Team Snood

You know how this part goes. I don't own them (though I'd consider a long-term lease agreement) and I have nothing of any value to anyone because I'm a broke student. This is my first posting so please read and review – and be gentle. Oh, and I stole some of my favorite lines from the show's run but I don't own those either. I also don't own the game of Snood – I just play it a lot. Nevermind that – on with the story!

How he ever got any work done in that office, God only knew. Even with his office door closed Chris Larabee could hear the raucous laughter from his six colleagues filling the larger common space they shared. Team Seven, the most elite unit of the ATF, occupied the west corner of the agency's Santa Fe headquarters, their windows looking out onto a spectacular view of the building's dumpsters and parking lot. With a little straining, though, one could see the expanse of the desert beyond the pavement and even a hint of mountainous terrain. As team leader, Chris had his own office and his own window, though he barely had time to look out it and notice the dumpsters – not that he was missing much.

"Don't they have paperwork to do?" he said aloud to no one in particular, receiving only silence in response. From outside came more shouts followed by laughter.

"Aw hell!" came the clear voice of Buck Wilmington. "I'm finished!"

"Over there!"

"To the left!"

"No, don't tell him to put it there!"

"Stop tryin' to help – yer makin' me nervous!"

"Argh!" came the cry of six men at once.

"That does it," Chris climbed to his feet and went to the door. As he swung it open, he saw his six co-workers gathered around JD Dunne's computer, twelve eyes focused on the glowing monitor. They did not even look up as he approached.

"This one's easy, just bounce it off the walls," JD was coaching Buck, who sat in his chair, right hand clutching the computer's mouse as though he was afraid it would suddenly spring to life and jump off the desk.

"I dunno," Buck told him unsteadily.

"Take your time," Vin Tanner cautioned, leaning backwards against his own desk, which was situated behind JD's. "Do a nice slow click with the left mouse button when you fire."

Buck's right hand clicked the mouse smoothly and a smile began to light his face. "I'm doing it!"

"Now, Mr. Wilmington, if you were to aim for the left wall, that little green one can bounce over to the right and knock down that entire conglomeration of masses."

"Oh hell, Ezra – that shot's got about as much chance as a one-legged man in a butt-kicking contest!"

"Have a little faith, brother," Josiah Sanchez admonished from where he stood off to the side.

"All right, here goes," Buck squinted his eyes to aim, then closed them and clicked the mouse.

"Great shot!" cried Vin.

"One more blue smiley and you'll clear it," JD encouraged him.

Buck opened one eye cautiously to examine the screen. His face split into a wide grin. "Well, all right then."

The presence of their leader had still failed the notice of the group until Chris spoke. "I'm glad to see you're having a productive afternoon."

"Wha-?" Buck's head shot up like a startled deer and he clicked the mouse in reflex.

"No!" shouted his co-workers, eyes never leaving the monitor.

Buck looked back at the monitor and his face fell. "Shit!"

"That's it, Buck," JD nudged him out of the chair. "You're benched."

"But…" the lanky ladies' man protested as the younger man pushed him aside and sat down. "It wasn't my fault!"

"Rules are rules," Nathan Jackson reminded him as he continued to protest. "Let JD clean up the mess you just made."

Chris felt his frustration increasing by the second. "What in thunder is so fascinating over there?"

JD, who had taken Buck's seat, looked up at the leader, surprised. "Oh, hey Chris."

Ezra Standish provided the answer from his station beside Vin. "Why we are merely enjoying a scintillating game of Snood, Mr. Larabee. However, to make things more interesting, we've organized the game so that it's played in a team format. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilmington here has just lost his round and therefore his privilege to play in the next game. Mr. Tanner, on the other hand, has been on quite a streak since this little tournament began and has not lost a single round."

"Snood?" Chris asked, puzzled.

"It's a computer game," Nathan Jackson told him. "You shoot these smiley faces at other smiley faces to knock them down."

"And this is how you utilize the computers the government has provided you with?" Chris continued in what could almost have been a tone of disbelief. "Computers that are bought with American tax dollars?"

"It's good for hand-eye coordination," Vin piped up, eyes following the movement on the screen as JD clicked the mouse rapidly.

Coming from anyone else, that defense would have been pretty thin, but coming from the group's sharpshooter, Chris couldn't help but let his jaw drop. His agents – six men who specialized in facing death with no fear and putting together covert operations in order to make the world a little safer – were quite obviously addicted to a computer game. Granted, with the amount of stress they were under, he couldn't blame them. It was certainly better than being addicted to drugs or alcohol. Still, he had to shake his head at their antics.

"So how much money have you gotten them to part with since you began this little tournament, Ezra?" Chris narrowed his eyes in the direction of his best undercover agent, who as usual looked as though he had just stepped out of an ad for Hugo Boss.

"I take umbrage at that heinous accusation!" the southerner bristled, but from the glint in his green eyes and a lump in his jacket pocket that looked suspiciously like a roll of bills, the leader knew he'd made a nice showing – as usual.

"Uh-huh," Chris shook his head and kneaded the fingers of his right hand into the back of his neck to relieve some of the tension. The men had spent the last six weeks taking down a group of illegal arms dealers so he supposed an afternoon of Snood wouldn't hurt. As their leader, though, he had more paperwork to finish before he could relieve the stress of the mission, though he had planned a trip to the gym for his own release.

Turning to go back to his office, he told them, "Just keep it down, okay?"

The only response he received was a chorus of:

"To the left!"

"No, not the left, the right!"

"What the hell are you talkin' about? Anyone with eyes would tell him to shoot to the left!"

"Blue on blue – right there!"

"Woo-hoo!"

Chris returned to his desk and shuffled the papers in an effort to get his thoughts back on track. Just as he'd started to fill out yet another form, the noise began again – only louder.

"Lord help me!"
"I don't think the Lord has time for a game of Snood."

"Josiah, this is no time for a theology lesson!"

"I'm just saying…"

"Josiah!"

"I suppose if the Lord were to be interested in Snood, however, he'd tell Nathan to aim for that little smiling yellow one."

"That's the spirit!"

"All right – next level!"

The six men might as well have been playing in his office and on his computer for all the sound his closed door blocked out. Chris dropped his pen to the desk with a clatter and rested his head on his hands. An expression of loathing crossed his weather-beaten face. He stood and opened the door of his office again, stepping out into what had become a melee.

"Josiah, it's not too late to pray for help," Buck told the bear of a man who now controlled the mouse.

"Thank you, Brother Buck, but I think I can manage this on my own," came the growled reply.

"Are you sure?" Nathan wanted to know.

"Yes…I…am," Josiah told him in between furious clicks. A sigh whooshed from his chest and he sat back in his chair suddenly, indicating the clearing of another level.

"You certainly cut that one close," JD commented.

"Interesting use of angles," was Ezra's remark.

"Oh and I'm sure you could do better?" Josiah raised himself to his full height, towering over the two.

Suddenly all six men began talking at once and Chris seized his opportunity. In his best team leader voice, he yelled, "That does it!"

Twelve eyes immediately met his. The silence that surrounded the team was far more deafening than their previous ruckus. Chris glared at all of them, "I have had enough of this!"

"We…we're sorry, Chris," JD said softly.

"You will be," he strode over to the desk and sat down in the chair recently vacated by Josiah, "after I show you all a thing or two about this game."

The six startled men behind him exchanged quick glances, then burst into laughter and gathered closer to the monitor.