The lights were dimmed in the ICU waiting room, reflecting the lateness of the hour. Not that the help was needed. Chris couldn't imagine that anyone who had ever spent time trapped within those walls had ever been unaware of the each passing second, of had ever missed a single tick of the clock. He didn't have to be coached to know it was well after midnight. To know that Ezra had managed to hold on for another day, despite what the doctors had told them.

Your friend was brought in here more dead than alive. The fact he survived this at all is somewhat of a miracle in itself. I wish we could be more optimistic, but there was significant damage, only augmented by the delay in treatment. His lungs were damaged by both the bullet and the subsequent edema. We've done what we can to make him comfortable. If he has any family, you might want to notify them as soon as possible.

That had been almost 48 hours ago, and Ezra was doing what he did best – defying the odds. Sure, he was still in a coma, with no sign of movement or reaction to anything or anyone. And Chris knew that if the machines that surrounded the bed were turned off, Ezra wouldn't last more than a couple of minutes. But that's what they were there for. To keep him going until he had the strength to rejoin them. Some people no doubt thought of the ticking of that clock as being yet another moment their family, their friend was away from them. Chris was tying to see it as Ezra moving another second towards coming back.

The soft electronically triggered swish of the doors let him know he wasn't alone. Given the door that had opened, in had to be Josiah coming back from his time at Ezra's side. Fifteen minutes, once an hour. That was the restriction. They hadn't succeeded in convincing anyone that being there with him full time was necessary, and not just for the patient. Why were people so bogged down in rules that the couldn't see the bigger picture? Why didn't they understand Ezra needed to know he wasn't alone? He'd been left that way to often in his life, and this was not a time for it to happen again.

"Chris? You with me?" Josiah's worried voice finally broke through to him.

"Sorry Josiah. Just lost in the moment – again. I'm guessing there is no change?"

The sadness radiated from the big man. "I keep thinking he's reacting to what I'm saying. Thinking I feel him squeeze my hand. Gives me a moment of hope before I realize it's what I want to see, not what's really there."

"You're not switching over to the other side, are you?"

"What? And give up on Ezra? Do I look that foolish? No, I'm just tired. Guess we all are."

Chris couldn't argue that. When one of the team wasn't sitting in the waiting room, it was because they were back at the office, or following some other lead in what was proving to be a futile effort to find the mastermind behind this nightmare. JD had to be pried from his chair to get him away from the computer. He'd developed three programs to try to trace the transmissions from the bank, and all had failed. The dejection in his voice when he finally admitted to his failure had been heartbreaking. "If I'd been able to do it while the signal was live, it might have worked, but there is just no way to find the path. I'm sorry Chris. Guess I'm pretty useless." Not surprisingly, Buck had been the one to lay into him over that.

"Yeah – useless. It's not like you're the one who figured out there was a robbery happening, or figured what Ezra was trying to tell us, or how to use the earbuds to distract the bastards. You've been no help with any of this."

"It isn't enough."

"Are you doing the best you can?"

"Of course."

"Then shut up kid."

It was only after that scene that JD had been ready to come to sit by Ezra's side.

The others had been every bit as focused, driving themselves to the point of exhaustion. Chris tried to reprimand them over the issue but given the fact he had used up all the clean clothing he had stashed in the office, he really didn't have a leg to stand on.

"You get Nathan to go home?"

Josiah shook his head. "No, but Rain did. She threatened to leave him if he didn't get at least 6 hours sleep."

"Somehow, I doubt she meant it."

"Doesn't matter, as long as it worked. Wish she could come up with a threat for you."

"I'd say that was a case of pot and kettle time, wouldn't you?"

The answer came from the other door as Vin spoke arrived. "Difference is, Josiah's at least been staying put here, getting some rest in between the time he gets to spend in the room. You've been running around since this started."

"And you haven't?"

Vin grinned. "We weren't talking about me. Look, both of you go home. Get some clean clothes and at least stretch out on your own beds for a bit. I'll do the same after a couple of hours here." He could see the argument coming, and decided it was time to play dirty. "Otherwise, the first thing I am going to tell Ezra when he wakes up is how much time you've been spending here, wearing yourselves down. You really want him pissed off at you over that? You know how whiny he gets."

"The man can complain like no one else when the circumstances come together." Chris offered his own weak grin in response. Ezra hated to be fussed over, unless it was on his terms. For something minor, like not being able to sleep in, he could raise the complaints to an art form. But show him some concern over something real, something like life or death, he'd fight your attentions with his final breath.

In a far more subdued tone, Vin made the promise that he knew would let Chris leave. "I'll stay with him Chris. He won't be on his own if he needs one of us with him." It was the closest any of them had come to saying it aloud – they weren't going to let Ezra die alone.

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

The red light of the answering machine looked somehow angry when Chris walked into the den at the ranch. As if it was pissed off at being ignored. "Right, the machine is mad. Larabee, you do need some sleep." He muttered to himself as he walked toward the desk. "Next thing you'll be talking to yourself – shit, never mind." He tossed the mail down on the desk and switched on the small lamp before reaching over to listen to what he was sure would be telemarketers or hang-ups. The only people he wanted to talk to all knew where to find him for the last couple of days.

He deleted the first call by the second sentence. If he wanted his roof fixed, he'd climb up there and do it himself. The second speaker asked for Lowery, so that call was wiped out just as fast. His hand hovered over the delete button to wipe out the last message and froze in place as he started listening.

"Good Evening Mr. Larabee. I wonder if you recognize my voice. It has been several months since we last spoke, and conditions at the time were less than ideal." Instinct had Chris ready to call JD to run a trace on the call before he remembered this was a message, left over a day ago according to the time stamp. "I had hoped to speak with you directly, but knowing that you would try to locate me, I thought it best to contact you in a slightly less direct manner. The first point to address is to offer a bit of help identifying the man so tragically killed in the city jail. You won't find him in your data base, although he should have been there. My computer experts are almost as good as your Mr. Dunne is, and as such were able to delete John – yes, that really is his first name – Hammond from the system. If you want to check archives, you might try Sacramento. He served time at Folsom and I'm sure some paper files still exist there."

Chris paused the playback, needing to take a moment to collect himself. He reached out for the phone but stopped. There might be no problem if he placed a call, but on the other hand, JD might be able to track this better if nothing was on the line since. Might be a stupid thought, but it wasn't his area of expertise, and he wasn't going to take any chances. He pulled out his cell, hesitating for a moment. There was a call he should make first, but 2 am wasn't a great time for it. He grimaced slightly as he pressed the appropriate icon and listened to several rings before getting a gravelly "What?" shouted in his ear.

"Sorry Judge. It's Chris."

"Damn it. Ezra?"

"No. I need a warrant to trace a call that came in on my home phone."

"And you need this because…?"

"I know who the mastermind is. He called to gloat."

There were about 10 seconds of silence as the judge roused himself enough to form a coherent thought.

"Say that again."

"It's Barrington. And before you ask, yes, I'm sure. I haven't heard that voice since he tried to blow Ezra up, but I can promise you I will never forget it."

It has been months since that particular nightmare, but Chris didn't need to tax his memory to clearly picture Ezra bound to a chair in the utilities room at ATF headquarters, surrounded by what he believed to be explosives and holding on with his last bit of strength to a primed hand-grenade. When the inevitable happened, the two men had been able to avoid the worst of blast, but Ezra has spent three days in the hospital, and several weeks on desk duty as he recovered from the injuries. He brushed off any talk of emotional trauma from the affair, but Chris had noted a touch more claustrophobia in the man than there had been before.

Aside from the obvious, the worst part of the whole thing had been the fact that Barrington had been not just in the building during the ordeal, but was actually in the room, posing as a bomb tech. It was a psychopath's need for attention that let him put himself into the middle of the action, according to Josiah. Chris actually preferred Buck's explanation; the man was an evil, sadistic, son of a bitch who got off on making other people suffer. Unfortunately, he was also, as it turned out, brilliant, and had been able to avoid detection since that case. They hadn't stopped looking, vowing to make sure he paid for what he'd put them through. Now, it looked like he had shown up where least expected.

Travis was silent again as he mulled over his options. "OK, I know who to call to make things official, but get Dunne on this now. It's your phone, you can initiate the actions. And if I know Dunne, he won't be needing any official access to find out what he needs, but I'll have it for you anyway."

"Thanks Oren."

"Don't thank me, just get the bastard. All those building repairs screwed up our fiscal year end figures."

Chris chuckled softly. "Yeah, that's why we all want to see him locked up." He hung up and immediately called JD. The fact Buck answered wasn't all that surprising.

"Kid's asleep Chris. Passed out in front of his laptop. Do I need to wake him?"

"Yes, but not for the reason that has you holding your breath. I need him to track a call that was made to by home number for the location. Answering machine says the call came through at 6:52 last night, although the timing might be off a few minutes."

"I take it you know who called." He could hear Buck moving as he spoke.

"Barrington. He's behind this."

Waking JD was no longer an issue. The loud string of creative expletives that exploded from Buck undoubtedly had roused several neighbours from sound sleeps as well. Somewhere mixed into the tirade was the promise they'd have the information "faster than shit through a goose". With that questionable reassurance, Chris disconnected the call and went back to his machine. The light continued to blink signally the message was on hold. He was torn between the desire to hear it out and the urge to pull out his gun and blast the device to pieces. While the second option would have been more satisfying, the first was imminently more logical. With no enthusiasm for the deed, he released the hold.

"My other motivation for calling was to reassure you that I never in a million scenarios envisioned Mr. Standish ending up in the middle of all of this. Had I even considered the possibility the ATF could end up involved in a bank robbery, I assure you I would have bypassed Denver for a safer location. Incurring your wrath once was risky enough, but unavoidable during our first encounter. Angering you and your team a second time borders on suicidal, and that is not my way of doing business. I do hope Mr. Standish survives this incident. His tenacity during our first dealings showed me that he is a fighter and I trust that inclination will serve him well in the endeavour.

Lastly, I feel I should advise you to spare yourself the time and energy in tracking this call. It is being routed through countless servers and relays. As I said, my technicians are almost up to Mr. Dunne's standards. And, even if you do break through the assorted barriers, I am outside of your reach, in a location that has no extradition agreement with the US. So, unless you plan on turning vigilante, a character trait which may tempt you, but to which I don't imagine you will stoop, I am safe where I am. I sincerely hope, for both our sakes, this is the last time I will need to be in contact with you. Good night Mr. Larabee."

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

tbc