Yes—I do want to update, and now I finally have!  Sorry this was so long coming.  I was out of town over the weekend then came back only to have to prepare for three tests this week as well as write a paper.  Midterms are the pits!  But the good news is that spring break is two weeks away.  Yay!

This chapter marks the halfway point through my story—11 more chapters to go, so there's still plenty of story ahead (I warned you this was long!)  Anyway, stay with me—there will be plenty of action from here on out, along with an explanation as to Ally's past and a nice plot twist just to keep things interesting. 

Now, on with the story!
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CHAPTER 11

Vin stood up and held out his hand to help Ezra to his feet as Buck and Nathan pushed their way through the door.  "Ez!  It's good to see ya, Pard!"  Buck pounded him on the back, nearly knocking him to the floor again.

"Yes, I can see that," Ezra muttered sarcastically as he stepped aside out of Buck's reach and dusted himself off.  "I trust you ensured you were not followed?" he asked.

"Of course we did! What do you take us for?  Amateurs?"  Buck protested.

"No one followed us, and there weren't any kind of tracing devices or bugs on the vehicles either.  We came in separately to be on the safe side," Vin assured him.

Nathan immediately began giving him the once over, looking for hidden injuries.  He grabbed for his chin to get a better look at his face, but Ezra pulled out of his grasp.  "I'm fine, Mr. Jackson!" he snapped as he straightened his shirt and pulled at his cuffs irritably.

Nathan stepped back and frowned.  "No broken bones?  No cuts, bullet holes, or concussions?" the medic demanded.

"No, no, and no.  I am in perfect health, so kindly remove your hands from my person!" Ezra grumbled.

Nathan shook his head in disbelief, but seeing as there were no obvious bandages, casts, or blood dripping on the floor, he was forced to begrudgingly take the other man's word for it.  He stepped to the side as Josiah entered the small foyer, carrying the beer and the chicken bucket, followed closely by JD with the pizzas and a million questions that he immediately began to fire at the undercover agent as soon as he was through the door.  "Ezra!  I knew you weren't dead!  Where've ya been?  We've been looking all over for you!  Why didn't ya call in sooner?  What happened at the hangar?  How'd ya get here?  Are you really alright?  Where do you want me to put these pizzas?  Sorry, we didn't get your milk and stuff.  Buck wouldn't stop.  Who's the girl?"

The last question had the others swinging around in surprise.  With their attention on their missing agent, they had all failed to notice the slim young woman leaning against the dining room door facing, her arms crossed in front of her as she observed the greetings.  Her left side was ensconced in the shadows of the darkened hallway, while her right was softly highlighted by the glow of the lamp from the dining room, revealing the raised eyebrow and amused half-smirk on her lips. She straightened at the acknowledgement, but didn't make a move to step forward.

Ezra looked up and smiled as he motioned toward the girl.  "Ah, gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Alex.  Ally, my associates."

Buck was the first to move as he reached out his hand and smiled widely in greeting.  "A pleasure to meet you, Ally.  I'm—"

"Buck Wilmington," she interrupted as she took his hand and returned his smile a little shyly, finally stepping toward the group of men.  "And you are JD Dunne," she nodded at the young man, "Vin Tanner, Josiah Sanchez, and Nathan Jackson."  She offered them all a small smile and a handshake before her gaze stopped at Larabee.  The smile didn't slip, but it did become somewhat cooler as her piercing blue eyes met his and held them.  There was no fear in them—only wariness and an intuitiveness that unsettled him slightly as it was completely unexpected in one her age.  She held out her hand to him.  "And you are Mr. Larabee."

He shook her hand, noting the firm grasp, and raised an eyebrow in question.  "Ezra told me a bit about you all before you arrived," she offered in explanation.

Buck laughed loudly and put an arm around Ezra's shoulders.  "Well, young lady, Ol' Ez here tends to exaggerate sometimes, so I wouldn't put a whole lot of faith in his description.  I'm sure we're nothing like what he says."

Alex released Chris's hand but held his gaze for a moment or two longer.  "That remains to be seen," she murmured quietly, her eyes darkening slightly with an intensity that spoke of a quiet confidence, a wisdom gained from hard experience, and—was that disapproval?—before she finally broke the tension and turned to JD with a smile and offered to help him carry the pizzas into the kitchen. 

Chris couldn't help but feel as though she had just sized him up, and found his previous actions wanting.  She seemed to give him the respect his position deserved but was waiting to see if he deserved her respect for his character.  Something about that reserved blue gaze told him that she was not one to be cowed or intimidated and that she held respect only for those who earned it.  He shook his head at the thought, then looked up to catch Vin studying him and realized that he saw the exact same thing in another set of steady blue eyes. 

There was no defiance in either look, no challenge, no arrogance; only a question—did he deserve their respect?  While Ally's eyes made it clear that she was still unsure of the answer, Vin's declared that he had already found it, and they showed brightly with friendship and loyalty—along with a bit of amusement at the slightly unnerved look on his best friend's face.  He raised an eyebrow, then let his lips curve up into a faint smile that seemed to ask what's the matter, cowboy?  Chris just glared at him, which only amused the sharpshooter all the more.  JD's yelp from the kitchen at Buck broke the silent conversation, and they followed the others into the dining room.

* * * * * * *

Ezra leaned back in his chair with a slight smile, watching as his teammates settled in his dining room and demolished the pizzas as they teased, joked, and bantered with each other.  Even Chris had seemed to cool down somewhat from his initial anger.  Ezra's ears still rang with the quietly intense dressing down he had received earlier from his boss for working on his own and not checking in, and thus at first, he had maintained a slight distance from them all that remained unnoticed by most of the other team members, save Vin and Josiah. 

In reality, the reprimand didn't really bother him—well, maybe the words did at first, but in truth, it wasn't the first he had ever received, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, so it wasn't really an issue—and as the evening wore on, he felt himself slowly slipping back into the familiar pattern of the team and into his usual place on it. 

That place just happened to be on the fringes.

But he could live with that—it was closer than he had ever been to what might actually be called friendship, and besides, if he were to be honest, it was probably as much his fault as theirs.  Even so, he did slowly relax—or, at least, as much as he could with six men occupying his dining room, three of which happened to be Vin Tanner, Buck Wilmington, and JD Dunne. 

He dreaded to see what his kitchen would look like once they left.

Alex stood in the kitchen doorway, watching the seven men interact with each other and keeping quietly out of their way.  She frowned as she noticed how much more closed, controlled, and reserved Ezra had become at the arrival of the others.

Oh, he did answer them back when they teased, adding his own sly remarks and witty comments to the conversation, and a few times, he even initiated a joke at one of the other's expense, but still, he seemed to be much more guarded than he had been over the last few days.  While he hadn't exactly been completely open with her (carefree was not a word she would use to depict the man) he had seemed to be a little more—how to describe it?—easy, less tense; at least, he had been after the first few hours, anyway.  Maybe he was like her, working better one on one and tending to be quieter, more circumspect when in larger groups, but she didn't know him well enough to say for sure just yet.   

Of course, after hearing the reprimand he had gotten from his boss, she could understand the distance.  From the reactions of the others, she assumed this to be a fairly common occurrence; nevertheless, she did feel sorry for him and had finally interrupted them to announce that the pizzas were ready.  She knew Ezra respected the man—it had been obvious to her as she listened to his description of his teammates—but she wasn't sure what to think of Chris, especially with the way he greeted his agent.  The leader exuded raw power and intimidation, and she instantly saw that he was a force to be reckoned with, a man to be very wary and cautious of and that should under no circumstances ever be treated lightly, but she had yet to decide if this was because he was a tyrant and bully, or if it was because he was a great commander and leader.  She could tell right away that what you saw was what you got, and that he was a down to earth man that operated on the traditional principles of duty and honor, and that she respected.  But there was a darkness, a danger to the man that made her uneasy. 

She took a moment to study the blond more closely, to watch how he interacted with the others, trying to decide just what kind of man he was.  From what she could see, he was a born leader, with good instincts and a tenacious edge that stubbornly declared to the world that he and those under him were not to be messed with.  He seemed to be the type to lead his men through hell and would never ask anyone to do something he wasn't willing to do himself. He demanded from those around him just what he gave them, which was complete loyalty and 110% of their all. 

She nodded to herself with a hint of a smile as she came to her conclusion.  She believed that Chris Larabee was a man of character, and she could respect that and maybe even like him—but he had terrible people skills and seriously needed to be slapped upside the head once in a while to broaden his focus a bit and get him thinking straight. 

She looked again at the man in question, and laughed to herself. 

She would love to meet the person courageous enough—or would that be foolish enough?—to try it, though.

Over pizza and beer, or in Ally's case, water, Ezra told the others what had happened at the hangar and what they had found at the ranch.  Ally was thankful that he left out all mention of the chapel and Rosie's Diner, and was a bit amused when he also forwent any mention of the bank.

"So Paul Randolph is the mastermind behind this whole operation.  I'd never have believed it," Nathan mused as he flipped through the pictures.

"It came as a bit of a shock to me as well," Ezra commented dryly as he settled in a chair at the table beside the man.

Nathan stopped at the first clear picture of Randolph and Vitalis and leaned forward as he examined it more closely.  "Hey, Josiah.  Does this guy look familiar to you?"  He passed the photograph across the table.

Josiah picked it up and studied it for a moment then looked up at the medic.  "You're right.  That's Martinez, the general manager of Fieldman's Contracting."

"Actually, gentlemen," Ezra explained, "that is Tony Vitalis, Randolph's right-hand man."

"I knew something was going on at that place!"  Nathan exclaimed as he sat upright in his chair.

"But we went over that company with a fine-toothed comb.  We couldn't find anything," JD remarked from his position in front of Ezra's computer.

"Ah, but that is because you didn't have the key," Ezra smiled as he pulled the ledgers over and walked his teammates through the evidence he had gathered.

"So Banning was working with them and was killed that night," Josiah commented when Ezra was finished.  He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers in front of him.  "That explains why I couldn't get in to see him Friday."

Buck stood up to get another beer.  "We've got 'em, then.  Hook, line, and sinker," he declared as he re-entered the room, popping open the can as he went.

"It's not going to be that easy, brother," Josiah frowned thoughtfully.  "They know we're looking for them.  And all that research we did into the construction company had to have worried them."

"But we didn't find anything," JD said in confusion as he moved to the head of the table to flip through the photos.

Vin spoke up from where he was leaning against the wall beside the window.  "Yeah, but all that digging's spooked them. And they're gonna be worried about Ez, too.  They're gonna be real careful for a while now."

"I would have expected them to just pull out and lay low for a while until this whole thing blew over," Nathan observed as he studied the books.  "From what I can see from these ledgers, they're involved in a lot of different enterprises.  They could have afforded to pull out of the gun-running business for a while." He passed the books down the table to Chris.

Josiah tapped his fingers together reflectively.  "This meeting with this Hammings guy must be huge if Randolph's willing to risk it."

"They have been keeping a very close surveillance on your investigation," Ezra noted.  "And as such, they know that your efforts have turned up nothing.  That is why they have the courage and the audacity to continue with the conference.  As long as it appears that you gentlemen are still hitting the proverbial brick wall, they will remain confident that they are in the clear."

"Yeah, but they're still going to be mighty worried about you and Al," Buck pointed out, not noticing the girl's grimace at the nickname.  "And the closer it gets to that meeting without you guys turning up, the more nervous they're going to get."

Nathan nodded in agreement.  "They're going to be turning this city upside down looking for you two."

"So what do we do now?"  JD asked.

Chris tapped his fingers on the ledgers thoughtfully.  "We let 'em think that we still haven't found anything."  He leaned forward in his seat.  "JD, I want you to look into this Hammings.  Find out everything you can.  Buck, you go back to the office tomorrow and continue with the investigation.  Go talk to Dawson and Lewis, head back down to the airport, keep digging into the initial set-up on Carnelli. Make it look like we're still looking for a lead.  Vin, I want you and Nathan to set up surveillance on Fieldman's, Randolph, and the ranch.  I'll get teams eight and three to help out.  Josiah, you stay here.  Ez and the girl are going to need round-the-clock protection," he held up a hand to silence Ezra's protests, "we'll set up a rotation."  He rubbed his eyes tiredly.  "We've got a week to bring these guys down.  Let's make the most of it." He stood up and glanced at his watch.  "For now, though, let's get some rest.  Tomorrow's going to be a long day."

"As for myself?"  Ezra asked, noting that he had been left out of the loop.

Chris fixed him with a cool stare.  "You stay here, keep your head down, and stay out of trouble."

Ezra's eyes narrowed.  "And my part in this investigation?"

"Well, h**l, Ezra, You done did most of the work!" Buck laughed a little forcibly, trying to break the tension that was rising between the two men.  "I'd say you can sit the rest of this one out!"

Ezra glanced over at Buck then cocked his head challengingly at his superior.  "That may be, Mr. Wilmington, but I still want to see the case to its conclusion.  Therefore, I would like to know what my assignment will be."  He raised a questioning brow at his superior.

Chris met Ezra's question with a warning glare.  "We'll handle things right now.  Your job is to lay low and keep out of Randolph's radar.  I want you someplace secure, not out on the streets making yourself a target."

Ezra stood to his feet and leaned forward on the table.  "Contrary to what you apparently believe, Mr. Larabee, I acted as judiciously as I could considering the circumstances and see no reason for this punishment," he stated firmly.

"I'm not punishing you!" Chris growled.  "I'm trying to keep you safe. You two are critical witnesses to that murder and to this investigation.  Randolph's going to do everything he can to make sure you don't survive to testify against him.  You need protection, and I don't need you making things harder by going off somewhere half-cocked and doing something stupid to get yourself killed."

"I can take care of myself!" Ezra argued back. 

"This is not negotiable, agent," Chris snapped.  "Either you remain here, under protection, or I'll jerk you off this case completely and slap your a** into a safe house under protective custody so fast your head'll spin.  Do you hear me?"

"You do that, and you tip off Randolph and blow this whole investigation," Ezra shot back.

"This investigation is not worth your life!"  Chris yelled in exasperation.

"And my life isn't going to be worth a dime if Randolph walks!"

"Which is why I want you here instead of gallivanting off around the city!"

"He's right, Ez," Vin interrupted softly.  He held up a hand to stop Ezra's comment as the man turn toward him with a glare.  "Chris ain't trying to cut you out of the investigation.  What he's trying to do in his a**-backward way is to keep you safe. You can make your contacts from here and keep up with the case.  But it's just too plain risky for you to be out and about right now—for you and Ally."  He slipped his hands into his jacket pockets and gave the man an understanding nod.  "She's in as much danger as you.  And you know Randolph's going to be looking high and low for you two.  Do you want to take the risk of leading him here to her?" He glanced up at the young lady in question, and she nodded in approval.

Ezra looked from Chris to Vin to Ally as he considered Vin's words and sighed in defeat.  "Alright," he agreed at last.  "I will stay here.  But at least allow me to aid in the coordination and research.  I am perfectly capable of working in complete anonymity from my domicile through my computer connections.  Would that be agreeable?"

"I don't see why not," Vin nodded.  He looked over at Chris and cocked his head.  "What do ya say, Cowboy?"

Chris regarded the two men for moment and finally sighed.  "Fine.  Work from here.  Just stay out of trouble."  He motioned to the others and turned to leave.  "Let's go."

Josiah put a hand on Ezra's shoulder as they stood in the foyer and watched the others troop down the sidewalk to their respective vehicles in the early hours of the morning.  "Brother Chris is only worried about you, son," he commented softly.

Ezra shrugged the hand off.  "Yes," he said dryly, "I'm sure he would hate to lose this investigation because his witness was murdered.  And I am not your son."

"He's not worried about the case, Ezra, or about losing a potential witness.  He's worried about losing a friend," Josiah pointed out.

Ezra snorted.  "Hardly.  I'm sure Mr. Larabee's intentions aren't nearly as noble as you make out."  He moved toward the dining room, cutting off the argument on Josiah's lips.  "I'm afraid you'll have to make do with the couch, Mr. Sanchez, as I gave the guest room to Ally.  I hope you don't mind."  He called over his shoulder.

Josiah clamped his jaw shut and bowed his head a moment, frustrated that he hadn't been able to get through to younger man and hurting for the self-made distance and loneliness of his friend.  "No, I don't mind," he finally answered with a sigh, realizing that he wasn't going to win any arguments tonight.  "I'm supposed to be on guard tonight, so I won't be getting much sleep, anyway."

"Yes, well I believe I shall retire myself for the night, then.  Do let me know if you find yourself in need of anything," Ezra nodded a goodnight and left the older man standing in the living room without a look back.  Josiah sighed again and, after checking out the bay window, turned the lamp beside the couch on low, set his loaded gun on the table underneath the lamp, and perused small collection of novels on the shelf below the DVDs before making his selection and settling himself on the sofa, prepared for his vigil till dawn.

Alex stood in the darkened doorway of the kitchen where she had been cleaning up the mess left behind by the men and listened to the quiet exchange in the living room.   A few minutes later, Ezra entered the kitchen with the intention of cleaning up the mess himself only to find that Alex had finished it.  He apologized, embarrassed that he had left the work to someone he considered to be a guest, but she assured him that she didn't mind at all.  He thanked her again, gave her a light smile, and urged her to rest as well, which she promised she would do in a few minutes.  They exchanged good nights before he headed for the staircase.  She heard his bedroom door close a moment later and frowned, mulling over the events of the last few hours and the intricacies that was team seven.  Instead of climbing the stairs to go to bed herself, she filled the kettle and set it on the stove while reaching for the tea and sugar she had found earlier in the cabinet above. 

She wanted to think for a while.

* * * * * * *

Ezra truly tried to rest, but found that his mind just would not shut off, running over the events of the last few days and hours, analyzing the evidence and forming scenarios and plans for the next week, trying to head off any potentially fatal situations that could possibly occur.  He had trained himself years ago to always think a situation completely through, weigh the pros and cons, and decide on the best course of action based on that analysis, and his mind could now flash through that routine at lightening speed, making decisions and adapting to situations almost subconsciously in a matter of moments; however, he found that now he had a very difficult time turning the whole process off when needed, thus leading to frequent bouts of insomnia.  The situation only worsened while he was on a case or coming down from one because of the tension and stress of creating or maintaining a cover, and there were many mornings that he watched the sun rise.

His teammates knew nothing of this, though.  They just assumed that he was a night owl and stayed up late from nature (which was partially true—he was definitely not a morning person!) or from being out at the Indian Nations casinos or whatever else he did on his time off.  They concluded that he always slept like the dead, as he did the few times he had spent the night at Chris's ranch with them.  They had never stopped to ask why or to realize that the two or three times he had been at the ranch overnight, he was either injured or coming off a bust after weeks of being undercover and was sleeping the sleep of the drugged or the exhausted. 

They never considered that maybe he came in to work at eight-thirty or even nine o'clock when the workday started at seven-thirty because many a night, he hadn't fallen completely asleep until four or sometimes five that morning.  They didn't know that he was actually a very light sleeper and came awake at the slightest noise, that the deep slumber he usually fell into while with them was not a normal occurrence (Actually, it was one that he couldn't really explain himself).  He couldn't afford to sleep deeply while undercover and surrounded by his enemies, and he had been in this business for so long that the insomnia and tendency to sleep lightly had become second nature, his body becoming used to running on only four or five hours of rest.

Tonight, however, he had truly wanted to relax.  He could count on his fingers the number of hours of sleep he had gotten in the past week, and his body was screaming for rest even as his mind raced on.  He had honestly tried.  He had turned the heat down in the room, sealed the curtains to cut out any source of light and even covered the alarm clock to block out the dull red glow, but as soon as his head hit the silk pillow case, he became wide awake.  He tossed and turned for thirty minutes before finally giving up.  He had a small bottle of sleeping pills in his medicine cabinet, but he loathed the things and would have to be completely desperate before he would even consider taking one.  He despised the lack of control and the vulnerability they left in their wake, and he always had a difficult time becoming alert the next day.  No, he would just sit up for a while, allow his mind to completely decompress and unwind slowly.  He knew that eventually, he would be able to relax enough to sleep.

Thus he found himself sitting on the floor in the upstairs hallway, leaning against the wall beside the balcony doors and absently shuffling a well-worn deck of cards as he stared out into the night through the glass.  Though it was the middle of winter, he had propped one of the doors open—not enough to be noticed from outside, but enough to allow a breath of fresh air pass through, as well as the sounds of the evening.  He hoped that the cool, fresh air would serve to help him relax.

The night was a balmy forty-five degrees, warm for Denver in February.  The meteorologist had predicted that a warm front would move in that evening bringing unseasonable temperatures for the next few days, and he had been right.  Ezra relished the more temperate weather—his body was still acclimated to Atlanta, and he had a very difficult time adjusting to Denver's more extreme winter.

He had known there was a reason he hated snow.

A soft creak alerted him to the presence of another person and he looked up to find Alex standing at the end of the stairwell railing, holding two steaming mugs in her hands.  "Mind some company?" she asked quietly.

He quickly made room on the floor and reached for one of the mugs.  "No, not at all.  But shouldn't you be enjoying a light repose in the comforts of your bed?  It is," he glanced at his wristwatch, "three o'clock in the morning."

She shrugged as she sat down beside him.  "I guess you and I are suffering from the same case of insomnia tonight," she answered after a sip from her mug.

"Indeed."  He sniffed at his own cup and recognized the familiar smell of the cinnamon tea he kept in his cabinet as he took a drink and resettled into a more comfortable position.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a few moments, both enjoying their drinks and gazing out the doors at the night sky as they contemplated their own deep thoughts.  Alex glanced over at her companion and finally broke the silence.  "Your teammates are definitely a unique bunch," she commented casually.

He smiled in response as he continued to perform a particularly difficult-looking shuffle without looking up at her.  "Yes they are," he agreed.

A few more minutes passed and she moved around a bit to get comfortable.  They heard a quiet whoosh as Josiah gently pushed the sliding glass door open below them on one of his periodic patrols then another and a click a few minutes later as the door was closed and re-locked and Josiah returned to the warmth of the living room, not knowing that they were awake overhead.  She took another sip of her drink before making her next statement.  "They're more than just a team, though."

He paused a moment and looked at her from the corner of his eye, wondering where she was going with this.  "Some would say so," he ventured as he casually flipped the top card over to reveal his trademark ace of spades.

She smiled.  "Watching them tonight, I'd have almost sworn they were a bunch of boys."

"Yes, well they have been accused of that on more than one occasion," he admitted with a wry smile.

She turned her gaze down at the mug in her hands.  "Watching them tease each other, bicker and fuss at each other—it was like watching my own family," she said softly as she looked back out at the night, a reflective look on her features.

Ezra looked up sharply.  "You have siblings?" he asked cautiously, a bit surprised at her comment.

She glanced over at him with a wistful smiled and shook her head.  "No, I was an only child.  Not that mom and dad didn't want any more; it just didn't work out for them."  She focused on the moonlit silhouette of the mountains in the distance and listened to the muted sounds of traffic coming in through the opened door.  "But dad had a brother who he was very close to, as well as my grandparents.  Grandpa's sister and her family were in the area too, and we all got together all the time.  It was the most wonderful thing in the world, those times.  I didn't realize just how precious they were until they were gone.  Of course, what child does?"

Ezra turned his gaze to the mountains as well.  "You are quite correct," he agreed.  "It is one of the endearing characteristics of a good childhood, to not think about the circumstances one finds oneself in, but to just live life as it comes."

Alex nodded as she sipped at her mug.  "Dad and Uncle Ethan were always tormenting each other, challenging each other, teasing each other.  They managed to make everything competitive.  Mom used to swear they were two overgrown boys."  She chuckled at a memory.  "It was so easy to tell that they were best friends.  Not that they didn't get into a fight once in a while, or ever get mad at each other.  Shoot, sometimes they could have shouting matches that you could hear the next state over, and once in a great while, they would even come to blows, though when that happened Grandpa would step in and read them the riot act."  She snorted.  "They were two grown men, and usually Grandpa respected that, but he could still make them toe the line when they needed it."

Ezra felt an old familiar ache rise at the description and he sternly pushed it back down.  It simply wouldn't do to pine over something that was never meant to be.  One should accept the circumstances one found himself in and work with the cards that had been dealt to him, not sit there wishing for a better hand.  Wishes and dreams were for fools. 

Then you must be the king of fools, a voice inside mocked him, because you know you would give anything to have that.  He shook his head at himself. 

Mother would be horrified.

"The thing is," Alex's voice brought him out of his musings, "though they sometimes fought, and sometimes disagreed, and sometimes did things that hurt the other, they wouldn't let any of it come between them or break their friendship.  They were both willing to work things out in order to keep it.  They had a friendship and a brotherhood unlike anything else I've ever seen."

"It truly sounds like a priceless treasure indeed," Ezra agreed quietly as the cards glided through his nimble fingers at a slightly slower pace.  He wondered to where she was leading this conversation.

"It was," Alex answered.  She shifted her leg up and leaned forward on her knees as she gazed out at the night sky. "But you know, I saw the beginning of it in there tonight."  She glanced over at his surprised look and smiled softly.  "Your teammates are like that.  Watching them tonight, it was easy to see that they are forming a family.  And families formed out of choice are strong things.  It's a bond that's worth fighting for."

Silence again fell between them, interrupted only by the sound of the traffic in the distance and the cards in Ezra's hands.  He thought about her observations and came to the same conclusions.  Yes, he could see it.  They were much more than just teammates, co-workers, or even mere friends.  They were a brotherhood, and that was the binding force that made them successful, invincible, legendary.  But did that brotherhood include him?  Did they want it to? Did he want it to?  Because she was right.  That kind of friendship required give and take.  One had to be just as willing to compromise and to give as the next person in order to preserve the alliance.  Mutual trust and respect had to exist for the bonds to remain strong.  Did they truly trust him?  Could he ever truly trust them?

"They want to include you in that family, too, you know," she stated softly, seemingly reading his very thoughts and startling him out of his revere.

He snorted in disbelief and smiled ruefully.  "I hardly think that is the case, my dear," he answered her, focusing his attention once more on the cards in his hand.  "I am simply a member of the team, not the family.  I am merely serving a purpose."

She shook her head in denial.  "There's more to it than that.  Mr. Larabee strikes me as someone who tells you like it is, and if he doesn't like you, then you're out.  He doesn't seem to be very tolerant.  Do you really think that he would keep you around just to serve a purpose?  Especially when there are many more other agents in this country who could perform the same duties with a lot less trouble?  Why else would he allow you to remain?"

He frowned, unable to come up with a definitive answer to her query.  "I don't know.  It's a question that I have asked myself countless times in the past months.  When I left my previous place of employment, it was under a cloud of suspicion and mistrust.  Indeed, I firmly believed I was headed for the unemployment line when Mr. Larabee offered me a position on his team.  I swore to myself that I would do everything in my power to justify his choice."  He laughed at himself derisively as he lay the cards still to take a sip from his mug.  "Of course, I then promptly bungled the first case."

"But you're still here," Alex pointed out.

"Yes," he said softly.  "But one cannot help but wonder why.  Mr. Larabee did indeed give me a second chance, even though he does not trust or even like me."

"What makes you think he doesn't like you?" she asked in confusion.

Ezra shook his head and once again flipped through the cards in a lackadaisical fashion.  "It is simply the nature of the beast, my dear," he declared.  "Mr. Larabee tolerates my presence for reasons I have yet to uncover, but that is all.  The same is true for the other members of the team.  I do not instill confidence in those around me.  Reliability and dependability are not among my more endearing character traits.  I am simply not a person that is to be trusted."

"I trust you," Alex answered softly.

He laughed, but she shook her head.  "It's true," she insisted.  "Look me in the eye and tell me differently.  I trust you."

He looked up at her and studied her set features, searching for the slightest hint of falsehood in the steady blue eyes but found none and quickly turned his own eyes back down at the cards in his hands to hide his surprise.  The look of mistrust that he had come to expect from everyone he met simply wasn't there, and it startled him.  Did she really trust him?  "Why?" he asked softly, looking back up at her in bewilderment.

"Because I think that you are worthy of my trust," she stated firmly.

He shook his head and laughed.  "Surely you jest."  When she didn't answer, he went back to shuffling his cards.  "You can't possibly trust me," he declared.  "You barely know me."

"Nevertheless, I do trust you," she asserted.  She twisted the mug in her hands thoughtfully.  "It's true—I haven't known you all that long, and the good Lord knows I have every reason to be leery of people.  Living on the streets does nothing to foster faith in mankind," She smiled dryly.  "But there's something about you that made it safe, something that said I could depend on you.  And the more I get to know you, the more I believe that."

He set the cards down on his lap and raised an eyebrow at her with a smirk.  "If that is the case, then tell me what it is that you are running from."

"What do you mean?" she asked quickly, clearly startled and uneasy at the question.

He snorted. "Come now, my dear it is quite obvious that you are evading something.  If you truly trust me, you can tell me what it is."  He watched her shoulders slump for a moment before she stood and walked to the door, leaning on the facing with her hands in her pockets and staring out into the night, and he silently cursed himself for pushing her. 

Who was he to demand such honesty? L**d knew he had enough secrets of his own—who was he to demand that she reveal herself to him when he himself refused to do so to her?  He had lived his whole life firmly with the belief that everyone was entitled to their own privacy.  Indeed, he deeply cherished his right to his own confidentiality.  So why did he just throw that gauntlet down at her feet?

A few moments of silence passed, and he sighed, ready to tell her to forget it, that she didn't have to reveal anything to him, that he had no right to make such a requirement, but her soft answer stopped him.  "Sanders," she spoke quietly.

He froze.  "Excuse me?"

Alex shifted against the frame.  "My full name is Alexandria Christeene Sanders."  She glanced down at her feet, but kept her back to him.  "I was born on March 31 in Ronceverte, West Virginia, to Allen and Colleene Sanders.  My uncle's name was Ethan, my grandfather's name was Jackson.  With that information and your contacts, you should have no trouble whatsoever finding out anything else regarding me that you would like to know."  She finally turned to face him, a serious expression on her features.  "Just keep in mind that with that knowledge, you now hold my life in your hands," she said lowly, her intense gaze piercing his soul even in the murky shadows of the night.

He averted his eyes to the still cards in his lap in shame.  "I am truly sorry.  I had no right to question you," he said lowly.

"No, you were right," he looked back up in surprise to see her smile at him faintly.  "Words are cheap.  If I really trust you, then I should be willing to show it."  The smile dropped as she stared at him intently.  "But I want you to listen to me.  Trust is a two way street, as is friendship.  Both parties must be willing to give a little.  Your teammates are not asking that you bare your soul to them, just that you be willing to accept their friendship, be willing to give them a small piece of your trust at a time.  It doesn't have to be big, and it doesn't have to be all at once. I know that there will be times when they will hurt you and there will be times when you hurt them—it happens when you deal with people—and there will be times when you seem to take two steps backward for every step you move forward.  But keep trying.  True friends will work to get past that hurt and to preserve their friendship.  All that they ask—all that I ask—is that you give us a chance.  And if we mess up, then give us another and another and another, whatever it takes.  Just don't give up."

Ezra smiled at her weakly.  "I'm afraid that is much easier said then done, my dear.  How can you be so sure that it is worth the risk, that the others truly want me included in their little group?"

Alex snorted as she bent down to pick up her now-empty mug.  "They want you, but they're men.  Men are stupid when it comes to things like that.  Something to do with too big egos and not enough common sense."  She shook her head as she straightened.  "And they're scared to death that if they show just the least little bit of emotion, their manhood will be threatened."

He laughed at the put down as he climbed to his feet and pulled the door shut.  "Your high opinion of the opposite sex truly astounds me," he deadpanned.

She snorted again in response as they turned back to their rooms, but smiled anyway.  "Laugh if you want, but it's true and you know it."  Her smile faded as she changed mental gears.  "And as for the risk being worth it, I can tell you this.  I've experienced loneliness and the pain that comes with isolation.  And I've experienced family, and the joys and the sorrows that it brings, and let me tell you—any pain, any effort you are forced to put out, any comprise that you must give to make a family work is worth it.  The joy and the benefits of family far outweigh the cost."  She stopped outside the guestroom and fixed him with another intensive gaze.  "I realize you might not put much faith in the Bible, but there is a passage in it that talks about how two are better than one, because if one falls, the other is there to pick him up, but woe to him that is alone.  It goes on to say that one person alone is easily withstood, but a three fold cord is not quickly broken.  Imagine the strength of a seven fold cord."

Ezra snickered and shook his head as he reached for her mug to return it along with his own to the kitchen.  "My dear, you are beginning to sound like Josiah with his parables."

She smiled and leaned back against the door.  "There are worse people to be compared to."  She moved into the dark room and went to close the door, but paused and raised her eyebrow at him questioningly.  "You asked me if I thought that trust was worth the risk.  You tell me?  Is the security of being your own person and the safety gained from building a wall about yourself to keep others out worth the loneliness and isolation?  Or is the risk of being hurt worth the friendship gained?  People weren't meant to be islands, Mr. Standish.  They were created with the need of friendship, of companionship.  It doesn't make you less of a person or demean you to admit you need a friend.  Opening yourself to friendship doesn't weaken you—it strengthens you.  But you have to be willing to try."  She gave him one last smile before she shut the door quietly, leaving him to stare at her door and ponder her words.