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archetTitle: Angels Ain’t Easy
Author: Archet
Pairing: OMC Jody McKinnon/Matt Hawkes
Fandom: High Mountain Rangers
Summary: a story of falling in love, figuring things out and just holding on.
Disclaimer: I did not create the High Mountain Ranger character/s, only this fic and the Original Male Character, Jody McKinnon, and any other original characters in supporting roles. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: this fic is set in 1989, approximately a year and a half after the events of the final episode of High Mountain Rangers. There will be no acknowledgment of the events of the spin-off show Jesse Hawkes.
Note: this fic takes place a little over four months after Bad Luck, Bad Guys and High Mountain Rangers and is a sequel to that fic, so reading that first is recommended.
Additional: this fic will depict same sex physical and romantic relationships, and dominate/submissive themes. If this ain’t your thing, venture no further.
Summary this chapter: Matt comes face to face with someone from Jonathan's hidden life, he runs his mouth, and hopes not to get shot.
***Additional Notes/ramblings at end of chapter***
~*~
Chapter 2: Never Let'em See You Sweat
Matt was tempted to turn around. He almost did turn around. Almost. With Jonathan’s words swirling around in his head, there were easily a half dozen points about the man’s story that didn’t track. Left with more questions than answers was troubling, but, not troubling enough to get him to change direction. Walking along the winding path, sneakers crunching softly on the gravel, he examined his reservations about leaving things so… vague, with Jon.
As he reached the border of the square and stepped off the pathway, cutting across a gentle slope that would take him back to the paved parking lot beside the diner, Matt shook his head. All the frustrations he would expect to feel at Jon still not being straight up with him, just didn’t seem as relevant. It all felt rather anticlimactic, and while he cared about Jon, and wanted to help him, Matt wasn’t willing to enter that impenetrable maze again, where each turn was met with a dead-end or another confusing puzzle.
Slipping a hand into his jeans pocket to fish out his keys, Matt thought of Jody. Smile curving his lips, he brought out his keys, thumped them against his thigh as he walked, a merry little jingle in time with his step. Wondering what Jody had gotten up to in his absence fed into his eagerness to get home, and so his pace quickened as he stepped onto the paved concrete parking lot.
It struck him then, that he wasn’t so much walking away from Jonathan, as he was walking back to Jody.
The lingering frustrations with Jon clearing, Matt noted the parking lot was practically full, the early lunch rush just beginning. He didn’t run into anyone though as he traversed the lot, rounding the back of a large utility truck parked in the slot next to the Blazer. Slowing his gait, he had to sidle his way in between the two vehicles, and was essentially tucked out of sight of anyone traveling by. The work truck had pulled in close, barely staying within the painted lines, leaving scant room between itself and the Blazer, and for a moment Matt stood sandwiched between the two as he grabbed the door handle and made to pull it open.
Chuckling to himself, Matt figured that once he got home it’d be an easy task to entice Jody back to bed for a while. It was still early in the day, and once Jon came and fetched the jade hawk, they’d have all afternoon free. Face warming as his thoughts loped ahead; he was already envisioning lazing the remainder of the day away in Jody’s arms.
“I’m such a sap,” he mumbled, and swinging the door open, was about to step inside when a sudden, sharp sting to the side of his neck made him jump.
“What the--” he blurted, slapping at his neck, expecting to squash a wasp or bee.
Then some instinct buzzed back online, shouting at him through the musings of Jody and Jonathan, and he jerked around, arm coming up defensively. It wasn’t like him to walk around so unaware, but the warning had come too late. There, crouched in the hidden space between two bulky metal tool boxes on the back bed of the utility truck was a man Matt had never seen before. Clutched in the man’s hand was a syringe.
Already feeling a heavy haze blanketing him, Matt fell back against the side of the Blazer, staring as the stranger glanced around before tossing the syringe aside. Hopping down from the truck bed, he had to awkwardly turn sideways into the space between the vehicles. Shorter than Matt by a good few inches, he was stocky, broad of shoulder and with thick biceps that strained the confines of the black windbreaker jacket he wore. His close cropped light brown hair matched his eyes, which were fixed on Matt.
Locking his knees against the alarming need to sit down, Matt opened his mouth to tell the guy to go fuck himself, to raise the alarm, but a meaty hand slapped over the bottom half of his face, gripping him firmly and stifling any sound. He tried jerking away but the man was quicker, having essentially pancaked them together between the truck bodies.
Looking back and forth with quick, furtive turns of his head, the man said, “Sorry, kid. But it’s gotta be this way.”
The sedative winding its way into his veins with shocking efficiency, Matt again attempted to twist away, but the man’s grip was like a vice. His keys dropped away from his nerveless fingers, clinking against the concrete. With the last of his strength and coherency, Matt drew back his arm, his elbow banging painfully on the Blazer’s window, and curling up his fist, struck out with everything he had.
The satisfying, meaty sound of his fist crashing into the man’s jaw was short-lived. As the drug took hold Matt folded, practically face planting against his assailant’s chest, and the two of them went down together, comically smushed together.
“Goddamnit,” came a gruff voice, and then the veil descended fully, muffling everything, sight and sound, and the world faded to black.
I still don’t want you anywhere near him.
Jody!
Matt jerked awake, and the sudden motion of lifting his head sent a spasm of pain through his neck and shoulders. Muscles having been locked into an unnatural position for too long protested, aching, and with a grimace he blinked heavily as the blurred colors swimming around him merged into recognizable shapes. Carefully rotating his head, working out the kink in his neck, he stared around at the long, rectangular room he found himself in.
Where the fuck am I?
The ceiling of the room soared high above, buttressed by dark, heavy wooden beams. At the far end stood a mammoth fireplace, its marbled stone gleaming in the sunlight pouring in from a long row of tall, thick paned windows running all along one wall. At his right hand sat a massive oak table, its top polished to a mirror shine and stretching at least half the length of the room and running parallel to the wall with its bank of windows. Heavy wooden chairs sat along the table’s lip at regular intervals, their backs and armrests carved with diamond shaped cutouts and designs. Every few feet wrought iron candelabras sat in the center span of the table, bristling with thick, ivory colored wax candles.
Positioned to the left of the table, Matt was tied to one of the wooden chairs, and a few feet away he spotted the empty space where it belonged. He was lashed down tight, a black nylon cord wrapped around his writs, biceps and ankles, so that it was nearly impossible to move, even so much as to roll the ache out of his shoulder. Frowning as a burst of panic shot through him, he pulled and strained against the strength of the cord, but and found very little give. Heart rate spiking, Matt took a steadying breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Feeling a little more ordered, he opened his eyes and focused on assessing his surroundings more closely.
Twisting as much as possible, he looked over one shoulder to find a heavy, wooden door at his back. Its brass brackets and hinges looked solid enough to withstand a battering ram. Turning back around, he took a few more even, regular breaths and relaxed, stopped straining so much against his bindings, and flexed his fingers, hoping to get the blood flowing freely again. They tingled; all pins and needles and Matt glanced aside at the windows.
Warm, yellow sunlight steamed in through the glass panes, and from the angle of the slanting rays he guessed that it wasn’t too far into the afternoon. His meal with Jon, and their subsequent conversation had ended sometime before lunch, but Matt was having a hard time remembering exactly. Shaking his head, he realized whatever he’d been dosed with was messing with his recall. He remembered the assault, but it was like recollecting a dream, foggy and indistinct.
Taking another inspection of the room he was in, Matt spotted another exit, another stout brass hinged door, way down at the far end of the room, tucked in next the marble fireplace. So, there were two exits, not including the plethora of windows, which just left him with the dilemma of getting free from his bonds.
Wiggling his fingers again, he was attempting to get purchase on the cord knotted at his wrists when the sound of the door at his back scraping open snapped him to attention. He fought the urge to crane his neck to see who was entering the chamber. The door pushed closed with a heavy click, and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed over the flagstone floor. There was the slightest pause in the cadence of the steps, his visitor no doubt noticing that he was awake, and then they continued.
Stepping around his left side, a man wearing jeans and a black snap button windbreaker came to a stop, and looked down at him. Matt frowned, remembering a sting to his neck, and strong hands on him. He remembered the satisfying sensation of his fist plowing into flesh, and the corner of his mouth curled up as he saw the purpling bruise decorating the man’s jaw.
The man’s brown eyes narrowed as he noticed where Matt’s attention lay, and then he huffed, a gruff, almost amused sound, before walking ahead to the table and drawing out a chair. He pivoted the chair around to face Matt, its wooden feet scraping over the stone floor with an unpleasant screech that reverberated in the cavernous room. With no carpeting, no soft surfaces, every sound seemed uniquely amplified.
The man sat down heavily, tipped his head back against the chair’s high back and sighed.
“Sorry about the stick,” he said, waving vaguely in the vicinity of his own neck.
Matt stared back, thoughts spinning. The man was a complete stranger. Receiving no reply, the man continued.
“You see, I needed you to come along quietly, and I doubted you would’ve cooperated if I’d asked nicely.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Matt asked, finding it difficult to get the words out through the cottony dryness of his mouth.
Arching a brow, the man nodded in agreement. “I guess not.”
A couple uncomfortable seconds passed silently until the man, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, leaned forward, and resting his forearms on his thighs, laced his fingers together. The sleeve of his jacket pulled up, and Matt noticed a metal wristwatch on one arm, and a gold wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand.
“Matt. I know you must have a lot of questions.”
“No shit,” Matt rasped, wondering who the fuck would agree to marry this clown, and he snapped his mouth shut before he could blurt that out too. The vestiges of the drug were still making it hard to think in a straight line, and he curled his fingers into his palms, reaching for his center.
With his close cropped brown hair and eyes, the man was not nondescript. He had broad shoulders and thick biceps that filled the sleeves of his jacket, and strong thighs straining the confines of his jeans. In another setting, Matt would have considered him rather attractive, if not for the flagrant act of kidnapping, and his rather banal conversation skills. By the emerging appearance of lines around his eyes and mouth, Matt figured his kidnapper was somewhere in his late thirties, maybe early forties.
“Look, kid,” the man begin again, tilting his head to the side and watching Matt with an amused expression. “I get it, okay? But just give me a few minutes to explain.”
Matt glared back wordlessly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Why did everyone start out by calling him ‘kid’ for fucks sake?
“My name is Wheeler. Rick Wheeler, and I’m here looking for Jonathan, well, you know him as Silva. Jonathan Silva.”
Matt’s brows drawing together, he took the obvious bait. “What do you mean, as I know him?”
Wheeler smiled faintly. “Yeah, I didn’t think he would’ve come clean. I mean, why would he? His name is actually Jonathan Salvatore.”
At a loss as what to do with that information, Matt reached for indifference, not wanting Wheeler to sense how unsettled he felt. “So? A lot of people change their names.”
Wheeler snorted, sitting back in his chair again. “He’s good, I’ll hand him that. Look at you, even now, you’re protecting him.”
Matt glared, temper rising and serving the dual effects of cleansing the clingy, druggy fog from his mind, but making it much more likely to he’d go and get himself shot, or something, by running his mouth too much.
“I’m not protecting anyone. And who the fuck you are, anyway? And where the fuck am I? What the fuck do you want?”
Clenching his jaw, Matt took a steadying breath. Wheeler regarded him steadily, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. Matt itched to wipe the expression off the man’s face.
“All pertinent questions, Ranger Hawkes,” Wheeler said evenly. “So, let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?”
Matt waited, watching as Wheeler unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a plain white button down dress shirt. Reaching inside his jacket he pulled out what looked like a folded leather wallet, which he dropped onto the oak table, along with a snub nosed pistol. Eyeing the weapon, Matt ignored the hitch in his heart rate and focused on details, identifying the gun as mostly likely a bolt action Smith & Wesson.
Wheeler held the pistol in one hand for a moment, before carefully placing it on the table, and then slid it several inches away before settling back into his seat.
“Let me help you out,” he said, resuming his leaning-in, fingers-laced pose on his chair.
Frowning, Matt had the abrupt, odd feeling that Wheeler was attempting to cover both parts of the good cop/back cop method, only with both versions being equally annoying.
“As to where you are, well, trust me when I say, you’re in a very safe place.”
Matt snorted. “Sure, I feel real safe.”
Wheeler paused, but allowed the comment to go unremarked.
“As to what I want, I want Jonathan Salvatore. I want him in the worst way, Matt.”
Matt’s body tightened at the edge that had crept past Wheeler’s even tone.
Taking a moment to collect himself, Wheeler held Matt’s gaze.
“As to who I am? Well, that’s not terribly important. Now, what’s important is who you are, Matt,” and unlacing his fingers, Wheeler gestured to where Matt sat, lashed down to his chair four feet away.
Sitting back, Wheeler studied him. “You’re Jonathan’s, I mean, what do they call it nowadays? Fuck buddy?”
The man paused, seemingly waiting for a reaction.
Matt stared him down, unwilling to give the asshole the satisfaction of a reply. Deciding that he’d get nothing but a flat stare in return, Wheeler tilted his head and continued. His gaze dipped down, traveling over Matt’s body from face to feet and back up again.
“Or should I say, boyfriend?” he ventured.
Stubbornly, Matt held his stare, though he could feel heat rise in his face.
“Maybe lover is more appropriate. Is that is, Matt? Are you Jonathan’s lover? Are you the one the takes to his bed?” Wheeler asked, almost gently.
Licking his lips, Matt released a breath. “I’m Jon’s friend, if even that. I guess right now I’m not even sure anymore. As for the rest,” and he fixed his gaze on Wheeler’s. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
Wheeler smiled, the expression sharper than before, and before the man could comment Matt added, “And by the way, since you seem so interested, I’m seeing someone right now. I’m not available, sorry.”
Matt let himself relax in his chair, beneath his bonds, and watched as a noticeable blush rose over Wheeler’s face.
“I’m not a--” Wheeler blurted, back stiffening before he caught himself. His smile grew a little sharper. “I’ll give you this, kid, you got spunk. Not many will provoke another man like that while he’s tied to a chair.”
Shaking his head, Wheeler passed a hand over his face, scrubbed fingers through his hair. “If you’re not Jonathan’s lover, or even his friend, maybe I miscalculated your importance to him.”
It wasn’t a question, so Matt felt no compulsion to answer.
Wheeler let the implication of his words hang between them. Matt, after a few moments just shrugged, at least as best he could while being tied down. Wheeler would not have grabbed him, someone as close to being a law enforcement official without actually being a cop, off the street if he hadn’t been pretty fucking sure he needed to. Despite being fairly effective, ultimately, the threat was empty.
And it meant Wheeler was desperate, despite his cool demeanor, and that could be something to work in Matt’s favor, if he was careful.
“Look, I don’t know anything about this,” he finally offered. “I don’t know where Jon is, or where he’s going.”
Unfazed, Wheeler shook his head. “I think you know more than you’re letting on. Jonathan came all the way up here. He’s got all kinds of trouble coming down on his neck, and instead of bolting; he came all the way up here to see you, Matt. I know you two were together this morning.”
Remaining silent, Matt waited to see where Wheeler was going with this line of questioning.
“So,” Wheeler said, and reaching out, placed two fingers on the leather wallet and slowly slid it to the edge of the table. “Either old Johnny boy really, really wanted to get his dick wet, or, he came up here for another reason.”
Wheeler tapped his finger against leather wallet.
“What was that reason, Matt? That’s all I wanna know. You can tell me.”
Taking a count of three, Matt pushed his anger, and fear, away, locking it behind a door as heavy as the wooden one at his back. He was calm as he replied, enunciating his words deliberately.
“I don’t know.”
Frowning, Wheeler appeared more disappointed than angry, which sent a chill down Matt’s spine.
“That’s too bad,” he said quietly. He looked away briefly, then back to Matt, and his brown eyes held something close to regret.
“You seem like a nice kid, so I’m going to give it to you straight, okay?"
Matt waited, feeling every line of his body drawing to attention. Whatever Wheeler was going to say, or do, Matt had a bad feeling it was going to hurt.
Sighing, Wheeler stood, snagging the wallet from the table, along with the pistol which he held loosely in his left hand. Tilting his head, he looked down at Matt for a long moment.
“Nothing Jonathan has told you is true. He’s a user, Matt. He used me, and now he’s used you. He’ll keep on using you, fucking you over if you let him.”
Something about Wheeler’s utter certainty sent a bolt of anxiety through Matt’s belly, it soured in his mouth.
“You see, he’s a traitor, as well as a liar, and a thief,” and holding up the wallet, Wheeler flipped it open so Matt could view its contents.
It wasn’t a wallet at all. It was a badge holder. Pinned to the bottom half of the holder, a shiny gold shield stamped Bureau of Investigation grabbed Matt’s attention for a long, stunning moment. His gaze tracked up. Under a clear plastic protector was a head shot of Jonathan, handsome in a suit jacket and tie, expression resolute as he stared into the camera. The words ‘special agent Jonathan Salvatore’ swam in and out of focus before Matt’s eyes.
Alongside the small color photo were three unmistakable letters printed in bold, block print.
FBI.
****Additional Notes*****
Eeeehh! At last a bit of the truth is coming to light. I hope Jon's little secret was a surprise. I knew from the beginning he was going to be a lawman, I just didn't know when or how it would be revealed. Of course, with Jon this only leads to more questions. Is he the good guy, has he turned to the dark side of the force, and what does it all have to do with the jade hawk?
I hope I got a bit of sassy Matt in there, I wanted to have him run his mouth, as he is wont to do, but also not be too stupid about it. Ha! The drugs have him a bit addled, and he's smart enough to be scared of the situation he finds himself in. But the greater question is, does finding out about Jon's little secrete change any of his feelings for the man? We shall see. As usual share thoughts/ideas/feedback etc etc as you will!
Author: Archet
Pairing: OMC Jody McKinnon/Matt Hawkes
Fandom: High Mountain Rangers
Summary: a story of falling in love, figuring things out and just holding on.
Disclaimer: I did not create the High Mountain Ranger character/s, only this fic and the Original Male Character, Jody McKinnon, and any other original characters in supporting roles. No copyright infringement is intended.
Notes: this fic is set in 1989, approximately a year and a half after the events of the final episode of High Mountain Rangers. There will be no acknowledgment of the events of the spin-off show Jesse Hawkes.
Note: this fic takes place a little over four months after Bad Luck, Bad Guys and High Mountain Rangers and is a sequel to that fic, so reading that first is recommended.
Additional: this fic will depict same sex physical and romantic relationships, and dominate/submissive themes. If this ain’t your thing, venture no further.
Summary this chapter: Matt comes face to face with someone from Jonathan's hidden life, he runs his mouth, and hopes not to get shot.
***Additional Notes/ramblings at end of chapter***
~*~
Chapter 2: Never Let'em See You Sweat
Matt was tempted to turn around. He almost did turn around. Almost. With Jonathan’s words swirling around in his head, there were easily a half dozen points about the man’s story that didn’t track. Left with more questions than answers was troubling, but, not troubling enough to get him to change direction. Walking along the winding path, sneakers crunching softly on the gravel, he examined his reservations about leaving things so… vague, with Jon.
As he reached the border of the square and stepped off the pathway, cutting across a gentle slope that would take him back to the paved parking lot beside the diner, Matt shook his head. All the frustrations he would expect to feel at Jon still not being straight up with him, just didn’t seem as relevant. It all felt rather anticlimactic, and while he cared about Jon, and wanted to help him, Matt wasn’t willing to enter that impenetrable maze again, where each turn was met with a dead-end or another confusing puzzle.
Slipping a hand into his jeans pocket to fish out his keys, Matt thought of Jody. Smile curving his lips, he brought out his keys, thumped them against his thigh as he walked, a merry little jingle in time with his step. Wondering what Jody had gotten up to in his absence fed into his eagerness to get home, and so his pace quickened as he stepped onto the paved concrete parking lot.
It struck him then, that he wasn’t so much walking away from Jonathan, as he was walking back to Jody.
The lingering frustrations with Jon clearing, Matt noted the parking lot was practically full, the early lunch rush just beginning. He didn’t run into anyone though as he traversed the lot, rounding the back of a large utility truck parked in the slot next to the Blazer. Slowing his gait, he had to sidle his way in between the two vehicles, and was essentially tucked out of sight of anyone traveling by. The work truck had pulled in close, barely staying within the painted lines, leaving scant room between itself and the Blazer, and for a moment Matt stood sandwiched between the two as he grabbed the door handle and made to pull it open.
Chuckling to himself, Matt figured that once he got home it’d be an easy task to entice Jody back to bed for a while. It was still early in the day, and once Jon came and fetched the jade hawk, they’d have all afternoon free. Face warming as his thoughts loped ahead; he was already envisioning lazing the remainder of the day away in Jody’s arms.
“I’m such a sap,” he mumbled, and swinging the door open, was about to step inside when a sudden, sharp sting to the side of his neck made him jump.
“What the--” he blurted, slapping at his neck, expecting to squash a wasp or bee.
Then some instinct buzzed back online, shouting at him through the musings of Jody and Jonathan, and he jerked around, arm coming up defensively. It wasn’t like him to walk around so unaware, but the warning had come too late. There, crouched in the hidden space between two bulky metal tool boxes on the back bed of the utility truck was a man Matt had never seen before. Clutched in the man’s hand was a syringe.
Already feeling a heavy haze blanketing him, Matt fell back against the side of the Blazer, staring as the stranger glanced around before tossing the syringe aside. Hopping down from the truck bed, he had to awkwardly turn sideways into the space between the vehicles. Shorter than Matt by a good few inches, he was stocky, broad of shoulder and with thick biceps that strained the confines of the black windbreaker jacket he wore. His close cropped light brown hair matched his eyes, which were fixed on Matt.
Locking his knees against the alarming need to sit down, Matt opened his mouth to tell the guy to go fuck himself, to raise the alarm, but a meaty hand slapped over the bottom half of his face, gripping him firmly and stifling any sound. He tried jerking away but the man was quicker, having essentially pancaked them together between the truck bodies.
Looking back and forth with quick, furtive turns of his head, the man said, “Sorry, kid. But it’s gotta be this way.”
The sedative winding its way into his veins with shocking efficiency, Matt again attempted to twist away, but the man’s grip was like a vice. His keys dropped away from his nerveless fingers, clinking against the concrete. With the last of his strength and coherency, Matt drew back his arm, his elbow banging painfully on the Blazer’s window, and curling up his fist, struck out with everything he had.
The satisfying, meaty sound of his fist crashing into the man’s jaw was short-lived. As the drug took hold Matt folded, practically face planting against his assailant’s chest, and the two of them went down together, comically smushed together.
“Goddamnit,” came a gruff voice, and then the veil descended fully, muffling everything, sight and sound, and the world faded to black.
I still don’t want you anywhere near him.
Jody!
Matt jerked awake, and the sudden motion of lifting his head sent a spasm of pain through his neck and shoulders. Muscles having been locked into an unnatural position for too long protested, aching, and with a grimace he blinked heavily as the blurred colors swimming around him merged into recognizable shapes. Carefully rotating his head, working out the kink in his neck, he stared around at the long, rectangular room he found himself in.
Where the fuck am I?
The ceiling of the room soared high above, buttressed by dark, heavy wooden beams. At the far end stood a mammoth fireplace, its marbled stone gleaming in the sunlight pouring in from a long row of tall, thick paned windows running all along one wall. At his right hand sat a massive oak table, its top polished to a mirror shine and stretching at least half the length of the room and running parallel to the wall with its bank of windows. Heavy wooden chairs sat along the table’s lip at regular intervals, their backs and armrests carved with diamond shaped cutouts and designs. Every few feet wrought iron candelabras sat in the center span of the table, bristling with thick, ivory colored wax candles.
Positioned to the left of the table, Matt was tied to one of the wooden chairs, and a few feet away he spotted the empty space where it belonged. He was lashed down tight, a black nylon cord wrapped around his writs, biceps and ankles, so that it was nearly impossible to move, even so much as to roll the ache out of his shoulder. Frowning as a burst of panic shot through him, he pulled and strained against the strength of the cord, but and found very little give. Heart rate spiking, Matt took a steadying breath, closed his eyes and counted to ten. Feeling a little more ordered, he opened his eyes and focused on assessing his surroundings more closely.
Twisting as much as possible, he looked over one shoulder to find a heavy, wooden door at his back. Its brass brackets and hinges looked solid enough to withstand a battering ram. Turning back around, he took a few more even, regular breaths and relaxed, stopped straining so much against his bindings, and flexed his fingers, hoping to get the blood flowing freely again. They tingled; all pins and needles and Matt glanced aside at the windows.
Warm, yellow sunlight steamed in through the glass panes, and from the angle of the slanting rays he guessed that it wasn’t too far into the afternoon. His meal with Jon, and their subsequent conversation had ended sometime before lunch, but Matt was having a hard time remembering exactly. Shaking his head, he realized whatever he’d been dosed with was messing with his recall. He remembered the assault, but it was like recollecting a dream, foggy and indistinct.
Taking another inspection of the room he was in, Matt spotted another exit, another stout brass hinged door, way down at the far end of the room, tucked in next the marble fireplace. So, there were two exits, not including the plethora of windows, which just left him with the dilemma of getting free from his bonds.
Wiggling his fingers again, he was attempting to get purchase on the cord knotted at his wrists when the sound of the door at his back scraping open snapped him to attention. He fought the urge to crane his neck to see who was entering the chamber. The door pushed closed with a heavy click, and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed over the flagstone floor. There was the slightest pause in the cadence of the steps, his visitor no doubt noticing that he was awake, and then they continued.
Stepping around his left side, a man wearing jeans and a black snap button windbreaker came to a stop, and looked down at him. Matt frowned, remembering a sting to his neck, and strong hands on him. He remembered the satisfying sensation of his fist plowing into flesh, and the corner of his mouth curled up as he saw the purpling bruise decorating the man’s jaw.
The man’s brown eyes narrowed as he noticed where Matt’s attention lay, and then he huffed, a gruff, almost amused sound, before walking ahead to the table and drawing out a chair. He pivoted the chair around to face Matt, its wooden feet scraping over the stone floor with an unpleasant screech that reverberated in the cavernous room. With no carpeting, no soft surfaces, every sound seemed uniquely amplified.
The man sat down heavily, tipped his head back against the chair’s high back and sighed.
“Sorry about the stick,” he said, waving vaguely in the vicinity of his own neck.
Matt stared back, thoughts spinning. The man was a complete stranger. Receiving no reply, the man continued.
“You see, I needed you to come along quietly, and I doubted you would’ve cooperated if I’d asked nicely.”
“I guess we’ll never know, will we?” Matt asked, finding it difficult to get the words out through the cottony dryness of his mouth.
Arching a brow, the man nodded in agreement. “I guess not.”
A couple uncomfortable seconds passed silently until the man, sitting up a little straighter in his chair, leaned forward, and resting his forearms on his thighs, laced his fingers together. The sleeve of his jacket pulled up, and Matt noticed a metal wristwatch on one arm, and a gold wedding band on the ring finger of his left hand.
“Matt. I know you must have a lot of questions.”
“No shit,” Matt rasped, wondering who the fuck would agree to marry this clown, and he snapped his mouth shut before he could blurt that out too. The vestiges of the drug were still making it hard to think in a straight line, and he curled his fingers into his palms, reaching for his center.
With his close cropped brown hair and eyes, the man was not nondescript. He had broad shoulders and thick biceps that filled the sleeves of his jacket, and strong thighs straining the confines of his jeans. In another setting, Matt would have considered him rather attractive, if not for the flagrant act of kidnapping, and his rather banal conversation skills. By the emerging appearance of lines around his eyes and mouth, Matt figured his kidnapper was somewhere in his late thirties, maybe early forties.
“Look, kid,” the man begin again, tilting his head to the side and watching Matt with an amused expression. “I get it, okay? But just give me a few minutes to explain.”
Matt glared back wordlessly, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Why did everyone start out by calling him ‘kid’ for fucks sake?
“My name is Wheeler. Rick Wheeler, and I’m here looking for Jonathan, well, you know him as Silva. Jonathan Silva.”
Matt’s brows drawing together, he took the obvious bait. “What do you mean, as I know him?”
Wheeler smiled faintly. “Yeah, I didn’t think he would’ve come clean. I mean, why would he? His name is actually Jonathan Salvatore.”
At a loss as what to do with that information, Matt reached for indifference, not wanting Wheeler to sense how unsettled he felt. “So? A lot of people change their names.”
Wheeler snorted, sitting back in his chair again. “He’s good, I’ll hand him that. Look at you, even now, you’re protecting him.”
Matt glared, temper rising and serving the dual effects of cleansing the clingy, druggy fog from his mind, but making it much more likely to he’d go and get himself shot, or something, by running his mouth too much.
“I’m not protecting anyone. And who the fuck you are, anyway? And where the fuck am I? What the fuck do you want?”
Clenching his jaw, Matt took a steadying breath. Wheeler regarded him steadily, the beginnings of a smile on his lips. Matt itched to wipe the expression off the man’s face.
“All pertinent questions, Ranger Hawkes,” Wheeler said evenly. “So, let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?”
Matt waited, watching as Wheeler unbuttoned his jacket, revealing a plain white button down dress shirt. Reaching inside his jacket he pulled out what looked like a folded leather wallet, which he dropped onto the oak table, along with a snub nosed pistol. Eyeing the weapon, Matt ignored the hitch in his heart rate and focused on details, identifying the gun as mostly likely a bolt action Smith & Wesson.
Wheeler held the pistol in one hand for a moment, before carefully placing it on the table, and then slid it several inches away before settling back into his seat.
“Let me help you out,” he said, resuming his leaning-in, fingers-laced pose on his chair.
Frowning, Matt had the abrupt, odd feeling that Wheeler was attempting to cover both parts of the good cop/back cop method, only with both versions being equally annoying.
“As to where you are, well, trust me when I say, you’re in a very safe place.”
Matt snorted. “Sure, I feel real safe.”
Wheeler paused, but allowed the comment to go unremarked.
“As to what I want, I want Jonathan Salvatore. I want him in the worst way, Matt.”
Matt’s body tightened at the edge that had crept past Wheeler’s even tone.
Taking a moment to collect himself, Wheeler held Matt’s gaze.
“As to who I am? Well, that’s not terribly important. Now, what’s important is who you are, Matt,” and unlacing his fingers, Wheeler gestured to where Matt sat, lashed down to his chair four feet away.
Sitting back, Wheeler studied him. “You’re Jonathan’s, I mean, what do they call it nowadays? Fuck buddy?”
The man paused, seemingly waiting for a reaction.
Matt stared him down, unwilling to give the asshole the satisfaction of a reply. Deciding that he’d get nothing but a flat stare in return, Wheeler tilted his head and continued. His gaze dipped down, traveling over Matt’s body from face to feet and back up again.
“Or should I say, boyfriend?” he ventured.
Stubbornly, Matt held his stare, though he could feel heat rise in his face.
“Maybe lover is more appropriate. Is that is, Matt? Are you Jonathan’s lover? Are you the one the takes to his bed?” Wheeler asked, almost gently.
Licking his lips, Matt released a breath. “I’m Jon’s friend, if even that. I guess right now I’m not even sure anymore. As for the rest,” and he fixed his gaze on Wheeler’s. “That’s none of your fucking business.”
Wheeler smiled, the expression sharper than before, and before the man could comment Matt added, “And by the way, since you seem so interested, I’m seeing someone right now. I’m not available, sorry.”
Matt let himself relax in his chair, beneath his bonds, and watched as a noticeable blush rose over Wheeler’s face.
“I’m not a--” Wheeler blurted, back stiffening before he caught himself. His smile grew a little sharper. “I’ll give you this, kid, you got spunk. Not many will provoke another man like that while he’s tied to a chair.”
Shaking his head, Wheeler passed a hand over his face, scrubbed fingers through his hair. “If you’re not Jonathan’s lover, or even his friend, maybe I miscalculated your importance to him.”
It wasn’t a question, so Matt felt no compulsion to answer.
Wheeler let the implication of his words hang between them. Matt, after a few moments just shrugged, at least as best he could while being tied down. Wheeler would not have grabbed him, someone as close to being a law enforcement official without actually being a cop, off the street if he hadn’t been pretty fucking sure he needed to. Despite being fairly effective, ultimately, the threat was empty.
And it meant Wheeler was desperate, despite his cool demeanor, and that could be something to work in Matt’s favor, if he was careful.
“Look, I don’t know anything about this,” he finally offered. “I don’t know where Jon is, or where he’s going.”
Unfazed, Wheeler shook his head. “I think you know more than you’re letting on. Jonathan came all the way up here. He’s got all kinds of trouble coming down on his neck, and instead of bolting; he came all the way up here to see you, Matt. I know you two were together this morning.”
Remaining silent, Matt waited to see where Wheeler was going with this line of questioning.
“So,” Wheeler said, and reaching out, placed two fingers on the leather wallet and slowly slid it to the edge of the table. “Either old Johnny boy really, really wanted to get his dick wet, or, he came up here for another reason.”
Wheeler tapped his finger against leather wallet.
“What was that reason, Matt? That’s all I wanna know. You can tell me.”
Taking a count of three, Matt pushed his anger, and fear, away, locking it behind a door as heavy as the wooden one at his back. He was calm as he replied, enunciating his words deliberately.
“I don’t know.”
Frowning, Wheeler appeared more disappointed than angry, which sent a chill down Matt’s spine.
“That’s too bad,” he said quietly. He looked away briefly, then back to Matt, and his brown eyes held something close to regret.
“You seem like a nice kid, so I’m going to give it to you straight, okay?"
Matt waited, feeling every line of his body drawing to attention. Whatever Wheeler was going to say, or do, Matt had a bad feeling it was going to hurt.
Sighing, Wheeler stood, snagging the wallet from the table, along with the pistol which he held loosely in his left hand. Tilting his head, he looked down at Matt for a long moment.
“Nothing Jonathan has told you is true. He’s a user, Matt. He used me, and now he’s used you. He’ll keep on using you, fucking you over if you let him.”
Something about Wheeler’s utter certainty sent a bolt of anxiety through Matt’s belly, it soured in his mouth.
“You see, he’s a traitor, as well as a liar, and a thief,” and holding up the wallet, Wheeler flipped it open so Matt could view its contents.
It wasn’t a wallet at all. It was a badge holder. Pinned to the bottom half of the holder, a shiny gold shield stamped Bureau of Investigation grabbed Matt’s attention for a long, stunning moment. His gaze tracked up. Under a clear plastic protector was a head shot of Jonathan, handsome in a suit jacket and tie, expression resolute as he stared into the camera. The words ‘special agent Jonathan Salvatore’ swam in and out of focus before Matt’s eyes.
Alongside the small color photo were three unmistakable letters printed in bold, block print.
FBI.
****Additional Notes*****
Eeeehh! At last a bit of the truth is coming to light. I hope Jon's little secret was a surprise. I knew from the beginning he was going to be a lawman, I just didn't know when or how it would be revealed. Of course, with Jon this only leads to more questions. Is he the good guy, has he turned to the dark side of the force, and what does it all have to do with the jade hawk?
I hope I got a bit of sassy Matt in there, I wanted to have him run his mouth, as he is wont to do, but also not be too stupid about it. Ha! The drugs have him a bit addled, and he's smart enough to be scared of the situation he finds himself in. But the greater question is, does finding out about Jon's little secrete change any of his feelings for the man? We shall see. As usual share thoughts/ideas/feedback etc etc as you will!
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