Rope Enough

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.

Author's Note: This is an ATF/Profiler cross-over, inspired by the challenge put forward by Michelle Naylor. Background is gleaned from a number of ATF fics, in particular "How DID He Get That Car?", by Mog and "Your True Family", by Ruby. Thanks to to everyone who helped me with the background information.

Fury and Frustration

"Michael Louis! He's a security guard at the university," JD bounded into the office, a colour printout of Mr Louis' university ID photo crumpled in his hand.

"This is Sutter's son?" Sam asked, looking into the eyes that stared out at her.

Grace glanced over her shoulder. "Oh, yeah, he could definitely carry an unconscious man into a tree."

Louis was 5"10" tall, his build muscular and stocky. The veins that protruded from his neck suggested he worked out a lot, but his hair style and clothing suggested a bookworm, rather than a gym-freak. Sam sighed, wondering if this man ever did anything other than plan and prepare for his day of reckoning.

"Come on, you two, time to do your thing," Bailey didn't even have time to finish the sentence before Grant and Tanner were out of the office and headed for the door.

"Finally," John commented on his way out.

Chris was half way through his allotment of offices when he heard it; a howl borne of fury and frustration. The ATF agent would have thought it originated from an animal, but for the small tortured note of humanity that rang through the noise. He scrambled out into the corridor, where Nathan already stood, trying to discern the original sound from the echoes.

"I think it came from that way," Nathan indicated the east side of the building.

"Oh, Jesus, Buck!" the two sprinted through the building, in search of their third.

Mickey Louis stood over the fallen ATF agent and bellowed, the truncheon falling from his hand. Just as he had landed his blow, the prey had turned his head back toward his attacker. Unable to divert the course of the truncheon, Mickey had hit the man, not on the back of the head, but the side. All his research, all his trial runs had told him never hit them on the temple. He gazed at the prostrate form at his feet, blood oozing from a wound two inches back from the eye, and knew the man was dead.

The sound of footsteps, hard and fast on the linoleum tiles, alerted Mickey to the men soon to reach his position. Glancing around, he remembered a nearby office with a balcony outside its window and a tree down which Mickey could escape. Using the security keys, he slipped into the office and locked the door behind him.

The four agents piled into one car, ATF in the back, John in the front and Bailey driving. Two cars worth of backup followed them.

"I don't suppose there's any chance of you staying here?" Tanner glanced at the agent beside him.

"Not a hope in hell," JD agreed, as he unholstered his well cared for gun and checked the bullets.

Tanner grimaced, then, seeing JD was done with this inspection, tossed him a mobile 'phone. "Dial Chris for me, then, will ya?"

John looked over his seat as Tanner checked his own weaponry. It took him significantly longer than JD, due to the number of firearms he carried. It occurred to John that Vin had been carrying these guns all day. He had gone to the ATF office that morning, having no idea he would be called on to participate in any kind of confrontation, armed to the teeth.

Tanner glanced up at the FBI agent, down at the gun in his hand, then back to John. "You got a problem with these?"

"Who, me?" John asked, all innocence, "I've never met a gun I didn't like." He turned back to the front mumbling, "I just hope you're a good shot."

Before Vin could reply, JD cut in, "No answer. I've got the message bank."

Annoyed, Tanner took the mobile. He waited as Larabee's short introduction played through, then growled, "This is not a social call, Cowboy. Get back to me."

"Buck? Buck are you okay?" Chris knelt beside the unconscious man, unsure of what to do.

Nathan moved to Buck's other side, frowning as he noted the head injury. He noted the man's shallow, but steady, breathing and checked his pulse. So far, so good. "Buck!" Nate gently slapped his face, trying to get some response. Never looking up, he instructed, "Ambulance. Now."

Chris already had his mobile out. He dialed 911 and waited for the operator to take the call. Hearing the voice, he gave his name, location and badge number, before describing Buck's condition. Larabee was no medic, but years of experience had told him which details were important. "We have an ATF officer, male, late thirties. He's been struck on the side of the head. He's breathing and has a steady pulse, but is unresponsive... uh, I guess the injury must have occurred within the last five minutes... some bleeding, not much... right, okay." He hung up and returned his attention to Buck and Nathan, "They'll be about ten minutes."

Nathan nodded, folding his jacket and placing it under Buck's head. There was little more they could do, without perhaps exacerbating the injury.

In his pocket, Chris' phone made a noise, indicating there was a message in its message bank. Chris ignored it.

Mickey Louis reached the ground and began to run from the biochemistry building. He got a few steps, before he realised this was where he was supposed to be. He was just an average security guard. Someone had been killed on his watch and he would have to take some flack for that, but a person couldn't be everywhere at once. He continued on his rounds, his heartbeat slowly returning to its normal pace.