Silent Memories
by Violette
AU - ATF Universe
Disclaimer: I don't own them. I'm just taking them out to play for a while.
Warnings: Language, violence
Rating: PG-13
Genre: gen, drama, angst
Summary: Something goes wrong with a bust that affects Ezra in an unexpected fashion.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to my beta Katherine. Thanks also to Axianna for your critiques, and to MOG for creating the ATF Universe in which I am so fond of playing.
Notes: This is an answer to the July 2002 Challenge.
I would like to see stories where a physical change of some kind happens to one or more of the Seven, how he and the others react to it. Any
change you want, as long as it's physical -- some kind of disability, sense removal, becoming another gender or another age -- anything! All I
ask is, please,
no death stories. If it's temporary or permanent, that's up to you. Any universe.
Have fun!!
It happened instantaneously. One moment they were rushing toward the warehouse, intent on rounding up the arms dealer and his men, and the next, they were flat on their backs and the warehouse was a glowing ball of fire.
Buck was the first to come to his senses. He sat up, rubbing his head and blinking his eyes to clear his vision. He stared dumbly at the flaming building, trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened. A sudden fear gripped him and he jumped to his feet, swaying for a moment before taking off at a run, yelling at the top of his voice,
– twenty minutes earlier –
Ezra strolled confidently into the cavernous room, looking every inch the slick gun buyer he was portraying. The undercover assignment had gone smoothly from the start and it hadn't taken him long to connect with Victor Pollard, a well-known weapons merchant that the ATF had been after for several years. Vin, in his usual role as bodyguard, walked calmly by his side, armed to the teeth and ready to take down some bad guys.
Pollard walked forward to greet them, a wide smile on his ruddy face. He was a large man, with a build that had probably once been strong and firm, but that was now soft and sagging due to years of overindulgence in the luxuries his illegal income afforded. Edward! So good to see you!
Ezra greeted him, plastering a smile on his face despite his disgust at having to deal with such a low-life. Pollard might have been in the upper echelons of arms dealers, but to Ezra, he was no better than any other common criminal.
Shall we get down to business? Pollard inquired, glancing greedily at the briefcase Ezra was carrying.
Of course. Ezra gestured elegantly for him to lead the way.
This way, Pollard said, directing them toward a stack of wooden crates. One of his men removed some weapons and placed them on top of one of the crates.
Ezra said, indicating that Vin should check out the merchandise.
Vin nodded and began inspecting the guns while Pollard's men warily watched. A few minutes later, he gave a short nod to Ezra, who smiled and turned back to Pollard.
Is everything acceptable? Pollard asked, unable to hide the eagerness in his voice.
Kevin is satisfied with the quality of the product, Ezra said, so it appears we may complete the transaction.
He seems to know his way around guns, Pollard observed with a smile.
He wouldn't be much of a bodyguard if he didn't, Ezra commented with a chuckle. I believe you'll find the agreed-upon amount here. He handed the briefcase to the gun dealer, who opened it and began to rapidly count the contents. May I begin loading?
Of course, Pollard agreed, relaxing now that it appeared he was getting the required amount of compensation.
Bring the truck around, Kevin, Ezra said, nodding to Vin, who turned and strode out the door, a faint grin playing on his face. This was his signal to bring in the rest of the agents who were waiting outside. The operation couldn't have gone any better. The smile broadened into a grin as he jogged toward his teammates and waved them in.
Inside, Ezra edged casually toward the door, in order to prevent any of the suspects from escaping in the coming confusion. As he stepped around a collection of wooden crates, his world suddenly disappeared in a blast of noise and heat. He flew through the air, crashing into a stack of cardboard boxes, which tumbled around him like a pile of wooden blocks being swept aside by a petulant child. Dazed, Ezra lifted his head, searching for the source of the explosion. His eyes locked on the figure of Victor Pollard, screaming as fire engulfed his body. The gun merchant waved his arms wildly in a macabre death dance, trying in vain to put out the flames. The stench of burning flesh assaulted his nostrils and the screams flooded his mind, but Ezra could not turn away. His horrified gaze remained fixed on the flaming body until the smoke finally overwhelmed him and everything faded into blackness.
The night was filled with flashing lights and a cacophony of sirens. The fire department had arrived in time to prevent any of the stunned members of Team Seven and Team Four from entering the building, much to their dismay. They were men of action, not content to sit helplessly and wait while one of their own remained trapped inside. But this time, they had no choice. Paramedics had tried to convince them to go to the hospital and get checked out, but other than Vin, who had been knocked unconscious by the force of the blast, they had all refused. They weren't leaving until they knew the fate of their seventh.
The firefighters gave the grim-looking men a wide berth, understanding the reason for their behavior. The warehouse was fully engulfed in flames and the fire crew didn't believe that there would be any good news this night. But still the men waited, silent and unmoving, hoping for the best.
A flurry of activity erupted near one of the doors as a group of firefighters hurried away from the burning structure, dragging something between them. Their expressions remained unchanged, but the men of Team Seven stepped forward, watching intently as paramedics swarmed around the group and ushered them toward the waiting ambulances.
The fire captain approached the ATF agents, instinctively identifying Larabee as the leader. We found one person alive inside, along with four dead. He eyed the silent men around him. Give the EMT's a couple of minutes to stabilize him and then you can see if he's your man.
Larabee nodded once, never looking away from the medics.
Thank you, Nathan said absently, briefly meeting the fireman's eyes.
The captain walked away, not offended by the lack of response. He had dealt with such men before. They were hard men, not prone to wasting words and emotions on an unknown situation. Even the youngest agent, though he looked like he still belonged in high school, shared the same cool, impassive demeanor. The captain was not fooled by the blank expressions. He knew just how much emotion boiled beneath the surface. He felt it himself, every time his own men went into a burning building. There was nothing to do for it but wait... and pray.
Eyes still stinging from the smoke, Chris Larabee stared at the clustered emergency personnel, hoping for a glimpse of the man who was keeping them so busy. The building crackled and hissed, seeming almost alive, blowing its torrid breath toward them. But Chris – and the men standing mutely beside him – barely noticed.
It was hard to express the horror that had raced through him when he saw the building explode. Images of another fire flashed through his mind and Chris had to make a conscious effort to force them out. He was aware of the concerned glances Buck had sent his way, and had reassured his old friend with a nod. He had his emotions under control – for now.
It seemed like they had been waiting forever when the paramedics finally waved to them. As one, Team Seven walked toward them, their stride confident and determined. Team Four followed at a discreet distance, ready to provide moral support, if needed. Their pace slowed as they drew closer, until they finally stopped a few feet away from the lone survivor.
Chris breathed, his shoulders sagging with relief at the sight of his undercover agent being tended by the paramedics. How is he?
He's got some burns and took in some smoke, but he's stable, for the moment, one of the medics said, sparing him a brief glance. He's damned lucky to be alive.
The agents watched silently as Ezra was loaded into the ambulance. Chris climbed into the back with him, while the rest of the team hurried to their vehicles to follow them to the hospital.
Leaning against the side wall, Chris stared down at his agent, wincing at the reddened skin he could see peeking out from under the bandages on his hands and face. Ezra lay unnaturally still, an oxygen mask covering most of the visible portion of his face. Chris watched his chest rise and fall with each breath and marveled at the suave agent's ability to cheat death. He approached each mission like a game of cards, plotting his strategy and exploiting his opponents' weaknesses, always managing to pull an ace out of his sleeve, even when things went sour. But this was one poker game the devil wasn't going to win. Chris chuckled aloud at that thought, earning a raised eyebrow from the attending EMT. Chris shook his head. Only Ezra could have him thinking in gambling terms.
When are they gonna let us see him? Buck complained as he paced the waiting room.
Relax, brother, Josiah said soothingly. It's only been an hour.
But they said he was all right, JD protested, his voice hoarse from the smoke he had inhaled.
It always takes them a while to get everything set up, Nathan reassured them. Hell, the blood tests alone can take hours.
What about Vin? JD persisted. He's been here longer than Ez and we haven't seen him yet, either.
Relax, JD, Chris said. I'm sure we'll hear something soon.
As if responding to his words, the doctor strode into the waiting room a moment later. Mr. Larabee? He scanned the formidable-looking group of men who reeked of smoke.
Chris answered his query.
I'm Dr. Franklin, he said, shaking Chris's hand. You're here for Vin Tanner?
Chris replied. How is he?
He has a severe concussion and some bruised ribs, the doctor began. There doesn't appear to be any damage to the skull, but we're keeping him in ICU until he regains consciousness and we can run some more tests.
So he'll be all right? Chris asked.
He should be fine, Dr. Franklin answered with a smile.
Chris looked to Nathan, who nodded in confirmation. A chorus of relieved sighs rippled through the assembled men.
When can we see him? asked Buck.
We can only allow two visitors at a time in ICU, the doctor warned, but there's no reason why you can't see him right now.
Chris nudged Buck. Why don't you and JD go first?
Buck smiled, knowing that Chris was giving him something to occupy him and JD, to help ease their worries over their friends. C'mon, kid. He slung an arm around JD's shoulders. Lets go see Vin.
As they headed down the hall, Chris turned back to the doctor. We're still waiting for word on my other man, Ezra Standish.
I'll see what I can find out, Dr. Franklin said, nodding at Chris before he left the waiting room.
Awareness returned all at once. Ezra's eyes snapped open and darted wildly about the room as he tried to determine where he was. A strong antiseptic odor made his nose twitch and gave him a clue to his location. He was, unfortunately, all too familiar with the sights and smells of the hospital. He relaxed into the pillows, blinking to dissipate the blurriness from his vision as he looked around the brightly lit room that was bustling with activity. From what he could see, Ezra surmised that he was in the emergency room, lying in one of the curtained cubicles that gave the illusion of privacy. He was feeling somewhat lightheaded and concluded that he had probably been given some sort of drugs. With a sigh, he searched his memory, trying to remember what had brought him here this time.
A vision of fire and pain flooded his mind and Ezra gasped at the intensity of it. An explosion. The warehouse had blown up around him. His arms and face felt tight and painful and he hoped that the damage wasn't as bad as it felt. He looked around, hoping for some sign of his teammates. He didn't remember seeing them before the explosion, but he had no idea how close they had been to the building when it exploded.
As Ezra scanned his surroundings, it suddenly struck him that it was strangely quiet. Doctors and nurses were moving around and talking, but he couldn't hear them. He looked to the side, staring at the heart monitor that usually annoyed the hell out of him with its endless beeping. It, too, was silent. Heart rate increasing, Ezra looked around again, hoping for some explanation, but everything appeared as it should. Apprehensively, he lifted his bandaged hand and knocked it against the metal rail of his bed. Nothing. He repeated the action and still didn't hear the reassuring metallic ping that should have resulted. Ezra closed his eyes. Not again.
When he opened his eyes again, he was looking into the concerned face of a nurse. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't hear what she was saying. Blinking, he focused on her mouth.
How are you feeling? she asked.
Like I've been blown up, Ezra answered carefully, watching her face for a response. Relief flooded him when she smiled at him. He hadn't lost his touch. He could still read lips accurately. While he couldn't make out every word that was spoken to him, his ability was good enough to allow him to figure out what was being said to him, even if he did miss an occasional word or two.
The doctor will be right in to see you, she said, patting his shoulder gently.
He nodded and watched her leave. A few minutes later, the doctor arrived and he had to stifle a smile at the look on her face. Hello, Dr. Landry.
Agent Standish, she said, looking at him disapprovingly. We really must stop meeting like this.
I do try, Doctor, Ezra said, giving her a pained grin.
Not hard enough, apparently, she said with a wry smile.
So how am I?
Not too bad, considering, she said, looking over his chart. How are you feeling?
My head hurts some, he admitted after a moment of consideration. He knew he should be feeling some pain in his hands and face, but whatever medication they had given him was working very well, as all he could feel was a tingling numbness in the injured areas.
You've got yourself a bit of a concussion, the doctor explained, lifting one of his hands. There are some first and second degree burns on your hands and face, but nothing too serious. They aren't bad enough to scar, but they will be somewhat painful. I'll be giving you some strong medication to take care of that. She gave him a serious look. It will take you longer to recover if you make yourself suffer needlessly, so I expect you to take them as directed.
He nodded at her, wishing she didn't know him so well.
The cracked ribs are the worst of it, she continued, but they should be fine if you follow your doctor's instructions and rest.
I've had broken ribs before, Ezra said, smiling at the stern look with which she favored him. He knew his attitude irritated her, but he couldn't help himself.
I'm aware of that, Mr. Standish, Dr. Landry said. I'm also aware of how well you usually follow doctor's orders. She lifted an eyebrow, daring him to contradict her.
He gave her a look that said, Who, me?
Dr. Landry sighed in exasperation, then turned to him seriously, Is there anything else bothering you? Any other pain?
My ears are ringing a bit, Ezra said after a moment, not wanting to admit too much just yet.
Dr. Landry lifted the otoscope from the wall near the bed and peered into his ears, scowling faintly. She put the instrument away then turned to him. There's a bit of inflammation, but the eardrums appear to be intact. It's probably an aftereffect of the explosion. It ought to clear up in a few days.
Ezra smiled and hoped she was right. He had been told that before, only it had taken much more than a few days. Ezra sighed inwardly. He debated telling Dr. Landry the truth, but then decided against it. He might be able to pull this off. If it were discovered that he couldn't hear, he would be forced to remain in the hospital, and this was the last place he wanted to be. His teammates would also hound him endlessly if they found out, and would drive him crazy with their concern. The only alternative was to pretend all was well and hope that things soon returned to normal. If they didn't... well, he would cross that bridge when he came to it.
When may I leave?
Dr. Landry shook her head in resignation. She knew how this man felt about hospitals, and while she would have liked to keep him here for a few days, she knew he would never stand for it. His teammates would surely be keeping a close eye on him, so, in the interest of her own sanity, she decided to let him have his way, this time. I don't think we'll need to keep you here. She raised a hand and eyed him sternly. But, I want you to stay with someone tonight and promise me you'll come back if you have any other symptoms.
You have my word, Ezra said, relieved that his deception had worked.
she said with a smile. Now, I believe that there are some very anxious men waiting to see you.
Ezra sucked in a breath. How could he have forgotten? In his worry over his own condition, he had forgotten all about his teammates. They're all right?
Dr. Landry nodded. Mr. Tanner has a concussion, but the rest of your friends are fine.
That's good to hear, Ezra said, chuckling inwardly at the irony of that statement, given the current state of his hearing. Thank you.
You're welcome, she replied. Now how about I send them in while I get your paperwork ready?
Ezra nodded as she turned away. His head hurt, but he was going to have to concentrate in order to prevent his associates from discovering his deafness. He could read lips, but it was more difficult when there was more than one person speaking to him. It had also been a lot of years since he had exercised this skill in a serious fashion. Unbidden, the memories returned.
Eight-year-old Ezra Standish was feeling quite pleased with himself. He had finally beaten his older cousins at their own game. All summer long, eleven-year-old Jeremy and thirteen-year-old Robbie had delighted in tormenting, teasing, and playing tricks on him, and getting him into trouble with his aunt and uncle. Now, though, he gotten his retribution. As he rode the small, rusty bicycle that they had allowed him to use, Ezra smiled to himself in satisfaction at what he had accomplished.
Two weeks earlier, Robbie and Jeremy had gotten him in trouble yet again. Jeremy had accidentally broken his mother's favorite antique bowl and Robbie had called to Ezra for help. Foolishly, Ezra had fallen for it, believing that Jeremy was injured. He had raced into the living room only to be tripped by Robbie, who had timed his move perfectly. He and Jeremy escaped the parlor just in time to avoid their mother, who arrived home to find Ezra sitting amidst the broken china.
His aunt had been furious and had not allowed him to explain, claiming that he was only trying to pass the blame onto the other boys to avoid being punished. His uncle had been equally furious and had expressed it in a painful session with his belt. Ezra had been restricted to his room for the week and had used his confinement to plot his revenge. He was his mother's son, after all, and he was going to make sure his cousins paid for what they had done.
Ezra laughed aloud, remembering the looks on the older boys' faces when their father had found his expensive power tools scattered around the garage, with a half-finished go-cart sitting off to the side. Robbie and Jeremy had been working on plans for the cart with their father, hoping to build it before summer's end, but the man hadn't yet had the time to work on it with them. Ezra knew they were forbidden to use the tools without supervision and had devised his plan accordingly. While they had been playing at the nearby lake, he had sneaked into the garage and proceeded to start building their go-cart. His aunt was out shopping and his uncle at work, so there was no one around to hear him while he set his plan into motion.
Pedaling his bicycle up the dirt road toward the house, Ezra wondered how long it would take for his cousins to cook up a suitable payback. They had been grounded for two weeks, so he still had most of that time to enjoy his success. They knew he was responsible and had tried to tell their father that, but he didn't believe that an eight-year-old was capable of understanding the plans, let alone handling the tools needed to build the cart. The fact that Ezra was a bit small for his age and was often clumsy when faced with manual tasks only supported his disbelief of their claims.
As he drew nearer the big farmhouse, Ezra steeled himself for the dirty looks he was sure to receive during dinner. His cousins were still angry with him and had been sending him looks that promised revenge whenever he was nearby. He hated having such an adversarial relationship with them, but he couldn't for the life of him think of anything he had done to incite such behavior. Ezra sighed, wondering if he would ever feel welcome anywhere.
Ezra brought his bicycle to a stop next to the house and wheeled it slowly toward the garage. He was still a few minutes early for dinner, and was in no rush to get inside. He had just set foot on the first step of the porch when he heard the screams. His first instinct was to turn and run, but he forced himself to continue up the stairs. Apprehensively, he tiptoed across the porch and peered through the kitchen window. His heart caught in his throat at the sight of his cousins, tied up and bleeding on the floor, their eyes wide with fear. He didn't see his aunt, but he heard her screams and tearful pleas and saw a large, scruffy-looking man yelling and pacing around the room. From the sounds he heard, there was another man out of his sight, beating his aunt.
Ezra drew back, his heart pounding in terror. What was he going to do? The house was located in a rural town that consisted of many small farms and nearest neighbor was quite a distance away. There was also no guarantee that anyone would be home, even if he could make it there before his aunt and cousins were killed. He thought quickly and decided that his only option was to get inside to a telephone. His uncle was a police officer in a small nearby city; he would know what to do.
Silently, Ezra crept around the back of the house. There was a telephone in the master bedroom, which was on the ground floor at the back of the house. Since he didn't dare use the back door, he made his way toward one of the open master bedroom windows. The house was not air-conditioned, so his aunt usually left windows open in most of the rooms. Ezra stretched toward the window, but he wasn't quite tall enough to pull the external screen out of the way. He looked around wildly, then remembered his bicycle.
Keeping low and close to the house, Ezra hurried back to the garage and quietly wheeled the bike around. He leaned it against the house, under the window, making sure it was steady before climbing onto it. Ezra stood carefully on the seat, praying that the bike wouldn't move as he gently removed the screen and pushed the window up far enough for him to crawl through.
As quickly as he dared, Ezra squeezed his slim body through the gap in the window. He landed with a slight thump and sucked in a breath as he waited anxiously to see if he had been heard. After a few interminable minutes, there was no indication that anyone had noticed his presence, so Ezra moved quickly to the telephone, nearly dropping the receiver from his trembling hand when he lifted it from the cradle. Rapidly, he dialed the police, clenching and unclenching his fist nervously as he waited. Finally, he was put through to someone and quickly explained the situation.
Ezra replaced the receiver and looked around the room uneasily. The police officer with whom he had spoken had told him to get out of the house if he could, so he made his way back to the window and started climbing out. He set his foot carefully on the bicycle seat and slid the rest of his body out the window. As he placed his other foot on the seat, the bicycle suddenly rolled sideways and with a gasp, Ezra tumbled to the ground.
A cry of pain escaped him as he fell, landing hard on his left arm. The bicycle rolled away and fell over with a crash. As Ezra was struggling to his feet, a large man wearing dirty blue jeans and a frayed flannel shirt barreled around the corner, stopping short at the sight of the small boy on the ground who stared up at him with wide, terror-filled eyes. With a growl, the man grabbed him and hauled him to his feet, ignoring his cries of pain as he dragged him into the house.
Ezra did his best to keep up with the man, but he couldn't match the tall man's long strides. Inside, the man shoved him into the kitchen, throwing him across the floor, where he slid into the wall.
Found him outside, the man growled to his associate, an equally filthy man with a heavy beard and several missing teeth.
What're you doin' here, kid? the bearded man asked Ezra, grabbing him by the hair.
Ezra swallowed, attempting to calm his racing heart. As frightened as he was, he knew the police were on their way and that he needed to do whatever possible to keep himself safe. J-Jeremy goes to m-my school. I was j-just coming over t-to play. His eyes darted to his cousin, who was staring at him blankly, too numb with fear to comprehend anything.
Is that right? the bearded man said with a grin. Your bad luck, then, kid. Ya need some better friends. The two men laughed as though that were very funny.
Ezra chanced a look around the room. His aunt lay on the floor, her clothes torn and covered in blood. It was obvious from the bruises on her and his cousins that these men had been beating them for some time. He swallowed apprehensively, wondering if he was going to be next. But, after a hard kick to his ribs and a warning by the first man to stay put, they had ignored him. Ezra curled up into the corner and tried not to watch or listen as the men beat his aunt and cousins mercilessly, muttering about stupid cops and teaching them to mess with the McCall brothers.
It seemed to take forever, but finally the police arrived. The bearded man noticed them first, cursing and shouting, while the other man looked around frantically for a way out.
What're we gonna do, Gabe? the man asked.
We got hostages, Clem, the bearded man told his brother. They ain't gonna mess wit' us.
Don't worry, Gabe said. I'll handle it.
Ezra watched, not daring to move, as the two men discussed their escape plans. He heard his uncle's voice over a bullhorn, demanding that they come out. Ezra sighed inwardly, knowing that the two miscreants were not going to give up so easily.
We gotta show em we mean business, Gabe said, his eyes lighting up suddenly as though he had made a great discovery.
Ezra shivered at the look of madness in those eyes.
Grab that one, Gabe said, pointing to Jeremy.
Clem complied, pulling Jeremy out of his chair and following his brother out of the house. Robbie watched, sobbing quietly.
Ezra's aunt stared at them dazedly from the floor, then gasped and pulled herself to her hands and knees, crawling after them. she croaked harshly, tears streaming down her face.
Aunt Helen, Ezra said in a desperate whisper. Don't! They'll hurt you.
But she was oblivious to anything but the fact that her son was in the grasp of two very bad men who apparently had a grudge against her husband. She followed them out of the kitchen, pleading weakly with them to release her son.
Clutching his aching arm to his chest, Ezra followed her, peering around the corner toward the front door, where the two men were yelling at the police. His aunt approached them slowly, reaching out to Clem and pleading for her son's life.
Get back, bitch, Gabe snarled, punching her in the face. He turned toward his brother. Give im to me. He grabbed Jeremy by the scruff of the neck and stepped into the doorway. I told you to back off!
Ezra watched in disbelief as Gabe raised his gun, pointed it at Jeremy's head, and pulled the trigger. His cousin's head snapped to the side and blood sprayed the door. Ezra jerked at the loud gunshot, hitting his head on the doorjamb, but his eyes never left the gruesome scene.
Everything was quiet for a moment, then a loud, inhuman wail broke the silence. Horrified, Ezra watched as his aunt screamed and threw herself at Gabe, knocking him and Clem out the front door. Police swarmed around them, taking the men into custody, but still his aunt kept screaming, clutching Jeremy's limp and bloody body to her chest and giving Ezra a clear view of what had been done to his cousin.
Ezra's stomach churned and he backed away, shaking his head and repeating softly, No no no no no no. Panicking, Ezra looked around the kitchen for a minute before running to one of the cabinets and crawling inside. He wrapped his arms around his head to block out the screams and started rocking, trying to make it all go away.
Ezra sighed and rubbed his temples, wishing he didn't have such a clear memory of that particular event. The McCall brothers had attacked his uncle's family as retribution for their brother's death. His uncle had been forced to kill their younger brother a month earlier while responding to a bank robbery, and they decided that the best revenge was to attack his family in return.
Both of the attackers had been sent to prison for life, but they hadn't lasted long. Gabe McCall had killed himself just one year into his sentence and his brother had been killed in a fight several years after that. After his cousin Jeremy's death, his aunt had never been the same, eventually committing suicide two years later, unable to cope with her son's violent death. Ezra had never heard what became of his uncle and remaining cousin, since his mother refused to talk about such unpleasant matters.
Ezra sighed again, remembering how he had spent a week in the hospital with a dislocated shoulder – his first – a mild concussion, and cracked rib. It was his sudden deafness that had baffled everyone, though. He had awakened in the hospital, unable to hear, much as he had done today. Then, it had taken weeks of testing before they had determined that his loss of hearing was psychological rather than physical. According to the doctors, his tendency to keep his emotions bottled up – one result of his life with Maude – had been a major contributor to his psychosomatic deafness. Ezra shook his head. After witnessing such a brutal and gruesome scene, what else did they expect? Even Ezra Standish had limits, and he had been a child, after all.
For eighteen months, he had lived in a world of silence. Maude had been at her wit's end, unable to deal with a normal' child, let alone with one who had a handicap. She had packed him off to a special school, where he learned sign language and lip reading, proving to be quite adept at both. He had also sat through twice-weekly sessions with psychiatrists, who diligently attempted to bring him out of the trauma-induced silence. It had been their contention that whatever he had seen or heard at the time of the incident had caused him to shut down his sense of hearing and block the whole thing from his memory.
Ezra snorted. They were right, of course. He hadn't remembered a thing about the incident until waking up one day screaming and completely able to hear again. He had never talked to anyone about what had happened. It was bad enough that he had witnessed it, without having to relive it for someone else's benefit. The sound of his aunt's screams haunted him to this day and it had taken him many years to come to terms with it; it still gave him occasional nightmares. As he took in the silence surrounding him, Ezra wondered if history was repeating itself.
His gloomy reminiscence was interrupted by the boisterous arrival of his teammates. Ezra couldn't hear them, but he knew they were creating their usual racket as they descended upon his cubicle.
Ezra said with a smile at the men surrounding his bed.
Geez, you sound awful, JD said, wincing at the harsh sound of his friend's voice.
Ezra said, noting the scratchiness in his throat for the first time. I hadn't noticed.
Aside from the sore throat, how are you feeling? Josiah asked.
I'm quite well, Mr. Sanchez, he replied. How is Mr. Tanner?
He's doing all right, Nathan answered. He woke up a few minutes ago. Doctor kicked us out to check him over.
Ezra relaxed back into his pillows, relieved at the news. That's wonderful.
Ya look like hell, Ez, Buck commented.
Thank you, Mr. Wilmington, Ezra said sarcastically. You're not looking so well, yourself.
Buck frowned and looked down at himself, realizing for the first time that his clothes were still covered in dirt and soot from the explosion.
Ezra chuckled. All of you gentlemen could use a bath.
You saying we stink? Chris asked, a faint smile playing on his lips.
If the shoe fits... Ezra said, waving his bandaged hand at them.
We are a bit dusty, brothers, Josiah said, brushing ineffectually at his dirty clothing.
Buck lowered his head and said something, but Ezra could not see his lips to decipher his words. After a moment, Buck looked up at him curiously.
Yes, Mr. Wilmington? Ezra kept his poker face intact, hiding his confusion.
I asked you when you were getting out of this joint?
My apologies, Ezra said smoothly, covering his momentary lapse. I was merely contemplating how you now match the state of untidiness of your domicile.
It took Buck a minute to figure out what Ezra had said, but then his eyes went wide and he scowled at Ezra. My place ain't untidy.
Well it sure ain't clean, Nathan said, smirking in amusement.
Buck frowned and said nothing while JD flushed in embarrassment.
So when are they letting you out? Chris asked.
Ezra had opened his mouth to answer when Dr. Landry returned, carrying his release papers. He watched closely, but couldn't make out much of the conversation she was having with his teammates, since their backs were to him.
Dr. Landry turned to him and said, You're all set to go, Mr. Standish.
Thank you, doctor, Ezra said, looking over at his associates, who were watching him suspiciously.
You're not gonna complain about having to stay with Chris? Nathan said.
Ezra groaned inwardly. Of course. They had been arranging the mother hen duty' with Dr. Landry. Pasting a smile on his face, he said evenly, I promised the good doctor I would stay with someone tonight.
Like you ever do what the doctor says, Buck said, rolling his eyes.
Ezra sniffed. A gentleman does not go back on his word.
Nathan snorted. Since when are you a gentleman?
Ezra gave him a dirty look, but softened it when he saw the teasing glint in the dark man's eyes. If you don't mind, I'd like to leave now. Despite his protests, Nathan stayed behind to help him into his clothes. Finally, he was seated in the despised wheelchair, being pushed down the hallway. The painkillers that Dr. Landry had insisted he take before leaving were starting to kick in and Ezra felt himself nodding off as they made their way to the entrance, where Chris was waiting with his truck. He didn't remember much of the ride to Larabee's ranch, but soon found himself being helped into bed. As he drifted off to sleep, Ezra had one fleeting thought. What if it took another eighteen months for his hearing to return?
TBC