************************
Magnificent Seven ATF/AU
************************
Redundant
By Foggynite
Rating: PG-13, warning: graphic violence in part two
Disclaimer: Ain't mine, don't own, no clue what'cher talkin 'bout.
Thanks: As always to MOG and all the other wonderful writers!!! **Special reference made to Greenwoman's outstanding Mile High In Denver trilogy
Note: I know I promised more funny stuff, and this was originally supposed to be a comedy, but that danged muse o' mine just isn't cooperating. Quite frankly, I'm not sure where this came from...
PS Note: I really do like Ezra (he's my favorite ;) ) and I feel bad that he's usually the sacrificial lamb, however, he just has this great well of angst to draw from and I can't resist...
************************
This turn of events was just too familiar, like they had all been through this too many times. One was injured and admitted to the hospital, where they kept a vigil at his bedside, then helped to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. It just wasn't right. It shouldn't be familiar, it shouldn't be routine. The hospital staff shouldn't know them by name, or have their files in easy reach. It wasn't fair.
Chris pulled up to the hospital in his rumbling truck, taking a moment to glare at the massive glass and concrete building lording over him before shutting the vehicle off. His team was the best, with the highest regard in a field of toughened agents, but that fame usually came with a price and one of his friends was now paying it. He sighed as he slammed his door closed.
Dr. Wisten turned as Chris stalked down the hallway. The other three agents had returned to their homes to change, then were heading over to Ezra's to wait for the rest of the gang. Before Chris had gone to freshen up, he made sure Josiah and Nathan remained to watch over the drugged invalid. The two had just been kicked out of the room by a very grouchy Ezra, so that he could get changed with some privacy. They had protested, not wanting to leave him on his own to get the loose slacks over his knee brace, but the doctor had wanted a word with them anyway.
"Agent Larabee," Dr. Wisten smiled warmly. The elderly woman had a soft spot for the seven, like most of the female hospital staff, having treated their various wounds many times. "I just finished briefing Nathan and Josiah on how to handle that ornery ol' cuss in there. I know you boys'll take good care of him, but I really don't envy you. You've got yer work cut out for ya." Nathan rolled his eyes in agreement, ears still ringing from the southerner's last diatribe.
"It appears Brother Ezra is second only to Vin in his stubborn rudeness when injured," Josiah intoned with a smirk.
"Well, he's not going to get away with even half the stunts Vin has pulled," Chris glowered and did his menacing look.
"Yeah- The odds are six to one and I don't think his luck's that good." The healer grinned with mock-malice at the thought of having such a captive patient. Maybe now he could finally get one of them to listen to his advice instead of practically killing themselves doing the opposite of what he recommends.
"You boys take care," Dr. Wisten laughed. "Just remember; keep him off that knee for at least a week, and make sure he uses those crutches, and that's only if it's absolutely necessary to move him." Her pager vibrated. "Now, we love ya dearly, but I don't wanna see any of you boys back in here for a good long time, hear?" Even Chris smiled and she hurried off down the hall.
"Well, shall we go break the news to Ez? He ain't gonna be none too happy with us babysittin'..." Chris noted that Nathan's accent was thicker with his exhaustion, so shook his head.
"You two head home and get cleaned up, maybe get some shut eye, and meet us at Ezra's later."
Josiah gave a mighty yawn at his words and joked as they took off, "We hear and obey, oh fearless leader." The elevator doors saved them from Chris's Glare of Death.
The Seven's leader gave a slight smile once they were gone, glad to see his men back to their usual comradery. The latest crisis was over, so life once again returned to normal. His earlier serious and sombre mood settled back over him. There weren't enough jokes and jovial sporting out there that could make his mind feel any easier after almost losing one of his men. He opened the door with a resigned sigh, prepared to be just as stubborn as his best undercover agent.
Ezra was perched on the edge of his bed, left leg held stiffly before him as he concentrated on buttoning his shirt- a task made difficult by the fact that he couldn't raise his left arm higher than a twenty degree angle. He didn't look up as Chris entered, but his efforts became more determined. Being injured and subjected to hospital care was a large enough blow to his pride that he really didn't need this man especially to see him struggling to just put on a shirt. Larabee stood silently for a few minutes until he finally broke the tense silence.
"Need a hand?" He asked, knowing he'd be refused none too gently, but unable to keep observing his friend's struggle. The offer would probably offend the touchy southerner horribly, but sometimes Ezra needed a kick in the pants to remind him he had friends.
"I'm fine." The response was terse and defensive. He refused to look Chris in the eye. Buck, in a rare moment of serious insight, had commented that Ezra might be upset about accidentally putting JD and Vin in danger, even if the situation had been unforseeable, and almost compromising a three month undercover investigation.
************************
The case had started when the ATF got wind that there was a college campus drug ring supplying the capital for illegal firearm shipping across the Border. Up to the point where Team Seven was brought in, only the drugs had been traceable to a street dealer, but there was evidence of the shipping. After much cajoling, pleading and finally, logical arguement, JD was sent in undercover on campus. Buck had been a nervous wreck, his anxiety only heightening when JD established himself with the dealer, Victor, as a potential distributor/consumer with other higher connections: Ezra posing as 'Erik Simpson,' a high stakes arms trafficker and recreational drug user. The rest of the Seven were impressed by JD's success and the dealer's dullness since, as Ezra put it, the boy was an open book and considerate enough to hand out abridged versions for free. Victor took a liking to the young would-be criminal, especially when his hacker skills were revealed. It was this proficiency that got him an interview with the next rung on the criminal ladder.
Contact was established, and Ezra was introduced shortly after, with Vin in a now familiar role of intimidating bodyguard. JD's man in the firearms ring was Luther Grant, the grasping owner of a small time used car dealership that conveniently sold many vehicles to a sister firm in Mexico, and yet he somehow managed to wear designer suits and accessorize with solid gold. Through research and some false computer documents, the team was able to dangle the credentials for a supposedly sweet deal in front of Grant's face. Erik's 'weapons' combined with their firearms (inspected first by Erik himself, of course) sold to a 'buyer in South America' who was willing to pay top dollar for a rather sizeable quantity of munitions delivered over an extended period of time. If closed, the deal would result in millions for the cartel and glory for Grant, maybe even getting him out of the lower rungs and up into the big leagues. He eagerly took the bait and set up a meeting with his boss, Vincent Rocci. They dug up enough suspicions and actual dirt on the two men in one week to have an airtight case for other criminal acts of fraud and tax evasions, but they wanted to collapse their firearms business first.
The only thing they hadn't realized was that Rocci moved in high social circles, and just happened to have spent the past summer in Europe visiting his close personal friends, the Hapsburgs. He and his wife had been invited to spend several weeks on their yacht as guests at an exclusive party of only fifty-eight people. There Rocci made the acquaintance of the Von Haukens, who had been travelling earlier with the Hapsburgs and their daughter for the summer. Rocci had established an easy rapport with Ludwig Von Hauken, and found himself drawn to the man's stunning Southern belle wife, Maude. The lady had definitely made an impression, and the two had spent several evenings just talking the night away. In one of their conversations, she had woefully related the sorrowful tale of her only son and his dead-end career as a civil servant (which she admitted with much embarrassment), the sad story complete with pictures of when her boy was at college and even one of his graduation from the FBI academy he wasn't aware she had, since she hired a photographer to take them while she was busy else where at the time.
After such an acquaintance, imagine Rocci's surprise when presented with Erik Simpson the arms dealer, who just happened to look like Maude Von Hauken's son, Ezra. An arduous and lengthy phone call later, Rocci had Ezra's entire life story and all the information on his current ATF team that could be inconspicuously wheedled out of Maude without arousing any suspicions. Luckily for him, Maude mentioned the fact that she and her son rarely communicated since he refused to accompany her the past summer.
Even though Rocci got along with the mother quite famously, he wasn't about to let the son ruin his life. Ever. Unfortunately, enough information had already been revealed by Grant to connect Rocci to the ring. That meant he had to go for damage control. So, at their dinner meeting he kept his cards close to his chest and arranged for 'Erik' and his 'college' friend to inspect his inventory the next Tuesday at a subsidiary warehouse. He didn't intend to let them make it out alive.
With JD's presence requested, Buck was manning the surveillance equipment in the van as the other four took their positions with Team Three that night. Ezra entered the building flanked by JD and Vin amid a controlled chaos of dock workers loading the cargo in the transport vehicles. JD had complained earlier about the wearing his bulletproof vest, but all six agents had stuffed him in it. The building was stifling, with the heat and boarded windows practically triggering Vin's claustrophobia, making the levelheaded sharpshooter close to nervous. Rocci and Grant, as well as two burly men in suits, awaited them next to an open crate with smiles and handshakes.
"Please gentlemen, feel free to inspect the finest quality product on the market!" Rocci proclaimed, still jovial and friendly, smiling as Ezra inspected the contents of the crate before him.
"Indeed, sir- You are correct," Ezra laid on the flattery.
"Why, thank you, Agent Standish." All three agents snapped their focus to Rocci as Buck began cursing wildly in the van and barking orders into the mics. Rocci kept smiling congenially, as Grant grabbed his gun from where it had been hidden next to the crate and rapidly fired at them. Ezra tackled JD behind a stack of shipments, but not before the young operative was clipped in the shoulder. In the meantime, one of the suits lashed out with a crowbar, sending Vin sprawling across the warehouse floor. The workers scattered as the second bodyguard's spray of bullets went wide, one almost hitting Ezra as he returned fire from behind the crates.
By then, ATF agents were pouring in the exits and gunfire was exchanged. Rocci had ducked down behind the semitruck as soon as the teams busted through the doors, but Grant and the second suit decided to shoot their way out. Chris dropped the car salesman while Team Three's leader, Mike, took out the bodyguard. Then Josiah and Team Three rounded up the workers, plus Rocci, and subdued the suit with the crowbar.
Buck, having run from the van even before the all-clear was given, rushed to JD's side, while Chris leaned over Vin, who hadn't moved.
"You okay, kid?" Buck demanded, taking over for Ezra, who had been applying pressure to the entrance wound above JD's left collar bone.
"Hurts like hell, Buck," JD moaned as the scoundrel applied more pressure to stop the profuse bleeding, a sheen of perspiration covering his pale face. Nathan hurried over after checking Vin, and started calling for the paramedics.
Chris was supporting Vin's upper body, while the quiet sharpshooter clenched his teeth and willed himself not to cry out. The heavy wrought iron bar had left a quickly blackening bruise on his arm, which Nathan had probed with gentle fingers that couldn't do anything to prevent Vin's sharp intake of breath and desperate moan. From what Nathan could tell, the bone had been broken neatly and had only to be protected by a cast to heal.
All of the ATF agents were offset by how swiftly the situation had deteriorated, but none more so than Ezra. The bust was supposed to have been simple and quick- Get Rocci to admit to the illegal shipping, then arrest him. Things had seemed friendly and unsuspicious enough in the past meetings, but Ezra had not relaxed his guard for a minute, and now found himself wondering what had given him away.
This was what he did best, and yet, this time, he had failed. He stood silently shaking from the aftereffects of the inevitable adrenaline rush, watching as Vin and JD were loaded into ambulances. Buck refused to be separated from the kid, and so rode in the back with him, while Nathan opted to accompany Vin and keep him calm. At first the Texan had refused treatment, but Chris had managed to persuade him to let the medics help. The leader paused to search his undercover agent out, and, upon seeing the stoic face off to the side, gave him an unreadable glance as he finished up with the other team.
*And now the interrogation,* Ezra thought as Larabee strode over to him.
"What happened in here?" Chris demanded, angry with the whole night's events and goaded by Ezra's neutral facade, purposely getting in his face and wanting some sort of reaction.
"I don't know at this time, sir," was the only response he was awarded, the southerner's eyes focused on a point past his head.
"Well find out!" He snapped back. "We're takin' them all into custody. I want you to question each and every one of them until you get the right answer."
And Ezra had. After the other two had left for the hospital late that night, he stayed and kept hounding the workers and remaining bodyguard. Rocci had called for his lawyer and was tucked safely away behind red tape, while the suit flat out refused to respond to the increasingly angrier interrogation. None of the workers knew anything, except what they were hired to do and many of them also refused to talk. Even his most persuasive efforts were stonewalled and he was left with nothing.
He was very frustrated when he arrived home early the next morning...
********************
"I sent Josiah and Nathan home to rest up, but Vin, Buck, and JD are waitin' at your place." Chris had never before felt so awkward with the Southerner. He had seen him injured before, but this time it wasn't just a bullet wound in the line of duty. This had been malicious and deliberate cruelty. So now he was seeing a new side of the infuriatingly controlled conman- A vulnerable side that wasn't used to being exposed and desperately trying to regain that control. The men responsible for this would pay dearly. It left the brooding leader at a loss as to how to deal with the touchy situation, so he retreated behind his usual brusque demeanor.
"Wonderful. Not only have I been hospitalized for the past five days, but now I have to worry about my house being annihilated before I can get back there." His sarcasm was rather absently softer, some of the biting edge gone as he focused intently on finishing his top buttons. If only his damn hands would stop shaking, and his head would stop pounding, maybe then he could function like a normal human being.
"I told 'em not to touch anything." The warning hadn't really been necessary, though. The small, barren townhouse had a way of subduing even the two most boisterous of the seven most of the time.
Ezra didn't know how to respond to the small display of consideration, so he just smirked into his chest.
"Now Buck and JD'll make it a point to get their fingerprints over everything..."
He finally mastered the buttons, and attempted to tuck in his shirt but gave up. The expensive loafers didn't seem to go with his casual attire, but they were the only shoes he had that he could easily slip on without bending over. That probably would have made him die of humiliation right there.
An orderly pushed in a wheelchair and Chris quickly made room as the hospital worker helped Ezra sit down.
"I parked the truck close to the entrance, but I'll go pull it around," he said gruffly from the doorway, hating to see the proud man try to hide his winces of pain and fail miserably.
"Feel free to, Mr. Larabee," was the weak reply. If only he weren't so dizzy...
Chris stalked back down the hallway.
********************
The following three days after the bust were stressful for the entire team. Buck was frustrated with his informants' lack of information regarding the fiasco, plus JD was forced to stay home and cranky. Chris looked as though he would either have an apopolectic fit or blow a hole in someone's head whenever he was around the office. Mostly, he spent his time wrangling Judge Travis and his superiors, taking heat from them as well as the rumors from around the office.
Team Seven had screwed up, and no one knew how.
Vin was driving his best friend insane as well, doing repairs around his appartment building with a broken arm and getting paint thinner in the cast. Nathan had been called in to repair and/or referee their unpleasant leader and rebellious sharpshooter. He was also tired of being dragged over to the troublesome twosome's messy apartment for every little falling out they had, mostly over Buck's motherhen routine and JD's refusal to comply- usually leading the boy to jostle his stitches, sending Buck into a panic and resulting in Nathan visiting two to three times a day.
Ezra had withdrawn completely, reverting to the original tenuous bonds present when he had first arrived. He avoided his colleagues in the office, wouldn't return phonecalls, and spent most of his time pouring over the case file, searching for any sign of fault. Sleep became a thing of the past, restless napping at his home desk the equivalent of slumber. His faith in himself had never been as strong as everyone else assumed, but he had believed wholeheartedly in his 'God given talent' and put his life in its hands. Now that confidence was shaken, and he was disoriented. How could he trust himself to keep the others alive if he could slip up so badly and not even realize? Where had he gone wrong?
The tension finally came to a head when Ezra submitted his report on the incident and Chris exploded after reading it.
"You haven't offered one explanation for this fuckup in the entire thing, Standish!" He was furious with his own inability to discover the source of the horrible situation, so lashed out at the one man most accountable for the dealings with Rocci.
"I assure you, sir, I am doing everything poss-" Ezra didn't even flinch when Larabee cut him off.
"Obviously not! I want results or yer outta here!" It was an empty threat made in the heat of anger, attempting to wound the southerner where he was vulnerable.
Ezra paled slightly at that, but remained cool and collected. Buck, on the other hand, had been waiting for a moment of Chris's time outside the open door, and rushed to the undercover agent's defense. "Here, now, Chris- that's goin' too far. We're all workin' hard to get to the bottom of this, and Ez ain't no more at fault than the rest of us. Ya'll just need to calm down and take a step back-"
"Fine. Both of you out."
"But, Chris-"
"OUT!"
"Righto." Buck grabbed Ezra's arm and quickly closed the door, deciding not to push the issue with his old friend.
Ezra had remained alarmingly quiet, but now spoke up. "Thank you, Mr. Wilmington." The hotheaded scoundrel's outburst had been touching. It reminded him that his friends still cared, no matter how bad his mistakes were, apparently. They weren't the ones blaming him, only himself. But that was enough to crush him.
"He's just blowin' off a little steam, is all." Buck clapped him on the shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, noticing the sunken and bruised bags under his eyes and less than perfect hair.
"I think we all are..."
The rest of the day was spent in tense silence. The office was like a funeral parlor, all attention being driven to Larabee's closed door. The other agents had heard of the outburst and taken to giving Ezra reassuring comments and glances, until the conman couldn't stand it any more and headed home. He stopped by the saloon for a beer, loathe to face his empty townhouse just yet. His search still produced no evidence for the botched job, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but that was a comfort denied him.
The townhouse was dark when he opened the front door, not unusual, but spikes of alarm shot through him when he realized there was no power going to his security system. He tried flipping the foyer light switch, but the hall stayed dark. Slowly placing his briefcase on the floor and drawing from his shoulder holster, he moved deeper into the house.
If this turned out to be nothing more than a power outage, he would laugh. But the sleepless nights and caffeine diet left him light headed and paranoid in his weakened state. As soon as he let his guard down when he was like this, something would probably pounce on him.
He entered the dusk-filled kitchen, the sky's rosy hues illuminating the place somewhat but leaving details blurred and undefined. A whisper of noise alerted him to a presence behind him seconds before he was tackled to the floor, gun skittering away on the polished linoleum. A second pair of hands secured his ankles while the first attacker wrenched his arms behind his back, painfully popping the left elbow and shoulder joints.
At first too stunned to move, he began to struggle violently against the intruders, working his legs free with a chance blow to his assailant's face. That just angered them both and made them push down harder. . .
********************
"Ezra- we're home. Wake up." Chris gently tapped the dozing southerner. Only minutes after strapping him into the truck, he had fallen asleep against the passenger door. Now his forehead was wrinkled and his eyes darted around behind his lids like trapped animals seeking escape. He made a slight noise in his throat, like protest, and Chris shook him harder.
"Ez- Wake up."
Ezra snapped awake, still back in his kitchen, and lashed out at the person grabbing him. A muffled 'oomph' was the only response he got before his right fist was tightly immobilized and he focused on Chris's concerned face.
"It's just me, Ez. You were dreaming." Chris's shoulder stung from the sharp knuckles driven in, but sought to ease his agent's embarrassment as he realized where he was.
"I must've dozed off. Do forgive me." He flushed pink and determinedly worked to get his seatbelt off with his free hand.
"It's okay." Chris released his wrist and helped the shaky invalid out of the restraint.
Ezra took a few seconds to calm himself as Chris walked around to open his door. The front door of the house had opened and JD was bounding down the steps, arm still in a sling and Buck hot on his tail.
"Wow, Ezra, you look like shit!" The kid of the team exclaimed as Chris opened the cab door, recieving a smack from his 'big brother.'
"Thank you, young JD. I could say the same about you," was the weak reply. Buck and Chris exchanged worried glances over the southerner's head as they helped him down.
"You must be plum worn out by now." Buck took over. "Y'look like me this one time I met these two lovely ladies at a bar in Rio. Let me tell you, these were some fine women of the likes the boy here will probably never be lucky enough to woo-"
"Hey! What's that s'posed to mean?!"
"Think on it, JD. Anywho, they were bee-yoo-tee-full, and I thought I'd just about died an' gone ta heaven when I found out they were with a traveling dance company. Ballet, if I recall correctly, and they were real flexible like-"
"I can 'woo' women just as well, if not better than you, Buck Wilmington!"
"What about Nancy down in the copy center? She turned you down flat with a laugh and a smile for good ole Buck, here-"
"That was a sympathy laugh when she found out we were roomates and that smile was cuz you had a glob of spaghetti sauce in your mustache-"
"If I recall, gentlemen, Nancy was the one who thought the two of you had something going on from the way Buck was draped over you, JD, and thought you were just trying to flatter her into giving you more copies than your allotment."
"Hey, now that ain't true-"
"Where'd you hear a thing like that?! That's all silly and stuff, Ez!"
"Those two are right, Ezra. It wasn't Nancy down in the copy center. It was Brigitte over the fax."
"Chris!"
"Just put me in bed, please..."
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Magnificent Seven ATF/AU
************************
Redundant
By Foggynite
Rating: PG-13, warning: graphic violence in part two
Disclaimer: Ain't mine, don't own, no clue what'cher talkin 'bout.
Thanks: As always to MOG and all the other wonderful writers!!! **Special reference made to Greenwoman's outstanding Mile High In Denver trilogy
Note: I know I promised more funny stuff, and this was originally supposed to be a comedy, but that danged muse o' mine just isn't cooperating. Quite frankly, I'm not sure where this came from...
PS Note: I really do like Ezra (he's my favorite ;) ) and I feel bad that he's usually the sacrificial lamb, however, he just has this great well of angst to draw from and I can't resist...
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This turn of events was just too familiar, like they had all been through this too many times. One was injured and admitted to the hospital, where they kept a vigil at his bedside, then helped to pick up the pieces in the aftermath. It just wasn't right. It shouldn't be familiar, it shouldn't be routine. The hospital staff shouldn't know them by name, or have their files in easy reach. It wasn't fair.
Chris pulled up to the hospital in his rumbling truck, taking a moment to glare at the massive glass and concrete building lording over him before shutting the vehicle off. His team was the best, with the highest regard in a field of toughened agents, but that fame usually came with a price and one of his friends was now paying it. He sighed as he slammed his door closed.
Dr. Wisten turned as Chris stalked down the hallway. The other three agents had returned to their homes to change, then were heading over to Ezra's to wait for the rest of the gang. Before Chris had gone to freshen up, he made sure Josiah and Nathan remained to watch over the drugged invalid. The two had just been kicked out of the room by a very grouchy Ezra, so that he could get changed with some privacy. They had protested, not wanting to leave him on his own to get the loose slacks over his knee brace, but the doctor had wanted a word with them anyway.
"Agent Larabee," Dr. Wisten smiled warmly. The elderly woman had a soft spot for the seven, like most of the female hospital staff, having treated their various wounds many times. "I just finished briefing Nathan and Josiah on how to handle that ornery ol' cuss in there. I know you boys'll take good care of him, but I really don't envy you. You've got yer work cut out for ya." Nathan rolled his eyes in agreement, ears still ringing from the southerner's last diatribe.
"It appears Brother Ezra is second only to Vin in his stubborn rudeness when injured," Josiah intoned with a smirk.
"Well, he's not going to get away with even half the stunts Vin has pulled," Chris glowered and did his menacing look.
"Yeah- The odds are six to one and I don't think his luck's that good." The healer grinned with mock-malice at the thought of having such a captive patient. Maybe now he could finally get one of them to listen to his advice instead of practically killing themselves doing the opposite of what he recommends.
"You boys take care," Dr. Wisten laughed. "Just remember; keep him off that knee for at least a week, and make sure he uses those crutches, and that's only if it's absolutely necessary to move him." Her pager vibrated. "Now, we love ya dearly, but I don't wanna see any of you boys back in here for a good long time, hear?" Even Chris smiled and she hurried off down the hall.
"Well, shall we go break the news to Ez? He ain't gonna be none too happy with us babysittin'..." Chris noted that Nathan's accent was thicker with his exhaustion, so shook his head.
"You two head home and get cleaned up, maybe get some shut eye, and meet us at Ezra's later."
Josiah gave a mighty yawn at his words and joked as they took off, "We hear and obey, oh fearless leader." The elevator doors saved them from Chris's Glare of Death.
The Seven's leader gave a slight smile once they were gone, glad to see his men back to their usual comradery. The latest crisis was over, so life once again returned to normal. His earlier serious and sombre mood settled back over him. There weren't enough jokes and jovial sporting out there that could make his mind feel any easier after almost losing one of his men. He opened the door with a resigned sigh, prepared to be just as stubborn as his best undercover agent.
Ezra was perched on the edge of his bed, left leg held stiffly before him as he concentrated on buttoning his shirt- a task made difficult by the fact that he couldn't raise his left arm higher than a twenty degree angle. He didn't look up as Chris entered, but his efforts became more determined. Being injured and subjected to hospital care was a large enough blow to his pride that he really didn't need this man especially to see him struggling to just put on a shirt. Larabee stood silently for a few minutes until he finally broke the tense silence.
"Need a hand?" He asked, knowing he'd be refused none too gently, but unable to keep observing his friend's struggle. The offer would probably offend the touchy southerner horribly, but sometimes Ezra needed a kick in the pants to remind him he had friends.
"I'm fine." The response was terse and defensive. He refused to look Chris in the eye. Buck, in a rare moment of serious insight, had commented that Ezra might be upset about accidentally putting JD and Vin in danger, even if the situation had been unforseeable, and almost compromising a three month undercover investigation.
************************
The case had started when the ATF got wind that there was a college campus drug ring supplying the capital for illegal firearm shipping across the Border. Up to the point where Team Seven was brought in, only the drugs had been traceable to a street dealer, but there was evidence of the shipping. After much cajoling, pleading and finally, logical arguement, JD was sent in undercover on campus. Buck had been a nervous wreck, his anxiety only heightening when JD established himself with the dealer, Victor, as a potential distributor/consumer with other higher connections: Ezra posing as 'Erik Simpson,' a high stakes arms trafficker and recreational drug user. The rest of the Seven were impressed by JD's success and the dealer's dullness since, as Ezra put it, the boy was an open book and considerate enough to hand out abridged versions for free. Victor took a liking to the young would-be criminal, especially when his hacker skills were revealed. It was this proficiency that got him an interview with the next rung on the criminal ladder.
Contact was established, and Ezra was introduced shortly after, with Vin in a now familiar role of intimidating bodyguard. JD's man in the firearms ring was Luther Grant, the grasping owner of a small time used car dealership that conveniently sold many vehicles to a sister firm in Mexico, and yet he somehow managed to wear designer suits and accessorize with solid gold. Through research and some false computer documents, the team was able to dangle the credentials for a supposedly sweet deal in front of Grant's face. Erik's 'weapons' combined with their firearms (inspected first by Erik himself, of course) sold to a 'buyer in South America' who was willing to pay top dollar for a rather sizeable quantity of munitions delivered over an extended period of time. If closed, the deal would result in millions for the cartel and glory for Grant, maybe even getting him out of the lower rungs and up into the big leagues. He eagerly took the bait and set up a meeting with his boss, Vincent Rocci. They dug up enough suspicions and actual dirt on the two men in one week to have an airtight case for other criminal acts of fraud and tax evasions, but they wanted to collapse their firearms business first.
The only thing they hadn't realized was that Rocci moved in high social circles, and just happened to have spent the past summer in Europe visiting his close personal friends, the Hapsburgs. He and his wife had been invited to spend several weeks on their yacht as guests at an exclusive party of only fifty-eight people. There Rocci made the acquaintance of the Von Haukens, who had been travelling earlier with the Hapsburgs and their daughter for the summer. Rocci had established an easy rapport with Ludwig Von Hauken, and found himself drawn to the man's stunning Southern belle wife, Maude. The lady had definitely made an impression, and the two had spent several evenings just talking the night away. In one of their conversations, she had woefully related the sorrowful tale of her only son and his dead-end career as a civil servant (which she admitted with much embarrassment), the sad story complete with pictures of when her boy was at college and even one of his graduation from the FBI academy he wasn't aware she had, since she hired a photographer to take them while she was busy else where at the time.
After such an acquaintance, imagine Rocci's surprise when presented with Erik Simpson the arms dealer, who just happened to look like Maude Von Hauken's son, Ezra. An arduous and lengthy phone call later, Rocci had Ezra's entire life story and all the information on his current ATF team that could be inconspicuously wheedled out of Maude without arousing any suspicions. Luckily for him, Maude mentioned the fact that she and her son rarely communicated since he refused to accompany her the past summer.
Even though Rocci got along with the mother quite famously, he wasn't about to let the son ruin his life. Ever. Unfortunately, enough information had already been revealed by Grant to connect Rocci to the ring. That meant he had to go for damage control. So, at their dinner meeting he kept his cards close to his chest and arranged for 'Erik' and his 'college' friend to inspect his inventory the next Tuesday at a subsidiary warehouse. He didn't intend to let them make it out alive.
With JD's presence requested, Buck was manning the surveillance equipment in the van as the other four took their positions with Team Three that night. Ezra entered the building flanked by JD and Vin amid a controlled chaos of dock workers loading the cargo in the transport vehicles. JD had complained earlier about the wearing his bulletproof vest, but all six agents had stuffed him in it. The building was stifling, with the heat and boarded windows practically triggering Vin's claustrophobia, making the levelheaded sharpshooter close to nervous. Rocci and Grant, as well as two burly men in suits, awaited them next to an open crate with smiles and handshakes.
"Please gentlemen, feel free to inspect the finest quality product on the market!" Rocci proclaimed, still jovial and friendly, smiling as Ezra inspected the contents of the crate before him.
"Indeed, sir- You are correct," Ezra laid on the flattery.
"Why, thank you, Agent Standish." All three agents snapped their focus to Rocci as Buck began cursing wildly in the van and barking orders into the mics. Rocci kept smiling congenially, as Grant grabbed his gun from where it had been hidden next to the crate and rapidly fired at them. Ezra tackled JD behind a stack of shipments, but not before the young operative was clipped in the shoulder. In the meantime, one of the suits lashed out with a crowbar, sending Vin sprawling across the warehouse floor. The workers scattered as the second bodyguard's spray of bullets went wide, one almost hitting Ezra as he returned fire from behind the crates.
By then, ATF agents were pouring in the exits and gunfire was exchanged. Rocci had ducked down behind the semitruck as soon as the teams busted through the doors, but Grant and the second suit decided to shoot their way out. Chris dropped the car salesman while Team Three's leader, Mike, took out the bodyguard. Then Josiah and Team Three rounded up the workers, plus Rocci, and subdued the suit with the crowbar.
Buck, having run from the van even before the all-clear was given, rushed to JD's side, while Chris leaned over Vin, who hadn't moved.
"You okay, kid?" Buck demanded, taking over for Ezra, who had been applying pressure to the entrance wound above JD's left collar bone.
"Hurts like hell, Buck," JD moaned as the scoundrel applied more pressure to stop the profuse bleeding, a sheen of perspiration covering his pale face. Nathan hurried over after checking Vin, and started calling for the paramedics.
Chris was supporting Vin's upper body, while the quiet sharpshooter clenched his teeth and willed himself not to cry out. The heavy wrought iron bar had left a quickly blackening bruise on his arm, which Nathan had probed with gentle fingers that couldn't do anything to prevent Vin's sharp intake of breath and desperate moan. From what Nathan could tell, the bone had been broken neatly and had only to be protected by a cast to heal.
All of the ATF agents were offset by how swiftly the situation had deteriorated, but none more so than Ezra. The bust was supposed to have been simple and quick- Get Rocci to admit to the illegal shipping, then arrest him. Things had seemed friendly and unsuspicious enough in the past meetings, but Ezra had not relaxed his guard for a minute, and now found himself wondering what had given him away.
This was what he did best, and yet, this time, he had failed. He stood silently shaking from the aftereffects of the inevitable adrenaline rush, watching as Vin and JD were loaded into ambulances. Buck refused to be separated from the kid, and so rode in the back with him, while Nathan opted to accompany Vin and keep him calm. At first the Texan had refused treatment, but Chris had managed to persuade him to let the medics help. The leader paused to search his undercover agent out, and, upon seeing the stoic face off to the side, gave him an unreadable glance as he finished up with the other team.
*And now the interrogation,* Ezra thought as Larabee strode over to him.
"What happened in here?" Chris demanded, angry with the whole night's events and goaded by Ezra's neutral facade, purposely getting in his face and wanting some sort of reaction.
"I don't know at this time, sir," was the only response he was awarded, the southerner's eyes focused on a point past his head.
"Well find out!" He snapped back. "We're takin' them all into custody. I want you to question each and every one of them until you get the right answer."
And Ezra had. After the other two had left for the hospital late that night, he stayed and kept hounding the workers and remaining bodyguard. Rocci had called for his lawyer and was tucked safely away behind red tape, while the suit flat out refused to respond to the increasingly angrier interrogation. None of the workers knew anything, except what they were hired to do and many of them also refused to talk. Even his most persuasive efforts were stonewalled and he was left with nothing.
He was very frustrated when he arrived home early the next morning...
********************
"I sent Josiah and Nathan home to rest up, but Vin, Buck, and JD are waitin' at your place." Chris had never before felt so awkward with the Southerner. He had seen him injured before, but this time it wasn't just a bullet wound in the line of duty. This had been malicious and deliberate cruelty. So now he was seeing a new side of the infuriatingly controlled conman- A vulnerable side that wasn't used to being exposed and desperately trying to regain that control. The men responsible for this would pay dearly. It left the brooding leader at a loss as to how to deal with the touchy situation, so he retreated behind his usual brusque demeanor.
"Wonderful. Not only have I been hospitalized for the past five days, but now I have to worry about my house being annihilated before I can get back there." His sarcasm was rather absently softer, some of the biting edge gone as he focused intently on finishing his top buttons. If only his damn hands would stop shaking, and his head would stop pounding, maybe then he could function like a normal human being.
"I told 'em not to touch anything." The warning hadn't really been necessary, though. The small, barren townhouse had a way of subduing even the two most boisterous of the seven most of the time.
Ezra didn't know how to respond to the small display of consideration, so he just smirked into his chest.
"Now Buck and JD'll make it a point to get their fingerprints over everything..."
He finally mastered the buttons, and attempted to tuck in his shirt but gave up. The expensive loafers didn't seem to go with his casual attire, but they were the only shoes he had that he could easily slip on without bending over. That probably would have made him die of humiliation right there.
An orderly pushed in a wheelchair and Chris quickly made room as the hospital worker helped Ezra sit down.
"I parked the truck close to the entrance, but I'll go pull it around," he said gruffly from the doorway, hating to see the proud man try to hide his winces of pain and fail miserably.
"Feel free to, Mr. Larabee," was the weak reply. If only he weren't so dizzy...
Chris stalked back down the hallway.
********************
The following three days after the bust were stressful for the entire team. Buck was frustrated with his informants' lack of information regarding the fiasco, plus JD was forced to stay home and cranky. Chris looked as though he would either have an apopolectic fit or blow a hole in someone's head whenever he was around the office. Mostly, he spent his time wrangling Judge Travis and his superiors, taking heat from them as well as the rumors from around the office.
Team Seven had screwed up, and no one knew how.
Vin was driving his best friend insane as well, doing repairs around his appartment building with a broken arm and getting paint thinner in the cast. Nathan had been called in to repair and/or referee their unpleasant leader and rebellious sharpshooter. He was also tired of being dragged over to the troublesome twosome's messy apartment for every little falling out they had, mostly over Buck's motherhen routine and JD's refusal to comply- usually leading the boy to jostle his stitches, sending Buck into a panic and resulting in Nathan visiting two to three times a day.
Ezra had withdrawn completely, reverting to the original tenuous bonds present when he had first arrived. He avoided his colleagues in the office, wouldn't return phonecalls, and spent most of his time pouring over the case file, searching for any sign of fault. Sleep became a thing of the past, restless napping at his home desk the equivalent of slumber. His faith in himself had never been as strong as everyone else assumed, but he had believed wholeheartedly in his 'God given talent' and put his life in its hands. Now that confidence was shaken, and he was disoriented. How could he trust himself to keep the others alive if he could slip up so badly and not even realize? Where had he gone wrong?
The tension finally came to a head when Ezra submitted his report on the incident and Chris exploded after reading it.
"You haven't offered one explanation for this fuckup in the entire thing, Standish!" He was furious with his own inability to discover the source of the horrible situation, so lashed out at the one man most accountable for the dealings with Rocci.
"I assure you, sir, I am doing everything poss-" Ezra didn't even flinch when Larabee cut him off.
"Obviously not! I want results or yer outta here!" It was an empty threat made in the heat of anger, attempting to wound the southerner where he was vulnerable.
Ezra paled slightly at that, but remained cool and collected. Buck, on the other hand, had been waiting for a moment of Chris's time outside the open door, and rushed to the undercover agent's defense. "Here, now, Chris- that's goin' too far. We're all workin' hard to get to the bottom of this, and Ez ain't no more at fault than the rest of us. Ya'll just need to calm down and take a step back-"
"Fine. Both of you out."
"But, Chris-"
"OUT!"
"Righto." Buck grabbed Ezra's arm and quickly closed the door, deciding not to push the issue with his old friend.
Ezra had remained alarmingly quiet, but now spoke up. "Thank you, Mr. Wilmington." The hotheaded scoundrel's outburst had been touching. It reminded him that his friends still cared, no matter how bad his mistakes were, apparently. They weren't the ones blaming him, only himself. But that was enough to crush him.
"He's just blowin' off a little steam, is all." Buck clapped him on the shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze, noticing the sunken and bruised bags under his eyes and less than perfect hair.
"I think we all are..."
The rest of the day was spent in tense silence. The office was like a funeral parlor, all attention being driven to Larabee's closed door. The other agents had heard of the outburst and taken to giving Ezra reassuring comments and glances, until the conman couldn't stand it any more and headed home. He stopped by the saloon for a beer, loathe to face his empty townhouse just yet. His search still produced no evidence for the botched job, and all he wanted to do was sleep, but that was a comfort denied him.
The townhouse was dark when he opened the front door, not unusual, but spikes of alarm shot through him when he realized there was no power going to his security system. He tried flipping the foyer light switch, but the hall stayed dark. Slowly placing his briefcase on the floor and drawing from his shoulder holster, he moved deeper into the house.
If this turned out to be nothing more than a power outage, he would laugh. But the sleepless nights and caffeine diet left him light headed and paranoid in his weakened state. As soon as he let his guard down when he was like this, something would probably pounce on him.
He entered the dusk-filled kitchen, the sky's rosy hues illuminating the place somewhat but leaving details blurred and undefined. A whisper of noise alerted him to a presence behind him seconds before he was tackled to the floor, gun skittering away on the polished linoleum. A second pair of hands secured his ankles while the first attacker wrenched his arms behind his back, painfully popping the left elbow and shoulder joints.
At first too stunned to move, he began to struggle violently against the intruders, working his legs free with a chance blow to his assailant's face. That just angered them both and made them push down harder. . .
********************
"Ezra- we're home. Wake up." Chris gently tapped the dozing southerner. Only minutes after strapping him into the truck, he had fallen asleep against the passenger door. Now his forehead was wrinkled and his eyes darted around behind his lids like trapped animals seeking escape. He made a slight noise in his throat, like protest, and Chris shook him harder.
"Ez- Wake up."
Ezra snapped awake, still back in his kitchen, and lashed out at the person grabbing him. A muffled 'oomph' was the only response he got before his right fist was tightly immobilized and he focused on Chris's concerned face.
"It's just me, Ez. You were dreaming." Chris's shoulder stung from the sharp knuckles driven in, but sought to ease his agent's embarrassment as he realized where he was.
"I must've dozed off. Do forgive me." He flushed pink and determinedly worked to get his seatbelt off with his free hand.
"It's okay." Chris released his wrist and helped the shaky invalid out of the restraint.
Ezra took a few seconds to calm himself as Chris walked around to open his door. The front door of the house had opened and JD was bounding down the steps, arm still in a sling and Buck hot on his tail.
"Wow, Ezra, you look like shit!" The kid of the team exclaimed as Chris opened the cab door, recieving a smack from his 'big brother.'
"Thank you, young JD. I could say the same about you," was the weak reply. Buck and Chris exchanged worried glances over the southerner's head as they helped him down.
"You must be plum worn out by now." Buck took over. "Y'look like me this one time I met these two lovely ladies at a bar in Rio. Let me tell you, these were some fine women of the likes the boy here will probably never be lucky enough to woo-"
"Hey! What's that s'posed to mean?!"
"Think on it, JD. Anywho, they were bee-yoo-tee-full, and I thought I'd just about died an' gone ta heaven when I found out they were with a traveling dance company. Ballet, if I recall correctly, and they were real flexible like-"
"I can 'woo' women just as well, if not better than you, Buck Wilmington!"
"What about Nancy down in the copy center? She turned you down flat with a laugh and a smile for good ole Buck, here-"
"That was a sympathy laugh when she found out we were roomates and that smile was cuz you had a glob of spaghetti sauce in your mustache-"
"If I recall, gentlemen, Nancy was the one who thought the two of you had something going on from the way Buck was draped over you, JD, and thought you were just trying to flatter her into giving you more copies than your allotment."
"Hey, now that ain't true-"
"Where'd you hear a thing like that?! That's all silly and stuff, Ez!"
"Those two are right, Ezra. It wasn't Nancy down in the copy center. It was Brigitte over the fax."
"Chris!"
"Just put me in bed, please..."
************************