Again, sorry for the long wait between updates. To make up for it, this chapter is twice as long as the others. At least I think it is.

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Josiah was beginning to think he'd have preferred being shot at the bust to this. Nathan and Buck had been awake for a few hours, and now that they'd done all they could from the hospital, Buck was going into apoplexy at not being allowed to go and help rescue them. Nathan had taken it calmly enough – oh, he was angry, and wanted Samuels put away, but that was to be expected. Buck, on the other hand, seemed as though he was going to get up and run to the rescue without even bothering to change out of his hospital gown.

The poor doctor was having a hard time convincing him that this would not be a good idea.

"Agent Wilmington, I understand your concern for your colleagues, but I really cannot condone you leaving the hospital at the point in time," the woman said firmly, holding her own against the glare that was aimed her way. Never mind that Buck could barely sit up in bed; the mustached agent looked about ready to kill anyone who got in his way.

"I don't give a damn what you can or can't condone, my friends are in danger and I'm not gonna sit around here while they suffer!"

Nathan sighed. "Buck, I'm as angry as you are about JD and Ezra's capture, but the doctor has a point. I'm not going anywhere with these bullet holes in me, and you're black and blue all over. And your gun arm is broken, so I don't think you'll be doing much shooting."

The door opened and a nurse – his nametag read 'Jared' – walked in. "Time to check your vitals again," he said. He walked over to Buck and firmly pressed him down onto the mattress. "Lie still, Agent Wilmington, otherwise I might have to ask the doctor to sedate you."

His voice brooked no argument, and clearly this was one time Buck's self-proclaimed charm would get him nowhere. Josiah suspected that the doctor had requested these two be nursed by male nurses until they were ready to leave the hospital – that way there was less of a chance that Buck would con his nurse into letting him leave.

"Josiah, come on. I gotta help them get this sorry son of a bitch," Buck pleaded. Jared stuck a thermometer in Buck's ear and made a notation on his chart, then did a blood pressure check and made sure the flow of pain medication was steady before turning to Nathan and giving him the same treatment. Buck cajoled, "I gotta, Josiah. You know how much I hate not being able to help."

"You're going nowhere, Agent Wilmington, as I believe Dr. Russell has told you," Jared said firmly, replacing both charts at the end of their respective beds. "Obs are steady, Dr. Russell, but I'm worried about Agent Wilmington's arm if he keeps moving around like that. Will you stop trying to get up!" he snapped finally, turning to Buck. "I understand that you're worried but you aren't going to be able to help anyone if you start coding again!"

"Again?" Buck queried. Jared glanced at Dr. Russell, who sighed and nodded.

"You woke up for a brief period of time yesterday evening, Agent Wilmington," Dr. Russell explained. "However, you arrested from the trauma to your heart and lungs, and we had to rush you to surgery. If you continue to exert yourself this way, you might relapse."

Buck sank back against the pillows, blinking. "Oh. I didn't realise."

"We'd hardly keep you here unnecessarily," Jared said. "Your team has quite the reputation here; we know what you're like when one of you is injured. I'm sorry to have been so blunt, but you are still not out of the woods yet. That goes for you as well, Agent Jackson."

Nathan nodded. "I figured as much when we kept getting checked every five minutes."

The medic's voice was frustrated; Josiah knew that Nathan, as much as Buck, wanted to be with Chris and Vin, driving to the rescue of their missing comrades. Josiah himself wanted to be there, but Chris had wanted someone to stay with Buck and Nathan, and the backup he'd requested should more than make up for the deficit.

"I'm sorry I can't give you better news," Jared said quietly. "I know your team is close. But if it's any consolation, the finest medical team this hospital has to offer will be yours if you need it."

Josiah nodded gratefully. It wasn't really a consolation; he knew Chris had requested the medical team, and that meant that Ezra and JD were hurt, and badly. But it was a small relief knowing that if his friends were injured, they would have the best care that Denver had to offer them.

"Jared, I'd like you to up the dose of antibiotics for Agent Jackson; that leg wound is slightly infected and I want to fight off infection as fast as possible. Could I speak to you outside, Agent Sanchez?" Dr. Russell's words broke through Josiah's ruminations. The big man nodded and stood up, following the doctor out of the room while Jared adjusted the IV over Nathan's bed.

"Is there a problem, doctor?" Josiah asked once the door had closed behind them. Dr. Russell sighed and rubbed her temples.

"Agent Larabee called to request that we have a medical team standing by. From what I understand, two ATF agents are in possibly critical conditions. How do you want to proceed with this? I'm reluctant to give those men any more reason than they already have to worry, but I understand you won't want to keep them in the dark."

"I don't know," Josiah admitted. "I guess it'll depend on what condition JD and Ezra are in when they're brought here. If it's bad, then Nate and Buck'll need to know. But if Ez and JD are definitely gonna make it, we don't need to tell them the extent of their injuries, not until they're a little better. That's what I figure'd be best. You'll have to see what Chris thinks when he gets back."

Jared came out of the room, closing the door behind him. "Agent Wilmington, despite his assurances that he feels fine, has gone back to sleep," he reported. "Thankfully, Agent Jackson seemed more willing to accept that he can't leave the hospital at this point in time."

"Thank you, Jared," Dr. Russell said. She looked tired, taking off her gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing her eyes. "Agent Sanchez, I take it you will be staying with Agents Jackson and Wilmington?"

"If that's all right."

"The staff here have long since learned that the words 'visiting hours' mean little to ATF agents," Jared said with a brief smile. "You stay with them as long as you need to. I'll keep you up to date with the situation."

"Thank you," Josiah said, his gratitude clear in his voice. He didn't miss the emotion and empathy in Jared's next words.

"Hell, your team are like brothers, we all know that. If it were my brothers out there, I'd want to know what was going on."

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Ezra woke with the feeling that he'd lost quite a bit of time. He looked at his wrist, but his watch had been taken sometime while he was unconscious. The feeling of timelessness was unsettling.

He sat up slowly, mindful of the pain in his bruised stomach, and looked around the room. He'd been moved, he remembered that much, because the doctor had been worried about his head injury. JD had been taken somewhere with Samuels and that big guard, but he'd come back . . . wearing that contraption around his throat. Ezra felt his anger rise at the memory of the leather and metal collar, and the knowledge that JD was wearing it because of him.

The room was small, sparsely furnished with one bed – large enough for both of them – sheeted with plain cotton, and a table on the other side of the room. Someone had put a couple of bottles of water on the table, along with what looked like non-prescription painkiller tablets. JD was nowhere to be seen.

Ezra reached up and touched the place where the doctor had found his head injury. It was bandaged, and didn't hurt quite as much. He could feel his own fever, but nothing dangerously high. He wasn't worried about his own health; Samuels had seemed pretty anxious to have him seen to. What worried him was JD's absence.

The door swung open, and the behemoth of a guard entered, carrying JD. The younger agent was semiconscious, unresponsive in the guard's arms. Burns and abrasions adorned JD's chest, arms and stomach, and his jeans were torn around his lower legs, showing burned skin and deep gashes that had been roughly stitched. His face was bruised and dried blood matted in his dark hair. The guard unceremoniously dumped him on the bed next to Ezra, an odd grin on his face.

"Good Lord . . ."

"The Lord has nothing to do with us," the guard informed him. "I would've thought you'd have figured that out by now. God has no place here."

"What did you do to him?" Ezra demanded. JD's stillness alarmed him. The younger agent was conscious – at least, his eyes were open – but he wasn't looking at anything, just staring into space. The guard's grin widened.

"Ask him about it," he replied as he exited, locking the door behind him. Ezra immediately turned his attention to JD, who hadn't moved from the position he'd been placed on the bed in.

"Mr. Dunne . . . JD?" he asked tentatively, for once foregoing the formal address he preferred to use with his colleagues. Something told him that addressing JD the same way Samuels had been speaking to both of them would be a mistake.

JD blinked and turned his eyes slowly to Ezra. The emptiness there frightened the Southerner, more so than the tears that threatened to spill over. JD barely seemed aware of Ezra's presence. Ezra had no idea what to do in this sort of situation. He would have given anything to know how Buck dealt with JD.

"JD . . . it's me." He cautiously reached out to touch the younger man's hand, and was alarmed by the violent reaction his touch elicited.

JD screamed, awkwardly scrambling backwards on the bed until his back met the wall. He avoided touching anything with his hands, and Ezra cursed as he realised why. The fingers were twisted cruelly, and the skin on the backs of JD's hands was distorted by the obviously broken bones underneath. Some of those bones stuck through his skin, ivory and crimson against mangled flesh. His fingernails had been torn off, leaving raw, bleeding wounds behind. Ezra was torn between horror and fury; as their resident 'computer guy', as JD called himself, the agent's hands were very important to him. Without full dexterity and sensitivity, a lot of his prowess with computers and other technical apparatus would be greatly reduced, something that Ezra wasn't sure JD could cope with on top of everything else that had happened to them.

Ezra took a chance and moved forward, ignoring his own pain at the sight of his friend's pain. He cautiously reached out to the younger man and was shocked when JD clung to him like a child, sobbing.

"Oh, God, Ez . . ." he sobbed brokenly. Ezra, baffled by the sudden storm of tears, simply held his young friend and stroked JD's dark hair, murmuring words that he hoped were comforting, saying whatever came into his mind. He didn't bother trying to use large words, just said whatever he thought of. While he spoke, he prayed that their friends would find them soon, before either of them was pushed beyond their limit. JD was coming dangerously close to breaking, and if that happened Ezra knew that the Seven would crumble.

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Vin glanced at the men in the van with him. Chris had made a few calls and gotten them two dozen agents as backup for their rescue operation. Most of them were men and women whom Vin knew, but the tension in the small space was almost insufferable. The four vans that had come with the backup were heading to a building compound for 'management weekends' according to the records Josiah had found, breaking quite a few speed limits at the same time.

They pulled up on one side of a hill. The compound was on the other side. Getting through the gate was going to be a problem. At least, they thought so, until Emily Corbeau approached Chris and Vin. She was about JD's age, athletic and very pretty. She said tentatively, "There's a guy guarding the gate. We've got pretty good cover from here for a sniper. I'm not trying to belittle your abilities, Vin, but in the state you're in, your nerves are hardly at their best. Maybe one of the others should take the guard down."

Vin nodded, knowing that she had a point; he and Chris were both as tightly-wound as piano wires, and he wasn't sure if he trusted his sniping abilities right now. Normally he'd be fine, but normally he didn't have the lives of two of his teammates resting on his trigger-finger.

Emily gestured to one of the agents who was lying on his stomach, tranquilliser gun aimed at the gatehouse. The sniper nodded, focused for a few moments and pulled the trigger. The guard dropped like a sack of potatoes. Vin and Chris motioned for the other agents to follow them, and they headed down the hill, shoving the guard's body into the gatehouse and binding him hand and foot with duct tape, gagging him just in case he came around before they'd found Ezra and JD.

"Right," Chris said. "Josiah pulled the specs for this place; it's a square with a garden in the middle. Holland, you and your team take the west wing, try to find Samuels and Caine. Brador, you and your team get east wing. Gregorov, Riley, Daniels and Forbes, you're with Tanner and me. We're getting my agents out."

They tried the handles of each door they passed – most were, predictably, locked – and shot the locks off, checking each room for their missing colleagues. Most of the rooms seemed to be storage rooms, but one was familiar to Chris and Vin; the whitewashed concrete room that JD and Ezra had been in on the first video.

They kept going, finding that room empty. Vin shot off the lock of another door. He and Chris entered the room first, expecting the worst. Nothing had prepared them for what they found.

Ezra was sitting on the room's sole bed, his back against the wall. His throat was mottled with bruises, and what skin they could see looked about the same. A bandage was wrapped around his head. He held a badly injured JD in his lap, gently stroking the younger man's hair, though he was looking at Chris and Vin with undisguised relief on his face. JD was staring into space and trembling, tear tracks clear on his face. Rope burns encircled his wrists and there was barely any part of his body that wasn't injured somehow. Chris held up a hand to prevent the other agents from entering; they didn't need to see this.

"Ezra?" Vin ventured. "What happened?"

JD shuddered at the sound of Vin's voice. Ezra patted his shoulder and looked back at the sharpshooter, fury clear in his eyes and his voice, which was hoarse and painful. "I'm not sure, Mr. Tanner, but I can guess. He was tortured. And there is a guard in this place who has an appointment with the business end of a gun."

"Is JD . . .?" Chris trailed off. Ezra shook his head.

"No, he is not all right. Neither am I. But both of us will be exceedingly glad to bid this place farewell."

"Can you both walk?"

"Perhaps; we haven't attempted to stand as yet. I don't think it would be wise for me to move far from JD's side. He . . . I seem to be a source of comfort. Is our path to freedom unobstructed?"

"It will be," Vin growled. "If Samuels or anyone else tries to stop us, they'll be dead before they know it."

"Come on. Let's get out of here," Chris said. Ezra slid to the edge of the bed and stood up, gently pulling JD with him. Despite his assurances that both could walk, Ezra's knees buckled and JD let out a sharp cry of pain. Vin and Chris moved forward just in time to stop both men from collapsing.

"Thought you said you could walk, Ez," Vin said, tightening his grip to keep the Southerner from falling. Ezra managed a pain-filled smile.

"Perhaps I over-exaggerated a little. Being carried may be very well for a child, but a grown man finds it a tad humiliating."

"Tough luck, pal. You aren't in any shape to walk anywhere," Vin informed him. "Chris an' me are strong enough to take you an' JD to the cars."

Ezra's eyes widened. "I don't know if that's a good idea."

He was proven right when Chris grabbed JD to keep him from falling. The young agent pushed himself away from Larabee with an inarticulate cry of pain, catching himself on the edge of the bed.

"Oh, God! Don't touch me!"

"There's no other way to get you out of here," Chris said gently. "I have to carry you, JD. I'm sorry it hurts, but there's really no other way."

Pain was clear in JD's dark eyes as he nodded, steeling himself for the rush of pain. Chris knelt beside JD and carefully lifted the smaller man into his arms, wincing in sympathy at the moan of pain his touch elicited. JD grabbed at Ezra's hand, and the Southerner rose with Chris, wavering on his feet until Vin appeared at his side to keep him on his feet. The sharpshooter asked quietly, "You okay, Ez?"

"How far away are the vehicles?" Ezra asked, equally quiet. His face showed an intense amount of strain, simply from standing.

"Too far. C'mon, Ez, you can sacrifice your dignity for one night. You're hurt."

Ezra nodded. "Don't move too far from JD, Mr. Tanner. I'm not entirely certain what happened, but I am sure that he is in a fragile emotional state. And don't try to remove that collar. From what he told me, if you try to pick the lock a lethal dose of a chemical will be released. When you find Samuels he should have the key. Until then, don't tamper with it."

Vin nodded his understanding and lifted Ezra, carrying the Southerner easily. Ezra wasn't as small as JD, but he was certainly not a huge man like Josiah. Making sure JD could see Ezra, Chris and Vin exited the room.

One of the agents outside let out an explosive curse. "Fuck! What happened to them, Chris?"

"We don't know," Chris said tightly. "We're going to get them to the cars. Can you handle the cleanup here?"

The same agent nodded. "Count on it. The bastard is going down."

"The bastard, as you so bluntly put it, is far from 'going down'."

All the agents turned at the sound of the cool, even voice. Samuels sounded older than he had on the video and the phone. Standing beside and a little behind Samuels were Ashley Caine and a tall, muscular man whom Chris recognised as one of Caine's bodyguards. All three carried firearms, and Caine and the guard both held hostages. Ryan Davis and Emily Corbeau, two of the agents on Holland's team, were held firmly by arms around their throats, guns pressed under their chins.

"Hold it right there, Mr. Larabee," Samuels drawled. "I do believe we've reached an impasse. You have the advantage of numbers and, if I'm not mistaken, the burning desire to see myself and my associates pay for what you consider a crime. Whereas I have your agents, and no particular need for them to remain in one piece."

The guard holding Ryan jerked his arm tighter around Ryan's throat, and the young agent gasped as his breathing was impeded.

"Mikhail," Samuels said warningly, "We need them both alive, for now. Let the boy breathe."

He turned his attention back to Chris. His gun, unlike those of Caine and Mikhail, was pointed directly at the leader of Team 7, while he held what looked like a remote control with only one button in his other hand. He said coolly, "My associates and I will be leaving, Mr. Larabee. If you attempt to follow us, I will have your agents killed, quite painfully, and I will activate the collar around Mr. Dunne's neck. If I do so, it will take him five days to die, in agony. I'm sure you don't want that, so it really would be in everyone's best interests for you to cooperate with me."

"What do you want?" Chris asked, controlling his anger with an effort. Samuels chuckled.

"Ashley, Mikhail and I will be leaving. We will take your agents with us. At the first sign of pursuit, I will have Ashley shoot the woman. If I continue to feel that you are following, I will have Mikhail shoot the young man. If that fails to dissuade you, I'll have no choice but to activate Mr. Dunne's collar."

"Go," Chris snarled, defeat evident in his voice. He couldn't risk the lives of JD, Ryan or Emily, no matter how much he wanted to shoot Samuels where it would hurt most. The rules of hostage situations stipulated ensuring the safety of the hostages first. Samuels nodded, smiling.

"I thought you would see it that way. You law enforcers are always so predictable at this point in the game."

One of the agents growled, "This is a game?!" in a voice filled with disgust and rage.

"Easy," Vin said softly. "Don't piss him off."

"Sound advice, though a little crudely put, Mr. Tanner," Samuels purred. "Now, ladies and gentlemen, I'm afraid we must be leaving. We'll give you directions to find your agents once we're far enough away. I'd advise you to take care of Mr. Standish and Mr. Dunne in the interim; I must admit Ashley and Mikhail were rather . . . exuberant . . . in their entertainment this evening."

He, Caine and Mikhail – they hadn't heard a last name for the brute of a guard – began backing up towards one of the doors, Caine and Mikhail still holding their guns under the chins of their hostages. Keeping his eyes on the furious ATF agents, Samuels reached back and opened the door. Chris watched helplessly, furious at the thought of any of the three escaping justice.

Samuels apparently hadn't counted on the hostages taking matters into their own hands.

In a swift, fluid movement, Emily Corbeau reached up with her left hand and dug her fingernails into Caine's wrist, going for the nerves. At the same time, she pulled a derringer from her wrist holster with her right hand and squeezed off several shots, ducking away from Caine as the dealer's deadened fingers loosened their grip on her gun and let it fall.

Several things happened at once.

Ryan twisted out of Mikhail's grip and grabbed at his gun.

Mikhail slammed his fist into the side of Ryan's head, and the young agent reeled from the blow.

Several of the agents with Chris opened fire, trying not to hit Ryan or Emily in the process of gunning down the three criminals.

Samuels staggered back, blood appearing in three widening circles on his shirt. He slid down the wall, leaving a grisly trail of crimson, but was still conscious.

Caine's gun went off, though at this distance Chris couldn't see who had been shot.

Mikhail, taking advantage of the confusion, bolted. Several agents fired at him, but he vanished through the door that Samuels had opened. Three agents went in pursuit.

Samuels, leaning against the wall, barked out a harsh laugh. Blood spotted his lips. He raised his hand, the one holding the remote device, and pressed the button.

JD screamed and began writhing in Chris's arms. Angry red lines spread from the collar, going down his neck and vanishing under his shirt, and reaching his face. His muscles began to tighten, and Chris started to run. He'd seen what the chemical in the collar did when used in small doses, and he doubted that this was a small dose. The other agents could clean up what was left; he had to get JD some help.

JD's screams echoed down the tile-floored corridor. His reaction to the chemical was much faster than it had been when Samuels had sent the video; there was no doubt that this was a full dose. Vin followed Chris at a run, apologising to Ezra when the Southerner cursed at the painful jolting.

"Fuck 'sorry', get JD some help!" Ezra snarled, sounding as far from his normally cultured self as possible.

Natasha Gregorov, one of the agents with medical training, was following them, speaking into her cell phone as she ran. "We have two agents down, medical assistance needed. Cranial contusions, burns to the arms and legs, fractured or broken bones in the arms and hands, broken or cracked ribs, and some sort of chemical has been introduced to Agent Dunne's bloodstream. He's having a severe reaction; symptoms are muscular spasms, nausea and intense pain . . . thank you."

She looked at Chris and Vin. "Ambulances will be here in less than five minutes. Until then, let's get them to the van and I'll see what I can do."

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TBC.