Disclaimer: I don’t own the Magnificent Seven…some really rich people do.  I don’t even make any money off them, despite all the time I spend thinking about them.  It could certainly constitute a full time job.  Life’s just not fair, you know?

The August Challenge 2004 (the Song Challenge): offered by Jen Brooks
Write us a story inspired by a song. I don’t know about anybody else, but I have a whole list of tunes I associate with the boys and their adventures. Let’s compare Magnificent soundtracks! You don’t have to use the lyrics in the story – we’re not looking for songfic here – but please do include the lyrics at the end of the fic, with due credit.

Universe: ATF

Major Characters: Chris…but all the guys are here

Rating: G

Spoilers: None

Note: First, this is not a betaed story…the mistakes are mine and I’m sure they’re there.  Apologies in advance.  This fic doesn’t have much plot just a little speculating yours truly had, inspired by this challenge, about the history of the ATF Magnificent Seven.  I hope it brings some enjoyment.

Archive: yes, https://www.angelfire.com/ct2/jesmag7fanfiction/aug2004.htm

Email (reviews greatly appreciated): jesfrealo@yahoo.com




By Jesfrealo








Chris Larabee was perfectly aware and confident in the fact that very few people had the unique ability to make knocking at a door a shrill sound.  That fact notwithstanding, JD Dunne was one of the few who could succeed at it with ease. 


Chris, though, had been caught unawares by the knocking.  Looking up from the papers and pictures that had entirely caught his attention on that Sunday afternoon, he looked at his watch and then his calendar.  To the best of his memory he did not recall any reason why JD or any of the others would be there that day.  Still, he knew from the knocking that it had to be JD because he had most certainly never encountered anyone who knocked a door like that.  He recognized that that was a damn stupid way identify someone but there it was.  He knew it had to be JD.


He moved briskly to the door opening to find exactly the person he was expecting.  JD’s face was brimming with his usual big smile and Chris could see the others, even Ezra (who looked like he’d once again been forced into attending the extra-circular group activity) behind him. 


“What are you guys doing here?” Chris asked, resigned to the unexpected visits by the guys.


“Sorry we didn’t call ahead, Chris,” Nathan answered not bothering to actually address Chris’s question.


“Thought we’d come over to watch the game,” Buck spoke as he walked past Chris and into the ranch, looking back over his shoulder at the ATF team leader he added, “What with the nice TV and set-up you got here.  The Broncos always look so damn good on the big screen.”


Chris, really in no position to protest, and secretly not really wanting to, moved aside to let the rest of the guys in.  They had brought all sorts of food and various alcoholic beverages.  Chris couldn’t help but smile at the things the guys brought and how those items reflected their various personalities.  Nathan had brought fresh vegetables and organic dip, always looking out for the health of the team in spite of (or maybe because of) the lack of regard they seemed to usually have for it themselves.  Ezra of course came equipped with all the good, expensive liquor, while Buck had a case of Bud.  Josiah had a pot of his chili—for which Chris was very grateful.  Vin had in both arms paper bags that Chris had little doubt were full of every sort of junk food known to the human species.  JD carried something similar to Vin because the only person in the universe that could match Vin’s rather disgusting ability to consume all things artificially flavored was JD. 


Chris would begrudgingly admit that he liked it when the guys came over even though he always acted like they were a nuisance (truth be told, they often were a nuisance).  Chris supposed that they were his nuisance and he actually did like it that way.  They filled his normally lonely home with so much noise and laughter that it filled the emptiness that always seemed to scream at him when he was idle there for too long.  With a smile on his face, he walked through the foyer in time to here JD’s always rambunctious voice, “Hey what are these things?”


Okay, so he didn’t always like having the guys around—funny but whenever he considered how much he really did appreciate them…they had the most obnoxious way of annoying the crap out of him.  “Nothing, JD.”  Chris said.


“Aw, come on, Chris.”  The Kid persisted.


It wasn’t that he didn’t want the kid or any of the others to know about it, he just didn’t like having to explain private things to people…especially when the explanations weren’t given in his own time, weren’t given voluntarily.  Then it just felt like an intrusion on his privacy.  Chris hated intrusions on his privacy.  Still, Chris really didn’t want to bite the kid’s head off over what amounted to nothing.  “JD…that stuff—“


“Looks like an awful lot of nothin’,” Vin’s way of saying that he, too, was interested.


Oh, great.


Vin was one of the few people in the world that Chris just couldn’t cut down.  For some reason the Texan just found a way under Chris’s skin and Chris had a hard time treating him in the gruff way he treated most everyone else. 


By now all of the guy’s were looking at the things on his table, engrossed, “Chris, these things are authentic…”


That was Josiah…he seemed to be alternating his tone between question and statement.  A student of history and anthropology, Chris could see Josiah’s eyes light up at these artifacts and only nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the big man. 


“How did you come to have these invaluable artifacts in your possession, Mr. Larabee?” Ezra spoke.


“Family heirlooms, you’d call them, I guess,” Chris answered slowly and quietly.


“Who are these people to you, Chris?” Vin asked, holding up one picture in particular.  It was of a man wearing a long black duster—Vin pointed to him particularly.  In the tattered old black and white it was vaguely hard to make out what the colors would actually have been but it appeared that the man was wearing all black except for the pearl white handles on the handguns he carried. 


“According to my Dad, he would have been my great-grandfather.”


“Really?” JD spoke eagerly.  “He looks like a gunslinger.”


Chris shrugged, “I guess he was.  But, my Dad told me that he was also a lawman…or maybe a hired gun.  Hard to say after so long.”


“I could see you being a descendant of a gunslinger, Cowboy.”


Chris smiled despite himself.  He could see that too.   “What else did your dad tell you about him, Chris?”  JD asked.


“Probably just tall tales…” Chris trailed off. 


“Tell ‘em anyway,” JD urged.  Chris looked to the others who appeared in their own ways to be equally willing to hear the tales.


“Well,” Chris sat down to begin his narrative.  “I’m named after him.  My dad told me that at one point he was a member of a group of hired guns who ended up protecting a small Mexican village from desperados.  Heard some of them died to protect that little town.  But he lived.  Went on to work in various places.  Sort of sounded to me like an old west Robin Hood.  One story went that he was watching over a jailhouse one night…keeping watch over a man about to go on trial for a murder.  Now the townsfolk weren’t overly interested in this guy getting a fair trial.  Word was he’d killed an entire family, even though the man vehemently denied any involvement in the murders.  Anyway, a mob gathered outside the jailhouse…looking for a lynching.  They threatened to kill my great-grandfather.  Most men would have backed down right then, but I guess he didn’t.  He told them that they would certainly be able to kill him but that he would take some of them with him.  That soured the mood of the mob apparently because then it looked like some of those folks were ready to bolt.  It didn’t last a whole Hell of a lot longer when he started calling out certain, prominent men from the town.  The mob backed down and the man who had been arrested was later proved innocent.  He went on to live a long and productive life, as the story goes.  Never forgot what he did for them either.”


Ezra had been listening avidly to Chris’s short narrative.  He was surprised that their leader had volunteered any information but was glad he had.  Ezra had also been rifling through more of Chris’s old photos.  He found a close-up of a man. 


“Is this the man, too?” Nathan asked Chris.


“Yeah, that’s him.”  The man in the photograph had a hard glare that bore directly into the camera. 


“My Lord,” Ezra commented as the photograph was passed around.  “It’s genetic.”   As all the men saw the photo they saw what Ezra was talking about; Josiah laughed outright.  The resemblance between Chris and his great-grandfather was not overwhelming but the eyes and the glare that Ezra, in particular, had gotten to know so well were clearly identical. 


“This is a wonderful history, Chris,” Josiah commented. 


Chris smiled, “Yeah, I always loved it as a kid.  The stories my father and grandfather told.  The code of ethics that my great-grandfather believed in.  The fight for justice in a lawless land…it’s such a romanticized idea but it still gets to me.  I think it’s why I pursued a career in law enforcement—I wanted to be like my great-grandfather, catch the bad guys and make them pay for those things that they’ve done.” 







Note:  As I’m sure everyone realized, I didn’t draw directly from the old west magnificent seven that we’re all so used to.  I drew from the original movie for some of stories that Chris relates and the jail story is a variation on the story told at the end of the movie about Wyatt Earp with Kevin Costner. 



            Toby Keith and Willie Nelson

Well, a man come on the 6 o'clock news,
Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused.
Somebody blew up a building, somebody stole a car.
Somebody got away. somebody didn't get too far, yeah.
They didn't get too far.

Grandpappy told my pappy: "Back in my day, son,
"A man had to answer for the wicked that he done.
"Take all the rope in Texas, find a tall oak tree,
"Round up all of them bad boys, hang them high in the street,
"For all the people to see that:

"Justice is the one thing you should always find.
"You got to saddle up your boys,
"You got to draw a hard line.
"When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune.
"We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
"We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
"Singing: 'Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.'"

We got too many gangsters doing dirty deeds,
Too much corruption, too much crime in the streets.
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground.
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down:
You can bet he'll settle 'em down 'cause,

Justice is the one thing you should always find.
You got to saddle up your boys,
You got to draw a hard line.
When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune.
We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
Singing: "Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."
"Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses." 

You know that justice is the one thing you should always find.
You got to saddle up your boys,
You got to draw a hard line.
When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune.
We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
Singin': "Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."
Singin': "Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."