Part Two

What's his pressure? Is that tube in? Let's get him on the vent...Get another line in...He's crashing...Get the Paddles...Charge to 300...Clear...No good...Charge to 400...Forty stingers so far...

It was quite a view from his vantage point, Ezra Standish thought. He didn't find it disconcerting in the least, even if he were floating high up somewhere near the corner of a bright ceiling while at the same time watching himself lying half-naked on a table as the machine sending jolts of electricity to shock his heart back to life whined, then sent his body bucking helplessly.

All in all it was a good deal. He didn't have to feel the pain of the rough handling of his body as things were put on and in him by strangers swarming over him much like the bees had. He wasn't feeling the agony of the terrible muscle spasms, nor did he have to be afraid at finding himself in such a bizarre location even if he'd not once in his life ever been asked to float upon a ceiling without the aid of an aerial device of some kind.

He did, however feel something else that detracted from the overall mere curiosity of the event. He was feeling a sense of deep regret. He had a dreadful feeling that where he was was a place from which he could not return. Chris? Nathan? Buck? The others? Did they know he wasn't running out on them? Good Lord, did they know he was at the moment, stuck floating on a ceiling somewhere? They could not join him here for surely none of his compatriots had this same talent for achieving such a feat as he had apparently developed. Well, maybe JD did, Ezra revised. The young computer genius had all kinds of untapped talents - but by the look of things, he most likely wasn't going to be around to see the young man realize them all.

His seemingly good humor, considering the circumstances, surprised Ezra. He should be bitter. He should be angry that the promise of a life spent in the company of a band of men who'd took him into their hearts and made him family, was going to end so senselessly and prematurely. But you knew that all along. Family, permanency, love are not for the likes of you, an insidious, deceptive inner voice told him.

No, never for the son of Maude Standish. The deep longing in his heart for the things he'd coveted most had given him the courage to reject his mother's teachings he'd heard since he was old enough to walk.

Maude had always told him that nothing in life was permanent, trust no one, and for God's sake, never let them know what he was feeling. When lectures hadn't been enough, the grifter had resorted to showing her only child with her particular brand of lessons she'd referred to as, 'hard loving'. Through artful manipulation, she had deprived him of one friend after another. She'd taught her little boy how to lie and manipulate others to her advantage - and he'd done so, all so that he could be loved by the one person who consistently taught him that love meant being abandoned on the doorstep of countless 'aunts and uncles'. The lessons meant to ensure his survival in the world had instead, closed him off to the possibility of love and friendship, nearly burying him in distrust and loneliness.

Where other people had family and friends to love and stand by them, as a child, Ezra had had only Maude. But everything Maude had ever taught him had proven to be true with his painful experience in Atlanta. The FBI had put his back up against the wall with false allegations of being corrupt and on the take. The straw that had nearly broken him were the rumors that he had been responsible for getting his partner brutally killed by setting him up. There was seemingly no way out, and at that time, life had seemed altogether pointless for the Southerner.

That was until the day he was summoned to his boss's office only to find a man by the name of Chris Larabee standing there. The man wearing black was of average height and build, but had so much charisma that the plush office seemed to diminish around him. The combination of intelligence, coiled strength, and steely force of will emanating from the pale green eyes was a force to be reckoned with.

Introductions had been made, his boss had excused himself, and he was left to stand silent before Larabee's appraising eyes that seemed to stare right into him. The man from the Denver ATF office had all the appearance of a man who could look right into his soul and discern truth from lies. Ezra had been utterly unnerved.

But that was the day Chris Larabee had looked him straight in the eye and asked him if he would come to Denver and join his team as their undercover agent.

That was the day Ezra Standish's life had changed forever.

He'd taken the biggest gamble of his life to take a job after his disgrace in Atlanta and in the process, found a band of brothers he could trust, men who trusted him in return, men he would die for. How ironic then that after he'd finally accepted that there were indeed such things in life as family and friends, he was about to be ripped from them.

Damn it! He'd been happy. He wasn't ready to go no matter that the sly voices in his head were busy reminding him that he couldn't escape from heartache and loss as being the natural order of things.

Ezra made up his mind right then and there that he wouldn't make it any easier for the Grim Reaper to escort him to his next assignment. First things first though. He needed to get back to that body of his lying so still like an inanimate wax doll below. With a practiced eyed he began cataloguing the various medical accoutrements now connected to various parts of his body as he willed himself to return and accept with it the inevitable pain.

Nathan had performed an emergency tracheotomy and the bag that had been steadily squeezed to force air down the slit made in his closed-off throat had been replaced with tubing that tethered him to a ventilator that was breathing for him. Leads going to various monitors were attached to the swollen, hive-covered flesh on his chest.

There were two IV lines inserted in his neck. The first dripped clear saline solution to combat the effects of dehydration. Fortunately, for Ezra, he was blissfully ignorant as to just why he needed that. Under other circumstances, the suave Southerner would have been mortified to know that the severe bouts of diarrhea he'd suffered in the ambulance had necessitated not only the IV drip, but the immediate removal of his clothing and subsequent washing down in the ER.

The other connection was for the various IV push medications flowing directly into his veins.

Ezra noted the familiar tubing that snaked out from between his legs and down to a collection bag. He'd watched rather dispassionately as the catheter tubing had been inserted into his penis, uncharacteristically not caring at all about the strange hands that touched him so intimately.

What happened to me? Why am I here? He looked down at himself again. Or there, as it were. The peace that had been upon him suddenly vanished and he was filled with fear. Not for himself, but for his friends. Had something happened to them too? Were they...dead?

Ezra realized the only way he would get any answers is if he returned to himself. Returning meant pain and pain was something he'd always been careful to avoid as much as possible. Still, he willed himself to return and endure what ever agonies awaited him.

He hoped it wouldn't be too bad. Courage, Ezra. Have Courage.

*******

"I need 125 milligrams of Solumedrol," Doctor Rachel Rivers called as she bent over the body of her patient, closely observing the heart monitor. She'd just finish manually checking the blood pressure for what seemed like the hundredth time.

The fifty-year old physician looked at her patient who was still in severe medical crisis after nearly two hours since his arrival in the ER.

When he'd been brought in he'd not had a pulse, nor had he been breathing on his own. It had been an uphill battle to restart his heart and keep it beating, but now with the massive amounts of Epinephrine that had been administered and now coursing through his system, his heart had begun racing at a dangerous pace. Despite her patient's tracheal intubation, the tinge of blue in his face and lips had not completely faded and he remained profoundly unconscious.

One of the nurses assigned to Dr. River's team was Raine Wakefield, a young, but experienced and competent nurse. Upon seeing the unconscious man with numerous stingers still imbedded in his swollen flesh, Raine Wakefield's eyes had widened in shocked horror. "Oh God, I know this man," the beautiful woman of mixed African and Native American heritage cried. "This is my fiancé Nathan's ATF teammate, Ezra Standish!"

She looked at Ezra and shook her head as if in disbelief. Raine was a medical professional. Doctor Rivers knew she wouldn't let her down and she hadn't. The young nurse had quickly collected herself and sprang into action, doing what she knew to do to try and save the very ill man's life.

Two hours later they were still fighting to get him stabilized enough to move up to the ICU.

*******

Nathan's eyes were closed and his head was tilted back, leaning against someone's balled-up, ratty jacket that had been left behind from earlier in the day. The medic came to full alert as he sensed the presence of someone standing in front of him. It was Raine. His fiancé was looking at him with compassion in her eyes. Even in wrinkled pink floral print scrubs she looked lovely to Nathan.

Jackson looked around to see the rest of the men had also spotted Raine and were already moving towards her, circling her like predatory sharks. Nathan quickly stood up. Fear clenched his gut tightly as Raine put her hand gently on Nathan's arm. "Is he...?"

"He's alive, Nate. I've never seen anyone suffering from anaphylactic shock as severely as him and fight as hard as he is to stay alive."

"He's going to be okay, right? The EMT's gave him an injection and we got him to the hospital in time, didn't we?" The words tumbled out of JD's mouth in a rush and his dark eyes sparkled with anxiety.

Vin observed Chris clenched his jaw though the blond merely looked at Raine as if daring her to say anything otherwise.

Raine chose her words carefully. She wasn't the doctor and it wasn't her place to give a prognosis. "I wish I could tell you that Ezra's out of the woods, but I can't just yet. He's being given massive doses of Epinephrine to help stop the allergic reaction and a cortico steroid via IV push to help reduce the swelling." She paused to allow for any questions, but the men stood silently before her. She pressed on, "He's still unconscious and he's not breathing on his own yet."

"What about Ezra's heart?" Nathan suddenly asked. The men looked questioningly at Nathan.

"What about his heart, Nathan?" Chris asked, his penetrating gaze locked on Nathan.

Raine saw the questioning looks on the other faces and sighed. Infusing her voice with as much reassuring casualness as she could, she explained: "Epinephrine is adrenaline and adrenaline is what's known as the 'fight or flight" hormone. Think of it this way: to someone whose receiving massive amounts of Epinephrine, it would be like downing 10 or 12 pots of premium coffee. The end result is that the patient's blood pressure can become dangerously elevated and experience increased heart rate."

"Those things are temporary, right?" Buck asked worriedly.

Raine smiled gently. "Yes, in most cases. Now, I really need to get back inside, I just thought you'd appreciate an update and knowing that someone who knows Ezra is helping take care of him."

"We're all very grateful to God for that," Josiah said sincerely.

Raine squeezed Nathan's hand quickly and then she turned and disappeared back into the treatment room.

"You heard her, right? Ezra got the medicine and all we have to do is wait for his heart rate and blood pressure to return to normal." JD exclaimed, the broad grin on his face still not quite hiding his underlying anxiety.

To a man, their eyes all held the same desire to believe the youngest's prediction. Chris and Vin exchanged silent looks. Neither man had forgotten that the main point of Raine's information was that Ezra was still unconscious and still not out of the woods.

They all sat down again and resumed their vigil.

*******

Ezra was unaware of the passage of time from where he floated still near the ceiling, looking down upon himself. All he knew was that he'd tried and not been able to return to his body. Suddenly, he looked at his hand to find that he was holding a rather old, dusty deck of playing cards. Curious and frankly glad for the diversion, Ezra opened the deck and with hands made no less dexterous for being in his disembodied state, began a one-handed flip. The King of Clubs came out first, followed by the Queen of Diamonds and then the Ten of Hearts. The next card he pulled was the Ace of Spades.

His hand suddenly burned like fire and his fingers stiffened, releasing the old card. The Ace of Spades fluttered in the air, dropping downward in a slow descent. Ezra watched with heightened dismay as it began its descent to where his body lay below. Unmitigated panic seized him. He couldn't explain it, all he knew was that he had to get that card back!

Ezra Standish reached out his arm in a desperate attempt to catch the card that was clearly out of reach. With a supreme force of will Ezra commanded then cajoled his body into moving. Abruptly his world shifted and was released from his unseen bonds. He was no longer free floating, an observer over the sad drama he was starring in.

He was once again one with his body on the table, valiantly fighting to stay alive. Fiery pain consumed him and before he fell away into an unconsciousness of another kind, the veil fell away from his mind and he at last remembered what had happened. Yes indeed, he remembered.