A/N An answer to jane_elliot challenge of sorts – a story where Nathan doesn't jump to conclusions about Ezra.
Special thanks to Tiffany Pena for the beta-reading!
A Matter of Family
1.
"Okay, guys, I know how you all love stakeouts, but we need more information before the next stage," Chris tossed a pile of printouts on the table with a smirk.
Five members of Team 7 were seated in a conference room, discussing the current case; Ezra was out on the street establishing, with Josiah's help, a background for his future undercover persona. Vin took one of the printouts and looked through the schedule of upcoming stakeouts – JD would be staying in the office, checking the phone bugs, Chris was paired with Buck, Vin himself with Josiah, and Nathan with Ezra.
"You okay with this schedule, Nate?" Chris asked, after everyone had acquainted themselves with it.
"Why shouldn't I be?"
"Well, maybe because your partner there is one racist son of a bitch?" Buck mumbled just loud enough for all of them to hear. Vin opened his mouth to retort, but, surprisingly, Nathan beat him to it:
"Well, that ain't true, so it's not a problem."
"I wouldn't be so sure after last week," Buck continued, and Vin sighed inwardly. Last week, one stuck-up popinjay from Atlanta's FBI had been visiting; and he'd started a whole new roll of rumors concerning Standish. This time they had nothing to do with him being dirty, but with his views on racial matters. Worst of all, Ezra's behavior during the visit had all but confirmed those rumors. Vin hadn't yet had a chance to confront him about what the hell that had been about, but it seemed that half of the team had already made up their own negative opinions on the matter.
What surprised Vin the most was that Nathan, it seems, wasn't in that half, despite the fact that he'd had some verbal battles with Ezra over the past week. Vin threw a glance to Chris, not wanting their leader to stop the discussion yet, but Chris must have been curious too, because he kept silent.
"Buck," Nathan said patiently, "I've met a few real racists, and believe me, Ezra isn't one of them. He might be a cocky, arrogant and selfish SOB, but he is not racially biased."
"How do you know?" JD asked, confusion and uncertainty evident in his voice.
Nathan shrugged. "Plenty of things, JD. Say, do you remember that charity event in the Children's Center, held by 'The Clarion'?"
JD nodded.
"Remember all those kids who were clinging to Ezra? There were at least three races and a dozen nationalities in that crowd, and all, including Standish, were completely happy. You can't fool a kid, JD, they won't come to a man who has something against them, and they feel such things very keenly."
"Especially kids from the system," Vin added quietly.
"But… why say those things, if he didn't mean them?"
Nathan shrugged. "It's Ezra, son, so I have no idea. He might have had serious reasons or just have fallen back into bad habits, who knows."
"You weren't so understanding last Wednesday," Buck mumbled, this time quieter, but still distinguishable.
"I'll be the first to admit that Ezra and I have our issues, but we are absolutely capable of sorting them out on our own!" Nathan glared at Buck and then at Chris. "And that won't interfere with work."
Chris nodded, and Nathan turned back to Wilmington: "And we have enough problems without feeding the office gossip."
Buck held his hands up in an 'as-you-wish' gesture, and Chris finally cut in:
"Well, girls, if you are through with said gossip, we have work to discuss."
2.
That evening Nathan and Ezra began their stakeout shift. They were occupying a room in an abandoned building with a perfect view of the entrance of one very elite club. Their main task was to photograph everyone who attended the club and make sure there weren't any 'old acquaintances' among them.
The first hour of the shift they barely had time to breathe for operating cameras, but then the flood of visitors slowed, and, after another hour, ceased completely. Nathan went to the far end of the room, to stretch his legs, and back; Ezra was shifting his gaze between him and the street, and, all in all, seemed rather nervous.
"Mr. Jackson," Ezra called when Nathan had finished his exercise. "Can I have a minute of your attention?"
"Yeah?"
"There were certain words said over the last week, and I…"
Oh no, Ezra was going to apologize. And knowing him, he would take an hour, by the end of which Nathan would have a splitting headache and not a clue about what Ezra had actually said. So he raised his hand:
"Relax, Ezra. I know you didn't mean it."
"You know?"
"We have been working for more than a year together, and yes, I know for a fact you aren't a bigot."
"Mr. Jackson, I…"
"But you know what, Standish? I'd sure like an explanation for why the hell you sometimes behave like one. Since I don't think you do it only to irritate me…"
Ezra sighed and averted his gaze back to the street. He knew he owed Jackson the truth, or at least part of it. He owed him an answer. Mainly because Nathan had bothered to ask, instead of automatically assuming the worst. Very few people in Ezra's life had ever bothered to ask first. And he did feel ashamed over his behavior last week, not that he had had any choice in the matter. Ezra took a deep breath, turned to Nathan and began talking.
"The Standishes came from old southern aristocracy, Mr. Jackson. Old money, old land… and old traditions. My father was a younger son, and when he died, he didn't leave Mother much more than a name; so she had found it prudent to stay in the family's good graces. As a boy, I had to spend a lot of summers in the house of my Uncle Jeremy Standish, the current head of the family. He has very specific views on life in general, but, fortunately, is not very sharp, so maintaining a suitable image for him wasn't difficult, though far from enjoyable. I'd hoped that once I was standing on my own two feet, I could forget about him, but I didn't take into account two things. First, Mr. Jeremy Standish, above all, has certain opinions about family honor and the ways that honor should be maintained and guarded. Second, he and the Assistant Director of Atlanta's FBI have the questionable fortune of being old school friends."
"Oh."
"Yes. The funniest thing of it all, though," Ezra smiled ironically, "is that in the end I managed to ruin my career in the FBI completely by myself, without any help from that respectable gentleman. On the other hand, that mess had tarnished my reputation just enough for Uncle Jeremy to finally leave me alone – every cloud has its silver lining, I guess."
As far as Nathan knew, 'completely by myself' was an exaggeration, to say the least, but it was irrelevant now. So Ezra had his reasons for having a 'good-old-southern-boy' mask; they might be somewhat selfish, since he mostly protected himself and his career, but they were real and Nathan wasn't going to be the one to judge him for them. Ezra hadn't chosen his Uncle or the means his Mother used to provide for him; and the fact that the mask hadn't turned into a true personality surely spoke a lot about Ezra's integrity. And Nathan knew, from experience, how hard it was to get rid of the demons of your youth and childhood, and who knows what things Ezra might have seen in the Standish estate and what deep fears they might have caused.
"Ezra, you're in Denver now. He can't reach you here, no matter how well-connected he is."
"Yes, I know. I guess it was just an automatic falling back into old habits on my part. And I present my sincere apologies if my lapse of judgment has caused you any discomfort, Mr. Jackson."
"Accepted, Ezra, and it's okay. But I'm afraid you might have earned yourself some trouble with that regardless of me, so watch it next time."
Ezra shrugged, and something in his demeanor suddenly made Nathan question his previous conclusion. He didn't doubt that Ezra had told the truth, but maybe there was more to it than just a bad habit from the past, or old childhood fears; surely, Ezra must have more control than that…
"Hey, Ez," Nathan asked quietly. "You sure it was your career you were protecting and not something else? Or someone?"
The momentary expression of shock on Ezra's face told Nathan he might be on the right path; but at that very moment a new bunch of cars arrived at the club entrance, and they had to return to work. Later Nathan decided not to push it. After all, Standish had given him an explanation, and a truthful one, even if not in full, while he hadn't really expected any. If there were more family secrets buried there – it was Ezra's call to keep them or share.
The toasty June sun was already up when Ezra finally returned home, after the club had emptied and he and Nathan had dropped all pictures in the office labs. Ezra poured himself a generous shot of bourbon and sat at his desk; he was still shaken from the night's conversation. His teammates continued to surprise him. He'd already suspected that Vin possessed some sort of a telepathy (must be his Indian heritage) and Mr. Sanchez…well, Mr. Sanchez was one of the best professional profilers out there, and now Nathan had hit too close to home for Ezra's comfort. Damn, the medic was much more perceptive than Ezra had given him credit for.
"Or maybe," Standish opened an upper desk drawer and smiled sadly at its contents, "maybe I'm just losing my touch."
Inside the drawer, a picture lay, face up. A family was portrayed on it – a white woman, a black man and a little girl, about 8 years old. A girl who had inherited skin color from her father, and deep green eyes from her mother.
To be continued…