There wasn't any aspirin in what was left of his medicine cabinet to address the pain that was threatening to make his head explode. Not that it mattered: he doubted there was enough aspirin in the city for that matter. Strange, as hangovers were uncommon for him. It wasn't that he didn't drink, often to excess, but the lingering effects rarely seemed to take hold the way they were today. Perhaps the discomfort in his hand was factoring in. Or, more likely, the stress of the last few days, highlighted by the fiasco of the morning.

Sighing none to quietly, he left the bathroom, wastebasket in hand. Having unceremoniously chased the others away, he was left to clean it himself. Which was only fair. He'd managed to collect it all with only one minor additional cut in the process. Testament to how steady his hands could be when he truly put the required effort into it. And this morning, that was a considerable effort. He set the bin down on the kitchen floor to be dealt with later. First, coffee was needed. He wasn't totally surprised to see the full pot waiting for him. What did catch his eye were the three small cellophane packages of extra strength aspirin next to it. From Nathan's first aid kit.

"I don't need your pity or charity." Ezra didn't feel the least bit foolish talking to himself. He'd done so for most of his life, generally still losing most arguments. He picked up the tablets, ready to toss them away, then paused. It had been a simple gesture, leaving these behind. No lecture came with them. No advice or admonishments. Just something to help him get through the next few hours. "It would be both rude and wasteful to reject the act." Tearing a pack open, he swallowed them dry. A moment later, he opened the second one, this time reaching for water to wash them down. He glanced around the kitchen for a moment before his stomach assured him it would not be receptive to any form of breakfast, so he abandoned the thought and headed to the living room.

The blanket had been folded loosely and draped over the pillow. Other than that, there was no sign of the company from the night before. He didn't know when they had tidied but he was relieved to see the job done. He was in no shape to deal with it and had no desire to stare at the reminders of his experience.

"What in the name of all that is holy were they thinking?" He leaned back, carefully resting his still throbbing head against the sofa back. He debated briefly about opening the last pack of pills, but as that would require him to get up again he decided it was wise to give the first batch a bit of time to kick in.

Chris' comment, and his own vague memory, confirmed to him that Vin had been the one to see he got home. Why he didn't just deposit him into a cab and call it a day was a question he couldn't answer. Lord knows, even that was more than he would have expected. The perplexing part in all of this was that they had even gone looking for him. It was the only explanation. But why? Most likely Travis had sent them on the mission. Find the reprobate and get him off the streets before he manages to further embarrass the Agency. Yes, that made sense. Certainly more sense than to think there was any more personal motivation in the actions. Why would they show concern in the afternoon, then spend the evening discussing what a hinderance he was to the team?

He wished he could recall more of the details, but that part of his blackout was still in hiding. He closed his eyes, trying to bring more of the evening out of the fog. He thought he could picture JD wearing that ridiculous bowler hat of his, but that was impossible. Must have been mixing up images in his mind. Something had been said about gold. Likely disparaging his dental affectation. He had long suspected they thought the gold tooth was too flashy to be respectable. Too bad – he liked it. Gave him a distinctive flare.

The one thing he was certain of, they all agreed he didn't fit in with their little band of brothers. And he suspected they were right. More than suspected. Mother had hit the nail squarely on the head in her succinct and brutal missive. He was out of his league. This noble experiment, a venture into respectability, was decidedly not the appropriate choice for a Standish.

Undoubtedly that was going to be the proclamation delivered this evening. Chris, and the others, would make it clear that despite the fact his resignation had, apparently, been rejected, his presence on the team was no longer wanted. Why they couldn't have said that before leaving this morning puzzle him, but perhaps they wanted to be sure he was sober enough to understand the message.

He leaned forward in his seat, reaching for the bottle of water in the hopes it would wash away the unexpected lump in his throat. It was mindboggling to him that the notion he was going to be dismissed from the assemblage bothered him as much as it did. It certainly wasn't the first time he was going to be shown the door, and told to make sure it didn't hit him on the way out.

So, why was this different? Why did it bother him this time around, when clearly they didn't feel the same?

The only thing that made any kind of sense, and it was a stretch to make that claim, was that he knew this had basically been his last chance. He had been damned lucky to be taken on by anyone after the FBI debacle, and he had come so close to blowing it on the very first job that it was nothing short of a miracle he'd been given another chance. And even though he had done nothing to warrant the questioning on this case, it looked like once again that wasn't going to matter. He was effectively done. Not just at the ATF, but in law enforcement. If he did stay at the ATF he would be relegated to some backroom role, far away from anything that held any interest for him. A career as a paper pusher was hardly a desirable future. Outside the Agency, maybe some remote outpost in Alaska, or a small town in the middle of nowhere might give him a chance, but even that was a longshot. And he knew he would never survive the environment. He lived for the challenge. The risk, the gambles, the adrenaline rush. It was what got him out of bed each morning, and much earlier than any of the others suspected. That was over now. Done with because – well, he really couldn't say why. Because, he supposed, he had been too afraid to make the commitment he needed to. Too certain that he was fated to not get that chance to fit into the world where he knew he belonged.

"Screw them." He knew the team would be surprised to hear that. They would be expecting something with more panache. More style and elegance. Well, too bad. He simply didn't have the energy to make even that effort, let alone the drive out to the ranch. He'd only been there a couple of times, spending far less time there than the rest of the men did. True, he'd been invited, but in his heart he knew it was just a courtesy being extended. They didn't want him there any more than they wanted him on the team. Up to now, they'd simply been too decent and civilized to say it to his face. Behind his back was assuredly another story.

"Screw them all." He wasn't going to give them that chance. Larabee might be able to order him around on the job, but this was not office hours. He didn't have to go out there, and wasn't about to. Granted, he had nothing better to do on Christmas Eve, but that didn't change his plan. They would not have the satisfaction of telling him where to go. He would make that call, just as he had done with those jackasses yesterday. Who were they to refuse his resignation anyway? And what gave Larabee, Tanner and the rest the right to kick him off the team? He'd quit first. At least quit the team. He could email Travis right now and demand a transfer, or tender a formal resignation that they would have to accept.

Now that was a plan worthy of a Standish. When confronted with obstacles that one couldn't overtake, turn tail and run. It was a time honoured family trait, and one he had been foolish to try to overcome. He leaned back, grinning. Yes, just as soon as this headache faded a bit more, he would get off his ass and send that email. Then head out an tell his so called teammates exactly what he thought of them.

The grin faded. It was a plan. A perfectly good plan. So why did it feel so wrong?

7-7-7-7-7-7-7

"So, entertain me while we clean up some here. Tell me why you are so sure he's gonna show up?"

Chris tossed a towel at Vin, pointing at the stack of dishes drying on the sink.

"Because he needs to. He may not even know why himself, but he knows he needs to be a part of this team."

"Got a strange way of showing that."

Vin just shrugged. The two men worked away in silence for a couple of minutes. Chris hadn't been planning on hosting any kind of gathering tonight, and the impromptu dinner plan meant the rest of the team was running around trying to get what was needed. Josiah was off getting food. The stores were likely going to be crazed with last minute shoppers, and he was the only one with patience to deal with that. Well, Nathan could have done it, but he was too busy trying to explain to his fiancé why he wouldn't be spending Christmas Eve with her. He would have preferred the crowds. Buck and JD had been put in charge of beer and snacks, which was the best way Chris knew to ensure they wouldn't run short on either. There would probably be enough left over for New Year's eve and all of the football the next day.

He had deliberately kept Vin at the ranch. It was obvious he'd seen something in Ezra to inspire the confidence he was expressing, and Chris had a feeling he'd be more willing to talk without an audience. He knew the quiet man well enough to know he was going to have to give him time to be ready to speak, but he wasn't going to give him too much more.

In return, Vin understood exactly why he was there. It didn't take a genius to know that Chris wanted answers, and he wasn't averse to sharing them. He just wasn't sure if he had figured out how to put it into words.

"The thing about Ezra," he finally began, "is that he doesn't really understand who he is. He's got no confidence on that score."

That earned a look of disbelief. "Of all the things Ezra Standish may be lacking, confidence doesn't make the list."

"Oh sure, he's cocky, and arrogant and any one of a dozen other words we've used in the last few months to describe him. Or curse him out. But that's a show Chris. That's on the surface."

"Hell of a good show he's putting on."

Vin nodded. "It's what makes him so good at the job. He's a chameleon. Changes himself to be whatever is needed, and in doing so, keeps anything real buried so far down nobody can see it. Not even him."

He'd never thought of the undercover job in those terms, but had to admit Vin was right. Going into things the way Ezra did on a regular basis had to mess with his sense of who he was. And thinking on the letter from Maude, he had to concede that Vin might well have a point. If that was an example of the family support he got, it was a sad state.

Putting down the towel, Vin turned his full attention to Chris. This next part could get awkward. "Chris, you're going to need to pack away that temper of yours for the night."

Denying its existent was foolish. "You think I'm going to be the problem here?" Chris really didn't know why he asked. He was expecting the same thing himself. Assuming Ezra showed up, and he was far less sure of that fact than Vin seemed to be, he was going to be there because he'd been fundamentally ordered and not out of any sense of holiday cheer. A confrontation was inevitable.

"No, I think Ezra is the going to be the problem. You are just going to be the match to his fuse. And I guarantee you, he will be baiting you."

Chris pushed himself away from the counter he'd been resting against, folding his arms in front of him. Fight mode engaged. "If he really wants to leave, I'm not about to stand in his way. Too dangerous, for everyone."

"Temper kicking up already?" Vin smile slightly to try to lessen the tension a notch. "Truth here is Chris, I don't believe he wants to leave. He wants – makes that needs – to stay. To finally fit in. But he doesn't think he can, or ever will."

It took a moment, but the lightbulb finally went on for Chris. "Speaking from experience, aren't you? Foster homes?"

There was a long minute of silence. Vin gazed out the window over the back pastures as he began to speak softly. "When you learn to think you aren't going to be welcomed in anywhere, really welcomed in, you start figuring out ways to make it hurt less when you leave. You build up the walls. The barriers that you hope will protect you a bit. Then you start looking for the small victories. Getting the upper hand on things, winning a fight. Biggest one of all is to walk away before they kick you out."

"Like I said Vin, he can walk away anytime."

Turning back, Chris could see the sad smile on Vin's face, and the expression that clearly said 'you don't get it'.

"That's the irony in all of this Chris. He can't. Something inside is too desperately seeking the approval to allow him to quit. But the more he wants to stay, the more he pushes to leave. He figures it is coming anyway and he is going to do what it takes to make sure it doesn't destroy him when it happens. That means pushing you, all of us, into making the call for him. Trust me, the process is tearing him apart, and it will break him eventually."

"So, how come you changed?"

That was an easy answer and face softened with fondness as he remembered. "The right foster mom - Nettie. She saw through the act the moment I started acting up. I knew hers was the place for me, and she found a way to let me know she was on board with that. Took some time, and even once I accepted it, there were moments that pushed that trust, on both sides. But it was the best thing that ever happened to me. At least, right up to the time I fell in with this bunch of lunatics."

"So now you figure it's your turn to play that role."

"Can't do it alone. If we are going to break through all those years of walls and convince him that he belongs here, and we want him, everybody has to be on board with this."

"Kind of an intervention?" They both turned, surprised by Josiah's comment. Both had been to focused on the discussion to hear Josiah's battered vehicle approach. "We need to talk to everyone before our boy gets here in that case."

Despite the fact he agreed with Vin's analysis, Chris still wasn't convinced Ezra was going to show. "Don't you mean if he gets here?"

"No – Vin has got this right. I didn't hear everything, but what he just said so obvious now I'm embarrassed I never saw it. Ezra needs to be convinced this is his home now, and we have to do it soon, or we will lose him."

M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7-M7

tbc