ATF VS EP2-1

Walls

by: Cass Smith

Rating: PG 13, some language

Disclaimer: The characters of the Magnificent Seven are the property of CBS and Mirisch. No money or profit was made in this publication. It was solely an exercise in entertainment and creativity.

Special Thanks*** Thanks to Penny, & Tidia who took the time to give me great tips on this story, and to Mog, who created Orin’s wife Amelia. I thought it only suiting that September 26th be the date of the ATF team’s formation. After all, that’s Mog’s birthday!! Also, thanks to the rest of the RB who looked at the first draft of this and told me it was salvageable. And to Maggs who helped me immensely, as usual.

Warnings*** This hasn’t been Betaed guys, despite my wonderful beta, Marla’s, offer and enthusiasm. I was late on turning this into an episode, it didn’t start out that way, so all mistakes are mine. ALSO, great creative liberty was used in the Psych work up on the guys. Trust me, if I was writing a real case report, it would have been a lot duller. I guess it’s a good thing that Rosalind isn’t a real psychologist! bg.

Useless Quote that Cass insists on using***

Humans are the only animals that imprison themselves..

***************************

September 26, 2000

Judge Orin Travis struggled to open the door to his office while balancing an arm load of files, a cup of coffee, and a bag of pastries that Mary would have scolded him for indulging in. His daughter-in-law had a habit of treating him as if he were in the same age range as his eight year-old grandson, Billy. There were times when he believed that he only stopped at Joe’s Sweet Shop to be rebellious.

After all, he needed some excitement. Unlike what most would assume, being an assistant director in the ATF wasn’t all adventure and glory. In fact, most of his job was tedious to say the least. Half the time he felt like a glorified paper pusher, and the other half he felt like a high school principle, maintaining order with a bunch of hooligans. Some days came down to removing toys from his agent’s desks, asking for late reports to be turned in immediately, and enforcing the dress code with those who thought blue jeans, buckskin coats, and Jimmy Buffet tour shirts were appropriate attire for a federal officer. Of course his kids were encouraged to bring guns to school and often used aggression to their advantage, so he was sure he had quite a bit more paper work than any school administrator across the country did.

Unfortunately, the drudgery of paper work was what had brought him into the office bright and early on this Tuesday morning. Even the regular early birds weren’t bustling about yet and there wasn’t even a hint of Tanner or Larabee in the parking garage, where Travis usually ran into them on his way in. So, with a determined sigh, Orin finally managed the lock on his door and resigned himself to the dreaded task.

Opening the blinds behind his desk did little to brighten his mood, despite the late September sun that sent shards of dawn light into the room. After turning on one of his favorite Jazz CD’s and pouring his coffee into the World’s Greatest Grand pa mug Billy had given him last week, the judge took a seat behind his desk and opened the first file.

“First thing’s first.” He sighed. Annual reviews were one of his least favorite duties, but this case was especially trying in a lot of ways. His top regional special tactics team was up for their four-year review. In fact, four years ago, on this very date, he was witness to the first official meeting of the complete team. It wasn’t that the Magnificent Seven, as they were now known, would have any marks on their record that would warrant a reprimand nor would their progress demand any thing but further accommodations, but looking through the folder that had grown as thick as a novel over the years was always a little painful.

Travis could turn the pages and vividly recall each incident and bust, relishing in the triumphs and victories, but also suffering through the countless injuries and heartbreaking losses that his men had endured in the line of duty. Everything was all documented in black in white within the pages he was holding. The blood, sweat, and tears that had helped create this file had brought both him and the ATF honor and recognition. For that he felt proud and a little selfish.

The men written about in the report had survived all that had been thrown at them and had managed to form not only a top-notch team, but also a hell of a family in the process. They’d rebounded not just from physical harm, but healed emotional damage that Orin himself had honestly believed would be their Achilles' heal. In the beginning, he’d given them a few months, tops. But for once, he was very happy to be wrong.

Not that these most recent feelings had always been justified, the papers before him proved that. On the contrary, at one time, he’d felt that he had been precise in his judgment, and that he would in fact lose the unit he’d started to believe in. As a reminder, Travis picked up one of the documents on top of the stack and frowned. The letter was neatly written, unusual in itself considering the word processing age that they lived in, but not unusual if one had met Dr. Rosalind Grimes, who believed computers were the plague of the century. It had happened only about six months after Team Seven had gotten started, and he had been sure it was the beginning of the end.

************

June 31, 1997
 
 

Status Report

Dr. Rosalind Grimes

Att. A.D. Orrin Travis

On April 1, 1997, I was asked by the Internal Affairs division of the ATF to follow up on the request of one, Special Agent Christopher Larabee, to disband a special tactics team that was started less than one year ago and is currently under your command.

I must say that this request seemed rather unusual to me at the time, considering the man asking for the reassignment of the group is the very same agent who started the team, hand-picked each member, and has successfully led them for six months.

I hope you can understand why I decided that further investigation was warranted before I could label such a unit as dysfunctional and ineffective. I.A. is not inclined to grant Agent Larabee’s request without evidence of his accusations, considering the time, effort and money that has been invested by the ATF in the commission of this unit.

A background check was easily procured and my conclusions will thus follow. Much of it, I’m sure you are aware of, but copies of this report will be distributed to I.A. and my superiors.

Sincerely,

Dr. Rosalind Grant

**************

Judge Travis read the cover letter and remembered how shocked he had been to find out that Chris Larabee had requested the team be disbanded before even talking with him. Having a shrink send him an informal correspondence telling him that she was investigating his best unit was not something that went over well. If things had turned out differently, the judge was sure some heads would have rolled. But fortunately, for all involved, Dr. Grimes had done her homework. Orin took a sip of his coffee and picked up the next page of the handwritten report.

*****************

When I began my investigation, Team Seven had been together for exactly six months.

Six months to build a reputation that has, to my knowledge, surpassed any other law enforcement team in the country. They are, to all accounts, ‘Magnificent’. I am well aware of the nickname they have earned for themselves.

Every case they had undertaken prior to the Marcoli incident on March 11th, 1997 had been successfully completed and all ended in apprehension or demise of the suspects under investigation.

Even with this record, it was hard to imagine that the odd combination of men ‘could’ actually function, let alone be successful. The mix of different personalities alone was enough to cast a shadow of doubt for me, not to mention the extremely diverse backgrounds and culminations of unique past trauma of the different members.

I admit I was questioning the soundness of A.D. Travis’ decision-making skills in allowing such a union to forge.

However, the team, comprised of a philosophizing behavioral specialist, a highly educated ex-medic, a ‘wild card’ that had been fingered as a traitor by his previous peers, a lady’s man who’s charm was as legendary as his arrest record, a rookie kid from Boston wanting to prove himself, a lone wolf sharpshooter who could blend with the enemy as well as his own pack, and a leader, who’s cunning and authority was matched only by his intensity and need for revenge on anyone who dared to cross the line between right and wrong ....worked.

And worked well.

I came to find out that they were the golden children of A.D. Orrin Travis, not his bastard project, and that they had put the ATF Denver Office on the map. Looking at their history, it seemed as if nothing or no one seemed able to stop them, or even slow them down, for that fact.

Of course it did not escape my attention that Team Seven had experienced their fair share of scrapes during the six months that they had been working together. However, this was expected considering the types of people that they had crossed in their cases. But, so far, luck had been on their side. Nothing had gone terribly wrong, no one had been seriously hurt, but that all changed during the case codenamed, Blue Angel.

Because even the best team loses a game once in a while, I was not surprised to find the reports of the Marcoli affair. After working with law enforcement for the past twenty years, not much does surprise me. So the fact that this incident seemed to be the precursor for Agent Larabee’s change of heart seemed troubling.

Having already researched Larabee’s extensive record in the field while in special crimes, homicide, and later ATF, not to mention his previous military experience, I had assumed the man was unshakeable. At the very least I was sure he would easily rebound from such a small defeat. After all, the most a seasoned player can hope for is the chance for a rematch.

But what I failed to recognize is that a rematch can only be rescheduled if all the original players are able to return. In this situation there was some doubt that all of Agent Larabee’s team would be back on the field. Two members of Team Seven were hurt and agent Vincent Tanner was critically wounded saving the life of a fellow teammate.

Saving Chris Larabee, to be exact. ( For further details, please see incident report below.)

**********

Orin rubbed at his eyes and hesitated slightly before picking up the report that Rosalind had eluded too. He didn’t need to read it. He could recall it just as easily as he could remember what he and Amelia had eaten for dinner yesterday. It was almost as if he had been right there himself, imagining everything his men had said and done as the proverbial rug had been pulled out from underneath them. Their voices echoed in his head and suddenly the window that he had turned around to stare out became a screen, as the scene replayed itself using images from his memory and imagination, as well as bits and pieces from the formal report.

The date had been March 11th, and several teams including Team Seven were in the warehouse district of Denver wrapping up the case codenamed, Blue Angel......

****************
 
 

“Well?” Buck Wilmington peered intently at the young man seated in front of him, wearing headphones and munching happily on a chocolate zinger. “Is it going down yet, kid?”

JD Dunne rolled his hazel eyes in frustration and held his hand up at his partner. This guy was driving him crazy. “Like I can hear with you asking me the same questions every five seconds.”

Buck slapped the computer specialist on the back of the head as he made his way to the front of the surveillance van. “Don’t get smart, short stuff. Remember I control your rent.”

“Not for long.” JD called after him. “I’m moving out just as soon as something comes open in Vin’s building.”

“Well, with the homicide rate the way it is down there that shouldn’t be too long.”

Nathan Jackson smiled at Wilmington as he sat across from him in the passenger’s seat. “Now, Buck, I bet you won’t know what to do once you get your bachelor pad back.”

A roguish grin split Wilmington’s features and he rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “Oh, I know what I’ll do, Doc. There are hundreds of lovely ladies that have missed my entertaining since the kid moved in. I'll have’em beating down the doors.”

“To get out, maybe.” JD mumbled under his breath, and flipped on the monitor screen to see if Josiah had been successful in getting them video from the other side.

“ I heard that.” Wilmington growled, turning an exasperated expression to his other partner. “See the gratitude I get for putting a roof over his head, Nate? For trying to show him the ropes of the business! This is what I put up with on a daily basis.”

Jackson shook his head and hid his knowing smile." No one said it was easy raising kids, Buck.“

“Tell me about it.“ JD’s voice rang out before Wilmington could reply. “I thought having a puppy was a lot of work. Heck, Buck’s not even paper-trained.“

“Maybe I should just let you move into Purgatorio and see if you can train the bullets to buzz right past your head. Hell, you might even teach the gangs to pick up your laundry while they’re rifling through your stuff to find things to steal?”

“You are so full of crap, Buck.”

Wilmington laughed. “You just now figuring that out, kid?”

JD’s reply was cut off this time by the crackling of the radio and the transmission of Josiah Sanchez’s deep baritone voice. //“Base, this is Scout. I couldn’t get a bird’s eye view of the situation, too many crows circling if you know what I mean. How’s audio picking up?”//

“Audio’s fine, Scout.” Nathan had picked up the hand-held unit and glanced to JD, who nodded that his report was correct. “It doesn’t look like that sudden change in locations is going to put us too far behind in the game.”

//“Roger that. I’m on my way back to the nest after checking in with Base six.”//

“Over.” Nathan sat the radio down and turned his seat back towards Buck.

“Do you think we should still be concerned about Marcoli changing the location at the last minute?”

Wilmington’s dark eyes narrowed and he turned to JD. “What’s going on in there, kid?”

Dunne sighed. “Usual. Ez is talking his trash about mark-up and the basic economics of the gunrunning trade as he sees it. Chris just asked about seeing the product and Franz, Marcoli’s henchman, just told him that Marcoli would be arriving with it anytime now. And here‘s a news flash for you, Vin hasn‘t muttered a word.”

“Good’’ Buck‘s expression softened some. “Maybe we did get all worked up for nothing. This bust might just go down without a hitch after all.”

“We‘ll soon find out.” JD touched his earpiece and glanced at his partners. “Marcoli just showed up.”

Buck and Nathan both stood and grabbed their vests. Slipping his on, Buck pointed a finger at JD. “You stay here until we give the all clear, got it?”

JD gave his friend a lop-sided grin. “Don‘t I always obey your every command, old wise and knowledgeable one?”

Buck rolled his eyes and slipped on the earpiece Dunne was holding out for him to take. “Don‘t make me hurt you, old young and smart assed one.”

Dunne‘s grin grew as he passed Nate his own radio. “Good luck.”

Wilmington slapped him on the back as he and Jackson turned to go. “Who needs luck, kid? We‘re the Magnificent Seven.”

JD rolled his eyes and turned back to his computer. Buck was definitely full of it, but still, he couldn’t help to smile at the familiar sensation of excitement and pride that he always got when his team was about to nail another piece of scum like Marcoli. The last six months had been like a dream come true and he was beginning to believe that for once his life, things were going to work out like they should.

Unfortunately, Nathan and Buck had just gotten out the door when JD’s sense of security started to waiver and his typical pre-bust adrenaline rush started to increase. Something was wrong inside. Or maybe he was just hearing things. God! He hoped he was hearing things.

Damn!

Fate was determined to screw him over. He wasn’t hearing things. Marcoli had just called Chris, ‘Agent Larabee’.

“Buck! We’ve got problems! Marcoli made Chris.” JD picked up his weapon and vest as he shouted into his radio.

// “What?! // Wilmington’s voice carried across the waves with such clarity that JD flinched.

“I said all hell just broke loose. Our team’s been compromised. All agents move in.”

JD Dunne’s excited voice broke the radio silence that had been maintained with Team 3 and Team 6 as he repeated his earlier declaration to Buck. “Agents compromised. All teams move in.”

/“Copy that!”/ Special Agent Mike Flannigan, leader of Team 6, echoed across the waves. /“Move, but hold your fire until we know what the situation is.”/

“Know what the situation is?!” Buck shot Nathan an incredulous look. “Didn’t he hear the kid?! Our guys are f**ked!”

Before Jackson could try to interject any amount of reasoning, his partner had torn off in the direction of the warehouse and he wasn’t a bit surprised when a dark-haired blur darted past him and shot off after Wilmington like a bird dog after its prey. “JD.” The ex-medic took a quick breath and glanced towards the heavens, sending up a silent prayer as he too began to run. “Please let our luck hold, just one more time.”

**************

Inside the warehouse Ezra Standish was trying to keep his face a mask of shocked denial and anger as he glanced from his real boss, Chris Larabee, to his pretend boss, Zander Marcoli. “Did you just call Mr. Lawrence what I think you did?”

“You heard him, Simpson!” Franz faced the impeccably dressed undercover agent. “He said agent, as in cop, as in ‘pig’,” the henchman quickly pulled a weapon from his waistband and aimed it at Ezra, “ as in majorly f**ked! And seeing as how you introduced him to us...”

“What the hell are you talking about, Marcoli?” Chris’ voice was like ice and his green eyes never wavered as he glared at the tall, weapon’s dealer in front of him. “I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing but it’s a dangerous one. Especially for you.”

“It seems you are the one ‘playing’, Mr. Lawrence!” Marcoli nodded towards the limousine that had delivered him safely into the warehouse, where two of his men still stood, both brandishing automatic weapons.

Upon his boss’s signal the bigger of the two hired muscle opened the back door of the car and a small weasel-faced man stepped shakily out.

Marcoli turned back to Chris. “ I know you’re an agent, Larabee, and I believe you know Mr. Hughes. It seems you helped send him away for a nice, long vacation.”

Larabee worked to control the emotions of rage and fear that were mixing with the adrenaline in his system and threatening to crack the cool exterior he was known for. The front he depended on.

Unfortunately, the only thing more pressing than keeping his defenses up was the idea of keeping his men safe. With a silent shared look with Vin who was a few feet away and to his left watching the seen with a look void of emotion and a glance to Ezra, who was by his side, Chris turned back to Marcoli and smiled.

“You win Zander. You’ve got me. I’m a damn good travel agent. And guess what? I’m going to give you first prize, a one-way trip to the federal resort of the legal system’s choice.”

Marcoli’s face twisted into an angry snarl. “Kill him!”

Chris had planned on taking a bullet. He had counted on it. It would at least give Vin and Ezra the distraction they needed. It would give them the chance that they wouldn’t get otherwise. And it would give the rest of the teams the opportunity to sweep in and save the day.

He hadn’t planned on what took place.

In, what in all actuality took mere seconds to occur, Chris swore time had frozen.

He felt, more than saw, Ezra tackle him from the side as a vision of something, or someone darting between them and Franz’s gun filled his view.

When he hit the concrete, it sounded as if he had landed on the streets of Purgatorio during some gang war. Automatic weapon fire resounded around the high-ceilinged structure and acrid smoke filled his nostrils.

Someone had thrown a smoke canister.

From somewhere in the distance he heard the three most beautiful words imaginable. “FREEZE ! Federal Agents!”

His instincts kicked in once he realized he hadn’t been hit and Chris began to get to his knees. They needed to reach cover. *Where the hell was Vin?*

That thought screamed its way into the center of his mind as Larabee physically sought out Ezra. He knew the southern agent had gone down with him and found his arm easily enough. “You all right?” He yelled over the gunfire as the two scrambled to reach the front of Marcoli's car, the only protection available to them.

“Peachy!” Ezra coughed. “It’s my suit that I’m concerned about. Do you have any idea..”

The undercover agent’s words trailed off and Chris was starting to thank someone for the second miracle that day when he too bumped into what had caused the end to Standish’s lament. “Vin.”

Lying in front of them, face down on the cement floor in front of the limousine was the all too-still form of Vin Tanner.

“Shit!” Chris now knew exactly why he hadn’t taken Franz’s bullet. Vin had taken it for him. “Damn it, Tanner!” What the hell was he thinking?

“He’s alive.” Ezra was leaned over the other side of their partner, his ear near Vin’s face. “He’s breathing.”

Around them gunfire still echoed as men emerged from their hiding places to swap rounds, but Chris heard the weak whisper without any problem. “You all right, Cowboy?”

“That should be my line.” Larabee tried to keep the concern out of his voice as he did his best to roll Vin over while keeping himself and Ezra out of the line of fire.

He’d just gotten his friend on his back when a new hail of bullets struck around them. Chris instinctively shielded Vin with his own body, but he heard a sudden gasp of pain and felt the southerner fall against him.

“Ez?” Vin had heard it too, and he now weakly pushed at Chris to check on their friend.

“I’m fine.” Ezra quickly extricated himself from Chris’s grasp and leaned back against the grill of the black car, coughing. “But my suit now has a hole in the shoulder of it; not to mention blood stains,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “If we make it out of this little situation, I will expect full reimbursement from the department.”

Larabee’s eyes darkened with anger as he read the pain-filled grimace on his friend’s features. “We’re going to get out of here. Just hold on, damn it.”

The smoke was getting thicker around them and Vin began to cough. “Ah hell!” He moaned trying to roll over onto his side again.

Chris had stripped off his jacket and reached out to hold him still. “Easy. I need to stop the bleeding.”

“I knew six months was too long of a lucky streak.” Vin tossed out between coughs as he tried to focus on anything except the pain Chris’ treatment was inflicting. “Can’t ...out..run...the...devil for long.”

“And here I thought ‘I’ was the pessimistic one in our little group.” Ezra helped Chris slide Vin nearer to the car, keeping the sharpshooter between them incases of another round of gunfire. “I wagered we’d last no more than a year, tops.”

“Both of you shut-up!” Larabee turned icy green eyes on the two. “We’re getting out of this alive. All of us!”

“I take it that was an order?” Ezra met his leader’s gaze and held it, trying to read the strange emotions churning just beneath the liquid surface.

Chris’ reply was cut off by another volley of gunfire, but between shielding Vin and pulling Ezra closer to the concrete, he managed to get his point across. “I’m going to see if I can make it to those crates over there. Franz is down, we could use his gun.”

“No!” Vin’s voice was clearly audible this time. The sharpshooter reached up and wrapped one hand around Larabee’s wrist. “They’ll cut you down before...you...get...five ..feet, damn it.”

“I have to agree with Mr. Tanner’s rather dark assumption this time, my friend.” Ezra clenched his jaw as another coughing fit shook his injured shoulder. “I advise we wait on the Calvary.”

As if to punctuate his words another set of gunfire had them both pushing Vin under the front of the car. The sharpshooter couldn’t help but to cry out at the rough treatment and Chris’ green eyes glared at Ezra. “We might as well wait for the death wagon. Vin needs help,” Larabee nodded at the southerner’s sleeve and his lip twitched with a familiar smirk, “and your suit needs patchin’ up.”

Ezra glanced down at Vin who was trying hard to get his breathing back under control, which was probably a losing battle considering his injury and the smoke around them. “I’m fine!” Tanner finally bit out, glancing from Standish to Larabee. He refused to be the reason Chris Larabee got himself killed.

“Of course you are Mr. Tanner.” Ezra’s voice regained some of its refinery as he forced a smile, and glanced back up at Team Seven’s leader, “but Mr. Larabee is quite right about my suit. This is not attire I wish to spend my last moments on this fair planet in.”

Vin locked gazes with Chris for a moment and then turned his head mumbling something that sounded a lot like ‘damn stubborn fool’.

If he heard the younger man, Larabee didn’t let on. Instead, he focused on his other friend. He took Ezra’s hand and put it over the wound in Vin’s side, “Stay with him!” Chris left no room for discussion and Ezra knew that with in those three firm words, there lay about ten orders, not to mention a couple of threats.

He, like the rest of his teammates, hadn’t missed the connection his boss and Vin shared. The two could communicate with complete silence and shared more information in a glance than he and his own mother Maude could exchange with a hundred formal correspondences. So, it wasn’t that the undercover agent was taken aback by his leader’s obviously unnecessary command to watch over Vin, but rather...almost....proud. For it was the first time in six months that Ezra was sure that Chris Larabee trusted him.

*************

Chris Larabee was running on pure anger now. He was locked into survival and revenge mode. His dash across the small distance from his friends to where Victor Franz lay staring at the ceiling with eyes vacant of life had seemed surreal.

Scenes from the last six months flashed before him as his body reacted without planned cognition. Images of he and Vin and the others played out in his mind with sickening clarity as he pried the Glock from the dead man’s hand and walked out into the open, like Wyatt Earp at Tombstone.

“NO!” Vin Tanner watched in awe and horror as his friend actually stepped out from behind the crates across from them and started firing his gun as if some invisible, impenetrable shield protected him.

Ezra tightened his hold on Tanner, who fought with what little strength he had to get to their leader, and wished like hell that they had not sacrificed their own weapons when Marcoli’s men had insisted before the meeting started. He had never felt more helpless or angry in his life as he watched Larabee offer himself up as a martyr. Refusing to let go of Vin, he did the only thing he could do, something he hadn’t done in years. He prayed.

Chris didn’t care that bullets were zinging past his head and striking the cement around him. No. Only one thing mattered. Someone had to pay.

He searched his surroundings looking for Marcoli. Instead he found one of the gunrunner’s bodyguards, taking him down with a bullet between the eyes, and then the other which he took out with a direct hit to the chest. Vin wasn’t the only sharpshooter on the team. Especially when Chris was on a mission.

Then it happened. Marcoli stepped from behind his refuge, planning to shoot Chris in the back.

“Larabee!!” Vin’s voice penetrated the mental haze that had the leader focused on only one objective. Kill Marcoli. “Behind you!”

Without hesitation, Larabee dropped to one knee, pivoted, and fired one shot. Marcoli never even had time to pull the trigger.

It was over. The rest of Marcoli’s men were either dead or had decided that jail time seemed a lot better than a permanent stint at the morgue. The carnage lay strewn around the warehouse, amidst the smoke from the canisters and the weapon fire. Shouts from agents could be heard, but Chris didn’t make anything out over the ringing in his ears.

A little voice whispered to him that it was all right. That it was done. Vin and Ezra were alive. He was still breathing. But another voice, a louder one, told him that more than Marcoli’s operation had been destroyed and all he could do was wait for the aftermath.

**************

Buck Wilmington wasn’t exactly sure of what had happened or when he and his friends had lost control of the situation. All he knew was that everything had gone wrong so very quickly.

As soon as JD had shouted his announcement over the radio, the veteran law enforcement officer had known that they had screwed up. All of them, except for JD, had been in the game long enough to know that anytime plans were changed quickly, there was more than likely a reason for it. And usually that reason led to problems. Problems like he had now.

Three of their team were unaccounted for, the other ATF teams and the bad guys were in a shoot out reminiscent of something the kid liked to read about in modern day dime store Westerns, and the JD had just gotten himself shot saving his hot-headed partner’s ass.

“Damn, son, how many times I gotta’ tell you to stay in the van until I give the all clear.” Buck had gotten his roommate and himself behind some crates near the door and was now checking JD’s leg to see how many new gray hairs he could count on showing up in his head within the next few days. “Now look what you’ve gone and done.”

“I’m fine, and it’s a good thing I don’t always listen or you’d be dead right now!” JD yelled angrily over the loud gunfire. “ What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Buck looked up surprised at the kid’s tone. His own fear and frustration was shortening his temper and he was going to tell the little shit just exactly what he was doing, when he realized he had ‘no’ idea what he was doing. In fact, the combination of worry and pain written plainly in the hazel eyes glaring defiantly at him, made him forget completely everything he was going to say. So he decided to switch tactics.

“It don’t matter what I was doing, JD. What the hell did you think you were doing following me in here like we’re attached at the hip or something?” Wilmington’s eyes scanned the area around them as he spoke, looking for any glimpse of Nathan Jackson, the closest thing to a doctor that they had at the moment. Even though JD’s leg looked like a simple flesh wound, the idea that the kid was actually bleeding was enough to set every nerve Buck had on end.

JD bit his lip as Wilmington applied pressure to the wound in his thigh. “I ain’t no kid, Buck! I’m a cop too, in case you’ve forgotten.”

Buck rolled his eyes, trying not to show the fact that he was dealing with a fear he‘d never known before. A worry he‘d never felt, until watching JD go down in his place. “Now how in the hell am I suppose to forget that, seeing as how you remind me of it ’least ten times a day.”

JD hissed in pain as Buck applied more pressure. “Dang it, Buck. That hurts!”

Wilmington glanced back up at his partner, threatening to lose what little control he had left. He realized suddenly the ludicrousy of arguing with his partner in the middle of a damn fire fight and tried to rein in control of his emotions. “Just take it easy, JD. Nate was right behind me. You’re goin’ to be fine.”

Dunne locked gazes with his friend and took reassurance in the fact that Buck had never in the six months that he had known him lied to him, not even once. Despite the fact that he took comfort in those words, he still refused to let Buck know that. “I told you I was fine.”

Wilmington shook his head. “Sure, kid.”

JD flinched when a bullet struck one of the boxes shielding them. “Damn it, Buck. Can’t you just call me JD? I’m twenty-one years old, for cryin’ out loud!”

Buck raised up from shielding his roommate from the latest rounds aimed in their direction and wasn’t surprised to see fear reflected in the hazel depths. He’d learned quickly that JD didn’t frighten easy, but when he was scared he showed it by getting mad or becoming a bigger pain in the ass than usual. Wanting to reassure the younger man came natural, protecting him had become second nature, but doing it in a manner in which JD didn’t get his hackles up was another matter all together.

Buck pulled JD a little closer towards him and their meager shelter, deciding to use the one tactic that had seemed to work the best. “I know you’re not a kid, ‘kid’. Sometimes you just need to do what I say, not what I do.” The lady’s man smiled. “After all, I’ve had fifteen years to perfect my moves. You ain’t goin’ to up and learn ’em in just six short months. Give it another year or twenty, and I might have you up to par.”

JD rolled his eyes. “Another year or two of pulling your fat out of the fire and I’ll be dead.”

Wilmington laughed at his friend’s choice of words, hearing a hint of his own influence in the Boston native’s vernacular. There was a part of him that loved the way JD absorbed things like a thirsty sponge and then there was the part that still cursed Chris Larabee for unofficially appointing him the kid’s teacher and guardian. “Not if I have anything to say about it, son.”

JD didn’t get a chance to reply because Nathan had just come skidding to a halt beside them, bringing a sigh of relief from the older man hovering over him. “Can’t you two stay out of trouble for once?”

Buck looked at the kid and then Nathan. “Us? Trouble?”

“How’s he doing?”

“I’m fine.” JD replied before Buck could answer their teammate’s question.

“Well, as you can see, he’s as stubborn as ever.”

“What’s goin’ on out there, Nate?” JD tried not to look down at his bloodied pants leg that the ex-medic was now cutting away.

As if to answer his question, the gunfire erupting around them ceased, and a haunting silence fell over them. “Sounds like the boys have started to get things under control.”

JD tried to sit up only to have Buck and Nathan push him back to the cold cement. “’bout time,” Wilmington growled. “What the hell happened, anyway?”

“Seems a little bird told Marcoli that Chris wasn’t who he said he was.” Josiah’s tense voice brought all three men’s eyes to him. The big man kneeled down and locked gazes with Buck. “I found Weasel Hughs’ body behind Marcoli’s limo.”

“Damn,” Buck muttered, raking a hand through his dark hair. “I knew that rat couldn’t be trusted.”

“Where’s the rest of the guys?” JD asked, his eyes searching Josiah’s face for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.

When Sanchez didn’t answer right away, Nathan touched his arm. “Injuries?”

“Ezra took a hit to the shoulder.”

“And Junior?” For some reason Buck knew that Chris wasn’t hurt, maybe it had been all the time they’d spent working side by side, but another gut feeling told him that their sharpshooter might not have been so lucky.

“It looks like it might be bad.”

“Holy shit.” Buck sighed, knowing that answer could mean a whole hell of a lot of things. Not only for Vin, and for Chris, but for his team. No, his family.

**********

Four Corners Mercy General
 

"How's JD?" Chris removed his eyes from the silver bay doors barring him from Vin's side as he felt, more than saw, Buck Wilmington slump into the chair beside him.

A slight smile erased some of the uncharacteristic worry lines from the other man's handsome features.

"They're going to keep him over night and he's going to be on crutches for a few days, but to hear him tell it, he's 'fine'."

Buck laughed and raked his fingers through his tasseled dark hair. If Chris hadn't noticed how bad his friend's hands were shaking he might have found it easier to believe his next words. "Hell, I knew the kid would be all right. Ez too." Wilmington locked gazes with Larabee. "Just like Vin will be all right."

Chris looked away. "He's still in surgery." He had been in surgery for the last three hours, ever since they had kicked Larabee out of the Trauma room and rushed him to a team of doctors that were now trying to stop the internal bleeding and remove the punctured spleen that was threatening his life.

Buck sighed. "Nate said the bullet shouldn't be hard to remove. He said Doctor Stewart told you that the bullet hadn’t done irreparable damage and that the kid’s chances were good."

The icy green glare Wilmington was treated to would have struck fear in anyone else. But Buck wasn't just anyone. He'd seen Chris Larabee at his worse and although 'this' was bad, it was a far cry from the indescribable presence that Chris had been before Team Seven had come along. Before Tanner had come along.

"The bullet 'shouldn't' have been there in the first place, Buck." Larabee swallowed hard and his voice
lowered into almost a growl, "And it did more damage than you know."

It was Buck's turn to get angry. "I guess you should be the one lugging that little piece of lead instead of Tanner. Better yet, maybe you think you should be  in one of the boxes down in the morgue." Wilmington kept his voice soft, but his words carried the weight f a prizefighter's punch. "And the only damage I see is what's been done to your damn, stubborn pride."

Chris stared at his friend a moment before roughly standing and starting to pace towards the other end of the deserted waiting room. Buck stood also, reaching out to stop his friend.

"You're not going to walk away from me again, Chris. This ain't like with Sarah and Adam." Larabee spun around and jerked her arm from the other man's grasp. "Shut-up, Buck!" Wilmington took a step back as if Chris had struck him, or maybe reality had slapped him upside his sometimes thick head. "Or is it?"

Chris started to walk past him, but Buck blocked his path. "That's it. Isn't it? It finally happened. You
finally let those walls down."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Chris' fists were clenched, but he was standing still again. Buck shook his head slowly. "You probably didn't even realize it until both Ez and Vin tried to take that bullet for you." Wilmington stepped closer to Chris.

"Then it slammed into you harder than any slug would have. Anyone on the whole damn team would die for you, would take your place, just like you feel Sarah and Adam did."

Chris had his hands wrapped around the lapels of Buck's coat before he even realized what he was doing. He slammed the other man up against the sterile white wall behind them."I said shut the f**k up."

"This ain't a bad thing, pard." Buck didn't seem phased in the least by his old friend's rough treatment. "Hell, it just shows that you're starting to live again, instead of existing like some wind-up toy soldier." Buck felt Chris' grip loosen and he continued. "Carin' 'bout folks ain't no crime, Chris."

"I never said it was, Buck!" Green eyes flashed with something more than just fury."It's just that it fits some better than others."

Buck felt a twinge deep in his gut. There was a time when Chris Larabee was one of the most caring men that Wilmington had ever known. A part of him had thought that side of his friend was long since dead, but here recently he'd gained a new hope. A hope that the Chris he had known, had loved like a brother, was still alive, but just buried beneath the layers of pain he seemed unable to let go of. It wasn't easy admitting that he wasn't the one responsible for that change, but he couldn't feel anything but gratitude toward the person who was.

"Is that what you're going to tell Vin when you walk away? Do you think that he'll buy that load of shit
any better than I did?" Buck knew he was treading on thin ice but he inched himself out further, oblivious to the danger. "I don't think Junior will understand. I know Ezra and JD won't , Nate neither. Josiah might chalk it up to some kind of penance, but I won't be so forgiving this time. I ain't goin' to let you hurt them, pard." Buck finally reached up and pushed Chris off of him. "And I ain't going to stand by and let you hurt yourself."

"Is everything all right, brothers?" Josiah had entered the room and stood off to the right of his two teammates. He was carrying two cups of coffee and precariously holding a brown paper bag with 'Lou's Deli' printed across the front of it.

"Yeah," Chris turned to face Sanchez, forcing his tensed muscles to relax, "everything's fine." Josiah didn't look convinced in the least, but he focused on Buck just the same. "JD's been moved to Ezra's room now and the nurse said you could come back if behave yourself. He's been asking for you."

Buck's stance changed and he quickly brushed past Larabee. "I'll get up there. That boy'd be lost without me."

Josiah smiled and handed Wilmington the back from Lou's and one of the coffees. "Kid figured you'd be hungry. He asked me to pick this up for you."

Wilmington hesitated slightly then his grin widened as he took the sandwich and drink from Sanchez. "Guess I'd be pretty lost without him, too."

"Looks that way." Josiah winked at him and Buck glanced back over his shoulder at Chris. "Let me know when Junior's out of surgery."

Josiah watched Buck go and then turned back to face his boss who had returned to his vigil in the chair closest to the bay doors leading into the surgery wing. "I think Buck and JD have adopted each other somewhere along this six month journey that we've been traveling together."

Chris didn't look up from where he had rested his head in his hands. "Buck's been needing a family for a long time. He deserves some happiness."

Sanchez pulled a chair up and instead of sitting beside Chris turned it around to face the younger man. "That why you gave him JD?" Josiah offered the other cup of coffee he had brought to Larabee.

Chris took the steaming drink, but stared at Sanchez like he'd grown another head. "You make it sound like I hired JD just so Buck could have a little brother to fuss after. The kid had the skills we needed and he bugged the hell out of me until I gave in. The fact that he needed something that Buck was willing to give was just luck." Chris looked back towards the surgery unit again. "I just ain't figured out if it was bad
luck or good luck yet."

Josiah nodded. "Sometimes fate drops things in our laps we didn't even know we were looking for."

Chris didn't acknowledge the other man's words so Sanchez kept talking. "I had no idea that at my age I would want to face down bullets and protect the good citizens of Denver with six outcasts until the day you turned up in my office." Josiah smiled ruefully. "Did I ever tell you that I had been praying to God that day for a sign? Some kind of hint at what I should really be doing with my life."

At Josiah's snort of derision, Chris turned his gaze back to his friend."And what'd he tell you?"

"Well, when you showed up, dressed all in black looking as mean and heartless as Satan himself, I was sure God was giving me the finger."

Larabee almost smiled, but was able to keep tight enough control to merely smirk. "I wouldn't be so sure he wasn't."

Josiah shook his head and all hints of humor disappeared from his face. "I know he wasn't. He was giving me a second chance, Chris. Maybe he was giving us all one."

Chris' jaw clenched. "You think he's going to give us a third chance or a fourth or a fifth one. Sooner or later, our luck will turn bad and one of us will lose out."

Sanchez sighed. "That's possible. Higly probable even. But it's worth the risk, don't you think?"

Chris glared at him. "Nothing is worth that risk."

"You must have thought differently when you formed the team. I mean you must have thought that the good would outweigh the bad?"

"That was before..." Chris stopped abruptly, as if he had suddenly realized that he'd been led into an expertly executed trap.

"Before you cared about what happened." Josiah finished his thought for him. "Before 'Team Seven' became Ezra, JD, Buck, Nathan, Josiah, and Vin, instead of just a proposal on a report from the higher-ups. Before your well-tuned, crime fighting machine started to breathe, and bleed, and show signs of having a soul, and not just a fist of iron the buerocrats could use to pulverize bad guys with."

"Don't you use your psychological bullshit on me, Sanchez!"

"And don't you become the bastard that I mistook you for six months ago." Josiah met Larabee's hard gaze head on. "We've all paid enough penance for a lifetime."

Josiah stood before Chris could reply. "Buck ain't the only one who deserves a little happiness, you know. Maybe it's time you got yourself a new family too."

The ATF leader glanced up at his agent, with all intentions of telling him just where he could take his speculations and go. But the sincere concern he saw reflected in the blue depths stopped him. "It ain't that easy, Josiah.” Damn, didn’t he understand the hurt he was asking for. “'Nothing' with us will ever be easy."

Sanchez shrugged and a slight smile tugged at the big man's face. "The Lord promised a safe landing, brother. Not a calm passage."

Chris shook his head slowly. “You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”

“Everything but the tough questions. Those you’ll have to find some place else.” Josiah turned to go, but stopped and faced Chris once more. “Why don’t you try looking in that fortress you call a heart.”

Larabee wouldn’t have known what to have said even if Josiah had given him the chance, so he turned his attention back to the silver doors where he caught a glimpse of his own reflection. He silently dared the dark form to challenge his mood, and resolved himself to wait for the inevitable. If Vin didn’t make it, then there would be no amount of words of concern that would make one ounce of difference to him. And if he did make it....well, he wasn’t sure if that would make any difference either. Right now, he was only sure of one thing. He wasn’t sure of anything at all.

***********

“Hey, kid.” Buck Wilmington had quietly slipped into his teammates’ room and now stood over the bed that JD was resting in.

At the voice, hazel eyes snapped open and a slight smile crossed the young agent’s face. “I was afraid the nurses had sent you home for the night.”

“Shoot, JD, hadn’t you seen me in action enough to know that their ain’t much the ladies will deny ol’Buck when he turns on the animal magnetism?”

JD rolled his eyes and a snort of derision from the darkened side of the room had Buck shooting a glare towards the bed where Ezra was supposedly sleeping. “It ain‘t polite to eavesdrop, Ez.”

“How‘s Vin?” JD asked before Standish made up his mind on whether to comment or not.

Buck hooked a chair with his leg and drug it towards his roommate‘s bed, sitting down before he replied. “He‘s still in surgery. Not any word yet.”

The telltale signs of worry showed themselves on the other agent’s face and something in Buck‘s chest tightened. For some reason, reassuring JD Dunne was an instinct that had kicked in from their first case together, and it was becoming as natural as breathing to the older man. “You know Junior‘s going to be fine, right son?”

The kid studied Wilmington’s face for a moment and he finally nodded. “Sure, Buck.”

Buck smiled and lightly patted JD’s face. “I told Chris you were smarter than you looked.”

JD yawned around a deep frown. “You told Chris I was a dumb kid who didn’t need to be carrying a popgun and tin badge, let along a real weapon and a license to kill.”

Wilmington quirked one eyebrow. “Who told you that nonsense?”

“Nobody. I was standing right there when you shouted it at him after he hired me.”

Buck’s face flushed slightly. “Yeah, well, that was a long time ago.” Things had definitely changed since then.

JD tilted his head and then pushed back against the pillows he was propped up on. “Things can change pretty quickly.”

There was a hint of something in the kid’s eyes, a question, a fear, and Buck again felt a desperate need to say something, anything to make that look disappear. “Some things, yeah.”

That must have not been it, because JD looked even more worried. “My mom’s death was real sudden like, you know, and me getting on Team Seven, ..Well, that changed my life again, and when I was shot..”

Buck’s brow furrowed and he tried to swallow against the sudden dryness that had parched his mouth. “You ain’t goin’ to die, JD.”

The kid looked away from Wilmington, his gaze lowering right along with the tone of his voice. “It ain’t that, Buck. It’s just that..” Hazel eyes met deep blue ones once again, “I’m afraid things are going to change again. Between you and me. Between all of us. I saw the way Chris looked tonight after Vin was put in the ambulance. Something was different. We messed up bad, didn‘t we? ”

Buck sighed and raked a hand through his dark hair before leaning closer towards the bed and resting his elbows on the mattress. “You listen here, JD. You didn’t do anything wrong. You saved my ass out there. And Vin and Ez, well they were being damn near heroic. Chris is just pissed because he can’t do the one thing I wish I could tell you that I could do.”

The look of confusion on JD’s face brought a slight smile to the older agent’s lips. “Keep control of things, kid,” he explained. “Chris is just as afraid of things changing as you are, but no matter how hard he tries or how angry he gets, the world’s goin’ keep on turnin’.”

JD looked doubtful. “Chris Larabee isn’t afraid of anything.”

“You gotta’ learn, son, that people ain’t always what they seem. Sometimes they wear masks to protect what’s underneath, say things to cover up what they really mean.”

JD thought for a moment and then a slight sparkle in his hazel eyes replaced the earlier turmoil from before. “Like when you fought like hell against Chris wanting to hire me. Or when you tell everyone that you can’t wait until I move out of the apartment. Or when you yelled at me for getting hurt and ..”

Buck quickly reached up and covered his best friend’s mouth with his hand. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re too smart for your own damn good, kid?”

“And did anyone ever tell you, Mr. Wilmington that visiting hours ended at eight and that some of us clientele are actually trying to sleep in this infernal establishment for the ailing?”

Buck looked at JD and winked, finally moving his hand and leaning back in his chair. “I think Ez wants us to shut-up, JD.”

“Nah,” JD yawned again, starting to lose his battle with the pain killers, “I think he’s just covering up how he really feels with that fancy, smancy talk of his.”

Another snort of disgust was the only reply they got and Buck leaned in closer to JD once more. “Still, I think you should get some sleep before he sics them nurses on me again.”

JD grinned slightly as his eyes started to drift shut. “You goin’ to be here when I wake up?”

“Sure thing.” Buck watched as his friend gave up the struggle and dark eyelashes rested against pail skin. “I’m not going anywhere, little brother.”

JD opened his eyes again. “What’d you say?”

Buck swallowed hard, and tried not to look as uncomfortable as he felt at that moment. “ I said we have to watch out for each other.”

The kid nodded. “Like family.”

Buck met his gaze. “Yeah, son. Just like family.”

********************

Sometimes it seemed like Chris Larabee had never really had a family. It was almost as if Adam and Sarah hadn’t actually been a part of his life, but a figment of his imagination. Why the hell would he want another illusion like that?

They seemed like some sort of bittersweet fantasy or just a faded memory of a dream he’d had once. Or maybe they were like a flashback from some long forgotten trauma.

But then there were times like these that the reality of their existence nearly stole his breath away. The vision of Sarah’s smile was as clear as the pictures on the hospital room wall, and the smell of her perfume was as strong as the stench of sickness and death permeating the entire building. And he could hear the haunting echo of Adam’s laughter as well as he could distinguish the beep of the heart monitor and the whir of the other machinery around him. Yes, at times like these, their memories would reach up from the dark recesses within his soul and threaten to choke out what little life he had left. Their voices would bounce off the walls around his heart and threaten to bring the world crashing down around him.

It was during these times when Chris couldn’t pretend that his pain was just a bad dream, but he had to accept it for the loss that it was. Like some phantom limb, that kept torturing him despite the fact it had been violently torn from his body three and a half years ago, there was no explaining it, or making it go away.

However, until a mere six hours ago, Chris had been able to keep some kind of control on the demon that he’d locked away. But when Vin had been shot and Ezra and JD had been hurt also a small crack had spidered its way along years of protected mortar, threatening to release the beast once again. Larabee feared a total collapse, a disaster that he didn‘t think he was capable of surviving. Yes, the only thing left to do was to try and repair the damage before it could get any worse, before he could do nothing but watch the damn break and prepare to be swept away in it’s dark current, carried to the waiting arms of a place he knew as hell.

A moan from the bed his head was resting on had him lifting his tired body back to an upright position and focusing his attention on the form of Vin Tanner, instead of the thoughts torturing his psyche.

Instinctively he reached out and laid a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Tanner?”

Vin shifted slightly under Larabee’s hand and then slowly opened his eyes. “Hey.”

Chris smiled. “Hey, yourself.”

“Where’s Ezra?”

“Upstairs,” Larabee answered, reaching over and getting a glass of water off of the nightstand, which he held up to his partner’s lips.

“Thanks,” Vin said weakly, after taking a small drink. “Did we get all the bad guys?”

“Yeah.”

“The others alright?”

The ATF leader sat the glass back down and nodded. “JD got hit, but he’s going to be fine. Everybody else is okay. You’re the one who decided he needed a commendation.”

Tanner grinned. “Fuck that. I was just trying to keep my job.”

Chris shook his head. “Not a good way to kiss ass, Tanner. You could have tried bringing me coffee and a donut in the mornings.”

“Now you tell me.” Vin yawned, wincing at the effort it took. “I’ll make a note of that for when I get out of here.”

When Chris didn’t reply, but instead only stared at him, Vin started to get worried. “What?”

Larabee looked away. “Nothing. I better tell the doctor that you‘re awake.”

A hand snaked out and latched onto Chris‘ wrist before he could go. “That can wait. What‘s goin‘ on?” Something wasn’t right. He could feel it.

Larabee hesitated, his green eyes searching blue ones for some kind of life line. But this time there was no safe harbor. “This can’t be something else I lose, Vin.” Chris again looked away. “You can’t be someone else I lose.”

Tanner released his hold on his friend and scooted further back onto the bed, distancing himself. Damn. He knew this was coming. “I lost a few people in my time too, Larabee. But it seems to me if you walk away now; you won’t be winning anything.”

“Maybe not.” The older man sighed. “But I got to try and salvage what I can.”

“Where does that leave the team?” Vin held the hard, green gaze, fighting the arms of sleep pulling at him. “Is it over?”

“Get some sleep, cowboy.” Larabee stood and started for the door. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Vin watched his friend start to go, an overwhelming sense that he had saved Chris from Marcoli, but somehow lost him just the same. “Chris?” Tanner’s soft voice caused the ATF leader to stop and look back.

“Yeah, Vin?”

“It ain’t over for me.”

*************

It had been hard for Chris to walk out of Vin‘s room, even harder not to go back after the doctor‘s had examined him. But seeing Tanner right now, just wasn’t something he could handle. He’d left Josiah and Nathan to that task. So he decided that checking on Ezra and JD was something he needed to do.

Making his way into the darkened room was easy. None of the nurses even looked up as he silently made his way past their station, nor did Buck or JD stir as he closed the door behind him.

The kid was sleeping peacefully, resting on his side facing an uncomfortable looking chair that Wilmington had somehow managed to fit his six foot plus frame into sideways. His old friend was sound asleep also, head rested on the corner of the bed, covered with his ATF jacket and a paper-thin sheet. Buck could sleep anywhere, and had proved that to him on countless stake outs and by fitting into Adam’s race car bed on several occassions when Larabee’s young son had conned ‘Uncle Buck’ into staying in his room with him.

The all too vivid memory of his son, sent a wave of nausea over the veteran agent and he reached for the door handle to leave. He needed to be anywhere but here.

“Mr. Larabee?”

Chris stopped at the sound of the sleep-thickened drawl.

“Get some rest, Ez.”

“I take it Mr. Tanner has once again joined the land of the living?”

Larabee sighed and stepped halfway into the room, the faint light of the lamp beside Ezra’s bed casting shadows on the left side of his face. “He came to a while ago.”

“Are you retiring for the evening then?”

“Yeah,” Chris raked a hand over his face. “I’ll be back in the morning. I’ll even bring you some of that expensive coffee that you like.”

“There’s something I need to say to you before you go.”

“Save it until tomorrow, Ezra. We all need some rest.”

Standish never was one to follow orders. “ I’m proud to work with all these fine men, and I don’t think I’ve I thanked you for the opportunity that you have afforded me.”

Chris did not want to be having this conversation. “I think I’m the one that should thank you.”

Standish tilted his head and strained to see his friend’s face in the darkness. “You have thanked me. You made me a part of your team, despite the rumors concerning my character.”

“Some thanks. You’re in the hospital.”

“I was doing my job, Mr. Larabee. It comes with the territory.”

Chris’ tone darkened. “You were protecting me.”

“I wasn’t just doing it for you.”

Larabee pushed away from the wall. He’d had enough for tonight. “We’ll talk about it in the morning’.”

“Don’t break up the team, Chris.” Ezra’s voice held none of it’s classic certainty. It sounded rough and almost sad. “It would be a magnanimous error on your part.”

Larabee turned his back and walked away. “Goodnight, Ezra.”

****************

The ringing of the phone caused Orin to nearly drop his coffee. He looked up at the clock on his wall, realizing he’d been lost in thought about the Marcoli incident for nearly an hour, and then grabbed the receiver before the next ring.

“Travis.” His wife’s voice greeted him on the other end and he couldn’t help but to smile as she mocked his gruff greeting.

He apologized and then answered her usual litany of questions. “Yes, I made it to work fine. No, traffic wasn’t too bad. Yes, I had breakfast. No, I didn’t stop at Joe’s.” A little white lie wasn’t all that bad, in the grand scope of things.

Their conversation soon turned to Billy and the plans they’d made to take him to the zoo that weekend before she finished the call off with a shopping list almost as long as the report in front of him. Upon finally managing to let her go, a loud crash in the bull pen pulled his attention to the glass walls of his office.

The blinds were still drawn so he had to get up and make his way across the room, but by the time he had gotten there, the need to see what the commotion was had passed.

“Dang it, JD! Can’t you hang your coat up like a normal person? Do you have to launch it across the room like it’s a damn basketball or something?”

“You do it all the time!” The younger man countered.

“Yeah, well, I never miss, now do I. My technique is a lot smoother, and I sure the hell don’t knock those little statues off of Ezra’s desk in the process.”

“The only thing smooth about you Buck is your as.... ask AD Travis.”

“Huh?” Wilmington turned as his roommate extended his hand towards the office behind Buck.

“Gentlemen.” Orin stepped from his doorway and nodded, deftly hiding the smile wanting to form at the embarrassed look on his youngest agent’s face. “Good to see you in so early.”

“Hey ya, Judge.” Buck quickly stepped over to Ezra’s area and picked up the small crystal sculpture from the floor. “Damn thing fell and nearly took off my toe.”

“Mr. Wilmington, what may I ask are you doing with my paper weight? I hope you do recall the rule I have about you and your protege touching my personal things.”

All three men turned and looked at the Southerner with astounded expressions on their faces. “You’re early.” They said in unison.

JD pretended to faint as Buck opened his desk drawer and reached for the polaroid camera he kept there. “This is definitely a Kodak moment. Chris just ain’t going to believe it!”

“Of course I will.” Larabee strolled into the office a rare grin lighting his features. “Considering I brought him.”

Standish glared at him and tried to avoid the arm that snaked around his shoulders as Vin leaned into him. “Yep, the Jag is visiting Mr. Monty today. Seems the old girl is feeling a bit poorly.”

“At least my vehicle is not missing all four tires and one door after the latest ‘block party’ in your little war-torn, third world corner of our fine city.”

“Keep talking like that, Ez, and you ain’t getting any of the creme filled donuts.” Vin held out two paper bags and waved them in front of Standish’s face.

“Oh, the horror.” Ezra replied, pushing around Tanner to grab the lead crystal statue of Trump Towers from Buck. “First I have to ride in with Mr. Sunshine and the Comic Kid, and now, I shall not be allowed the honor of partaking in the ritual breakfast that you and Mr. Larabee share. I don’t know if I will survive.”

“You’ve survived far worse tragedies, brother.” Josiah and Nathan were the next to enter the bull pen, each carrying their own bag of goodies. “But you are more than welcome to join me and Nate. We brought extra breakfast burritos from On the Border.”

“Dear Lord.” Ezra rolled his eyes. “If I’d only known I was missing such luxury, I might have made it a point to show up earlier more often these past four years.”

“You could start car pooling with me and Buck, Ez.” JD spoke up, enthusiastically.

Ezra shook his head. “Mr. Dunne, I should warn you that I do not take well to threats this early in the AM.”

Nathan laughed. “There ain’t much you do take to this early in the morning, unless it’d be satin sheets.”

“Silk, my friend.” Ezra sat down. “Silk.”

Judge Travis watched Chris and Vin enter Larabee’s office and the other’s go into the break room before going back into his own space and closing the door. There were the reports still to do, after all.

Sitting back down, he glanced at the last letter he had received from Dr. Rosalind Grimes concerning the Marcoli affair.

********

It is in my opinion that at this time, I can find no evidence supporting Mr. Larabee’s claim that his team is not functional. On the contrary, I find its dynamics not only refreshing, but highly effective.

I have no doubt that in time, Mr. Larabee, will change his mind and realize that the potential benefits of this unit far outweigh his reservations.

If you or Mr. Larabee have any objections to my findings, please call my office for an appointment. I would look forward to such a meeting.

Sincerely,

Dr. Rosalind Grimes

**********************

Judge Travis returned the letter to the folder and closed it. He never responded to Dr. Grimes’ report, and neither did Chris. In fact, Larabee never mentioned that he had suggested a termination of his team, and Orin never asked about it.

He wasn’t sure what went on with Chris in those days following the Marcoli incident, but he liked to think that the man he’d watched go from a cold, unfeeling hard as nails supervisor, to a compassionate, caring leader began to realize that he had been given an extraordinary gift.

Orin didn’t think Chris’ decision had as much to do with what he thought his team could accomplish for Denver or what great things they could build. But it related more to what they could tear down. Together it was easy to demolish the walls that had imprisoned each of them in there own lonely cells. Apart they would have lost the war, instead of just one small battle.

As it usually is in life, there was never really any decision, except the right one.

It was worth the risk in the end. Any chance at happiness was. Any amount of grief a small price to pay.

The veteran law enforcement officer smiled to himself and shoved the file back into a drawer at the bottom of his desk. Perhaps that was why he’d still be looking at that same folder ten years from now, and why he’d still be breaking up food fights in the break room, giving a speech on ‘why one should not date one lady in the federal building, let alone twenty, and the ever popular, ‘why cherry bombs in the toilet are not amusing, even on April Fool’s day.’

Yes, he understood Chris perfectly.

This was his job. They were his family.

***************

9/2000