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Travis gives him a look that's beyond skeptical when he sees which four files Larabee's just dropped on his desk, but all he says is, "You sure?"
"I said I needed the best."
"And I said you'd have 'em."
He swivels around to the filing cabinets behind his desk, starts rummaging for the proper forms. The paperwork on this is gonna be a bitch.
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Buck spits out his beer when *he* hears the plan.
"Have you lost what's left of that pea-brained little mind of yours!?!"
Chris ignores the question and hands Buck some napkins. Buck snatches them and mops at the mess in silence for a minute.
"And Travis is okay with it."
"Yup."
Buck takes another swig of beer - wipes the foam from his mustache with a shirtsleeve.
"You are one crazy son of a bitch, Chris."
That earns him a sardonic look, but no further response. Buck glowers. Chris relents enough to give him the same explanation he gave the general.
"We said we needed the best. This is them."
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Nathan's flat-out against it, best or no best.
He's signed on with the promise of an elite team – a chance to make a difference and protect his country. No one said anything about babysitting no ex-cons who'd probably rather cut his throat than watch his back.
"Ex?" Buck comments, grinning.
Correction. Cons. Just CONS. As in con-VICT. That's VICT as in VICT-im, which the three of them could end up being in this scenario. If these are the best of the lot, Nathan will settle for 'almost as good', thank you very much. And they can't even be the damn *best* if they got *CAUGHT*, now can they?
Is Chris out of his ever-lovin' mind?
"Probably." Buck again - enjoying himself. He's never seen Nate riled up like this. Doesn't think Chris has either. Not that it's going to make much difference. Buck's known Larabee long enough to know what he's like when he's got himself dead-set on something, and this is it. Only question is whether it will cost them a damn good medic.
Long story short? It doesn't.
Nathan's got his own opinions, but he's no fool. And Lord help him, he trusts Chris Larabee a lot further than he's ever trusted any other man.
They'll get this done, one way or another. Nathan intends to see that they do.
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They bring Tanner in first.
He's sullen at first – keeps his head down, eyes fixed on his hands, resting in front of him, still cuff'd from the transport over. Chris makes a point of being the one to remove the cuffs – doesn't make a big show of it, but knows it'll make an impression, whether Tanner realizes it or not.
The sniper rubs at his wrists – risks a suspicious glare up from under a ragged fringe of hair, then back down. He looks chewed up - worn down - like he's been out on a chain gang, not sitting cozy with a warm bunk and three-squares a day.
Chris drops a file on the table in front of him – drops himself into a chair across the way.
"Vin Tanner. Dishonorable discharge. Twenty years without possibility of parole for war crimes that lead to the deaths of U.S. Major Jess Kincaid and four Iraqi civilians..."
That earns him a reaction. Tanner looks up – leans forward, hands flat on the table, visibly restraining himself from launching across the table to rip out Chris's throat. His eyes are bright - furious. There's life in the man yet.
"I didn't...!"
Chris cuts him off.
"I don't give a DAMN what you did or didn't do."
He drops a second file folder on the table.
"We're here to talk about what you're GOING to do."
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Standish quirks a smile at that.
He barely glances at the file - just a quick flick down and away, like it's not worthy of his attention. Chris doesn't miss the calculating gleam in his eye, though.
"Do?" Standish inquires, his Southern drawl dripping with courteous confusion, fingers steepled thoughtfully in front of him. "Why, Mr. Larabee, I believe you just made it abundantly clear that the only thing I'm going to *DO* for the next... ten to fifteen years, was it?... is the same thing I've been doing for the last six months: catching up on my reading, contemplating the merits of the color gray as a decorating motif, and enjoying the scintillating conversation of my cellmate, Bruno."
Behind him, Chris just knows Buck's smothering a laugh. He fixes Standish with a steely glare to mask his own amusement... and the glare slides right off - not causing so much as a wrinkle in the con-man's genial facade. Chris isn't so amused anymore.
"Major." He points out quietly.
Standish's eyebrows go up in artfully-feigned surprise.
"Of course. MAJOR Larabee. I do apologize, sir. As you are no doubt aware..." His eyes drop to the first folder meaningfully, then back up. "...I am not as well-versed in proper military decorum as I, perhaps, ought to be."
There's a huff of breath from his back that's Buck not-quite-stifling the laugh this time. Standish quirks another smile, clearly pleased with himself. He lets his gaze stray ever-so-casually to the second folder and looks up at Chris with polite curiosity - like he's the goddamn chairman of the board taking time out of his busy day to consider a proposal from the mailroom clerk.
"So, Mr. Larabee, why don't you tell me why you've brought me here today."
Chris grits his teeth - imagines how much he's going to want to wring the man's scrawny neck within a week - and grates out: "MAJOR."
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"...Larabee? THE Major Larabee?!? SERIOUSLY?!? Oh, man!"
John Dunne runs a hand through a mop of dark hair that was probably slicked back neatly at some point, but is flopping ludicrously around his ears now - then reaches across the table as if to shake Chris's hand.
"This is a huge honor, sir. Really. Really, seriously huge. I read all about you before I... well, you know... Anyway, it's a huge, huge honor."
Chris glares at the extended hand until it falls to the table, where the fingers start tapping out a nervous rhythm. Dunne grins sheepishly. It's not just the fingers, either. He's practically bouncing in his chair.
"Yes." Chris finally admits sourly, when it's clear this is as settled as the kid's gonna get. "THE Major Larabee."
"Oh, man. This is..." He trails off at another glare.
"...huge?" Buck fills in helpfully. There's a big, shit-eating grin on his face by now. He's not even bothering to hide it this time around. Chris is going to have words for him when this is over.
Dunne must see the thought in Chris's eyes, because he calms down a little, murmurs a quick "Sorry", followed by a belated "Sir. Sorry, sir."
It softens Chris up a little. It's not the kid's fault that Chris is saddled with an occasional jackass for a best friend.
He taps the folder with two fingers - slides it closer to Dunne.
"Got a proposition for you, Private."
Then again... Chris has plenty of annoyance to go around. The kid's eyes have lit up like Christmas, and all that nervous energy is back in a flash. He's suddenly grinning like a crazy person, and he still hasn't so much as looked at the file.
"I'll do it!"
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Larabee closes his eyes for a moment - takes a deep, calming breath.
"How about you take a look at what we're offering before you decide."
Sanchez doesn't budge an inch, just sits there with his arms crossed, chin resting on his chest, eyes fixed on Chris with a steady, implacable gaze.
"Not interested."
"Why not?"
"Not the right season."
Chris looks up to where gray winter daylight is visible through a small window set high in the cinderblock wall.
"We wouldn't ship out for at least three months. It'll be spring by then."
Sanchez gives him a smile that might be a smirk - hard to tell.
"Not that sort of season, son."
What the hell...?
Chris sits back, stymied. It's been a hell of a long day, and he's not in the mood to play word games.
Buck clears his throat.
"Think he's talking about the song, there, Chris." He hums a few bars. "Turn, Turn, Turn"
Sanchez chuckles.
"Ecclesiastes 3:1."
He says it slow and deep and rumbling, relishing every syllable - like a favorite prayer, or maybe a private joke.
Son of a...
Religion's definitely not Chris's strong suit. He's never been much of a church-going man, and he hasn't wanted anything to do with any kind of God at all since... No. Work to do. He may not be equipped to bring the word of God into this debate, but he's got other weapons in his arsenal.
He grabs up the folder from in front of Sanchez, pulls out a photo at random and slaps it onto the table.
He watches the big man's expression as he instinctively looks down - sees that serene gaze darken to something dangerous when he really *looks*. Chris knows he's got him, but slaps down another photo - and then another. Just to be sure.
Sanchez grabs his wrist on the third slap.
"Enough."
"How's that season now, padre?"
Sanchez meets Chris's gaze, and what he sees there puts Chris in mind of words like 'smite' and 'wrath' and 'vengeance is mine, saith the Lord'.
"Think I feel a thaw comin' on."
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Chris steps into the next room, where Travis and Jackson have been watching the interviews on a monitor. Buck stays behind with Sanchez - asks some question about fornication that gets a big, booming laugh out of the man. Chris figures that's answer enough for where Buck stands on things.
Nathan's looking grim - still not convinced - but he's not going to say anything to gainsay Chris in front of the general.
Which just leaves Travis.
"Interesting bunch you got there," the old man observes. Chris just inclines his head in agreement. There's no denying that.
"And you think you can trust 'em?"
"I think they can get the job done."
"Not what I asked, Major."
Chris chews it over a minute. He's fairly sure Sanchez is hooked. And John ("Call me J.D.") Dunne is too eager to please to pose a threat - unless he runs screaming at his first real taste of combat, anyway. Tanner and Standish are his wild cards. Neither ranks particularly high in the "works well with others" department, and they're both near the top of the class in terms of flight risk. But Tanner's vital to the plan, and Standish... well, Chris just has a gut-feeling about Standish. From his file, the man seems to have more tricks up his sleeve than a Louisiana cardshark, and Chris gets the feeling that an ability to deal from the bottom of the proverbial deck is going to come in real handy.
He sighs. No sense trying to pretty it up any.
"I don't trust 'em farther than I can throw 'em, sir. But I can work with that. They'll get the job done."
Travis takes that under advisement and nods - rises to go.
"It's your call."
He pauses on his way out the door.
"Just... do me a favor and don't misplace any of them before they've taken care of our little problem?"
"Understood, sir."
Travis leaves, Nathan groans, and Chris turns his thoughts to debriefing his new team on the mission ahead.
--END--
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