimed, his bout of unaccustomed shyness forgotten. "I saw this in a catalog!"
"Wonderful," someone - Ezra? - muttered. Had to be Ezra, because the black guy had to be Nathan, 'cause black guys weren't named 'Ezra Standish'.
"It's not as good as the X312, but that's not shipping for another month," JD soldiered on. "Plus, there might be constitutional issues with the X312."
Reasoning, as always, that it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, he shoved its plug into a wall socket and then flipped on the power - then off as quickly as he could when the instrument issued forth loud, angry beeps.
"Damn thing cost me half a day last week," said Vin, coming to squat next to him. "Think it's broke?"
"Naw," said JD, seeing the problem at once. "You've just got the leads on the antenna switched around. Oh, and this cable is in upside down."
Switching things around took maybe thirty seconds. He then flipped the device back on, into 'standby'. It was silent. "Got anyone you want to spy on?" he asked.
After that, things went okay. Vin said thanks and then headed out of the office. Nathan and Josiah sat him down and asked him why he wasn't still in school, and JD tried to explain that he was broke without going into too much detail. Buck looked a bit uncomfortable - did Buck know about his mother? How much had Graham told him?
JD wished he knew, and wished he didn't, both at the same time. It was a familiar state.
Anyway, it was pretty clear that Nathan and Josiah didn't have a clue about his personal life. But they also seemed to get a bit of joy out of lecturing him on the importance of a good education; JD nodded and smiled.
Ezra ignored him.
An hour went by like this, then Buck announced that it was time to get him back to the airport. JD thought he'd done pretty well, all in all - getting the X311 going had definitely gone over well - but it had been hard to get a read, really, on what they were looking for and whether they thought he'd be a good fit.
And, for all Buck's talk about the team being an elite unit, JD hadn't really been that impressed. Buck was TRYING to get the group to be cohesive - JD himself had used many of the same tricks Buck was utilizing, like the April Fool's Day gags he'd bragged earlier he'd pulled on Chris - but Standish was having none of it, Vin didn't seem to care, and Josiah and Nathan had their own clique going as far as JD could tell. And Chris - well, he'd been a lot nicer than JD'd expected. But there was sadness about him that JD had felt despite the occasional chuckles he'd earned, and JD had had enough of sadness in the past couple of years.
JD was starting to think that maybe he should give these guys a pass.
Once they got into Buck's truck, JD took a look at his watch. His flight wasn't leaving for another two hours, was it? Then maybe...
"The Southgate Mall's on the way to the airport, right?"
"Sorta," said Buck.
"Could we drive by? I want to check something out."
"It's just an overgrown strip mall. And we really don't have time to take you shopping."
JD made a face. Shopping was SO not where his life was at. "I'm just curious about something. I just want to do a quick drive-by."
Buck shrugged and said, "Sure, it'll only add about ten minutes, if we don't go in."
When they got there, JD was happy to see the access road leading to the rear of the mall looked like what he'd thought it would from the satellite image he'd downloaded. "Just drive around back," he directed.
"There won't be anything but a few tractor-trailers," said Buck. "There's no parking back there, I don't think."
"Maybe," said JD, "but malls like this are a great place to hide something in plain sight. See, I was poking around trying to figure out what Seymour Hancock could be doing for transport since you guys closed down his shipping network last year, and then I realized that George Jarthrow roomed with Hancock in prep school, and Jarthrow owns 'Marlene's Glorious Plus Fashions,' so I was just thinking it might be interesting to drive past one of their loading docks, and this mall has the only 'Marlene's Glorious Plus' in the state..."
Buck glanced at him, seeming a bit alarmed, as they rounded the side of the mall. "WHAT are you talking about? How do you know anything about Seymour Hancock?"
"I googled everything I could about the ATF and FBI out here after your call last week."
Touch down! Not fifty yards away, a 'Marlene's Glorious Plus Fashions' truck was unloading long, slender boxes that looked exactly like dress boxes shouldn't. As they glided past, JD said, "See, I THOUGHT that's how those rocket launchers might be getting onto the street!"
There was a loud noise like a firecracker, and the windshield shattered.
As JD started to explain just why it was that he was interested in a side trip behind a standard-issue mall, the part of Buck's brain that he reserved for remembering the details of complete disasters switched onto "high".
Flash. A panel truck being unloaded in the twilight by three men.
Flash. The boxes were long enough to carry - almost anything.
Flash. Three pairs of unfamiliar, suspicious eyes fixing on them.
One set glances toward the building, and a man comes forward. Josh Flanagan, suspected associate of Seymour Hancock. Two years out, after a stint for armed robbery. Arrested by Buck back when he'd worked for the Denver PD. The two knew each other Very Well.
Josh was concealing something - yes, a semi-automatic Glock, partially obscured by his jacket. There went his probation.
No place to go but forward.
Flash. Recognition in Josh's eyes, as the pickup rolls past, now not a dozen feet from him.
No way would he risk taking a shot here...
There goes that theory.
Glass shattered as Buck pressed the accelerator to the floor, leaving rubber on asphalt. There were two more shots at least, then Buck swung left, around the other side of the mall, putting concrete between them and Flanagan's Glock.
Pull over and chance pursuit, or keep going? Either way, there was a good chance there'd be shoppers in the cross-fire. He opted to transit the parking lot as quickly as he safely could, then pulled over on the far side, angled such that he could drive the pickup over a curb and out into the traffic of the main road.
Only then did he risk turning his attention to his passenger. "You okay, kid?"
JD was holding his right shoulder and looking around frantically, sending off bits of broken glass with each turn. "Are they coming after us? Why didn't you shoot them? How'd they know we were looking for them? What..."
"Hold on, kid, slow down," said Buck. "I don't think they're coming after us. Probably driven over the grass back there and long gone by now, if they're smart. That's Joshua Flanagan that opened up on us, he must've recognized me. Now let me see your shoulder."
JD shook his head, but Buck could see blood starting to seep through his suit jacket and around his fingers. Should he summon an ambulance? No, no reason to sit waiting. Might as well move the kid around as few times as possible, and make it harder for Flanagan to find them just in case Josh was feeling suicidal.
"There's a community hospital five minutes from here," Buck said. "Let's get you there and they'll probably have you transported to Mercy General downtown. You okay for now?"
JD nodded. "Good," said Buck. "Stay that way. I wish I had something to help you keep that arm immobilized, but it'd take me more time to rig something up than it'll take to get to the hospital. For now, keep applying pressure like you're doing, and try not to move."
Buck drove over the narrow island and into a hole in traffic, then flipped open his cell phone and called 911, yelling to be heard over the rush of air through the cab. Like he'd expected, others had already called in the shooting, and several Denver PD cars blazed past toward the mall as he was talking to the dispatcher. He then made a quick call to the hospital he was heading towards to let them know they were heading in, then called the office and told a startled Ezra that they'd stumbled upon Hancock's gang at work, and to get someone over to the Southgate Mall before the PD made a complete mess of things.
"And why have you departed the scene?" Ezra asked.
"Taking JD to Greendale Community. I'm betting he'll end up at Mercy General. He's been shot in the arm by Josh Flanagan. Make sure you tell Chris the name and that he relays it to Denver PD and whoever else gets involved. I didn't recognize anyone else."
Buck flipped the phone closed and glanced back at JD. He was pale, and breathing too fast. "We'll be there in a minute. They'll fix you up good as new."
JD might have said something, but going thirty m.p.h. with a busted windshield made any sort of conversation impossible. At least the kid was still conscious and responsive.
A few minutes later, they pulled into Emergency parking. A physician's assistant met them at the car. "This is beyond what we handle here," she said after a moment. "Once I get this wrapped and immobilized, we've got to transport him downtown."
Buck nodded. Mercy was the place to deal with bullet wounds and for any surgery that JD might need.
"But I don't have insurance! That's what I was trying to tell you in the car!" JD said, looking between Buck and the PA, his eyes starting to tear. "Can't you just put a bandage on it?"
"Don't worry about it, kid, really," said Buck. "Things will work out."
"No," said JD. "When it comes to hospitals, they never do."
Buck stuck to JD like glue through his preliminary patch-up; tried to calm him when, again, he started to fret about the cost; and helped push JD's stretcher into an ambulance ten minutes later. "Ever ridden in one of these before?" Buck asked, trying to cheer the kid up.
"Yeah," said JD. "With my mom."
Thirty minutes later, JD was being wheeled into Denver's primary trauma hospital. "You're in luck!" Buck commented, squeezing JD's uninjured shoulder. "You get Dr. Barb!"
'Dr. Barb,' better known as 'Dr. Barbara Chu', concurred with the quickie evaluation at Greendale Community. Flanagan's bullet had torn through muscle and tendons and had clipped JD's humerus. Immediate surgery was needed to reinforce the bone and align soft tissue so that it would heal correctly. Dr. Chu made it clear that not acting quickly might result in permanent damage. At that, JD had finally started to crumble. "I'm right-handed!" he said. "What'll I do if..."
"That's why you're here," said Buck, taking and squeezing JD's left hand. "They're the best around."
"And I've missed my flight... and I don't have insurance..."
"Aren't you covered through the ATF?" asked the physician.
"Um, he was interviewing today," said Buck.
Dr. Chu whistled. "Shot during his interview! Wow, you guys work fast! And I thought that was only on first dates!"
"Now Barbara, not in front of the kid..." Buck protested.
She patted Buck's cheek, then refocused her attention on JD. "We'll worry about all that later, okay? There's a reason we've got 'Mercy' in our name. We'll work something out. Right now, we just want to concentrate on fixing you up." Then she smiled, and stage-whispered, "And don't ever believe ANYTHING this guy tells you about women!"
A surgeon and intern then appeared and explained what the "patch-up" would entail. It was obvious to Buck that none of their information was getting through to the kid, but JD scrawled his name on the consent form where directed, then, finally, was wheeled away to surgery.
Buck stayed standing in the exam room for few moments trying to get his bearings, staring at shelves containing every bandage configuration Johnson&Johnson made. The wall clock said 5:47. Not even dinner time yet. How was that possible?
From the doorway, someone cleared his throat. Ezra Standish. Just wonderful. Chris seemed to like Ezra, said that he was brilliant under-cover and would start paying off for them soon, but Buck had his doubts. Cops didn't wear those sorts of shoes or say twenty words when three would do. And then, there were the unsavory whispers he'd been picking up...
"Why are you here, Ezra?" he asked.
"I suspect that there's a tale to be told."
"I'm only going to go through things once," Buck growled, "And I'm saving it for Chris."
"Perhaps a bit of practice might increase the odds of coming through the interview with Mr. Larabee with both your head and your job intact. But it's your decisions. In the interim, I'm going to go retrieve a change of clothes for you from my automobile."
"You've got stuff that would fit me?" He suddenly realized his shirt was bloody and that he'd gotten a bit of JD on his pants as well.
"I believe so."
Buck shrugged, but followed Ezra out, then headed up to the OR waiting area.
Five minutes later, Ezra was back, accompanied by Josiah. Buck nodded to them both, then took the proffered gym bag from Ezra and ducked into the nearest restroom. The faded red t-shirt, which bore the logo 'Property of GA Tech Ath. Dept.,' fit fine, but the gray sweat pants were a little short. But at least they were clean, and they didn't scream 'Ezra'.
When Buck emerged, Ezra was showing Josiah card tricks. Buck sat a bit apart from them, but couldn't keep himself from trying to figure out how Ezra was doing things. "Remind me never to play cards with you," said Buck after a while.
"With the education I am currently providing Mr. Sanchez, I think I've eliminated any chance I might have had at improving my own odds during games of chance within our team," said Ezra.
"I wouldn't bet on it," said Josiah.
After a while, the cards got put away. "Your workout clothes fit Buck pretty well," Josiah commented to Ezra.
"I was presuming they would. I prefer to wear baggy clothing to the gym. Increases my stature and, thus, my machismo," Ezra deadpanned.
Josiah laughed. "Where do you go?"
"There's a Y near my apartment."
"Not some fancy sports club?" Buck asked. He couldn't help it; conversations were just too damn hard for him to stay out of.
"On our salary?" laughed Ezra. "Besides, I'm less likely to encounter the clientele I'm attempting to ingratiate myself to if I stay local, consistent, and middle class in my personal time as much as I can bear."
"Didn't realize the job bound you that much," said Buck.
Ezra shrugged. "A new city is a new opportunity in many ways. I don't want to reduce my utility prematurely."
Ezra and Josiah continued to chat about the various things the undercover agent did to lower the risk that he'd be observed out-of-character by the high-living thugs that were his specialty, with Josiah comparing Ezra's strictures to those he'd placed on himself during his time in the ministry in his twenties. The subject was pretty interesting - Buck couldn't imagine ever trying to present himself as anything other than what he was, and he hadn't given much thought to the mechanics of it - and it certainly passed the time. Kept him from thinking too much about the poor scared kid down the hall having his arm put back together.
A long while later, the surgeon emerged, saying that things had gone well, though they wouldn't know whether there'd been any nerve damage for a few more hours, and wouldn't know whether there were other issues to deal with for days or even weeks, as the healing progressed. However, there was no reason to think the functionality of JD's arm had been permanently limited, though the pins the surgical team had inserted might make metal detectors at airports unhappy.
All in all, wonderful news.
The surgeon said that JD seemed to be shaking off the anesthesia quickly, so Buck followed him back to recovery. JD looked bad - too pale, and nobody looked natural with an IV, even if it was only for fluids - but he opened an eye when Buck approached. Buck saw a glint of recognition, then the kid's face relaxed and he slipped into sleep.
"That's better," said the doctor. "You're obviously close to him, and he seems to relax when you're here, so come on back and check on him whenever you wish. I've been told it's hard to keep you to normal visiting hours anyway."
Buck started to tell the doctor that he and JD had only just met, but something stopped him. Why complicate things?
Chris, Vin, and Nathan had arrived while he was checking on JD. Hail, hail, and all that. Time to face the music.
Chris rose to meet him. "Are you okay?" he asked.
"Sure. Got covered in glass, but it beaded like it was supposed to."
"And Dunne?"
"Should be okay, eventually. Scared as shit. Doesn't like hospitals, probably because his mom was so sick for so long, like Morley said. Doesn't know how he'll pay for anything. Doesn't have a job or a way to pay for school or an apartment he can afford. Besides that, peachy. Oh, yeah, and he got shot today."
"You done?"
"Yeah." Buck sighed and looked around. "Should we do this here or in private?"
"Depends. Am I going to have to fire you?"
"Probably. Maybe." Suddenly he was very tired, and trying to find a private spot just seemed exhausting. He dropped into the closest chair. "Let's just get this over with."
"Okay. For starters, why'd you track down a lead to Hancock with Dunne in the truck?"
"I wasn't tracking down anything. JD wanted to drive past that mall and, you know, it's just three minutes from the exit so I said 'sure'. Figured it was maybe where some band he followed had first played or something. I don't know. He's a hard kid to say 'no' to."
"So you drove there and saw something you wanted to check out?"
"No! Turns out, he'd put together that Hancock might be connected to the guy who owns a dress store chain with a store at that mall."
"How'd he heard of Hancock?"
"He says the internet. Remember that piece in the paper a couple months ago, about how Hancock'd gone to ground after we couldn't pin those shipments on him? Mentioned you a couple of times by name, and JD must have stumbled across it. He says he'd heard of you, maybe that's how.
"Anyway, JD wanted to check out the loading docks behind that mall, I guess. We drove around..."
"After he told you this, you kept going?"
"He told me this as we were rounding the building. Before I could get the hell out of there, Flanagan ID'd me and then all hell broke loose. Chris, I don't know how I could have known to play things differently. I wish I'd just driven him to the airport without any detours, but there honestly was no reason not to let him see a little of the area."
Chris leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "And you want me to hire this guy?"
Buck exhaled, looking down and letting his shoulders slump. "He really is a good kid."
"And he led us to a truckload of some pretty nasty stuff. There were four M-12s in there, if you can believe it. Those can take down a plane. He might have stopped a real tragedy," said Nathan. "Vin and I spent all evening helping the PD and FBI catalog things."
"Did you get Flanagan?" Buck asked.
"No, everyone had split before the first units got there," said Chris. "By the time we got over there, things had been trampled enough that Vin couldn't even get a good read on which way they'd gone."
"So it's not a total disaster," said Buck.
"For nobody but the boy," murmured Josiah.
Chris was silent for a moment, then said, "I don't see how we can really hold you responsible for what happened to Dunne, Buck. Orrin may react differently, but if Dunne's account matches yours I don't think there will be any problems for you."
Buck nodded, relieved. Part of him had been sure that Chris would immediately see some out that Buck had missed.
Vin said, "Then can Buck keep 'em?"
Buck scowled.
"Seriously, Chris, I'll help Bucklin walk 'an feed 'em."
"Not funny, Tanner," said Buck.
Chris was laughing, though. "You just want JD to keep you from being electrocuted the next time you try to get some gear working."
"He HAS shown a plethora of talents," said Ezra.
"Though not getting shot ain't one of them," said Nathan. "Just what I need, another trouble-prone..."
"We'll teach him not to rush into things virtually unarmed and without back-up," said Josiah. "I doubt he'll be in harm's-way again."
"Or, at least we'll teach him when to duck," said Vin.
"If he works with us, he's staying in the office, period," said Buck.
Chris looked around at his men. Any one of them could have been elsewhere, but they were here, fretting about a twenty-year-old they'd just met and trying to keep Buck's spirits up. JD Dunne might be exactly what his team needed.
Morning. Shit, it was morning. After nine a.m. even, according to the clock on the wall, which meant he'd slept pretty well in the end.
Couldn't move his arm. Oh, 'cause it was in a pre-cast thingie like he'd gotten when he'd busted the other arm skateboarding, and was secured to the side rail with some velcro straps. He could move his fingers, though, which was good news. Vaguely, he remembered being told to page the staff if he found himself needing to get up to visit the bathroom.
Night in the hospital. Surgery. The prescription for whatever it was they had him on right now that had things all floaty (but much less floaty than they'd been all night). A new ticket back to Boston.
Five grand maybe? Probably more. Shitshitshit. For a bright guy, he'd screwed himself over royally, all for a job with lousy pay that he probably wasn't going to get anyway.
JD's mental litany of woes was interrupted by the nurse, the same woman who'd been waking him every two hours all night to take his temperature and ask if he was sleeping okay. She was actually reasonably nice about it, and pretty enough, considering she might even be near thirty.
"You look like you're finally all here," she said. "Feel up to breakfast? I'll call your friends and let them know you're awake."
Friends? "I don't have any friends in this time zone."
"The six guys who were here with you last night. They were fretting like anything. Buck only went home a few hours ago, after I PROMISED I'd call him if you so much as sneezed."
Buck Chris Nathan Ezra Vin... that was only five. Oh, yeah, there was that guy Josiah too. Okay, six. "I hardly know any of them," JD said.
The nurse looked a little disappointed. "Rats, a bunch of us were hoping you could tell me what's up between Barbara Chu and Buck Wilmington."
"Huh?"
"You DON'T know him well, do you? Is it okay if I call him anyway? He really seemed concerned."
"Uh, go ahead." He certainly had a lot of questions for Buck, like what the hell had happened and why the guy that shot him had known that they weren't just lost shoppers. Maybe Buck had explained things to him last night, but everything that happened after rounding the side of the building was a blur. He hoped he hadn't acted like too much of a wimp. He sort of remembered being a mess.
A rap on his door was followed by Chris Larabee and a man JD didn't know. After polite inquiries as to how he was feeling, Chris introduced his companion as Sgt. Hugh Powers of the Denver PD, and said, "He needs to know exactly what happened yesterday."
Oh, okay, that partially explained why Chris had come by, though Powers could have just come by himself. It wasn't like JD didn't have plenty of experience talking with cops.
"There's really not much to say," said JD. "We drove past some guys unloading a truck and someone shot at us. I think I got hit by the second bullet. I don't know how many there were after that. Sorry."
"Did you see anything that looked out of place?" asked Powers.
"Well, it was obvious that the boxes weren't what you'd ship dresses in," said JD.
"And you were behind Southgate Mall because...?"
"Well, that's a long story," said JD. He looked at Chris, a thought suddenly forming. "Buck's not in any sort of trouble, is he?"
Chris shrugged, trying to look casual. "I really can't speak about personnel matters," he said.
Shitshitshit. That meant Buck was in it deep. JD kept his face slack, though, and hoped he could fake casual better than Chris Larabee. He was going to be telling the truth, and he needed Larabee to believe him and not suspect him of lying to protect Buck.
"Okay, it all goes back to when Buck called me last week," he began, and proceeded to explain how he made a habit of following press reports and internet gossip about the ATF, DEA, and FBI - the places he'd been thinking it would be great to work. So, when he'd gotten the call from Buck, he'd known exactly where to look for information about Chris Larabee. Like Buck had guessed, he'd come across the recent article about the prosecution of Hancock being dropped, and so he'd decided to do some poking. The connection to Jarthrow was just one of two dozen or so that JD had investigated. He'd noticed that Jarthrow's store had locations in the cities that Hancock had been suspected of being behind the appearance of some illegal weapons on the street.
"So Buck had no inkling that you were directing him towards a possible crime in progress?"
"I didn't even think there was going to be anything going on!"
"Then what did you hope to see?"
"I..." JD stopped, his mouth partially open. "I like to try things out to see what happens. If I knew what was going to happen, why'd I ever bother to do anything?"
Chris and the police officer exchanged eye-rolls. "It usually works!" protested JD. "It's never gotten me shot before!"
"Well, I've got what I came for," said Powers, handing JD his card. "Take care, you hear? And if you remember anything else, give me a call. And if you decide to do any more PI work, wear a vest, okay?"
JD expected Chris to follow Powers out, but he stayed, perched at the foot of the bed. "So what are we going to do with you?"
It was an oddly personal question, said from an oddly personal stance. Not creepy - JD'd run into 'creepy' a time or two, and knew what that felt like - but familiar, like they hadn't just met the day before. Had getting shot by one of Larabee's bad guys made them buddies?
"Buck thinks we should bring you on, and the boys agree," said Chris. "It's the first thing they've ever agreed on since the group formed. But I can't have someone on board who's a free agent, understand?"
"I think I learned my lesson," said JD. It wasn't like he hadn't paid! "But I'm not sure I could accept an offer anyway. I'm just not sure I could live on thirty hours a week as a GS-4." Especially now.
Chris laughed. "Okay, I'll see what I can do about bumping things up a little. And, in case you're worried - the agency's picking up the tab here."
"What? Wow! Why?"
"Well, after what you helped us get our hands on last night, it was an easy sell to make to my boss on my way over here."
"Hands on... what?"
"Didn't anyone tell you? That truck was full of stuff stolen from a base back east. Rocket launchers and hand grenades and assault rifles. You kept some pretty powerful stuff off the black market. All in all, you did pretty good, though if you pull a stunt like this again we'll have to shoot you ourselves."
"Who's shooting whom?" said a female voice from the doorway. "Not in my city, please!"
Chris shifted his weight from the end of JD's bed and shook Dr. Chu's hand as she entered the room. "I want to thank you again for your work on JD," he said.
"I live to serve, Mr. Larabee," she said. It was pretty obvious she and Chris were familiar with each other. Oh, yeah, the nurse had mentioned something about her and Buck. A real soap opera, JD imagined. Ma would have loved it.
The shadow this thought cast over him was quickly dispelled as Dr. Chu moved in to check her handiwork. Move forward, move forward, that's what he had to do, and there was nothing like a little pain to refocus the mind.
After poking and prodding for a few moments, Dr. Chu stepped back and scratched her chin. "I'm sending you down to x-ray, I think," she said. "Don't want to put on the cast until I'm positive things are set right."
"Then I can get a cast and find a flight home?" JD asked. He wondered how 'standby' worked; did one just show up and ask to get on an airplane? And how would he pay for his flight, anyway? Maybe Graham Morley would loan him the money. Yeah, next step was to call Graham...
"Hold up!" said the surgeon, almost as if she could see his plans forming. "Home for you is in Boston, right?
JD nodded.
"Well, you'll need to be here until tomorrow at least. We could release you tomorrow, once we have a cast on you, BUT you're going to have to keep your right arm immobilized. I really don't like the idea of you traveling any time soon. And, once you get home, you're going to have to take it easy. Do you live with your parents?"
'I'm out of parents,' he thought. He shook his head.
"Can you move back in with them for about a month? Or do you have roommates you're close to, or a friend who could move in with you?"
Chris Larabee cleared his throat. "Would it be best if he stayed here in Denver, under your care?" he asked.
"Absolutely," said the doctor. "But I didn't think it would be possible to keep him from heading back east, to his family and friends."
"Well, he is out here for a job interview."
Normally, being talked about like this would have driven JD crazy, but at this instant he was having a hard time finding his voice. Finally, he managed, "I'd better be getting back to Boston. I can take care of myself."
"No!" said Larabee and Dr. Chu in unison.
"We'll figure something out," continued Chris. "You know, there's a woman who lives about a mile from me... Nettie Wells. She just retired last year, so's home all day, and I know she has extra room 'cause Vin lived with her for a coupla years a while back. Back before I met either of them. Maybe we can work something out with her."
Somehow, living with some old woman wasn't at the top of JD's to-do list.
"You'd really like Casey, I think - she's about your age."
"Casey?"
"Nettie's niece. Helps with my horses sometimes when I'm stuck in the city or have to travel."
"You have HORSES??" Though a city kid through and through, JD'd first ridden at Boy Scout camp when he was eight, then had managed to tag along with a friend to a stable in the Boston burbs through his teen years. He wasn't a great rider - he had spent too few hours around horses to be - but he was better than most, he liked to think.
"Just three," said Chris. He glanced at the wall clock. "I'd better get into the office. I'll come back later and check on you. Would you like me to call Nettie?"
"Uh... let me think about it, okay?"
Chris nodded. "Need anything for now, you think?"
Yes. "No."
"Okay, I'll get out of your hair and head back to the office. You need anything, you call, okay."
No. "Okay." But, there was one thing... "Uh, Mr. Larabee? Buck - he's an okay guy, right?"
Chris laughed. "The best. Just a bit like an overgrown hound dog. Grows on you, though."
JD sank back a little more into his pillows. He wasn't quite sure why he'd asked about Buck, or why he trusted Chris's response. But he did.
A short while after JD returned from having his arm re-x-rayed, Buck appeared, swinging a McDonalds bag. "Hey, JD! Look what I got past the nurses' station! Fries, and they're still hot."
JD WAS starting to feel hungry; it had been two hours since breakfast, after all. Buck laughed at the speed at which JD snagged the bag with his good hand.
"Yeah, I remember from yesterday," Buck said.
"Well, I didn't get any dinner last night!" JD said in his own defense.
Buck's smile evaporated. "You doing okay?"
JD did a left-side-only shrug. "Arm doesn't hurt too bad. Good drugs, I guess. And the doc says it should heal fine. And Chris says the ATF will pick up my hospital bill, so I guess things are okay."
"What else did Chris tell you?"
JD brightened. "Said that that truck had a shit-load of stuff in it. It's great that it's off the street. " He paused, and his face resumed a more subdued cast. "I just feel like an idiot for getting shot, and for getting you in trouble. I'm really sorry."
"Kid," said Buck, "I've had more days of administrative leave than I can count. One more don't matter."
Wow, administrative leave. JD wasn't sure what that was, exactly, but it sounded serious.
"Anyway," Buck continued, "Chris is pretty sure I'll be let off the hook by mid-afternoon. And, don't worry, nobody's holding what happened against you."
JD's relief was intense, but short-lived.
"Something bothering you?" Buck asked, noticing how quickly shadows returned to JD's face.
"Uh... well, you see," said JD, suddenly feeling a little bashful. "I'm going to be released from the hospital tomorrow, but the doc doesn't want me leaving town right away, and..."
"So you'll come and stay with me!" said Buck.
JD hadn't realized that this was exactly what he'd been hoping for. Still, he had to give Buck an out, just like he'd given outs to Graham Morley and Ms. Highlander and the several other folks back in Boston who'd asked about his housing situation when his mom had passed.
"Chris was saying that there's this woman, Nettie Welch or something, who might be able to take me in..."
"Son, Nettie's a great old gal," said Buck, trying to give JD an out of his own. But not too much of one. "She lives out a ways from the city, though. Out near Chris. Might be easier all around if you were closer in, at my place."
That was all the invitation JD needed. His smile was a hundred miles wide.
Buck settled into the chair next to JD's bed and pulled a Clancy novel out of his satchel. "Read this?" he asked.
JD, his mouth full of French fries, shook his head and nodded toward the bed's swinging table. Buck set the book down, then picked up the TV remote. "Let's see what's on," he said, and started clicking.
A few hours later, Chris found JD and Buck watching a daytime Redsox game on ESPN. Both looked up with grins when he entered the room. "Y'all'er having way too much fun," he said.
"I'll head back to work any time," said Buck. "But there's no law against enjoying being kicked out of the office."
"Hate to break it to you, but you're back as of Monday," said Chris.
"Okay, if JD is doing okay I'll come in..."
"IF?"
"Sorry," said Buck, sighing and schooling his features to be somewhat contrite. "May I have some time off next week, to look after JD? He's not supposed to do a thing except sleep or sit on the sofa for a few weeks. I won't need any whole days, just a few hours here and there."
"I was figuring I'd call Nettie..." At the identical puppy-dog looks on the faces of his oldest friend and, perhaps, his newest employee, Chris stopped. Something had clicked between Buck and the kid, and he knew better than to get in the way.
"Sure, unless things get real hectic you can have a little slack," he said. He then turned his attention to JD. "I'd like to discuss more about the position you're applying for. Buck, you should probably take a breather."
"Uh, Buck can stay," said JD.
Buck didn't so much as shift his weight. Well, not like he could physically toss the guy out.
"On the provision that you don't do any more fool stunts," Chris began, "We're extending an offer to you. A thirty hour/week position, at GS-5. Full benefits, including tuition reimbursement. Your leave will be pro-rated."
"Um, could you write out what other fool stunts I should avoid?" asked JD; Chris couldn't tell whether he was joking or not, and decided that, the next time he was hospitalized, he wanted whatever it was they had JD on.
"I'll work on it for you," said Buck.
"Good," said JD, "because I want to make sure it doesn't include skateboarding."
Right... "I think we can just agree that you won't try to do any investigations outside the office on your own for a while?" posited Chris.
"Oh, okay," said JD. "Then I'll take it."
Buck punched him, gently, on his good arm. "Welcome to the team, kid. I think Team Seven's complete now."
Chris couldn't help himself. Really, he couldn't. "Then it's a Dunne deal," he said.
The End
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