Too Many Chefs
Disclaimer: Do not own the Magnificent Seven.
Comments: Many*G* This is kind of a continuation of 'It's not only us.' A thank you to Dina for inspiring part of the story. A huge thank you for MOG for creating this universe. This is not betaed and I am writing under the influence of Tylenol, so bear with me. Lastly I wrote a poem. It's really bad-it's supposed to be. So you are either going to laugh or most likely groan.*G* Anyway this is dedicated to all who write fanfiction at work!
Archivist's Note: This fic was previously hosted on another website and was moved to blackraptor in September 2006.
JD had scrunched down in his chair so much that Buck was unable to see his head. He was hiding behind the computer. The only reason Wilmington knew he was there was because of the occasional sound of furious typing. Buck had an idea of what the young man was up to. He did not want his friend to get into trouble. He went to talk to him.
"JD, are you reading that fanfiction stuff at work again, boy?" The young agent looked up to Buck and motioned for him to lower his voice.
"Shhh," Dunne looked around, "Not exactly."
Wilmington went into his speech. He had taken the kid under his wing, and wanted him to have a good work ethic. "You can't be playin' around. This is where you work. You can go on the internet at home, course as long as you don't tie up the phone line too much. I mean what if some precious young lady is trying to call Ol' Buck" JD had continued to type during the congenial agent's speech. "What do you mean 'not exactly?'" Buck had finally picked up on what Dunne had said.
"Umm," JD minimized the Word document he was working on. "It's nothing. Just typing a report."
Buck thought about the answer. "Why didn't you say so in the beginning?" Wilmington went back to his desk to work on his own paperwork.
JD scanned the area, clicked restore document and continued to type. His muse was speaking to him so loudly he did not hear Buck sneak up behind him. Not until Wilmington began to read out loud.
"And the young, handsome, talented man felt all was right with the world. He had saved his six friends who had gathered around him showering him with praise. . ." Buck began laughing. "Who wrote this? The other stuff you showed us was good." Wilmington was trying to read more.
Dunne cleared his throat. "I did."
"You did?" Buck could see JD was serious. He didnt want to hurt the young man's feelings. "Well, it's not too bad. Maybe with a few changes. . ." Wilmington began hesitantly typing.
When Ezra and Vin saw them it was déjà vu. JD was swatting at Buck's hand to keep his away from the keyboard.
"Not again," Tanner commented to Standish. Ezra went up to the fighting men.
"Gentlemen, fighting over the fanfiction again?"
Vin went around JD's desk to read what was on his monitor. "Thought you were going to forward us stuff when you got it."
Buck slapped the young agent's hand hard, causing JD to remove his hands so Wilmington could type 'The End.' The mustached agent explained to the other men, "He's writing his own stuff."
Ezra raised his eyebrows in interest. "Agent Dunne, I did not realize you had literary aspirations."
JD brought his hand to his forehead and sighed. "It's just for fun, but Buck wants to change the whole thing!"
Wilmington chuckled. "JD has the kid saving the day."
Ezra and Vin shook their heads.
JD could see they were agreeing with Buck. "What? Buck has the lady's man coming to the rescue." He read what Wilmington had written.
"The devil-may-care rascal had succeeded. Women, even the saloon manager came over to thank him. The other men took turns buying rounds of drinks and making toasts to him. . ."
"That doesn't sound right to me." Vin said giving Buck a skeptical look.
Ezra came behind the desk. "May I take a look JD?" He read the beginning of the story. "Hmmm, not bad. I'd like to make a couple of suggestions. I'll e-mail them to you privately."
JD nodded. He would agree to anything to have these men leave him alone.
"I liked it," Buck said to the retreating backs of the two men. JD shrugged his shoulders and Wilmington went back to his desk.
Dunne went back to repair his fic. A half an hour later he noticed he had received an e-mail message. He opened it to find a message from Ezra with an attachment, which he immediately opened. JD jaw dropped open. The undercover agent had changed the story!
"The gambler, his green eyes flashing , had won yet again. He tipped his hat to the unfortunate men who he had just divested of their money. He fixed the cuffs of his linen shirt and went to join his uncouth friends at the saloon. They were throwing a fete in his honor in gratitude for him coming to their aid. . . ."
Immediately JD checked the e-mail and clicked 'move to trash.'
As soon as he had finished he noticed Nathan and Josiah were hovering around his desk. "Need help with anything?" JD asked and then snapped his fingers remembering, "Is this about the Santyana case? Cause the paperwork is right here." Dunne picked up a folder and handed it to Nathan.
Jackson looked from the folder to Josiah, who cleared up why they were actually there. "No, JD, we heard about your story."
"What?!" Dunne answered wanting to hide under his desk. "It was Buck right?"
"Yep," Nathan replied. "He let us read some of it which he saved on his hard drive." Jackson leaned in closer to JD, "we want in."
"I'll e-mail you when I get anything," JD's list was growing. He liked it better when it was a secret.
They nodded in response. Then they each took out a few sheets of paper. Josiah explained,
"We think we understand the characters so we came up with some opinions on the direction of your story."
Dunne collected the papers, and put them to the side. "I'll take a look at them."
They seemed happy with his answer and left. JD flipped through the papers and read Josiah's first.
"The preacher was finally happy. He had killed the crows. Quietly he knelt down in the pew, the six men beside him, praising God that he was their friend. . ." JD skipped to read Nathan's.
"The healer was proud. His skill had saved them all. Luckily he recognized they had been suffering from the chicken pox and not the plague like the town thought. They now were calling him doctor and were naming a hospital. . . "
Dunne looked at the typewritten pages and laughed. He went to the shredder so there would be no evidence of what was taking place during work hours. When he got back he found a post-its note on his desk.
'I pondered on it, and thought your story may need a poem.' There was no signature, but the careful printing made JD pretty sure it was from Vin. He read the poem,
"The tracker stood still.
He was one with steel will.
His aim was true today.
He never had much to say.
He had saved them once more.
My, these bullet holes made him sore."
Dunne crumpled up the poem and threw it in the basket. He was absolutely not going to put a poem in his story. He had made up his mind. He was going to proof read what he had written one more time and then post it onto the list. He heard someone clearing their throat behind him.
"It's nice to see all my agents hard at work." JD clicked on the X and closed his document. He looked up to Chris and bobbed his head up and down, trying not to look guilty.
Chris crouched down next to Dunne. "Good job on the analysis of the Wenton case. It really helped."
JD visibly relaxed. "Uh, thanks."
Larabee looked into the young agent's eyes and then rose. JD thought he was leaving, but he instead he grinned.
"And JD, in the end the silent leader always saves the day."
Dunne felt his eyes go wide in astonishment. Oh my God, he knows, thought JD.
"Remember, Big Brother," Chris used the affectionate nick name Ezra and Vin had come up with for him, "is watching and I have the over-riding passwords to the e-mail accounts."
JD opened his mouth, but nothing came out and Chris walked away. Once JD had recovered he clicked the folder which contained, 'Private' and right clicked on it. He highlighted 'Send to Recycle Bin.' The computer asked him 'Are you sure?' Yes, he was sure. This was the end of his writing career especially with this bunch of interfering, busy bodies. He was going to stick to doing some work.