Anticipaiton

by Brandgwen

Disclaimer: Profiler is the property of NBC and Sander/Moses. The Magnificent Seven is the property of Watson/Densham and CBS. The ATF universe belongs to Mog. I'm not making any money, I'm not worth suing.

Ezra stood amongst the importer's goons, hoping things went as well, tonight. So far, so good; they had made it to the warehouse without any complications. The bosses were discussing inconsequential things, the weather, etc., while their sentries and bodyguards made one last look around the building. All in all, there were at least twenty men present, maybe more, so they made short work of sweeping the warehouse. Ezra had managed to position himself behind the importer, where the sale could be closely monitored by Nathan and Josiah.

"So, you have some merchandise for me? Might I see it?" began the dealer, greed glinting in his eyes.

The importer looked around for his nearest subordinate. "Stewart, get a bag of the merchandise and give it to our esteemed associate."

Ezra couldn't believe his luck. By asking him to get the drugs, not only was the boss providing him with an excuse to stand right in the middle of the action, he was enabling him to get a close look at what Ezra liked to think of as "Exhibit A". Ezra handed the bag to the dealer, who slit it open with a pen knife. Ezra stepped back, as the dealer tasted a small amount of the powder. By the look on his face, this was quality stuff, but, before he could comment, a messenger from one of his sentries came and whispered in his ear.

"I believe we have a problem," the dealer began, fury simmering in his voice. He motioned for the dealer to move closer and the two turned away from their employees. They talked in hushed voices, which Ezra knew the wire would not pick up clearly.

"I'm sure it's not with the merchadise. I tried it, myself, before I agreed to sell it," the importer was indignant.

The dealer shook his head. "Not the mechandise, the company. There's a surveillance van two blocks south of here."

"I hope you don't think I have anything..."

The dealer shook his head. The importer had a thing or two to learn, but he was a crook. The dealer was sure of this. "Do you have any new men? Anyone you're not entirely sure of?"

The importer furrowed his brow, then it came to him; Stewart. He had only known the man two months, but Stewart had known about the deal from the start. The importer had thought him ambitious and shrewd, but, in hindsight, it was clear who the undercover was. Furious, he turned and aimed the gun at his betrayer, as Standish stood there, helpless, speechless.

The gun fired once. The dealer, seeing what his associate was about to do, tried to stop him, grabbing his arm and pushing it down. The last thing they needed was gunfire in the warehouse. Stupid damn importers. Not a brain between them. It was too late, however, the trigger had been pulled. The only thing changed by the dealer's actions; the bullet entered Ezra's stomach, rather than his head.

Nathan and Josiah sat, tensed, desperately trying to make out the whispered conversation over the wire. Josiah watched his partner frown, as his concentration deepened. They both jumped when the gun went off.

Josiah grabbed the radio, "Teams one and two, move now. I repeat, move now." He continued reciting this mantra a few more times, as his whole being was drowned in adrenaline.

The two teams entered the warehouse at almost the same time. The place was chaos, every crook for himself. None got through the descending wall of law enforcement agents. Within minutes, dealers and importers were cuffed and lined up against the wall, like ducks in a shooting gallery. Larabee and Wilmington approached each other, meeting the centre of the room.

"You find Ezra?" Buck asked, the success of his first major command overshadowed by fear for his friend.

Chris shook his head. He turned to Vin, who stood, distracted, to the side. "You and the rest of the team find Standish. The FBI can have the privilege of cleaning this lot up."

Exactly what the younger agent wanted to hear. He was off in a flash, rounding up JD, as well as Josiah and Nate, who had abandoned the van after the raid. It was two hours before they found their fallen friend.

Ezra had been stunned when first he was shot. There had been no pain, only surprise and panic. Then, suddenly, burning agony swept over him, making him dizzy, choking off his very breath. He heard the crash of the doors fly open and knew the raid was on. He also knew he stood no chance if he remained in the middle of the ensuing stampede. Even if he weren't trampled to death, some spiteful criminal could use him for target practise. Clutching his stomach, trying not to drip blood, he had dragged himself over to a stack of crates piled in a corner. He crawled behind the crates and propped himself up against a wall. Leaning heavily, he sat and waited, passing in and out of consciousness.

"Oh, God, I've found him. Nate, get over here, now!" Vin scrambled over the crates, pushing them away, with a crash. Ezra opened his eyes to see the sharpshooter kneeling over him, trying to stop the flow of blood from his stomach. The fear on Vin's face was obvious. All he could see was the blood. So much blood oozing slowly between the agent's fingers, pooling, thick and red, on the floor. Somehow, the blood had managed to get on the undercover's face and in his hair, staining the whole area. The wounded agent stared, mute, his green eyes accentuated by the red.

Nathan rushed over and, pushing Vin aside, knelt by the agent. He helped Standish lie down flat and began his examination. The bullet had entered and exited on the left side of Ezra's abdomen, about an inch above the hip. "This is okay. It looks like a lot of blood, but a wound like this will take days to kill you," using a bandage he had stolen from the warehouse manager's first aid kit, Nathan put pressure on the wound.

"Are you sure?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just a gut wound. I doubt anything major has been hit. It's too low for the spleen or pancreas. Kidney, maybe, but you don't really need both of those."

"Hurts," moaned Ezra.

"Yeah, I'll bet," replied Jackson, dismissively. To Vin he said, "see? He's awake and everything. Intestinal wounds bleed slowly and constantly and hurt like hell, but they take a real long time to kill you."

"Oh, okay," Vin nodded. If Nathan was sure, he was never wrong.

"Oh my God," gasped JD as he approached the scene. His eyes grew big with horror.

"It's okay," Vin reassured his friend, "he's even awake enough to give us dirty looks."

"Oh, okay."

The paramedics, having finished with all the other wounded, arrived at Ezra's side. Within minutes, he was in an ambulance, headed for the hospital.

Nathan's diagnosis turned out to be correct. In surgery, the hole in Ezra's abdomen was patched. Within a few weeks of treatment, any infection of the wound or peritoneal cavity had been wiped out. Ezra returned to work in a little over a month, very little the worse for wear.

Ezra wandered through the office, returning smiles and greetings, as if in a dream. With all he had been through, he couldn't believe he hadn't quit, already. He sat down at his desk to a mountain of paperwork. Why did he bother?

At the top of the mountain was a handwritten request from Larabee. S, Welcome back. I'm keeping you off fieldwork for another few weeks. I'm sure you have enough paperwork to keep you busy. I need that warehouse report yesterday. Merry Christmas, L... Ezra snorted. He knew that remark would come back to haunt him. ...PS You scare me like that again, I'll shoot you, myself. With a grin, Ezra attacked the mountain.