Summary: Written for comment-fic at LJ. Prompt: J.T. & Eliot, modern day AU of Crossfire Trail; why J.T. ended up living with his uncle
AN: This is a modern-day AU of the Old West film Crossfire Trail. Christian Kane played J.T., a young, naïve kid (only description for that character...unless you want to use "eager puppy").
The story content is a recurring theme with me. Don't ask why. I have no idea, other than that the idea of Eliot (or any hot badass-type guy) raising a kid is quite ovary-melting to me.
And yes, the title sucks. There's a reason for that: I couldn't think of a title, so this story has been sitting in my "Completed stories" folder for ages as "Untitled CT-Lev Uncle Eliot fic." It's awful, but descriptive of what's inside, right?
Anyway…I've been uploading my Crossfire Trail fics these last couple of days because I had the site make up the category a while back, but never really got around to posting stuff until now. :P
The Call from Crossfire Trail
"Uncle Eliot?"
God, he'd thought he'd never hear that voice on the other end of the phone ever again. "J.T.? Where are you? Where the hell have you been?"
"Uh, right now? I'm in Wyoming. But wait 'til you hear what happened! You won't believe it!"
He doesn't know whether to be glad the kid's alive or angry that he'd put them all through so much worry. "J.T. J.T.! Slow down, kid. You heard about your mama?"
"What do you mean?" J.T. asks, suddenly sounding scared. So he doesn't know.
"She died a few months ago, son. It was an accident. Wasn't anything could be done to save her."
There's silence on the kid's end of the line.
"J.T.?"
"That's why she didn't answer the phone when I called home?" Damn, he sounds every bit the sixteen-year-old kid he is.
"Tell me where you are, son," Eliot says, as gently as he can, "I'll come get you."
"Ranch out near Buffalo," J.T. says dully, "It's called Crazy Woman. Uncle Eliot?"
"Yeah?"
"Is she really dead?"
That kid. Never fails to break his heart. "Yeah, J.T. She's really dead."
"What do I do now?"
"You're gonna come live with me, okay? I'll take care of everything."
"You don't have to," the kid says, sounding a little more collected. "I've been taking care of myself okay for a while now. You don't have to."
"Nonsense, kid," Eliot growls, "Stay put. I'm comin' ta get you."
"You don't have to," J.T. insists.
"J.T. Stay. Put. I mean it."
"Fine."
"J.T.?"
"I said I'll stay put! Jeesh."
Eliot hangs up, grumbling about cheeky teenagers who give their family members gray hairs.
The team stares at him, forks halfway to their mouths.
"What?"
"You have a son?" Sophie asks, dark eyes shining with excitement.
"Nephew. I hafta go get him. Be back Monday," he says, and grabs his overnight bag from the hall closet.
He makes a mental note about converting his spare room, now used more for storage than anything else, into J.T.'s bedroom. The hell do sixteen-year-olds like in their rooms, anyway? Cars? Girls? Pinups are just plain wrong, coming from him, so that's out. Rock bands? Sports teams?
Shit.
He's a parent now. And he has no idea what to do.