The Change We All Needed
Summary: After his week stay at the Ambassador Hotel in L.A., Buck returns to Tulsa to break the news.
A/N: Alrighty, people of the FanFiction world. My first cross over of The Outsiders and "Bobby", my favorite movie of all time. Bobby was written and directed by Emilio Estevez, and it was made about the assassination of Robert F. Kennedy, 'Bobby'. Though it wasn't about Bobby entirely, it was about the people in the hotel during the time. He got the idea from a picture of a boy throwing a chair against the wall, and he said to himself, "What made him react that way?". Alright, I've taken up enough of your time, so you can read now. Enjoy.
June 5, 1968
Watching Virginia Fallon sing from back stage, which he still didn't know how he got there, Buck noticed a man leaning on the wall. He looked like he had seen too much in his years; he had to be at least in his late forties. The man's brown hair was graying and a thick moustache covered his upper lip. Feeling he had to say something, he jerked a thumb towards the woman singing and said, "She sure is something. Too bad I can smell the alcohol on her from back here."
"It's a shame," he whispered, looking towards the ceiling. He looked back at Buck and stretched out a hand, saying, "Tim Fallon. Her husband."
Buck grabbed the hand, and said, "Buck Merrill. Lordy, you must be proud."
Tim's eyes fell a little, and he gave a quirky grin. "More if she stayed sober enough to not slur her words out there." Looking at his wife, a long sigh left his lips, and he returned his gaze to Buck. "I'm leaving her, and she doesn't know it. Such an embarrassment," he chuckled.
Buck listened to Virginia sing, and noticed the drunken slur. "Yeah, I hear ya. Glory, she's pretty though."
"I'll always love her," Tim whispered. Patting his hands on his pockets, he frowned up at Buck. "I hope I'm not imposing, but could you tell her for me, in case she asks?"
"Course, Mr. Fallon."
Tim turned on his heels and slowly made his way to the stage door, before stopping and giving a grin to himself. "Mr. Fallon makes me sound old. Tim, would be just fine."
Once Tim was long gone, he returned his gaze towards Virginia, who was now finishing her song. Once finished, she said something into the microphone, and a few men walked on stage, replacing her. She pushed past the curtain and bumped into Buck. "Sorry," she slurred. Looking around, she reached out and pulled him down close to her. "Have you seen..." she began and stopped for a moment to giggle. Buck crinkled his nose at the stench of Scotch. "Have you seen Tim? He was supposed to be right here..."
"Sorry, ma'am. He left, and I think for good."
"Well... get his lazy ass back here."
"You don't understand. He left you."
Virginia's smile flew from her lips, and her happy eyes became cloudy. She quickly whispered, "That fucker," and walked past him. Buck grinned at her vocabulary and returned his gaze to the men on the stage. There was an older man, and a young, black boy. The older man went to say something, but stopped himself and whispered to the black boy. The man returned to the microphone and said, "Your Secretary of Transportation," and applause erupted. The black boy gave a shy grin and stepped to the mic. He said, "Here's your Democratic representative in the next Presidential Election, Mr. Robert F. Kennedy." While this was being said, Buck was escorted off of the stage by security, and down near the kitchen doors.
Cheering filled the room, mixed with applause and laughter. Buck stood quietly near the hotel kitchen, clapping his hands slowly, staring up at the candidate at the podium who resembled his deceased older brother, not just in looks, but in beliefs. Hopefully, Buck thought, this man will be the change we all desperately need. He watched Robert Kennedy talk to his wife, and felt this is beginning to die down. Turning, he went to the kitchen, which was a way around all of the people in the dining room. Unfortunately, the kitchen was completely filled and it was impossible for anyone to get around.
Buck looked around, pushing past the cooks to see if he could get out of there quickly. He pushed past a young Latino bust boy who was glowing with pride and admiration. The boy flashed Buck a grin and said, "Isn't this great? It's the change we all need."
Buck happily returned the smile, and told him, "I was thinking the same thing, son."
"Stick around," the boy went on, " and maybe you could meet the man himself. He's going to come in this way."
Seeing how much hope this Latino boy had, he nodded and leaned on one of the stoves near him. "I think I'll do that." Again a smile flashed at Buck before the kitchen double doors slammed open and Bobby Kennedy walked in, surrounded by his bodyguards. He was moving slowly, shaking hands and saying quick words to the kitchen staff. Buck continued to look around as the Senator walked, and he saw a lanky little brown haired boy, wearing a wife beater and a too big, blue, button-up shirt, which was wrapped tightly around his body, and there was a lump against his side that wasn't quite normal.
Returning his gaze to the Senator, who was now right near him, he smiled. Bobby looked at Buck and gave the same smile, grabbed Buck's hand, and said, "Thank you for coming out today." Buck nodded, said, "My pleasure," and watched him move on. He was now a few steps behind the future President, who was shaking hands with the Latino bust boy.
Suddenly that lanky boy with the oversized shirt unwrapped himself, revealing the bulge to be a pistol, and rose it to Bobby's face, and told him in a small voice, "Robert Kennedy, you fucking son of a bitch," then fired twice, hitting his mark once, spraying Buck with blood, and the other bullet slid past his head and went through Buck's ear and side of his face.
All in a second, Robert fell to the ground, right on Buck's boots, and the Latino boy dropped to his side. He grabbed the Senator's head and held it in his lap. Buck felt the blood pour down the side of his face and neck, drenching him. He watched the dark puddle cover his boots and spread around the wounded man. The lanky boy, on the other hand, was rapid firing, hitting quite a few on lookers. Buck, not seriously wounded, grabbed a cleaning rag and gave it to the bust boy, who took it gratefully. He grabbed a few more, pressing one to his ear, and began to look around. There was a boy, with rectangle glasses, on the floor holding his stomach. There was blood spurting from the wound. Across from him, there was another boy with a shot to his head.
Kneeling next to the first boy, he pressed the rag to his wound, grabbed the boy's hand, and made him hold it in place. When he looked to the other boy, there was a young lady holding his head in her lap and calling out for help. The first boy was looking hard at Buck, and whispered, "Go help them, I'll be fine."
Buck crawled over to the two kids and handed the lady the rag. She was wearing a pretty lavender dress; she looked like a bride. Smiling at him, she pressed the rag to the boy's head, saying, "Thank you. He's my husband."
"You're awfully pretty," he told her. "A beautiful bride for a handsome groom, I suppose."
A blush crept to her face, but it quickly passed as she frantically tended to her husband's wound.
Looking around for the third time that night, Buck finally noticed the chaos that boy created. Feeling uneasy, Buck got to his feet and almost ran towards the exit. No one out there quite knew what was going on. The older man from earlier was trying to get to the kitchen through the chaotic people. Buck stopped him and told him, "Bobby was shot. Call a doctor." Quickly the man hopped on stage and yelled into the microphone what had happened. Buck raced passed the screaming people and out to the lobby. He sat down in an arm chair, in front of a chess board, and rested, applying pressure to his wound. An older man joined him at the chess board and stared at him.
"Do know what's going on, son?"
"Bobby was shot."
"Oh my," he whispered, with a slight pause, "God."
In the background was a loud bang, and a displeased yell. Buck turned to find the Secretary of Transportation (Dwayne?), with a hurt expression pacing in a small circle.
"Buck!" someone yelled. He turned his head back and saw Tim running back towards him with a dog under his arm. "What the hell is going on?" he almost yelled. He noticed his wound, and asked, "My God, what happened to you?"
"A kid in a blue shirt came in and shot Robert Kennedy."
"A little kid, the shirt tightly wrapped around him?" Tim asked.
"How'd you know?"
"I saw him on my way to my car," he whispered.
"How unlucky."
June 7, 1968
Buck threw open the door to Darry's house and walked in. He had a bandage taped to his right ear, which was stained with rusty colored blood. Darry looked up at him and narrowed his eye brows. "Hey, Buck. What happened to you?" he asked, gesturing to his bandage. Sodapop looked up at Buck from the couch and whispered something Buck didn't hear. He walked to the kitchen and helped himself to a beer, and came back. Taking a seat next to Soda, he popped the beer top off and took a swig.
"Ya'll know how I was up in Las Angeles?" he asked, smacking his lips after another sip.
"Yeah? The Ambassador Hotel, right?" Soda asked. Ponyboy came out from the bedroom and saw Buck, eyes growing at the bandage.
"Yeah, well Robert Kennedy was there, making a speech about his running in the Presidential Election for the democrats."
"Bobby?" asked Pony suddenly, sitting down on the coffee table. Buck shot a grin at him.
"Yeah. Man, that singer, Virginia Fallon... some hot stuff. Great voice, but she had a bit of a binge goin' on. Her husband didn't think so, though..." He trailed off. "Anyways, the speech went as planned and he dubbed some little black kid Secretary of Transportation, and all this shit. I went to the kitchen for a short cut, finding it wasn't since Bobby was going to go through there."
"Did you meet him?" Pony pressed, clearly interested.
"Yeah. Shook his hand and everything. Well, after he shook my hand, and I was standing behind him as he shook a Latino bust boy's hand, but there was a kid who pulled a gun on him. He said, in a small, shaky voice, 'Robert Kennedy, you fucking son of a bitch,' and fired twice. One hit him dead in the forehead and the other grazed him and got the side of my head and ear."
Darry's eyes grew to the size of saucers, and Pony and Soda gave little gasps. "Oh lordy," Darry whispered. "You watched him die?"
"Basically, yes."
He finished off the beer and set the bottle down.
"Hell, the worst thing was that me and the little Latino boy both said the same thing earlier. 'He's the change we all need.'"
Well, that's it. The assassination of Bobby, right in front of Buck's eyes.