Part 32
Pain crashed over Buck like a wave. He gasped for air, hearing an alarm shrieking behind him. Blackness swirled around him, but Buck fought from sinking into it. Culver was suddenly at his side, taking his pulse – even though Buck was dizzily sure that's what one of those annoying monitors that surrounded him was supposed to do. He gasped for breath, searing pain stabbing through his rib cage, and the doctor reached up behind him and twisted a control. "I've increased your oxygen," he told Buck gently. "Just try to relax and breathe."
Chris had scrambled off the floor and started toward him. But JD was still there, and still raging. He grabbed Chris' arm and tried to pull him away. "You leave him alone!" JD screamed, red-faced.
Chris shook the younger man off and stepped to the side of the bed. "Buck?" he asked worriedly.
Buck heard the concern in his oldest friend's voice, but he also saw JD wasn't calming down at all. He shook his head, trying to focus, find his voice.
"Damn you!" JD shrieked at Chris, lunging for him again. Chris whirled around and blocked him.
His heartbeat racing, Buck sucked in short, quick breaths through the oxygen canula. He had to stop this, stop the two of them…
Culver hit a button on the wall. "I need assist in here, STAT," he snapped. He looked at JD. "You. Get out. Now!"
JD opened his mouth, eyes flashing, but then the door slapped open and two nurses ran in, followed by an orderly. The tiny cubicle was too crowded, and Culver motioned to the orderly. "Get him out," he said, pointing to JD. Before Buck could say anything, before he could even think what to say, the orderly hustled JD out the door.
Chris' hand tightened on Buck's fingers. "Hey, old dog, you need to calm down," he said. His voice was gentle, but Buck knew Chris too well, and he could read the anger and rage Chris was trying to hide from him. He shook his head and raised a hand to point to the door. "You need… to talk with him." His voice failed.
"Don't worry about it," Chris soothed.
Culver was injecting something into the IV and Buck had the sinking feeling it was a sedative. The black shadows in the room slipped closer. He found one final burst of energy to squeeze Chris' hand. "Fix…it!" he managed to order, just before the blackness swallowed him and everything fell away.
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JD was hovering right outside the door when Chris exited. There was maybe a hint of remorse in his gaze, but Chris was in no mood to see it. Before JD could open his mouth, Chris opened his and fired out, "What the hell is wrong with you? You're pissed at me, JD, fine, but you damn well don't pitch a scene in front of Buck!"
Any softening in JD immediately disappeared, replaced with a fury that rivaled Chris' own. "Me?" He returned. "What about you? I heard you, Chris! You tried to kill Buck! You're supposed to be his friend."
Chris drew in a deep breath. He dropped his voice low – his "killer" voice, his men laughingly called it in happier days. He had to clench his fists tightly to keep himself from grabbing JD and shaking the snot out of him. What happened between him and Buck, all those years ago – what Chris had done was unforgivable, but it was between him and Buck. JD wasn't part of it and never had been. He could hear the lethal tone in his voice when he said, "It happened a long time ago. And it's none of your damn business."
"None of my business?" JD was so pissed, he didn't even seem to notice the high-pitched shriek that came out of his mouth.
Chris stepped back, leaning against the wall, fighting to control his own rage. "No, it's not. Look, JD, I'm not proud of what happened. But it was a long time ago, and it's between Buck and me." He grabbed onto the last bit of control he had. "But what you did in there was -."
"Because I punched you? Damn it, you deserve it!"
"No, not because you attacked me! And yeah, I did deserve it. But how can you do that to Buck? Where the hell have you been, JD? Buck is this close to dying, and you stampede in there acting like an ass?"
JD opened his mouth, then shut it again. He just glared at Chris. He didn't say anything.
Chris had lost his last shred of patience. "You get out of here until you calm down," he ordered. He started back into the room. "Don't come back until you can –"
"You have no right to tell me what to do!"
Chris turned back and grabbed him by the shoulder. "The hell I don't," he snarled. "I'm your boss, remember. More than that, I have Buck's POA. You're not getting near him again until you calm down. He doesn't need this right now."
JD jerked free. His fists balled up. His face darkened red, something Chris had never seen before. "I'm his best friend, not you," he spat. "You replaced him, with Vin, remember?"
Rage flared up through Chris. He grabbed JD's shoulder and shook him, hard. "Don't try to talk about things you don't know anything about!" His could hear his voice shaking. From somewhere, the thought randomly occurred to him that this was definitely not what Buck had meant by "fixing it." But no matter. Right now, Chris knew he had to get JD away from here, and he had to get away from JD before he lost the last of his control. Just then, he saw Nathan. He had no idea where the team medic had appeared from and he didn't care. He shifted his attention back to JD and hissed, "You have no idea what Buck means to me. None." He looked over JD's head. "Nathan, get him away from here." He slammed back into Buck's room.
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Nathan was staring at him. "JD, what the hell is going on?"
Fury rose in JD. How dare fucking Chris Larabee tell him to leave? He was Buck's best friend. He was the one that was there for him. Chris treated Buck like shit, he –
And then, like a deluge of ice water, JD remembered what had just happened.
He remembered the look on Buck's face.
Buck had been worried, scared.
But not worried about JD,
His intent gaze had been on Chris. He hadn't even looked at JD.
He'd been worried for Chris.
Chris. Who had just admitted he'd cut Buck's throat. Tried to kill him
But Buck's concern was all for him.
JD stormed past Nathan and headed toward the elevator.
He had to get out of here.
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Ten minutes before…
Nathan Jackson stretched sore back muscles as he left Ezra's ICU cubicle and walked down the hall, nodding at the two agents on guard as he did so. Both of them looked a little rattled. Dr. Kruse, looking pretty shaken himself, had told Nathan that David Wyerly had died, and how his uncle had reacted, his threats. Nathan shook his head. He hoped the millionaire – or rather, the billionaire – was just reacting out of grief and anger, and not actually planning on carrying through with his threats. The man had already lost two family members to their own criminal activity. And the last thing Team Seven needed was more targets on their backs.
Nathan knew some of his teammates – most of them, actually – were convinced Arthur Curran was a criminal overlord himself. Nathan had never been so sure about that. Evidence had traced back to Steven Curran – not easily, but it had been there for them to find – but never a whisper of a hint that Arthur Curran was involved in anything the slightest bit suspect. And really, why would he be? The man was richer than a Rockefeller and his family was almost as old and venerable. He donated heavily to charities, too. Nathan wasn't naïve enough to think that made him an angel, but still – after all the law enforcement investigations, after Team Seven's own exhaustive investigation and the time Ezra had spent undercover, wouldn't there have been something showing Curran was involved, if he was?
He took a deep breath. Hospital air. Never could mistake it. But at least the hallway air was fresher than the refrigerated air in Ezra's ICU cubicle. As a medic, Nathan understood why things had to be kept so cold in there, but it didn't mean the chill hadn't seeped into his bones. And dear God, why couldn't there be more comfortable furniture for anxious friends and family sitting at bedside? In spite of himself, Nathan grinned. He knew the answer to that, too. Intensive Care units didn't really want family or friends keeping bedside vigils and procured the most uncomfortable furniture to encourage visitors to stay in the waiting rooms. That technique had never worked on any member of Team Seven, though. Four Corners-Mercy – the hospital that seemed to bear the brunt of their visitations, had long since given up and brought in a couple of comfortable chairs. University Hospital hadn't caved, yet, but if Buck or Ezra spent much more time in ICU, Nathan was going to go find more accommodating seating even if he had to go buy it himself.
His grin vanished as other thoughts overwhelmed him. Ezra would recover. He had yet to regain consciousness, but his vital signs were improving steadily. Knowing Ezra, he was just taking this opportunity for some extra sleep. Really, it was a miracle that he wasn't in worse shape, given that David Wyerly had essentially tortured the undercover agent. Ezra Standish seemed to have the resiliency of a rubber band. He seemed to deal with the often-horrible things he'd seen undercover, along with his frequent injuries, with a calm that Nathan had taken too long to realize was a façade. Would this be the event that sent him spinning away into PTSD? Would he just walk away?
Nathan wasn't sure, but he had a suspicion that Ezra didn't need to work. Even if he wasn't independently wealthy – and really, he gave every appearance of being so – he was intelligent, suave, well-educated, and he could talk a blind man into seeing. Not to mention he was genius at poker and a natural con man. Ezra could do anything. He didn't have to keep risking his life as a government agent, when he could probably make four or five times his annual salary doing something with much less risk.
Josiah insisted what kept Ezra with them was family, the family they'd formed with the team. But Nathan wasn't so sure about that. Even if Ezra did consider them family, at some point he was going to have to want to stop living a lie all the time as an undercover agent. Risking his life – for what?
Nathan didn't understand Ezra Standish. Never had.
But he'd miss the cuss if he ever decided to leave…
Buck. He was a different situation.
Buck had defied the odds, surviving first the injures from the explosion, then the pneumonia, then the poisoning attempt. But he wasn't out of the woods yet, and Nathan knew it better than probably any of his teammates. The list of possible setbacks and life -threatening secondary conditions was long and threatening: Pulmonary embolism. Respiratory failure. Secondary infections. Blood clots. Sepsis. Stroke. Buck's big, loving heart might simply give up from the strain of recovery…
And if he did survive the next few months, what then?
Complete recovery from the kind of injuries he'd suffered – recovery enough to allow him to requalify as a field agent, not to mention 2IC of the regional emergency management team that Team Seven was – the odds were very much against it. Buck might never even be able to walk without a limp, never mind running or climbing or rappelling down buildings or cliffs. He might never recover the steady hand and keen vision and deadly aim to fire his service weapon. He might never even have enough oxygen capacity to be more than two feet from a portable 02 unit.
Even if by some miracle, Buck managed to overcome all the odds to return to active duty –when would that be? Months, for sure, maybe years. How long would Travis and the higher-ups in Washington let there be such a significant gap on Team Seven's roster before they started pushing Chris to select a replacement? Hell, they already had, by shoving Bobby Fewell in for the Hugo operation. Nathan didn't think Fewell was very likely to be added to the team. Especially not the way he'd been bad-mouthing Ezra. But there were plenty of other agents who would probably jump at the chance to be on Chris Larabee's team.
Except… it wasn't just Chris' team. Maybe the ATF higher-ups didn't realize this, but the success of Denver Team Seven wasn't just due to Chris Larabee.
It was very much due to the second in command, Buck Wilmington.
Buck who patiently had brought every one of them into the fold, cushioned the differences between seven strong personalities, seven different life experiences. Ran interference between the tortured if brilliant Chris Larabee, and the rest of them.
Chris Larabee had formed a team, and a damn good one. The best.
Buck Wilmington had forged that team into a strong family unit that would stick together through anything.
Anything, except, maybe, losing the man who had glued them together. Chris would survive – after all he had Vin now – but the rest of them? Could even Vin blunt Chris' harsh edges to keep from stabbing the heart from the team?
They were seven strong. But not just any seven could have made up the so-called Magnificent Seven.
A humming, a vibration in his pocket, suddenly distracted Nathan from his thoughts as he realized his muted cell phone was trying to get his attention. He fished out of his pocket, his mouth going dry as he recognized the phone number in the view screen. He answered it, forcing his name out with lips and tongue that suddenly felt numb.
The call was, as he'd feared, from the secretary of the Paramedic Examination Board. She'd received his message that he had been unable to take the recertification examination as scheduled. Nathan bumbled through his explanation, thinking he sounded like an idiot.
There was a pause, then a sigh from the other end of the phone. "Agent Jackson, I appreciate the situation you're in, but there's nothing I can do to help you. The state law on recertification is clear. I understand your job situation precluded you from sitting the exam when you were originally scheduled to, but the fact is you didn't take the exam at all. We made accommodations – in light of the fact you're a federal agent – and extended your license into a grace period, but that was dependent upon you passing the exam within thirty days. That period has elapsed, and you didn't even check into the exam. Your license has not been renewed and therefore your ability to function as an EMT is suspended until such time as you complete the requirements to apply for the exam again, take the exam and complete with a passing score."
"I know that," Nathan managed. "And I appreciate the Board's understanding. But –"
"I do understand you have other job duties in addition to being an EMT. But we can't get around the fact that special accommodations were made for you, and you failed to uphold your commitment." The woman's voice was not unsympathetic, but quite firm.
"The letter suspending your license has already been sent, certified mail; and the appropriate parties have been notified."
Nathan winced. Appropriate parties? Who all would that include? Chris? Well, it was doubtful Chris knew yet, since he'd been at the hospital or out looking for Ezra. Doubtful he'd been at his desk long enough to sort through official memos. But surely someone in the Denver ATF office had been told – it after all negatively affected Nathan's ability to perform the job he was supposed to. Travis, maybe? Montgomery? No, not Montgomery. At least he hadn't known when they'd gone in to rescue Ezra. If he had, Nathan had no doubt he'd have banned Nathan from functioning as a medic there, and he would have told Chris, as well.
Nathan was not looking forward to telling Chris Larabee how badly he'd screwed up.
He took a deep breath. "Okay, I understand. So… where do we go from here?"
"You have to complete the requirements for reinstatement. That includes twenty hours of continuing education, fifty hours of supervised observation in the field with a licensed paramedic or EMT, and an interview and oral examination with an evaluating member of the Board. When all that is successfully completed, you will be allowed to apply to take the written certification examination at the next regularly scheduled opportunity. Oh, and there is a three-hundred-dollar penalty, in addition to the regularly scheduled fees."
Nathan winced. He'd known about the continuing education requirement – and this was on top of the thirty hours he'd already completed. But the supervised observation – that was something he'd done so many years ago, when he was first applying for his license. It was basically a ride-along, doing basic tasks under the direction of an EMT. Things like organizing equipment, writing reports, setting up materials. No actual paramedic skills were required. And it was going to take so damn long to schedule and complete those hours, especially given how irregular his hours as a working ATF agent could be.
He managed to mumble thanks to the secretary and then disconnected the phone.
A working ATF agent? Would he even still be one when this information came out? Yes, he was an ATF agent – but his designated responsibility on ATF Team Seven was to be their medic. Would the ATF continue to allow him to function in that role when he was not licensed? Would Chris?
The average ATF team didn't have a licensed paramedic, although at least one person on each team had to have more than just basic first aid training. Remtef teams were different, although Chris was the one who had mandated his team – one of the pilot Remtef teams – have a licensed paramedic. Nathan had been an EMT and a physician's assistant before he'd interviewed for the job, and he was sure that was the primary reason he'd been hired over other applicants. The fact he'd be allowed to continue as a medic had been a definitive reason he'd applied, and later accepted, the position with Denver Team Seven.
But now…
He needed to talk to Larabee.
Nathan looked around.
Without realizing it, he'd walked out to the large waiting room between the two sides of the ICU floor. There were maybe a dozen people scattered through the large space, most of them dozing. The large windows revealed the sky outside was lightening with the rosy flush of early morning. Nathan spotted Josiah, fast asleep on one of the shapeless sofas, his jacket tucked around him like a blanket. A little farther way were Vin and Monica Hastings, sitting close, holding hands, talking intently, their heads almost touching. There was something intimate in their position. In spite of everything else weighing on his mind, Nathan had to sigh. Vin hadn't been in a relationship – anything more than an occasional casual date – since the whole mess with Charlotte Richmond in the first year after Team Seven's formation. That had ended badly, both the relationship and the criminal case involved. Chris had been furious with Vin and Ezra almost as angry. Vin had been suspended without pay for two weeks and Josiah had told Nathan Vin had considered quitting because of the fallout and the negative 'd been understandably leery about getting involved with any woman since.
But he was obviously very interested in Monica Hastings. Nathan had noticed that back when they had first interviewed her. Vin had been responsive to her vulnerability. Nathan remembered when she'd sent the tracker those roses. Normally Vin would have been embarrassed to death about something like that; he'd just been pleased and happy when he'd realized the flowers were from Dr. Hastings.
Nathan had nothing against the woman. To the contrary, he was in awe of her genius and her abilities as a scientist. He was grateful she'd saved both Buck and Ezra's lives. And Nathan knew better than to judge someone by whom they might happen to be related to. Look at Ezra and his Ma, or Josiah and his father. Hell, look at Nathan's own father. Obadiah Jackson had felt he'd been totally justified in taking the law into his own hands and murdering a man; the man that, years before, had raped Nathan's mother and indirectly caused her suicide. Nathan could understand why his father had done what he'd done, but he couldn't agree with it. The law existed for a reason. Whatever his reasons, Obadiah Jackson had violated the law and murdered another human being. If it hadn't been for that high-powered lawyer Ezra had conjured up from somewhere, Nathan's father would have died in prison, instead of in the hospice unit of this very hospital. No, Nathan couldn't fault Monica Hastings just because of her family.
But still, Monica's cousin had kidnapped and tortured Ezra. And this had just happened. JD had shot him not twelve hours before. Monica's uncle had threatened Team Seven in front of Vin and at least two other ATF agents, as well as Monica.
Not the best time for Vin to get involved with her romantically.
Shaking his head again, Nathan turned away – neither Monica nor Vin had seemingly noticed him standing there staring at them – and headed down to the closed doors leading to the unit where Buck was. He knew Chris would be at Buck's side.
Only he wasn't. As Nathan walked through the pneumatic doors, he immediately saw Chris and JD, face to face and practically toe to toe. Larabee's face was set in stone, but his green eyes blazed as he stared down the youngest team member.
And JD…
JD looked like he was going to plow right though Chris.
Chris caught Nathan's eye but didn't say anything at first. He looked back at JD, grabbed his shoulder and shook it. He snapped something, but his voice was so low-pitched Nathan couldn't hear the words. He heard the fury in the tone, though.
Then Chris raised his voice so Nathan could hear, as he shoved JD toward him. "Nathan, get him away from here." Chris practically spit out the words, each syllable crisp and hard as a diamond. Before Nathan could say anything in return, Chris turned on his heel and strode back down the hall toward Buck's room.
Nathan stared at JD. He'd seen Chris enraged before, but never this mad, not at JD.
And he'd never seen JD Dunne shaking with rage as he was now.
"JD?" Nathan started. He moved toward the younger man, hand outstretched. "What's going on?"
JD glared after Chris. His face was beet-red and his shoulders heaved. He looked at Nathan, opened his mouth, then pressed his lips tightly together and shoved past Nathan, bolting back through the double doors and out of sight.
Left behind, Nathan didn't know what to do. It was obvious Chris needed to talk with someone, but there were only two people who could get through to him in this kind of mood, and one of them – Buck – was in the room Chris had just slammed into. If Buck couldn't manage to find out what Chris was raging about, Nathan had no chance.
No chance with Chris. But maybe he could talk with JD.
Nathan took off after JD.
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"Are you people trying to kill him?" Culver demanded of Chris.
Chris had tried to go back into Buck's room after the confrontation with JD, but the doctor had ordered him back out again. Now, in front of the nurse's station, the physician faced Chris down. And he was not happy.
Chris rubbed a hand over his face. "How's Buck?"
Culver glared at him. "The man is just out of a coma. And he wakes up to find his designated next of kin and his roommate brawling with each other in his hospital room. Just how the hell do you think he is?"
In the weeks since Chris had met the doctor, he'd never seen him so angry. And honestly, Chris didn't blame him one bit. He already regretted the way he'd dealt with JD. For God's sake, JD had walked in to hear Chris confessing he'd stabbed Buck. JD didn't know the circumstances, he didn't know Chris had been drunk and out of his mind and not even really seeing Buck that night, that he was seeing some unnamed, faceless evil that had torn his family from him…
Not that that excused Chris' behavior, then or now.
Hell, if it hadn't been in front of Buck, Chris would have volunteered to let JD whale on him. Maybe it would have done something to assuage the bitter guilt welling up inside Chris when he realized he could have killed his oldest friend.
But unfortunately, it had been in front of Buck.
Chris knew Buck Wilmington too well. He knew, knew it in his soul, even if Buck hadn't said it, that Buck never blamed him for anything that had happened in those dark days after Sarah and Adam had been killed. Days, hell. Months, over a year that Chris had lashed out at Buck, knowing he could, knowing Buck would stand there and take it.
Because Buck was the only one left. The only member of Chris' family left.
Chris knew Buck, but he didn't understand him. He never could understand why Buck stayed by his side, why he took the abuse Chris dished out. If the situation had been reversed, Chris knew he himself wouldn't have tolerated it. He'd have come right back at Buck, physically; and then he would have walked the hell away as fast as he could. And never come back.
Did that make Buck Wilmington a better man that Chris Larabee?
Well, yes.
But there was more to it than that. More than Chris could understand, could ever wrap his mind around. He knew there was literally nothing he could do that Buck wouldn't forgive.
And that was frightening.
Chris couldn't say that about anybody else in the world. Even Vin, his best friend, the man who literally felt like a missing piece. If Vin had been in Buck's shoes back then, Vin would have left. Just turned around and left. Even now, Chris knew he didn't have the same leeway with Vin he did with Buck. Even if he had been so dense as to not realize it himself, Vin had told him, plenty of times. Back when the team was first being formed, when Chris still didn't have as good as control of himself as he should. The Team wouldn't have survived the first six months if Buck Wilmington hadn't been there, putting himself between Chris' temper and the rest of the guys. Vin could see it. Hell, a blind man could see it. If Travis or the Senator that had pushed for Chris to lead the first Remtef team had seen what the team members themselves saw, they'd have kicked Chris to the curb and made Buck Wilmington the team leader. And they probably should have. But Travis and the Senator, the public at large, the ATF big wigs – they didn't see it. All they saw was the reputation.
The reputation Chris had, which Buck had partly earned for him with his own sweat, his blood, and his soul.
"Are you even listening to me?"
Chris blinked, banishing all the memories from his and Buck's shared past to confront the doctor in the present. He nodded. "Is he…?"
The doctor held up a hand. "He's no worse. I ordered a sedative, because he was – quite naturally – pretty upset by that scene between you two. I'm about this close," Culver held up his hand with his thumb and forefinger almost touching, "to banning both you and JD from this hospital! This can't happen again, Chris. Buck needs quiet and support, not –". Words seemed to fail him, and he just shook his head.
Chris didn't say anything. What could he say? But he stared at the doctor, knowing his expression was challenging him to try to keep him from Buck.
After a long minute, Culver said, his voice a little calmer, "Well, I'm not going to prohibit you from seeing him. Not because you're his POA, and not because you're giving me a death glare. I promised Buck I wouldn't. But one more incident, and that's it. I'll do what's best for my patient, no matter what he thinks about it. Are we clear on that?"
Chris relaxed, only belatedly realizing just how tense his shoulders were. He nodded. "I'll make sure of it. I am sorry, Doc. I – let the situation get out of hand."
Culver snorted. "Really?"
Chris winced. Ezra Standish couldn't have been any more sarcastic than that.
Culver wasn't done. "Were you telling me, before all that in there, that you are responsible for that scar on Buck's throat?"
His answer wasn't going to do anything to reassure the doctor that Chris was no threat to his patient, but Chris was honest anyway. He couldn't actually bring himself to say it, just nodded, once.
"Well, I would guess it happened at least four years ago, and you're still Buck's legal next of kin, so I gather he doesn't hold that against you." Culver was looking at Chris intently, as if he'd never really seen him before. "And he actually just told me it was his fault."
"It wasn't," Chris managed to say. "Look, I know…" he shrugged. Exhaustion swept over him, so powerfully he felt his knees tremble. For one terrifying second he thought he was going to fall down.
Culver grasped his elbow and walked him behind the nurse's station to a chair, forcing Chris into it. "When did you eat last? Or sleep?"
Chris laughed a little. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted.
Culver raised his eyes to the ceiling. "Wonderful," he murmured, the sarcasm back in his voice. "Look, go home. Or somewhere. Get a meal, a shower, about eight hours sleep. Buck's going to sleep for a while." He held up his hand again when Chris opened his mouth to argue. "Don't make me change my mind about banning you."
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In spite of Vin's arguments against it, Monica insisted she needed to go to her uncle's home. "Nina needs me," she said. "Uncle Arthur needs me."
Vin snorted. "Your uncle hurt you!" he reminded her, lightly touching one of the bruises on her arm. "And he just threatened my whole team!"
Monica shook her head. "He wasn't – he didn't mean it, Vin, I'm sure. He's just… upset. Vin, David just died. I know he… I know he tried to kill Agent Standish. Your friend. David is… was –" she was obviously searching for words to describe her cousin, but finally she just let her hands drop. "David loved Steven," she said, finally, her voice very quiet. "I think… Steven was the only person he ever did love. He doesn't – he didn't love Nina. He didn't even like me, much. And I never even heard him mention his parents after he came to live with us. But Steven, that was different. Sometimes, I thought it was more than just… you know, family love."
"You think they were lovers?"
"No," Monica shook her head. "No. But I think, maybe David felt that way about Steven. He was crazy after Steven died." Her gaze grew unfocused, as if she were seeing the past. "He did… he said horrible things about Agent Standish. Awful things. That he was a traitor, that he'd set up Steven –"
"He didn't. Monica, Ez is an undercover agent. He's… clever and sharp, but he's –" Now it was Vin's turn to search for words, because how did he explain the role of an undercover agent – more, how did he explain how Ezra could be both a con artist and an honest man, how he could play the game with the criminals, convince them he was one of them, and never yet cross the line into entrapment? It was a fine line, a dangerous world that undercover agents walked. Vin had been under enough times with Ezra to know that. He knew the burn out rate for undercover agents, knew that a lot of times they fell into the dark side without ever realizing it.
But, even more than that, Vin knew Ezra Standish. Knew him. Trusted him.
Called him friend.
Thought of him as a brother.
To even imagine that David Wyerly had thought he was justified in his torture, his attempt to kill Ezra…
Monica reached up and put her hands on Vin's face, drawing his eyes down to meet hers. "I know," she said, voice barely above a whisper. "I know he's your friend. And I know he was just doing his job. Steven," she took a deep breath. "Steven was a criminal. I know that now, Vin. I know Agent Standish did what he had to do. Your other friend, JD, he did what he had to do, too. David would have killed Agent Standish –"
"Ezra," Vin said.
"Ezra. David would have killed him, if JD hadn't stopped him. I think… now, I wonder if he didn't plan that all along. I thought he was just upset, grieving, talking out of his head, but now – Vin, David could have got into my lab. He came to visit sometimes –"
Vin frowned. He didn't know what she was talking about. Then, suddenly, it hit him. He sucked in a surprised breath. "You think Wyerly took the drug from your lab and poisoned Ezra?"
She hesitated, then nodded her head. "Maybe…"
"But, when we did all the security checks of your lab… and what about –" so much had happened, Vin had to struggle to remember the name of the lab tech that had been blamed for the theft and Ezra's poisoning.
"Kevin Murine?" Monica filled in for him. "David recommended him to me. I thought it was a little weird, because how would David know someone like Kevin? But Kevin had the background and training I was looking for. When I said David came to the lab – he didn't come to see me. And he wasn't on the sign in logs because he never came past the reception area. He was going out with a girl who worked there for a while. She wasn't a tech or anything, just a file clerk that worked for me a couple months. But… even after she left, I saw David there a couple times. From my office. I asked him once, why he was there, when he never even buzzed me, and he said something about he'd dropped some papers off at the desk that Nina had sent." She shook her head. "I'm an idiot. I never asked Nina about it. But, Vin, Nina wouldn't have sent legal papers over with David! She would have brought them herself or used a courier. David didn't have anything to do with the lab."
This was too much. They had been sure – so sure – that Kevin Murine had been working for Marcus Hoyt. The way that nurse – Morales – had been. That Hoyt had paid both of them to kill Ezra.
But if Monica was right –
Just then, Vin saw JD come running out of the ICU doors and, bypassing the elevators, slam open the fire door leading to the staircase.
"What the –" Vin started. Then, like a thunder bolt to his brain, he thought, 'Buck!'
"Vin?" Monica questioned.
The ICU doors hissed open again and Nathan ran out, looking around wildly.
"Something's going on," Vin said, feeling panic well up in his stomach.
Nathan saw Vin and hurried over to him. "Have you seen JD?"
"He just took off down the stairs," Vin answered. "What's wrong? Is Buck -?" he couldn't say the words.
"I don't know!" Nathan exclaimed. "Chris and JD were arguing and then Chris ordered me to get JD away from him. Chris went back to Buck's room, and JD took off. Vin, I don't know what is going on, but it's not good!"
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When you spent your life living in other people's homes, the way JD Dunne had, you learned the rules. JD may have resided in that elegant brownstone on Boston's Beacon Hill, but he didn't really belong there. He was the child of a servant. As he had learned when they had precipitously left the small apartment on the top floor, living somewhere and it being your home were two different things.
When he'd first moved in with Buck Wilmington, he'd been careful, so careful. Kept all of his belongings tucked in his bedroom, even keeping his toothbrush and shaving materials in his nightstand, rather than leaving them in the downstairs bathroom, even though Buck kept his toiletries in the upstairs bathroom off the master bedroom. He'd asked Buck's permission before he'd even toasted a slice of bread in the mornings; bought his own coffee and a small coffee maker and kept it in his bedroom rather than assuming he could pour a cup from the pot Buck set up every night.
This went on for two weeks. JD was quite satisfied with the arrangement but – as he learned later – having a creeping mouse of a houseguest sneaking about the place was driving Buck crazy. It resolved in a typically Wilmington fashion: the older man simply plunked breakfast in front of JD one morning, told him to "Eat it and stop acting like an idiot," and then went on from there. Buck was open and accepting, and he was incapable of being guileful or setting traps or really, getting all that obsessive about personal space.
It took a while, but they worked out a good living arrangement, helped, JD knew, by the fact Buck honestly did seem to like him and enjoy his company. Buck learned JD didn't like Buck to come into his room and rummage around his things when he wasn't there; JD figured out that Buck didn't care if he borrowed the last twenty from his wallet without asking, but he'd better never forget to replace the TV remote on the shelf under the coffee table.
All of the units in the renovated warehouse had a storage area on the ground floor. JD didn't have anything he really needed to store for a long time, so he didn't even know about the good-sized cubicle until his first Christmas in Denver. That space, he learned, was where Buck kept not one, but two, 6-foot white-flocked imitation pine trees, enough lights to double their electric bill for the month, and five cartons of assorted and mismatched Christmas ornaments and house decorations (including a Las Vegas inspired "Nativity" scene where the Three Wise Men all were dressed like Elvis Presley in different movie outfits. JD could never look at the thing without thinking that Father O'Doughney, the priest who'd overseen his Confirmation, would probably have had a heart attack at the mere sight of it.)
But that was all Buck had in the storage area, and that seemed strange to JD. He knew Buck well enough by this time to realize Buck did accumulate possessions: he had three large bookcases of nothing but paperbacks, after all; and more kitchen equipment than one would think a confirmed bachelor would even know about; but no matter where JD looked, he didn't see much of Buck's life before the ATF.. There were a couple of photo albums in his room and his diploma from UNLV in a wooden frame on his desk. There might be more in the desk; that was one thing Buck was kind of picky about. He didn't like JD – or anyone, really, messing around in the drawers of the desk or the four-unit file cabinet that sat next to it. That first year, JD saw Chris Larabee snap at Buck multiple times; the only time he ever saw Buck return in kind was when Chris, over for a football game, had rummaged in the top drawer for … something, JD didn't even remember what it was. Buck had called Chris on the carpet for it; by the quick and sincere apology Chris returned, JD realized this was not a new behavior.
But still, where did Buck keep the rest of his stuff?
He figured it out when some old case from their Denver PD days came back to bite Team Seven in the ass. Some guy Chris and Buck had put in prison ages before got his conviction reversed, suddenly and unexpectedly, on appeal. Suddenly, both Buck and Chris were being questioned about their role in the investigation, so many years before.
And it turned out that Chris and Buck had both kept extensive personal notes of their cases. Extensive enough that even Ezra was impressed. And both of them kept their notes in the same place: file cabinets, lined up along a wall in Chris' attic. One Saturday all of Team Seven was up in the attic that took up the entire third floor of the ranch house, digging through the files, and finding enough information to promptly send the guy's appeal crashing and him back to prison.
That day, rummaging around in the attic, JD had noticed file boxes and cardboard cartons and heavy duty gunmetal sea chests, pieces of old furniture and some actual antique pieces, and also the usual junk you find in attics, but not as much because this was, after all, Chris Larabee's attic, and Chris was more than a touch on the anal side of personality. And that afternoon, listening to Chris and Buck talk as they moved from one of corner of the space to another, JD realized that all of this stuff was not just Chris', or memories of Chris dead wife and son or his grandparents that had once owned the house. No, a goodly portion of the things in that attic belonged to Buck.
Now, as the first rays of the morning sun peeked over the surrounding mountains and JD stopped Buck's pickup in front of the Larabee ranch house, he couldn't believe he'd failed to understand the significance of Buck's belongings – Buck's past – being stored in that attic. Buck might like his condo – or had liked it, before it had been destroyed – but the ranch was the place he really considered his home. Buck even had his own key to Chris' house. The other members of Team Seven were always welcome there – Chris had been surprisingly accepting about that from the very beginning, especially given how reticent he could be about discussing his past. Josiah, Nathan, Ezra, Vin and JD himself knew were the hide a key was and that they were welcome to use it any time. Buck, however, never needed to use the spare key, because he had his own, right on his key ring with the key to his condo and the key to his truck. For that matter, it hit JD suddenly, Chris had a key to the condo, as well, as well as his own key to Buck's pickup. Remembering what Montgomery had said the night before, JD could only shake his head at how dense he'd been all this time, not realizing how entwined Buck and Chris lives were.
But the rest of it, what Montgomery had told him, JD wasn't sure he could believe. He didn't want to believe it. Didn't want to believe that Buck had been lying to him – to all of them – this whole time.
The truth, one way or another, would be, JD knew, in Chris' attic.
Tbc…