Title: ATF AU

A/N: It has been many, many years since I've set foot in this fandom. But I used to love writing for it, and hopefully you like it. The ones you haven't seen on TV are mine, one of which I've used before if you want history.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of importance, please don't sue.

-A psychopath comes after Team Seven and old wounds are rediscovered-

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"Reports to me before you leave gentlemen!" A blonde head peeked out of the now open door to an office, steely gray blue eyes passing over each of his men in turn. "And that means you too Vin," he said, gaze settling on the scruffy face of Team Seven's resident sharpshooter. The team leader let the thought linger, before disappearing back inside.

Vin Tanner leaned his scruffy chin into his hand, annoyance playing across his deep blue eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbled, staring frustratedly at his computer screen. He hated reports. He knew what it was that needed to be said, but putting words to the page just seemed slow and pointless. It didn't help that most of the others had finished already.

Buck and JD were currently involved in an intense game of paper football. Josiah was dutifully packing away his desk while he and Nathan, the ex-army medic, chatted amiably across their shared desk. Ezra at least, situated almost directly across the bullpen from Vin's desk, still seemed occupied with the business of finishing the team's latest round of reports. His eyes quickly scanned his screen as he scrolled down with one hand on his mouse, the other hand rolling a quarter in between his fingers.

Strange really, Vin mused, how well they all got alone despite their differences. In fact, most of the time it seemed their eclectic natures made them better agents, a better team. Team Seven was by far the most decorated squad of the Colorado ATF. Chris and Buck had both joined the ATF from the Denver Homicide Unit, Chris not long after the tragic deaths of his wife and son, Buck a few years thereafter. A case had led them to Nathan, a forensics expert and former army medic, a fact which most of them had had cause to be thankful for. Josiah, quiet and patient, the elder statesmen of their group was a profiler. JD was the kid, a computer whiz kid, with enough tenacity to go searching out Larabee for a job. For a long time he and Ezra, the charismatic souther undercover agent, had rounded out their weird little group, till some eighteen months ago, when they became eight, instead of seven.

They'd met her working a case, each side not knowing of the other. Sam, once upon a time member of the Chicago crime family turned informant and mole. The name still left a bitter cast on his throat. Once discovering that she and Team Seven were playing both sides of the same op, they had joined forces. And with successful completion of the job, Larabee had gone to the higher ups, petitioning for an eighth slot on the team. After more than a little cajoling they had agreed, and Sam had made them an even eight, for a while anyway.

When her past caught up with her, Samantha had been left with a choice. A difficult choice, to be certain, but a choice. Try and fix a broken past, or stay and move on. And she'd chosen to leave with barely a goodbye and no word since.

But the damage was done. Larabee had petitioned for an eighth member of his team, and that's what he was getting, like it or not. So had come the string of replacements, one after the other, usually run off within a couple of weeks. They were generally fresh from the academy, lots of book smarts and little sense, wound too tight for the group's customary practical joking, or just too wet behind the ears to handle their kinds of cases. None of them lasted long... until Vanessa.

She strode in front of his desk now, hips swinging, all 5'10" of her perfectly pressed and coifed. Expensive gray slacks swished just above the toe cap of her three inch heels, crimson shirt fluffed over the waistband of her slacks, unbuttoned just far enough to offer the possibility of cleavage, and Buck was instantly distracted from his paper football game the moment she rose from her desk. French manicured fingernails clutched her report in her right hand. Thick, wavy chocolate locks were pulled away from her face in a loose french twist and her pouty red lips held their customary half frown position.

Vanessa Navarro looked, in many ways, more like an actress than a field agent, save the 9mm she carried in her shoulder holster. To her credit however, she'd been with the team nearly four months, and didn't seem close to quitting. She held her own with the boys, though she rarely smiled, and joking was pretty much out of the question. But she was competent, and that was something at least. She was fine really, nothing to complain about, but the sharpshooter still didn't like her. And he still didn't know why.

Vanessa knocked lightly on Chris' door. He didn't answer. She waited a moment, then knocked again. "Come in," the gruff reply came from inside. Chris looked up from a the sheaf of paperwork when she entered. "I forget you're not like the rest of them," he grunted, "you actually wait to enter."

It was a joke, in a very Chris Larabee kind of way. Vanessa didn't even grin. "My report sir," she said, handing it over. Stifling a frustrated sigh, Chris took the papers from her, setting them in his inbox to be checked over. He glanced at the clock on his computer 5:56pm. They all should have been out of there an hour ago, but the brass was being particularly prickly lately, and the reports were due first thing Monday. So he was looking at a long night here, or another Saturday working... wonderful.

Turning back to his paperwork he realized Vanessa still stood before him, hands clasped behind her back. His eyebrow rose up beneath a mop of tousled blonde hair. "You're uh, dismissed," he told her. She turned crisply on her heel and strode from his office. Chris gave a small shake of his head, nice enough woman, decent agent, just not... one of them.

Buck descended upon Vanessa the moment she stepped back into the bullpen. "Feelin' like gracin' our presence tonight at the Saloon there darlin'? I'm thinking we could all use a beer."

"No, thank you Buck, but I think I'll pass tonight. I'm not quite feeling the whole beer and stale peanuts vibe." She flashed him a broad smile. "Some other time." Patting him on the arm, Vanessa slid past him to her desk, whipping a dark gray blazer from the back of her chair.

"You say that every time," Buck protested with a teasing whine, a large smile plastered across his handsome face. Ezra paused at his desk, green eyes flicking upward to watch the exchange.

Vanessa shrugged her way into her jacket. "And every time," she paused, "I mean it. Good night gentlemen, I'll see you Monday." A chorus of voices from around the bullpen echoed the sentiment. Buck watched appreciatively as she strode toward the elevator, head tilting sideways as the doors slid shut behind her.

Buck bounced on the balls of his feet. "I'm wearin' her down boys, I'm telling you." A well aimed paper football hit him in the side of the head. JD hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and stared innocently at the ceiling. Nathan grinned and shook his head.

"It does amaze," the oft reticent southerner's lilting voice wafted across the room, heavy with sarcasm, "that the lady continues to reject your philanderer 's charms.

"Well that's what I'm saying Ezra!" Buck exclaimed. "One of these days she's gonna have to give in to her baser instincts."

"What?" Vin grunted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "To run?"

The five other men broke into raucous laughter, and after a minute or two Buck had the good sense to join. "But seriously boys, it's feeling like beer thirty to me. Who's in?"

"I'll come Buck," JD announced eagerly.

The older man rolled his eyes. "You'd have to JD. I'm your ride since that little wind up toy you call a bike is broken... again." JD shrugged. Vin nodded his approval, working a little faster on his report now that the end of the day pressed closer, as well as the promise of a nice, ice cold glass of.... oh hell, they were just gonna have to take it as is and like it. Vin hit print.

Nathan declined, begging off to head for Longmont and a date with his long time girlfriend, Rain. "Think I'll head down with you," Josiah offered, "least for a while. But it's an early night for me. My plan is to rise early and get a good jump on the heat up Long's tomorrow. Nothing for the spiritual soul like clean air and a long trek."

"Well hell Josiah that sounds like a fine plan. You mindin' some company?" Vin offered.

"Brother Vin, you are always welcome along."

"Well all right then, I just may do that."

"What about you Ezra?" Buck questioned. "Up for a beer? Couple games of eight ball?"

The southerner stretched, hands reaching behind his head as he arched his back. "That is hardly fair Buck," Ezra said, hitting the print button as well, "as you know how I do enjoy besting you on the billiards table." The undercover agent flashed a toothy, cocky grin.

Truth of the matter was that Ezra was was almost as adept on the pool table as he was on the poker table. But unlike the poker table, Buck, Vin, and Chris were an almost even match with the southerner, which made for some interesting games, especially since none of them were above various forms of 'distraction'. Josiah, surprisingly, was far and away the best player among them, though mostly he was happy to observe.

"So you say Ez, but I seem to recall the tables bein' flipped last time we played," Buck meandered toward Ezra's desk, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop.

"An occurrence, I assure you, that will not take place again. Allow me to deliver my report to our estimable leader and I will be ready to rectify..."

"Damn it Ezra," Chris' bellow interrupted, "aren't you done yet?" He stood at the threshold of his door, arms crossed irritably. If he didn't put a stop to their bickering now, it would never end. "I, for one, want to get the hell out of here and start my weekend! Of course, I get to come back here tomorrow, but I'd at least like an enjoyable Friday night, and I can't until you finish your business."

"Of course Mr. Larabee, I was on my way."

"Uh huh," Chris grunted once before vanishing back into his office. Prompted by Chris' temper and their own desire for a rare free weekend, the men of Team Seven were soon filing out of the Denver Federal Building, Nathan to his Ford Explorer, and the rest trooping the handful of blocks to the bar casually referred to as 'The Saloon'. As they walked, Ezra dropped a few steps behind the others, digging his cell phone out of his breast pocket. One missed call, as expected. He pocketed the phone and trotted a few steps to fall in stride beside Vin. Lately it had become a rare occasion to visit the Saloon and its lovely bartender Inez, longtime friend to the Seven, his other engagement could wait a few hours longer.

It was just after ten when Ezra arrived back at his apartment building. The doorman that kept watch over the front door during the day finished his shift at eight, so the undercover agent let himself in via the electronic keypad lock outside the double glass doors. The door beeped agreeably once and he entered, his coat folded neatly over his right forearm.

"I've been waiting," the smooth, rich voice reached him as he approached the elevator. Not accusatory exactly, but not happy either. Ezra paused, finger hovering over the 9th floor button that he had just pressed, and glanced back over his shoulder. The tall, slender woman materialized behind him as if out of nowhere, a habit he still found mildly disconcerting.

"Unless I am quite mistaken," he drawled slowly, "I made you well aware of my plans for this evening."

Vanessa slid a hand over his lower back, stepping closer to him until he could feel the heat of her body on his. "You said you'd be done by nine," she murmured into his ear, a distinct pout in her voice. "I wanted to spend time with you tonight."

Ezra swiftly reached around and removed her hand from his back, turning to face the other agent. "You could have spent time with me at the tavern, had you chosen to accept Mr. Wilmington's invitation, but you did not. Nevertheless, it is still the shank of the evening, and here I am." He smiled softly, brilliant green eyes meeting dark brown. She really was beautiful. "Coming up?"

Lips pursed, she looked for a moment like she might argue, and then she nodded. The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Vanessa entered first, Ezra following close behind. They rode up the nine floors in silence.

Ezra let them inside his two bedroom, Cherry Creek apartment, flipping on the light in the living room. Vanessa made for the kitchen, slinging her jacket over the back of his overstuffed chair, while Ezra headed for the bedroom. He heard the distinctive clink of wine glasses while he hung up his expensive Armani suit coat.

"The Shiraz or the Chardonnay?" the question floated in from the other room.

"Shiraz," Ezra answered quickly. He removed his cufflinks and set them on the top of his set of drawers, along with his wallet and Rolex. Then he took off his shoes, setting them beside the buffing machine near the closet.

He lifted his head and caught sight of himself in his mirror. Moving closer, he took a long look at his reflection and shook his head. "What are you doing Ezra?" he murmured to himself.

She was waiting for him when he returned, heels kicked off, long legs folded beneath her on the couch. She held a glass of red wine in each hand, and he couldn't help but notice that she'd undone another two buttons on her blouse. He settled beside her with a tired sigh, taking the offered glass from her hand. The wine was deep bodied and rich, a soothing warmth as it trickled down his throat.

"You know," Vanessa ventured slowly, "I wouldn't have to wait in the lobby if you gave me a key."

The glass stopped halfway to Ezra's lips. They'd had this conversation before, and it irritated him as much as ever. "I have already told you of feelings on this matter. I do not wish to allow another person access to my abode while I am not present."

"I know you like your privacy Ezra, but I'm not just any person. And as much as you want to keep this quiet from everyone else on the Team, I'm surprised you're comfortable having me wait downstairs for everyone to see as they pass by."

Ezra felt a stab of guilt at that. True, no one else knew about Vanessa and his habitual evening trysts. The situation was complicated for him enough without having to deal with the ribbings from Buck, JD and the others, or Chris' stern disapproval. They were colleagues, and it wasn't love, he knew that much at least. The thought brought another wave of guilt. The first time he'd slept with Vanessa had been a mistake, a drunken accident after a night of too much celebration and a shared cab ride made by two people not considering the consequences.

The second time, Ezra gnawed on the inside of his cheek, the second time he'd made a choice. He'd been alone a long time, and Vanessa was gorgeous, and smart, and driven, and all those things he admired. So he'd slept with her again, hoping his admiration might turn to affection and affection to something deeper. Yet it hadn't, not in any real way, but he was glad for the companionship and so the affair continued, despite his better judgement. And for him, companionship was enough, but he suspected otherwise for her. He had to end this, soon, while they both still had a shot to come away unscathed.

"It is a risk I am willing to take," he said, finality ringing in his voice.

Vanessa sipped her wine as well, knowing well enough that the discussion was over, taking study of the apartment, the warm colors on the walls and homey dark wood floors. No matter how many times she was there, it never ceased to surprise her how little felt lived in. It was perfect, all press and polish and no Ezra at all, save the one framed picture he kept on and end table, the one she always found herself looking at.

Vanessa reached out and arranged the photo in better light. It was a picture of Team Seven from before her addition to the agency. They were out at Chris' ranch on a sunny fall day, all seven men smiling at the camera, and one woman with long copper hair, grinning beside Vin. She felt a twinge of irrational jealousy. Silly she knew, considering the circumstances of Samantha Hunter's departure from the Team, and that no one had seen or heard from the woman in more than a year. "You need a new picture."

"I happen to like that photo," Ezra responded, taking another long drink from his glass.

Vanessa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. The man was stubborn to a fault. Quickly, she drained the rest of her wine. She unfolded her legs on the couch, set her glass on the low table in front of her and turned to Ezra, sliding her hand up his neck. She pulled him to her, lips brushing lightly over his. "I'm going to bed," she whispered. "Coming?" She kissed him again, deeper this time, the wine still flavoring her lips. Then she rose, and walked backwards toward the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse as she went. Ezra watched appreciatively until she passed through the door, and then he followed.

--

Meanwhile, some forty miles away, just outside Colorado Springs, a woman walked into a parking garage, long copper hair pulled back in a ponytail. Samantha Hunter wore a blue tank top and black gym pants, hooded sweatshirt tied hastily around her slender waist. The summer night air was still too balmy to put the sweatshirt on, and she was still sweaty from her workout.

Few cars were left in the garage, seeing as it was late on a Friday night. But she'd had a late class at the gym where she taught martial arts, and still wanted to put in a good workout after that. Not like she'd had any other plans for that night anyway, except to go home, crack a beer and reheat a quick bite in front of her TV before retiring for the night. It was a comfortable process she'd repeated one hundred times before.

But for some reason that night, as she walked swiftly to her metallic silver-blue 72' Corvette, the hairs on the back of her neck started to stand up on end. Unease welled in her gut, and her eyes flicked cautiously around the parking garage. Nothing. Still, she walked a little faster, hand flexing on her car keys.

The man burst out from the darkness behind a large red SUV, a gloved hand snaking around her waist and another around her mouth. Sam moved, a reaction borne of years of training. She reached over her shoulder for the man's wrist, plated her foot and flung him over her hip. He hit the ground on his side and rolled, and she saw that a stocking cap covered his face. He leapt to his feet, hands raised to fight.

The attacker came at her, and she blocked two blows and ducked a roundhouse right, before planting a foot in his gut with a solid front kick. He stumbled back a few steps before righting himself and coming again. There was no time to think, no time to consider the motivations, she just acted, and reacted. They traded blows for a minute, and soon Sam's ribs were aching and her lips was split, blood trailing down her chin. Her attacker was limping. Then the man decided to better his odds. He drew a long hunting knife from a sheath on his hip, waving the blade menacingly.

She managed to avoid a few blows, before the knife found its mark, slicing open her exposed shoulder. The pain brought tears to her eyes and she faltered. The man had no pity, descending on her like a rabid dog. She grappled with the knife as he slammed his knee up into her gut and side. One of her ribs cracked, she could feel it, and she gasped, dropping to her knees, wheezing. "You're gonna give Chris Larabee a message for me," a deep voice growled from behind the mask. Then he drew back his arm, and his fist connected with the side of her head, and everything went dark.

--

Monday morning, Vin Tanner pulled into the parking garage of the Denver Federal building, his ancient Jeep letting out a guttural growl when he put it in park. He was running late, the only car he didn't see being Ezra's sleek Jag. He hopped down out of the cab, pulling the seat forward so he could grab his bag out of the back.

He locked the door and heard the sound of tires screeching as someone obviously took a corner too fast. He turned, and saw the top of a white van speeding for the exit. With a shrug, he headed for the elevator that led inside.

"Hey Vin," there was something off to it, but the familiar voice stopped the sharpshooter dead in his tracks.

"Saman..." the name died on his lips when he turned and saw the woman staggering toward him. She was barely recognizable, hair a mess, face covered in blood and bruises, her right arm held awkwardly across her midsection. Samantha Hunter stopped and swayed, reaching out to steady herself on the trunk of a nearby car. "What the hell?"

"Aww now Vin, that ain't the face of someone happy to see me," she tried to grin and failed miserably. The world started to spin. Vin dropped his bag from his shoulder and rushed to her side as her knees gave way. "I think you boys went and pissed someone off again. Go figure." Then she passed out.

--

Chapter 1

I will give more background info on Sam, but if you care to, you can read her intro in a couple of my other stories 'A Really Big Fish' and 'Investigative Reporting'. She's in another one too, but I wasn't as happy with that story. Please review :)