Friends for Life

by Cindy Combs

  Friends for Life

  By C.L. Combs

  * * *

  Author's notes, 7/1/01: Blame it on an upcoming high school reunion, but I suddenly got tackled by a one of those tough Western Jackrabbits of a plot bunny who wondered exactly how Chris and Buck met. As usually, he mutated into this story. I hope you enjoy it.

  I wish to extend thanks to Shallan for helping me bat the rabbit into shape, my old friend Wolfpup for betaing, to Elizabeth and Lady Angel for posting it for me, and a big thanks to Mog for creating the Mag 7:ATF universe and setting it practically in my own back yard.

  Please send any comments to spacecloud@juno.com

  Enjoy the ride.

  Disclaimer: Most of characters are not mine. I'm borrowing them out of deep reverence, affection and respect. I will accept only personal fulfillment, and no monetary gain. If you do sue, you will not get much and I will send over my Black Lab mix, who will stare at you pathetically for hours and probably con you out of all your food.

  Please do not reproduce, copy, or otherwise use any part of this story without permission from the author.

  Rated PG-13

  * * *

  Federal Building, Denver, CO, July 2001

  "Hey, Team 3 caught those guys selling boot-leg cigarettes last night," JD declared as he entered the conference room.

  "About time," Nathan snorted.

  "It did appear to take an extensive period to apprehend those minor miscreants," Ezra commented.

  "Who are these desperados, JD?" Vin asked with a grin.

  "Three local guys named Cragston. Twins James--"

  Buck's head shot up from the file he was reading to insert, "and Joseph and their cousin--"

  "Deke," Chris finished.

  JD's eyes grew wide. "How'd you know?"

  Buck and Chris exchanged glances. "They're why Chris and I met, JD," Buck explained with a grin.

  "Really?" JD glanced between the two older men. It was new information. The other four members of Team 7 also perked up their ears.

  Chris sat up in his chair and smirked. "If I remember right, it was three against one because Buck smiled at Deke's girlfriend."

  "Knew there'd be a woman involved," JD grinned.

  "I didn't smile at her," Buck protested, shooting JD a playful glare. "She smiled at me, and she was his ex-girlfriend at the time."

  "Three on one?" Josiah questioned with a smile. "Doesn't sound like something Buck would need help with."

  "I already had my arm in a sling," Buck explained. "I could only punch with one hand."

  "So when I saw the school bullies beating up the new kid, I decided to even the odds," Chris chuckled.

  "So did ya win?" Vin drawled, already guessing the answer.

  "Yep." Chris then tapped the file in front of him. "Let's get back to work."

  Buck leaned back, his mind only half on the plans as memories flowed over him.

  * * *

  September, 1975

  Buck Wilmington laid his forehead briefly on the top of his locker. Only two months ago he had expected to attend his junior year in Las Vegas with his friends, playing football and charming the red haired Charlotte Rose. Instead, he was in Arvada, Colorado, desperately lonely and hurting and wondering what had happened to his life.

  The last four weeks had been the hardest of his sixteen years. He missed his mom so much. With her gone, it felt like all the color had been drained from his once sunlit life. Yet she had taught him to always be 'strong enough to do the right thing'. So here he was, under Ricker's protective custody and praying he would remember something, anything that would lead to his mother's killer.

  After adjusting the sling around his neck, Buck reached in one-handed to pull his trigonometry book out of the locker. He loved history, liked biology, tolerated grammar, but really hated math. He hoped Ricker knew something about triangles, because it certainly sounded like Greek to him. It was hard enough transferring to a new school without flunking a major subject within the first two weeks. Feeling another headache coming on, Buck closed the door, spun the dial, and walked down the hall. He faintly returned the bright smile of a pretty girl near the principal's office as he pushed out into the Colorado sunshine.

  Unknown to him, Deke Cragston thought Susanne Slathery was his girl. He didn't like seeing her smile at the new kid. Considering the new kid was taller than he and caught the eye of over half the girls in the high school only made it worse. Deke didn't like competition. It was time to teach the new kid his place. With a wave to his two cousins, Deke followed the guy out the door.

  * * *

  Chris Larabee sighed as he shifted his gym bag on his shoulder. He was glad he did his cross-country runs early each morning, giving him the afternoons to do his homework. It seemed like every teacher in the school suddenly had woken up and decided the kids didn't have enough to do. Waving at his friends, the teen walked out the gym-side door to take the sidewalk to the student parking lot. The lanky blond had been inside long enough and needed the fresh air.

  He heard a shout as he rounded the corner. Deke Cragston was pushing the new kid up against the building's bricks, his cousins egging him on. Chris frowned. He remembered the guy from history class, where he'd answered Ms. Marshall's question about the first colony in the U.S. It went against all of Chris' beliefs in fair play to see three on one, especially considering the one was already hurt. Chris dropped his bag by the corner and strolled up behind the bullies. "What crap are you pulling now, Cragston?"

  "This ain't your fight, Larabee," Deke snarled, still pressing his victim up against the rough brick.

  "Seems a little uneven, don't you think?" Chris inquired politely.

  "He was flirting with my girl," Deke replied as if that explained everything.

  "What girl?" the new kid asked in honest confusion.

  Chris rolled his eyes. "Susie isn't your girl anymore. She dropped you like the trash you are last week."

  "She's still my girl!" Deke demanded.

  "Who's Susie?" the new kid asked.

  "Plus isn't it rather cowardly to pick on a guy in a sling?" Chris continued, eyeing Joe and Jim Cragston as they stepped closer.

  "I ain't a coward!" With that shout, Deke threw a punch at Buck's face as the cousins attempted to jump Chris.

  Chris ducked, allowing the twins' momentum to slam into each other. With a couple well-placed jabs, both boys were on the ground crying and Chris was able to turn back to Deke and the new kid.

  Considering the new guy's left arm was strapped to his body, he hadn't done too bad. He was still standing and from the look of Cragston's face, he'd gotten in a couple of good shots with his right hand. However, Chris could see he was wobbling, with blood flowing from his nose. As Deke shoved the new kid into the brick wall again, Chris grabbed his shirt from behind and spun him around to face him. He threw a punch to Deke's middle, then drew him up eye level. "This ends now," Chris ordered, glaring. "Or I'll tell the whole school what a damn coward you are, picking on a guy who can't even use his left arm, and he's still beating you up."

  Deke gulped. Larabee's glare actually had ice in it. He nodded and immediately turned to run once Chris released him. His cousins scrambled after him.

  Once he was certain the trio wouldn't return, Chris turned back to the new kid. He still laid where he had fallen, partially propped up against the bricks. His harsh breathing and the way he held his left shoulder shouted louder than words that he was hurting. Chris trotted over to check him out.

  * * *

  Pure agony was radiating from Buck's collar bone. The hits against the brick had awakened the healing injury with vengeance. All he wanted to do was take the pain meds in his backpack, crawl into bed, and forget today had happened. If only his m
om could be waiting at home to take care of him. More than ever, Buck wanted her presence.

  "Where do you hurt?"

  Buck looked up into a pair of huge green eyes and pulled himself together. "Mostly just my shoulder."

  The blond helped him to sit up. "Do we need to take you to the hospital?"

  "No." Buck, remembering his last hospital visit, barely prevented a shudder. "It'll be okay. Just wasn't ready to get banged around again."

  The other guy nodded as he handed him a wad of kleenex he'd pulled out of his jacket pocket. "How's the nose feel?"

  "Sore, but okay." Buck placed the kleenex under his nose. Just before he tilted his head back, a big, yellow blur caught his eye. "Ah, man."

  "What?" his rescuer asked.

  "There goes my bus." Closing his eyes, he debated the merits of trying to reach Ricker or search for a city bus stop.

  "I can give you a ride home," the blond told him. He held out his right hand. "Chris Larabee."

  Dropping the bloody kleenex, Buck took the hand and shook it. "Buck Wilmington. And I'd appreciate the ride."

  "No problem." Chris helped him to his feet.

  * * *

  Chris glanced over to the passenger in his beat-up Ford Bronco. Buck's face looked pale under his mop of dark, wavy hair. Still wondering if he should take his new friend to the hospital, Chris quietly asked, "Your folks home?" The sharp eyes didn't miss Buck's slight wince at the question.

  "My foster dad will get in sometime after six." A police captain, Ricker had told Buck during breakfast he would probably be late. No stranger to TV dinners, Buck had simply nodded and said he'd fend for himself. At the moment, even a can of soup didn't sound appealing.

  Chris frowned. "It's not even three yet." He passed the turnoff to Ricker's condo. "Why don't I take you home with me?"

  Buck's head turned as he watched his street disappear. "I'll be okay. I just figured I'd take my pain medicine and sleep."

  That worried Chris even more. He didn't know if Buck should be alone if he was hurting that bad. "Nah, you can sack out on my lower bunk if you need to."

  "Won't your folks mind?"

  "Nah. Dad likes having my friends over, and our housekeeper Sofia loves having more people to feed."

  Buck simply nodded, hurting too much to argue. He wasn't sure he was up to meeting a lot of people, but it probably would be better than crying himself to sleep again. He glanced around, realizing they were almost out of the city. "Where you live?"

  "Got a place in the foothills," Chris explained. "We have a few horses, couple of steers, garden patch. And a stream out back, though it's dry right now."

  "Sounds nice," Buck replied, a touch of wistfulness slipping through the edge of pain in the voice. "A friend of Mom's taught me how to ride, but I haven't been on a horse since he sold the ranch a couple of years ago." The memory of those long-ago picnics out in the desert with Mom and Uncle Tims eased a bit of the grief.

  "We'll have to go once your shoulder's healed," Chris invited, hearing the wistfulness. "How'd you hurt it?" Chris didn't miss how his new friend tensed up again.

  "Busted my collarbone falling down some stairs." Buck didn't want to think about it, so he turned his head to study the deep red rocks of the hogback.

  Chris' eyes narrowed. Noting the 'Mom', the fact Buck now lived with a foster father, and took a fall, he wondered if his new friend had been abused. Deciding to play it by ear, he was happy to spot their mailbox with a brass stallion rearing on the top. "Well, here's home."

  Buck climbed out of the Bronco and instantly was glad he had come. The place looked cool and inviting. Huge cottonwoods draped their leaf-covered branches over the house and barn, while a sharp whinny in a nearby paddock pulled Buck's attention to the gelding happy to see Chris come home.

  In the yard, a tall, wiry man watched them approach. "Hi son," he called out, intently studying the teen with Chris. Years of experience in the Navy had given him the ability to size up people quickly. Noting the pain, both mental and physical, in the young face, he decided not to mention the rule that Chris was suppose to let him know when he brought friends home. "Who's your friend?"

  Chris smiled, knowing his father was giving him an unspoken chance to explain. "Buck Wilmington. Buck, this is my dad, Michael Larabee."

  Buck politely held out a hand. "Hello, Mr. Larabee."

  Michael shook the hand, noting the blood still around his slightly swollen nose. "What happened to you, son?"

  As it took a moment for Buck to realize he was talking to him, Chris piped up, "The Cragstons were bullying him because Susie smiled at him. Since his shoulder's hurt and his foster dad isn't home, I thought I'd bring him here."

  Michael nodded, realizing his son was also sensing the vulnerability of the young man and brought him to the safest place he knew. Gratified his son felt that way, the older Larabee set the shovel against the fence. "Then let's clean you up and tell Sofia we've got one more for dinner."

  * * *

  Chris paused a moment from his stall-cleaning to watch Buck rub Melody's nose. The little Morgan mare seemed to sense the sadness in the young man, nuzzling him gently in sympathy. Seeing the soft smile slip across his face made Chris doubly glad he had brought him home.

  While Chris cleaned stalls, Buck had one-handedly carried cans of grain for each horse. Earlier, Mr. Larabee had helped redo the sling, while round, dark haired Sofia had been delighted to provide both growing teens cheese, crackers and fruit. Now that his meds had dulled the pain from the shoulder, Buck felt better than he had in a long time. Rubbing her brown nose with his good hand, he enjoyed the sympathetic attention from Melody. It had been so long since he had been around horses.

  Setting the pitchfork to the side, Chris brushed a stray bit of straw off his head. "Well, guess I'd better get cleaned up and start my homework."

  Buck softly groaned. "Me, too. I have a ton of Trig, and I don't understand it at all."

  "I can take a look and see if I can help," Chris offered. "My biggest problem is picking a person for our history paper."

  "Really?" Buck glanced at Chris in confusion. "But there are so many great people to choose from during the Revolutionary War."

  Chris shrugged. "I get so bogged down with the so-and-so did such-and-such on that date, I'm not sure what's going on."

  "There's your problem," Buck told him seriously. "My mom always said to think about it like a story. Each historical figure has their own story about when something out-of-the-ordinary happened in their life and how they handled it."

  "A story?" Chris asked.

  "Yeah, a story that our ancestors handed down to us because we need to know where we come from to help us understand where we're going and what we should do in a crisis." Buck's enthusiam broke out in a smile. "I always loved hearing stories about the good ole days in Vegas, especially about the wild west days."

  Chris smiled. "Dad tells stories like that. His great-grandpa came out here as a gold miner, then ended up working on wagon trains that carried the gold down the mountains and then brought supplies back up."

  "Cool. Do you think your dad could tell them to me?"

  "Sure." Chris smiled as he led Buck back into the house.

  * * *

  It had turned out to be a good day after all. With his stomach full of Sofia's good dinner, his trig homework done thanks to help from Chris, and the enjoyment of listening to Chris and his Dad talk about the day, Buck hadn't felt so content in a long time. Even the pain in his shoulder had eased into a dull ache. Sitting on the floor next to his new friend with his back against couch, Buck was ready to watch Starsky and Hutch and simply relax.

  * * *

  Chris stretched from his seat on the floor as the commercial rolled across the TV screen. "Hey Buck, you want any more of Sofia's cake?" He glanced over to discover his new friend was sound asleep, head resting against the couch. The teen felt a strange twist in his gut. There was just something about the other guy that made Chris want
to protect him. Why, or from what, he wasn't quite sure. But he could tell Buck was lost and hurting, and he seemed like too nice a guy to be hurting so much.

  Standing up, Chris yanked the afghan from the back of the couch and draped it over Buck. With another stretch of his growing frame, he walked to the kitchen, intent on getting more cake.

  "... are bullies. They picked on Chris when we first moved out here five years ago, until Chris gave the instigator a black eye. Several of us parents have complained, but they usually don't do more than slap those kids on the wrist."

  Chris paused just behind the entryway, wondering who his father was talking to.

  "Well, the timing certainly could be better. Buck's barely been in Colorado for three weeks, and he just hasn't been ready to meet people yet."

  Chris' brow wrinkled, wondering if the mystery voice was Buck's foster Dad.

  "How did you get this one, Paul? Poor kid looks like he's been through the wars."

  "Well, I can't tell you everything for Buck's protection. I can say that a few weeks ago, I was visiting an old army buddy, who's also a detective, when a homicide came up. Buck's mother was stabbed numerous times in their own home."

  Eyes wide and stomach clenching, Chris froze before he could take another step.

  "Ah, hell! Was the kid there?"

  "From what my friend's pieced together, Buck had just finished his shift at the town's movie theater and was walking up the stairs to their apartment when someone, we suspect the killer, shoved him. Kid took a pretty nasty fall and one of their neighbors found him a few minutes later at the bottom of the stairs. By the time we got there, they were rushing his failing mother out to the ambulance. The poor kid was nearly hysterical, fighting the paramedics working on him while trying to reach her. I'd actually seen him before; he was bussing tables at the restaurant across from my hotel, and he had given me directions a few times. He had struck me as a friendly, energetic young man. So I calmed him down and went with him to the hospital."