Nobody Else But You

by mcat

ATF Alternate Universe

The words of their conversation echoed through his mind over and over as he wrote the letter.

‘I’m sorry, Vin. But I can’t.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ he had asked in return, bitter.

‘You ain’t gonna be happy with me. Find someone else. Someone who’ll do right by ya.’

‘I don’t want nobody else. Just you,’ he emphasized the reply, putting his hand on the other man’s forearm.

‘I said I’m sorry. But this just won’t work. Not for the situation we’ve got.’

‘Only ‘cause you won’t even try!’ he argued back, angrily, pleadingly.

But the man’s gaze did not waver. Did not soften. And so he opened the door and climbed out of the truck. He looked back one more time at the driver, hoping for one more chance. He thought he saw something in the green eyes, but it was gone in an instant, as was the truck.

He signed his name at the bottom of the handwritten letter, folded it up and put it in an envelope. He addressed the envelope simply – a single name written across it – Chris.

+ + + + + + +

His decision made, the young ATF agent set about his tasks. The first stop was the bank. He made the withdrawal, raising the teller’s eyebrows.

“You going on a vacation, Mr. Tanner?” she asked.

“You could say that,” he replied quietly as he stuffed some of the cash into his wallet and the rest into a preaddressed envelope.

He stopped in at the pharmacy next. Picking up a bottle of pain medicine off the shelf, he brought it to the counter.

“Hey, Vin,” the pharmacist greeted him. “I’ve got Mrs. Wilson’s medicine right here, for ya,” he added.

“Sorry, Mr. Jeffers,” he replied quickly, putting some cash on the counter for his purchase. “Won’t be seeing her today. You’ll have to wait for Hector to pick it up.”

He paid for his purchase and popped a couple of the tablets into his mouth as he left the store. Finding his way back to his apartment building, he shoved the envelope of cash under the landlord’s door. Taking a last look around, Vin headed back outside, to his Jeep.

He stopped at a small deli across the street from the Federal Building.

“Hey, Vin,” the woman at the counter greeted him. “How are you?”

“I’m still here,” he replied with a shrug.

He ordered a large coffee from the woman and wandered around, looking at some of the items in the bakery section.

“I’ve got a couple of tickets to Friday night’s Rockies’ game. You wanna go? Or you gonna turn me down again because you still got your eyes on someone else?” she asked with a playful pout as she poured the coffee.

“Sorry, Paula,” he replied turning toward her, his eyes telling her the answer to her question.

“Last chance,” she offered. “I’m not gonna ask you out again,” she trailed.

“You’re a beautiful woman, Paula,” he began. “But..,”

“I know,” she said, disappointed. “You’ve got someone else in that big ol’ heart of yours.” She finished making his coffee and put on the lid and when Vin took out his wallet, she put up her hand, saying, “Nope, this one’s on me.”

“Thanks, Paula,” Vin said and headed back out to the Jeep, taking a sip of the hot drink as he did.

Driving down the street, he looked over at the Federal Building, the place that was his life for the past two years. He’d miss the place, the people in it. His vision blurred at the thought and he wiped away the tears that escaped. He found his way to the parking garage entrance and pulled into his usual parking space.

He slowly turned off the engine, put his forehead down onto the steering wheel and sighed. He squeezed his eyes shut and thought again about what he was about to do. It was the only way. He rubbed his temples again in frustration and reached for the pill bottle in his jacket pocket. With shaky hands he took out the amount he needed, ignoring the ones that fell to the floor, and quickly downed the tablets with the rest of his coffee.

The troubled young man wearily made his way to the elevator and punched the button. As he waited for the elevator to show, he took out the letter he’d written, briefly thought about tearing it up, but regained his determination once the doors opened. He stepped inside and pushed the button for the eleventh floor.

+ + + + + + +

“Buck, we’re missing the last three pages of the O’Neill report,” JD complained. “Chris is gonna kill us if we don’t have it on his desk this afternoon.”

“I know the report was complete when I went to print it up,” the mustached agent replied.

“Go check the printer. Maybe it ran out of paper before it was done and you didn’t notice,” the younger man ordered, continuing to go through the papers scattered in front of him on the conference room table.

“Yeah, maybe that’s what happened,” Buck replied, standing up to head back toward the main office area.

As he walked down the hall, he heard a strange banging noise coming from the front of the offices. He headed for the elevators and stopped short at the sight before him.

“JD!!! JD get out here!” he shouted, running toward the elevator.

There, lying half in and half out of the elevator car, the doors hitting his legs as they continually closed and reopened, was the still form of Vin Tanner.

TWO

“JD!!” Buck shouted again as he pulled Vin from the elevator.

“What is it, Bu- oh shit!” JD exclaimed, rushing to the two men.

“Call 911!” the older man ordered as he rolled Vin onto his back. “Vin? Vin can you hear me?” he called.

Vin’s eyes fluttered and opened halfway only to shut again.

“Come on, pard,” Buck urged. “Wake up, now,” he said, lightly patting Vin’s cheeks.

The younger agent’s eyes once again opened for Buck, but this time they just rolled back, showing the whites, before drifting shut.

“Vin? Come on, Vin, don’t do this,” the big man begged, really getting scared now.

“Ambulance is on the way,” JD reported upon his return from the office and phone.

“Shit!” Buck swore and before JD knew what was going on, the big man was giving Vin mouth to mouth resuscitation. “Keep checking for his pulse, JD,” he ordered between breaths.

“What’s wrong with him?” JD asked.

“I don’t know, JD,” Buck puffed. After a few minutes, he growled, “Where the hell is that ambulance?”

At that moment, they heard the distinctive ‘ding’ of the elevator and looked up expectantly, hopeful. But it wasn’t the paramedics.

Chris Larabee was about to step off the elevator when he took in the sight before him.

“What happened?!” he demanded, finally exiting the elevator and moving to kneel at Vin’s head.

“Don’t know,” Buck said, leaning back on his heels to catch his breath as JD took over the rescue breathing. “Came out to get a report and found him half in and half out of the elevator. Stopped breathing on us a couple of minutes ago.”

“Did you call the paramedics yet?” the senior ATF agent asked.

“They’re on their way,” came the reply.

Chris raked a shaky hand through his hair as he watched the scene before him. He had seen Vin last night. He was fine. ‘Physically, anyway,’ he thought.

“Shit,” JD muttered, turning Vin’s head to the side.

Buck leaned over and pulled the lanky sharpshooter toward him, giving him a few hits on his back to try to get all the vomit out of his mouth. When he was reasonably sure he had, he rolled Vin back onto his back and wiped his mouth with a handkerchief before taking over the breaths once again.

“He still have a pulse?” he asked after the first breath.

“Yeah,” JD answered. “But I can barely feel it. It’s so slow.”

The elevator ‘dinged’ again and this time two paramedics emerged pulling a stretcher loaded with equipment.

“What happened?” the first, a young blond man, no older than JD asked as he set some of the equipment down.

“We just found him lying here,” JD replied. “Then he stopped breathing. He just threw up, too.”

“Has he been sick lately? On any medications?” the paramedic asked, glancing at the small puddle next to Vin’s head. “Any known conditions, like diabetes, epilepsy…?” he went on.

“None we know of,” Chris replied firmly.

The second paramedic, an older dark haired man, scooted in next to Buck and told him to stop the rescue breathing while he checked Vin over quickly. He told Buck to resume as he got out some equipment.

“Bill, pulse is about forty and weak and his pupils are dilated,” the man told his partner as he worked. “You guys know if he’s taken anything? Some downers, maybe?” he asked as he again told Buck to move back.

The three agents all shook their heads as they watched the medic tip Vin’s head back and insert the breathing tube down his throat. He attached the end to an ambu bag and grabbed Buck’s hand, putting it around the device.

“Give it a hard squeeze every four or five seconds,” he told the agent, who obeyed without question.

The other paramedic had begun to remove Vin’s jacket and shirt, giving them access to the young agent’s chest for the various wires they’d be attaching to their monitors. After he removed the jacket, he quickly checked the pockets.

“Got a bottle of Tylenol here, Razor,” he reported to his partner as he opened it up. “Half empty.”

“Looks like some of them here, in the emesis,” the older man responded, reaching for a plastic container to scoop some of Vin’s vomit into.

The medic called Bill continued to go through Vin’s pockets, pulling out the papers too, noticing a receipt from a pharmacy.

“Shit,” he muttered, as he read the date on the small paper. “He only bought the bottle this morning,” as he said. “Has he tried this before?” he asked, looking up to the three agents.

“Tried what?” JD asked quickly, confused. Then it dawned on him and he got angry, telling the paramedic, “No! He wouldn’t do that! He’s the last person who’d have any reason to want to do that.”

“Any one of you named Chris?” the paramedic asked, holding up the envelope that had been stuffed into the inside pocket of the jacket.

“I am,” the blond agent answered, a slight waver to his voice.

“Read it, see if it can help us out,” the man said, handing the letter over to Chris as they lifted Vin onto the stretcher.

The emotions of the previous night came back to him. Vin’s desperate plea to him not to end their brief relationship before it even had a chance to begin. He didn’t want to end it, really. He just couldn’t work with the young agent and love him at the same time. It was already distracting. Which was a dangerous thing in their profession. Vin accused him of not even trying. And he knew it was true.

“Chris? What does it say?” Buck asked, breaking the trance.

He blinked and looked at the letter in his hand. He slowly tore open the envelope and brought the hand written note out. He read the letter and his throat constricted, his eyes closed tight. ‘Oh, God, no.’

“Chris?” JD called.

“He did do this,” he said quietly, folding the note back up and tucking into his pocket.

“V-Fib!” the young paramedic shouted as the elevator doors shut, leaving the three stunned ATF agents behind.

THREE

“Chris!” Buck called, chasing his old friend down the stairwell. “Chris! What do you mean ‘he did do this?!’ Let me see that letter!” he shouted.

But Chris ignored the man, continuing down the flights of stairs. ‘God, what have I done? I didn’t think Vin would take it this hard! Maybe I should have tried,’ all went through his mind as he reread the letter in his mind. ‘This was just not right. Vin wouldn’t commit suicide. Not over anything. Not over this.’ Then he saw the haunted look in the young agent’s blue eyes when he left him in Purgatorio last night. Before he knew it, the blond agent was being slammed against the wall. He looked up to see Buck’s determined face.

“Let me see the letter, Chris,” he quietly demanded.

“No,” Chris replied. “It’s between him and me.”

“What?!” Buck exclaimed, stepping back. “Chris, we gotta find out for sure whether that boy tried to kill himself or if there’s something else goin’ on. His life depends on it. Let. Me. See. The. Letter!” he demanded, teeth clenched.

“Guys, come on!” JD called, finally catching up.

Chris took the distraction for what it was worth and slipped past Buck to continue down the stairs. As the men finally got to the lobby level, they saw the paramedics pulling Vin and the stretcher out the main doors. They ran to help them again.

“Can I go with you?” Chris asked, following them out.

“Gotta ride in the front,” the older man told him, not looking at the ATF agent.

“We’ll get ahold of the other boys and meet you there,” Buck said, closing the door to the ambulance for Chris, his eyes still telling the blond agent that the stairwell conversation was not over yet.

+ + + + + + +

During the trip to the hospital, Chris sat turned in the seat, craning his head, trying to see and listen to what was going on in the back of the ambulance. He’d heard bits and pieces of the paramedics’ conversations with the hospital ER staff.

“…we’re coming in with a possible mental health overdose…respiratory arrest upon arrival…half a bottle of Tylenol found on him… fifty tablet bottle…some in the emesis…there was a note…intubated…went into V-Fib…converted on scene…IV established…blood samples taken…”

And before he knew it, they were pulling up to the hospital. He followed hurriedly behind the stretcher carrying his young friend, hoping to slip into the exam room, but was quickly stopped by the older paramedic.

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’re not allowed in there,” he said, a sadness and understanding in both his voice and eyes. “I’ll show you where you can wait,” he added, gesturing the way to the waiting room as he put his arm around Chris’s shoulder.

Chris quickly shrugged off the man’s arm, gruffly saying, “I know where it is. Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“Hospital staff and Denver PD will probably want to talk to you, see that letter,” the man said to Chris’s back.

The ATF agent stopped mid-stride and turned back to the paramedic and sighed.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Thank you for helping him,” he added before turning back to the waiting room again.

Chris sat and waited in the uncomfortable plastic chairs of the hospital waiting room. He brought the letter out again and reread it. He still could not believe the words in front of him.

He hadn’t noticed the shadow over the paper, Buck’s tall form standing over him, reading the letter with him, until he spoke.

“Oh, God, Chris,” the big man whispered, collapsing into the chair next to him, thankful that JD had agreed to let him talk to Chris alone.

“It’s all my fault,” Chris whispered, putting his head back to lean on the wall behind him, closing his eyes against the bright fluorescent lights.

+ + + + + + +

“Agent Larabee?”

Chris looked up to see a vaguely familiar face in front of him.

“I’m Detective Fornsel, from DPD, we met last May at the Police Week Breakfast…” the man introduced himself, his hand outstretched.

Chris rose and shook the offered hand saying, “Yes, I remember.”

“I’ve been assigned to Agent Tanner’s case,” the tall detective said, sympathy in his eyes and voice.

The senior ATF agent nodded, but said nothing.

“The doctors said the paramedics found the half empty bottle of Tylenol,” Detective Fornsel went on. “They also found a bank withdrawal slip and said you had a note,” he added, hoping Chris would give him the note for evidence.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Chris lied, glaring at the detective, daring him to contradict him.

The man took a deep breath and sighed.

“Look, Agent Larabee,” he began. “This kind of thing is never easy, especially when it’s a friend or coworker. But I’ve gotta know where to go with this. Is it an attempted suicide? Is it an accidental overdose….?” he trailed.

“The note lends itself to the attempted suicide route,” Buck put in, ignoring the glare from Chris. “He’s just tryin’ to do his job, Chris,” he admonished, turning his gaze back on Chris.

“I’m going to need it,” the detective said.

“I shredded it in a moment of anguish,” Chris deadpanned.

Buck was about to yell at Chris, demand he give the letter over to the police detective, but then he saw the pleading look in his old friend’s eyes when the blond looked at him. He held his tongue.

“Agent Larabee,” Detective Fornsel began, a slight warning tone in his voice. “You know this constitutes obstruction. Interfering in a –,”

“Interfering in a police case, yeah, yeah,” the senior ATF agent cut in, standing to confront the detective, trying to intimidate him.

“But as a courtesy to you and your man,” the other man continued, unshaken, “I’ll go on the information I have that there was a possibility that suicide was intended.”

And on that note, the detective left them.

“Don’t say it, Buck,” Chris said quietly, returning to his seat.

After a few minutes the mustached man asked, just as quietly, “What happened, Chris?”

“A couple of weeks ago,” he began, raking a hand through his hair. “Me and Vin were just hanging out at the ranch. He’d come over to see the new foal. And….”

“And before you knew it, the boy finally got up the guts to make the move on ya,” Buck finished when Chris couldn’t, getting a surprised look from Chris. “It’s been obvious he’s been after ya, Chris. We knew it was only a matter a time.”

“Who’s we?” Chris questioned. “And what do you mean, ‘it’s been obvious?’”

“We, meaning Josiah and me. Ezra probably picked up on it, too, but he ain’t the type for office gossip,” Buck replied. “And obvious, meaning the looks you two got with each other. The silent communication. The looks Vin gives ya when he thinks no one’s lookin’, especially you. So what happened at the ranch?”

“Yeah, he ‘made the move on me,’ and I knew it was coming,” Chris sighed, tilting his head back against the wall behind him. “We went out a couple of times. Had some good times.”

“But?”

“But all I could think of was how it was gonna affect work,” he responded. “Who was gonna know. How I was gonna be able to treat him like everybody else, despite the fact that…” he stopped then.

“Despite the fact that you love him, too?” Buck finished for him again, looking at Chris’s eyes, daring his old friend to deny the words. “And so, instead of trying to see if it would work, you broke it all off?” he continued, getting a silent nod from Chris.

“Agent Larabee?” a voice called from across the waiting room.

The two men rose quickly to meet the emergency room doctor.

“How’s Vin?” Chris asked before even reaching the man.

“He’s alive,” the doctor replied with a sigh. “We’ve got him stabilized for the time being, but we’re still trying to figure out what’s happened. Until we do, he’s not out of the woods.”

“What do you mean?” Buck asked. “He overdosed on the Tylenol, right?”

“That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the doctor replied. “We pumped his stomach, ran some blood work… but we’ve only come up with trace amounts, with most of what we did find, being the three almost complete tablets the paramedics on scene found in what he’d thrown up.”

“So that just means he took something else. Maybe he took the Tylenol to counteract some of the side effects of whatever else he took,” Chris put in.

“Maybe. We’re running additional tests to try and narrow it down,” the doctor said.

“Can I see him?” Chris asked.

“Sure,” he replied. “We haven’t found a bed for him yet, and the psychologist on call hasn’t been down here yet, so he’s still in the ER.”

+ + + + + + +

Chris made his way over to the still, pale form of Vin Tanner. His best friend. He laughed to himself, then. ‘Some best friend. I didn’t even know you well enough to see this coming,’ he thought, taking Vin’s hand into his own.

“Why, Vin?” he asked. “You’ve never given up on anything so easily.”

He finally looked at the younger man’s face then. The tubes sticking out of Vin’s mouth and nose frightened him. It made him seem all that more vulnerable, weak, young.

“But I guess this wasn’t just anything, was it?” he continued.

CONTINUE