Dangerous Mine: Chapter 12:

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot and my OC's. This is a rather long chapter. Hope you all are enjoying this as much as I am writing it.

-/-

It was well into the evening when Ezra arrived home. Strangely, his car being firebombed had led to a lot of paperwork. Vanessa, whose car had managed to come away mostly unscathed, but for a large scorch mark on the passenger side, had offered to drive him. She wouldn't admit it, but she was shaken up, he could tell. Her face was pale, and she did her best to hide the slight tremor in her hands, but it was still there. Vanessa was a fine agent, and based on her record, a fine police officer before that, but she was still very much a greener agent, especially when it came to the particular brand of crazy that Team 7 tended to invite.

Ezra had been prepared to go back to work after the incident, but Chris had forbidden it. Denver police had impounded Lucia's Civic. Nathan was working with their CSI team, but they hadn't turned up anything as of yet. They were stuck, again. And since there was really nothing else for Ezra to do, Chris had banished him from the office.

When they arrived back at his apartment he invited her up. It felt wrong to send her home alone after such a massive scare. She trailed behind him as he entered. The apartment was dark, quiet. Ezra wasn't sure if he was relieved, or disappointed. He flipped on the lights in the kitchen. "Drink?" he asked.

"Please." Vanessa set her purse down on the counter and looked around. "A stiff one."

Ezra chuckled. "That I can oblige." Vanessa was more for the clear liquors than his own favored whiskey and bourbon, so he grabbed his lone bottle of gin. After rooting around in his fridge for a moment he made them both a gin and tonic, light on the tonic. Vanessa took the glass and pulled a long drink, draining half in one swallow.

"I'm sorry Ezra," she said. "I'm sorry I was so dismissive when all this started. I didn't think Samantha Hunter's abduction was worth our time. Clearly, this guy isn't going to stop. When I think about what might have happened to you today…" Tears welled in her eyes. She put her drink down and retreated a few steps. "And I know, I know we're not together anymore, but when I think about something happening to you. I meant it when I said I cared about you." Her shoulders shook and the tears flowed. She covered her face with her hands, embarrassed.

The warmth of affection filled his chest. Setting aside his drink, he approached Vanessa. One hand found her shoulder, while his other lightly cupped her chin. "Hey, hey," he implored. "I am fine," he assured. "No holes, no broken bones, not so much as a scorch mark." Vanessa sniffed and dropped her hands, one swiping angrily at her tears. Ezra felt his resolve waffling. It had been a long, long, long time, since anyone had been so clear that they cared for him romantically; years since he'd felt anyone had cared at all. He felt her fingers slip through his belt loops and pull him closer. His hand slipped from her chin to the nape of her neck. The way she smelled reminded him of the way she tasted, how good the curves of her body felt against his. Her lips parted, inviting. Sense memory, what a bitch. Still, he hesitated. He couldn't deny the lure of physical affection, but his heart, his heart held him back. What are you doing Ezra? This isn't you. Hunter's words rang in his ears.

And at that moment, napalm chose to fly through the front door. "Jesus Ez, Vin told me that whack job blew up the Jag! Are you…." Hunter drew up suddenly just inside the threshold, face flushing on the scene she'd just so brazenly charged in on. "Okay." The word was no longer a question she was asking.

Ezra's hand dropped from Vanessa's neck and he quickly extricated himself from the other agent's grip. Of all the God awful timing. Or maybe the best timing. His indecision was making his head spin. It was not a feeling he wanted to entertain. "Hunter…"

She made a beeline for her room, her good hand in a fluttering wave in his general direction. "I'm sorry. Just grabbing a couple things before I head back to the hospital. Still got a mountain of profiles, just Vin was sleeping so…" She ducked into her room and came out only a moment later.

"Hunter…" Ezra tried again.

"No, no, uh I'm gonna head back." She had a small drawstring bag slung over her shoulder. "It's none of my business."

"You're right," Vanessa's voice was cold, "it's not."

At that, Hunter's feet stopped in their tracks. Ezra watched her head tilt, her shoulders stiffen and bunch beneath her shirt. Oh good. Poke the bear. The southerner jerked his head around to glare at the dark haired woman behind him. Vanessa glared back. To his surprise, Hunter didn't take the bait. After a deep breath, she continued to the door. "Sam…" Third times the charm right?

The door was open, she was halfway through it when she paused. He never called her that. She looked behind her. "What?" What indeed. He wanted her to stop. Wanted her to not get the wrong impression. Which was what exactly? Or maybe it was more he wanted her to not to get a very accurate impression of what she'd just walked in on. She looked him in the eyes, asking. His teeth clenched and he worked his jaw. What? Hunter held his gaze for a long moment, then took a heavy breath, the corner of her lip tilting upward, the part of her that understood, the part of her that wished she didn't.

Hunter watched the southerner wrestle with the words he couldn't say. You both royally suck at the hard stuff. Vin's words echoed in her head. He sure as shit wasn't wrong about that. "I'll pack tomorrow, be outta your hair in a day or two." Ezra blinked, and the door clicked shut behind her.

Long arms slid beneath his own to wrap around his waist. He could feel the press of her body against his back. He pivoted, breaking her grip. "There are fourteen hours before the lovely Lucia is executed on camera. I need to go be of use."

Vanessa sighed deeply, and reached for her keys. "I'll give you a ride."

-/-

The next morning JD sat in front of his computer screen, face completely ashen. 9:54. Six minutes. What little he'd managed to consume in the last day threatened to come back up. It was mostly coffee. He swallowed the lump in his throat and willed the crashing ocean that was his stomach to shut up. Chris, Nathan, Josiah and Ezra all stood grim faced in the conference room behind him. Buck kept a solid hand on JD's shoulder. Not one of them had slept, they were all upright through a mixture of will and caffeine. Even when Ezra had shown up the night before with Vanessa, after the car bomb, Chris hadn't had the energy to do more than grunt at the undercover agent. Vanessa had stayed late with them, till nearly two AM, before she crashed out in another of the conference rooms farther down the hall.

10:50 the phone rang. White as a ghost, JD answered, not bothering to try and hide the shaking of his hands. "You're a monster," he said by way of greeting.

"Me?" the voice asked. "Monsters aren't real Mr. Dunner. There are only avenging angels, and agents of Satan. Ms. Garces was exactly the type of agent the devil seeks, pretty, nubile, purveyor of sin to tempt and sway God's children. She dealt in all manner of gluttony and excess."

"You think you're an avenging angel you sick son of a bitch?" JD snarled into the phone. "What does the bible say about murder?"

"It was not murder, it was justice!" the voice at the other end of the line roared back. "And you are the sinner that partook. Your choices led us here Mr. Dunne. Repent and find God, and be thankful of my mercy."

Ezra caught JD's eye, rolling his index finger in a loop. A little longer and they could finish the trace on the call. Guilt, despair and anguish mingled with the rage rising up in JD's throat. "Your mercy?" he repeated. "Come after us, not innocent women, us!" But the line was dead. JD slammed his phone down on the table. The screen cracked. He looked to Ezra, who shook his head. No trace.

The video came a short while later. Again an email appeared. 'Time's up.' None of them moved to open it. "The whole worlds gonna see it," Nathan finally said, "there's no avoiding it."

All six men stiffened. This video did not begin in some dingy, dim warehouse. This one began much closer to home. The Saloon, rowdy, bustling. And in the middle of the shot, JD, at least a couple drinks past sober, at the bar with Buck, Vin and Ezra. "Shots!" the youngest agent in the video called for gleefully.

"Oh my god," JD breathed. "This was my birthday four months ago."

In the video, Lucia behind the bar, wielded the tequila bottle with a deft hand as she dispensed the liquor in four shot glasses and one extra long pour in a tumbler that she pushed toward JD. "Double for the birthday boy!" she giggled. Then she and the others raised their glasses and drank. Ezra quickly and deftly dumped his in the half empty glass of ice sitting by his right elbow.

In the present, JD craned his head to look at Ezra. "I abhor cheap tequila," the southerner explained, completely unrepentant.

The video went on, brief scenes of JD's drunkeness escalating to the point he looked unsteady on his feet. And always Lucia providing the booze. It went dark after a shot of Buck, half supporting JD, guided him from the bar. The screen went black, and the voice began. "Take a hard look at those idols you worship Denver. Denver is a city built for gluttony, for the abuse of alcohol and narcotics. And you entrust men like JD Dunne of the Denver ATF to look after your welfare? What about the welfare of your eternal soul?"

There was a crash. JD didn't turn. Chris had broken something, maybe a chair. But JD was riveted, horror snaking its way through his chest.

The video rose slowly from black to gray, panning out to reveal Lucia strapped to a chair, arms and legs bound. Her head was held back so her face tipped toward the sky, held there by her own hair, tied to the back of the chair. Blood had sheeted and dried on one half of her face. There was enough blood you hardly noticed the missing ear. "This woman," the man entered the camera frame, once again ensconced in black from head to toe, "promotes it. Sells it for tips and a good time. But make no mistake JD Dunne, you share in this."

The man retrieved a bottle of tequila from somewhere off camera. Then, one hand clamped down on Lucia's jaw, forced her mouth open and began to pour the bottle into her mouth. Lucia writhed in her bonds, twisting away as much as they would allow. She sputtered and gagged, as much of the tequila splattering on her and she imbibed. The video skipped forward fifteen minutes. Lucia was crying now. This time it was whiskey. Another bottle. Skip. Fifteen minutes. Vodka. Lucia was no longer sitting up of her own power. She sagged, boneless against her bonds.

The voice came on again. "I challenge you Denver, turn away from these false idols. This is gluttony. Lucia Garces, you have been judged. May God have mercy on your soul." And for the second time, the men of Team 7 watched him lay open a woman's throat. And then, then he lit a match. Josiah reached past JD and shut the laptop.

"May the Lord receive your soul in heaven Lucia," the big man spoke lowly.

JD rounded on him. "How can you say that?" he spat out, lurching up from his chair. "After what we just watched, and him taking about divine retribution and you pray?" Buck's hands closed over his roommates shoulders.

"This man does not know God JD," Josiah said softly. "And this was no divine will. And I do hope her soul can be well protected after the evil that had been perpetrated against it."

With that JD deflated a little, and Buck released his grip to wrap an arm about the younger man's shoulders. "I need to call Casey before she sees this," JD mumbled.

"Well all right, let's go do that then," Buck agreed, steering the other man out of the room.

"This is a nightmare."

"No arguments there Nathan," Chris agreed. He sighed. "And I hate that I have to say it, but I need at least one of you to comb through that video, see if we can find anything that gives us a location. This isn't over."

"I'll do it," Ezra and Josiah volunteered in unison.

"All right," Chris gave a curt nod. "Get to work."

-/-

The second video murder sent Denver into a tailspin. The word serial killer was thrown around in more than one news venue. Mary wrote a feature on the two victims, an illuminating insight into the lives of the two women that had been killed. They weren't nameless, they were sisters, girlfriends, daughters, college students, with dreams and their lives in front of them. It humanized them, and made Denver even more scared.

And with it, public outcry increased ten fold. JD was being lambasted across social media, called an alcoholic gunslinger with a badge, and worse. Women Buck had slept with began coming out of the woodwork to tell their version of BUck's love 'em and leave 'em philosophy. Didn't matter that they'd all willingly participated, and that Buck had never promised any of them a thing. Perception mattered more than objective truth. And every member of Team 7 had their fair share of skeletons in their closet. But now the bones were being rattled.

There were others that spoke up for Larabee and his team of course, usually those that had actually met the boys. Casey's Aunt Nettie had given an interview on a local news channel, she was quick to condemn the murderer, and to remind everyone that it wasn't Team 7 attacking women and killing them. Chris Larabee wasn't sure Nettie's words would actually move the needle. He'd been called up to Orrin Travis' office again the day after the video had been released. Paid leave for JD as well as Buck.

"You're cutting me off at the knees here Orrin," he growled upon hearing the news.

"Not my call Chris," Mary's father in law apologized. "This comes from the governor. Law enforcement has been fighting an uphill battle in public opinion here lately, and this isn't helping. Andrews just wants the public to feel like they're being heard."

"At the expense of my agents?!" Chris rapped his knuckles hard on Travis' desk. "Think you all are forgetting they ain't the ones doing anything illegal. And you're making it harder for us to find this son of a bitch! Which is what we should be focusing on!"

"I agree. And right now the governor still wants to award Team 7 with an award of merit for services to the city at his ball in two weeks. But he's riding the fence between his support of law enforcement and needing to show that he's listening to his constituents. It's an election year Chris."

"God damn politics," Larabee snarled.

"And like it or not, they effect the world you live in. They effect our funding, effect whether your team has a job at all. Team 7 is our most decorated federal department in Colorado and this lunatic is doing what he can to drag all of you through the mud. Fix it." Travis' eyes narrowed as he stared down the lean, irate blonde man. "And if your men insist on continuing their investigation outside the net of this office," he paused, letting the thought linger, "I don't want to know about it."

Chris straightened with a huff and a smirk. He touched two fingers to his temple. "Yes sir."

-/-

With a groan, Vin slapped the manila folder down on his lap. He dug his elbows into the hospital mattress in an effort to readjust his position. Hard really, with one leg suspended in a sling by wires. Sam watched him for a moment before setting aside her file and rising to help him. The sharpshooter shot her a grateful look as she readjusted the pillows behind his back, and helped him reposition. "Ugh, this mattress is too soft, and these damn fluorescent lights are buggin' my eyes," he grumped. "One more day, one more day and I can be back in my own bed, in my own place without someone coming in to poke, prod or fuss at me every five minutes. I swear to you Sammy, one more Doctor walks in here who doesn't bother to tell me their damned name and sticks a penlight in my eye…" he let the threat trail off.

Sam quirked an eyebrow at him, "you done? Or you feeling like you need to continue this tirade a few more moments?"

"I'm. Done," he bit off each word and swiped the folder back off his lap with a emphatic arm gesture. Lucia was dead. And nothing he'd done had made a damn bit of difference. Sam could see the guilt on his face.

"Being here, home, at the office," Sam spoke quietly, settling back into her seat, "Vin it wouldn't have made any difference. Unless you boys are suddenly capable of performing miracles, she was dead the moment he grabbed her." It was the most Sam had spoken about it since watching the video with him the previous day. She'd shut down after watching it, took herself on a long walk and made no comment when she'd come back, just picked up the next file.

"You doin' okay Sammy?"Vin asked, concerned. She hadn't gone back to Ezra's the previous night. And she was too quiet, except for when she dreamed. And the dreams didn't sound exactly pleasant.

She shrugged, mostly because she didn't know how to answer. Lucia's death, like Ashley's, had triggered dreams of her own time with the masked man. Though this time, along with the terror, something felt… off. Like her memory was screaming at her that she knew something, but she had no idea as to the what. "Fine," she lied smoothly. "Just a bit fish bowl-y in here."

Vin nodded. They'd gotten a lot of sideways looks since the video had aired, and a fair amount of gossip, he imagined. Most everyone one the floor would recognize JD. Vin had been unconscious for Ashley's murder, though Chris had shown him the video later. It had been absolutely terrible, but Lucia's hit even closer to home. He'd known her. She was a friend. It was the small things, like the way she always made sure there was a table for Team 7 every Friday night. The fact that she knew everyone's drink order by heart. That she was an unapologetic One Direction fan, and liked to tease JD that she was going to make him and Casey go with her when they had a reunion tour. The lump in Vin's throat swelled, and he batted those memories of her aside.

"You still gonna insist on playing nursemaid at my place?" Vin asked.

"You still trying to play like you don't need one?" Sam countered, sounding more like herself. "Vin, earlier today I stuck a fork down your casted foot because you had an itch and couldn't reach it."

"Being itchy is so annoying," the sharpshooter protested. Sam shot him a sideways, withering look. "I ain't helpless," he insisted, grumpy.

"Didn't say you were. But you are a bit damaged at the moment. It's not permanent and it's not a failing to need a little bit of help. Besides, this is as much you doing me a favor as the other way around," Sam reminded him.

"You and Ezra are…?"

"Not speaking? I guess? Or at least we haven't since I came home to find him all," her face twisted like she'd eaten something unpleasant. Her hands flared and she made a vague interlocking gesture with her fingers. "With Vanessa." To be fair, the sharpshooter wouldn't have known what to do in that moment either. But he did try to hide his smirk. He wondered how long it would take Sam to figure out she'd quit calling it 'Ezra's apartment' and had started to refer to it as 'home'. "Figure he doesn't much want to hear from me anyway."

"Maybe," Vin conceded. "Maybe he's thinking the same thing about you." No smart mouthed retort came. Good, meant she was bothering to think about it.

They went back to an amicable silence, methodically reviewing one file after another. As the afternoon waned into evening Sam put her papers down and stretched. "All right, I should get back home and pack my stuff so I can be ready to help your happy ass wrangle three flights of stairs tomorrow. I'll pick up your Jeep from the office and head back here in the morning."

"As early as you want," Vin smiled, excited about the prospect of leaving the hospital. "Earlier and I'll buy you breakfast."

Sam grinned. "Bribery. I like it. K, I'll see you when the roosters crow. Night Vin."

"Night Sammy."

-/-

Sam stood at the foot of her bed, staring down at the partially packed duffel in front of her, the same one Mary had loaned her getting out of the hospital. The rest of her clothes folded in piles on the bed. She didn't have much. Since her apartment had exploded with her entire wardrobe inside she'd only purchased a few necessities in the days since. Plus a couple of pieces Mary had given her, though the reporters style tended toward more feminine and conservative that Sam's own. With just generally more ruffles. Still, beggars couldn't be choosers. And given that her landlord had sent her a letter the week before stating she still owed 3 months on her lease and that he was keeping her security deposit, beggar she was. Psycho killer or not, she was going to need a job soon.

When she realized she hadn't moved in several minutes, Sam abandoned the chore of packing. Because, if she wanted to admit it or not, she didn't actually want to leave. This place, and even Ezra, felt more like a home than she'd had in years. She wandered into the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator. She hadn't gone shopping recently and it showed. She tipped the Chinese takeout box toward her. Q House. Maybe Ezra had ordered some of the duck lo mein. She wouldn't ordinarily eat someone else's leftovers, but figured she wouldn't be around for Ezra to yell at, and the duck was her favorite. She flipped open the carton top and immediately reared back as the smell assaulted her nose. . "Oh. No. No. The hell Ezra!" She held the carton away from her as she brought it to the trash and tossed it in, trying not to gag.

After that she got swept up in clearing out the fridge. Along with the old chinese went a half empty container of greens that looked like they'd been sautéed. They had not. A few moldy pieces of cheese and a carton of cream that went down the drain in chunks. She couldn't even blame it all on Ezra. Since Ashley had been abducted she hadn't been cooking either, and had largely ignored the fridge except for grabbing the occasional can of beer. There wasn't much in it other than beer and condiments by the time she was through.

The sound of keys in the lock drew her attention. Ezra was home. Super. Briefly, she considered making a beeline for her room, but abandoned it as quickly as it came. She wouldn't have made it past the couch before he saw her anyway. The southerner blinked quickly once when he saw her, but it was the only sign of surprise his face allowed. "You're here," he observed blandly. He hadn't expected her to be here. Hell, he hadn't expected to be here, but for Chris practically chasing him out of the office with a pitchfork, he wouldn't have been. Home hadn't exactly been a place of respite lately.

"Yeah." Not exactly a brilliant response. "They're releasing Vin in the morning."

"Yeah." Ezra tossed his keys in the dish. "I heard."

"How are you doing? With Lucia?" The southerner grunted and opened the fridge, removed a bottle of his favorite barrel aged belgian ale and held it aloft like a salute, flashing her an empty, humorless grin.

He took a long drink. "So what are you doing here?" Hunter didn't even try to pretend the way in which he posed the question didn't sting.

"Packing," she answered, too drained to put any fight in the word. She started toward her room. She might as well get back to it.

"So you're really doing it, walking out, again." The scorn in his voice made for a great cover for the hurt.

"Not walking out," Sam protested, pausing on the far end of the couch. "Just leaving to help Vin."

Ezra's snort of derision carried to her, even as he pulled another drink from the bottle. "And after that?"

After that? Hell if she knew. But she was tired, and he had managed to get her back up. "Damn it Ezra I'm not gonna apologize for leaving! Not this time, and not the last!" She yelled.

"Well that brings us to a bit of an impasse, doesn't it?" The southerner leaned back against the edge of his kitchen counter.

Hunter's left hand curled into a fist, fingernails digging into her palm. Vin's words rang in her ears. You both royally suck at the hard stuff….gotta figure out if it's worth it for you to drudge through it…. Maybe he's thinking the same thing about you. She wanted to bolt. Standing there felt like someone was plucking at a raw nerve that resonated through her body. Her teeth clenched hard. But was it worth it? What was their friendship worth?

"I had to; it was important." she said slowly, her voice dropping a few decibels. "So I'm not gonna apologize for that. But I can apologize for not coming back." Ezra held the beer loosely in his hands, but he was looking at her. Silent. Expectant. Waiting.

"I'll apologize for disappearing. You all didn't deserve that but…" Her tongue felt thick and heavy, her throat tight. "They're all dead." The words sank in her gut like a rock.

The slightest flicker in his green eyes was the only sign Ezra's face gave. "Who?" he asked, voice softer, lacking the acerbic edge.

"Everyone I've ever loved or cared about. They're all dead. Some of them I put in the ground myself. And it near broke me." Tears stung her eyes, but as she spoke something loosened in her chest. The things she carried. The guilt, the fear. "I know what I did was right, but I also knew that leaving meant walking away from Team 7, some of the best people I've ever known. And that coming back? Meant I'd be coming but not being part of the Team. I wasn't afraid you all wouldn't let me back in to your world, I was afraid you would. Cuz I'd be stuck on the outside of it."

Ezra had begun to tear at the label on the neck of his beer with his thumb. Hunter sighed, went and sat on the couch, and picked the framed photo off the side table. "You all are in the thick of it," she went on, "every day. Especially you. And I wasn't going to be able to help, to protect you. That you might end up in the ground too, any of you," she shook her head, "while all I did was standby? I just… I just couldn't. And I'm sorry, okay? I'm so, so sorry." Ezra didn't say anything, he just kept watching her. Hunter dropped her head into her hands. She'd done it, all the things she'd been thinking and couldn't say. Out.

She felt him more than heard him, occupying space next to her knees. Hunter lifted her head, turned her gaze upward. Ezra held out a bottle of beer. A peace offering. Hunter took it, but didn't drink. He was still hovering. "Scoot," he said. She obliged and he sat next to her on the couch, their knees brushing. His thumb had finished eviscerating the label on the bottle neck and was now attacking the one on the body. "I don't want you to leave," he said finally, green eyes intent on her face.

Relief bloomed in Hunters chest. She drew her feet up on the couch, leaning up heavily against the southerners side. Ezra responded by wrapping his right arm around her shoulders, to draw her closer. He kissed the top of her head, nose burying itself in her hair. She smelled like ponderosa pines in the rain.

They stayed like that for a long moment, occasionally taking a drink from their beers. Eventually Hunter sat up and Ezra took his arm back, but they stayed close. "Go. Stay with Vin a while, he'll be requiring aid that's he's more likely to take from you than any of us," Ezra said. "But then you come back okay?"

Hunter snorted. "Are you really making this a woman thing?" she teased.

"It is not my fault that society, and by extension Mr. Tanner, slots women into the pigeon hole of caregiver." His eyes twinkled as he grinned. "It is the truly unjust burden of the fairer sex." He grunted as Hunter's elbow made solid contact with his ribs, but had the good grace to grin.

"So," he leaned forward, grabbed the remote to his TV and handed it to Hunter, "you pick whatever mindless, competition food show you're going to make me watch tonight." He dug out his phone, fingers tapping over the screen. "I'll order us some food. Duck Lo Men?" he queried.

Memory of the smell in the fridge made her blanch. "Oh, God no. Hard no," she said quickly, earning a quizzical look from the undercover agent. It was going to take a while to erase that smell from her mind. "I'll just take some pad thai. Oh, and some potstickers." With the rift between them seemingly on the mend, Hunter's appetite came roaring back.

The food arrived at the end of the second episode of the newest season of Top Chef. Ezra rose and went to the kitchen. "Bourbon?" he asked as he pulled himself a tumbler from his cabinet. He was more than halfway through the bottle of 291 Distilleries bourbon that Buck had given him upon completion of his last undercover op. It was a tasty whiskey good for sipping, even if it wasn't from Kentucky.

"I'll just take another beer," Hunter answered. I'm not quite up for liquor after…" her voice trailed off.

Ezra paused at that, grimaced a little, then poured himself a double. He grabbed Hunter another beer on the way back to the couch, handing it to her before he sat down. He took a sip, letting the warmth of the bourbon diffuse over his palette. "You asked me how I was faring with the situation, how are you?"

Hunter shrugged, and took a long pull from the bottle. "I am guilty of so much more sin than either of those women. But I'm alive and they're dead. And I don't understand why."

"Not sure it matters," Ezra said. He reached up with his right hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "But I do thank god for small favors." Eyes drifting shut, Hunter sighed and leaned into the touch. There was pain in her face, guilt. And Ezra found himself wishing he could wash it away for her, but he knew he couldn't. He'd been there, in that place where you felt like your life held less meaning than others, that the only useful thing you could do was sacrifice yourself. It had taken him a long time to truly know his own worth. He might not have gotten there at all if not for Chris recruiting him after his debacle at the FBI. Where, he was sure, plenty of people still assumed he was dirty. He dropped his hand and Hunter leaned into him once again. He let her, the weight of her against his side acting like a panacea for his troubled thoughts. Then, he reached out the remote to start the third episode.

-/-

They'd finished another episode and a half of Top Chef before heading to bed, Ezra looking more groggy than Hunter could ever remember seeing him. But, after nearly 48 hours without sleep, she could hardly blame him. Feeling lighter than she had in months, she went back to finishing her packing, though now she put a few pieces back in her closet. She regarded the oversized gray Broncos sweatshirt Buck had donated to her cause back when she'd first arrived. It was mid June and she had no illusions that Vin's apartment had AC, so much as she liked lounging in it, she put it back.

It was a little before midnight when she finished. Even though she wasn't particularly tired, she figured she should try to get some sleep, since she'd promised Vin she'd come to get him as early as possible. She traded her jeans for some track pants and deftly removed her bra from under her T-shirt, sliding it out through one arm hole. There was a thump from out in the living room. Weird. Based on the way Ezra had looked going to his room she expected him to be sacked out well into morning.

She padded quietly to her door, opened it, and stepped into the living room. Ezra's door was shut, no light shining underneath to indicate he was awake. The apartment was near pitch dark, but for the weak light from the half moon that filtered in through the west facing windows. "Ez?" she called out, immediately feeling dumb. She was about to turn back into her room, when in her peripheral vision, she saw a shadow move. Her body tensed, but it was too late. The blow hit her near the back of the head, and her knees collapsed as the darkness closed in.

/

Chapter 12