Author's Note: So Embers is not a new story but I've never put it here. Mitzi and I made a deal I would finish Trinity if she finished her OW series. So I'm finishing my part, and to get it all in one place I'm putting here.
Part 2
Five weeks later
"Got everything, kid?""
JD Dunne juggled his jacket, carry-on bag, plane ticket and three magazines hastily purchased at the airport bookstall. "Yeah, I think..." JD really wasn't sure. He'd packed so fast this afternoon when the word had come down from AD Travis' office that they had the week off.
"They" being Team Seven of the Denver office of the ATF. Team Seven had wrapped up their latest assignment-the third straight without a break-two days before. The morning had been devoted to writing reports and doing all the details that went along with a successful operation. JD-the team computer whiz -had had to account for all the equipment. There had been injuries and one fatality among the gun-runners they'd been targeting. Vin Tanner and Buck Wilmington had to go the extra round of reports and interviews that accompanied killing someone in the line of duty. One good thing was that the dead perp had drawn his gun and taken aim at Team Seven's undercover specialist in front of at least nine ATF agents and three members of the Denver PD. Twelve rock-solid statements tended to blunt any force there might have been to the investigations.
Then, around noon, the phone rang in Chris Larabee's office. After one of his customarily short conversations full of monosyllabic replies, Chris had called everyone in and announced they were all on vacation, beginning as soon as the last report was on his desk. Never had the seven diverse personalities that made up Team Seven so eagerly worked toward a common goal.
There had been a real feeling of Get out of town before someone changes their minds. JD decided to go to Florida where Casey was spending her spring break. Or actually, Buck and Chris-aided and abetted by Vin and Josiah-decided for him. Airlines were called, tickets purchased, Casey notified and thrilled about JD's sudden visit-all before JD had managed to wrap his mind around the whole concept of "time off". A quick stop at the loft he shared with Buck had resulted in any item even reasonably perceived to be clean to be packed. Buck himself had braved the muddy icy streets of a Denver spring storm to purchase his roommate "appropriate" swimming attire-JD was scared to even contemplate what that might be but anyway he wouldn't know until the plane landed.
"You got sunscreen?" Buck asked, slowing by a druggist's stall. "Sunglasses? Oh, I know, aspirin, that sun glare—""
Buck made to dart into the place but JD tripped him. "I have sunglasses," he hissed, noticing an ever-increasing number of women circumventing them with maternal looks on their faces. "And if I need sunscreen I'm sure they sell it in Florida!""
"Hey JD, wait up!" Nathan Jackson loped down the concourse. The former EMT had a well-filled pack over one shoulder and his heavy coat over another.
But it was the shirt he wore underneath that made both the others take a second look. And a third, in Buck's case. "Nathan, ain't that my shirt?""
"Nathan what are you doing here?" chimed in JD.
"Well, you see, Rain's never been to Florida and so when her roommate couldn't go-and we thought we'd still be tied up with the case-Rain went ahead and bought her ticket. I called her and she's only about five miles from where Casey is and there's room for me—""
"And here I thought I heard you assuring Chris you were going to devote the whole seven days to advancing your paramedic studies," Buck's big grin took any sting away from the words. "You on the same flight? That's great, kid! With Nathan along you can just relax—""
"I am relaxed!" JD retorted. ""Maybe you should think about relaxing, Buck. I wasn't the one undercover for the last eleven weeks-you and Ez were! Maybe you should go to Florida!""
Buck's eyes almost glazed over. "All those little college gals and just one of the Old Buck? Kid, that'd be a marathon, not a vacation-" he broke off as the flight attendant made her "final call" for the flight to Miami and Daytona via Houston. "Oops, that's you guys. Got your cell phones, just in case, right?"
"But Buck, what're you doing to do with a week off?" JD protested as his friend physically urged them to get into the boarding line.
"Don't worry, JD, Chris and Vin and Buck got a date with those fish up there at the cabin, right, Buck?" Nathan was in a great mood, not as much about Florida but about seeing Rain in a skimpy bathing suit. Besides, the team's unofficial medic knew better than any of them how strung out they were. "Josiah's already left for Mexico-goin' to be rebuilding a church building. And Ezra-well, you know him. He'll head to some exotic resort where they'll wait on him hand and foot and offer him drinks with little umbrellas in them." Nathan's grin dimmed for a minute. 'Damn, that's what he'd better do. Eleven weeks undercover with no let up...before that another four weeks on the Munoz case and two months trying to take down Steven Curran...Ezra needs this break more than any of us do.'
JD had already stepped to the bulkhead door and was presenting his ticket. Buck stepped away but Nathan reached out a hand and caught him. 'Shit, he looks exhausted too...' "Buck, do me a favor-make sure Ezra gets on his way before you head up to Wyoming?"
"Why? Something wrong?"
"No. Just...he's really tired. Maybe close to burn out. I asked him but of course he didn't tell me anything..."
"Ezra isn't going to burn out," Buck scoffed. "He loves what he does. Hell, he lives for going undercover."
There were a lot of things Nathan could have said to refute that statement, but the flight attendant was holding out her hand for his ticket and her plastic smile was rapidly disappearing. Nathan handed her the boarding pass and watched her feed it into the machine. "Buck-" he started again.
The tall agent stepped back. "Have a good vacation Nathan, and don't worry about Ez. Hell, don't worry about anything."
~+~+~+~
Ezra Standish blinked and looked around his office. He'd lost count of how long he'd been sitting in a daze at his desk-last thing he remembered was staring at the blinking cursor trying to formulate the last line of his report. Now his screen was full of whirling spaceships blinking amongst glittering stars. 'Mr. Dunne apparently changed my screen saver again.'
He touched the mouse to bring his report back on the screen, typed some words in, almost at random, and then hit the 'save' button, followed by the button that would send the report to the printer. Only after he heard the laser jet start did it slowly dawn on his exhausted mind that he had neither spell-checked the report or even read back over it.
He was so tired even his hair hurt.
He leaned back in his chair and dropped his head into his hands, stretching kinked muscles in his neck and enjoying the unaccustomed quiet in the office. JD, Nathan and Josiah were already gone; Vin and Chris were in the latter's office-he could hear the soft murmur of their voices. Buck? Ezra frowned. He vaguely remembered Buck saying something as he walked past the door-about going to the airport. But wasn't Mr. Wilmington going with Tanner and Larabee? And he distinctly remembered they were driving to Wyoming or Montana or wherever this cabin was. Then Ezra felt foolish. 'Ah, of course. He accompanied young Mr. Dunne to the airport. Good thing. That boy could find trouble in a feather bed.' 'A feather bed? Where did that come from?'
Ezra grinned. 'Feather bed. That does sound delightful...'
He opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the little pile of travel brochures he kept there. He still hadn't decided where to spend his unexpected down-time-as a matter of fact he had been too fatigued to even give it a thought. He'd gone to bed almost upon his arrival home the night before-skipping dinner except for a cup of hot herbal tea-and slept heavily. Upon opening his eyes even later than usual, he'd stared blankly around his bedroom for at least five minutes trying to recollect his identity and location. 'The life of an undercover agent-not only do I not know where I am, I'm not sure who I am.'
Skipping breakfast except for his usual latte from Starbucks, he'd spent the whole day fighting with this report. The fact that usually his reports flowed smoothly was just one more irritant. Now he was tired, cross, tired, hungry, frustrated-and tired.
Mostly tired.
He flipped through the brightly-colored folders as if they were one of his beloved decks of cards. 'London? Too wet. Paris? Too close to Mother. New York? Too crowded. Bali? No. New Orleans? No...'
The thought suddenly struck him. He really didn't want to go anywhere. Well, anywhere but home to his condo and his own bed. Even if it wasn't made of feathers.
"-Ezra!"
Chris Larabee stood in the doorway staring at his best undercover agent in concern. The mere fact that he could stand in the doorway and not be noticed was cause for concern. One did not sneak up on Ezra Standish. Hell, one shouldn't be able to sneak up on any of his men, but especially not Ezra. Not even in the supposed safety of the Federal Building. And especially when he had not even tried to sneak up on him, but had walked quite openly into the office to find the man staring down at his desk, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. An undercover agent who was oblivious to his surroundings wasn't an undercover agent for long-he wouldn't even be alive for long.
That was bad enough. What was even worse was that when he said the man's name, Ezra still didn't respond to him. It wasn't until the third repetition-uttered loudly as he crossed the floor-that Ezra blinked and looked at him. "Mr. Larabee?" he questioned, looking mildly surprised to see his irate superior in front of him. "Is there some problem?"
"I think I should be asking you that?"
Ezra's green eyes widened. "I'm fine. Why would you think otherwise?"
"Maybe because I've been standing here for five minutes trying to get your attention!" Chris' voice rose on every word until he was yelling.
Ezra stared at him then his green eyes took on a familiar devilish twinkle. "Now, Mr. Larabee...you never have a problem drawing attention," he purred, his drawl deepening.
Chris wanted to strangle him-unfortunately, not an unfamiliar phenomenon. Half the time he wanted to murder Standish. The rest of his waking hours he worried that someone else was trying to kill him. Sometimes-such as when Ezra did something even more radical and reckless than his normal behavior-Chris felt both at the same time. That frequently led to a headache. And it wasn't just Standish. Sometimes Chris Larabee felt more like a kindergarten teacher than the head of the most successful ATF team west of the Mississippi.
Familiarity breeds contempt; it also breeds certain skills. Chris knew Ezra was trying to redirect his attention by baiting him into one of their verbal battles. Although Chris usually enjoyed them as much as Ezra apparently did, he wasn't going to let the other man get away with it this time.
Without being invited-he was the boss of this outfit, after all-he lowered himself into the chair in front of Ezra's desk and fixed his agent with the infamous Larabee Death Glare. The Glare-and the accompanying brooding silence-never worked quite as well with Ezra as it did with, say, JD, but it was still one of the most powerful weapons in Chris' personal Arsenal for Dealing With Smart Ass Agents. And it worked this time. The silence lasted fully two minutes before Ezra blinked and broke the gaze. "Shouldn't you and your two companions be departing for your homes to prepare for your vacation destination?" he offered.
Victorious, Chris grinned ferally and then decided to let Standish off the hook. "Just waiting on your report," he pointed out. Standish actually looked flustered. For all of one second.
"I just printed it out," he responded, gathering his cool persona around him like a cloak as he stood. Chris waved him back down.
"Where are you going?" Chris asked.
"To get the report."
Chris sighed. 'Damn, I walked into that one.' "Ezra," he said, with far more patience than he actually felt, "I meant, where are you going on vacation?"
"Oh. I have decided to use my unexpected leisure time to acquaint myself with my current city of residence."
Chris ran that through his translator of "Ezra speak" and frowned. "You mean you're staying in Denver? Why?"
Ezra shrugged. "Why not?" he asked helpfully.
"Ezra," Chris growled. This time he used his "don't-bother-bullshitting-me-because-I-want-the-truth-now!" voice.
Ezra heard the tone and surrendered. "Mr. Larabee, I am fatigued to the point where all I have any desire to do for the next week is sleep. It seems inane to spend money and time traveling somewhere to sleep in a hotel room when I have a perfectly good domicile to sleep in here." He sighed, then added with seeming reluctance, "I believe I am coming down with a cold."
Chris stared at him, not sure to believe him. But then, looking across the desk at the unusually pale face and tired eyes, he had to admit it made sense. Ezra looked tired, and it was quite possible he was coming down with something. Unusual for Ezra to admit it, but then, the last several months hadn't been easy on any of them. 'Too many assignments, too close together,' Chris mused. The Agency, after all, did have guidelines about duration and frequency of missions, especially when those dealt with undercover work. The ATF didn't have that many good undercover agents that they could afford to have any flipping out or turning into gibbering idiots or, even worse, forgetting what side they were actually on. Unfortunately, the guidelines frequently got tossed out the window, at least where Team Seven was concerned. They had worked three major, critical cases over the last six months, with only a few days between, and all of them had required Ezra to play some undercover role. Chris did the best he could to protect him. Ezra had gone "inside" alone the first case, with Vin the second, and Buck had posed as his bodyguard on the third. There wasn't much Chris' longtime friend hated more than playing a role, but he managed quite nicely to look lethal and menacing.
In addition to the big cases there were all the so-called small, bread and butter cases of smuggled cigarettes and bars giving short weight that were investigated as a matter of course.
All this resulted in seven tired-exhausted-men. And if Ezra wanted to stay in the relative calm of Denver instead of heading off for some glittering resort, his boss shouldn't have a problem with it. Rest and relaxation after all was the key. But Chris still hesitated. "Why don't you come with Vin an' Buck an' me?"
Under other circumstances Chris would have burst into laughter at the look on Ezra's face. The Southerner somehow managed to look flattered, appalled and shocked all at once.
tbc
