1131 MDT
Best Western Hotel, Frisco, Colorado
"Larabee," the suddenly awake man put the blaring cell phone to his ear. He nodded, not having enough focus in his mind yet to do more in response to the words he was hearing from A.D. Travis.
"Yes, sir--" he finally said. "No, I'm not at the hospital-- Yes, right away. Good-bye, sir."
Chris tossed the small, black phone onto the bed, then headed for the bathroom. He didn't have time to shower -- Travis said the ATF people were already on their way to the hospital, they might even be there now. He splashed some water on his face, then poured the entire contents of the small, complimentary bottle of green mouthwash into his mouth, swishing it around for a moment before spitting it out.
He then brushed down his hair with his fingers, pocketed his room key and headed back to the hospital.
The drive was a short one. JD had done a good job selecting a hotel and Chris tried to make a mental note to thank the young agent -- it wasn't like the kid didn't have his own shit to deal with after that shooting and it said a lot about him that he was still able to think about his friends.
He rubbed his hand over his eyes again as he pulled his Dodge Ram to a stop in the visitor's parking lot. Chris really didn't have the energy to run plays against ATF Internal Affairs investigators this morning, but he didn't have much of a choice. At least A.D. Travis had given him a heads up -- that was more than he could have asked for.
1214 MDT
Room 412
"Mr. Tanner," Dr. Haller said quietly as she gently nudged the sleeping man's shoulder. He blinked his eyes open, trying to focus. "You were right," the doctor began. "The people from the ATF made copies of all your files and with the hospital administrator right there, I couldn't do anything to stop them."
"So, is there anythin' in those files I oughta know 'bout?" Vin asked, suddenly very awake and expecting the worst, since he'd only just had the chance to warn her about what the Bureau would surely do.
But, she shook her head. "There were general notes, but nothing specific. Nothing about our conversation earlier this morning. But my initial evaluation was in there -- my report based on my conference with your ER attending: the reasons why I chose to detain you here for 72-hours. However, I had just finished adding the re-evaluation I made this morning. It pretty much addressed all the unanswered questions I initially had and should indicate my initial suspicions were overly cautious."
Vin rolled his eyes. He knew how the ATF worked: they would see what they wanted to see, whether it was in print or between the lines.
"There's one more thing," she said and Vin got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "They want you out of here. Immediately."
Vin breathed again. That wasn't such a bad thing, not being locked up in Psych anymore.
"An orderly will be here shortly to take you downstairs. That means I'm not your doctor anymore."
Vin nodded. He suspected this woman was really on his side after all. And, he realized that if he was no longer under observation, there would be no need for a nurse keeping watch over him while he slept. He didn't like that idea at all. He looked at the corner and was surprised, almost distressed, to find the chair there already empty -- the nurse had left while he'd been asleep.
"Mr. Tanner..." the doctor began again. "I have a feeling there is more going on in your head than the ATF knows about, than you're willing to tell them. A lot of people try to put the bad stuff behind them, but if you don't deal with it, it tends to come back and bite you in the butt when you least expect it."
"What are ya sayin'?" Vin wanted to know. He hadn't told her anything that really mattered during their morning conversation, at least he didn't think he had, yet he'd answered all her questions. Why did she think there was anything more, anything important, to tell?
"If I'm not your doctor anymore, then nothing you tell me needs to go in a file. Nothing. What I'm saying is, if you'd like, I can come visit you downstairs when I'm not on the clock."
Vin didn't know if he wanted this. He didn't like talking about himself. He didn't like talking about his life, his problems, his feelings. Hell, it was hard enough telling Chris stuff when it came up -- hard enough, when he had to bend the truth -- mostly because there was so much he didn't want to tell Chris. Stuff that was easier on the both of them if the man simply didn't know. But, if he couldn't tell Chris, what business did he have telling a stranger?
Ezra's familiar phrase came to mind once again: you can't pay people enough to care.
"I can't pay ya," he said. "And if it's off the record, the insurance won't pay ya either."
Now it was the doctor's turn to shrug -- the first time Vin had seen her do that. "You can owe me lunch," she offered with a smile. "As long as it's not fast food."
Vin finally nodded, to both her visiting and to the non-fast food request. He'd been lectured by the nutritionist already about his poor eating habits, he didn't need to get into it with the doctor as well. "Guess I'll see ya later then, Doc," he said as the attendant came in with an empty wheel chair, ready to take Vin to his new room.
"It's just Connie now, Vin," she said as she watched the orderly help him from his bed.
1435 MDT
Room 207
"I sorta miss her," Vin said when Chris had finally finished with the ATF personnel and was allowed in to see his friend.
"You're telling me you'd rather have some old nurse with no life watching over you than me?"
Vin smiled. "No," he said quietly, successfully managing to still the tremor which threatened to break through his voice. "But, ya can't be here all the time."
"I'm sure gonna try," Chris offered with a smile, obviously not realizing what Vin was really saying.
Vin could have spelled it out for him. But that would mean telling Chris things he didn't need to know. It would be better if Chris would just know what he needed, without having to be told, without having to be told why.
"Hey, I have good news," Chris said, breaking the small silence which had fallen between them. "JD tracked down the Jeep. It's in police impound. He says it looks like it's driveable, but it's not really a pretty sight. Of course, that's not saying much," he teased as he took Vin's hand in his. Unusually, Chris had sat with his back to the door and he held Vin's hand very close to his chest. Vin reasoned it was so no one who might pass by the small window set into the door could see anything out of the ordinary within the room. "I could get it towed to the shop for you, get them started on the repairs, so by the time you're healed it'll be presentable again."
"Hey, it's my left arm that's busted, not my leg! I can still shift, which means I can still drive. Hell, I could still back you guys up in the field if I had to."
"Well, you don't have to. We're still doing paperwork on the last case and I doubt Travis is going to send anything new our way until all that is settled. Besides, JD's not ready to go back out there. He's still pretty shook up from the shooting yesterday morning."
God, yesterday morning. Less than 48 hours ago. Was that even possible? Wasn't it ages ago? It felt like it to Vin. More like a dream after all that had happened since.
He thought about the girl for the first time in a long time. He hadn't even gotten that far in his life story with Dr. Haller -- Connie -- yet. She had no idea what she was getting herself into in exchange for a measly lunch.
"Of course, you could always trade it in for a new one," Chris continued with their previous line of discussion. "The Jeep. I hear they come standard with airbags now."
"That's okay. I don't need a new one if the old one still runs." Vin then dropped his gaze to the blanket, to his fingers entwined with Chris's. There was so much he loved about this man -- so much that they shared. Sometimes he wished he could share everything, but he knew he couldn't, and not just because he was scared.
"Vin, I gotta ask you something." Vin met Chris's eyes again and nodded. "I know you don't have any family left in this world--"
"Y'all are my kin now -- Josiah, Buck ... all of ya."
"But that ain't legal, Vin. If something happens -- like it did yesterday -- we don't have any say in what these folks do to you. I couldn't stop them from locking you upstairs, though I sure tried."
Vin shrugged. "I wish I still had family, Chris, but I can't change that I don't. I'm sorry if that makes me a liability to y'all." Vin hung his head as his heart began to ache deep inside his chest. All of this worry about lying to Chris would be for naught if Team Seven just didn't want him anymore.
"No, that's not what I'm saying," Chris immediately corrected him, placing his free hand on Vin's cheek. "You're not a liability; you're the best damn asset we've got," his team leader assured him. "And that's why I'm saying-- Aw, hell...."
Chris sighed with ill-concealed frustration, but then quickly began again. "You know, JD's practically in the same boat as you. He's got some cousins somewhere, but none close enough that he'd want them making decisions for him." Vin nodded, but he didn't know what the man was trying to say. "Buck told me he and JD fixed it. Ezra knew a lawyer who handled everything. Now, if anything happens to the kid, and I hope it doesn't, but in our line of work...."
"Chris, what're ya gettin' at?"
"Buck has Power of Attorney -- he can make medical and financial decisions for JD, if the kid can't do it himself." Vin nodded. It was probably a good thing for the kid -- probably made him feel more secure, knowing Buck would do what was in his best interest. "Vin, I.... You don't.... Hell. You're at the ranch more days than not. I've even got your socks mixed in with mine. Just seems it makes sense for me to offer to do the same."
"You wanna leave socks at my apartment?" Vin asked with an innocently sly smile. He'd figured out what Chris was getting at. Hell, the man was practically proposing. But Vin wasn't sure he was ready for it. Just seemed so permanent, so legal. And there was so much he'd never told Chris. Was that fair to put him in a position where Vin's past might come back and bite him in the butt, as Dr. Haller had put it?
"I mean, Power of Attorney, Vin."
"I know," he said, the teasing smile gone as he glanced out the window which overlooked the parking lot. "Lemme ask ya somethin': who'd ya put as yer beneficiary when we had ta fill out those Accidental Death insurance forms last month?" He hoped Chris would say "Vin Tanner" but he knew that he wouldn't. His mind didn't work that way, yet he assumed Vin's did.
"My parents. I figure, as long as they're around, they're gonna be the ones taking care of all the arrangements. Just seemed to make sense. Who'd you put?"
"I haven't turned it in yet." Vin didn't have anyone to put. He'd thought about Chris, but it wasn't like the man needed the money. He figured some charity would be good, maybe something which would help the kids in his neighborhood, but he hadn't had the time to do any research into that. And, it wasn't like he was overly motivated to fill out that damn form. What did it matter once he died? It wasn't like anyone was dependent on him, financially or otherwise.
Chris got up from his chair, Vin's hand seemingly forgotten, and paced the short distance to the door, raking his fingers through his short, blond hair.
Vin could see the tension across the man's shoulders and back, felt the coldness which seemed to seep out into the air around him. Vin knew it was the wrong thing to have said, the wrong direction to have steered the conversation. Chris wanted a commitment from him, a formal commitment, and he just couldn't give it to him right now.
He didn't know if he'd ever be able to.
Just then the door swung open and Buck and JD both walked in. "Vin! How ya feelin'?"
Vin nodded and smiled. He could see Chris glaring at the intruders from his position beside the door; he didn't welcome the interruption, even if Vin was glad for the temporary distraction from the subject he wasn't too keen on pursuing.
"So, did Chris tell ya I saw your Jeep?" JD plopped himself down in the chair Chris had previously occupied and began jabbering away. "It's a mess! Paint's all scraped off the grill and down both sides. Both head lamps are busted up and the fender's all tweaked. Oh, and the hood? Flipped up and totally shattered the windshield. You're gonna need a new radiator, some new hoses, but, other than that, it's great!"
Vin finally took a breath, since it appeared the kid wasn't going to.
Buck laughed as he leaned against the window sill. When JD was done talking for the moment, Buck added, "And we tracked down the cop who wrote up the report. There's some witness statements sayin' ya steered off the road, like you were headed for the gap between the guard rail and the end of the bridge, but if ya passed out, well, that would account for that. It was after sunset, so no one would've been able ta see into the cab all that clearly."
"That's about it. With you down here now, looks like there won't be any charges filed. You didn't hurt anything except that guard rail, your Jeep, and your arm."
"Thanks, Buck, JD. I appreciate y'all doin' the leg work on this. Chris offered ta fix up my Jeep, but I don't know, maybe a nice, sleek Porsche is in order," Vin said.
"Hey, you could get a motorcycle like mine!"
"Yeah, that's all we need," Buck said with the shake of his head, like an indulgent parent. "The two of ya out there, zippin' in and outta traffic like those other cars were just orange cones on an obstacle course."
"Hey, I don't do that! And Vin wouldn't either. He's a good driver, and it's not his fault he's in here," JD was quick on the defense, which caused Buck to hold up his hands in surrender.
"All right there, kid. I was only teasin'. Ya know, Vin, if ya do want that Porsche, Ezra can prob'ly fix ya up -- he sure got a deal on that Jag of his. Just means we'll all be piling inta Chris's Ram ta get out ta the ranch in the winter time."
Buck turned his attention to the man still standing quietly by the door, as if he were guarding the entrance against any more unwanted invaders. "Ya know, Chris, ya really outta get that dirt road of yers fixed up It'd be a terrible shame if it washed out this winter and ya got stuck up there." Buck then looked over at Vin and gave him a small wink, which no one else seemed to notice
Buck knew about him and Chris. They all knew. But it just wasn't something they ever talked about. Buck's winking and elbow-to-the-ribs nudging was about as far as it went. There were lots of reasons for it -- the big two being respect for their privacy and the ATF's unofficial don't ask, don't tell policy. Still, Buck had to be Buck and that was the best he could do.
"So, has the Bureau been by ta see ya yet?" JD finally asked, though the initial burst of energy he had seemed to be waning. Vin knew he wanted to know what was going down over the shooting, that he was worried for them both about what the consequences would be. He wondered if anyone had told the kid yet that the girl's gun wasn't loaded. He hoped not.
"Not yet. The shrink's been by ta see how I'm handlin' the stress, but the investigators won't be here 'til this afternoon. Guess they just couldn't wait 'til Monday mornin'."
"I talked ta the psychiatrist, too." JD didn't like calling him a shrink; he thought it was disrespectful, but mostly it made him uncomfortable -- psychiatrist just sounded more professional to him. JD was still pretty naive when it came to the Bureau; he still believed the organization had his best interests at heart. He had yet to realize that the ATF was like any other government agency -- if your best interests were their best interests, then everyone was happy, but if there was a difference of opinion, well, the agency's best interests always -- always -- came first.
"So, how ya doin', kid?" Vin asked quietly.
JD nodded. "Havin' a few bad dreams -- I keep seein' her standin' there, raisin' that gun." The kid couldn't suppress the shudder which washed over his shoulders.
"They won't last, kid," Vin offered. He knew they wouldn't -- they never did. And, really, that was the sad thing. You kill someone and a few months or years from now you can't even remember what they looked like. The government liked that -- it made their agents more likely to pull the trigger the next time they had to.
But, Vin kept a journal. He'd never told anyone, but he started it just after
he'd been recruited into the Special Forces. He had every kill listed, along
with any pertinent details. He hadn't written down anything about this last
kill yet. His book was still at home, locked up with his guns in his apartment,
but he'd been mentally writing the entry -- anything to keep his mind off
the fact that he'd been left alone in this damn hospital room.
| July 19, 2001. 10:49. Brt & clr. Fresh SW wind. M-24, 7.62 match ammo. Short, angled shot - 273m - from 2nd story window to street below. Single civilian, |
He had formulated the entry in his head -- exactly as he would later write it down -- then began repeating it like a mantra each time Chris, the doctor, or the nurse walked out the door, leaving him alone. "July 19, 2001. 10:49. Brt & clr...."
Hell, if things got bad enough, he'd start reciting the whole damn journal over and over again. He just wished he'd had something to so fully occupy his mind all those years ago, the first time he'd ended up in a hospital bed.
1114 MDT, Sunday, July 22
Room 207
"I have to ask you something, Vin," his former shrink began as she settled herself into the chair beside his bed; it was her second visit with him since he'd changed rooms, her fourth visit since he'd entered the hospital. "You fought the restraints I first had you in. You fought them in your sleep."
Great. Here it comes. The big fucking truth. Come hell or high water, good intentions or professional nosiness, this damn woman was going to get him fired.
He stared down at the blanket, hoping she'd take the hint and just go away.
"I only see reactions like that when there has been some past trauma. Has there been a past trauma, Vin?"
Slowly he raised his head, until his eyes met hers. "No."
"Vin, please. I'm just trying to help you here."
Why do people always say that, right before they fuck you over? the sharpshooter wondered.
She sighed when he said no more. "Vin...." but her voice trailed off. He saw defeat clearly written across her features. They'd come all this way only for him to just blow her off. Now she knew how Chris felt. And Vin felt like a damn piece of shit for having to do that to anyone.
"Once," he heard the word leave his mouth unbidden and he promptly clamped the disobedient hole closed.
She looked up at him, curiosity, anticipation, and concern now in her eyes.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
With a deep breath, he began to tell her: "I got sick once when I was a kid -- tonsillitis or somethin'. Other than feelin' crappy, I thought it was pretty great; I was in the ... the hospital all alone -- no more sharin' a room with a bunch of other guys -- and they gave me pop-cicles and Jell-O. But, at night, I was kinda scared. It was dark and empty, with only one nurse around and she was always at her desk and never watchin' me. ...But I guess all kids get scared of the dark sometimes, right?"
Vin wondered if Connie would agree with him, wondered if she'd just interrupt him and give him an out off this damn fucking road he'd gotten himself stuck on. But she kept silent.
"The second day I was there, two other boys got brought in. They didn't look all that sick ta me and I figured they were just fakin' ... you know, so they could get pop-cicles or ice cream, too. That night...."
God, I can't do this, Vin screamed inside his own head. I don't wanna go back there!
He felt Connie's hand on his, gently squeezing and he looked around the well-lit room with the afternoon sun streaming in through the large window. He wasn't alone here. He knew that. It was daytime. He was an adult now -- with training in assault weapons and hand-to-hand combat. He shouldn't be fucking shaking because of something that happened ten years ago.
He swallowed hard, but his throat was dry and the action did nothing to calm him.
"The doctor'd given me somethin' -- told me it'd make me real sleepy. That night ... those two boys tied me ta the bed. I was too out of it ta even wake up, until...."
God, don't make me say it! Don't! Just don't fucking make me say it!
"They gagged me," he stalled. "With an Ace bandage and a roll of tape. They said they'd kill me if I told anyone. I knew them well enough ta know it wasn't an idle threat. They were bigger 'an me, stronger, had more friends. If they didn't kill me, I knew they'd hurt me bad enough that I'd wish I were dead. And I didn't wanna die. I still don't."
There, satisfied? he silently demanded. Does that get me off your fucking most watched list of potential suicides? But she just stared at him, silently encouraging him to continue. And her stare was as effective as Chris's -- no wonder he'd butted heads with this doctor and had to call it a draw.
"I thought they were gonna try ta smother me -- they put a pillow over my head, but ... but the way they'd tied me ... I was on my stomach. I remember thinkin' how stupid they were, but I realized how wrong I was when I felt the first blow through the pillow. I think they used a bedpan -- one of those metal ones hospitals used ta have."
Vin took another breath, but then laughed. "Ya know those cartoons with Bugs Bunny and the Road Runner? I used ta watch those all the time. I thought they were so funny.... But I don't think that anymore. I knew they were just cartoons, that animals can't talk or do any of the things they do, that it's not real, but.... But in a way it is. Every time they hit me in the head, I saw a burst of stars, just like in the cartoons...."
Vin fell silent. He didn't want to talk anymore. He was tired. His head ached from the memories. He wanted some water.
He wanted to be alone.
No, that wasn't exactly right. He'd wished for that a long time ago and it had come true. Now he closed his eyes and wished not to be alone, but with someone who wouldn't make him talk about things which just hurt too damn much and didn't do anyone any good by trying to remember them.
He allowed his head to lull to the side, facing the brightness of the window. Maybe, like last time, she'd stop making him talk if she thought he'd fallen asleep. But, what if she then just left? Still, as much as he didn't want that, Vin didn't want to talk even more.
"It's not your fault. You couldn't have done anything to justify that," her quiet voice finally touched his ears and he turned on her as anger rose up in him.
"Of course it wasn't my fault! I was just a kid! I was sick, fer God's sake!"
But her voice was still calm, rational: "It's just that it's fairly common for victims to assume they did something to warrant the act--"
"WHAT IN THE HELL COULD A SEVENTEEN-YEAR-OLD KID EVER DO TO WARRANT BEIN' BUTT-FUCKED EVERY GODDAMNED NIGHT FER TWO WEEKS?! HUH?! YOU THINK FER ONE MINUTE I THOUGHT I DESERVED WHAT I GOT FROM THOSE ... those...."
Vin felt like all the wind had suddenly been sucked from his lungs and now his voice came out in barely a whisper. "They were gone the next day, but other boys showed up, and others after that -- sometimes just one, sometimes two or three. The doctors kept givin' me medication that made me sleepy. The boys kept tyin' me up....
"And no one was ever 'round ta stop 'em."
1025 MDT, Monday, July 23
Room 207
"...Brt & clr. Fresh SW wind...."
Chris had been by his side as much as possible. Luckily it had been the weekend, so there hadn't been the issue of him not going to work. Today and Friday being the exceptions; he'd taken personal days to be with Vin and Vin appreciated it. Still, the man had to sleep and eat and shower, and he couldn't do that while sitting in an uncomfortable chair in a hospital room.
"...M-24, 7.62 match ammo...."
Vin always put on a good face. Even encouraged Chris to go, take some time to really rest. But it tore his gut out every time that door closed behind Chris. The stillness of the room would settle in around him, the quiet solitude he really did cherish, but too soon he'd hear something in the hall, or -- God! -- something in the room. Some noise that didn't belong, which brought to mind memories of so long ago, now raw and too fresh in his mind from talking to Connie. He'd been able to rationalize things before, at least during the daylight hours, but now he wasn't even able to do that.
"...Short, angled shot - 273m - from 2nd story window to street below...."
And the nurses -- he knew he was only making things worse for himself, but he couldn't help jumping whenever they arrived without warning, which was always, and he couldn't stop himself from flinching away whenever they touched him. He wasn't quick enough in calming the riot of his nerves, which had built to a frenzy whenever they'd left him alone.
"...Single civilian, adult teenager, female...."
And the nurses would always misunderstand. They'd assume it was his injured arm or his deep bruises and they'd give him another dose of painkillers. Then he'd sleep and the anxiety which plagued his conscious mind would then run rampant in his dreams.
"...One shot, one kill."
There, the night never ended. The straps which restrained him cut into his skin like razors. The gag prevented him from breathing. The two boys became four, then eight, and sixteen, and more and more until he couldn't count them all. One by one they'd take him, laughing at his pain, at his tears, at his pleading. They'd slap him and spit on him. They'd beat him. They'd fuck him until he felt like he was being ripped in two.
"That's what you get for being so cute," they'd say over and over. "Too cute for your own good." "Cute, cute, cute, in a stupid-ass way," they'd taunt. "Cute. You're so cute. How'd you get to be so cute?" until it was his mother's voice but without the love he remembered. And then she'd start slapping him, too. "Don't get cute with me!"
"Vin," he'd felt his shoulder being nudged.
"NO! Please don't hit me," he'd yelled, but it'd been Chris. And when the sleep had fallen from him, Vin had clung to the man, sobbing.
He hated this. He fucking hated ALL of this!
That goddamned shrink. He shouldn't have listened to her. He shouldn't have talked to her. He knew where this shit belonged: buried in the deepest, darkest corner of his soul. It had been there once, before all this had happened, but now he didn't know how to put it back.
"It's okay, Vin. I'm here now," Chris had said in a gentle voice, close to his ear. "Everything will be back to normal once they release you. It won't be too much longer."
Back to normal. Vin didn't know if that was a good thing or not. At least in here Chris didn't press him for answers he couldn't give, didn't force him to lie about stuff he just couldn't tell his team leader.
Out there, back in the real world, he knew there would come a point when Chris would want some answers, to questions raised after this whole ordeal. He'd bring up the Power of Attorney thing again and Vin wouldn't be able to tell him yes. He couldn't when he was still forced to lie about things, just so they could stay friends, so he could still work at the ATF, be a part of Team Seven. He didn't want to lose that. And, if he did, he was afraid he'd lose Chris, too, and Chris was more important to him than anything.
If he'd known at the start he would've gotten this entangled with these men, with Chris, he would've thought twice about joining up. But he hadn't thought. He'd gotten swept up in the chances, the possibilities, which led to the friendships, and the love. Now it was too late, and he had to protect Chris. The job meant even more to the man than it did to Vin -- more to him than Vin did.
Vin had never kidded himself about this. It was a package deal, and he'd always known the day he got booted out of the ATF would be the day he got booted out of Chris's bed. Especially after Chris found out he lied, and what he lied about. That would be the end and Vin would be forced to move on.
But even knowing how it would end -- how horribly, with all the disappointment and disillusionment, the resentment and possibly even hatred -- he couldn't make himself end it any sooner, even to spare them all those harsh, painful feelings. It was selfish, but he couldn't help it.
2104 MDT
Room 207
"You're still having nightmares?" Connie asked, not surprised, but deeply sorry.
"Yeah. 'Cept they're worse than before. Worse than they've ever been. Thanks to you!" Vin spat, hurting so much that he didn't mind shifting the blame.
"Vin. I've told you: this is very common. We're talking about things you've suppressed for a very long time. They're bound to dredge up feelings, memories, long-buried pain.... And it's not going to go away, not completely, until you face it -- and I mean all of it."
"I told ya what happened. What more do ya want from me?"
"I want you to get past this, Vin. I want you to be free of all this suffering."
"Then ya shoulda left me the hell alone!"
"No, you're wrong. This hurt has been left alone too long. Now it's back, stronger than before, threatening you here and now, because you haven't dealt with it."
"Then tell me what ta do," he demanded of her.
"I wish I could. I know you haven't told me everything, Vin. I know there's something you're holding back. I can't help you until you're completely honest with me."
Vin hung his head. He hadn't told her the whole truth. He couldn't trust her with it. It wasn't just his life they were talking about, it was Chris's, too, and he didn't want her to have that kind of power over the man -- especially when she didn't know how powerful that truth could be.
Connie sighed, obviously knowing she wasn't going to get any further, at least not tonight. "All right. But, Vin, if you're not going to tell me, then you need to examine the reasons why you're not telling me--"
Vin glared at the woman, already knowing the reasons.
"--If those reasons are based in emotion, in fear, we can deal with them -- you and me, whenever you're ready -- but if there are outside forces at work here, Vin, then you need to find a way of resolving them."
An imperceptible, but ragged sigh left Vin's lips. He knew of only one sure way of resolving this, of protecting the one he loved: he would have to quit Team Seven and the ATF.
1120 MDT, Tuesday, July 24
Room 207
"Tanner, how are you feeling?" A.D Travis asked as he stepped into the hospital room.
"Fine, sir," Vin said with a polite smile. There had been ATF personnel in and out of his room all weekend, but this was the first time the Judge had paid him a visit. Usually the Assistant Director would just call Chris, if there was anything he thought they needed to know about the on-going investigation. So, him being here probably meant there was something happening that couldn't be said over the phone. Vin didn't like that one bit, and he could tell from the apprehension on Chris's face that he didn't like it either.
"Glad to hear it! Hope you'll be outta here real soon," Travis replied. But, before Vin could thank the man for his well wishes, he turned away to address Chris. "Can I speak to you for a moment. Outside."
Vin notice it wasn't really a question and Chris got up without another look at Vin, following Travis into the hall. When the door closed, Vin tried to look at the pair through the window, but he couldn't see much -- just part of Chris's face occasionally coming into view, then gone again. He wished he could hear what they were saying. If he wasn't still hooked up to the damn IV, he'd have his ear pressed to the wood in a heartbeat.
So, he settled for leaning over the metal railing of the bed and straining to hear anything he could.
"--you will--" Was that Travis? "--sir--" Definitely Chris. "--you can't possibly--" Chris again. "--Tanner--" The Judge.
Damn! What were they saying?
Vin nearly jumped when a loud thud sounded against the door. A fist, maybe? Thrown in frustration? That would have to be Chris, and he knew for certain it had been when he finally heard his partner's voice, crystal clear, even through the thick wooden-door.
"--No, you listen: the ATF has a lot of closed cases -- and you've got a lot of commendations on your wall -- because of that man in there. He's the best damn sharpshooter in the country, the most qualified weapons expert in this field division. So, if that's how the Bureau is gonna handle this, then I've got news for you: I don't NEED this goddamn job!"
1535 MDT, Thursday, July 26
Room 207
"Mr. Tanner," Ezra said as he sauntered into the hospital room and eased himself into the chair beside the bed.
"Ez," Vin smiled, knowing the man must have slipped out of work early to make this visit. It was a long drive and he hadn't been out to see Vin since Sunday. "Nice of ya ta come by."
Ezra just nodded, finally placing the bouquet of carnations he held on the tray next to the bed. "I remembered how drab this room of yours was, and I knew none of the others would think of bringing you a little cheerful color."
"Thanks," Vin said as he brought the red and white striped blooms up to his nose. He always loved the smell of carnations, such a simple scent: a clean, earthy sweetness. "Interestin' choice of color."
"Well, let us just say that a certain candy-striper on this floor lent me the inspiration."
Ezra's wry crooked grin made Vin smile. "That sounds like somethin' Buck'd say."
"No. Mr. Wilmington would say nothing of the sort, because he would never have arrived at your room, having stopped to converse with the aforementioned young lady, giving her your flowers and then escorting her out for happy-hour cocktails."
"S'pose yer right," Vin said with a small laugh as he placed the flowers in the plastic pitcher containing his drinking water, knowing someone would eventually bring him a replacement.
"So, it's my understand that you, Mr. Tanner, are in the market for a new means of transportation. I believe the make of Porsche has been bandied about. JD believes you should purchase one in candy-apple red. But, I have the feeling you would be much happier with something a little more understated. May I humbly suggest a lovely midnight blue? Or perhaps the new iridescent, chameleon tri-tone -- subtle, yet ... quite stunning."
Vin shrugged. "We were just talkin'."
"Well, if finances are an issue, Mr. Tanner, let me assure you that it would be my pleasure to put you in contact with someone in a position to afford you a most favorable arrangement."
"I'm still thinkin' on it," Vin said. He honestly didn't know what the future held for his financial status -- meaning, if he lost his job, he wouldn't have any -- but he had too much else plaguing his mind to really think on that at the moment. "Say, how's stuff at the office?"
Vin was curious. No one was saying much to him about work -- passing him off with a "nothing much" or "just boring paperwork." He hoped Ezra, liking the sound of his own voice as much as he did, would be more forthcoming.
"Nothing much," he said with a casual shrug. "Just dreary paperwork."
Vin sighed. Why weren't they telling him anything? Nothing about the case review. Nothing about new case prospects. Hardly even office gossip. It felt like they were shutting him out.
"Okay, Ezra. Just spill it. What's up? Why are y'all givin' me the silent treatment?"
"Silent? I assure you, Mr. Tanner, we are doing nothing of the kind. We just all presumed you would not want to be bothered with having to think about the office for now. I know I would dearly love such a respite at times---"
"Cut the long-winded crap, Ez. What's goin' on? What aren't ya tellin' me?"
Now it was Ezra's turn to sigh. But he got up from his chair without answering Vin, without even meeting his glare. He walked over to the window and glanced out at the parking lot, dotted with the odd tree here and there down the center of each row.
He smoothed the sleeve of his charcoal-gray, Armani suit, then ran a slow, caressing hand over the silk of his royal-purple tie.
"There were a few ... rumors regarding the Bureau's possible handling of ... this," he finally said, gesturing at Vin and the hospital room with an elegant sweep of his hand. "We agreed not to say anything until we knew it wasn't just gossip." He fell silent again, but Vin had no intention of allowing it to end there.
"Yer talkin' 'bout it now. That mean it's no longer gossip? EZRA?"
The man turned from the window and finally faced Vin, who couldn't read his features because of the glare of the afternoon sun. He wondered if Ezra realized that.
"We heard they were planning a temporary transfer, down to Phoenix, something to do with weapon shipment authorizations." Ezra hung his head, either sorry he'd broken his promise, or sorry he was the one who had to be the bearer of the bad news. Or both.
"Desk duty?" Vin whispered, unbelieving. "Phoenix" -- an entire state away from his friends, from Chris. "Why, Ezra?" The ATF certainly didn't care how Vin felt about this -- but didn't Ezra care? Didn't the other fellers? "What'd I do?" Vin felt tears welling up in his eyes and he tried fiercely to bite them back. But, what if this whole accident proved he really was a liability to the team and the transfer request had come from Chris? God, no! "Ezra?"
Ezra finally returned to the chair beside the bed, folding his hands in his lap, dejection in his features. "I don't know, Vin. But I do know that Chris has been bellowing and grousing and threatening for the past two days. You know, there's no living with that man when he's like that."
"Yeah, I know," Vin muttered. "So, I guess that's it. We all know what a temporary transfer means. I'm off the team." Vin felt his lower lip quiver with the admission. He'd lied to the man he loved and gone through hell with that shrink, only to be tossed away, forgotten, behind some desk in Arizona.
Ezra bolted to his feet, grabbing Vin's left hand -- "No, you are not!" Tears were now streaming down Vin's face, but they were mostly from the pain shooting up his wounded arm. Suddenly realizing what he'd done, Ezra released Vin's hand. "Sorry. Listen, Vin" -- he continued, emotion causing him to drop the formality of using his friend's surname -- "I told you how upset Chris was. There isn't a single man alive who can stand up to him when he's like that -- not anyone, including the ATF brass. You are on the team and you are not going anywhere as long as our esteemed Mr. Larabee has any say in the matter."
Vin's face filled with hope, and fear. What if Ezra was wrong? What if the gossip was right? What if Chris didn't get his way? "Ya sure, Ez?"
He nodded. "As sure as a shot from that M-24 rifle of yours."
Vin allowed himself to smile now. Ezra wasn't a man to speculate idly, so if he was sure then you could damn-well put money on it.
"And, since it now looks like things will be status quo when you are finally cleared for active duty," Ezra continued, "we didn't think you needed to know how far the brass had actually stuck their heads up their own asses."
Vin couldn't help himself. He let out a whoop, which promptly brought a nurse who had been passing by the door. "Are you all right, sir?"
"Better than that," Vin stated, with a grin. He still had a job with Team Seven and, at the moment, that almost over-shadowed everything else. Then he turned back to his visitor. "Say, Ez, would ya do me a favor?"