Chapter 4:
A/N: Hey guys, thanks for reading, I love the feedback. I forgot how much I love all these characters, then I bought both seasons on DVD and well.... I'm writing again.
Disclaimer: Thanks to Mog and other for making ATF, and I own only those I created in my own weird, twisted little mind.
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Heat seared the back of his neck, the sound of flames crackling overhead. Windows broke in the sweltering heat, boards cracked and through it all the fired roared with anger, like it lived, like it breathed. Flaming debris showered around them, lighting whatever tinder it could find in the grass before sputtering out.
All the air had rushed from Ezra's lungs as they'd struck the ground, and now he struggled to breathe. Pain flared in his left shoulder, his bad shoulder, and he knew instantly that he's dislocated it once again. It was a nuisance more than anything now, a lingering reminder of his first assignment with the illustrious and infamous Team Seven, but it still hurt like a bitch to put back. And at present it remained pinned beneath one Samantha Hunter.
"Hunter?" he ventured. She didn't move, face still and tight, eyes locked down. Fear licked at the edge oh his mind. "Sam?"
Hazel eyes fluttered open and she groaned. Ezra sighed relievedly. "Can you move?" Lips thin, Samantha shook her head tightly. "Can you breathe all right?" Another head shake. More fear, maybe a twinge of panic. "What's wrong?"
"You're crushing me," she managed a raspy whisper. She thwacked him feebly in the chest. "Get off." Concern rushed away like a tide, replaced by irritation. Frowning, Ezra carefully propped himself up with his good hand, allowing Sam to slide out from beneath him. Once clear, she curled up on her side as a coughing fit racked her body. It brought tears to her eyes. Ezra eased himself slowly onto his back, bracing his injured arm with his good one.
Another flaming piece of debris his the ground next to his left ear. The fire licked up the side of the building now, dark smoke billowing overhead. Far away, he thought her heard sirens. He glanced over at Samantha, face contorted in pain, eyes squeezed shut as she focused on taking long, slow breaths. "I believe it would be prudent to relocate from the immediate vicinity."
One hazel eye opened. "Okay," she bit out. "You first."
Ezra rose, the adrenaline still coursing through his body making his muscles quiver. Left arm dangling limp and useless at his side, he offered Samantha his right. She took it and he helped ease her off the ground. She bit back a whimper, broken ribs screaming out in protest of the treatment they'd just received. She leaned heavily on Ezra as they limped out of the yard and away from the inferno. "You're bleeding," Ezra observed, hoping the alarm he felt didn't translate into his words.
"Yeah, I'd noticed." Blood seeped into the fabric of her shirt, the stain widening by the moment. Her arm was dashed with it as well, rolling over her bicep to drip off her fingers. "Stitches ripped," she explained, "I felt them go." They stopped at Ezra's Jag, both leaning heavily upon the frame, pain bringing sweat to their brows. Pain twisted the southerner's visage, and his face looked bloodless.
"Forgive me a moment," Ezra excused himself, walking swiftly toward the nearest adjacent building. God but this would hurt. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, Ezra swung his left forward shoulder forward into the brick corner. Bone ground and tendons stretched and out of his mouth he emitted a strangled cry, knees nearly buckling beneath him, till his shoulder suddenly shot back into place with a loud pop. When the rushing blood ceased to pound in his ears, and his heart slowed back to near normal, he tested his shoulder by rolling it slowly back. It still ached, but it was a deep, hollow pain, far preferable to the sharp jolt of agony he'd been feeling with even the slightest jar. As he walked back to Samantha and the car, color began to flood back into his cheeks.
A few minutes later, a long red fire truck rumbled into view farther down the alley. An ambulance and two police cars followed not far behind. Samantha quirked an eyebrow. "You want to try to explain this or should I?"
As if on cue the cell phone in Ezra's jacket pocket sprang to life, vibrating insistently. Ezra fished it out with his right hand and gave a small sigh. "Chris," he informed her flatly. "You want to try and explain this or should I?"
Samantha snorted and held up her hands. "Forget it he's all yours. I'll take Colorado's finest."
Half an hour later Samantha and Ezra had switched roles. Sam held Ezra's cell phone cradled to her ear while she lifted her right arm up over her head, letting a somewhat aggravated paramedic bandage the newly reopened gash in her side. Ezra stood over with two of Colorado Springs' uniformed patrol officers, explaining, and not for the first time, the situation.
Chris' yelling had dulled in her ear, so much so that her occasional 'yep' or 'uh huh' barely slowed his tirade. But hell, at least Chris wasn't an idiot. When the police had first arrived Samantha had opted to explain everything to them, rather than a ticked off Chris Larabee. It had, at the time, seemed like the safer option.
Unfortunately, the two uniformed officers had chosen to run Ezra and her names through the police database. For obvious reasons, Samantha's colorful record, more than a few pages in length, had sent up warning bells with the two officers. That however, was far less irritating than the blank stares she'd received upon explaining herself. And when one of them had tried to handcuff her, she came unglued.
She had backed away from the silver shackles the moment the officer removed them from his belt, hackles raised. "Are you serious?" she'd yelled. "Why in hell would I want to set a bomb in my own apartment and then blow it... with me inside!" A fair amount of yelling had ensued after that, and finally Ezra had intervened just in time to keep her from decking one, or both of them. He'd quietly stepped in front of her, pressing his still open cell phone into her hand and presented his badge with a flourish.
"...and how in the hell you manage to get yourself into these situations in the first place!" Sam pulled the phone away from her ear as Chris bellowed.
"Like I told you before Chris, it's part and parcel with the package when I get around you and yours. Bombs, cliffs, they were on my list." It was much easier to be flippant and sarcastic with Team 7's leader when they were separated by many, many miles.
"You didn't fall off a cliff Hunter," Chris reminded her dryly, "it was a second story porch."
"I still fell. It counts."
She heard something between a muffled sigh and a growl through the line. "Put Ezra back on the phone Hunter," he ordered. "Never thought I'd say this but he's less... he's less you." Agreeably, Sam slid off the tailgate of the ambulance and moved warily to stand behind Ezra, holding the phone out for him. She kept one eye on the beat cops.
The undercover agent took the phone, and Sam suddenly wished she could hear both sides of the conversation. "Yes Mr. Larabee, the situation is well in hand... No... no that's unnecessary. Of course. I'll have them fax over the report." He glanced down at his wristwatch, only to find the face mangled and no longer operable. "A few hours.... The hospital more than likely... Certainly."
He flipped the phone shut, putting it back in his breast pocket. "After we are finished getting you stitched up, Mr. Larabee requests your presence."
Crossing her arms, Samantha quirked an eyebrow. "Requests?" Ezra just shrugged and flashed her a sly grin.
--
Elevator doors slid open and the undercover agent, and former agent stepped out into the short hall that led to the bullpen. Samantha took three steps and then stopped suddenly, every instinct alive in her bones screaming for her to backpedal. Only Ezra's hand at her back kept her moving forward.
The bullpen, thankfully empty, save for one dark haired woman bent over the Team's ever cantankerous copy machine, was exactly as she remembered. And that hurt. What could have been, would have been, should have been... so many good memories, and a place of such regret.
The desks were even as she remembered them, placed back to back, two by two. Nathan and Josiah's on the west wall, beside the ceiling high glass windows. She could even see Nathan's trusty traveling first aid kit tucked neatly beneath the desk, the tops of both neat and organized. Their desks were a study in contrasts to Buck and JD's, situated near the middle of the bullpen, directly across from Chris' office, where he could keep an eye on his two biggest troublemakers. From personal experience Samantha knew Buck and JD held no shortage of junk food and joke items in the bowels of their work station.
Ezra steered her toward the last set of desks, his and Vin's. "Stay," he commanded, pointing at his chair.
"Still not a dog Standish," Sam snipped at his receding back. The southerner ignored her.
Sam slid a finger over Ezra's side of the desks. It was meticulously clean, the old wood shining like it had just been polished, his computer screen dusted and left covered. While at the same time, Vin's side looked like it had been struck by a tornado. Organized chaos, the sharpshooter had called it once. Papers lay in teetering piles across the surface of the desk, dripping dangerously over the edge. Beneath one pile lay Vin's pocket dictionary. In between the sharpshooter's computer screen and his keyboard was propped an old rubber chicken, whose head had been wrapped in some scrap material to look like a bandana and held in its hands a ballpoint pen. A sticky note on the toy's stomach read, 'Do you feel pretty?'
Sam couldn't help herself, she laughed, a deep belly laugh that brought all kinds of aches and shooting pain. Her fingers bit deep into the bare flesh of her arm as she forced herself to stop. With a sigh she perched herself on the corner of Ezra's work station, and her eyes drifted again. The last desk. Her desk. Was, her desk. Past tense and pre history. Someone had adorned it with a small plant with red flowers, and Sam shook her head. She had the largest black thumb known to man.
Glancing back over her shoulder, Sam started when she saw the woman futzing with the copier had come to stand closer, dark eyes raking her up and down scrutinizingly.
"So you're the one," she announced flatly, and Sam got the impression the woman was trying to control her upper lip from curling into a sneer.
"Uh, sure. We'll go with that theory. Can I help you?" Sam asked, like she still could, like she still belonged. She could have kicked herself.
"Agent Vanessa Navarro," the dark haired woman introduced herself. "So no, I don't think you can."
A light of understanding dawned on Samantha's face. The eighth. Mary had mentioned her father in law's insistence that Larabee's team continue to function with eight members after her departure. Strange, she had never pictured a woman, and she was almost certain Mary hadn't mentioned it. "Ohhhh, so you're the new me," Sam forced a grin.
She had been going for levity. Vanessa's eyes raked over her once more, and she let out a short, mocking laugh. "Dear God I hope not." This time she did sneer. Levity, apparently, had fallen flat.
Samantha's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Vanessa was a little... intense. "Look," Sam held her hands up defensively, "it was a joke. It's not like I want my job back. I'm just here because..."
"Good," Navarro snapped, interrupting her. "Because you don't belong here anymore, and I seriously doubt if you ever really did."
Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Samantha silently counted to ten, but it was useless, her back was up. She slid slowly off the desk till she stood toe to toe with the other woman, though Vanessa easily had three or four inches on her in height, even before the heels. Covered in bruises and barely healing stitches Sam imagined she could hardly be described as intimidating, but she was past caring. "All right look, you freakish Amazonian, I don't know you from Adam and frankly after this last week I could give a damn, but you're gettin' on my very last nerve. You always this much of a bitch? Or are you just plain chock full of crazy? Because either way you've intruded on my own personal space bubble and I suggest you back up, quickly."
Vanessa smiled, leering and predatory, dark eyes sparking. But just then her gaze flicked away and Vanessa took a large step backward, the hostility Sam had felt only moments earlier melting away from her face and stance. "Ezra," the female agent's voice practically dripped concern. "Are you all right? I heard what happened in the Springs. Thank God you got out of there." There was something in the way she looked at the southerner, there was honest concern there, and something Sam couldn't quite place.
"The days events have left no lingering affliction on my person, other than a few bruises. We were fortunate enough that our contemptuous villain saw fit to place a delay on his device." He spoke to Vanessa, but his gaze remained riveted on Sam. The copper haired woman had not so much as twitched a muscle, hazel eyes locked down hard on Vanessa, hands clenched at her sides. "Hunter, Mr. Larabee requests your presence in his office post haste."
Sam blinked and turned slowly to look at the southerner. "I love that you keep saying request like I have a choice."
"Well, I do feel it's important for one to retain at least the appearance of a modicum of free will." He grinned, "Even if it is little better than illusion."
Samantha could only chuckle and shake her head. "You're such an ass." She ducked past his shoulder, moving haltingly toward Larabee's office.
Ezra and Vanessa followed behind. Six sets of eyes turned to watch her as she entered. Nathan scanned her up and down from his seat in the middle of the room. She knew he was trying to assess her physical well being, while the sage wisdom that was Josiah looked more to her mental well being. These men knew her well enough to read her, and Samantha resolutely schooled her features into neutrality. JD looked just as horrified as he had at the hospital, probably because she looked almost as bad, and hell maybe even a little worse than before. Buck smiled encouragingly. Vin she couldn't read, and it irked her, because she'd always been able to before. Chris' blue-grey eyes read stern, but that was about normal. "Sit," the team leader directed. It wasn't a request.
As quickly as she could manage, Samantha commandeered a chair, settling herself down heavily. "You're still breathing," the team leader observed. "Good." Then he turned his attentions to the rest of his team. "The Denver PD has spent most of the last two days scouring the area in and around the Central Platt Valley Rail System," Chris informed them. "They haven't found anything useful. JD, what about you?"
JD shrugged and shook his head. "Sorry Chris, without more to go on I'm pretty much stumped. Sam, you sure there's nothing else you remember?"
She sighed, eyes drifting shut. It came at her like a torrent, drowning her senses, the cold, the smell of burning flesh... Her eyes flew open and she thought she might be sick. Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek she managed a tight shake of her head. Vin and Ezra were looking at her sideways, like they knew there was more. She didn't dare meet their gaze.
"What about the van?" Chris asked Josiah.
"Found," the profiler answered. "Abandoned south of Alameda. It was stolen out of New Mexico three weeks ago, plates were outdated."
"No fingerprints, no hair," Nathan interjected. "Totally wiped clean. Just another dead end."
"Well now that presents a problem," Chris went on, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back on his desk. "The brass upstairs isn't too happy. They feel this is a case best left to the Denver locals, mostly because they're not convinced this has anything to do with us." Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Chris stalled her with a hand. "Personally I don't agree, but with no leads we're stuck, and we've been assigned a new case." A rippling murmur of dissent moved through the assembled group of men. "So right now," Chris said, turning back toward Sam, "we need to figure out what to do with you."
"Excuse me? I was just planning to go home, what do you mean 'do with me?'"
"Home?" Ezra repeated in a slow drawl. "Are you referring to that still smoldering pile of ash and rubble you used to call an apartment? Charming."
"Or, I don't know, stay with Mary or something for a few days till I get things sorted."
"Forget it," Chris cut in, shaking his head, face serious. "This guy didn't mean for you to walk away from that explosion. Far as I'm concerned you're still a target. We don't need Mary involved in this, so we've been talking, and you're gonna stay with one of us till we catch him." Sam's stomach sank like it was made of lead. "Nathan was my first choice but..."
The ex medic looked sheepish. "Some of my pipes burst over the winter, and now I have an apparent mold problem, to go along with the old pipe problem. So at the moment my house is gutted, and not real terrible fit for someone in recuperation. I'm staying with Rain down in Longmont myself."
"Vin is obviously out," the team leader went on. "Stayin in Purgatorio you may as well paint a bulls-eye on your forehead." Sam nodded agreeably at the explanation, though secretly she wondered if Vin had simply begged off. "Buck and JD offered but..."
At that Sam could do nothing to suppress an indignant snort. "Forget it. I just got out of ICU, I don't need to be spending time in the CDC," she said, referring to what the others occasionally called Buck and JD's two bedroom apartment. "Besides, last time I was there I'm pretty sure I got Buck into trouble. Called some blonde by the wrong name and she got all huffy."
"Actually I think you called her Tuesday blonde," JD reminded her. "As opposed to, you know, Thursday blonde." He smirked and the others laughed.
Sam merely shrugged. "Hey, it was early, and she was clearly in the way of the coffee machine. Couldn't be helped."
"You know," Buck mused idly, fingering his mustache, "I'd forgotten about that. What was her name?"
"Does it matter?" Ezra asked dryly.
"My ranch is too far out in the middle of nowhere," Chris continued, knowing if he let the others pick up a head of steam they'd never get anywhere. "I'm not keen on leaving you without anyone else around."
"In other words, Chris is worried you're gonna get yourself into trouble with the horses with no one around to supervise," Buck smirked.
"Hey," Samantha craned her neck to look at Buck squarely. "It was just the one time."
Tilting his head back Buck laughed heartily. JD and snickered and Vin quickly his his grin behind his palm. "You talkin' about the time you forgot to latch Chaucer's second lock and that damnable horse let out Chris' whole herd?"
"Horse shoulda been named Houdini," Sam griped.
"Now, now, let's not tarnish my faithful equine's reputation here shall we? Just because you can't lock a gate," Ezra scolded.
Then JD jumped in first. "Or what about the time you wound up with a concussion after you came off Tap out on that trail ride? Took Chris and Vin like, three hours to find you."
"That freakin horse ran me into that tree on purpose." This time, even Nathan chuckled.
"Or the time you turned on the manure spreader when Ezra was right behind it?" Vin offered. Sam didn't say anything, just bit down on her lower lip as it curled up in a grin.
Ezra's jaw dropped. "Degenerate! I knew you did that on purpose!"
Sam held up her hands, knowing she was defeated. "Okay! All right! I give, no ranch." Her laughing gave way to a sobering realization. With all other possible housing situations nixed, she was left with rooming with only one of two people. And despite the fact that she and Josiah had always been somewhat distantly friendly, mostly because of his avid faith, and her complete lack there of, rooming with the older profiler would still be far preferable to...
"Ezra," Chris announced. "His apartment is a two bedroom, in a good neighborhood, with a doorman. No one goes in uninvited or unannounced." Sam's teeth locked down as her face twisted in a grimace. That's what she'd been afraid of.
"Pardon?"
"You Ezra," Chris repeated, with the air of a man on his last bit of patience. "Sam is going to stay with you." Also not a request.
"Mr. Larabee I hardly think my domicile appropriate..."
"You're hardly ever there and you're going to be busy with our new case, and it's the safest place for her till we get this figured out." Still, not a request.
Looking over at the undercover agent, Sam flashed him a thin, dry smile. "Personally I think you were set up."
"Shut up with the helping Hunter," Larabee grumbled. "You're going, end of discussion." The two adults said nothing, though they glowered like a pair of petulant children. Sam watched him, Ezra was obviously no happier with the situation than she. Over his shoulder she could see Vanessa, and damn, but if looks could kill. It was almost as if... Oh. Suddenly that made a lot more sense.
"Take her to your place, get her settled," Chris ordered, "then get your ass back here. We've got a lot of work ahead of us. Bureau's got a line on some gun runners out of New Mexico trying to get a foothold on the market here." Neither Sam nor Ezra even twitched. "Now," he barked, "and could you try not to kill each other on the way?"
Sam managed to hold her tongue until they reached Ezra's desk. Then she stopped, turning on him, and after a quick glance to make sure they were alone, she asked, "Seriously?"
"What?"
"Oh come on Ez, don't play dumb."
"I really have no idea what you are getting at." He busied himself gathering a few papers and his car keys.
"So you're sleeping with her?" Sam asked casually, watching Ezra's reaction from the corner of her eye. The southerner didn't so much as flinch. Oh, he was good. "Don't worry Ez, you're not slipping," she assured him with a pat on the shoulder as she began to saunter slowly for the elevator. "I don't have to read your face. I can read hers." She shrugged, "it's a chic thing."
Ezra started after her, a few steps behind. Sam punched the down button impatiently a few times, like repeatedly hitting it could get her out of the office faster. "Your, well, for lack of a better term, girlfriend hates me now, I hope you know that."
"You're being ridiculous, I hope you know that," Ezra told her. The bell chimed and stainless steel doors slid soundlessly open. They stepped inside.
"She's probably not overly fond of you right now either," Sam went on.
"Me?" Ezra hit the button for the parking structure, and the doors began to slide shut. "What on earth could I have done to offend her?"
"Well for starters..."
They were still arguing when the elevator opened into the parking garage. They departed, both blissfully, ignorantly unaware of the shadowed figure watching them head for Ezra's Jag.
Love the sinner, hate the sin. It was something he'd been taught from an early age, something he'd never quite been able to accept. That was his own failing, he knew, he expected too much from those not in touch with his savior. But they, they made his blood hot, racing through him, vengeance and righteousness. These men, they were more than sinners. They embraced it, embodied their sins. They celebrated in defiance of the word. And the world praised them heroes. He hated them for it, and hated them more for exposing his own weakness.
But they would know. They would know by the end. He would awaken the world to the path of sacrifice and true belief, and he would break their heroes in front of them to do it. But for now he watched in the dark, just waiting for the right time to step up into the light.
--
Chapter 4
Life is hectic, but I'm going to try to keep updating regularly. Please, let me know what you think!