Stupid...!

By: Robyn Quincy

Monday. Chris Larabee sighed. He wasn't in the best of moods - not unusual, but this morning he decided he was getting slightly tired of it. He attempted to think of ways to cheer himself up before he went to work, but was largely unsuccessful. Largely, but not completely... maybe... He went and stood in front of his open closet.

For the past three years the six men working under Chris at the ATF had been on a mission to stop him wearing black all the time. Reasoning that if someone were to, say, give him non-black clothes as a gift, he might feel obligated to wear them, they had taken every opportunity - birthday, Christmas, just released from hospital day (that one was far too frequent) - to present him with colourful things to wear.

Chris surveyed the objects in his closet which he was too polite to throw away, but not polite enough to wear. At least Ezra had some style, he reflected, eyeing a dark blue silk shirt given to him by the team's undercover man, but that wasn't quite what he wanted... Eventually he pulled out an astonishingly loud Hawaiian shirt with an unmentionably tasteless pattern, naturally a gift from Buck, and stood staring at it for a few seconds.

"What the hell," he decided, pulled it over his head, and surveyed the result in his bedroom mirror. To his surprise, he found himself smiling and feeling hardly uncomfortable at all with not wearing black. And, even more to his surprise, he wondered what his team would think if they saw him in this shirt, with not a hint of even a dark colour...

No way am I wearing this to work, he thought.

They'd laugh themselves silly, he thought.

They'd think it was Halloween, he insisted, and give me more shirts!

They'd think I'd lost my mind, he thought. And they wouldn't be too far off!

That made up his mind.

"Oh, all right!" he said aloud.

Buck glanced at his watch.

"Good grief!" he said. "Chris is five minutes late!"

The other five members of the team stared at him.

"Yeah, right, Buck."

"Some hopes, Buck."

"Not a chance, Buck."

"Just 'cos Ezra got here first..."

"He's right," proclaimed JD, who'd had the sense to look at his watch before voicing his opinion.

The others checked their watches, too.

"Maybe we should call him, or go over to his place, or something," Vin suggested.

"What, just for being a little late?" said Josiah, calmly. "I mean, I know it's Chris, and he's NEVER late, but really. Anyway, what are the chances he'll have been shot, or blown up, or run off the road, or stabbed, or other equally horrible things, again? Those things just don't happen that frequently to... one... person..." his voice trailed off. The placid expression on his face was replaced with a worried one, mirroring that on the faces of his colleagues.

"Perhaps it would be in the best interests of our employer to make our way to his domicile," Ezra suggested, rising to his feet.

"Without delay," agreed Vin, also standing up.

"Forthwith," Nathan said, doing likewise.

"Pronto."

"Tout-de-suite."

"With all speed."

"All right, already!"

The door chose that moment to swing open and admit their employer into the room. "Hi guys. Sorry I'm late."

"Observe!" cried Ezra, turning to the door. "Mr. Larabee has decided to grace us with his pres-" He stopped short, his mouth dropping open.

Six pairs of eyes followed Chris as he walked nonchalantly into his office. As he shut the door, Nathan heard a noise that, had it come from anyone else at all, he would have assumed was a laugh.

Buck, of course, was the first to speak.

"Forgive me for asking," he said, "but... was Chris... sort've... wearing... not black?"

"I, uh, I..." Ezra was, for once, lost for words.

"That wasn't just not black," JD began, "That was... er..."

"I know," said Buck. "First let me get my mind around the not black."

Vin was the first to recover enough to sit down. "Look busy, guys, or he'll be mad at us," he ordered.

"Say," said JD, turning on his computer, "You don't think maybe... the stress has gotten to him?"

Chris watched them surreptitiously through the slats in the blinds in his office, grinning like a bear that just saw a hunter get caught in his own trap. A lot, in other words.

Ring, ring, went his phone, distracting him. He pounced on it energetically and picked it up. "Psychic hotline, helloooooooo?" he said, cheerily.

There was a pause. Then: "Chris?"

"Jim! Jimmy boy! How are ya?"

Way on the other side of town, Jimmy frowned. He hadn't heard Chris sound this cheerful since... never.

"Uh... I'm fine, Chris, how're you?"

"I'm fine! Hurry up and get to the point, you know I hate small talk."

Ah, thought Jimmy, that's more like it.

"Listen, Chris, I'm calling because -"

"Hang on."

Buck had just burst into Chris's office and stormed up to his desk.

Chris held his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone and raised his eyebrows. "Help you, Buck?"

"Not black," said Buck, with difficulty. "Not... even... slightly black."

He leaned over Chris's desk, grabbed him by the shirt, and pulled him closer. "Didn't I give you that?" he hissed.

"Yes, Buck," replied Chris warily.

"Right," said Buck. "Right... Right."

JD was watching in horrified astonishment from the doorway.

"Buck just grabbed Chris by the shirt!" he reported over his shoulder, in a whisper.

Nathan winced. "I'll get the first aid kit."

"I'll pack up the things on his desk," offered Josiah.

"And I shall call the undertaker," Ezra volunteered.

Buck pushed past JD and went to sit at his desk, head in his hands. "Not even a teeny weeny touch of black! I've sent him over the edge! Why'd I have to give him that damn shirt?"

JD glanced at Chris, who nodded at him with a slightly puzzled look on his face. JD nodded back and closed the door. Gently.

"Sorry, Jimmy, what?" asked Chris, returning to his call.

"I have bad news, Chris," said Jimmy, clearing his throat.

"What?"

"Well, uh, remember that bust last week, the Hosenheimer case?"

"Yeah?"

"You know how the higher ups are still looking for someone to blame..." Jimmy paused, hoping Chris would say something. The only thing that came from the other end of the line, however, was a deadly silence. Jimmy swallowed, then continued: "It seems that they've chosen your department to take the fall."

There was a brief silence, then Chris said, "Jimmy. They have to hold an investigation, right?"

"Of course. Yes. But, uh... that bust went really bad, Chris... if they find even a hint of wrongdoing..."

"They won't."

"Of course they won't. But if they do... they're gonna disband your team."

Once again, Jimmy paused. Once again, a deadly silence. "Uh... They'll be running an investigation... you and your team aren't supposed to know about it, but... I owe you one..."

"Several," interrupted Chris, never one to forget a debt.

"Several... uh... so I thought you might like to know. I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell the rest of your team."

"How long 'til they've finished?"

"Uh... a week and a half, two weeks. Not longer. I'm sure they won't find anything, Chris..."

"You must be a magician, Jimmy," Chris sighed.

"Uh... why?"

"You just made my whole world fall apart in less than ten minutes." Chris hung up, and didn't feel the least bit corny.

"Jeez... Chris's been in a bad mood all day, since you came out of his office, Buck. What'd you do?" JD looked over to a corner of the saloon, where Chris sat alone, slowly drinking something that was not his usual beer. Buck shook his head sadly and stared at his drink.

"That's not just a bad mood, kid. He's drinking a - " Vin shuddered, barely able to get the words out, and continued, " - drinking a gin and tonic. Slowly."

Chris was brooding. He would have liked to be able to sit among his friends and have them tell him they were squeaky clean, and they'd never be split up. However, he couldn't tell them about the investigation, and anyway, in the mood he was in he knew he'd only put a damper on their relaxation time. So he sat, brooding. Alone.

The week passed agonizingly slowly for everyone. Chris was constantly in the blackest mood any of his six friends - except Buck - had ever seen him, even though he continued wearing the shirts they had given him. If they had known that wearing the shirts made him feel better, they would have shuddered at the thought of what kind of mood he'd have been in without them.

Interestingly enough, Buck was the only one who could cheer him up - and that only to the point where the little black thundercloud felt safe enough to hover over his head. This was because Buck was Chris's oldest friend, and Chris figured that if they split up the Magnificent Seven, they would have to split up him and Buck. And that would never happen. Surely.

"I can't stand another week of Mr. Angry over there," sighed Buck, downing a drink, watching his boss sitting, as usual, in a dark corner looking depressed. Drinking - ugh - a strong gin and tonic.

Slowly.

"He's driving me nuts," agreed JD, surprising everyone.

"I'm gonna go see what's eating him," decided Buck, jumping to his feet and ambling over to Chris's table.

"Hey, pard." Buck slid into the seat opposite his friend.

Chris managed to dredge up a small smile, but only for a second.

"Look, pard, you've been in an awful mood for a week straight. Ya wanna tell me what's wrong?"

"Nope."

"Hey, Chris, I know you don't usually like to - is that young lady makin' eyes at me? I do believe she is!" Buck looked at his friend, then back at the woman who had caught his attention. "Uh... I think... I'll be back in a sec, pard, and you and I are gonna talk."

Buck closed in on the woman with a well-disguised predatory look in his eyes. Half an hour later, he and the woman left arm in arm.

"Stupid bastard," Chris muttered darkly, and turned back to his drink.

The next morning, five people were frantically trying to get hold of Buck before Chris found out that he was three hours late.

"He's not at home, he's not answering his cell." Nathan reported.

"Maybe he went back to that woman's place... and, and, and lost track of time," JD suggested.

"Seems likely. He's done it before," said Josiah thoughtfully.

Ezra waved his hands around, but said nothing. He had developed an amazingly sore throat over the last two days, and this morning, to his horror, he had discovered that he'd lost his voice. It was torture not being able to express himself.

The door to Chris's office burst open.

"Where the hell is Buck?" he snapped, glaring straight at Ezra. Ezra swallowed, looked around for help.

"He's... feeding Cuervo," said Vin hurriedly.

Chris turned his gaze on Vin. "Send him in here the second he arrives," he growled, and slammed his door so hard the frame rattled.

Buck didn't arrive. By six o'clock, JD was getting very worried.

"That must be some woman, for him to risk Chris's... uh..." he searched for the right word.

Ezra tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a piece of paper. It said "wrath".

"Exactly!"

"Well..." said Vin, "Let's just head on down to the saloon and see if we can find that girl he left with."

"Good idea."

The others jumped at the sound of Chris's voice.

"Er... right," said Josiah.

Six of the Magnificent Seven strolled into the saloon, looking much more alert than usual, and began scanning for a certain woman.

"Hey!" JD exclaimed. "There's Buck! Hey, Buck!"

The kid rushed up to the bar and put his hand on Buck's shoulder. Buck turned around.

"My God, Buck, what happened to your mustache?!" gasped JD, drawing back.

"I'm sorry, son, you must have me confused with someone else."

JD blinked. It didn't sound like Buck - the accent was wrong, the manner too reserved. And now that he looked closer, there were some subtle differences - aside from the lack of facial hair. It wasn't Buck. But it looked a lot like him.

"That's amazing! You look exactly like a friend of mine! Come this way, I gotta show you to my friends."

JD dragged the bewildered looking man over to the table where his friends had settled themselves.

"Guys, I'd like you to meet... Um..."

"Dave," said Dave.

"Dave," repeated JD. "Dave, this is Josiah, Ezra, Vin, Nathan, and Chris. And I'm JD."

Dave nodded politely and began looking for an escape route - too late, alas. JD shoved him in next to Josiah and sat down on his other side.

"That's amazing!" exclaimed Nathan. "He looks exactly like Buck!"

"No, he doesn't." muttered Chris. Then, louder, "I've never seen you here before."

"I've never been here before," replied Dave. "Truth be told, I would ordinarily never be caught dead in a place like this, no offence intended, but the circumstances are... odd, to say the least."

Ezra, who hadn't really been listening and had thus misheard, perked up. He loved odds. He made enthusiastic "go on" motions with his hands.

Moving a little further away from him, Dave went on, "My sister received a strange letter this morning. A ransom note, to be specific, with a photo enclosed."

"Who'd they kidnap?" asked JD enthusiastically. Upon seeing Dave's slightly frantic expression, he hastily produced id. "It's okay, we're cops. ATF. "

Dave blinked. "Okay... it was me. Only, of course, it wasn't. And the note said that the kidnappers had abducted me from this saloon, so I thought I'd better take a look around."

"Buck," Nathan said flatly.

"Stupid bastard," muttered Chris furiously. "Come on, guys. You too, Dave - you're going to answer a few questions for me."

Dave didn't dare refuse.

"Right," said Chris, shoving Dave down in a chair. "Who do you know that would want to kidnap you?"

"I dunno," squeaked Dave, shrinking back in his chair.

Chris scowled. "Fine. Gimme the ransom note."

Dave held it up with a shaking hand. Chris snatched it, read it.

"Says here they'll be calling your sister. I'm tapping her phone."

"It also says no cops allowed," Dave pointed out.

"Shut it, you," snapped JD, in a pathetic attempt to score points with Chris. "You have no choice in the matter."

Chris grinned wolfishly. "'Course he does. He's just going to choose to help us."

And he did.

The kidnapper didn't call that day. Dave's sister, Nina, had to make room for six people that were insisting on sleeping in her house, in case he called that night. He didn't. The next morning, Ezra was selected to go round to everyone's houses/apartments/ranches/insert other living place here to pick up changes of clothes. He attempted to object, but since nobody would read his bit of paper - no matter how many shoulders he tapped - he was forced to obtain revenge in a petty manner - namely, bringing everyone the worst clothes he could find in their respective closets.

Eventually, at around noon, the phone rang. Dave moved to answer it.

"Get away, idiot!" ordered Chris, and, turning to Nina: "Remember, act like your darling brother has been kidnapped."

Nina nodded fearfully, and picked up the phone.

The usual kidnapper - kin-of-kidnapped person dialogue ensued. Demands were made, stalling was done, the kidnapper resolved to call back later. And the whole thing was captured on tape.

The moment Nina hung up, everyone looked at Dave expectantly.

Not wanting to disappoint, since he did know the voice, he said, "I do believe that was my bank manager. Jack."

"Why would your bank manager be stupid enough to call your sister himself, without disguising his voice?" asked Josiah, sceptically.

"Well, no one else in my family uses my bank... I suppose... I don't see how anyone else would recognise his voice, and since I'm supposed to be kidnapped..."

"Okay," said Chris. "Where does your bank manager live?"

Ezra tapped Vin on the shoulder and handed him a note. It read: "Is it wise for officers of the law to be entering this house lacking a search warrant? It's not the most legal thing in the world."

Vin raised an eyebrow. "You're welcome to bring it up with Chris," he said, calmly. "What sort of flowers shall I bring to the funeral?"

Ezra nodded sadly and returned to the business at hand. The not-quite-magnificent six were attempting to find a way past the large Doberman that was chained up in front of the house that they wished to enter. The mutt was currently straining at its chain, barking stridently and repeatedly, and wondering why the hell the men weren't being scared off.

"Shut up, dog," ordered Chris. "I can't hear myself think."

The dog barked louder.

"Maybe if we got it a great big steak?" suggested JD.

Ezra tapped him on the shoulder and handed him a note that said, "The possibility presents itself that the dog has been trained not to accept food from strangers."

JD sighed. "Isn't it worth a try? There's a butcher down the street, I saw it on our way up."

Chris was staring at the dog, an increasingly murderous look in his eyes.

Finally, he could take it no longer. He lunged at the dog, grabbed it by the collar, and pulled it right up to his face so that their foreheads were touching. The dog growled, but was too surprised to bite.

"I. Said. Shut. Up." growled Chris, biting off each word. The dog shut up, startled. Chris continued to glare at it for a second, until it yelped and pulled away. He let it go. It ran off around the corner of the building and huddled in the back of its kennel, shivering, and was never the same again.

Chris stood up slowly. The others scattered, none of them wanting to be the first one he saw. His gaze fell on Vin.

"And would you for God's sake get a haircut! You look like a rag doll!" With that, he drew his gun, stalked up to the front door of Bad Mr. Bank Manager, and blew the hell out of it. And then kicked it down. Poor door.

"Oh look, it's open!" he announced, walking in.

All the others followed except Vin, who remained standing on the sidewalk, in shock.

"Start looking for anything that could help us find Buck," ordered the Scary Dark Man.

The four others that had actually made it into the house started carefully rifling through drawers, and doing other such house-searching things. Chris had no such compulsions for tidiness. He merely pulled the drawers right out and turned them upside down, or just pulled things out by the handful and threw them on the floor.

Half an hour later, the men gathered outside again.

"Nothing," sighed Nathan, downcast. Not nearly as downcast as Vin, however, who couldn't seem to stop running his hand through his hair and whimpering every now and then.

Chris kicked a trash can in frustration, then spent the next five minutes hopping up and down on one foot and cursing - using some words that even Vin hadn't heard before.

Ezra risked tapping Chris on the shoulder, and handed him a note. It said, "Perhaps we should make our way to Mr. Jack's place of employment?"

"To the bank." Chris started up his ultra-cool black Dodge Ram.

"We're looking for Jack MacPhack." Josiah took charge, thinking that just possibly his calm manner would work better than Chris's unconscious scare tactics.

"He's in a meetin'." A gum-chewing secretary spared them only the most cursory of glances.

"When will he be out?"

"When's your appointment?"

JD forcibly restrained Chris as Ezra tapped Vin on the shoulder and handed him a note, which said, "chat her up, cowboy."

Vin jerked himself out of his contemplation of life with short hair, read the one line of writing, blinked, looked at the secretary.

"Uh, hiya, ma'am. That's a, uh, a nice dress. Very flatterin'." Vin was surprised to find that he was imitating Ezra's accent.

"You think?" asked the secretary, looking down at the hideous fabric.

"Oh yeah. Not that you need flatterin'... I'd love to take you out sometime..."

The secretary giggled. "I wouldn't mind that."

Vin sighed sadly. "Of course, if my employer here doesn't get a chance to meet Mr. MacPhack, I'm not gonna be goin' anywhere for the next coupla weeks..."

The secretary looked horrified. "I'll see what I can do."

A few seconds later, she looked up at Vin adoringly. "Mr. MacPhack will see you now."

"Thanks, honey. I'll give ya a call." Vin grinned and followed his comrades into the office of the Big Bad Banker.

Less than sixty seconds later, Chris had Jacko the whacko on the floor, and was holding him down with a knee to the throat.

"Gimme an address," he growled.

"But -"

"Don't bloody well talk back to me! I want an address!"

"But I -"

"What did I just say?! You don't have hearing problems, do you? Give me an address! And while you're at it you can tell me how many people are involved!"

"An address for what?" screamed Jack.

"Ah," said Chris. "Right."

An hour later, Jack MacPhack and his secretary were securely tied up in Jack's office, and the majority of the best ATF team around stood in front of a large, just-finished building that hadn't quite gotten around to being opened yet.

"Fourteenth floor," said JD, making sure he knew what they were up against. "Four guys."

Ezra tapped the kid on the shoulder and handed him a note. It said, "If you repeat that information one more time, I shall be forced to take violent action."

JD blew him a raspberry.

The six agents tiptoed up to a door on the fourteenth floor of the building and flanked it, guns drawn.

Chris held up three fingers. The others nodded. He nodded back, held up one finger... two fingers... three.

Josiah kicked the door open. "ATF! Freeze!"

The men quickly flooded into the room, looking around for their teammate while placing bad guys under arrest. Chris stood in the doorway, holding his gun, watching the proceedings in silence.

"I found Buck!" JD's voice came from the connecting room, sounding oddly high pitched and squeaky. "It... it doesn't look good..."

Nathan finished cuffing one of the suspects before rushing to join JD.

"Oh... Dear God..." he murmured, looking away.

A frown of worry crossed Chris's face, chasing away the usual frown of nothing in particular, and he moved to join JD and Nathan.

Buck sat in a chair in the middle of the room, bound and gagged. And... they had... oh, the horror...

"Jeeeezus." Chris leaned against the door for support. "Oh, Buck, Buck."

JD finally managed to move enough to un-gag his best buddy.

"JD," gasped Buck, tearfully.

"I know, Buck."

"JD... they... they shaved off my mustache, JD..."

"Shh, Buck, I know."

"Save one of 'em for me, JD... I'm gonna kill 'em... You know how long it took me to grow that mustache?"

"Yeah, Buck, I know." JD began untying his friend.

Chris shook his head sorrowfully, then turned to his other team members.

"We got 'em all?"

"Well, lessee..." Josiah looked around.

Ezra held up three fingers.

"Only three?" Chris frowned, looked around, and opened another door. A large figure cannoned into him, knocking him to the ground. His gun spun out of his reach. The figure fled. Chris picked himself off the floor with a roar of fury, and took off after the guy. A second later, Vin and Ezra followed, leaving the others to deal with the other three kidnappers and a very distraught clean-shaven Buck, who couldn't stop sobbing.

The last remaining bad dude headed for the stairs and went up.

"Damned... amateurs..." Chris panted. The idiot was headed for the roof, six floors up - probably thought he could jump buildings. He obviously hadn't bothered to check the lay of the land; the nearest other building was twenty-five feet away. He could hear Vin and Ezra behind him, and he heard Vin stumble and fall into Ezra.

"Shit!" Vin exclaimed. He struggled to his feet, pulled an irate Ezra up, and continued the chase.

The fugitive - whose name was Johnny - reached the roof, raced to edge, and stopped dead.

"Oh, man..." he squealed, looking down. And down. And doooown.

He frantically pulled out his gun, whirled, and managed to get off one shot before a snarling Chris cannoned into him - and knocked them both over the edge.

Vin gathered all his remaining energy and leapt, grabbing Chris's ankle just as he fell. Unfortunately, he had very slightly misjudged the distance to the edge. His boss's ankle hit the edge of the building with a sickening crack. Chris made an odd, strangled noise, but very pointedly did not scream.

Johnny had no such inhibitions, and screamed all the way down to the ground. That scream was cut off by a rather icky splat.

"Ezra, help me get him up, quick, shit!" yelled Vin, visions of Chris stringing him up and beating him to death with a large salami dancing in his head. Ezra was already there, pulling with all his might.

Seconds later, three ATF agents sat on the roof, gasping.

Chris was white as a sheet. "Vin, you stupid fucking bastard, you broke my fucking ankle!"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," moaned Vin, fearing retaliation, but also upset that he'd hurt his best friend. Mostly fearful, though.

Fortunately, the other four members of the team chose that moment to arrive on the roof, having dealt with the other three bad guys.

"Gosh, Chris, are you hurt?" asked JD, wide eyed.

"No, JD, I'm fine," snarled Chris through gritted teeth, writhing in agony.

"You are! You're hurt!"

Ezra waved a note around hopefully ("Give the kid first prize"), but no one chose to read it. He sighed sorrowfully and put it in his pocket for later reference.

"That looks quite painful," observed Josiah, master of understatement.

"It's nothing compared to what I'm gonna do to Vin in just a second..."

"You're bleeding, Chris," observed Buck, pulling himself out of his little personal well of facial-hairless misery.

"Oh, hell," Chris groaned. "Not a compound fracture..."

"No, that looks like a bullet wound to me," said Nathan, kneeling next to the very-pissed-off injured man.

"What? Oh." Chris glanced at his arm. "That's nothing. I can't even feel that."

"I called an ambulance," declared Josiah. "ETA ten minutes."

"Fine," said Chris. "We'll wait for them on the ground floor."

Nathan opened his mouth to object, but, seeing the expression on Chris's face, changed his mind. He wasn't suicidal, after all.

Buck sighed, but silently helped his friend to his feet and pulled his (Chris's) good arm around his (Buck's) shoulders. Vin did the same with his other arm, very carefully.

Ezra tapped Nathan on the shoulder and handed him a note. It said, "Shall we take the elevator?"

They took the elevator.

Part 2

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