A/N: Many thanks to the nice person who pointed out I had posted Part 11 twice! That's what I get for posting late at night.

Part 16

Lakewood-St. David's Hospital
Denver

Ezra Standish sleepily opened his eyes and saw an empty chair.

That kick-started his foggy brain as nothing else could have. Memory came flooding back, along with the realization he was in the hospital and why.

Alone?

Ezra couldn't remember the last time he woke up in a hospital without at least one of his teammates nearby keeping vigil. Well, yes, he could remember...it was that last time in Atlanta, when his world had collapsed in huge chunks around him. When his mentor-his friend-had framed him, betrayed him, and then walked away.

Months later, after his reassignment to ATF Team Seven, he'd woken up one day in a hospital in Denver.

His eyes opened and focused blearily around him. Pale green walls. Not his bed. Not his bedroom. Where was he? Who was he?

"Ezra? You awake?"

Adrenaline kicked in. His heart started pounding. The voice said "Ezra". Not Eric or Edward or Evan or Andrew or any of the other dozens of aliases he used to protect his real life when undercover. His cover was blown-he threw himself to his side, he had to get out, had to get away-he saw a door. He could get there-

"Ez!"

The door opened and hand caught him, guiding him backward toward that hated bed. He was panting now, cornered, terrified-

"What the hell is going on in here? Ezra? You're awake!"

"Think he's a mite startled." A slow, drawling voice.

"What'd you do to him, Kid?" The voice belonging to the hands that held him directed the words above his head.

"I didn't do anything!" The first voice protested. "He just woke up!"

"Easy, Pard, you just need to calm down a bit." That was the voice of the man that held him.

The cooler voice from the door said, "Vin, go get the nurse."

Vin. Kid.

He recognized the voices and the people and sagged back in the bed, no longer fighting Buck Wilmington's hands. He turned his head and met the worried eyes of JD Dunne, who'd been sitting in the chair next to the bed but was now standing up. "My apologies, Mr. Dunne." He could hear the ragged edges of his own voice, the breathless panting for air. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to restore his calm facade.

The pain-which had been held at bay by panic-crashed over him then and he gasped, trying to curl into a ball to escape it.

"Ezra?" Another worried voice, this one deeper, close by. "Are you in pain, son?"

The first time Josiah Sanchez called him "son". It wasn't the last.

"Gentlemen," he gasped out. "What are you all doing here?"

There was a startled silence in the room. He pried open his eyes to see confused looks on JD's and Buck's faces, and Nathan's-and where had

he come from-and a sad look on Josiah's. Vin was back in the doorway and he just shook his head.

But the answer came from Chris Larabee, who had somehow moved around and got to the head of the bed. "Well, Ezra...you're here. Where else would you expect us to be?"

Ezra stared at all of them. He was the newcomer. The black sheep with the cloud of disgrace hanging over his head. They didn't even know him. He didn't know them. They didn't like him. He was so far past liking or disliking people he couldn't even remember what it felt like to have a friend. They couldn't trust him. He couldn't trust them, or anybody.

But they had stayed.

He was hurt, and they had stayed. Why? Because they were worried? Because they cared? Preposterous thoughts.

But because of them, he wasn't alone. For the first time in a long time, maybe his whole life, he wasn't alone.

And now he was alone. Something was wrong.

The door was open a few inches. He could hear voices outside. Maybe Chris-it had been Chris here last time he'd awoke, hadn't it?-had just stepped out...but no, the voices weren't familiar. Closing his eyes, concentrating, Ezra willed himself to be able to hear.

"Brought you some coffee."

"Thank you." Silence. "Any word?"

"Both teams have reported in. They found a bomb at Standish's place, but they disarmed it and our guys and the Denver PD are examining it now. Preliminary reports are it's the same kind of device that took out Wilmington's."

Ezra held his breath, then cursed as he remembered the monitors. He forced himself to calm down. His pounding heart would set off that alarm any second now-

"How is Wilmington? Have you heard anything?"

"Called over to University Medical Center about twenty minutes ago. He's still in surgery. Doesn't look good."

Ezra stopped listening. He opened his eyes and studied the ceiling.

Buck was hurt.

He needed to get out of here.

His family needed him.

Florida:

"We have to get to Denver," Nathan insisted.

"Sir, I understand what you're saying," the ticketing agent said, her tone frustrated. "But you don't seem to understand what I'm saying. I can't get you to Denver. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. This is Spring Break in Florida! Half the people in the country are going to fly into or out of this airport this week, and I think the other half are flying into Denver for spring skiing." She clicked a few more keys on her computer and shook her head, auburn curls flying. "Plus there's a snowstorm in the Northeast, another one in the Midwest, dense fog on the West coast and high winds in Texas!"

Nathan opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, JD reached across the counter and touched her arm. "Please," he said imploringly. "My best friend may be...he's hurt. Bad. We have to get home."

The ticketing agent looked up at JD. Her tense face softened as she took in his distraught face. Nathan held his breath. "Maybe..." she said softly. She looked back at her screen and typed in a series of commands. "Yeah..." she said to herself, "Now if that flight's delayed..." she typed again. After a minute a smile lit up her face. "Well, this doesn't get you to Denver but it gets you closer. There are two seats on a flight to Dallas-Fort Worth. The flight's been delayed until ten-oh-six, landing at DFW at 11:36 local time. You're going to be stuck there until morning, but starting at 4:30 am there's a flight to Denver every hour. You should be able to get on standby and get there sometime tomorrow-before noon." She looked up apologetically. "That's really the best I can do."

Nathan nodded. "We'll take it."

Denver:

Chris stared out the window. Not much of a view, actually; it was full dark now and the windows faced onto another wing of the hospital. But it was better than looking at those double doors leading to the OR that he'd been staring at for hours.

He reached one hand back to massage his neck, the muscles taut and screaming with tension. 'Over four hours with no word...'

Well, there was some word. About every hour or so, the phone would ring at the reception desk. The nurse-or whatever she was-would answer it, say a few words, put the phone down and then beckon to him or Vin. Always the same message-Buck was still in surgery. Still hanging on.

Still alive.

He stared out the window, not seeing. 'Hang in there, you son of a bitch. You die and I'll kill you myself.' He felt his lips curve into an unconscious smile as he could almost hear Buck's voice saying "Hell, Old Dog, that's a real threat!"

Finally leaving the window, he walked back to Vin. The lanky sharpshooter was sprawled half-on, half-off the sofa, dozing. His face was bleached pale in the flickering fluorescent lights. The bandage on his forehead was spotted. Chris caught sight of the dried blood on Vin's jeans and felt his stomach churn. He'd figured out that the blood was Buck's, not Vin's; and the thought of how much more of his old friend's blood must be staining the hardwood floors at his bombed-out apartment sent his mind screaming. He gasped, literally fighting to breathe. 'I've got to get out of here. Got to get some air.'

Leaving Vin dozing, he quickly went to the desk and told the woman behind it he'd be back soon and to page him if there was any news. She smiled, her eyes sympathetic, and nodded.

Chris turned on his heel and walked out of the waiting room, his strides lengthening as he approached the elevator. Punching the button for "Lobby" he dug his nails into his arms through the short trip down, then got off the lift and headed for the nearest exit.

Vin was half-asleep, half awake, caught in a restless world where dream and nightmare and reality merged. Over and over he heard Buck's voice yelling his name, then ear-shattering noise and darkness. His head pounded with the beat of his heart.

He felt the sofa dip next to him. Felt a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He couldn't wake up.

"Vin!"

Vin jerked back to reality at the sound of that voice. His eyes flew open to stare at the other man in shock. "Ezra!"

Tbc…