Setting: ATF Universe
Disclaimer: I don't own 'em. No profit is being made, it's strictly for fun.
This is your story... a story of faith, hope and brotherly love set at Christmas time.
Oh and alas, poor Vin, the boy suffers yet again!
THANKS KET!!
The second hand swept past the twelve again and the tired ATF agent ran a weary hand through his long hair. It was only three o'clock. How could that be possible? He jerked the top drawer of his desk open and pulled out a bottle of aspirin. He popped two of them, hoping the 'extra-strength' moniker lived up to its reputation. Gulping down the last half of his coke, he shoved back his chair and stood up. He grimaced and rubbed the small of his back. A bang, a crash, a curse and loud voices from the front of the spacious Team Seven office caused his anger to resurface. As if his pounding head weren't enough, he had to put up with the
"Buck, I can't believe you fell for that!" J.D. howled, laughing hard and pounding both palms on his desk like a heavy metal drummer.
"Laugh it up, J.D.," Buck rebuffed loudly, rubbing his elbow. He was lying on the floor having fallen over a trash can. He'd jumped up from his desk, armed with his stapler, chasing what he thought was a rat. "I could have broken my neck."
"As long as it wasn't anything important." the youth winked.
"GODDAMMIT!" a deep voice thundered.
"Uh-oh!" J.D. moaned, wincing as a file cabinet slammed shut with such velocity that it rattled every pane of glass in the office.
"Shit!" Buck dismayed, gingerly rising off the floor.
"Aw, hell!" Vin hissed, dropping his soda can in the recycle bin and striding to the front of the room. His hurried strides weren't fast enough to intercept the Wrath. He arrived just as the ex-preacher's large hand slammed a very realistic looking rat onto Buck's desk.
"Listen, Josiah," Buck started weakly only to be cut off.
"LISTEN!" Josiah roared, face red and eyes flaring. J.D. shrank down in his desk. He'd never seen the large man so irate. Vin stood silently behind Sanchez, smart enough to keep out of it, for now.
"That's all I've been doing all day, waiting for you and Tweedle Dee to get your damn job done. Orrin, Bob Carlin, Alex Freeman and Marcia Dailey are waiting for me," he ranted of the ATF, FBI, DEA and DOJ directorate heads. "I was due there five minutes ago and I have shit to present." He paused and raised his beefy hand, slamming it down on Buck's desk and causing the other man to back up. "This will really nail the case..." he said of the motorized rat.
For several long seconds, no one moved. Then the acting team leader turned his steely eyes to the silent sharpshooter. "You got anything to say or are you gonna skulk around like you usually do?"
Vin squared his shoulders and took a step forward, meeting the other's gaze. His face was impassive, but his heart was hammering. With Chris, Ezra and Nathan in Seattle testifying against an arms dealer extradited and on trial for murder, Sanchez had been left in charge. The raid came down a week early leaving Team Seven short on personnel. That hit hard, especially when it came to the paperwork. Each agency was presenting the case before the joint panel. Teams Three and Seven were presenting the ATF report. As the stand-in supervisor of Team Seven, Sanchez was responsible and late for his presentation.
"Since you think you're in kindergarten, maybe I should get crayons and that would help you get your job done on time."
"What are ya still waitin' on?" Vin asked quietly, taking his flinty eyes from the red-faced Sanchez and eyeing the flustered Dunne.
"...some of the evidence hasn't..."
"Demonstrative, Testimonial, Physical..." Josiah boomed.
"Wait a minute!" J.D. snapped back, making a fist.
"Demonstrative?" Vin moved between the two and turned to the youth.
"Photographs, drawings and maps... check," J.D. said quietly, eyeing the folder in front of him.
"Testimonials?" the Texan proceeded.
"Witness statements, interviews and both confessions," Buck nodded, grateful for Vin's intercession.
"Physical?" Vin turned to J.D. who shook his head.
"Fingerprints haven't been nailed down and the casting of the tire tracks was inconclusive. Max was still working on it," he said of the forensic artist. "...and the fiber samples were still being analyzed."
"What else?" Josiah hissed, hands on his hips.
"I haven't heard from Atlanta," J.D. flinched. "They owe us a profile on Gilbert," he noted of the arsonist/murderer that the team had trapped and arrested the night before. "And the witness statements, photos and fire analysis reports from the bombings last summer that Gilbert was linked to."
"Is that all?" Josiah clenched, leaning in towards Dunne only to meet Tanner's slight frame.
"Why don't ya go over and talk t'Max?" The sky eyes matched the determination in his voice. "I'll meet ya and bring the file."
"You do that," Josiah sneered, then grabbed his coat from the rack by the wall and stormed out the door.
"What the hell is his problem?" Buck pitched, taking out his anger on an innocent trash can.
"Let's go over what we got." Vin opened the file Josiah left. "From the top, Summary..."
"I'll give you a summary," Buck raged, hauling his six foot two-inch frame in front of the icy-eyed Texan. "How can you stand there and let him talk to you like that? He's been ridin' you harder than any of us all week. Tossing insults, barking at you..."
"This ain't the place, Buck," Vin rasped, rubbing his eyes. "M'head's about t'fall the hell off. Can we just get this done? Summary?"
"It's here," J.D. added wearily. "From the time we rolled out until the body bags were zipped up. Date and time catalogued." He turned the multiple-paged documents over and looked up.
"Good," Vin sighed. "Scene?" he asked of the narrative description of the crime scene.
"It's good," Buck said, "with photo and video backup. Processing reports are solid," he noted of their own personal notes and input on what each one did.
"Okay, that leaves Evidence Collection and Pending," Vin quizzed. "I'll try t'get the guys in the Lab t'put a wiggle on it," he said of the missing evidence. "Buck, ya nail down the pending actions and go over the whole file with a fine tooth comb. J.D., get on the horn t'Atlanta again, make a pest o'yerself. If ya don't get anythin' by four o'clock, call Ezra. He's got a connection down there. Holler and bitch if ya hafta, but get that stuff faxed t'us today. Late as it is, if we're lucky, they'll only get through the Summary and Scene sections. Y'all better clean up yer end by Sunday," he warned, knowing Larabee would return and be furious.
"Vin, we know what our jobs are!" Buck defended himself and J.D. "He's been chewing our asses all week. We've been in this office, doing this fuckin' paperwork since seven this morning. Something's eating at him and he's gonna explode. I don't think it has anything to do with this case."
"Bottom line, Buck," Vin shucked his leather jacket on. "It's his name that goes on that report. If Gilbert goes free because we put in a second rate effort, he could lose his job. That murderin' bastard's been escapin' the noose fer years," he said of the elusive arsonist. "It ends here..." he warned, then paused in the doorway when he heard a snicker. He wheeled and in a flash, gripped Dunne's collar and shoved him against the back of his chair. "Somethin' funny, J.D.?"
"Back off..." J.D. huffed. "My nerves are shot too... I have a nervous laugh."
"This should settle 'em right down," Vin seethed, taking the phone and shoving it into J.D.'s hand. "Get them fingers dialin'... now!"
Buck flinched when the door slammed and gave a squeeze to J.D.'s shoulder. He saw the youth's face flush red and sighed. "Vin's nerves are frazzled. He didn't mean to jump on you. Josiah's been riding him too hard. You get started and I'll go through this and give you a hand."
It was ten after five when Vin silently reappeared. Buck paled when he saw the tension-lined pain in the sky eyes. The sharpshooter looked rough. God only knew what kind of hell Josiah put him through for two hours. He went by them without saying a word and disappeared into the cantina, a kitchen-like room at the end of the office. Buck heard the familiar sound of a pop-top and several minutes later a loud belch. Vin reappeared, holding the icy cold cola can to the side of his face. He paused beside J.D.'s desk and held his palm out. J.D. eyed Buck and made no move to hand over the file.
"What?" Vin frowned, eyeing the pair.
"We got a problem," Buck supplied and saw Vin clench his eyes shut. The single free hand of the Texan fisted, rose and trembled in suppressed rage before he let out a long breath of air. "We didn't get anything from Atlanta..."
"Goddammit, Buck!" Vin snapped and slammed the soda down. His head was throbbing and Josiah had been growling at him for two hours. He was tired and wanted to go home.
"What do you want from me!" Wilmington hollered, tired and frustrated too. Who the hell was Tanner to ride him?
"I want ya t'do yer fuckin' job!" The blue eyes were on fire and every vein in the sharpshooter's neck was standing out. "Ya had all damn day. I've been done with m'share since three o'clock and spent the last two hours gettin' my ass chewed off 'cause yer half was incomplete."
"Your half?" Buck chortled, nearly choking. He gripped the blue denim collar encasing Tanner's neck and growled, "Your ass was squatting in a loft. We were on the ground getting shot to hell and dodging explosions. You got the short end of the..."
"Ya better watch that fuckin' big mouth o'yers..." Vin warned, raising a fist.
"Back off, Vin, before I lose my temper." Buck shoved the agent hard. "You ain't wearing black pants."
"Ya know, Buck," Tanner seethed, eyes narrowing. "Them balls o'yers get twice as big when he's outta town," he said of Wilmington's veiled reference to Chris Larabee. "If he'd been here, ya would'a had that report done hours ago."
The two were about to come to blows when J.D. intervened. "Enough!" he shouted, pushing Vin backwards and against Ezra's vacant desk. "It wasn't our fault, Vin. They had a power failure at the Federal Building in Atlanta and sent everyone home. I got a hold of Ezra and he's gonna call a friend down there. He said he should be able to get us what we need by morning or sooner. I'm sorry, Vin..."
Vin slumped and sat down hard in Ezra's chair. He dropped his head onto his folded arms and didn't move. He knew something was wrong with Josiah Sanchez. While Josiah grilled Max for the evidence, the younger man slipped away to an empty lab down the hall. He'd called Nathan and gotten lucky, catching him as he left for dinner. The EMT knew the eldest longer than any of them. Nathan only said that this week was the first of two that Sanchez usually took off. He'd never disclosed to his closest friend where he went. Jackson said that upon returning, Sanchez would be withdrawn and sullen for awhile and gradually return to his usual jovial self. Whatever was haunting him remained locked inside the great man's heart.
J.D. looked at Buck and shrugged, at a loss for what to do about the situation. Buck was still pissed off but seeing Vin nearly melt into the chair unnerved him. He crossed the few feet that separated them and stood behind the Texan. He gently massaged the back of the slumped neck and winced at the iron-like tension Vin housed. The younger man jumped slightly and Buck reassured him.
"I'm sorry, Slick," he offered sincerely. "You okay?"
"...m'sorry too, Bucklin," the muffled reply came from the still buried head. "S'jest m'head's about t'fall the hell off..."
"Can I have your bike?" J.D. joked and Buck chuckled. They both were relieved when the shaggy head rose and a small smile was on the tired, pale face.
"Ya ain't man enough t'ride m'Hog, Kid." Vin's eyes crinkled and he shook Buck's extended hand. He allowed the tall agent to pull him up. He sighed and rubbed his bloodshot eyes. "Okay, we got enough t'get us t'seven o'clock. That's when they're callin' it a night. But they're pickin' it up at nine a.m. tomorrow. We're gonna need the complete report by then."
"You stick with Josiah," Buck said, resting a hand on Vin's neck, "and we'll take care of the report. Ezra'll come through. I'll call him tonight and make sure we get that fax by seven a.m. at the latest." He shoved the other agent playfully towards the door. He thought on a way to take some of that pain that radiated from the blue eyes away. "You look like shit, Vin."
"Fuck yer sorry ass t'hell and back, Buck!" Vin grinned crookedly from the doorway. "Hey, Kid? If I don't survive, m'spare keys are in m'desk."
The room was finally empty and the lone figure slumped back in the tall leather chair. Too tired to move, he rested his eyes and contemplated the ride home. He didn't hear the door open or the soft tread of footsteps in the conference room.
"You did an excellent job, son."
Vin peeled an eye open and took the can of cold soda from ATF Division Director Orrin Travis. He managed a weak smile and took a long sip. Orrin was a good man, as honest and fair as he'd ever met. He didn't spew compliments freely and it meant something to the quiet Texan that he offered those words.
"Thanks."
Orrin smiled at the confusion on the tired face. He sat down and opened his own soda. After several minutes, he eyed the young man carefully. Chris Larabee was the best Team Leader he'd ever worked with. His men would ride through Hell and back for him and look forward to the trip. He also had a keen eye for soldiers and this young warrior was no exception.
Vin was much more than the team sharpshooter and weapons expert. He and Larabee had formed a unique bond that was obvious to all who knew them well. He had quietly become the unofficial second-in-command, someone to whom the others turned to when Larabee wasn't around. Today was a perfect example.
Although Josiah Sanchez, through seniority, was the acting team leader on paper, it was Tanner who got the job done. His presence during the Team Seven presentation kept the unnerved Sanchez in check. The high-ranking government officials also recognized Tanner's talented script in the report. He had a unique style and was very perceptive. He managed to create a precise synopsis of what was required. His fine eye and keen mind collected details like a video. All that was reflected in the report that Travis suspected was collated and prepared by Tanner himself.
"How'd ya know?" Vin asked, seeing the dark eyes scrutinizing him.
"You're as eloquent a speaker with your reports as you are with that rifle. You don't waste any ammunition. You scout the perimeter, take in every detail and hone in on the target. If all my agents were as thorough as you, my job would be a hell of a lot easier." He saw the flush rise on the uncomfortable man's face and smiled. "What's wrong with Josiah?"
"I don't rightly know," Vin shrugged, draining his soda. "Nate said he usually takes off around this time o'year. Seems he's cartin' somethin' around inside." Vin yawned. "'Scuse me..."
"You earned it," Travis chuckled. "Have you gotten any sleep since Chris left on Monday?"
"I'm okay."
"You're worried about Josiah..." He paused and saw the weary head nod. The eyes were darting and the brow furrowed. "He's in one of those moods. In the past, he had a tendency to lose himself in a bottle. You better hope he's sober in the morning. We need to go before the Judge at noon. If Gilbert walks..."
"That sack-of-shit ain't gonna see the light of day." Vin shoved the chair back and stood. "Ya got m'word."
"I've known that since the day I met you, Vin." Travis rose and rested a hand on the sharpshooter's soft blue shirt. Tanner was the last member of the legendary team and had been with them less than a year. He didn't have a history with the ex-preacher. "But I've known Josiah almost fifteen years. His mood swings are legendary and he's been suspended several times for his irrational behavior. If that should interfere with tomorrow's proceedings..."
"It won't," Vin promised. "Goodnight." He slid out the door and stole into the darkness.
"Son?"
"Huh?" Vin blinked and sat up, eyeing the blue coveralls in front of him.
"I gotta buff the floors in here, you need to leave."
"Okay, sorry!" Vin noted to the man who worked for the janitorial crew.
He flicked a weary glance to the digital numbers on the small radio on his desk. It was almost eleven p.m. As he gathered up his notes, he thought back on the last few hours. He'd tried to call Chris but couldn't get through. Then, he picked up a pizza and headed back here. On his desk was a note from Buck. Ezra had called. Most of the information had been forwarded. The rest would follow by six a.m. Vin had eaten half the pizza and then decided to rest his eyes a moment. Josiah had left the case study with him, and Vin wanted to update him. He must have dozed off.
He rose and grabbed the valuable information forwarded by the Atlanta agent. He made copies and noticed the new sheets of paper in the fax machine. The data he'd been waiting on came early. He trotted into Chris's office and dialed the extension on the bottom of the page, thanking the F.B.I agent who sent it. He copied them and left one on Buck's desk with the rest of the material and a note. He paused at the door and thought for a moment. What if Buck checked his voicemail messages from home?
He returned to Larabee's desk and paused, eyeing the two lone pictures on the immaculate desktop. One was of Sarah Larabee and Adam who was wearing a little league outfit. The other was of himself with Chris about a month ago in the mountains. The seven had gone skiing for the weekend and were relaxing in the lodge when the photo was taken.
He'd been teasing Chris relentlessly and the blond mock-strangled him from behind. Ezra had captured the moment with his camera perfectly. One of Chris's arms was locked around his neck; the other rested on Vin's shoulder. Both men were wearing nearly identical boyish grins. He picked the photo up and stared at it hard, unconsciously wearing the same grin as he set the photo down. Then he lifted the phone, punched in Buck's extension, left a message and then departed for the preacher's cabin.
The cold night air bit right through him as he rode his motorcycle to Sanchez's. It was almost midnight when he got to Josiah's rustic log cabin just outside the city. Tucked away in the mountains, it was well hidden and off the beaten path. As he took his helmet off, he noticed how brightly lit up the interior was. He secured his motorcycle and headed for the door. As he got closer, a shiver of apprehension raced up his spine. He tapped on the door which opened with a soft creak.
"'Siah?" he called out. "Ya here?"
His inner alarm went off immediately. The normally immaculate cottage looked like a war zone. He pulled his gun and entered with extreme caution. Old yellowed newspapers were scattered around the floor. Photo albums were strewn all over and protest music from the sixties was blaring on the radio. The kitchen was a mess. Smashed jars of condiments were all over the floor. The contents of the cabinets littered the area as well. Flour, sugar, cereal and pasta made a culinary masterpiece on the walls. Two frying pans were scorched black and ruined. Vin quickly turned the burner off and put them in the cluttered sink. The sizzle of the water hitting the pans released steam in his face. He crept into the narrow hallway and saw several empty beer bottles. He followed the odd trail of 'dead soldiers' outside towards the shed where he found even more.
"Shit..." he hissed, treading carefully.
Josiah Sanchez was fighting a horrific battle, the same one that he'd been fighting for over twenty-five years. Time only made the pain worse, much worse. He'd tried to escape by serving his country, hiding behind a rifle. He'd tried to find solace in The Word, but still the ghosts returned, a ghoulish band of horrid specters that followed him everywhere. Most of the time, he kept them at bay, but not today... not this week.
They rose up and surrounded him, their red eyes glowing and their razor-like teeth consuming him. They plagued his days and terrorized his nights. He gripped his head and clenched his teeth trying to shut them out. The pain was unbearable, turning his blurred field of vision into a fiery red wall. They moved closer, their shrill voices slicing his frazzled brain to pieces. He looked at the body in his lap and his last defense dissolved. The blood wouldn't go away... the agony was beyond enduring... the stark images of broken glass... and the body... and the screaming... the screaming... the screaming.
Vin let his breath out when he saw Josiah from behind. He holstered his weapon and entered. He was sitting quietly on a stool in his small workshop. Vin took his jacket off, exposing the large envelope with the new evidence. He laid the envelope on a shelf by the door. The smell of sawdust caused him to recall the beautiful pieces Josiah carved. The expert carpenter had a fine hand and was a true artist. Vin remained several feet away and called out. Josiah never moved, so he moved closer, calling out again when he was just behind the graying agent.
"Josiah?"
The lost soul stiffened as the voice harshly penetrated his inner ear. His tension increased as the fire scorched his brain. His fevered mind saw the horrific demons lurking and laughing, their bony fingers pointing at him... blaming him... laughing at him... mocking him. He turned so quickly, the demon didn't stand a chance. Josiah swung his mighty fist and staggered the intruder. A second blow sent the demon to its knees. Josiah roared, picked up a board and swung his arm high above his head. The demon quivered and the preacher felt his power soar. Tonight, he vowed to purge the evil spirit for good.
"No!" Vin screamed, throwing his arm up as the wooden club came at him. He was dazed and reeling from the powerful blows to his face. Too late, he saw the empty bottle of whiskey lying in front of Josiah. He stumbled on the scattering of nuts and bolts on the floor just as the first blow smashed into his face.
There was a sickening crack and white hot pain as the board broke his arm. He tried to turn away, but the powerful man was too strong. The next blow sent a sharp pain through his chest and his head crashing into a sawhorse, opening a gash over one eye. He tried to swim through the thick waves of pain; a river of blood ran down his face. Pulling his injured arm to his chest, he used his left arm to crawl away. That was when the third blow came, sending him into oblivion.
Josiah hurried down the path in the small, picturesque country village. The charming cottages and quaint, curving, cobble-stoned lane were a blur as he froze and screamed. He dropped to his knees and cradled the body. He clutched it to his chest, the dead blue eyes splitting his mind in half. He closed his eyes, warding off the vision. He sighed deeply as the icy air hit him. Opening his eyes, he saw the silver moon overhead and got up from the dirt.
The pretty country lane was gone, and he was in the dense jungles of Vietnam. He heard the screams of the enemy behind him and his mind told him to run... run away... run away from the pain. He saw the dead bodies of the men whom he'd eaten breakfast with, fought beside, brothers in arms now broken bodies with unseeing eyes.
So he ran... and tried to stop the pain from shearing his brain. The dead unseeing eyes followed him and he pushed forward, forcing his legs to carry him away.
It was too dark and he was scared. Maybe he was dead? Was that it? Was this dark, cold place all there was? No... he hurt... a blinding agony that went well beyond the realms of pain. There was no pain after death. So where was he? Voices were near... loud and angry... his mind drew a picture. He was running with... with... who...? He squinted in the darkness and his confused brain called up an image. It was a fireball that sent bodies flying. A body near his... a dark face, silent... too silent. The inky blackness seemed to smother him, consuming him in smoke.
Vin screamed as the events were replayed. He now knew where he was and whose body was next to him. A gentle man. No, a friend, a good friend, someone whose gentle touch had soothed him when he was hurt. The soft brown eyes were lost to him forever. The image burst forth in color, shattering his dark world. He was running from the elevator towards the open bay area. The blast sent him airborne, slammed him into a wall. He slid down it and saw the body fall a few feet away.
"Dead... Oh, God... Nate... I'm sorry... Nate..."
The black curtain fell over him, silencing his heartache. The hand he'd extended to his fallen comrade went limp. The slim fingers uncurled while wrapped in cold air and bathed in a crimson pool. The air was still once more; the innocent victim lie uaware as the ghoulish spectors danced over him in the crisp December air.
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