I'm doing something I have never done before. I'm posting in a new fandom using a new character. /hears screaming in the background/ Now before you go running off heading for the hills, or whatever you do when you see that OC comment, please give this little fic a chance.
This was just a little dabble in Ezra's budding understanding of family.
Its Ezra centric with lots of angst.
Hope you enjoy!
Crazy
Title: No Longer Alone
Author: Crazy
Rating: PG 13 for blood
Universe: ATF
Spoilers: None
No Longer Alone
By
Crazy
Ezra pulled Molly closer, as much for offering her his body heat as it was for his own comfort in knowing she was finally there with him. She was alive, but for how long, he had no idea.
When he had found her, his chest had tightened with a band of fear. All he could see was her once white blouse, now stained and clinging awkwardly to her chilling body while her face was blood smeared. Unfortunately those had been the only observations he had gotten before the flashlight blinked out. He regretted not getting a clear look into her eyes, but then again he hadn't needed to. He knew she was in pain. He could feel it as easily as he could feel his own mental anguish.
He couldn't understand the feelings that seemed to crash against his barriers. Never before had he been so affected by someone, as he was with her. And she had only been in his life for a bare six months. It wasn't possible. His mother had taught him better then that. Don't get involved. Don't get attached. Don't give them something to use against you. Who 'they' were didn't matter. He knew it could be anyone from the people he conned for a living, to...well, his mother. And he wouldn't put it past her to use anything she could to get him to do what she wanted.
That was Maude. His mother had done it before, and she wouldn't hesitate to do it again.
But this feeling of total devotion and...something he couldn't identify, took precedence over his upbringing: worming its way into his armor. Suddenly Ezra found himself vulnerable, feeling feelings he had never felt before and not knowing how to handle them, how to control them. And he needed to control them, to know that his fate was in his own hands and not in the hands of another pushing him towards the edge.
He was teetering.
Gently, almost reverently, Ezra pulled her closer. Not caring that his Armani suit was ruined or that his leather shoes were already beyond repair. All that mattered was keeping her close, letting her know she was safe, and allowing himself to accept he had finally found her. No one could hurt her anymore, not while Ezra P. Standish was holding her in his arms.
Dimly he could hear people shouting orders, while machines beeped warnings as they rushed around removing the crates and pallets that surrounded him and his companion. His team was out there, somewhere, waiting for them. And, oddly enough, he was grateful, even comforted by that thought.
He had never felt so completely alone before, or lost for that matter, but even though he was feeling this way, he also knew it wouldn't last for long. He had people who were willing to be there for him when he was released from this darkness. And he would need every single one of them.
Nathan, he could count on to be straight forward and honest in any matter. And that was important to Ezra. So many times in his life he had been lied to and cheated, it was refreshing to have someone whom he could trust. It also helped that Nathan Jackson was an EMT who could help explain the complexities of an injury in laymen's terms where most doctors seemed to fail.
Josiah was another he could trust at his back. He knew the large man would always be there for him too, when he needed it most. Always withholding judgment when it was most needed, giving a person the benefit of the doubt. He also made a great sounding board, offering insight where needed. Being a profiler helped as did the fact that he and Ezra had similar educational backgrounds in psychology. Which made for some interesting conversations of which he knew he would need soon. If for nothing other then to get his mind off of the terror it was feeling at the thought of losing someone who was very important to him.
The muffled shouting that filtered to him suddenly changed from controlled orders, to panicked tones, just before a loud crashing noise came to his ears, quickly followed by a shudder that rippled across the floor. At the same time, there was a groan from the crates that surrounded him and his charge, causing him to grip her tighter.
"Good Lord!" He cried out in a moment of fear, his heart beating a marathon against his ribcage.
"Ezra!"
He knew without a doubt that if the wooden boxes around him collapsed, there was no place to go, no chance of getting Molly or himself out alive.
"Ezra!"
Startled out of the sudden panic that had gripped him, he blinked and shivered before realizing his team leader was shouting at him once again.
"Damn it Ez, are ya still there?"
"I'm still here, Mistah Lar'bee." The Southerner quipped, struggling and failing to keep his voice calm. "What, may I ask, just occurred? And is everyone alright?"
"A pallet toppled, Ez, but no one was hurt."
"That /is/ most fortunate." Swallowing hard, he wiggled in place, trying to circulate the blood flow to his legs. "Might I suggest you hasten this endeavor. Miss Molly and I are awaiting our emancipation from this dismal aperture."
"Huh?"
"He means get him the hell outta there, JD."
"Well, geeze Ez, why do ya always have to use those ten dollar words when any old simple one will do?"
Closing his eyes against the headache he felt attacking him, Ezra shifted his left leg, careful to keep the right one bent in order to support his burden. "Well, Mr. Dunne," he began, "I am not in the mood for banter, so, "He grimaced into the dark as a charlie-horse gripped his leg in an unforgiving spasm. "why don't you just 'get-me-the-hell-outta-here', as Mr. Tanner put it and /then/ we can discuss the advantages of language usage, to our hearts' content." He finished his tirade and panted as the pain slowly faded.
"Ezra?"
"Yes Mr. Larabee?" Ezra felt himself slowly begin to relax as the worst faded, leaving his thigh muscle trembling slightly. It was enough to help him regain some of his normal demeanor.
"How you holding up?"
It was an honest question, but six or seven months ago he would have lied to protect himself. Now however, he breathed a deep sigh that reverberated over the com link. "I have been bettah Mr. Larabee." Groaning, he shifted his leg again. He was going to be quite stiff if they didn't get him out of there quickly. No matter what kinds of words he used, that was a fact.
"We are working as fast as we can. We hope to be there soon."
"I am sure you are doing all you can within your power, Mr. Larabee. I can not ask for more."
Silence descended over Team Seven's com link, each apparently lost in thought or listening to the slight noises that they could make out from their team mate. Ezra appreciated that, feeling that they were already sharing his burden.
"Ez? How's Molly?"
Bucks tentative question caused him to clench his teeth. He had been expecting the question but that didn't mean he was ready for it. Taking a shuddering breath, the southerner fought the feelings that twisted in his gut. He wanted to say she was fine, say that she was just sleeping, but he couldn't. He wished this was just a nightmare or someone's deranged joke, but again, he couldn't.
Taking another deep breath, he struggled with the myriad of emotions that had him shaking, lay his cheek on top of the 16 year old's head, and rocked gently as he whispered, "I dunno Buck. I dunno."
He hated that he sounded like a lost child, but he couldn't help it. The feelings were ruthless as they ripped through him, tearing away his ability to shut himself away in his mental stone protection.
Chris must have known too, because he offered hope in the only way he could at the moment. "We're here, Ezra. We aren't going anywhere." It was his way of letting the undercover agent know that he and the rest of Team Seven were there to watch his back. For him, they would become his stone shelter.
Chris was like that. The backbone of the group, but it made sense because he was essentially the leader, the one that took sole responsibility when things went to shit. And boy, had they gone to shit in a hand basket.
Ezra could count on Chris Larabee to put him in his place when he stepped out of line, but he could also rely on him to go to the ends of the earth to help one of his own when they were hurt. Physical or no.
One thing about Chris was that he had an explosive temper. He was an 'act before thinking' sort of man. And that was where Vin Tanner came in. He balanced Chris with his easy going nature. That wasn't to say he didn't get angry, or that he was timid. If there was a call for action, Vin would just as easily jump into the thick of things – feet first. And he was sharp. Not one to miss a thing. Just as he could spot a track at an impossible distance, he could see when someone was trying to hide their feelings. Not only that, but he was good at ferreting them out as well. And his patience. Ezra knew he would be relying on that patience for quite some time, while Molly healed.
There was no, /if/ Molly healed, it had to be /when/. He knew he would be relying on Mr. Dunn's up-beat attitude for help in that department. JD was the baby of the team. Always the optimistic and a bigger heart one would not find. His seeming naivety was something that each member tried to cultivate and protect, a hard task considering the line of work they were in. But that didn't stop them from trying. Ezra was just as much a culprit as any of the others, exceeded only by Buck.
Buck Wilmington would do anything for that boy, but he would also do so for any member of his team, his family. And Ezra was quickly finding out that he was a part of that family. Coming to Denver had definitely changed his world around. He had never found anyone who could worm their way into his life, break down his defenses and then build them back up stronger then ever. That was, until Team Seven had come into his life, or he into theirs. And following on their heels had been Molly.
Peering down through the darkness, he fancied he saw a small light glimmer where he expected her eyes to be. "You with me, sweetheart?" He asked, his southern accent once more becoming pronounced.
Moments passed and the silence that enveloped the two became thick with emotions. He knew he was just fooling himself. What were the chances she would live through this? There had been too much blood. Even now, he could feel it slide past his fingers as he put pressure on the back of her shoulder. Fighting back tears, Ezra pulled her head tighter into his chest, careful not to smother her, but hoping to ease any crick in her neck he was sure she was working on.
"You continue to rest, Miss Molly. Mistah Lar'bee is orchestrating our liberation at this very minute." He whispered into the darkness around them but even he was having troubles believing there was much chance of both of them coming out alive.
Oh God, he shouldn't be feeling this way. Hadn't Maude taught him anything? It was dangerous to get attached to anyone. And here he was huddling over the body of a 16 year old amnesiac trying to keep his emotions from overwhelming him. And out there....
He shook his head, swallowing hard. Out there, past the frantic shouting, he knew were six other people who had slid past his defenses as if there had been none. Of course Maude would disapprove. His mother never let anyone get close enough to her because it was first and foremost 'look out for number one'. There was no room for anyone else. And that included Ezra.
But he wouldn't trade his mother's approval for what he now had. He had finally learned that to be a part of a family, a real family, not one made by blood, but of something more, a person could become stronger. Like the supports and cross pieces of a building, each person leaned against another, taking and sharing the weight of the world.
While it allowed new thoughts and feelings to bombard him, it also showed him he could rely on others to help him in the tough spots. Yes, a family, he was quickly finding out had more Pro's then Con's.
Leaning his head back against the pallet he was braced against, Ezra frowned, wishing he dared weave his way between the pallets to freedom, but in his hurry to get to Molly he had forgotten to memorize his path. He hadn't thought it important considering he had had a flashlight that had illuminated the distinct blood trail he had been following. But it had died, not long after finding her and Johnny Rivers.
Sighing harshly, he ran his left hand through her blood encrusted hair, trying to anchor himself.
He had thought her dead when he had come around the last turn and found Agent Rivers sprawled over the top of her, as if they had shared one last hug before passing on.
The panic that had overcome him had been so powerful it took him a few minutes to calm his breathing down enough to even function. Of course it had also taken Chris Larabee's cussing him up one side and down the other to even pull him back from whatever mental precipice he had been teetering on before realizing he was hyperventilating.
And there it was: A prime example of how these new feelings were overtaking him, running him to ruin.
What irritated him most was that he was an undercover agent. He made his living at controlling his thoughts and emotions, only letting others see what he wanted them to see. Nearly slipping off that mental cliff had shown him how vulnerable he had really become.
"Johnny?"
Surprised by the weak voice, Ezra found himself quickly pulled from his musings. In his earpiece, he heard the collective gasp from the men who he was starting to call family.
"Shhh. It's Ezra. M'here Molly." He crooned, unconsciously opting for less complicated words.
"Zra?" The sound of her voice, barely a whisper, seemed to grasp at his gut, twisting harshly.
"Yes, darlin'. It's Ezra."
"Johnny...s'cold." Her voice seemed to take on a plaintive quality and she shifted slightly in his hold, before sighing breathily against his chest.
"I know, sweetheart." At some point he realized he was still rocking. Taking a deep breath to steady his emotions he dipped his lips to her forehead and kissed her, feeling the dried blood that flaked off with the soft brush. "We'll get you both out of here soon."
He didn't want to tell her that Agent Rivers was already dead. Most likely had died the moment he'd been shot. And he definitely didn't want her to know that she had dragged a dead body into the maze-like safety of the pallets in her efforts to escape their captors.
Blinking owlishly, he suddenly noticed there was a little light trickling down from above. Not enough to make out details, but enough to see a small glint off the ring on his left hand. Craning his neck, he looked up between the crating just barely making out the rafters in the ceiling.
"Hey Miss Molly, I do believe I can see the ceiling." He told her, trying to give her some hope, as well as trying to keep his own feelings buoyed.
"S'good" She slurred back, surprising the agent with her lucidity. "t' Dark."
"Yes it is. But we will be out of here soon."
"Liar."
Ezra was taken by surprise at that proclamation. Especially when he heard answering chuckles through his ear piece, but it also brought a hint of a smile to his lips.
"I may cheat at poker, M'dear, but I am no liah." He drawled teasingly, feeling that small smile tug pitifully at the corners of his mouth once more.
"Yess'are."
He could hear the smile in her words, even as they faded into a breathy hiss of pain. And his hopes faded with it. Fighting the hitch in his chest, he once again brushed at her hair, dislodging some of the clumps of blood which flaked under his fingertips. An eerie quiet fell between them as he listened to her shuddering breathing.
Not for the first time, he wished he still had his suit jacket to wrap around her. But it had been left behind to give him more room to maneuver through the narrow passages within the crates. He had run into many spots where he had barely made it through.
Considering that, it truly was a miracle Molly had gotten as far as she had, wounded and dragging River's body behind her. It was a testament to her strength of character, and her determination to protect those she thought deserving, no matter that this time it had been futile. She hadn't known, therefore making her sacrifice all the more noble.
Ezra felt Molly's body shift into him, searching for more body heat. Bowing his head he dropped anther kiss to her forehead, and stifled a mutinous sob.
"Zra?"
"Yes?" He whispered brokenly.
"Full moon's c'mn."
Ezra closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears just as easily. He didn't want to hear her delirious comments. He wanted to remember her as he had last seen her, standing in the ATF office putting the womanizing Buck Whilmington in his place just before latching onto Agent Johnny Rivers' arm and tugging him out the door.
Seeing her like that, looking like a princess in her sheer silk top with it's ruffled cuffs and her pink polka dot silk skirt, he had realized how much he wanted to protect her from the evils of the world, wanted to be someone she could look too when she needed a shoulder. And he wanted to be the one that scowled as she brought home prospective dates...just like he had last night.
His green eyes widened in the dark when he thought of that.
Molly had come dancing into the office as if she were the princess of the ball, Jonathan Rivers at her elbow and shown him off to Ezra and the rest of Team Seven. The undercover agent had instantly bristled as he supposed a big brother would have bristled, feeling no one was worthy of her, surely not the ungainly young agent.
But it didn't matter now. He closed his eyes again. Rivers was dead. And soon Molly would follow, unless they got out of there in time. In anguish, he released a short bark, laced with all the frustration he felt twisting within him. This situation was so far out of his control and he was slipping over the edge.
The agent sucked in a shuddering breath at the thought. He had kept everyone at arm's length from the time he was a young boy until the day he was assimilated into Team Seven. It had taken just one reassignment and he suddenly found himself being pulled under with no way to con his way out of the feelings that were washing over him.
In frustration, he banged his head against the crate. How did people handle these feelings without losing their sanity? He couldn't do it. The multitude of feelings were too strong, too overpowering to fight.
"Ra?" Weak as it was, her voice seemed to ring through the increasing noise that penetrated their own personal jail.
Ezra hesitated in replying. "What, Darlin'?" He finally managed. He could tell she was slowly losing the battle, her breathing so shallow he could barely feel it as he hugged her to him.
"Don' wanna die."
His heart crashed like a ton of bricks. Catching his breath he felt the feelings that he had tried to contain, finally win. He didn't see the pallet in front of him start to move, or notice the light that began to spill into the small area that they occupied. He just buried his face into her hair, his eyes shut tightly and felt the tears slide down his cheeks.
"Ra?"
Chris Larabee clenched his jaw when he heard how weak the girl sounded.
He wasn't sure how his undercover agent was going to take the loss if Molly died. It had seemed that after the 16 year old had come into their lives, Ezra had begun to change. Still loath to admit his feelings to himself let alone anyone else, he would nevertheless make an effort to be more involved with everyone else's life outside of work. That in itself had been a miracle, one that every member of Team Seven attributed to the young woman and her appearance during a case.
Finding she was an amnesiac that no one stepped forward to claim, Team Seven had taken her in, with the understanding it was only temporary. It wasn't long before they found she was the key to that case, and that temporary status had turned semi-permanent when her life was threatened.
Chris rubbed at his forehead in frustration. It had amazed him when Ezra had become her self appointed guardian. And when the case was over, and they still didn't know exactly who she was, how old she was, or who she belonged to, the normally reclusive agent had opened his doors to her. That was that. Suddenly she belonged to Ezra, and through him, Team Seven of the ATF, Denver division.
Pushing the memories away, he took a deep breath and tuned in, just in time to hear Ezra's answer.
"What Darlin'?"
The anguish in those two words caught Larabee by surprise, not because he didn't expect it, but because he had never heard that tone come from the normally standoffish agent. Feeling his chest tighten with his own feelings, he turned towards the progress and watched as another pallet was speared by the forklift before it began its rise.
"Don' wanna die."
It wasn't the fear filled comment that rang in their ears that caused Team Seven to pause, but the sob that followed. As they listened, the pallet continued to rise higher, slowly revealing what it had been hiding.
A collective gasp echoed through the warehouse.
The blond agent could see that the blood alone had the rescue workers stunned; it was everywhere. Nothing was left uncovered or smeared. But what caught /his/ attention was the look on his agent's face as he struggled with the emotions that battered his soul.
Ezra was sitting scrunched into a small niche between pallets cradling Molly's body to his chest with his right hand while his left cupped her head under his chin. Larabee couldn't help but think she looked like a rag doll in his arms, she was so limp.
In that moment, Ezra looked up, caught the older agent's gaze, his face pale, his green eyes pleading and Chris' breath hitched at the hopelessness he saw.
Unthinking, he started forward, the need to get to his agent so powerful it took precedence over all else. It was a compulsion to look over one of his own, driven by the naked emotions that had crossed the younger man's face.
By the time he had pushed his way through the throng of paramedics and rescue workers, Ezra was stripped of his charge. Sitting despondently in the same spot he had been when the crate had been moved, the dark haired young man made no motion, his eyes glazed. He looked lost, alone, and afraid.
But Ezra wasn't alone. Not anymore.
Squatting down on his haunches Chris placed a comforting hand on his undercover agent's shoulder and caught his eye. Then he spoke the words the southerner needed to hear the most.
"We're here, Ezra. You aren't alone."