PART 11

Aurthor's note: Thanks to a jump drive and a second laptop I was able to get my stories off the infected machine and can post the final two parts. I had wanted to pimp two things but can only remember one and that is Little Black Rook's vid on youtube "Ezra Standish - Atlanta to Denver".

Thank you to everyone who has left feedback and who is following this little tale. Sorry it couldn't be longer, and I know the fellas don't get the action they deserve but apparently my muse wanted JD to shine.

...

Ezra sat on the cold cement floor, his back against the wall. He had been staring at the door but its movement caught him by surprise. Aaron stood in the doorway. Ezra sized up, just for an instant, his chances of taking the man down. Just as quickly, he realized the stupidity of that thought. With his left hand painfully useless and the real possibility of JD being used against him if he attempted anything, Ezra realized he would have to trust in whatever idea his partner had formulated earlier.

Aaron stared at him from the doorway. "Let's go."

Ezra could not prevent a nervous smile from surfacing. "Normally, that wouldn't be an issue, but I confess, I'm not feelin' all that well. I'm not sure that standin' would-"

Aaron's hand moved to his pistol. It was more than enough impetus for Ezra. So much for a stall. He pushed himself to his feet and moved to the door. Once outside his cell, his eyes darted around the hangar, judging the distance to the outside door, toward the office to try to get a glimpse of JD, scanning every surface for a potential weapon.

A deep rumble made him shake his head in an attempt to clear the phantom noise. But when it did not fade he realized it had come from outside. Aaron reacted by grabbing Ezra's left forearm and jerking him into position like a shield. The southerner gasped and bit down on his lower lip in a futile attempt to channel the pain radiating up his arm. He was vaguely aware of something hard pressed against his spine. Between the grip and the gun at his back, it was clear that his guard was not going to tolerate resistance.

Aaron's fingers tightened around Ezra's wrist, causing him to swallow down a wave of nausea. What rose to the surface, however, was a strength that kept him on his feet. Then came the undeniable, overly-loud voice of Buck Wilmington and Ezra had only one thought.

We are walkin' out of this.

…

The beauty of communications employee uniforms was the number of things you could secure to a workbelt without raising suspicion. Buck itched to wrap his hand around the small black metal cylinder in the pouch at his right hip. He focused instead on the door before him. With a quick nod to Rafe, who hung off to his right, Buck shouted a greeting.

"Hello? Anybody home?"

He knocked solidly on the door and tensed when it pushed open from the inside, revealing a tall muscular man, with two developing black eyes, who filled the doorway. Buck thanked the heavens that the huge smile he revealed was not out of place; just as long as the bodyguard didn't learn it was because of his bruises.

"Howdy!" His volume was half again as loud as normal. "Sorry to bother you, sir. We're from Qwest Communications. We've had service interruptions throughout this sector and line traces are showing the stoppages are related to a recent severe power spike at this address."

He shifted in an attempt to see inside without seeming like that was what he was doing. His eyes locked with Ezra's just for an instant. Despite the southerner looking like the only thing keeping him standing was pure will, there was an unwavering intensity in his gaze. Buck refreshed his over-the-top customer service smile.

"We won't interrupt or nothin'. We don't need to come in."

Hand to pouch.

"Just have to check the exterior connectors and run a stun-out." His gaze flitted to Ezra just long enough to see that his comment had been heard.

Can out.

He turned and called to his partner. "Hey Rafe!"

Pull pin.

"STUN OUT!"

Throw!

…

Ezra knew what was coming. He also knew that Buck had no clue there was a gun at the southerner's back. The only idea that came to him was going down without a fight. Buck shouted and Ezra made himself a dead weight, dropping to the left and hoping that the flash-bang would not cause Aaron to pull the trigger before Ezra was clear. He could not hold back the pain-induced yell as his momentum tugged his forearm from Aaron's grip.

…

The stun grenade shot through the gap over the guard's head as Buck slammed the door shut. Even with his hearing buffeted by earplugs the loud 'POP' and slight elevation of atmospheric pressure hit him. He knew that inside, the victims' sensory overload and disorientation would only give the team five or six seconds, but that was all they needed.

Behind him, the truck had already released the cavalry. With weapon drawn, Buck yanked open the door. He felt Rafe's hand on his shoulder as they rushed in, keeping low and maintaining in-line formation. Multiple voices of the other agents echoed behind them.

"Federal Agents! Down on the ground! NOW! Everybody face down!"

They all knew the warehouse occupants most likely couldn't fully decipher the words thanks to ringing ears. But at least no one could say they had not announced themselves properly.

…

The instant JD heard Buck shout the warning words for the flash-bang he closed his eyes and whipped his head to the left, stabbing Vargas's hand with the cigarette clutched between his teeth. The hand on his shoulder retracted instantly but any verbal reaction was drowned out by a concussive, exploding BANG.

JD thought he heard a second one, much closer, but he had no time to process it. Blinding white light seemed to sear though his closed lids as he threw himself to the floor and scrambled away from where he thought Vargas was.

…

At the door, Buck was on Timothy while the man was still stumbling backwards. With a forward sweeping leg kick, he brought the guard to his knees before grabbing him with one hand by the back of the neck and driving him face first to the cement floor.

"Do not resist!" he yelled, planting a knee into the man's back. "Hands behind your head!"

Josiah, Ray, and Tyler were there a second later to take over. "Go!" Josiah instructed. "We got this one."

Buck sprinted toward the office that he had seen straight back from the door. To the right, Rafe and Marco already had the other bodyguard prone and in flexi-cuffs. Chris had dropped to one knee beside Ezra while visually sweeping the surroundings, pistol out. He shouted instructions to the agents pouring in behind him.

"Ground Three, secure the upstairs! Ground Four, those rooms!"

With three agents each on the bodyguards, they were hustled outside. Beside Chris, Ezra was curled on his side with Vin crouched at the southerner's back, one reassuring hand on his shoulder while the other patted him down for injuries. Already, calls were being announced by the sweep teams.

"This room, clear!" "Back hall, clear!"

Chris secured his pistol and turned his attention to Ezra, who was now on his back, blinking rapidly. Chris and Vin exchanged a look when they saw their friend's swollen finger, the makeshift splint, and blood splatter on his shirt and jaw. Chris gripped Ezra's shoulders and tried to get through to him. "Ezra?"

From the first room, an agent called to him. "Agent Larabee, you need to see this!"

"Damn it," he hissed. He looked at Vin. "Stay with him."

"Ain't movin'."

As Buck had left the first bodyguard to his teammates, he had seen in the office the legs of someone on their hands and knees. Vargas.

He rushed to the room with a single intention. His focus landed on JD, who was on the floor and halfway behind the desk, hands pressed to his head but in one piece. A pistol lay inches from Vargas's hand and Buck kicked it toward the back wall. In one fluid motion, he grabbed the other man's right forearm and folded it backwards, adding to what the flash-bang had done to disrupt Vargas's equilibrium. Buck slammed one tactical boot between his prisoner's shoulder blades, sending him to the cement.

"You come off that floor and I will put a bullet through your skull!"

Black-clad bodies rushed in behind him and Buck knew the other trucks had arrived. FBI agents swarmed on Vargas, locking the man's wrists with tight plastic bands and hauling him outside.

"Somebody bag that," Buck said, pointing to the handgun he had kicked away from Vargas. He had already secured his Glock in its holster and spun toward JD. Grabbing him under the arms, he slid him toward the opposite wall.

The assault on JD's eyes, ears, and balance forced from him a defense reaction. He struck out against the strong grip, driving an elbow backward. But when it connected with the distinct firmness of a tactical vest his demeanor shifted instantly. He twisted around, rubbing at his flash-blind eyes and blinking hard.

"Kid, it's me! It's Buck. Just relax!"

"Josiah?" he shouted, overcompensating to hear himself over the high-pitched whine in his ears. He wildly threw out a hand, catching the other man square in the mouth. The mustache told him everything he needed to know. "Buck!"

A sumo wrestler would have been put to shame by the strength of JD's hug. Laughter, bordering on fanatical, bounced off the walls. JD, however, suddenly drew back, a frantic look on his face.

"Ezra?" he yelled. "Where's Ez? You got him?"

"He's okay, kid, we got him."

"What?"

Buck wrapped his hands around his roommate's and folded the fingers into a thumbs-up sign. "He's good."

A weary smile spread across JD's face as Buck hauled him to his feet. The younger agent continued to blink hard.

"You should be getting the vision back about now," Buck said.

JD pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes and commented loudly, "I think I'm getting the vision back."

"We'll work on hearing next." Buck slung an arm over his friend's shoulder and guided him toward the door.

JD's legs suddenly went stiff and a blank expression took over his features. Buck followed his gaze and saw the laptop monitor—its screen shattered by a bullet hole through the center. Tightening his hold, Buck moved JD from the room.

The hangar was alive with activity. FBI laid out instructions, with DEA and ATF assisting with photographing, video-taping and cataloging.

JD's hearing began to clear as they neared Ezra. The other agent lay on the floor, knees bent and left arm clutched protectively to his chest. Josiah and Vin were crouched on either side, by Ezra's head. The tie was off his hand, exposing the fingers, and JD saw the piece of expensive fabric in Vin's grasp. It seemed like a modern moving sculpture that represented the two men—gray and plum striped silk ebbed and flowed around well-worn black leather fingerless gloves as Vin absently worked the fabric in his hands.

A tactical EMT kneeled beside Ezra. The southerner's eyes were closed and JD thought his skin looked a shade on the gray side.

"I do not need you right now," Ezra said to the EMT. "You need to just go away."

JD could see very faint tremors waving sporadically through his friend's frame. Out of the corner of his eye, JD saw Chris approaching but a voice from across the room called for his attention.

"Agent Larabee, we need you to-"

Without turning around, Chris cut them off with a raised hand. "It can wait."

Meanwhile, the EMT was trying again. "Agent Standish, you have a lot of swelling there-"

Chris stopped behind the medic, clamped a hand onto the back neckline of his tactical vest and lifted him to his feet. "You can wait too," he said, flatly. He didn't look at the other agent, just moved him to the side and pointed toward an empty space. "I recommend over there." The cold energy radiating off Chris was more than enough to clear the man away.

Chris took the EMT's place but did not say anything, just studied his agent for a minute. Ezra's breathing was soft and shallow and he still had not opened his eyes. JD made a move forward but Buck's grip on his shoulder tightened and when JD looked at him, Buck made a miniscule shake of his head. Chris sighed and it seemed purposefully loud.

"This isn't exactly the best place for you, Standish."

A weary laugh was the first reply. "I believe there is no doubt about that, Mr. Larabee."

"Well then, since we're in agreement, I think it's time you let the EMT get that hand taken care of. Otherwise, me and the boys and gonna have to strap you to a backboard and carry you out."

"No," JD stated.

Chris looked at his youngest agent, brows raised as if to say, "Oh, really?" Then he showed the barest hint of a smile and indicated with a small gesture for him to continue.

JD swallowed down apprehension and stepped away from Buck to match Chris's level on Ezra's other side. But rather than address the team leader, he looked at Ezra. "Because we are walking out of this."

Ezra's eyes opened, staring unfocused at the high ceiling.

JD repeated himself, enunciating each word. "We are walking out of this."

Finally, Ezra's gaze moved to the young man beside him. An expression akin to an apologetic smile flitted across his face and in a voice barely above a whisper he answered, "Yes we are."

JD looked over his shoulder at the EMT. "We'll be outside in a sec." Then, adjusting his position to support Ezra's weight, he helped him stand.

Their teammates hung back, seeming to understand that passing through the threshold of the hangar was something the two agents needed to do on their own. A thought struck Vin and he glanced around at the remaining men.

"Anybody call Nate yet?"

…

For once, JD didn't mind the mother hen. Despite making a beeline for the locker room on the sublevel of the federal building, Chris's team—sans Nathan and Ezra—were barraged with applause and back slaps from any agent who had heard about the arrests.

Buck's gregarious manner became even bigger than normal. With hands up, as if to adoring fans, he drew attention to himself. "Thank you. It's about time ya'll recognize the handsome specimen that has walked amongst you for so long."

JD used the distraction to slip along the fringes and escape into the cool emptiness of the locker room. Seconds later, the rest of the team filed in, savoring the quiet sterility as they started to strip off their tactical gear.

"Well, it's about time." Nathan sat on a bench amongst the lockers, arms crossed. "Vin called an hour and a half ago saying ya'll were on your way back. You get lost or somethin'?"

Chris eyed his agent. "There will be no jokes about getting lost." With a heavy exhale, he dropped onto the bench beside Nathan and began unlacing his boots when, from somewhere on his body, a phone rang. "Aw, c'mon." He patted his numerous pockets until finally a thigh pocket rewarded him.

"Larabee." He dropped his forearms onto his knees and rubbed his free hand through sweat-dirty hair. "Yes sir, we just got here…Uh, no, sir, in the locker room." He moved his hand to his face and massaged his eyes. "No, actually, I was just about to take one….Yes, sir, on my way…G'bye, sir."

He stuffed the phone into the first pocket his hand located and pushed himself to his feet. "I'm apparently already late for the debriefing." A multi-agency bust this big had more than a few directors, from all three involved branches, interested in the details. He looked at his team. "Hit the showers and then come on up." The higher-ups could ride roughshod over him but if they questioned the late arrival of his men they would be receiving a few choice words from the Larabee Dictionary of Back the Fuck Off.

As he headed for the door, he briefly laid a hand on JD's shoulder. "You told Ezra you'd get him at the ER?"

"Yeah. Said I'd drop him at his condo and bring the Jag back to our place and me and Buck would get it over to him tomorrow."

While at the hangar, Chris had had Josiah keeping an eye on Ezra and JD. The profiler reported back subdued demeanors and a, most likely subconscious, tendency to stay close to one other until Ezra had finally been taken to the hospital.

JD checked his watch. "It's gotta be about two hours since he got there…."

"It's the ER," Nathan reminded. "Chances are he won't even be seen till he's been there three. JD, I can take the Jag over there and-"

"No, I got it," JD blurted. He seemed to realize the response was a bit too pronounced and added more casually, "I told him I'd be there." Then he added, "Anyway, we all know how you drive."

Ezra once said he could not understand how such a God-fearing man could be such a demon behind the wheel. Nathan raised his hand. "Anybody who hasn't gotten pulled over for a traffic violation this year put your hand up. And yes, Josiah, the stop you got for driving too slow counts."

"You've just been lucky," Buck told Nathan.

"Being lucky ain't a bad thing, Buck," Chris said. "Just as long as you have it when it counts."

"Amen to that, brother," added Josiah.

Chris caught JD's eye. "Come on upstairs for a preliminary debrief, and then you can head out. I'll make sure they keep your part of it short. 'Sides, if Ezra thinks he's waited too long at the hospital he'll demand a chopper ride home too."

JD nodded and headed to his locker to grab the spare set of clothes he kept there. Across the row, Vin had stripped off his black t-shirt and was loosening his hair from its ponytail. "Dang, Chris, next time I take a hit on a case I wanna be airlifted out."

"Well, Tanner, if an FBI air support unit is already scrambled and one of their agents finagles it, you have my permission. Otherwise, you pay for it yourself." He shuffled toward the door. "Make it quick, ladies. The sooner you're up there, the sooner you can leave."

Nathan stood. "I'm right behind ya, Chris." He moved to leave but paused beside JD. The medic in him noted the tired eyes and the fatigued stance. The friend in him just saw a teammate in one piece. The two agents shared a long look and, despite JD being nearly four inches shorter, Nathan felt like he was met with an even gaze. He shook his head and a wide smile appeared. Dropping his hands onto JD's shoulders, he pulled his friend in for a quick hug, as if he couldn't believe the young man was really there.

"That was one for the books, JD."

JD smiled back, weary. "Thanks for being on the other end."

Nathan nodded. "Always will be." He headed to the door, calling over his shoulder as he left. "Supper, Saturday, my place. Otherwise, there's gonna be-" Four voices shouted with him, "Big, big trouble."

…

Chris negotiated a break in the debriefing immediately after JD detailed his side of the afternoon's events. The young agent had displayed virtually no emotion as he had filled in the details. His teammates, however, were more than aware of the unnaturalness of that. Team Seven debriefs often consisted of their leader repeatedly reining in adrenaline-high Buck and JD.

Chris caught up to JD as he stood at his desk, shutting down his computer. "Agent Desmon is recommending you for an FBI Directors Award for Excellence."

JD looked at Chris, surprised and flattered. "I didn't think Fibbies could be cool. Too bad Ez wasn't under Tyler back then…."

"If he had been, I probably wouldn't have been able to get him for this group."

"Wait," JD said suddenly. "Ezra too, right? The Directors Award? I couldn't have…I mean, if he hadn't—"

Chris tried to suppress a grin. "Him too."

"Good." JD nodded his approval but paused, distracted by a single piece of paper wadded up in the bottom of his recycle bin. Something drew him to it and he retrieved the paper and smoothed it out.

Chris could tell it was a cartoon sketch, clearly one of Nathan's, but from his angle the details were unclear. "What's that?"

JD laid it on his desk and smoothed it out more, careful not to tear it. He stayed focused on the drawing as he answered. "Maybe a reminder…it's easy to have luck if you've got skill backing you up."

A strong paternal feeling enveloped Chris and he rested a hand on the back of JD's neck. The youth's long hair was still damp from his shower, and the nape of his t-shirt had soaked up much of the moisture from the ends of his hair. Despite as mentally and physically spent as Chris felt, he could only imagine the fumes JD must be running on. "Damn proud of you, Agent Dunne." He nodded toward the elevators. "You best get going."

JD looked toward the number of suited individuals hanging around the large conference room. "I don't think I've ever seen even half of them."

"Yeah, you probably won't see them again till the next big bust."

"How much longer do you guys have to be here?"

"We'll get back in there in about five minutes. The rest of the team probably has another hour or two depending on how detailed the powers that be want to get."

Buck came from the breakroom with a steaming cup of coffee and made a beeline for his partner. "You got your wallet?"

"Huh?" JD's brow furrowed as he felt for, and found, a wallet in his back pocket. Then the truth hit him. "Oh." He pulled open the top drawer of his desk and retrieved his real wallet while tossing the billfold for JD Donovan unceremoniously in its place. The drawer banged loudly as he pushed it shut.

"You sure you're good to drive?" Buck asked. " 'Cause I can probably—" He stopped himself, remembering how his concern had come across just the previous day.

JD seemed to understand but didn't take offense. "I'm good, Buck. Really. Just tired." He brushed his bangs away from his face and hitched a thumb towards the elevators. "Well, I better head to the ER."

"Yeah," Buck agreed. He scooped up JD's gray plaid newspaper boy cap from the corner of his desk where the youth had tossed it earlier. With the hand not hampered by a mug, he slipped the hat on his partner's head so the brim faced backward. "Make sure you stop and get something to eat."

"I will."

"And no Red Bull. You should get some sleep as soon as you get home."

JD gave Chris a look but the team leader backed his old friend. "He's right, kid. I'd gladly be heading home to my bed right now if I could."

The younger agent shook his head and turned to leave. "You old guys…" he said as he retreated.

"And no Monster, either," Buck called out.

JD just raised one hand in the air and made a "chatty mouth" motion. Buck took a sip of coffee and gave Chris a sideways glance. "Old guys. What the hell does he know? We can still drink him under the table." He headed to the conference room, continuing to talk. "Shoot, we was raisin' hell when he was still calling it h-e-double-toothpicks."

Josiah stepped up next to Chris and they watched JD until he disappeared into the elevator. "Your take?" Chris asked.

"We are old." A flat look from Chris encouraged him to give the real answer to the question. "It may not seem like much but the symbolism of them walking out of that hangar on their own…it gave back any power Vargas tried to take away."

"That demon thing you were talking about-"

"Le Démon Taillant."

"Yeah. That story ever mention anybody that beat it?"

"Absolutely. You just had to know how."

"And how was that?"

"If a man traveled with a trusted companion, they could watch each other's backs. If the demon leapt upon one, the other man could attack while it was distracted; pulling it off his friend and decapitating it to assure that it stayed dead."

Chris nodded. "Seems like a sound plan."

"It's also said you could carry twenty-seven braids of garlic and stuff the bulbs in the demon's mouth one at a time as he tried to attack."

Chris cocked his head and made a dismissive clicking sound. "I'm more of a 'cut the head off' kinda guy."

"I can see that about you."

...

Final part next...