It'd been a long day. Hell, it'd been a long week. A week filled with petty, annoying, frustrating, and largely insignificant bureaucratic paperwork. Chris never ceased to be amazed at how many forms needed to be completed for any and everything they did. Ordering paperclips had to be signed off and requested in triplicate. And the inconsequential little things, like bullets and moderate monitoring devices and vests and other items needed to make sure he still had six men working under him at the end of the week? Well those were damn near impossible to get. He regularly silently thanked the gods who had taken pity on him and sent JD Dunne to be on the team. The kid could dance through the online tangle of red tape faster than Ezra could shuffle and deal himself a winning poker hand.

This was the side of law enforcement that never showed up in movies or on TV. Who'd watch hours of office work? Even though there were days, like this one, where it seemed that was all there was to the job. He looked at the papers on his desk, covering his desk. "Thought computers were supposed to get rid of all this crap" he mumbled, reaching for a pen to start signing the reports. At least this was the end of the case. This last one had been miserable from top to bottom. Four agencies, plus the local cops, all trying to jockey for position. And everybody trying to make sure they got the credit for what went right – confiscated weapons, drugs, cash and a couple of dozen arrests. At the same time making sure somebody else, anybody else, got the blame for what went wrong. Because something always went wrong. This one was no exception, even though it certainly could have been a lot worse. For a change, none of his men were hurt – well, not enough to require more than a few bandages and a fistful of aspirins. One injury to a DEA agent, again not serious, and a broken arm for the guy from immigration. 16 arrests, three bad guys dead, and four wounded. That had been when things got ugly. No one disputed that they got what they deserved. There were no cries of police misconduct. These bastards had been dealing in drugs, weapons, and misery for far too long, and bringing them down was pretty much universally applauded.

It was never easy to take a life, and nobody in their right mind celebrated when it happened although Chris had to admit sometimes it simply wasn't all that hard to deal with. But when one of the wounded turned out to be a 17-year-old kid who looked like he just came to the big city from Mayberry, the reality hit harder.

Nathan worked his ass off trying to help the kid, trying to at least give him a fighting chance. It wasn't much of a chance, and there were a lot of men at the scene who wondered why he was even putting in the effort. Those who knew Nathan didn't wonder for a moment why he had tried so hard. Why he had ridden into the hospital, and why he made the calls after to ensure the young man had juvenile services looking after his case. Being Nathan, he simply had no choice.

Chris signed off on all the reports that were ready. The shooting report was still open, and would be until it could be confirmed which officer was involved. The bullet was still in the kid, and until that changed, no one was being recognised as the shooter.

The relative silence in the bullpen was disconcerting. By this point on a Friday afternoon there should've been an ungodly ruckus going on. Buck bragging about his plans, or teasing JD about his lack of plans. They should be debating the options for a Friday dinner, and then end up, as always, going to their bar. They'd spent enough time at Inez's Tavern to legally be considered residents.

"You folks all look like you just got fired. You hear something I didn't?" he asked, hoping to stir up some activity. Buck gave half a grin, understanding where Chris was headed and deciding to play along.

"Well now, if it's a matter of productivity, I should be safe. Reports are done and filing complete. Josiah and Vin, well they might be in for some difficulties."

"Buck, your idea of filing is dropping all the paper into the bottom drawer and hoping no one asks for it." JD responded

"It's worked for me for longer than you've been around kid."

Vin looked up from the scattering of files in front of him. "That's what he does? Shit – why didn't anyone fill me in on that option."

The conversation fizzled as quickly as it had begun. Chris was racking his brain looking for another opening when he heard the gentle "tsk, tsk" from the corner.

"Really gentlemen," Ezra spoke with a slightly patronizing tone flavouring his southern drawl. "This is the best you can come up with for a Friday afternoon? Soft jibes about paperwork? I have come to expect so much more from you all."

"Guess we just a bit too tired to measure up today Ezra." Josiah's tone was much more melancholy than was his norm. Nathan was about to add a comment when he was distracted by his phone.

"We have had more tiring weeks, and far more frustrating ones as well."

"Not lately," JD corrected.

"Perhaps not. But it is precisely out desire to move past such a week that should have us reveling in its completion."

"Sorry Ezra, guess nobody feels that we've got all that much to revel about." Chris had finally surrendered to the mood of the room.

"Survival, gentlemen. What better cause for commemoration is there than the fact we all survived the week?"

"Ryan Spencer didn't." Nathan's comment silence the room. "That was the hospital. Kid died about a half an hour ago."

"You did everything you could for him Nathan," Josiah automatically replied.

"Wasn't enough, was it?"

Chris knew where this line of thought was headed, and that he needed to head it off before it gained momentum. "Don't start with that Nathan. It's not your fault."

"Isn't it? If I had the right training –."

"Yeah, and the right equipment, and everything else you could have. Of course, you do remember that you're not a doctor?" Buck finished, realizing as he neared the end that did not come out close to where he'd had in mind.

"No, I'm not, am I?"

"You know what he meant Nathan. And if you did have all that, if you were a doctor, it still wouldn't have mattered, because then you wouldn't have been there when it happened."

"I know. I mean, I guess I know. But damn it Chris, he shouldn't have been there either. He was just a kid."

"Have you forgotten that that kid was an active, eager and, most importantly, willing participant in a ruthless gang with no qualms about the actions he undertood on a daily basis. You know as well as I do that the Irish mob are every bit as deadly as any other criminal organization, regardless of how clean-cut-boy-next-door they may appear."

"I get that Ezra, but dear God, he was 17. You remember being 17? Didn't you make stupid choices? Did you deserve to die for them?"

"I have made an over abundance of stupid choices in my life, then and since. None of them involve getting into a shootout with a large number, or for that matter, any number, of law enforcement officers."

"That's another thing wrong in all of this. We're supposed to be pros. Best at what we do."

"What's your point Nathan?" Chris was at a loss to see where the man was headed.

"If we're all so damned good, how come some trigger-happy agent took a kill shot on a kid?"

"Might not have been one of us." JD answered. "Could've been crossfire. Won't know until we get the bullet."

"It was one of us. From the angle it had to be."

"If it is ruled as excessive –" Josiah began.

"Damn straight it was excessive Josiah. Somebody killed that kid."

"Absolutely true," Ezra answered. "Whoever first provided him with a weapon and the motivation to use it. Encouraged him to take the easy way out of his situation. They certainly take on a share of this. Not the officer doing his duty."

Nathan couldn't believe Ezra was being so aloof and detached in all of this. "Did it ever occur to you that maybe this kid had no choice?"

"It is a rare circumstance in life when there is not a choice. And even though you insist on referring to him a kid, I remind you that he was a young man, not a child."

"He was 17."

"In this community, in his world, that made him a young man. He saw a route out of poverty and chose his path. I am certain he was no doubt fully aware of the consequences as well as the perceived rewards."

Nathan rose angrily, placing both fists on the table and leaning toward Ezra "Really Ezra? You gonna talk to me about poverty? About social injustice and all the crap that it brings down?"

"No Mr. Jackson. I would not presume to. I am going to talk to you about a 17-year-old who decided the best way out of all that was to ensure that as much of that violence and misery as possible was distributed to others. To make his way to a better life by climbing over others. He is not the only young man to face hardships and trials. But, he didn't elect to improve himself. He didn't struggle to deal with his poverty, or growing up in a single-parent home, or losing his family, by trying to improve things. He didn't get medical training or develop computer skills. He didn't struggle through night classes at community college. He picked up a gun and hurt people. He picked up a gun and killed people. He picked up a gun and pointed it at you."

The table was silent. If Ezra had seen that action, it could mean only one thing. "You?" Nathan whispered. "You shot him?"

"Yes Nathan. I shot him. I killed the criminal for whom are now grieve."

"What the hell for? You're too good a shot to have had to take him out like that."

"Ezra?" Chris struggled to get between the two men before it went too far. "How can you be sure? That was a hell of a lot of confusion, movement."

"I do not fire my weapon unless I am certain of the outcome. None of us do."

"Then why?" Nathan demanded again. "Why kill a 17-year-old kid?"

"Those choices we were discussing. In the case, the lack of same."

"You just finished saying there's always a choice."

"Yes, there was. From where I stood, from that vantage, the only available shot to me was what you have designated as a kill shot. That was the only way to stop him, and so I chose to not allow him to kill you. I weighed my perceived value of the two lives in the balance, and chose yours. If that puts me in the overwhelmingly inappropriate role of judge, jury, and executioner, so be it. There was, in my mind, no other option. Am I sorry the young man had to die? Assuredly. But do not ask me to apologize for or to regret the choice I made. That will never happen. I would make the same call again. Every time. For every one of you. Regardless of the cost."

Nathan stared, unable to speak. No one in the room could. He and Ezra were practically nose to nose, having edged Chris out of the way again. Nathan really looked, for the first time, past his own guilt, his own feeling of failure, and saw much more in Ezra. For all the talk, the detachment, this was cutting him deeply. Not just this action, not just this loss. The admission, loud and clear, that he would, in a heartbeat, kill another to save them. The unspoken fear that such willingness made him every bit as much a murderer as the men they pursued. They all knew this challenge in their hearts. They'd all faced that called when they'd sworn their oath. Saying it out loud put a finality to it that was in so many ways much harder to accept.

Ezra hadn't blinked while they stared each other down, so Nathan did. "We all would Ezra. Every man here. For every man here." Ezra gave the tiniest nod of his head to acknowledge the sentiment, then turned. "I assume that I shall need to revise my statement regarding the events of Wednesday." He forced himself to look at Chris, and not away.

"Not. Nothing changes until we get ballistics and that won't happen until after the autops– until later."

"So," Buck heard his voice cracking so he casually cleared his throat before starting over. JD hid a grin behind his own cough. "So, what say we all had over to Inez's and get sufficiently drunk we need to be carried outta there?"

"I'm really not sure that is the best way to deal with all of this."

"Probably not Josiah, but it sounds like a damn fine second choice." Chris grabbed his jacket from the wall hook, tossing Ezra's over to him at the same time. Ezra caught it, then looked across the table again. "Will you be joining us Nathan."

"Never pass up the chance for a drink with friends Ezra."

"OK Pard," Vin took Ezra by the arm and steered him toward the door. "Shall we see how many of those fancy drinks of yours it takes to get ripped?"

"One does not get ripped on a fine Kentucky bourbon! One gets mellow. And the number is generally seven, appropriately enough."

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

The End