The Long Weekend
ATF Universe
Part of the Adiutor Amor Cervus series.
Part 1 - 3 | Part 4 - 5 | Part 6 - 7 | Part 8
Buck drove straight to the Federal Building. As they pulled into the underground car park Maude finally spoke, having ridden in stony silence."And we are here, why?" she asked pointedly.
"Told you, I need to make some calls." With that Buck was out of the car. "You can come or stay here, your choice."
Maude was confused. In her limited experience, Mr Wilmington was a little coarse, and loud, but he was never less than polite and respectful to her. Now he was being downright rude.
"I have no intention of sitting here, for who knows how long." She exited the car with her usual elegance, but as the car's doors locked automatically, she had to almost run to catch up as Buck stepped into the waiting elevator.
He led her to Team Seven offices, or more accurately he strode to the offices, she trotted in his wake. On arrival, he flipped on the lights and headed toward Chris' office, leaving her standing in the deserted bullpen. She took in her son's place of work. There were six desks, arranged in three pairs facing each other. Wondering just which desk was Ezra's and with nothing else to do, Maude began to examine each desk.
To her left was a desk covered in gadgets, souvenirs, and executive toys. There was a huge pile of files to one side of the computer and an overflowing 'in' tray to the other side. The computer's keyboard was well warn, the most popular keys had long since lost all markings. On top of the monitor was picture of the team, all mounted on horses and lined up in a long line. She squinted at the picture, picking out Ezra on his fine boned gelding in the middle of the line. Next to this was a picture of JD and Buck. JD had his left arm in a sling and was holding up a small misshapen bit of metal in the other hand. Buck stood behind him, one arm around JD's neck, while the other ruffled his hair. Both men were grinning like loons. Tucked into the corner of this picture was one of a young woman.
This was clearly not Ezra's desk, the desk opposite it was not that dissimilar, the computer keys were not so warn, the piles of files slightly neater, the 'in' tray almost empty. There were also pictures on the desk. A picture of the team, in this one they were gathered around a barbecue brandishing different cooking implements. In this picture Ezra was standing next to Buck smiling broadly, a large pair of tongs in his hand. There were also picture of Buck with JD, and Buck with a small blond haired boy with green eyes. The last picture was of Ezra and Buck, they were sitting side by side in a bar, toasting the camera with what appeared to be whisky.
She turned away form Buck's desk to the one next to it. This desk was a complete contrast, it was neat, only a few files were piled on the desk, no toys or gadgets cluttered up the work area, but, like the first two desks there were pictures. One was of a beautiful black woman and an other of the team. In this one Nathan Jackson was lying in a hospital bed, his leg in traction, surrounded by the others who were all holding up champagne glasses to Jackson, who had his hand over his eyes.
The desk opposite this one was clearly Josiah's. It was also neat, there was a mini dream catcher hanging from the computer monitor. A well-thumbed bible was halfway down a stack of reference books to the side of the keyboard, most of them on psychology. There was the ubiquitous team picture. In this one they had clearly been fishing, Josiah was standing in the middle of the group holding a huge fish. In this one Ezra was standing in front of Buck, a fishing pole in his hand, but no fish, smiling contentedly.
This left just two more desks. The closer of the two was fairly untidy, the edge of the computer monitor was surrounded with little yellow Post It notes, most with just one word on, written in scratchy uneven hand. There were pictures, lots of picture. A picture of a black horse with a white blaze. One of Vin and Chris, looking very drunk, each with an arm around the other and a glass of beer in the other hand. Another of Vin and Chris, sporting matching slings on their left arms. One of an elderly lady, some what on the scrawny side, in an evening dress standing next to Vin, who was wearing a suit. And as with the others, one of the team. This one had clearly been taken at Christmas, Vin was wearing a Santa hat, as were the others, all smiling and laughing, sitting at a food strewn dining table.
That meant that the last desk, the one opposite Vin Tanner, was Ezra's. Maude walked around it slowly. Yes, she could see her son at this desk. It was neat, very, very neat. Not one file or scrap of paper littered the desk. The note pad beside the telephone had a leather cover and was closed. A fine quality pen set lay in its own tray beside the leather bound blotter, next to the computer keyboard. There were just two pictures on the desk. One of Ezra and Buck, they appeared to be in a house, but not her son's and not, from the look if it, the ranch house she had seen in so many of the other pictures. Ezra was standing in front of Buck, who had his hands on her son's shoulders, the two men looked happy, even contented. There was also the ever present team picture. In this one, all of them where standing around the Jag, buckets, hoses and sponges in hand, all that was except Ezra, who was just leaning against the sparkling car, in a suit, apparently drenched to the skin!
+ + + + + + +
She shook her head. How had her son forgotten so much of her teaching that he had let his defences drop so far? The picture was clear evidence of what she perceived as a weakness. There he was, Ezra P Standish, southern gentleman, a member of one of the most distinguished families in the country - a federal agent, a civil servant no less, risking his life for a meagre paycheque and for his friends. Maude shook her head again; she had failed the boy, somehow. She had tried, Lord knows she had tried, to teach him all he needed to survive in the world, to be independent, to rely on no one, to take every opportunity to make money, no matter what the cost or who it hurt. "Never give a sucker and even break" that was creed she lived by and had thought she had instilled in her only child, clearly she had failed.
"He left on schedule," Buck announced exiting the side office.
Maude looked up from Ezra's desk.
"Sorry?"
"Ezra, he left the DEA offices where he's been working on time, no one has heard from him since. I'll take you home and then round up the others, we'll most likely be heading out." With that he headed for the door, not waiting to see if she had followed.
+ + + + + + +
Ezra had removed his shoes and socks in order to examine the blisters on his feet. They were if anything worse then he had anticipated. On each heel were raw and bloody, several smaller ones had burst and were weeping copiously. He had put on his new shoes to travel partly because he wanted to get away from the personae he had been forced to adopt while on this assignment, and partly because he wanted to look his best for Buck when they were reunited. He knew they were a little tight but then he hadn't been planning to walk eight miles in the summer sun in them. His wrist was now very swollen and all but useless, though he had managed to keep this infirmity from the attention of his captors. Some inner instinct told him not to show them any weakness.
He had not slept as he lay in the cell, but his daydreams had passed the time more quickly then he had hoped, allowing him to distances himself from the pain and the surroundings. The door leading from the cell area to the main office opened, Ezra looked up to see a new face. The uniform was the same, but this man was older, he was about Buck's height and age, his face was long, he was heavy set, probably had once been well muscled, but now the muscle was going over to fat. He approached the cell with a clipboard in his hand.
"Hey you!" he kicked the bars.
Ezra pushed himself up on his elbows and regarded the new deputy.
"Your name Standish? Ezra Standish?" he asked.
"Yes," Ezra admitted carefully, pushing himself up and swinging his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed. He winced as his bare and sore feet hit the cold concrete. "Why do you ask?"
"Someone found a car with a flat, plates match a car hired to Edwin Staples. So is that you?"
"Yes that is me, but I can explain."
"Well go on than explain."
"I am a federal agent, I was working undercover and to that end, I rented the car under a false name. My name is actually Ezra Standish, as I told your colleagues when I was incarcerated."
The deputy held up his hand. "Yeah, yeah it says all that here. I put a call into Denver but with the holiday weekend and all, might be a while 'for we git a reply."
Ezra groaned inwardly, he too had been worrying that this might be the case. Even if he was let out, he was still stranded in a town he seriously doubted had even one horse to its name. This deputy did at least appear to be a little more reasonable and posses more than one brain cell.
"Sir I might be able to expedite things if I were able to make a call, I have not been allowed to make even one phone call yet," he pointed out.
The new deputy regarded him. His two colleagues on the previous shift were notorious for locking people up just before a shift change and leaving all the work for the next shift. It being the night shift that was just one man. He regarded the prisoner and decided he believed him.
"Okay I'll bring ya to the phone, you got money?"
"For the hundredth time NO! I. Was. Robbed." Ezra really was getting very tired of saying it.
"Look buddy, you want a favour you act nice, you hear me?"
Ezra took a moment to rein in his temper, he was at this mans mercy after all.
"My apologies sir, as I was saying I have no money and having tried earlier, calling collect may not be a viable option. But, as it is the holiday weekend, I am sure you don't want me here all that time, you will have to feed me, check on me, you can't leave me here alone - can you?"
He suddenly prayed the man wasn't about to say 'yes'.
After what seemed like an age, the cell door opened and the man place the handcuffs on just one wrist and led Ezra to a pay phone on the wall at the end of the cellblock. Ezra didn't bother to put his shoes back on so walked slowly with small, carefully placed steps. The deputy handed over a handful of change and attached the other handcuff to a sturdy pole set into the brickwork beside the phone. Once Ezra knew he was alone he dialled Buck's home number.
+ + + + + + +
Buck unlocked the door of the apartment without even thinking how it would look to Maude. She followed him in and waited in the living room while he carried all her luggage in. She had been in her son's apartment enough times to quickly detect the subtle changes. There were a lot more videotapes on the shelves, more CD's in the rack by the music centre, there was in fact a whole new rack. She wandered around the room, noting the copies of 'Sports Illustrated', 'Classic Truck' and 'Guns and Ammo' that filled the shelf under the coffee table. She could just about imagine Ezra reading 'Guns and Ammo', for professional reasons, but not the other two. Her curiosity roused she made her way into the kitchen, and while making a cup of tea for herself cast her expert eye over that room as well. She found a box of Cheerios, something she didn't recognise called Pop Tarts, crunchy peanut butter - Ezra loathed peanut butter - and a large quantity of bottled beer. And as she searched for a cup and saucer she came across a large coffee mug baring the legend, ‘Stud!’, this could never be Ezra’s, of that she was sure.
Just then Buck came in through the door with the last of the bags. "I'll put these in the guest room," he called as he passed the kitchen.
Maude followed him.
"Mr Wilmington?" she asked before he had even put down one case. "Just how long have you been living here?"
Buck almost dropped the case, almost but not quite. He had been preparing an answer, he just hadn't expected to need it quite so suddenly.
"Um … well a while, see JD's at my place and young Casey - she's his girl you know? Well she just graduated and they are spending a bit of time together, before she starts her first job, as a teacher." It wasn't a lie as such, everything he said was true, he just left some bits out. Maude just stood looking at him impassively.
"I'll get my personal stuff out of the bathroom and take it into Ezra's room. The bed is clean, done fresh this morning." Now that was a lie, it was done a week ago, but no one had been in it since then. He didn't stop long enough to give her a chance to see the deception in his eye's as he hurried to the bedroom. He pretended to remove his personal items and place them in Ezra's room - where they already were. His clothes were in the guest room closets, because there was no room in Ezra's, but his underwear was in a draw in the master bedroom.
As he walked back into the living room he found Maude sipping tea while sitting in one of the armchairs.
"The message machine is flashing, is that significant?" she asked casually.
"Why the hell didn't you say something?" Buck bellowed as he crossed the room in two strides snatching the receiver up and hitting the 'play' button. The relief as he heard Ezra's voice was so great he all but keeled over, he didn't even hear the full message. He had in fact to play it back three times to get all the details, and then three more times just to hear Ezra's voice, and those last few words.
+ + + + + + +
Buck gazed out of the window, watching the clouds pass by, oblivious to the normal goings on of the flight, he just watched clouds and imagined his reunion with Ezra. He'd kiss him first, just gently to begin with, then more forcefully, his hands would run through Ezra's silky soft hair, cupping and holding his head as his tongue probed the warm, soft, mouth. Ezra would respond of course, Ezra was a great kisser. The hand that wasn't holding Ezra's head would run down his lovers back. Ezra would shudder with pleasure, the way he always did when Buck stroked his back; it was one of his most erogenous zones. He would be able to feel the heat rising in Ezra by now and they would have to stop or find some place private.
"Can I get you anything sir?" the hostess asked the tall handsome man by the window, but he didn't respond. "Sir are you alright?" she asked again.
Finally he looked up at her, his deep blue eyes seemed to be miles away.
"What was that darlin'?"
"Are you alright sir? Can I get you anything, breakfast?"
"Oh… errr… coffee I guess… um, thanks."
She looked at him for a second more, he looked, well she wasn't sure how he looked, but not right somehow. "Are you sure you're alright sir?" she asked one more time.
"No," he admitted. "But I will be. Coffee would be great though."
+ + + + + + +
Chris drove his hire car out of the city toward his former sister-in-laws home at Annapolis, where her husband now taught. He still wasn't sure why he was doing it, he sent a card at Christmas, but he simple signed it ‘Chris’ and sent it to the whole family. In return they sent him three, one from Jane and Mark and one each - addressed to 'Uncle Chris' - from the girls, each card contained a detailed, personal letter telling him about their year. Jane even sent him birthday cards. In every Christmas letter Jane asked him to come and visit; now for the first time in six years he was going to see them.
The house was large, standing in a leafy street of other large houses. The sounds and smells of Labour Day cook outs wafted to him as he parked the car outside the house. There were several cars there already, somehow he hadn't been expecting other people to be there. For a moment he considered getting back in the car and driving off. But then what would he do? He would be all alone in a strange city on a holiday weekend, not an appealing thought. So with a nervousness he was unaccustomed to, he rang the bell and waited.
The door opened. Jane didn't look that much like her sister, for which Chris was grateful. She was shorter, much heavier and blond, while Sarah had been dark.
"Chris," Jane greeted him. "Glad you came."
"Jane."
She could see he was hesitating, on the verge of running. She gently took his arm and stepped to the side.
"Come on I'll take you through, Mark's just got the barbecue lit, he's a bit outnumbered by us women so he'll be grateful for the company."
The garden was large and well manicured, Mark was standing at the barbecue surveying his handy work, he waved at Chris as he stepped out into the sunlight. As Jane had said everyone else was female. He was introduced to Mark's sister, who was recently divorced, and her young daughter. Megan had called him 'Uncle Chris' just as she always had. Later, just as they were about to eat, Megan's sister Beth arrived with another young women, called Zoë.
The day passed pleasantly enough, Mark plied him with beer, and persuaded him to spend the night. His nieces reminisced about summer vacations on the ranch, how Chris and their other ‘uncle’ Buck had taught them to ride. Jane had watched him carefully, worried about his reaction to these memories but he seemed to enjoy remembering long past summer days. Later he talked cars, guns, sports and the finer points of outdoor cooking with Mark, while he and Mark watched the big baseball game together. Various friends and neighbours came and went but by the evening on Chris and Zoë remained; she and Beth seemed inseparable.
It was still warm as the light faded; Beth, Zoë and Megan had headed out to walk the family's two black Labradors, leaving the ‘adults’ alone for a while.
"Chris?" Jane started tentatively as the two of them sat alone on the deck overlooking the garden that Mark was now watering.
"Yes?" he responded, thinking nothing of it.
"Why are you here?" she watched for his reaction, seeing confusion.
"Well I was in DC and since it was the holiday weekend, I just thought I'd come over and see you, I…"
"Chris it's been six years, why now, what's changed?"
"Nothing's wrong, what makes you think …" Chris was beginning to get angry, he was there to eat, drink and relax, not be analysed.
"Sorry." She backed down quickly. "What do you think of Zoë?"
He frowned; it was an odd question, to say the least. "She’s nice enough, they seem very close." He was desperate to move the conversation away from him. "Her and Beth."
"Yes well they would be wouldn't they?"
He turned to look at her, frowning.
"Lord! Chris you can't be that dense, they're a couple."
+ + + + + + +
The new deputy at the Pike Hill sheriff's office was called Ralf. He didn't like Ezra much and the feeling was mutual, but he did play by the rules. He brought Ezra breakfast, and a first aid kit to tend to his blisters. He even gave him yesterday's paper to alleviate the boredom. But it was the message he brought just after breakfast that made the whole thing bearable.
"Standish looks like one of us managed to get hold of someone," Ralf announced.
"Meaning?" Ezra asked from the bed.
"Someone called Wilmington is coming to vouch for you apparently, I just got a call from the county head office, said he'd be here this evening."
Ezra's heart soared, he felt he had grown wings and if it weren't for the cell bars around him he could have lifted off and floated away. Buck was riding to the rescue, just like he knew he would, he was going to rescue him, Buck! His Buck, his hero, his Beloved. Something of his reaction must have shown through his poker face, because Ralf asked if he know this man Wilmington.
"Yes, yes we work together," he admitted.
He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and he lost himself in the vision of Buck striding in to the miserable little cell block and taking him away.
+ + + + + + +
Chris turned to look at Jane.
"A couple? As in a 'couple-couple'?" he asked.
"Yes, don't tell me you're shocked …well okay you're probably shocked, or at least surprised, but you don't disapprove, do you?"
Chris regarded her for a long time. She didn’t look like his Sarah, but she sure as hell sounded like her. Not just her voice but the way she talked. Sarah always accepted everyone, she never judged, always took people as she found them and was always challenging his assumptions. In that way she had been very like Buck, maybe that was why the two of them had always got on so well together? Maybe that was why he was still friends with Buck, after all they had been through?
"Um, no, no of course not," he finally managed to say.
"It's not been easy for them. Zoë's family won't accept her, so we try to do the best we can. They met at work, in the Pentagon. Zoë's boss, he found out. Of course they're both civilians so that's not a problem, he can't fire her, but…well he is making it very difficult for them both. We knew about Beth, oh …way back in high school, but Zoë only came out to her family a few months back. Their rejection was very hard for her, poor lamb." She looked back at Chris. "It's not what you expect of course, but so long as she's happy that's what counts, isn't it?"
Chris barely heard her, all he could see was the hurt, lost look on Buck's face when he had confronted him and Ezra in Josiah's kitchen. 'So long as she's happy' why couldn't he accept that Ezra made Buck happy? All his old friend had ever wanted in life was a family, someone to love. And just because it didn't fall into some neat little, conventional pigeonhole he wouldn't accept it. Two basically lonely people had found each other, he should have been happy. JD was happy, he should have been sad or even mad that he was losing his big brother, but no, he thought it was just fantastic. Nathan had had reservations but seem to accept them now, Josiah though all love was a gift from God and not to be questioned, indeed it should be celebrated. And Vin? He stopped, what about Vin? Vin was happy for the lovers, but he had that look in his eye when he saw them together. A look of wistful envy, even jealously. Thinking about Vin made him uncomfortable, so he stopped and turned his attention back to Jane, who was still speaking.
"I just hope it lasts as long as Mark and me and that Megan finds someone just as special. True love is rare, isn’t it?"
She suddenly noticed the expression on his face and misinterpreted it.
"I’m sorry Chris, here I am going on about true love, and that is just what you lost, sorry, I should have thought, sorry – oh shut up Jane you’re digging yourself in deeper!"
Chris finally worked out what she was saying. "No, it’s alright, I was thinking about something else, don’t worry about it, and yes – true love is rare, I was lucky."
"We both were." She cast her eyes out over the gloomy garden to where her husband was watering the raised beds.
+ + + + + + +
Even daydreams of Buck couldn't stop time dragging as Ezra waited for salvation. His wrist throbbed incessantly, he could no longer move it, it was so swollen. He just lay on the bed and tried to will time to pass more swiftly. The shift changed, Ralf left, Walt and Pete returned. At first they basically ignored him, but they were drinking, not very heavily, but steadily. It was about three in the afternoon when Pete wandered into the cell area. He was grinning, an open bottle swinging from his fingers.
"Hey Georgia! How ya doin' there? Comfy?" he asked.
"The accommodation is basic but adequate," Ezra stated flatly.
"See I know'd you was a faggot, ya talk like one, I knewed it soon as ya opened yer cock suckin' mouth." He took another swig from his bottle.
A knot of fear grew in Ezra's stomach, as Walt came in. He was also carrying something, not a bottle, a small tape player. He held it up to the bars and pressed play. For a second his heart soared as he head Buck's voice, only to fall when he realised it was the recording on Buck's machine, then he head his own voice, telling Buck where he was and what he needed. Finally the recording of his supposedly private phone call came to an end, he listened to himself.
"…Hurry my Beloved, I miss you."
Part 5
"Beloved? Mmmm, sounds like something you would call a lover, but you were talking to someone called 'Buck'. Now…" Pete stopped to take a swig of beer, belching before he continued, "…I can believe in a Jo or Sam or even a Chris, but Buck, no ain't never heard of no girl called Buck."Walt pushed the tape machine into his pocket as he turned the key in the lock.
"So that would make you a cock sucking, ass fucking, faggot - wouldn't it - boy?"
Ezra suddenly stood up, the pain in his wrist and feet forgotten in the adrenaline rush of instant fear.
Think Ezra! Think fast!
"Look, Buck is my partner, as in the man I work with in Denver, it's a joke between us, just a joke - I call him Beloved, he calls me Darlin'- like and old married couple, that's what people say we're like, and old couple, because we bicker all the time." He was thinking and talking fast. "Believe me, ask anyone in the Federal building in Denver, Buck Wilmington is straight, ask the women - all of them! They don't call him 'stud' for nothing!"
He couldn't help it, he silently added I sure call him that, and he earns it. Every damn time!
The two men hesitated, and for a moment Ezra thought he had done it.
"So he's straight, what about you? All them women gonna vouch fer you too?" Walt asked.
There was no way they were actually going to be able to check any of what he said so he just told them what they wanted to hear.
"I am more discerning in my choice of companion, but there indeed a few young ladies who will vouch for my virility," he lied smoothly.
"Now see, ya almost had me convinced, then ya go an' use all them fancy, faggoty words ag'in." From seemingly nowhere, Walt now had a nightstick in his hand as he opened the cell door.
"Look, just because a man has some education, it doesn’t make him a homosexual. I am a Federal Agent, a colleague is on his way here now. Have you any idea the trouble you two will be in if you don't treat me, while I am in your custody, within the letter of the law?"
"Yeah we know about someone coming, Buck's coming ain't he? 'Beloved', don't think he'll be much trouble, do ya Walt?" Pete leered drunkenly at his partner.
"Not much, no. Maybe we'll leave him a little present, a callin' card kind 'o thing? Right pal?"
Ezra watched the interplay between the two men, and a thought came to him. Methinks they doth protest too much. The part of Ezra that liked to revel in his superior intellect and wit, wanted to see if he could push them with this insight into their own repressed feelings, but the pragmatist stopped him. Live to fight another day Ezra, that is one of mother's teachings that is actually valid, he mused. If only I could teach Buck the value of retreat.
All this time the two uniformed lawmen were sharing the remains of the beer. Suddenly his attention was fully back on his two tormentors, as the now empty bottle smashed against the bars.
"You tell good story boy, but it don't wash, yer a queer, a faggot. Ain't right! Ain't normal! Don't you know it's a sin, boy?" Walt advanced on him. "Your kind, yer contaminating decent white folk!"
Oh great, racism as well as stupidity and ignorance - perfect!
"Sinners gotta be punished, don't they? Well, Walt and me we're gonna do it good!"
Ezra began to move as both men advanced on him. His plan was to circle around, drawing the two men in to the cell and hopefully allowing him to back out of the door. But the two lawmen while bigoted, were not stupid. He only got as far as the bars beside the doorway. He knew some of the broken glass littering the floor had penetrated his unprotected feet, but that was the least of his worries at the present time. Cornered by two men, with only one hand, he didn't have much hope of defending himself. But he would be damned if he would go down with out a fight!
The night stick came down, in a flash he raised his damaged arm to block the blow with this his forearm, the blow sent vibrations of pure agony down to his injured wrist, but he ignored it as he delivered a pile-driver of a blow to Walt's groin. The man bellowed as he doubled over, making incoherent sounds like a cow in labour. Dropping the weapon he rolled on the floor clutching his - what Ezra was sure was a very small - manhood. But Ezra too, was half doubled over, the pain in his arm blocking almost every part of his consciousness.
"Fu..ck…in' bas…tard!" Walt gasped. "Fu…ckin' git him!"
Pete moved forward, a look of pure hatred on his face. He grabbed the fallen nightstick and raised it. Ezra knew he could no longer fight back, with only one arm all he could do now was defend himself. He raised his good arm in preparation for the blow. It never came.
"WHAT THE HELL?" Pete bellowed, as someone grabbed the nightstick out of his hand behind him.
"Ez?" Buck asked as he now held the nightstick to Pete's throat, while glancing at the still incapacitated Walt.
"I'm alright," Ezra stated, once he realised what was going on and who it was who had saved him.
"You sure? Yer foot's bleedin'," Buck made a quick visual survey of his lovers condition and wasn't a happy man. "And what's wrong with yer arm?"
Ezra used the bars to pull himself upright again. He noticed that, while Walt was on his hands and knees, Pete, held fast by the nightstick around his neck, was turning an interesting shade of blue.
"Umm Buck?"
"Yeah?"
"You might want to let him breathe?" Ezra pointed to the gasping deputy. "He's going blue."
Buck tore his gaze from Ezra, to the man he had apprehended attempting to beat living daylights out of the light of his life.
"Oh, yeah, so he is." With that Wilmington - who had given this observation no more import than if he had just noticed the corral water trough overflowing - shoved his prisoner in the small of the back, as he released one end of the nightstick. Pete was propelled forward and tripping over Walt, brought both men down in a tangle of arms and legs as they crashed into the bed.
"Just what in the hell was going on here? Who are these clowns?" Buck demanded, even as he spoke his gun came into his hand and he advanced on the two fallen men.
"They call themselves deputy sheriffs, the sandy haired one is called Pete the other one is Walt. Gentlemen," he addressed his erstwhile captors. "Meet Agent Buck Wilmington of the ATF, out of Denver." Ezra took great satisfaction in the look of shock and fear his statement brought to the two deputy's faces.
"So Ez what did you do to piss them of this time?" Buck asked as Ezra moved past him to limp out of the cell.
"It would appear that these 'gentlemen', and I use the term advisedly, have an objection to the 'love that dare not speak its name' and furthermore believe that you and I are involved in such a relationship."
Buck took a moment to switch on his own internal 'Ezra translation programme' and run the statement through it. "You mean they're anti-gay?" he clarified.
"Precisely."
"And they thought you and me…?"
"Indeed, they recorded my phone call to you asking for assistance and heard me call you 'Beloved'."
"Really? They have a warrant to tape your private phone call?"
"Unlikely."
The two men in question were just beginning to realise the enormity of their mistake and what they could do to get out of it.
"Look," Pete began. "we don't doubt he is who he said he was, but we had no evidence and he was trying to escape, we …"
"Just shut up! You lying little weasel," Buck's voice had dropped a whole octave and was half the volume it had been. To anyone who knew him, this was a bad sign, this was not the voice of the easy going, live loving, take everyone as they come Buck Wilmington, this was the voice of a man who could, and had, killed, when he needed to. "I am going to be believing my partner here not you, I don't care if you say sky is blue and he says it's green, you got me?"
There was silence.
"I asked you a question." The voice was, if anything, laced with even more menace.
"Yes." Pete whispered.
Buck looked at Walt, still clutching his groin, still looking alarmingly pale. He nodded.
"Good." Buck's voice suddenly returned to normal. "You…" he pointed at Walt, "toss me them keys ya got there."
With one look at his friend and receiving a nod, he tossed the keys at Buck, who caught them mid air in his left hand, his gun still held steady and covering the two men. He then stepped back through the door, locked it, and holstered his weapon, before turning his attention to Ezra. A sizeable pool of blood had emerged around his feet, especially the left one, he was leaning on the cell bars cradling his injured wrist, but looking very happy.
"You came," Ezra breathed, still amazed anyone would bother to travel more than a thousand miles to rescue him.
"I'll always come, always," Buck assured. "Come on, we have to get you cleaned up and then out of here, don't suppose this God-forsaken flea-pit, has a doctor?" He hadn't been looking at the two deputies, so they hadn't responded, now he turned to look at them. "Well?"
"Um, no. No the nearest doctor is the community hospital at Chad, that's about…" Pete began to explain where it was.
"I know where it is, I started there, at the county sheriff's office, needed directions to this shit heap of a place," Buck explained, cutting him off.
"What about us?" Walt managed to say, now that he was finally able to straighten up.
Buck surveyed the cell and it's facilities.
"Hell boys you got water, a pot t' piss in, yer okay." He looked at Ezra. "When's shift change round here?"
"Last night it was around midnight."
Wilmington checked his watch. "Well that's about nine hours form now." He gave them a look that was pure devilment. "Have fun, who knows what you two could fine to occupy yourselves in nine hours?" With that he turned his attention back to his lover, looking down at Ezra's bettered and bloody feet. "You can't walk," he stated, and before Ezra could react Buck was picking him up. Standish was short in comparison to his tall lover, but he was no lightweight, and Buck grunted with the effort, but once he had Ezra safely in his arms he grinned. "I missed you."
Ezra grinned back. "Missed you too."
Buck bent his head to meet Ezra's, as it rose toward him. They kissed, a long, slow, deep kiss that left them both breathless and blocked out any physical pain and discomfort in a mutual adrenaline rush.
"You mother fucking bastard!" Pete exploded from the cell. "You really are a cock sucker!"
"While the idea of 'relations' with my mother is quite repellent, it is entirely possible my parents were not married at the time of my conception, or indeed ever, so yes I may well be a bastard, and I am the best damn 'cock sucker', as you so charmingly put it, you ever met, and damn proud of it!" Ezra boasted.
"I'll vouch for that," Buck added with a gin.
"Really Beloved?"
"World class Babe, world class - and I talk as a man who knows what he's talking about. Now as they say in the movies - lets get the hell out 'a here!"
"Amen!"
Leaving the two stunned deputies, they exited the cellblock, Ezra still in Buck's arms.
+ + + + + + +
Chris lay on the guest bed at his former sister in laws house, it was three in the morning and he still hadn't had a wink of sleep. Since he hadn't come prepared to stay the night, he didn't have the necessary items with him, but Mark had insisted he stay.
"You're too drunk to drive and besides, I need the support, they outnumber me four to one!" he had explained, waving a hand dramatically down the long table on the deck. His wife, two daughters and one daughter's 'life partner' all grinned at him before adding their vocal encouragement to Chris. He had to agree about the drunk bit. He wasn't visibly inebriated but he was way over the drink-drive limit, and he knew it. The guest room was liberally stocked with toiletries from hotels all over the world, not to mention several airlines, so he didn't want for a razor, soap, toothbrush etc. He hadn't packed any clothes, so he rinsed his boxers through in the wash hand basin and hung them on the towel rail to dry.
So there he lay, buck naked and wide awake, in the stifling August heat. No wind moved the curtains at the wide open windows. If he concentrated he could hear the sea, two streets away. The occasional car and the sounds of wildlife in the garden were the only distractions. He had considered trying to read, but he couldn't summon the energy, even putting on the light seemed too much effort. So there he lay, hoping for a breeze, wishing he was back home. Normally when he couldn't sleep he would walk out to the barn and talk to Pony. The black horse would just stand there, resting his big head on Chris' shoulder, dozing as Chris told him his troubles.
The trouble was whenever he thought about Pony, there was Peso in the next box. His mane long and untrimmed, that wild, slightly untamed, slightly feral look in his eyes, a creature once tame and docile, now weary, untrusting and easily spooked, made that way by the cruelty of others. But Peso had found a home in Chris' barn where he was safe and cared for. Six other horses were now there to form his herd. Nathan's old bay, steady, unflappable, bomb proof, always there. Josiah's big chestnut, he put up with a lot, he wasn't the alpha but he was the biggest, and just occasionally he put the others in their place. JD's spirited little bay was young and skittish, playful, he never seemed to worry when Peso nipped at him or tried to kick, he just skipped out of the way and started the game all over again. Chaucer, now there was a quality piece of horse flesh and he knew it. When the horses were turned out, and while the others all kicked back and had a good roll in the dust, Chaucer would be doing a couple of laps around the fence, showing off. Sometimes Chris caught Peso following him, mimicking the part thoroughbred, if Chaucer stopped to look around, Peso would run off, kicking his hind legs as he went. On the other side of Peso was Buck's grey, Max. Max was patience personified, he just took everything Pony and Peso dished out and never turned it on another horse or human, the gentle gelding remained as gentle as ever, always there with a snort of greeting and a playful nuzzle, looking for food and affection but never demanding it. And Pony, it was his barn, his ranch, his corral and he made sure the others knew it, but with Peso he was lenient, he let the black, blaze-faced horse get away with equine disrespect, without the swift bite to the neck or a kick on the rear, he used to keep the others in line. Somehow Pony knew Peso wasn't seriously challenging his position as alpha, he was just asserting his independence, while remaining within the herd.
It was no good, he was never going to get to sleep like this! Chris sat up only to find he had a raging hard on.
"Damnation!" he cursed almost under his breath. There were now two options, bring himself off, pleasurable but messy and hot making, or the tried and trusted, cold shower. It really was too hot to be exerting any unnecessary energy, so he headed the en-suite bathroom.
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