[Amnesty Day] [The Rockford Files-related and The Wild Wild West-related] Various

[insaneladybug.livejournal.com]

Title: Burn
Day/Theme: July 1st - Do not shine. Do not seek to shine. Burn.
Series: The Rockford Files (based on The Queen of Peru)
Character/Pairing: Lou Trevino, Ginger Townsend, Lieutenant Drumm (from Perry Mason)
Rating: T/PG-13

Lieutenant Drumm wandered into this because Perry Mason's cops have better personalities than Rockford's, even though the show is formulaic. :)

Ginger is played by Christopher Cary, one of the newest additions to my list of favorite actors. Lou is played by Luke Andreas.


By Lucky_Ladybug

Lou Trevino couldn’t believe it when several policemen from the Los Angeles Police Department appeared on his doorstep, wanting to know about a strange explosion down at the docks.

“Come on, Officers,” he whined. “Why would I know anything about something like that?”

“Because your old pal Ginger Townsend was involved in it,” Lieutenant Steve Drumm retorted in irritation.

“Ginger?” Lou blinked in surprise and confusion. “But he just got out of stir. Why would he go off and randomly blow up a warehouse?”

“We don’t know if he blew it up,” Steve admitted. “The only thing we know for sure is that he was in the warehouse when it went up in flames.”

Now the color drained from Lou’s face. “He . . . what? So he’s in a hospital somewhere?”

“He’s dead,” Steve said flatly.

Despite the pronouncement, it seemed too unreal to ever be the truth. “Not Ginger,” Lou retorted. “He wouldn’t be mixed up in something crazy like this to begin with. And if he was, he sure wouldn’t come out dead! You’re just jumping the gun, Lieutenant.”

“I don’t think so.” Steve nodded to his partner, Sergeant Brice. The other man held up the remnants of a tattered and burned trenchcoat. “This is Ginger’s, isn’t it?”

The sight of the coat sent a jolt through Lou’s system. He stepped forward, reaching out to touch it. Brice allowed it, watching him, remaining silent.

“Ginger always wore these things,” Lou mumbled. “Even here in this oven that’s L.A.” He looked up. “But if this is all you’ve got, it could belong to anybody!”

“We have two witnesses who saw him going into the warehouse five minutes before it exploded,” Steve explained.

“And they’re sure it was him?”

“Reasonably sure.” Steve pointed to the coat. “He was wearing this, or something that looked a lot like it.”

“What about a body?” Lou challenged. “Did you find the coat on a body?”

“There weren’t any . . . complete bodies.” Steve let that sink in.

Lou looked up with a start. “You mean Ginger was . . .” He let go of the coat, looking ill. Then he abruptly looked back to it, frowning. “What about this thing? If the bodies were blown apart, how come any of this is holding together?!”

Steve gave a tired sigh. “You’d be amazed at some of the strange evidence we find at explosion sites.”

“Well, I’m not believing Ginger is dead,” Lou retorted. “Maybe he planned it that way. Maybe he’s trying to get away from someone who wants him dead, so he’s playing possum!”

“We’ve thought of that too,” Steve said. “And if he’d contacted you, you would probably be insistent that he’s dead, not alive, to keep up the illusion.”

“I haven’t heard from him.” Lou turned away. “Is that all?”

“For now,” Steve conceded. “But we might be back.”

“Come back for all I care,” Lou snapped. “You’re not going to learn anything.”

But the visit had deeply shaken him, even if he was trying to cling to the belief that Ginger was alive. After they left, he searched the Internet for the warehouse location and set out to find it. When he stood an hour later in front of what had been a warehouse and now was little more than a pile of ashes and several broken and burned pieces of wood, he just stared for a long moment in disbelief.

“You weren’t in that, were you, Buddy?” he whispered.

He slumped against a nearby wooden sign. It was harder to argue the point when he saw this mess. How could anyone have walked away from this?

He ran a hand over his face. Ginger was not a nice person. Most people were afraid of him if they had any sense. Lou himself had sometimes been uneasy around the cold and aloof man. At the same time, however, he knew he had not done anything to warrant Ginger lashing out at him, and so he knew Ginger would not. Ginger did not waste energy doing unnecessary things. And Ginger liked him; otherwise their partnership would not have continued as long as it had. It had only been interrupted by prison time for both of them after their last caper.

Lou liked him, too. His brother Mike was legitimately scared of him, but Lou had long ago learned how to handle Ginger and deal with his moods and even sometimes get through to him. They had made a good team. And now, to have to try to envision Ginger scattered all over the ashes of this place. . . .

Lou turned away. He wanted to get out of here, now.

“What are you doing in this bloody place at this ungodly hour?”

Lou jumped a mile. He could never mistake that gravelly British voice. He spun around, yet saw nothing.

“Ginger?” he ventured slowly, uncertainly. Maybe Ginger had been killed after all and was speaking to Lou as a ghost.

A silhouette stepped out from a stack of crates, moving eerily and almost ethereally in the misty night. The trenchcoat around his shoulders fluttered in the breeze.

Lou was transfixed in spite of himself. “Ginger, you’re not a . . .” He trailed off, realizing how ridiculous his question would sound. “A ghost, are you?”

“Of course not,” Ginger retorted in impatience.

Lou reached out, grabbing at Ginger’s arm. Finding it solid, he stepped back into the shadows of the dock. “Ginger . . .” He tried to smile a bit. “I was worried about you.”

“Bah.” Ginger stood and looked at the ashes of the warehouse in utter annoyance and irritation. “Someone set me up to be killed. They sent me a message, asked me to come out here. And then they tried to blow me to Kingdom Come in about a thousand different directions all at once.”

“The police think it worked,” Lou told him. “So did I.”

“It almost worked,” Ginger said. “I started to suspect a trap when everything was too quiet, but I hadn’t thought of a bomb before it went off. Bloody thing blew me against the window and into the water.”

Lou gaped. “How did you survive that?!”

“The water roused me up enough that I started swimming to shore,” Ginger said. “Then I started wondering about the person who did it. I thought maybe I should play dead a while, see what I could learn.”

“So you put a coat in the warehouse to burn?” Lou remarked. “That’s ingenious.”

“The coat just got caught,” Ginger said. “I didn’t set out to torch it.”

“Oh.” Lou looked at him. “But why are you telling me all this? Shouldn’t I think you’re dead too, to further the illusion?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I had other uses for your knowledge.” Ginger brushed past him.

Lou wasn’t expecting anything else to be said. But when Ginger was not facing him, he paused and declared more quietly, “I knew you’d be worried about me. Come on.”

Lou stared after him in amazement. Then, perking up, he moved to follow. “I’m coming, old buddy,” he proclaimed.


Title: Resilience and Friendship
Day/Theme: July 31st - At the darkest moment comes the light
Series: The Wild Wild West-related (based on The Night of the Sudden Plague)
Character/Pairing: Coley Rodman, Lafe, Frank Doyle, Ray Norman (from the Cannon episode Hear No Evil)
Rating: T/PG-13

Revised and expanded and overhauled at last!

Takes place in my time-travel verse, with a portal that passes between the 1870s and the 2010s.


By Lucky_Ladybug

The desert was cold and dark, filled with the shadows and sounds and creatures of the night. Lafe kept his gun clutched in his hand as he rode. There was no telling whom he and Coley were going to run into; the note had only said that if they wanted to be free of an old enemy, they should come. And, irritated and suspicious, they were coming.

Coley was silent at his side, sharply alert, also ready with his gun. Lafe could feel the tension in the air. Coley was not pleased. The longer this went on, the less pleased he became.

The ride would have been fairly nice if not for the implications of what lay in wait for them. But in any case, Lafe felt nostalgic. He remembered many nights of riding through cold deserts at Coley’s side, the rest of the gang behind them.

Now it was just the two of them. The gang had long ago disbanded, Coley had gone straight, and Lafe had followed suit out of love and loyalty to his friend. It was a difficult path for him sometimes, but Coley meant enough to him that he was willing to try.

Suddenly Coley held up a hand, signaling to stop. Lafe did, pulling on the reins until his horse obeyed. “What is it?” he whispered.

“I don’t know,” Coley growled. “I heard something behind that bush. Thought I saw something, too.” He started to climb down from his horse. The animal whinnied, stamping at the ground in its nervousness.

Lafe eyed it uneasily as he got down as well. His own horse shook its head, snorting. “You’re right, Coley,” he noted. “I see it too. It looks like someone hiding behind that tumbleweed.”

Coley stepped forward, his eyes hard. “You’d better come out if you don’t want a bullet in your gut,” he threatened, cocking the hammer of his gun.

The tumbleweed shivered, but no one emerged.

“Now I don’t see anything,” Lafe frowned.

Coley fired a warning shot at the ground in front of the bush. The horses jumped, skittish. But if anyone was still there, they were not appearing.

“Coley, I don’t like this,” Lafe exclaimed. “We’re walking right into someone’s trap.”

Coley looked around, his eyes angry and harsh. “I don’t like it either,” he said. “But if we leave, whoever it is will just find another way to get at us. It’d be better to deal with it here and now and get it over with.”

Lafe had to concede to that logic.

Coley advanced on the tumbleweed, holding the lantern in one hand and his gun in the other. But to his astonishment, there was no one behind it. “What the . . .” He stared at the area. “There was someone here. You saw it too, Lafe.”

“And there’s no place they could’ve got to where we wouldn’t see them,” Lafe said in disbelief. Aside from several other stray tumbleweeds, a bit of grass, and some ankle-high desert shrubs, the area was completely barren.

“Are you sure about that?” came a smooth and sneering voice from behind him.

Lafe started to turn, stunned, and was promptly struck hard on the head. He sank to the ground with a pained groan.

Coley spun around, his gun bared. “Lafe!” He stared at the sight of his friend sprawled unconscious on the ground. A dark silhouette was standing over him, smirking, satisfied.

“You’re going to be sorry you did that,” Coley snapped. “Who are you?”

“Oh, don’t you recognize me, Coley?” The silhouette started to look up into Coley’s lantern. And as he became visible, Coley gawked in sickened and bewildered disbelief.

“It can’t be,” he choked. “Frank Doyle?!”

The traitorous and sadistic youngest member of the former gang grinned at him as he set down a bottle from which he had been drinking. “It can be, and you know it,” he said. “Dr. Faustina told me you saw her bring back some of the Posey gang.”

“I’ve seen the Posey gang back,” Coley corrected. “I never saw her actually do it.” He glowered at his enemy. “Why did she bring you back, Frank? And what did you hit Lafe for? He never did anything to you.”

“She brought me back to try some new things,” Frank said. “She had some new ideas about speed and strength that she wanted to try out. And as for Lafe . . .” He cuffed the dazed man with his boot. “Lafe was always loyal to you.”

“So was the rest of the gang, except you,” Coley countered. “I don’t see you luring Whitey or Sam or Jeff out here.”

“They were never close to you like Lafe is,” Frank said. “They aren’t still with you, but he is.”

Coley nodded, now understanding. “So you hurt him to get at me,” he said. “That’s it, isn’t it, Frank?”

“That’s right.” The gun clicked, allowing the formerly dead man the upper hand. In the dark, his eyes glittered with hatred. “Now you’re going to pay, Coley,” he vowed. “You’re going to pay for every time you rode me up and down. You’re going to pay for not letting me have my fun in the frozen town. You’re going to pay for killing me.”

Coley glowered, unafraid but still disturbed, as his gaze bored into Frank’s. His lips curled in a dark smirk. “Frank, you always were cocky, arrogant, and sadistic. I never should have let you in the gang to begin with.”

“You’re just as cocky,” Frank snapped. “Or maybe more. I hate you. I’ve hated you for a long time. And now I finally know how to really make you suffer.” He moved to fire.

Coley’s hand shot up, gripping his gun. He fired first, the bullet burying itself in Frank’s heart. But to his shock and horror, Frank did not react.

“See what I mean?” Frank sneered. “Cocky. You were so sure that bullet would kill me.”

“That’s common sense!” Coley shot back. “What have you done to yourself, Frank?! Why didn’t it work?”

“Oh . . . just another little improvement Dr. Faustina made.” Frank shot the gun from Coley’s hand. With lightning speed, he moved to fire his next shot into the other man’s body. He was not only seemingly invincible, but much, much faster. Coley dove, but he knew he wasn’t going to be quick enough.

Another form leapt at him, tackling him from the side and dropping to the ground with him. At the same moment the other person jerked, a strange, choked yelp bursting from his lips. Then he was still, sagging heavily against Coley.

Coley had gone sheet-white. “Lafe?!” he cried. Apparently having revived from Frank’s blow, and knowing there was no hope of gunning Frank down in time, Lafe had used himself as a living shield. Now he was not speaking, the pained breaths very possibly his last. Blood was coming from his right side.

Coley sat up, shaking, allowing Lafe’s body to slip onto his lap. “Lafe! Lafe, speak to me. Come on!” He gripped the slackened shoulder, but Lafe still did not move. He groaned weakly.

Frank stepped closer. “You see? I got it right. I wasn’t sure, but I thought there was something you loved more than money. You always acted like you cared about that second-in-command of yours. And now I’m taking him away.”

Coley jumped, looking up at Frank with raw hatred in his eyes. “You planned this?!” he barked. One hand supported Lafe’s limp neck while the other unbuttoned his shirt, seeking the wound. “You knew Lafe would try to save me?!”

“He was always loyal, always standing up for you when I complained about you,” Frank said. “He said once that if I tried to go against you, he would shoot me, if you didn’t do it first. When I was watching you two tonight, I knew he still felt the same. So I hit him on the head so you and I could talk. I knew he would take the bullet supposedly meant for you if it looked like there was no other way to save you. I didn’t fire until I saw he was waking up. Which, incidentally, was right when you shot me and it didn’t do any good.”

“So you don’t have any intentions of killing me,” Coley said darkly.

“Sure I do, Coley. Just not from the outside. I’ll kill you from the inside instead. Now you’ll have to live knowing he died for you.”

“I’ll live knowing you killed him,” Coley snarled. “But you’ll regret it.”

“You’ll shoot me down in cold blood?” Frank taunted. “Like you wouldn’t let me do in Sand Hills? You’re no better than me, Coley. Everybody has a breaking point. And I’m tapping yours.”

Lafe moved again, weakly, and Frank pointed his gun, aiming to fire into Lafe’s limp, outstretched arm.

Coley raised his gun in an instant, emptying all the remaining chambers into Frank’s body. “Is that ‘in cold blood’, Frank?” he retorted, darkly.

He felt hatred; he knew that. And he had thoroughly wanted to gun Frank down ever since he had shot Lafe. But he would have restrained himself, especially once he realized Frank wanted him to lose his cool. He had also realized, in sickened horror, that Frank would keep firing bullets into Lafe until he was dead. And that was something Coley could not and would not allow. If that meant killing in cold blood, well, he supposed he had done it. And he wasn’t sorry for it.

For a moment Frank lingered, just looking at Coley with an unreadable expression. But then, overcome by the ammunition at last, he collapsed.

Coley was not sure if Frank was really dead, considering Dr. Faustina’s “improvements”, but at the moment he did not care. He shoved the empty gun in his holster and turned his attention back to Lafe. “Lafe!” He could see Lafe was still breathing, but very quick and very pained. His eyes, open again, were glassy.

“Coley . . .” Lafe reached up, shakily gripping Coley’s shirt. “I’m sorry. I . . .” He coughed, blood coming to his lips. “I was just trying to save you.”

“I know. You did that, Lafe.” Coley took off his bandanna, pressing it against the wound. “You saved me. Now I have to save you. Hang on, Lafe. Do you hear me?!” Coley raised his voice as Lafe’s eyes fluttered.

“Yeah,” Lafe rasped. “I’ll try, Coley.”

“Don’t just try,” Coley barked. “You have to make it.”

“Whatever you say,” Lafe mumbled. He was already slipping out of consciousness again.

Coley swore. Gently laying Lafe on the ground, he relit the lantern and pulled off his gloves. Then, grabbing the bottle of alcohol Frank had been drinking from, he poured some of the contents over his knife. It was deplorable, really, to think of using anything of Frank’s, but it was the only thing he had with him to sterilize the knife. He had to dig the bullet out.

Lafe jerked violently when Coley tried to fit the blade into the wound. Coley grabbed him with his free hand, trying to hold him down. “Lafe, I know it’s going to hurt worse, but I have to get the bullet out,” he said. “Don’t move around; I’ll end up cutting you up!”

Lafe cringed, aware enough to make sense of Coley’s words. He gripped at the few strands of grass, his knuckles turning white.

Steeling himself against any possible, further complications, Coley again bent over his friend and placed the tip of the knife in the wound. The night was dark, and there was only the nearby light of the lantern to really see by. Gritting his teeth, he silently prayed to be able to find the lead.

He was relieved when it came up without too much difficulty. It hadn’t been very deep. Hopefully that meant that it had not managed to pierce anything vital. It had created a wound that was bleeding like crazy, and that by itself could be more than enough to kill.

He patched the wound as best as he could with the materials he had with him. They needed to get out of here, to go back to civilization, even if the nearest civilization was Justice, Nevada. Even that idiot Sheriff wouldn’t turn Lafe away in his condition, although he would no doubt grump and growl about having a “dangerous criminal” in town.

“Coley?” Lafe moaned when Coley was still working with the bandaging.

Coley looked up. “Yeah? What is it, Lafe?”

“I just wanted to make sure it was you here and not Frank.”

Coley glanced to Frank’s body, still sprawled lifelessly where he had landed when Coley had pumped all of the bullets into him. “Frank’s dead, Lafe,” he said. I hope.

Lafe’s eyes fluttered. “He . . . he hated you so much, even in the past. But I . . . I never realized how deep it went, until now.”

Coley’s eyes flashed. “I didn’t think I hated Frank, but I do now.”

“. . . You’re not like him, Coley,” Lafe rasped. “I heard what he said right before you shot him. You were never like him. You never believed in . . . in getting revenge, or in shooting people down for no reason. . . .”

Coley looked away. “Yeah, I know.”

“You shot Frank now, but . . . I know you had a good reason. I heard his gun click.”

“He was going to keep shooting you, with me right here to watch,” Coley snarled.

Lafe shuddered. “You never would’ve let him. You didn’t let him.”

“Of course not.” Coley finished tending to the wound as best as he could. The bandages were already crimson. And Lafe looked like he was sinking out of consciousness again.

Coley grabbed his shoulder. “Lafe! Stay with me!” he half-pleaded, half-ordered. He was afraid that if Lafe passed out, he wouldn’t wake up.

Lafe moaned, his eyes only managing to open partway. “I’m trying,” he said. “You know I’m trying, Coley.”

He fell silent, seemingly gathering his strength. “. . . I always hoped you cared. Sometimes I wasn’t that sure.”

Coley frowned. “It didn’t take this to make you realize I do, did it?” He placed his hand on Lafe’s forehead. Lafe was warm, but not quite at fever temperatures yet.

“Nah. I knew a long time ago. When we were still in the gang, even. And before that.” Lafe paused, breathing heavily and with immense pain. “I’m not like one of those stupid, loyal dogs that won’t leave someone even if he should because the guy doesn’t care. I . . . I wouldn’t have hung around you even as a kid if I hadn’t known it meant something to you.

“Even though you’re younger, Coley, I looked up to you. Sometimes I wished I was more like you, a leader and not a follower. But, at the same time I . . . I knew it wasn’t right to think it. I knew why you were a leader, with your father dying and all and you having to be in charge. I wouldn’t have wished that on you or me or anybody else.”

Coley stood and slowly walked to his horse to get the rolled-up blanket down from its saddle. They were going to have to stay here tonight, he was sure. The area was too unfamiliar to think of going through with a wounded man when he couldn’t even see what he was doing.

“Lafe, you shouldn’t try to talk,” he said. His voice had taken on a husky tone to try to keep from breaking.

Lafe watched as he came back with the blanket and carefully spread it over him. Weakly, Lafe burrowed into it.

“If I don’t talk, I know I won’t stay awake,” Lafe told him, quietly. The rest of his sentence hung, unsaid, in the air. And I might never wake up.

Coley paused. “Do what you have to do,” he said at last. “But Lafe, don’t strain yourself. You need your strength to start trying to heal up.”

Lafe seemed weaker now, and more tired. He gripped the blanket as he fought to keep his eyes open. Finally he gave up and let them close.

“Lafe!” Coley reached and grabbed at Lafe’s fingers on the blanket’s edge. “Lafe, I . . . I always like being with you. When we were kids, life always seemed to make sense when we were together. Maybe it was because I could really feel like I was in charge on our adventures, instead of feeling like control was slipping out from my fingers. Maybe it was because with you I could feel more like the kid I was, even if I didn’t let my guard down and show it.” He paused. “Or maybe it was because you gave me a chance even when everyone else in town was giving the cold shoulder to the hired killer’s kid and his mother.”

Lafe gave a shaky smile. “My family never did hold much with gossip. And we figured each guy made his own reputation. It wasn’t based on somebody else’s.”

“And we ended up making some pretty bad reputations for ourselves without any help,” Coley said wryly. He fell silent again. “Lafe . . . I’m sorry for everything I got you into.”

“I know.” Lafe sighed. “I wish you’d listened to me more, but when you didn’t, I chose to stay with you. I didn’t have to.”

“Yeah, you didn’t. It meant a lot that you did.” Coley gazed sadly at his friend, so pale, so worn-out, so quickly slipping away from him.

“I’m sorry we kept drifting apart. I know we had to when we ran off to save our lives, but we didn’t have to when we were younger. And . . .” He lowered his head. “I’m sorry most of all that when you turned up at Oak Bridge, I didn’t know what to think.”

“Hey. Hey, Coley.” Lafe had opened his eyes again. He reached out, laying his shaking hand on Coley’s arm. “You had a new life. You didn’t want some outlaw coming in and gumming it up, even if the outlaw was a friend.” His grip tightened. “Don’t feel bad about it.”

Coley looked down at Lafe’s hand, still trembling, still much too pale. “I still should’ve trusted you’d respect what I wanted. We hadn’t seen each other for three years, but you always respected what I wanted, even when you shouldn’t have. When you saw me and found I was so different, that must have been hard on you.”

“It was. But . . . once I got used to the idea, I saw you were really still the same Coley. You were still my friend. You still are.”

“I hope I’ve been a better friend lately than I ever was before.”

“Maybe you’re more comfortable with showing it than you were before.” Lafe looked up at Coley, firmly, unshakably. “But you were always a good friend.”

Coley bowed his head. “Thanks, Lafe.”

Lafe managed a weak smile before his hand slipped down, unable to hold onto Coley any longer. His eyes sank shut.

Coley stiffened. “Lafe?!” He bent down, frantic, desperate to find life.

Lafe was still breathing, albeit painfully. His pulse was slow.

Coley wrapped the blanket more firmly around him. “Lafe, hang on,” he pleaded. “Don’t die on me now.”

He sent up a silent, heartfelt prayer. God knew that both he and Lafe had tried to turn their lives around. Lafe did not deserve death—not here, not now, in the middle of nowhere.

He shut his eyes tight. Ray had not come with them on this visit to Coley’s mother, having needed to stay back and tend to matters at the golf club. Coley was grateful, really; Frank would have tried to kill both Ray and Lafe if Ray had been present too. And if Frank had known that they were visiting Coley’s mother, he probably would have also gone after her.

His mother liked Ray. And she had always liked Lafe, too. She had asked him about Lafe when he and Ray had been the only ones to visit in the beginning.

“Lafe was a good boy. Oh, he may have gotten off on the wrong path, as you did, Coley, but he was kind and polite to me. And I know how much he loved you. I hope you won’t forget about him, even though Mr. Norman is a wonderful person, too.”

Of course, Coley had never forgotten. He had wondered often about Lafe, hoping he was alright, but not really thinking they would ever meet again. He had entertained the thought, however, that with the truth about the Dr. Kirby mess finally out, and the extreme charges against Lafe and the others dropped, Lafe might go looking for him. But he had never really imagined that if Lafe found him, things would turn out as well as they had.

Lafe hadn’t really wanted to go straight. And he had been stunned that Coley had chosen to do so. But he had decided to try it, because of Coley. He had wanted to follow Coley into that new and strange life. And he had expressed doubt that anyone else could have made enough of an impression for him to be willing to try it. Coley imagined that was true.

“You didn’t die when that THRUSH agent tried to kill you,” he said quietly. “Don’t let an old enemy like Frank take you out, either. Lafe . . . please.”

Lafe lay still, not responding or stirring. But he was not dying, either. And that was the most important thing.
****
The night was long and cold. Coley checked Frank, making sure he was dead—or at least, that he showed no visible signs of life. Confirming that, he took the only other blanket, spreading it half over Lafe and half over himself. Lafe was in this mess because he had tried to save Coley’s life. Coley had no intention of wasting that.

He lay down, offering a bit of extra warmth through the blankets. He was wide awake and doubted that he would manage to sleep at all, nor did he want to. He had to remain available if Lafe needed him.

“We’re going to get back, Lafe,” he said as the night wore on. “You know Ray and Jane are worried sick. Mrs. Featherstone too. But they’ll be okay once we’re back with them. And you’ll get better. I’m not going to let you die. If you can be saved at all, you’re going to be.”

He brought an arm over Lafe’s chest, trying to keep the blankets tucked around him. He could feel Lafe breathing, slow but steady. He prayed it would continue.

“You were my first real friend, Lafe,” he said. “I care about you every bit as much as Ray, not less. I know you wondered about that in the past. I hope you don’t still wonder.”

In spite of his best efforts, he had to admit he was growing tired. Lying down certainly wasn’t helping. He willed himself to hold on; Lafe might need something before morning.

His body could scarcely cooperate. At some point he started to drift off, hovering in a strange world of odd and disconnected dreams.

He started awake. “Lafe?”

There was no movement next to him. The arm lying across Lafe’s chest was not rising and falling. And Lafe looked so cold and pale. . . .

Coley sat up. “Lafe!” He touched Lafe’s cheek with his bare hand. Lafe’s skin was like ice. And when Coley bent down to examine him, he found just what he had known but had deeply feared finding.

Lafe had passed away during the night. He was so lifeless and silent, despite the blankets and despite Coley’s attempt at providing warmth.

Coley’s shoulders slumped. He could tell from the stiffness that Lafe had been dead for some time. There was no hope of reviving him.

“Lafe . . .” He swallowed hard. I’m sorry wasn’t good enough. If he had stayed awake, maybe he could have prevented this. Maybe Lafe would still be alive right now.

Lafe had saved him, but he had proven himself incapable of even trying to save Lafe.

Coley gave a violent start, bouncing awake for real. His heart racing, he looked to Lafe. Still breathing. Still alive.

He sighed, lying back down and cursing his dreams. Awakening in his dream had felt so real, but now that he was back in the true reality he could tell how fictitious the first time had been.

“You’re still hanging on, Lafe,” he whispered. “You’re going to pull through.”

Lafe stirred. “Coley?” He blinked over at his friend. “What’s happening now? Why are you . . . ?”

“I just want to make sure we don’t freeze to death,” Coley interrupted, figuring what Lafe was trying to ask.

“Oh. Yeah.” Lafe still sounded sleepy. “Good idea.”

“How are you holding up?” Coley asked.

“I’m okay.” Lafe sagged further under the covers. “At least . . . as okay as I can be, with a bullet hole in me.”

Coley swore in his mind. “Frank did this on purpose,” he growled, remembering what the crazed sadist had told him.

Lafe stared. “What do you mean, Coley?”

Coley frowned, not sure that he really wanted to tell Lafe. But now it was too late; Lafe’s confusion and interest were piqued.

“He said that he was shooting at me knowing you’d try to save me,” he said. “The bullet was meant for you all along.”

Lafe’s eyes widened. “He wasn’t just trying to kill you?”

“He was trying to take away what I care about,” Coley said. “He thought that’d be worse for me than me dying.”

He could feel Lafe shifting under the blanket, just slightly. Lafe had clenched a fist.

“I won’t let him have any satisfaction,” Lafe vowed. “I’ll live, Coley. I promise.”

Coley started to relax. Perhaps it had been good to tell Lafe. It might give him added drive.

“I know you’ll give it everything you’ve got,” he said.

“I will,” Lafe nodded.

After a while Coley started to doze again. This time he remained more firmly in the present, save for a strange motor and the very odd and impossible phenomenon of Ray calling out to them.

“Coley?! Lafe?!”

Again he started awake. “Ray?” he rasped, still half in his dream.

But a hand came down on his shoulder. “Coley, what happened?!”

The hand was very real. So was the voice.

The blanket slipped from Coley’s shoulders as he sat up, gazing in disbelief at his other best friend, framed in the oncoming dawn. Ray was bending over him, his hair windblown, his eyes alarmed. He looked as though he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or worried upon finding the others at last.

“Ray . . . how?” Coley gasped.

“You didn’t come home,” Ray replied. “I tried to tell myself it was nothing. But you’ve never stayed overnight in this time before. I was so afraid something was wrong. Finally I . . . I had to go looking for you.”

Coley gripped Ray’s arms in utter, thankful relief. “Ray, Lafe was shot,” he said. “Dr. Faustina revived Frank Doyle just to see what would happen if he came after me.” Bitterness and worry saturated his voice. “I’ve been taking care of Lafe as best as I could, but I knew we couldn’t start out until morning. Even then, I didn’t know if he’d survive the ride.”

Ray stared in horror and immediately touched his fingers to Lafe’s throat. “I’m glad I did what I did, then,” he said quietly.

“. . . What you did?” Suddenly Coley was aware that something large was nearby—something that gleamed in the morning light. “You brought the helicopter here?” he exclaimed in disbelief.

“I knew that if something was wrong, you’d need immediate passage back,” Ray said. He gently removed the blanket, examining the bandage over the wound.

“What does the pilot think?” Coley asked in bewildered amazement.

“I think he thinks he’s hallucinating,” Ray said. “Here, I’ll help carry Lafe.”

Grateful beyond words, Coley stood, gently lifting Lafe with Ray’s help. The wounded man stirred with a groan. “Coley?”

“Yeah,” Coley asserted. “I’m still here. And Ray’s here now too. We’re going home, Lafe.”

“Home . . .” Lafe’s eyes flickered, and he smiled.

Ray glanced back at the horses Coley and Lafe had ridden. Once he had his friends safe and sound, he would have to come back and make sure the horses got out of this wilderness. Right now, however, Coley and Lafe were his top priority.

“Ray . . .” Coley looked at him in all sincerity as they moved towards the helicopter. “Thanks. For worrying enough to come.”

Ray smiled, the worry still in his eyes. “I’m just praying I found you both in time.”

Coley looked to Lafe, who was still semi-conscious and seemed at peace.

“I think you did,” Coley said.
****
It was, to their immense relief, in time. Lafe needed a blood transfusion, which weirded out both him and Coley (“You mean they’re going to put somebody else’s blood in me?!” Lafe exclaimed in horror), but his body responded well and he was soon allowed to go home to rest there.

Coley and Ray watched over him from the doorway of his room as he dozed. “If you hadn’t done what you did, Ray, it really might’ve been too late,” Coley said quietly. “I wonder how many people died in the other time because there weren’t helicopters and hospitals and even . . .” He made a face. “Blood transfusions. . . .”

“A lot,” Ray said, equally quiet. “But Coley . . .” He hesitated, troubled. “After you finally dozed off at the hospital, I went out to check on those horses you and Lafe left.”

Coley stiffened. “You went back to 1874 to look around all alone?” he exclaimed.

“The pilot came back with me,” Ray assured him. “But . . . Coley, the horses were gone, and so was Frank’s body.”

Coley swore under his breath. “Maybe the crazy doc made so many improvements that even my whole gun couldn’t kill him,” he said.

“Or maybe she took him back to try again,” Ray said uncomfortably.

Coley sighed. “Or maybe somebody just found him and buried him.”

“I asked around the nearest town,” Ray said. “No one knew anything about it.”

“Then probably no one found him,” Coley said with an irritated frown. “Even if somebody passing through found and buried him, they would’ve mentioned it in town—unless they didn’t want to call attention to themselves. And we can’t trust in that.”

Ray cringed. “You’re right,” he said. With a sigh he added, “At least Mr. Gordon fixed the portal. Frank, or Dr. Faustina, can’t stumble on it unawares.”

Coley nodded. “And he doesn’t have the key to get through, even if he hits into it.” He gave Ray a sideways glance. “What did the pilot think of your key?”

“Well . . .” Ray looked embarrassed. “I told him it was all part of a secret government project and he couldn’t tell anyone. He seemed excited to have been let in on it.”

Coley had to smirk. “Nice fib. I guess it’s half-true, anyway, since U.N.C.L.E. knows about it. They were pretty impressed with Gordon’s solution.”

Ray nodded. “I think Lafe might be waking up,” he noted, indicating their friend, who was starting to stir and toss about.

“Then let’s go in to him,” Coley said, moving to do so.

“You go to him first,” Ray smiled. “I’m sure he’d like to talk to you alone for a while.”

“He’s not jealous of you anymore, Ray,” Coley said. At least, he hoped that was the case.

“I know,” Ray nodded. “I don’t think he is. But you’re still his first and closest friend.” He laid a hand on Coley’s shoulder. “There’s a bond there that can’t be easily broken.”

Coley had to concede to that declaration. He went into the room, taking Lafe’s frantically searching hand. “Hey, Lafe. I’m here.”

Lafe immediately gripped Coley’s hand. “Coley . . .” Lafe opened his eyes, smiling a bit.

“I promised I wouldn’t go anywhere,” Coley said. “Lafe, how are you feeling?”

“Weird.” But Lafe sighed in resignation. “I guess I’m glad for that blood thing, though, if it’s kept me alive.”

“Good.” Coley sat down next to the bed, watching his friend.

After a moment Lafe rolled over to face him. “I know that wasn’t the only thing that did,” he said. “Kept me alive, I mean. I know you were there, trying to keep me warm until we could leave.”

“Yeah,” Coley admitted. “I was.”

“I heard some of what you said to me back then,” Lafe went on. “And Coley, I . . . I want to thank you, for everything you said and did.” He blushed a bit as he looked down at the quilt. “It really made me fight hard to live.”

“I’m glad it did some good,” Coley said, somewhat gruffly.

“It did,” Lafe assured him. “And I’m grateful to Ray, too, for coming and finding us.”

“Why don’t you tell that to him?” Coley gestured to the doorway, where Ray was still standing.

With the invitation, Ray smiled and came into the room. Lafe grabbed at Ray’s arm with his other hand. “Thanks for coming for us,” he rasped.

“I’m glad I could help,” Ray said firmly, laying his hand over Lafe’s. “As I said, I feel like we’re a family now.”

“When I first met you, I would’ve scoffed at that,” Lafe confessed. “But I can see how much you care about Coley. And me, too.”

“And it isn’t just because you’re Coley’s friend,” Ray said. “I honestly care about you for you.”

“I know,” Lafe said. “I like that about you.” He paused. “I’ve come to care about you, too.”

Coley relaxed, watching his two best friends interact. They were like a family, just as Ray had observed. And that made Coley very happy indeed.

He would have to be prepared in case Frank was around and would come after them again. But he felt that he could indeed be prepared, now that he knew how truly sadistic Frank really was. He wouldn’t let Frank do anything to his family another time.

A silver fluffball meowed and leaped onto the bed. Lafe started, while Ray laughed and Coley smirked.

“Jane is happy that you’re going to be okay too,” Coley said.

Lafe hesitated, then reached out and petted the cat. She closed her eyes, purring.

“I still haven’t figured out if she likes me as anything more than your friend,” Lafe said, looking to Coley.

“I think that’s a big part of it,” Coley admitted. “But I don’t think that’s all of it. Once she knew that you were completely loyal, she decided she was nuts about you.”

Lafe stroked the cat a bit more. “I guess I can get used to this,” he said. “As long as she doesn’t try to curl up against my other side.”

“She won’t,” Ray said. “She’s good about leaving wounds alone.”

Coley watched in amusement. In Lafe’s hesitant strokes, he was reminded of his own half-hearted approach to Jane at first. But she had weaved and meowed and adored her way into his heart. He liked to think that Lafe would eventually come to feel the same.
****
Coley was sitting in the library on an afternoon a couple of days later when he heard footsteps and the quiet thump of a cane. He looked up, watching as Lafe limped into the room, balancing on the cane he had been using while he healed.

“Coley . . .” Lafe looked serious and regretful. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry for getting you into this mess with me. If I had realized what Frank was up to, maybe I could have tried something besides making myself a shield to protect you. Maybe we could have got out of that without either of us being hurt.”

“Maybe,” Coley said noncommittally. “Or maybe it would’ve been even worse. Lafe, I can’t stop you from thinking things like that, but I wish you wouldn’t.” He stood, gripping Lafe’s shoulder. “You did what you felt was the right thing. You couldn’t have known you were playing right into Frank’s hands. I didn’t even think he was smart enough to come up with some twisted idea like that.”

Lafe looked down. “Yeah. I don’t think I realized he was that smart, either.”

“Maybe Faustina fed the idea to him. Who knows. The important thing is that we made it out okay. We’ve turned what he wanted on its head.”

Lafe nodded but hesitated. “Coley . . .” He looked up again. “Do you think you ever would have played into his hands by going after him out of hatred?”

Coley frowned, thinking. “I don’t like to think so,” he said. “I don’t like to think I’m that weak. Him killing you and gloating over it is enough reason to feel like just gunning him down. And I felt like it, I’ll tell you that. But in the end, I shot him because he was going to keep going after you. And I emptied my gun into him because even taking a bullet in the heart hadn’t slowed him down. I tell myself that and know that it’s really true. Otherwise, I don’t think I would’ve given him the satisfaction of knowing that he got me to shoot in cold blood.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t have,” Lafe said. Nevertheless, he knew he wasn’t sure what hatred would do to Coley. He didn’t want to know.

“You didn’t shoot him in cold blood, though, Coley,” he added now. “You were shooting to protect me. And you had to keep going; Frank forced you to.”

Coley’s eyes flickered in surprise. But at last he nodded, accepting Lafe’s words. “Yeah, I guess you’re right,” he said.

“I am.” Hesitating again, Lafe finally reached out and drew Coley into a hug. “Thanks,” he said softly. For so many things.

Coley hesitated too, mostly just stunned and surprised by Lafe’s sudden show of affection. Then, with a gruff smile in his eyes, he hugged back. “Yeah.”