Silent Memories
by Violette
Part 8
Josiah parked his Suburban down the block from Ezra's apartment, since police cars were still occupying most of the parking spots near the building. Eyeing the broken glass in the street with a frown, he approached the small group of officers congregating in front of the townhouse, showing his badge as he joined them.
"Sanchez, ATF," he announced.
"I'm Barclay," one officer identified himself.
They exchanged handshakes, then Josiah said, "I work with the men involved in the accident tonight."
"How is Agent Jackson?" Barclay inquired.
"I don't know yet," Josiah said. "They were still working on him when I left. I wanted to check on Ezra – Agent Standish."
"He wasn't hurt," Barclay reassured him. "He's up in his apartment, if you want to see for yourself."
"I think I'll do that." Josiah nodded his thanks at the officers and jogged up the steps, impatient to speak with Ezra. He reached the door and pressed the bell, groaning aloud when he remembered that Ezra wouldn't hear it. The door was locked, so he withdrew the key Larabee had given him before he left the hospital.
Inside, he fumbled for the light switch, wondering why Ezra would be sitting in the dark. "Ezra?" he called out, despite the futility of the effort. Swiftly, he checked all of the rooms in the apartment, growing increasingly uneasy when Ezra was nowhere to be found. After a second thorough check of the apartment, it was obvious that his friend was not there. It could mean that he was on his way to the hospital, but knowing Ezra, Josiah didn't think that was the case.
Sighing deeply, Josiah took out his cell phone, knowing his news was not going to be well-received.
"Hey Chris," JD greeted his boss. "Where's Josiah?"
"He went to check on Ez, since he didn't come in with Nathan," Chris replied, looking curiously at the laptop case and the large bags his young agent was carrying.
"Oh," JD replied. "How's Nathan doing?"
"I'm still waiting to hear from the docs," Chris said, shooting another worried glance to the doors through which his agent had disappeared more than an hour ago.
"I'm sure he'll be fine," JD said hopefully.
Chris nodded in agreement. "So, what's in the bags?"
"Oh, I almost forgot," JD said, grinning sheepishly. "I picked us up some food at that all-night deli down the street." He handed Chris two of the bags. "Soup and sandwiches for you, Josiah, and Ez." He handed him a smaller bag. "Got some coffee, too. It ain't the Starbuck's that Ez likes, but it's better than the battery acid that comes out of the vending machine."
"Thanks, JD," Chris said, his stomach rumbling as he peered into the first bag.
"Well, I'd better get back upstairs," JD said with a sigh. "Buck'll be waiting for his share of the food."
"Don't worry," Chris said. "I'll let you know the minute I hear anything."
Chris's cell phone rang just as JD stood to leave. "Larabee," he answered.
JD paused by the door, frowning when Chris lowered his head and cursed. Returning to stand next to him, he waited to hear whatever the bad news was this time.
"No word on Nate, and no, he's not here," Chris said wearily. "I don't think he's coming, either." He listened for another minute, then said, "Do what you can."
Chris shut off his phone and leaned his head back against the wall. "Ezra took off."
"Damn," JD muttered. "Is there anything I can do?"
Chris thought for a minute then looked at the younger man appraisingly. "You think you can check for any bank or credit card activity? Unofficially, of course."
"I can do that," JD said slowly. "But this is Ezra we're talking about. I don't think it's going to be that easy."
"Maybe not," Chris said with a shrug. "But he's tired and upset... he might not be at his best."
"I'll see what I can find," JD said. "Just don't get your hopes up."
"Thanks, JD."
JD nodded, then headed off to the elevators, already forming his 'plan of attack.'
Chris looked at the bags of food and grimaced. He no longer had much of an appetite, but he forced himself to eat anyway, knowing that it would at least help him to stay awake through this endless night.
Buck ambled into the ER waiting room and quirked a faint smile at the sight of his friend dozing in a chair near the doorway. Quietly, he sat down next to the sleeping man, nudging him gently in the shoulder to wake him.
"Huh?" Chris asked sleepily, blinking his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights as he looked to see what had awakened him.
"Hey, pard," Buck said. "Any news on Nate yet?"
"Not yet," Chris replied, stifling a yawn. "How's Vin doing?"
"Still out," Buck replied. "They moved him down to intensive care an hour ago. The doctor doesn't think he'll wake up 'til tomorrow. "
Chris snorted softly. "Probably be sick as a dog from all that damned anesthesia."
"Yeah," Buck said with a grimace. "That's gonna suck with them bullet holes in him."
"No joke," Chris agreed. "Wish I knew what was taking them so long with Nathan."
"They probably just have lots of tests to run and stuff," Buck said with a shrug.
"Yeah," Chris said with a sigh.
"So, what's the deal with Ezra?" Buck asked. "JD said something about him taking off?"
Chris frowned. "He didn't show up here with Nate, so Josiah went to check on him. We thought maybe he was tied up with the officers at the scene, but he wasn't there when Josiah got to his place."
"Shit," Buck said softly. "He was already blamin' himself for Vin being here, and now with Nate... hell, this has got to be eating at him something fierce."
"Yeah, and the damn fool is running away from us." Chris shook his head. "He still doesn't understand that we're all in this together."
"He's got a lot of history to get past, Chris," Buck said with a shake of his head. "Gonna take some convincing for him to get over feeling guilty about what's been happening."
"Unfortunately, we don't have time for that," Chris reminded him. "He's not a hundred percent, remember? We have to find him before whoever's doing all this gets to him."
Buck nodded and they sat together silently for a few minutes, watching the hospital personnel bustling along the hallway. Finally, Buck sighed and stood reluctantly. "I'd better get back upstairs. Don't want the kid to worry."
"Excuse me, is there a Mr. Larabee here?" The nurse had entered the waiting room unobtrusively, standing behind Buck as she scanned the faces of anxious friends and relatives.
"That would be me," Chris said, hastily climbing to his feet.
"If you could come with me," she said, gesturing toward the hallway. "Dr. Tillman will be out to speak with you momentarily."
Chris and Buck followed the woman toward the admissions desk. A dark-haired doctor was standing there, scribbling some notes onto his clipboard.
"Dr. Tillman?" the nurse said to the doctor. "Mr. Larabee is here." She pointed to Chris and Buck.
"Mr. Larabee?" Dr. Tillman inquired, looking from Buck to Chris.
"Yes," Chris replied.
Nodding, Dr. Tillman answered, "You're here for Nathan Jackson?"
Chris nodded. "How is he?"
"Mr. Jackson woke up a few minutes ago," the doctor began. "He's suffered a moderate concussion – nothing too serious, there. The problem comes in with the injury to his leg. His left femur was broken in two places and it will require some surgery to set the bone properly. He's on his way up to the operating room right now." Dr. Tillman looked at them with an encouraging expression. "There were no internal injuries aside from a bit of bruising to the hip and kidney areas. He'll be in some pain for a while and will probably need a little bit of physical therapy once the leg is healed. It's not too bad, considering that he was hit by a two-ton hunk of metal. It could have been much worse."
"When will we be able to see him?" Buck asked.
"The operation shouldn't take more than two or three hours," the doctor explained. "From there, he'll be moved to the recovery room for a few hours... just until the anesthesia wears off. He'll be transferred to a regular room after that."
"Thanks," Chris said, shaking the doctor's hand firmly.
Dr. Tillman nodded and strode briskly down the hall toward the treatment rooms.
"Looks like we'll both be going upstairs," Buck commented.
Chris his a yawn behind his hand and nodded wearily. "At least the chairs are more comfortable up there."
Despite his exhaustion, Ezra slept fitfully, his slumber disturbed by terrifying nightmares. Finally, he gave up and crawled out of bed, tired of repeatedly experiencing dreams of his friends being killed in various ways while he watched helplessly. It was far too close to the truth for his comfort.
He took a shower, wrapping his bandaged hands in the plastic trash bags that had lined the small wastepaper baskets in his hotel room. When he finished, Ezra stood before the fogged-up mirror, staring at his blotchy face and bloodshot eyes and grimacing at how unkempt he looked. As bad as he looked, though, Nathan had looked much worse after the accident the night before. Ezra sighed and reached for his razor. He was going to have to find out how his fellow agent was faring, but he couldn't bring himself to face the injured man just yet. What could he say to a man who was suffering because of him?
Finished with his morning ablutions, Ezra wandered out of the bathroom and over to his suitcase. He dressed slowly, unsure of what he was going to do that day. Getting away from his teammates had been the only plan he had made last night. He hadn't given much thought to his next course of action. He clicked on the television, half-watching it as he pondered his options. It was too soon to attempt to retrieve his car, and he assumed that his associates would be watching for him at the office, which didn't leave him with many places to go if he wanted to work on finding the miscreants who were determined to bring his life to an early close.
Ezra leaned back against the headboard of the bed and closed his eyes, wondering how everything could go wrong so quickly. A little more than a week ago, they had been on the verge of wrapping up a routine case. It had been a fairly easy one, with no complications – nothing that would require any unusual efforts on their part, unlike some of their cases. But that all went to hell when the warehouse exploded. It was bad enough that he had nearly been blown up, but now his teammates were being threatened and that was something he would not allow.
Opening his eyes, Ezra stared at the early-morning newscast, watching the pretty reporter babble cheerfully about the traffic conditions. He groaned aloud when he remembered that it was Friday and that he was supposed to have his first session with the psychiatrist later that day. While it wasn't his favorite thing to do, it was possible that it might help him to regain his hearing faster. Given current circumstances, he needed to have all of his senses and abilities intact if he had any hope of defeating those who were after him. Anything he could do to speed the process was worth a little inconvenience.
He mulled it over for a few minutes, then decided there was a good chance that his teammates wouldn't think to look for him at the psychiatrist's office. They knew how much he hated seeing doctors – psychiatrists in particular – and with the doctor being located in the same hospital as his friends, they wouldn't expect him to show up there. There was also the added benefit of being able to inquire after the condition of his injured comrades while he was there. Nodding his head resolutely, Ezra reached for his jacket and headed for the door.
Josiah grimaced as he took in his friend's battered condition. Nathan lay still in the bed, his leg in an elevated sling device that reminded Josiah of some ancient implements of torture. His right eye was swollen shut and a large bandage covered the row of stitches they had put in to close the gash along his hairline. With a heavy sigh, Josiah dropped into the orange plastic chair by the bed and lowered his head in prayer.
Travis stood in the doorway surveying his men, who were sleeping in various uncomfortable positions in the waiting room. He had received word about Nathan's injury upon his arrival at the office that morning, but it had been early afternoon before he could make his way to the hospital to find out more. It had to have been a long and frustrating night for all of them as they waited for word on their wounded teammates and he had not been surprised when Team Seven failed to show up in the office.
A touch on his shoulder roused him from his reverie and he turned to see Josiah Sanchez entering the room. "Agent Sanchez," Travis greeted the big man. "How are Nathan and Vin doing this afternoon?"
"They both came through surgery without any problems," Josiah replied softly. "Vin's still in ICU for now – they want to keep a close eye on the chest tube."
Travis winced sympathetically. He had once suffered through the ordeal of having a chest tube. It was not something he cared to repeat.
"Nathan's in a regular room," Josiah continued. "With that busted leg, he isn't going anywhere for a while."
"Where's Standish?" Travis asked, not seeing the undercover agent in the waiting room.
Josiah sighed. "He bolted on us after Nate was hurt. I spent most of the night looking for him, but he hasn't turned up yet."
"Damn," Travis said. "The fool is going to get himself killed."
"The boy's carrying a load of guilt around," Josiah explained. "I could see it in his face after Vin was shot. He thinks it's his fault and that we blame him for the whole mess."
Travis shook his head. Obstinate, prideful mavericks, every damned one of them.
"Would you like some coffee?" Josiah motioned toward the hallway. "I'd like to let them sleep a while longer; they were up all night."
"I could use a good dose of caffeine," Travis admitted. "Had a rather late night myself." Tossing a last glance at his sleeping agents, he followed Josiah out of the waiting room.
Ezra slipped quietly down the hall toward the nurse's station. He still had some time before his appointment and he desperately wanted to know how Vin and Nathan were faring. The nurse on duty was obliging and politely informed him of their respective conditions. Releasing the breath he wasn't aware he was holding, Ezra thanked her quietly and turned around, a relieved grin lighting his features. Fearing the worst, he had almost left without asking after his injured associates. He didn't want to hear that one of them had not made it through the night, since just the thought of losing either of them caused him great distress.
As he made his way toward the psychiatry department, Ezra caught sight of two familiar forms rounding the corner. Fortunately, the two men were deep in conversation and had not yet noticed him. Without thinking, Ezra ducked through the nearest door, which led to a laboratory of sorts. There wasn't anyone inside, for which he was thankful, and he was able to wait by the door until Josiah and A.D. Travis had passed.
After making sure the coast was clear, Ezra stepped back into the hallway and hurried toward his destination, hoping to make it there without any more unwelcome encounters. Dr. Landry had assured him that this psychiatrist, Dr. Walters, was going to be different from what he expected. Ezra trusted her judgment, but he had seen a lot of different psychiatrists over the years and he had found them all to have certain traits in common – traits he saw as shortcomings. He hadn't met one yet who had a decent sense of humor, and most of them had a distinct lack of understanding of what it took to lead the kind of life he did. He sighed, praying that Dr. Landry was correct and that this doctor was not just another stuffed shirt who would waste his time attempting to analyze his relationship with his mother. Ezra snorted. That was one thing that definitely defied description.
The cheerful, round-faced man he encountered upon entering Dr. Walters' office was definitely not what he was expecting. Dressed casually in jeans and a red polo shirt, he was shorter than JD and sported a neat white beard and a full head of white hair. Ezra had the incongruous thought that he looked like Santa Claus's younger brother.
"Mr. Standish?" the man greeted him.
"Yes?" Ezra studied the man and got the impression that he was somehow able to see right through him – something that made him distinctly nervous.
"I'm Dr. Walters," the man said with a smile, offering him his hand.
"It's nice to meet you," Ezra said hesitantly, looking away from the penetrating blue eyes.
"Shall we get started?" Dr. Walters gestured toward his office.
"Of course," Ezra replied, swallowing his apprehension as he followed him inside.
"Hey, cowboy," Chris said, smiling for the first time all day. "How ya feeling?"
"Like shit," Vin replied hoarsely.
"I bet," Chris replied with a chuckle, holding a cup of water with a straw for Vin to drink.
Vin sipped the water, then leaned back, frowning.
"Something wrong?"
"Don't know," Vin said. He looked around the room, then his eyes widened suddenly. "Ezra!" He sat up and looked around wildly, searching for the undercover agent, then gasped at the pain that shot through chest.
"Calm down, Vin," Chris said, gently pressing the sharpshooter's head back down onto his pillow. "Ez is just fine. You pushed him out of the way."
"Where is he?" Vin asked hoarsely after taking a few shallow breaths.
"He's not here right now," Chris said reassuringly.
"Where is he?" Vin demanded weakly, beginning to worry about the tone of his blond friend's voice.
Chris sighed and ran a hand over his stubbled face. "He went AWOL on us last night."
"Should'a expected that," Vin remarked, shifting to find a more comfortable position in the narrow bed.
"We were keeping an eye on him, but..." Chris trailed off, not wanting to upset Vin further.
"But what?" Vin inquired.
"Hell," Chris muttered. "The bastard tried again last night – went after him with a car."
"And?" Vin prompted, knowing by the expression on Chris's face that there was more.
"Nathan was with him," Chris finally said. "He got hit by the car – busted his leg pretty bad."
"Shit," Vin said, coughing weakly and grimacing at the pain the contractions caused in his chest. "How's he doin'?"
"He'll be fine," Chris replied. "He just won't be running any marathons for a while."
Vin cursed softly, casting a worried look toward Chris. "We gotta get this bastard...," Vin paused, clenching his teeth and breathing shallowly as another wave of pain assaulted him. "...'fore he goes after Ez again."
Chris knew better than to admonish his friend for overdoing it. Vin would just ignore him until he was finished with what he wanted to say. "Yeah. I have JD tracking Ez, and Buck and Josiah looking into possible suspects." Chris studied his friend. "You get a look at the guy who got you?"
"No," Vin said regretfully. "There was two of 'em in the car, though. Didn't see much of the shooter. Looked like he was wearin' a ski mask."
"Any idea where Ez might've gone?"
"Nope," Vin replied with a yawn, fighting the pull of sleep that wanted to reclaim him.
Chris noticed Vin's struggle to stay awake and reluctantly patted his shoulder. "Get some rest, cowboy. You look like hell."
"Pot 'n kettle, Larabee," Vin mumbled, letting his eyes slide shut.
Still chuckling, Chris left the room, finally feeling secure enough to leave his friend's side. It was always hardest for him to wait around during that indeterminate period before his injured friends returned to consciousness. That was the time he feared the most, the time when things could suddenly take a turn for the worse. It was the reason he was always so adamant that he stay with them, determined fight off the Grim Reaper if he decided to come calling.
He had once overheard Buck telling JD that he would scare off that specter of death with his fierce glare if the he decided to venture near any of Larabee's men. He had chuckled at the time, but he decided there was a grain of truth in that. There were few people that he would choose to call 'friend', and he'd be damned if he was going to let any of them go without a fight.
Shaking his head at the morbid turn his thoughts had taken, Chris strode determinedly down the hallway to Nathan's room. The others had been checking in on both Nathan and Vin periodically throughout the day, and Chris himself had split his time between their rooms, hoping to be there when each awakened. The rest of his men would have been camped out there as well, if they hadn't had a missing comrade and a would-be murderer to find.
Ezra leaned back in the taxi thoughtfully, staring blankly out the windows as he replayed his session with Dr. Walters in his head. The man was good. He could have had a career in law enforcement, judging by his slick interrogation technique. Ezra was not one who was easily taken in, but the doctor had quickly put him at ease, and before long, he found himself talking about his life and his prior experience with deafness.
It had shocked him later, how easy it had been to discuss the uncomfortable topic. Normally, it took a lot of time before he felt comfortable discussing something so personal. Dr. Walters had definitely risen in his estimation and he decided that he would have to compliment Dr. Landry on her judgment. He didn't know if his session with the psychiatrist today had helped him any, but he didn't think it had hurt. He was still deaf, but he felt confident that it wouldn't take as long as eighteen months for his hearing to return this time.
As he exited the taxi in front of his hotel, Ezra contemplated his next course of action. His teammates would still be watching for him, so attempting to retrieve his car was out of the question. He sprawled across the bed in his hotel room and pondered his options. He needed transportation to get to his destination, and if using his own was out of the question, then he had to find an alternative.
After a few minutes, a slow smile crossed his face as the perfect solution revealed itself. But the smile faded as quickly as it appeared when he thought about the reason he had a problem in the first place. There was still someone after him and his plan only postponed facing his adversary for a while. Ezra didn't consider himself a coward, but he knew the value of a strategic retreat when the situation demanded it. Right now, he needed time to plan and time to heal.
Ezra stared at the bandages that still covered most of his hands. Only when he was completely recovered from his burns would he be able to capably defend himself. According to the doctors, that was at least another week in coming. There was also the matter of his absent hearing, which cast its own pall over the situation. With a sigh, Ezra flopped over on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Why did his life have to be so complicated?
"Hey! Look who's finally awake!" Buck announced cheerfully as he and JD pushed through the door of Nathan's room.
"Hi Josiah," JD said to the older agent, who was sitting by Nathan's bed.
"JD, Buck." Josiah nodded to the two men.
"Damn, Nate," Buck commented. "What the hell kind of contraption is that?" He pointed to the traction sling supporting Nathan's leg.
Nathan grimaced and rolled his eyes.
"It does look a bit like a medieval rack," Josiah said with a laugh.
"Feels like it too," Nathan grumbled.
"Guess you're gonna be stuck here for a while," JD said sympathetically.
Nathan glowered at him. "Please don't remind me."
"How're you feelin'," Buck asked.
"Been better," Nathan said with a sigh.
"That's what Vin said when we saw him earlier," JD said.
"'Least he'll be up and around in a couple weeks," Nathan replied glumly.
"Patience, my friend," Josiah chided gently. "Isn't that what you usually counsel in these situations?"
"Yeah, well, it's easier from the other side of the bed," Nathan said ruefully.
The three visitors chuckled, but refrained further comment, not wanting to make their bedridden friend feel any worse.
"Any progress on finding Ezra?" Josiah inquired.
"Nothing yet," JD said. "He hasn't used his ATM or credit cards, and hasn't showed up at any of his usual haunts." He shook his head in frustration. "He's not going to be easy to find."
"Slippery as a snake," Buck remarked.
"He's smart," JD said defensively, frowning at Buck for the unflattering assessment of his friend. "Ya know, the guys we take down because of his undercover work make threats against him all the time. He probably knows a lot of safe places to go in case any of 'em ever go after him."
"That's true," Josiah said reassuringly. "I just wish we knew where some of those hideouts were."
"Can't pry information out of him with a crowbar," Nathan said with a soft snort.
"Can't blame him for being careful," JD countered. "He's got a lot on his plate right now. He's hurt, he can't hear, he's worried about Nathan and Vin, and somebody's trying to kill him." JD shrugged. "I'd feel like hiding, too."
Buck looked at him thoughtfully. "Never thought of it that way."
Josiah smiled, again realizing just how intelligent and insightful their youngest agent was. Despite his best efforts, he was sometimes taken in by the man's youthful appearance and enthusiastic outlook on life, forgetting that he was a very capable agent.
Nathan yawned suddenly, then smiled sheepishly at his friends. "Sorry guys. It ain't that you're boring; this medication just knocks me out."
"It's okay, Nate," Buck said amiably. "You get some sleep."
"Thanks," Nathan said. "You just find the SOB who did this and kick his ass for me."
The three men chuckled in surprise at the vehement statement from their mild-mannered friend.
"We'll get him, pard," Buck assured him. "Don't you worry about that."
"I'll be back later, brother," Josiah said, tossing a wave at Nathan as he left.
Nathan waved at his teammates, then relaxed back into his pillows, wondering when this cycle of violence was going to end. Someone wanted to kill Ezra badly enough to roll over anyone who got in the way. It was bad enough that he and Vin had already fallen victim to this quest for blood. He didn't want to see anyone else get hurt. His mind was still whirling with worry for his friends as he drifted slowly into slumber.
TBC