"1918"
(or How to Torture an Eternal Optimist)
Disclaimer: Not mine originally.
AU: NYC AU
Characters: Buck, Nathan, Ezra…and good ol’ JD.
Notes: Yep. Answered the May challenge again.
Description: Waiting around in Buck’s office, picking on JD. What could be a better way to spend an afternoon?
____________________________________________
“One word?”
“That’s what I said.”
Nathan shook his head, staring at Buck with the same Mona Lisa smile he used whenever he thought one of the others was trying to trick him. Ezra was on the receiving end most of the time, but today it was Buck.
“I don’t believe it,” said the newest detective in the Larabee Detective Agency as he walked past Buck’s desk to look out the wide plate glass window, to stare vaguely at the office buildings located across the street. “JD is just too…calm and, frankly, nice, to go off at the utterance of just one word.”
“Well, when uttered, it’s sort of two words, but on paper it's one.”
Nathan turned, looking at the
“Two words, but one on paper?”
“Yup.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“Think of it…like a hyphenated word,” Buck explained, reaching a hand up to smooth down the edges of his moustache. “Like, for example, snow-shoeing.”
“Snow-shoeing,” Nathan repeated. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“Oh,” Buck’s eyes lit up, “I just read this great story, see, about….”
“Gentlemen!” Ezra Standish glided into the office, his snake-oil persona on full as he smiled genteelly at the two men. “I’ve come to hear a status update, as, per usual, neither Mr. Larabee nor Mr. Wilmington seem inclined to answer my calls.” The lawyer’s eyebrows lifted way up, as he waited for his answer, crossing his arms.
“Hi Ez,” Buck said, “Nice to see you too. Long time. Almost two hours.”
“Two hours is a long time in my
world, Mr. Wilmington, when you’re forced to live within the time constraints
of New York Civil Procedure guidelines. I need my answer before the City shuts
down, which, as you know, is probably closer to
“Ez, Chris is getting you your stuff right now, for your brief. You know that. Just give him a break.”
“I will…when I get that evidence, Mr. Wilmington.”
“Are you ever going to call him Buck?” Nathan interposed curiously. “I mean, he calls you Ez….”
“Only because he knows it annoys me, Nathan,” Ezra said.
“And he calls me n’ Chris “Mister” cause he knows it annoys us too,” Buck replied smartly. He sat up, “Look, Ez, Chris’ll be back in maybe fifteen minutes, why don’t you just chill and sit a spell?”
Ezra’s lips pursed, thinking about the mound of paper in his office. He’d organized the brief for filing today in advance…he just needed the last pages that Chris was to provide. Truth be told, he’d been getting bored, which was making him antsy which, of course, drove him over to Buck’s office.
Buck smiled slightly, seeing the indecision on the man’s face, because he already knew the outcome.
“Oh, hell,” Ezra said finally, “fine,” as if it were a great effort. Walking over to the wooden chair opposite Buck’s desk, he sat and started drumming his fingers on his pants leg.
“You know,” Buck leaned over the desk to look at the lawyer, clasping his hands together, “I was just making a friendly wager with Nathan here…think you might like to join him?”
Ezra’s fingers immediately stopped drumming, and his entire posture changed. Gone was the anxious lawyer--the poker loving gambler had taken over. He sat up straighter as he asked, “Wager? Pray tell, on what?”
“That I can rile JD into a full blown tantrum with just one word.”
Ezra’s eyebrows lifted. “One word?”
“Technically,” Nathan interjected, “he says it's two words that, on paper, make up one word.”
Ezra’s brow furrowed as he looked up at the part-time clinic doctor leaning against the window, “Huh?”
“Like a hyphenated word,” Buck added, “you know, like hailstorm or….”
"Wait, I thought snow-shoeing was weird. Why would you think of hailstorm?” Nathan asked. “It hasn’t hailed here in--“
“Ooh, there was this other great story I was reading, but this chick with a funny name…Not… something or other and…..”
“Hailstorm is not hyphenated," Ezra interrupted casually.
"It's not?"
"No."
"Oh," Buck smiled, "Then, how about smart-ass?"
Ezra smiled back, not rising to the taunt. “Regardless, Mr. Wilmington, back to the main point,” a manicured finger tapped the top of Buck’s desk, “are you wagering that you can rile my unusually bright and clever, very hard to bring to anger, and, while prone to fits of enthusiasm, very even-tempered legal secretary to a fit of fury by the mere utterance of one word?”
“Two words,” Nathan corrected, “that look like one.”
“Yes, yes,” Ezra waved him aside, “but the challenge is the same.” He leaned forward on his knees, his green eyes bright, “And what, may I ask, are the stakes?”
“Well,” Buck tipped his head at Nathan, “I was going to wager the doc there a six pack of beer and a night on the town, but for you….”
Ezra smiled, waiting for it.
“Expensive champagne and dinner at the Gramercy.”
“Whoosh!” Ezra’s smile broadened, “why not ask for the moon while you’re at it!”
“Well,” Buck shrugged, “I was
going to say
The lawyer chuckled, “You are too damn cocky.” He shook his head, “You could be bluffing, Mr. Wilmington, but, frankly, I know you can’t bluff. If you make that the stakes, then you’re certain you can win, and I won’t take that bet. I’m sorry.”
Buck’s grin fell. “What?”
“I don’t know how you expect to win, but with that much bravado, knowing I’d expect something equally painful in kind, I think you must know something I don’t. So,” Ezra leaned back in his chair, “I respectfully decline.”
Buck’s eyes were wide, “No way! Ezra Standish, turning down a bet?”
“Well sir, as you well know, I abhor gambling and….
“Bull hockey!”
“Hey, the man said no,” Nathan announced, pursing his lips as he contemplated the lawyer. “Kinda makes me think maybe I should….”
“Phooey!” Buck yelled, “You already agreed, doc! No turning back.”
“Don’t go by me, Dr. Jackson. I could indeed have made a wrong choice,” Ezra tucked his hands behind his head.
Nathan sighed heavily, still watching Ezra’s smug expression, and then turned back to Buck.
“All right, we’re still on. Let’s see this miracle.”
“Whoo hoo!” Buck grabbed the phone on his desk, dialing rapidly. Hitting a button, he put it on speaker. All three men watched the phone as it rang once…twice….
“Sanchez and Standish LLP, may I….oh. Hey Buck.” JD’s voice sounded tinny over the speaker, his professional tone degrading as he recognized Buck’s number on the Caller ID.
“Hey kid, say, I got one of your bosses here and Nate. Can you come here a moment? I have something I want to ask you.”
“Um…which boss?”
“Come on down, Mr. Dunne,” Ezra said.
“Oh,” JD’s voice perked up, “Hiya Mr. Standish. Righty-ho. I’ll be right there.”
The phone hung up, and Buck leaned back in his chair. All three men looked around at things other than each other as they waited.
“One word,” Nathan repeated, reminding Buck.
“Yup.”
A moment later, footsteps bounded into the outer office, a short “Hiya Case,” called as the whirlwind that is JD Dunne bee-lined for the second largest office in the agency’s space. Naturally, all three men were looking towards the door as JD bounced in, his smile bright.
“Hey guys! What’s up?”
“Well,” Buck leaned back, “we just wanted to see your reaction to something.”
“Reaction?” Pure innocence exuded from the boy’s pores; surely nothing could bring him down off the natural happiness that imbued his soul. “To what?”
Buck swallowed, grinned, and in a sing song voice complete with a sneer, chanted:
“Nineteen-Eighteen….”
He then leaned back and waited.
JD stared at him a second, a little nonplussed, then, slowly, his eyes narrowed.
Ezra pushed his chair further against the wall. Nathan also wisely stepped to the far side of the office out of the way.
“Oh no you
don’t!” JD yelled, striding forward and
slamming his fist on Buck’s desk, his face quickly turning a dark shade of red.
“You’re just sore ‘cause we just swept your ass up in
the
“Nineteen-Eighteen,” Buck chanted again.
“Shut up! At least we have more than one decent sports team up there! When was the last time the Knicks won, huh? Or the Jets and the Giants? Or the Rangers? Pats were the Superbowl Champs this year, don’t forget! And--”
“Nineteen-Eighteen….” This time, Buck raised the sing-song, his eyebrows lifting.
“Oh, oh….Go…jump out a window! See if I care!” And, because it was handy, JD picked up the small stress ball Buck had on the edge of his desk and threw it at the wall behind Buck’s head with a bang. The urban cowboy cringed, then leaned back and smiled cordially again. JD huffed, furious now and hating everything that was Buck Wilmington at that moment. Swiveling around, he glared at Ezra…who put his hands up quickly and professed to being a St. Louis Cardinals fan…and then over at Nathan…who smiled politely…he wasn’t getting involved….then back at Buck.
“You’re going down, Buck. This is our year, you hear me! Our year!”
Pivoting around on his heel, JD stormed out of the office, ignoring Casey’s confused “JD?” and stomped all the way to the law offices twenty feet away.
“Goodness,” Ezra admitted. “Now that’s optimism!”
“Wow,” Nathan agreed.
“And that, dear friends, is how to torture a Red Sox fan,” Buck chuckled. Leaning back, he arched an eyebrow at Nathan and slapped his hands together, rubbing them in anticipation, “Now, make the beer Brooklyn Ale, Nathan my man, and let’s talk restaurants!”
_________________________________________
Hope you liked it! Let me know if you did! For non-baseball folks, all you need to know is that "1918" is what Yankee fans chant whenever the Sox play at Yankee Stadium. When the Yanks come to Fenway...we're a little less clever and a lot more crude. <eg>
From Meg, another eternal
optimist.