[Amnesty Day] [The Wild Wild West/Cannon-related] Various

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Happy Halloween, all! I have a blurb drop. These are all tinkerings for a future story, but by the time I actually get to these points in the story, the blurbs will probably have a lot of different dialogue, haha.

Title: New Meeting, New Time
Day/Theme: October 4th - Friends and strangers, all must meet
Series: The Wild Wild West
Character/Pairing: Jim West, Artemus Gordon, Coley Rodman
Rating: K+/PG


By Lucky_Ladybug

The gun was pointed at them before they even made it to the front of the golf cub. The waning light of the afternoon sun reflected off the barrel, as though signaling the danger.

Instinctively Arte reached for his own weapon. It was unlike him to be the first to go for a gun; he preferred to avoid force wherever and whenever he could.

But he, perhaps, had more to fear from the gunman on the porch than did Jim. It had been Arte who had been captured and threatened with sick torture by the gang leader. Whether or not he had intended to fully go through with it, the build-up had been bad enough. Despite having been perfectly calm during the actual situation, Arte still shivered when he thought about it. Being bitten by ferrets carrying an unknown bug and thinking you were bacon was the stuff of nightmares.

“Well. James West and Artemus Gordon. So you really do track your prey to the ends of the earth.”

Jim narrowed his eyes almost imperceptibly. “Of all the places I thought we might find you, Rodman, I never thought it would be here.”

Coley Rodman merely shrugged. “I don’t care for the game, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Arte stepped forward. “So why are you here?” he demanded. He was aware of the harsh, bitter tone to his voice, but he could not help it.

“That, Gordon, is none of your business.”

“Are you Ray Norman’s bodyguard?” Jim demanded. “Is that why you’ve been at his club for months on end as his guest?”

“No,” Coley returned, his voice firm and sharp. “I’m not his bodyguard.”

Arte nodded in knowing exasperation, having expected a brush-off. “So I suppose you just decided to park here indefinitely, for no particular reason.”

“Does Norman know you’re not from his time?” Jim wanted to know.

“Would it surprise you if I said he does?” Coley shrugged. “And he knows what I did. He doesn’t care.”

“He believes you?” Arte exclaimed, incredulous.

“He believes me. And it’s really of no consequence to you or West.” Coley smirked at him. “As long as I haven’t committed any crimes in this day and age, the authorities can’t touch me. And by the way, you’re not ‘the authorities’ here, either.”

“We can’t leave you here.” Jim’s tone was flat and matter-of-fact. “And you can’t stay.”

“Can’t I?” Coley leaned back in the chair. For a moment an expression of pain creased his features. But then it was gone and he was smirking at the agents again, seeming to enjoy their little standoff.

“Of course you can’t,” Arte retorted. “You don’t belong here! You belong back with us.”

“And what’s waiting for me there? A prison sentence, maybe even a hanging.” Coley had lowered the gun, but now he had it pointed at Arte, his shooting arm resting on his lap. “Do you honestly expect me to drop everything and go back with you to that?”

“It’s of your own making, Rodman,” Jim said. “You didn’t have to choose a life of crime, but you did. Now you have to accept the consequences.”

Coley’s eyes narrowed now. “There are many paths these consequences can take.”

“And just what’s that supposed to mean?” Arte growled. There was something strange about their enemy now, something he could not quite put his finger on. Of course, they had only run across him a handful of times before, but those cases had been so memorable that it was all at once obvious that something was different.

“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Gordon.” And Coley was determined to not. He switched the subject.

“In this time, I’m not wanted for anything. And I don’t see the space-time continuum shorting itself out over my being here. I could live out my life now without any conflicts—except from the two of you.”

Jim was unmoved. “The space-time continuum isn’t even an issue here. As government agents, we can’t just allow you to wander around, in any time. And we have no guarantee that you’re not committing crimes now, either.”

Arte nodded. “You might think that these modern-day prisons would just give you a slap on the wrist and set you free. Which might not be too far from the truth,” he muttered.

“Your benefactor, Ray Norman, is a known blackmailer,” Jim said. “You could be working on some scheme together.”

“But we’re not.” Coley glanced to the front door of the club. “Norman has no desire to become involved in any more blackmail or anything else criminal. The two years he was driven out of his mind by that mad scientist broke him down and erased all taste for crime. You can ask him yourself and see if you think he’s lying.”

“Maybe I could believe that of him,” Jim said. “When I met him before, he seemed like the broken man you say he is.

“But I can’t believe it of you. Not Coley Rodman, the unrepentant gang leader who had no qualms about freezing entire towns in place so he could loot the buildings.”

“Believe what you want.” Coley looked bored now. “You know, West, I have the upper hand here.”

“How do you figure?” Jim frowned.

“Easy. You and Gordon are trying to keep as low a profile as possible. You can’t tangle with the authorities or say that you’re from 140 years in the past. You know they’ll think you’re both insane.

“So, if I decided to pick up this communicating device . . .” He indicated a cellphone on the table next to him. “. . . I could contact the police and tell them that you’re trespassing on Ray Norman’s property. And since I’m allowed to stay here as his guest—as you yourself pointed out—who do you think will be arrested? Surely not me.”

Arte exhaled, deeply and in obvious frustration. “As much as I hate to admit it, Jim, he has a point,” he said through clenched teeth. “We can’t risk bringing the police down on our heads and becoming fugitives in this time we still know very little about.”

Jim stared at Coley for a long moment before nodding and stepping back. “So we can’t take you on Norman’s property,” he conceded. “But you’ll have to stay on it indefinitely if you don’t want to chance being arrested and taken back to the time you belong in.”

“You don’t even know how to get back yet,” Coley challenged. “And until you have a way, I’d be dead weight to you here. You won’t do anything to me, on or off this property.”

Arte closed his eyes, fighting for patience. “Rodman, if it’s the last thing we do, we’ll find that way to get back. And we’ll take you with us.”

“You’ll try.” Coley finally replaced the gun in its holster. As he did, he grimaced again, this time more intensely. A hand flew to his chest.

Jim watched him. It was not a trick; he was definitely in pain. “What happened to you?” Jim asked.

Coley straightened. As he took his hand away, a bit of crimson showed through his shirt. “That,” he replied, “is also none of your business.

“Now . . .” He nodded towards the driveway. “Get out. Both of you.”

“Gladly,” Arte snapped.

Jim was silent as they trouped back down the driveway. Arte could not hold his tongue.

“Boy, was that a jolly place!” he exclaimed. “And did we ever fail. Jim, how are we going to get him out of there?”

“I don’t know,” Jim said vaguely. “Maybe we can’t.

“Arte . . .” He looked to his friend. “Wasn’t there a story in the news about an attack on Norman’s life some time ago?”

“Yes,” Arte remembered. “That’s right! It was around the time we first showed up here.” He stiffened. “Jim! Are you thinking that maybe Rodman did it and was wounded in the attempt? Maybe now he’s holding Norman hostage, so to speak. Maybe Rodman is really the one pulling the strings here at the club.”

But Jim slowly shook his head. “That wasn’t what I was thinking.” As they reached the gate and stepped through, he glanced back. Coley was still on the porch, watching them. Jim turned away, facing Arte again.

“That man’s dead, Arte. It said in the article that one of Norman’s guests shot the would-be murderer and was nearly killed himself when the gunman fired at him right before dying. It didn’t say who that guest was.”

Arte’s jaw dropped. “Oh, come on, Jim. You surely can’t think . . .”

“In some strange way, Arte, it might make sense. I was wondering why he never once got up while we were there. It seems he would have, at least while ordering us away.”

Arte finally nodded. “But a serious wound, one he might still be recovering from, could have kept him down,” he acknowledged. “The last thing he would want would be to let us know he was injured and therefore, not at his full strength.”

“Right. And you remember that newspaper article we found when we first realized Rodman was here. He acted awfully protective of Norman against the reporters trying to mob him about his time in the sanitarium.”

Arte frowned. “I know, but I thought what you thought, Jim—that he was Norman’s hired bodyguard.”

“But he denied it,” Jim returned. “And on that point, at least, I think I believe him. He’d have no reason to deny it if it were true. He’s aware of those newspaper stories and pictures.”

Arte just stared at Jim. “Alright, suppose he was telling the truth. And suppose he was the one who saved Ray Norman’s life. Why, Jim? Why would Coley Rodman risk his life for anyone?”

Jim shrugged. “Maybe he knew he’d have to find somewhere else to go if Ray Norman was killed. Or maybe . . .” He trailed off, abandoning the seed of thought.

“Maybe,” he tried again, “we should ask Ray Norman.”


Title: A New Leaf
Day/Theme: October 18th - The depth of the hearts
Series: The Wild Wild West/Cannon
Character/Pairing: Jim West, Artemus Gordon, Ray Norman
Rating: K+/PG


By Lucky_Ladybug

Ray Norman was a tall blond man, with a restless temperament and a need to always keep moving. He could not seem to stay put for longer than a few minutes at a time. Even in his office, he often paced like a caged tiger.

He had not always been that way; during his years as a blackmailer he had been cold, hard, and crisp. Many of his old acquaintances confirmed that, even the ones who had not known of his illegal ventures.

But the years as Doctor Alice Portman’s prisoner had changed him. He was nothing like the man those old acquaintances, both good and bad, had known. He jumped at every little noise, fearing that henchmen or the doctor herself would return to take him back. He moved about, as though afraid if he stopped he would not be able to move at all.

And there was one other thing about him that was vastly different now.

He had tasted death.

The night he had been fatally shot while looking for a payoff in the park had sealed his fate in more ways than one. Dr. Portman had been watching. Later she had taken his body from the morgue, intending to revive him and discover whether or not she could bend even such an unashamed blackmailer to her will.

She had managed both. When her hideout had been raided two years later, by both local and Federal law enforcement and even the Air Police, Ray Norman had been found alive but broken in one of her cells. Captain McVey, the Air Police officer in charge of the raid, had been haunted by the sight of the grown man curled in a ball in the corner, rocking back and forth and sobbing.

All things considered, it was really no great wonder that Ray Norman was still shaken, even after his time in the sanitarium. And it was understandable why the judge had decided to place him on probation instead of in prison, after reviewing his entire case and consulting with the sanitarium’s physicians. Dr. Portman had punished him far more for his blackmail than any prison sentence ever could. And putting him in a cell again, after what Portman had done, might be too much for him to bear.

Ray was mostly a loner nowadays, having drifted far apart from any friends or acquaintances he had once had. And he hated speaking with either reporters or law enforcement agents. He spent most of his time running his golf club and trying to stay out of the public eye.

Still, when Arte had called his office, he had answered and had agreed to meet with him and Jim that night. He would tell Rodman it was alright, he said, and they would not be disturbed.

Hopefully it was true, Jim thought as they were allowed inside that evening. Coley was nowhere in sight, but Jim could imagine he was watching, if he had a stake in what happened.

“I’m sorry you felt you had to come here,” Ray said as he led them to his office. He perched on the edge of his desk, one leg dangling over the side.

Arte stepped forward. “Yes, well, we are too, Mr. Norman. You see our problem with your . . . guest.”

“Yes, I see.” Ray laced his fingers. “But he’s right, you know, Mr. Gordon, Mr. West. You know that neither of you can take him away without proof that he’s done something wrong in this time. And I’m afraid that if you try to take him back to your time with you anyway, I’ll have to call the police here and tell them you’re abducting him. I won’t let you take him.”

Jim was not surprised, but he had to wonder at the firmness in Ray’s tone. “With all due respect, Mr. Norman, Coley Rodman is a violent killer. Why are you so determined to keep him here if you and he aren’t plotting some criminal scheme?”

Ray was silent for a moment, gathering his thoughts and words. “Mr. West,” he said at last, “what Rodman was in your time is of very little concern to me. I’m the last person in the world who would hold someone to what they were in the past.

“In this time, he hasn’t caused any trouble. And the only person he killed was going to kill me. I’d be dead if it weren’t for Coley Rodman. And he almost died saving my life.” His voice had lowered at this last statement.

“And that’s another thing we’re wondering about, Mr. Norman,” Arte said, trying to shake off his surprise at the confirmation of their suspicions. “Why would a man like Rodman do that, for you or anyone?”

Ray heaved a sigh. “. . . I found Rodman months ago, stumbling over my property. This was shortly after I’d reclaimed it following my release from the sanitarium. Well, Rodman was wounded and burned and dazed, and I took him in, cared for him, etcetera.”

“Wounded and burned?” Arte exclaimed. “I didn’t see any signs of that, other than what must have been the wound from when he rescued you.”

“You wouldn’t be able to see any of the scars unless he wanted you to,” Ray returned. “And I’m sure he wouldn’t.”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t, either,” Jim said. “He went to great lengths to keep us from knowing he was injured at all.

“But tell us, Mr. Norman. What happened once he was well? When you met him, that is.”

Ray sighed. “A lot happened even before he was well. He was shaken up from whatever he’d come through, and I was shaken up from what I’d come through, and . . . well, it’s true, that misery loves company.” Ray got up, beginning to pace the room. “And it’s not as though either of us had anyone else to turn to. We bonded, on some strange level.”

Arte watched him in disbelief. “Mr. Norman, are you trying to tell us that Coley Rodman saved your life because he cares about you?”

Ray paused and looked to him. “Coley Rodman is a battered and scarred man, caring little for anything or anyone aside from his own problems. But . . . yes, Mr. Gordon, that’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s not arrogance or naïvete on my part; it’s the truth.”

Jim crossed one hand over his other. “I find that hard to believe.”

“I knew you would.” Ray shook his head. “I found it hard to believe myself, when I realized it. I thought I’d be the last person in the world someone like Rodman would ever care about. But I’m not so sure that his reputation as being cold and hard was ever fully accurate.”

He hesitated again. “Mr. West . . . Mr. Gordon . . . there is something I think you should know.

“When I first met Rodman, he was delirious, out of his head from the wounds he’d received. He talked a lot about his time. That’s how I learned what he was. Who he was.

“One thing he mentioned was a mad scientist, someone who had allowed Rodman’s gang to use a drug to freeze entire towns in place in order to loot the buildings.”

Jim nodded. “That’s where we first had the dubious pleasure of meeting Mr. Rodman.”

“Well . . . he said this scientist’s real plan was to eventually use a different drug, one that would destroy all the residents of the towns and cities instead of just temporarily immobilizing them with no ill after-effects.” Ray drew a deep breath. “And Rodman wouldn’t have any of it.”

Arte raised an eyebrow. “That would actually bother him?” he said incredulously. “I wouldn’t think it would make one bit of difference to a man like that.”

“I can think of some who’d practically be dancing in glee,” Jim added.

“Not Rodman,” Ray insisted. “That was when he decided they had to break ties with the scientist. Even if it would net the gang the loot of countless cities, he didn’t want it that way, if it meant the deaths of so many people.” He stepped back. “I wanted you to know.”

Arte shook his head. “I had no idea,” he admitted. “Either about those plans or about Rodman’s reaction. He shot Dr. Kirby down during a fight in the man’s laboratory before we could learn anything like that.”

“Well, Kirby did end up trying to fire on him first,” Ray replied. “But maybe Rodman thought shooting this Dr. Kirby was the only way to keep him from carrying out his plans after the gang left. I don’t know. And frankly, at this point I don’t care much. Kirby sounds like a madman.” He shuddered. “And you can’t expect me to have much sympathy or pity for a lunatic scientist.”

“No, I can’t,” Arte said. “But there were reasons why Dr. Kirby lost his mind. Tragic reasons.”

“I can believe that,” Ray agreed. “And yet I can’t help thinking that the people in your time are better off because he’s gone. He can’t hurt any of them anymore. They don’t have to live in terror that he can come back and . . .” He trailed off, gripping his arms tightly. “Nevermind. I’m talking out of turn. I’m sorry.”

Arte nodded, sobered. “It’s alright. I can understand why you’d feel that way. No one should have to go through what you did, Mr. Norman.”

Jim was still silent, processing the information and trying to determine if he believed it. “. . . Even some shreds of decency don’t change what else Rodman’s done,” he joined the conversation at last. “And even if he was upset about Dr. Kirby’s plans to destroy cities, it didn’t give him the right to try to shoot him down in cold blood.”

“Maybe not, but you know you don’t have any authority here,” Ray said. “Rodman isn’t hurting anyone now and neither am I. There’s no reason for you to insist on him returning with you, if you ever even find the way back at all.” He looked at them, his eyes filled with despair and anguish. “Please. Just let him stay here as long as he wants.”

“. . . You must want him to very badly,” Arte remarked, sobered and unsure of what to think.

“I do,” Ray nodded. “He cares about me, and I in return, care about him. I want him to stay just as much as he wants to stay.”

“How do you know he isn’t just using you?” Jim queried.

“There’s surely not many people who would nearly get themselves killed if they were using someone,” Ray frowned. “They’d be careful to stay out of danger.”

“But some might be ruthless enough to take that kind of a risk,” Jim said. “What if Rodman is one of them?”

“He’s not,” Ray insisted. “I know you’ll probably never see that side of him, but it’s there. I’ve seen it. I know he’s sincere.”

Arte suddenly felt overwhelmed, not to mention bowled over as to what to do. They had to leave Rodman here for now, but what about in the future, when they finally found the way home? How could they just up and leave him here then? How could they not take him with them?

Jim finally spoke. “Mr. Norman, we can’t make any promises.”

Ray sighed. “No, I suppose you can’t. But if you at least consider it . . .” His eyes turned pleading again. “What harm would you really be doing?”

“That’s what we’re worried about,” Arte said. “You might trust him, Mr. Norman, but we don’t. We can’t. We’ve seen his involvement in too many rotten schemes. I can’t believe he wouldn’t still have an interest in the criminal life.”

“I don’t know about that,” Ray admitted. “I’m not even sure he knows. But he doesn’t want to right now. And isn’t that better that what you were able to do with him in your time?”

Jim and Arte exchanged a look. “I can’t argue with that,” Jim said then.

“Me either,” Arte conceded.

Jim stepped back. “If we can be satisfied that Rodman won’t cause any trouble, we’ll consider letting him stay,” he decided. “If.”

Ray relaxed. “Thank you,” he breathed. “You’ll be satisfied.”

“You’re awfully confident,” Arte said.

“I know there won’t be any trouble,” Ray said. “He’s my friend and I’ll stand by him.”

Jim turned, heading for the door. “We’ll see. Goodnight, Mr. Norman.”

Arte followed after him, echoing the goodnight.

They waited until they were outside to speak again. “Well?” Arte asked when they were outside the gate. “What do you think, Jim?”

“I still don’t know,” Jim told him. “I’ll admit I actually started wondering if Rodman cared, but I couldn’t believe it was really true.”

“It’s hard to take in,” Arte said. “I can scarcely believe he would risk his life for anyone.”

Jim nodded. “But if he really did . . .” He paused. “Maybe there’s hope for him yet.”

“. . . I did sense something different about Rodman when we spoke with him,” Arte said. “I just wasn’t sure what it was. I’m still not, really.”

“But it’s nice to think that even a rag-tag ne’er-do-well like him could find friendship, isn’t it?” Jim remarked.

“Yes,” Arte said slowly. “Yes, it is. As long as it doesn’t backfire on us.”

“I’m not so sure it will,” Jim said.

He paused. “But I’m not so sure it won’t, either.”


Title: Broken
Day/Theme: October 16th - Scattered Like Restless Thoughts (it has to come here, because it takes place much later in the timeline)
Series: The Wild Wild West/Cannon
Character/Pairing: Jim West, Artemus Gordon, Coley Rodman, Ray Norman
Rating: T/PG-13


By Lucky_Ladybug

The sound of the hidden gun was unbelievably loud.

It echoed around the room, suspending it in time for one brief eternity.

Then the clock ticked and the spell was broken. Ray fell forward, limp and gasping. Coley caught him, his eyes registering his disbelief and denial. Jim and Arte stood by, stunned.

Ray gripped his friend’s shoulders, trembling, the pain and shock in his eyes. “It’s . . . it’s just like the first time,” he whispered. He slumped heavily against Coley, the light in his eyes deadening.

Coley went stiff. “Norman?!” He sank to his knees, laying Ray on the carpet. The blood was already seeping into the fibers from the wound in Ray’s back. Coley bent down, feeling for a heartbeat and checking for breath.

“How is he?” Arte asked in concern.

Jim had run across the room to where the weapon had been concealed in the wall. A nearly invisible wire snaking from the wall to the floor had been the trigger. When Ray had stepped on it, the gun had gone off. It had taken a sick mind to rig this up.

Coley barely heard Arte, if he heard at all. “Norman?!” He gripped the lifeless man’s shoulder, giving it a violent shake. He had found no breath, no heartbeat, but he did not want to believe it. He could not believe it. He would not believe it.

He bent down again, staring at the pale and pained face for only a moment before making his decision. Prying open Ray’s mouth, Coley struggled to perform the artificial respiration that he had never liked. It had saved his own life. Maybe . . . maybe now it would save Ray’s.

But no matter how hard he tried, it never seemed to work. Ray was still not drawing breath of his own. Maybe Coley was doing it wrong. Maybe if he just tried one more time . . . one more time. . . .

Arte was chilled when Coley leaned back for the final time, just staring blankly at the prone form. Coley’s eyes looked scarcely more alive than Ray’s.

“He really cared, Jim,” Arte said softly as Jim returned to his side. “If I had any doubts before, they’re gone now.”

Jim gave a grim nod. “He cared,” he agreed. It had seemed so unbelievable, but it was true. And he wished it had not taken this for them to realize its truth.

Coley slowly got up, going for the gun at his side. “I have something to do now,” he said, his voice deadly hard in a way they had never heard from him. “Then I’ll surrender myself to you and go back with you. That’s what you’ve wanted; now you’ll have it.”

Jim narrowed his eyes, stepping in front of Coley. “You’re going to kill the man who set up Norman to be killed, aren’t you?” he said.

Coley glowered. “Get out of my way, West.”

Jim held his ground, even as Arte looked to him in worry. “You’ll make yourself a fugitive in this time and then go back with us to a time where, as you put it, only prison or a death sentence are waiting for you.”

“What does it matter to you?” Coley snarled.

Arte came forward now. “Mr. Norman wouldn’t like that,” he said.

“He’s dead.” Coley gripped his gun, unsure whether to point it at Arte or Jim.

“He was the only real reason you’ve stayed on,” Jim said. “Is that it?”

“And now that he’s dead, you don’t care what happens to you?” Arte added in realization.

“It doesn’t matter now.” Coley tried to move past them, but they held their ground.

“It matters, Rodman,” Arte said. “Mr. Norman didn’t save your life so you could go meet death head-on. He wanted you to stay with him, yes, but he also wanted you to live. He would never have wanted you to throw your life away for any reason, least of all for him.”

Something flashed in Coley’s eyes. He remembered Ray’s anguish when Coley had lain dying after shooting another of Ray’s enemies and getting shot in the process. Ray had been all but unable to bear that Coley was dying because of trying to save him.

“. . . You wanted me to come with you, yet now you’re basically trying to convince me to stay?” Coley frowned. “Why?”

“Because we’re fair, Rodman,” Jim said. “Norman was right; you haven’t committed any crimes in this time. And we see you really did care about him. If you’ve changed that much, then you should stay here, instead of coming back where you most likely will die. Here, you have a chance—if you don’t wreck it.”

Coley gripped the gun. “. . . I can’t let his murderer go free.”

“He won’t,” Jim said. “But let the law handle it. Don’t mar your record here with a cold-blooded killing.”

Coley looked to him. “West, I know you understand what I’m feeling,” he said low. “When you believed Gordon dead, you moved Heaven and Earth to find the murderer. And you had your revenge on him.”

“He fell on his own knife,” Jim said. But something gripped his heart. Yes, he understood. And this was probably the closest Coley would get to vocally admitting how he felt. But with his chosen words he had admitted a lot.

Arte frowned at Coley. “How do you know about that?!” he gasped. Even he hadn’t known.

“I know a lot of things about your cases. That doesn’t matter, either.”

Arte sighed in frustration and made a mental note to talk with Jim later. “Then are you still going to do it?” he wondered. “Are you still going to go looking for the killer?”

“We don’t want you any more, Rodman,” Jim said. “We’re prepared to leave you alone. But if you kill here, you’ll have the law out for you in two time periods.”

Coley clutched the gun. He was still unsure. The conflict, the pain, the hatred, ran deep. But he knew the Secret Service agents were right, as much as he hated to admit it. Ray would not want this.

His life had really been insignificant, filled with little other than greed and lust and commanding criminals. But here in this other time, a place where he really did not belong, he had found something more. Although he and Ray had started out only as necessary allies, they had become close. Ray had made him feel important and needed and wanted. Ray had accepted him as a person, not even caring about what he had done in his own time.

He clenched a fist. Where did he really belong? He was out of his element, yet he had seen a broken man gradually start to heal as they had interacted. He had done more that was decent here than he ever had in his own time. But because it wasn’t his own time, did that mean he was required to leave? Not even these Secret Service agents believed that—albeit the time difference had never been the issue with them in the first place.

“. . . Coley?”

The voice was weak and filled with coughs and sputters. The color drained from Coley’s face. He whirled, again unable to believe. Ray was blearily looking up at him from the floor.

Arte gripped Jim’s arm. “Jim . . .”

Jim grabbed for the phone on Ray’s desk. “I’ll call an ambulance.”

Coley dropped to his knees next to the wounded man, shaking. “You were dead,” he gasped. “There was nothing I could do for you; I even tried that resuscitation. . . .”

Ray tried to smirk. “You wanted me back bad.” He gripped Coley’s wrist. “Stay,” he pleaded.

Coley set about to try to stop the bleeding. “I’m not going anywhere,” he vowed.

Arte breathed a sigh of relief. They were not out of the woods yet, but maybe there was hope for a happy ending.

For the first time, he felt that both of these men deserved it.