A/N- As always, none of the characters belong to me, I'm just playing in the sandbox with them. Thanks to MOG for creating the ATF AU. Also, HUGE thanks to Retirw, she's been fantastic in getting me back on track when I get stuck! Another thanks to Pookwana for some awesome plot bunnies to try out! This is a slight crossover with CSI: Miami and The Sentinel, but you don't really need to have any prior knowledge to read this; it focuses on the Magnificent Seven characters. My apologies for any errors in airport security; I've never actually had to check a fire arm before, so I have NO idea how it works. THIS IS NOT A DEATHFIC!!! I PROMISE!! Anything you recognize doesn't belong to me.
Two Months Ago
Denver, Colorado
January 18th
"NO!" Vin screamed desperately as the backlash from the explosion hit his hiding place outside the warehouse. Everything was drowned out in the god awful roar emanating from the building where his entire team had been just moments before. Sliding down from the roof so fast he was in freefall, Vin was out of the safety harness before he hit the ground.
Throwing aside his rifle, he tore over to the building as flames shot out of the windows. God, I can't lose Chris! No! An inhuman cry erupted from his throat as hands grabbed at him, pulling him back from the deadly heat.
Ryan Kelly, the leader of Team Eight, shouted for help as he and his men attempted to subdue Tanner.
"Let go!" Vin shouted, "I has ta get in there! Has ta get 'em out!" Fists and elbows flew as Vin madly tried to escape their protection.
Even with four more agents from Team Three joining in, they weren't a match for Vin's desperate struggle. "Someone has to knock him out!" The leader of Team 3 cried breathlessly. Finally, a full four minutes later, Kelly landed a swift right hook to Vin's jaw and he was laid out flat. Panting, the men tried to regain their breath as they stared in unmasked pity at Vin. His whole team had been right in the heart of that explosion. Not even the Magnificent Seven could have survived that.
"I'll stay with him," Kelly said softly. "When he wakes up, he isn't going to want an audience."
The others nodded quietly. "We'll go help secure the area."
The leader of Team Three lingered behind for a moment. "God, Kelly. Look at him; he can't be more than twenty two years old…"
The silence was deafening and neither leader moved for a long time.
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Smoke and burned flesh. The smell permeated his mind and almost made him gag, but Vin couldn't figure out why he smelled it, he wasn't…there anymore… Oh God, the explosion! "Chris!" He screamed, rolling to his feet. Unfortunately, his stomach protested and he gasped and heaved, waiting for the shaking to stop before trying that again. His anguished eyes found the remnants of the building where the bust had gone down, smoke still curling up from the mounds of ashes. Nothing was left.
"Oh God…" The absolute agony in Vin's voice shook Kelly. There was no hope, no life, just an unbearable emptiness, completely at odds with the sharpshooter's usual attitude. Gently, Kelly laid a hand on Vin's shoulder in a meager attempt at comfort. His heart broke for Vin when the man violently flinched away, unspeaking.
"Is there someone I can call for you?" It was a meaningless gesture and Kelly knew it. The other half of Vin's soul had died in that fire. Kelly had never truly understood what dead man walking had meant until now.
Vin didn't take his eyes off the space where the building had once stood, just slid to the ground, sitting Indian style in the rubble, unblinking and unmoving. "Jist leave me alone," Vin's hoarse whisper almost went unheard. Bowing his head in grief, Kelly moved back to his men. The ATF had lost seven good agents today, not just the six men that had died in the explosion.
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Denver Morgue
January 20th, 2003
The lean sharpshooter stood stiffly at parade rest in front of the technician as he identified the charred guns and badges on the table. Vin knew he looked terrifying from the way everybody was staring at him, yet, for some reason, he didn't care. Long ago, in black ops, he'd taught himself how to numb his body from pain, both physical and emotional, but he'd never had to distance himself this much to block anything out.
Meticulously, Vin formed iron-clad barriers around his emotions. Emotions were weak. Emotions left you vulnerable, and right now, emotions were something to avoid at all costs. He had to leave. Had to go somewhere where nothing would remind him of his fallen brothers… He would never be able to forget or find another family like the one he had just lost, but he had to leave. Chris and the others had kept him from running, but now that they were gone, there was nothing left.
Vin stalked out of the morgue, his stony countenance preventing even Travis from following.
Once he made the decision, the act itself was easier than he remembered. Fingers flew over his cell pone, dialing a sequence memorized years ago.
"Eagle." The voice was the same as always; the Captain didn't even seem surprised that he'd called this particular number after all this time. Vin snorted coldly in his head, the Captain always knew everything.
"Capt'n." No greetings were necessary. This number wasn't for pleasantries.
Knowing the purpose of this call, the Captain spoke, "Any particular requests?"
That's one thing I'se always liked 'bout the Capt'n. Vin thought, oddly disconnected from the situation. He's straight forward, no false condolences 'bout men he never knew. Vin was perfectly aware the Captain cared about him and would do everything he could for him, but he knew that right now, Vin didn't want to be comforted. That was for later, when he could afford to let down his guard. Shaking off the thoughts, Vin spoke to the Captain. "I'se wantin' ta keep mah own name. Jist don't want ta be found by anyone here. Don't rightly care where's ya put me, but I don't want no re'minders of mah team."
"It'll be ready in three hours, Falcon. You know what to do." Sadly enough, he did. Every one in Black Ops had disappeared enough times to know the drill.
Vin absentmindedly hung up his cell phone as the shrill dial tone permeated his thoughts. It was easier than he'd thought it would be to leave everything behind. In three hours, he'd be at the airport boarding a plane to his new life. He wondered where the Captain would send him. Somewhere that didn't look a thing like Denver …
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Miami Dade Police Station
April 13th, 2003
Quietly finishing up a report on a recent arrest, Horatio was surprised by a knock on the entrance of the office area. He, Calleigh, and Eric looked up at the interruption. Standing in the door, a man dressed in fatigue pants and a black T-shirt stood, resting against the doorframe. Easily six feet tall, the man had cold, ice-blue eyes, and the lack of identification, dog tags or other wise, screamed black ops.
"I'm looking for Vin Tanner." His voice was soft and carefully emotionless.
Immediately, Horatio's hackles went up. This couldn't be good. "What do you want with him?"
The frigid eyes slowly turned to rest on him as Horatio noticed what made the eyes so intense. It wasn't how the eyes blocked any emotion, but there actually wasn't any emotion. Suppressing shivers, Horatio refused to back down as the man stared at him. There's no way in hell I'm telling him where Vin is. That boy doesn't need the military screwing around with him on top of whatever happened before we met him.
"What I want with Tanner is none of your concern, Lieutenant Caine."
Before Horatio could reply, the door of the outer office opened and Vin stepped through. Suddenly, his eyes widened as he caught sight of the imposing visitor.
"Capt'n Ellison?" The team stared in astonishment as Vin smiled at the intruder. Tanner didn't smile. He just…didn't.
"You look like shit, Runt."
"Coming from you, that might be a compliment." Vin didn't take any offense at the unusual greeting and walked over to join the group.
The Captain studied him with a narrowed eye. "Runt, how much do you weigh now?"
Tanner ducked his head and mumbled something that Horatio couldn't quite make out. But apparently, the Captain could.
"Damn it, Tanner! You're over twenty pounds underweight."
Twenty pounds! Shit, I knew he was skinny, but not that skinny.
Ellison took a small bottle out of his pocket and handed it to Vin. "Drink."
Vin looked at the milky white substance in disgust. "What in hell is this?"
"It's pure lipids. Doc made you a special batch when I called. We figured you wouldn't take it the normal way unless I sat on you, and I really didn't want to make that bad of a first impression to your team."
Vin snorted. "I'se sure as hell not puttin' in no damn I.V, and I ain't drinkin' that crap, neither. I already told yah, I'se fine!"
The captain glared at Tanner and Horatio, Calleigh, and Eric gulped and took a step back. Tanner didn't even seem affected by it in the least. "Said I ain't drinkin' this crap."
"Falcon," the voice was deadly quiet. "You will drink that."
Vin looked square at the Captain and saw that he was deadly serious. Locking eyes with Ellison, he drained the bottle and threw it over his shoulder and into the trash.
"Happy?" he asked sarcastically.
"Actually, yes. Have you looked at yourself lately, Slick?" The voice was gentle, surprising the team. "Come on, I don't think your lieutenant would mind me taking you to an early lunch."
Horatio cut in. "You're right, I wouldn't. Go to lunch Tanner. I don't want to see your face for at least two hours."
Horatio thoughtfully watched them go, noting how Ellison carefully refrained from touching Vin, not coming anywhere near his personal space. He knows what it's like, Horatio thought as realization of what must have happened to Tanner before he came here flooded him. He lost his team. That's why he said his name was Nathan. They're dead. He paused for a moment. Tanner's a good man, but I still pity the fool that killed his friends. There's no way he's still alive.
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Denver, Colorado
Federal Building
The door to the offices of ATF Team Seven crashed open and a very much alive Chris Larabee strode into the room.The desks had been moved into a giant circle, and coffee cups and computer printouts littered all the available surfaces. JD's desk was covered in computer equipment specialized for hacking. Between Chris and Buck, half of the armed forces were on the lookout for Vin. Markers had been called in and feelers had been put out, yet there was still no information.
JD looked up at Chris. "There's no way Vin did this. It's like he doesn't even exist anymore! Whoever's hiding Vin is good; their firewalls are absolutely impenetrable. They're harder to crack than the Pentagon! Umm... Not that I would know anything about that. . ."
Managing to crack a smile at JD's hurried cover-up, Josiah's voice rumbled, "God will lead us to him, brothers. He's not cruel enough to let Vin continue believing we're dead."
At the reminder of the hell Vin must be in, all six of them snarled deep in their throats. Swiss cheese had been the nicest phrase to describe their captor once they killed him. Travis had scolded them for their . . . enthusiasm.
As fate would have it, two minutes before the explosion, the leader of a rival drug cartel had smuggled them out of the warehouse and attempted to drug them into telling him what the ATF knew about his business. Unfortunately for him, it turns out his resident mad scientist was naïve and believed Team Seven when they said that they were to scared to escape, and no, thank you, but those bonds weren't necessary.
After one look at Team Seven's faces, Travis had gulped and tried to calm them down before breaking the news, but they weren't having any of it. Finally, he had been forced to tell them that as soon as Vin had identified his team's charred badges and weapons, the quiet sharpshooter had disappeared.