Full Exposure

By: Judi, KRH, and Lady Angel

Walking through the revolving doors of Four Corner's Mercy Hospital, Assistant Director Orrin Travis paused at the information desk and waited to speak to the person behind the counter. Glancing around, he realized he did not need to wait as he spotted the persons that he was looking for in a waiting room not far from his current position.

Pausing in the doorway, Travis ran appraising eyes over the six men in the room, all slumped in their chairs dejectedly. For some reason, instead of seasoned Federal officers, the six looked like repentant schoolboys waiting for their turn in the principal's office. Shaking his head, Travis coughed to cover up the laugh that erupted in his throat at the realization.

"Gentlemen," Travis said, moving in front of the six and adopting a somber facade. From the way the team shot upright to their feet, they were obviously unaware that Chris had called him.

"Sir," Vin said, warily in greeting.

"I don't suppose any of you would like to explain how this happened?" the ex-Judge asked, watching each man to see if any wanted to volunteer information. When he saw no indication that any of them were going to speak, he nodded. "I see. Well then, if you'll excuse me, I'll go see what the doctor has to say."

Waiting until their boss was out of view before moving, the six men sagged in relief that he hadn't fired them on the spot. At least that was something.

Slumping back into his chair, Nathan Jackson laid his head against the wall behind him and groaned. "After this, we'll be lucky if we can shuffle the paperwork to apply for a gun let alone be allowed to handle one."

Gasping at the implications of what the ex-medic was saying, JD spun on him in dismay. "What'd ya mean *we*? *Ezra's* the one who shot Chris in the butt!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Knocking on the door of Treatment Room 1, Travis eased it open after hearing several voices indicating he should enter. Stopping beside the gurney with his best ATF team leader on it, he could no longer hold back the grin that had been threatening to erupt ever since receiving the phone call telling him that Chris had been injured. It wasn't that Larabee getting shot was *that* humorous. It was more of the total irony that it had been one of his own team members that had accomplished what so many fugitives had not.

"I'm glad somebody thinks this is funny," Chris Larabee growled up at the older man, as the doctor finished taping the bandage in place on his derriere.

"I'm sorry. You're right. But you've got to admit, you're not going to live this down anytime soon," Travis said, still smiling mercilessly.

"Okay, Chris. You can roll over," the physician said, pulling the latex gloves off his hands. Helping the tall blond man move, the doctor watched to see how much pain the agent was in. Seeing a slight grimace of pain cross Chris' face, he sighed. He had patched the ATF agent up enough to know that what he was about to say was going to be ignored. But it made *him* feel better at least if he tried.

"You know I should just roll you upstairs for observation overnight." Holding up his hand to stave off the curt dismal of the idea that was going to erupt from Larabee, he continued. "I know. You're going home. I figured as much. That local anesthetic will last you about another hour, then you're going to hurt like hell. This," holding up a small bottle, "is a mild pain killer to help take the edge off of it. In a day or so, you should be able to stop them. This one," holding up a second container, "is an antibiotic. Finish it. I'll need to see you back here in ten days so I can take those stitches out." Turning his eyes to Travis, he continued. "I take it you're going to assume responsibility for him? Okay, when he gets home, make him go straight to bed. He needs to rest and stay off of it for a while. No baths or exercise for 24 hours. Any questions?"

"Yeah, I got one," Chris said, easing himself off the bed and pulling up the surgical scrubs given to him to wear so as to not put any additional pressure on his wound. "Where's the bullet you took out of me?"

"In the dish to go to the evidence lab. Why?" the doctor said, frowning.

"Give it to me," Larabee said, holding out his hand. "I'll make sure the *evidence* is well taken care of," Chris finished, as a feral grin pulled at his lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fidgeting in the waiting area, the members of Team 7 jumped up when their leader moved slowly into the room. Crowding around Chris, each began to say how glad they were he was not seriously injured when they were halted by a hand in the air.

"Not a word out of any of you," Larabee hissed, through clenched teeth.

"Conference room, 8:00 a.m. sharp." With that, Chris nodded to Orrin he was ready to go.

Watching Chris' pain filled exit, each of the six swallowed hard before looking at each other.

"Gentlemen, I, for one, shall be polishing my resume tonight," Ezra Standish said slowly, absentmindedly adjusting the sleeve of his jacket.