A few minutes later the ambulance pulled up in front of Four Corners Mercy
Hospital.  Ezra followed as they wheeled Vin into the ER.  One of the
nurses stopped him before he could go in.

"Mr. Standish, what happened this time?" asked a nurse that looked familiar.

"Hello, nurse Simpson," Ezra said, dragging her name from his memory.  "Mr.
Tanner and myself were in a small altercation."

"Well, I'll start the paper work," she said as she turned to go.

"I need for you to alter the names on the admittance papers," Ezra
whispered, as he grabbed her arm.

"Are you and Mr. Tanner in some sort of trouble?"

"Suffice it to say it would be better for all parties concerned if you
didn't use Mr. Tanner's name."

"I understand," she said.  "And what name should I use?"

"William Smith," Ezra answered.  "And I am Ezra Jones."

She smiled and went back behind the desk and began to fill out the
paperwork.  Ezra went and washed up.  He had convinced the paramedics he
wasn't seriously hurt.  He needed to stay close to Vin and couldn't if they
were to treat his injures as well.

When he came back out, they where wheeling Vin towards the elevator.  He
followed and got in the next one.  He knew where the OR was and got out on
the third floor.  Ezra pulled up a seat close to the doors and waited.

Officer Wiseman headed over to the federal building.  He was worried about
Agents Tanner and Standish.  He had to find their leader Chris Larabee.  He
pulled into the parking area and parked close to the door.  He headed for
the door and was waved past the security check after showing his ID.  He
was in uniform, but they double-checked.  Wiseman headed for the
information desk.

"Hello, officer, may I help you?" asked a pretty blonde.

"I'm looking for Agent Larabee.  It's very urgent."

"Just a minute," she said and made a call.  A few minutes later she hung
up.  "He isn't here.  Team Seven was sent out on a call."

"Do you know where?" he asked.  "It's very urgent. It's about two of his
agents."

"Hold on one minute,"  She made another call.  "Someone will be down to see
you."

He waited a few feet from the desk so he wouldn't be in the way.  A short
while later an older gentleman came to the desk. T he guard pointed to him
and the older man headed in his direction.

"I'm AD Travis," he said, holding out his hand.

"Officer Wiseman," he answered, shaking his hand.

"You have information on two of my agents."

Michael wasn't sure if he could trust this man.  Ezra had said there was a
leak in the agency.

"I need to see Agent Larabee," he said.

"If it's about Ezra Standish and Vin Tanner, you can tell me," Travis
assured the young man.

"All right, but can we step outside?" Michael said and headed for the door.

A.D. Travis followed him out into the plaza in front of the building.

"I'm sorry sir, but Mr. Standish said there was a leak in the department,"
Michael apologized.  "I didn't want anyone to hear us."

"I understand," he said.

 "The two Agents are at the hospital," Michael began.  "Mr. Tanner has
suffered internal injuries.  Mr. Standish said they would check in under
aliases in case someone came looking for them.  He sent me to contact Agent
Larabee."

"Did Ezra say what case he was working on?" Travis asked.

"Yeah, he said their cover was blown working the Black Monday case."

"Damn!" Travis cursed.  "The rest of the team got a lead on where the gang
might be.  I'll get word to him about Vin and Ezra."

"All right, sir.  I'll head back to the hospital."

Travis watched as the officer left.  He pulled out his cell phone and
dialed Chris's number.

"Chris, it's Travis.  Vin and Ezra are at the hospital."

"What?" he heard Chris exclaim.

"Yes.  Get over there as soon as you can.  How did the bust go?"

"We got most of them, but a few are missing."

"Then Vin and Ezra are still in danger.  Ezra had them check Vin in under a
false name," Travis warned.

"We're on our way now," Chris said.

Buck watched as Chris closed his cellphone.  He heard part of the
conversation and knew what Chris was thinking.  He was blaming himself for
not putting his foot down about the watch, which had blown their cover.

* * *
Ezra gently lowered himself into the chair at the side of Vin's bed,
placing himself between the recovering sharpshooter and the door.  Faint
light from the street lamps and the full moon cast a milky light across the
center of the room and across the gambler's lap as he cradled his weapon.

Pain pinched in his wounded side and he jerked straight up, the effort
sending more hot stabs of agony through his ribcage.  "Uhhhhh."  He shut
his eyes to will away the pain and try to get his bearings, his mind
clouded with exhaustion.

"You know, I had some absolutely inspired torture planned for you two."
Harry's voice cut through the silence of the room, and Ezra couldn't
control the short gasp that escaped from his lips.  "Damn pity.  Now you
boys will just have to die from your basic dull and boring bullet to the
brain."

Glazed green eyes looked up into vicious brown ones.  Ezra fumbled with his
gun, but his already weaken body refused to respond as fast as he needed it
to, and Harry wrenched it from the gambler's shaking hand.

The muscle man smiled broadly and slammed the stock of Ezra's gun against
his opponent's jaw, and the conman's vision blurred.  He fought the desire
to just slip into unconsciousness, but that was not an option.  With the
last of his strength Ezra rushed the bigger man, stretching his bruised
ribs to the limit as he wrapped his arms around the villian's waist in a
tackle Mean Joe Green would have been proud of.  A scream of rage and
desperation reverberated from the gambler's lungs as he shoved the man into
the rolling cart near Vin's bed, and they both hit the floor.

Ezra fought like a man possessed.  His overwhelming fear and the desire to
keep himself and his friend safe numbed him to the pain he knew he should
be feeling.  Harry grunted then lifted the smaller man from his chest and
slammed Ezra's back into the unconscious tracker's bed.  Ezra let out a
breathless groan as he felt the tip of his shoulder blade crunch against
metal and his head whip back to smack into the railing.

"Oh, I like it when they fight."  Harry grinned as he lifted his foot above
the supine gambler and stomped his heavy boot down hard on his injured
side.  Ezra screamed as a new definition of agony was etched into his brain
and he fought not to give in and pass out.

The door to Vin's room swung open, and two young and very upset nurses ran
inside.  "What in the..."  They both froze as the villain pulled up Ezra's
gun and aimed it at the women.

"Get over by the window."  Harry's tone was quiet and forceful, and they
slowly obeyed.

Ezra felt his ribs pressing into his insides everytime he took a breath,
and he forced himself to set aside the panic threatening to take over.  He
was strangely aware of everything going on in the room, but his body
refused to respond to his commands to move.  He saw the nurses huddle
together on the couch, and a wave of nausea spread through his gut as he
realized the predicament he'd placed the innocent women in.

Harry turned his back to Ezra, realizing the agent was no longer a real
threat, his rage turned now to the women in front of him.  Ezra felt
lightheaded and was unaware of even being on his feet until he actually
took a step toward the larger man.  Both women screamed as Harry aimed the
pistol at the blond nurse, and Ezra pushed himself forward, letting his
weight throw the villain off balance.

The gun exploded and the nurses ducked, then ran as glass from the window
shattered.

Ezra barely realized Harry jumping to his feet, barely registered the
muscle man grabbing his shirt and lifting the limp gambler in front of him.
 Ezra only knew this was it, it was over and he was a dead man.

"ATF!  FREEZE!"

Ezra saw Harry turn, pull the pistol up in front of him, heard the ungodly
loud bang as one of his friends shot off a round into the bad man's head.
Ezra stood on wobbly legs, trying to focus on the faces approaching him.

"Ezra?  You look terrible."  J.D.'s huge eyes stared at the wounded agent,
and he put out a hand to steady his friend.

"Vin?"  Ezra asked weakly.

"He's ok, didn't wake up at all."  Chris' words sunk into the wounded man's
skull, and he wanted to respond, thank the men he saw milling throughout
the room for saving his and Vin's lives, but he could say no more.  He
watched as the walls began to breathe, and he felt a buzzing in his ears.
He saw Chris in front of him, his lips still moving, but no sound emitting
from their leader's mouth.

Ezra blinked.  He was sure Chris was probably yelling at him for screwing
up, and he was grateful his senses still hadn't returned.  Ezra felt Chris'
hand around his forearm and wondered why the man had such a worried look on
his face, just as the gambler pitched forward into his boss' arms.

* * *
Chris saw the color drain from Ezra's painfilled face and he knew what was
about to happen, so he was ready when the conman collapsed in his arms.

"Aw, hell, Ezra."  Chris half dragged his friend to the couch and laid the
unconscious form down gently.  Sweat plastered his thin white shirt to his
chest, and Chris could see Ezra struggling to catch his breath.

"Ezra!"  Nathan's concerned voice was in Chris' ear and the doctor quickly
joined them to look at the gambler.

The doctor quickly called for a gurney.  He opened Ezra's sweat-soaked
shirt and chastised himself for missing the seriousness of the man's
injuries.  Chris winced at the bruises covering his friend's left side,
spreading to the edges of his ribcage.  The physician palpitated Ezra's
belly, causing him to gasp and push away the doctor's hands in one swift
motion.

"Ezra, hold still now."  Nathan's voice echoed through the room, but the
doctor wasn't deterred.  He moved the gambler's hand aside and continued to
probe the bruised area near his ribs.

"Well?" Chris asked.

"Ribs are broken, won't know if they've punctured anything until we get him
to the trauma room."  The doctor looked into Ezra's glazed eyes and ran his
hand around the conman's head.  Blood coated his fingers as he drew them
back, and the doctor shook his head.  "Concussion too, looks like."

Two attendants arrived with the gurney, and they quickly moved the
remaining seven out of their way to get to Ezra.  They lifted the
semiconscious man onto the sheets, each holding him firm with one hand as
he slowly thrashed on the small bed, moaning incoherently.

"Get him to x-ray, I want a CT scan ..."  The doctor's words faded as he
followed the men out into the hallway.

* * *
Chris ran a hand through his hair as he watched the staff take Ezra from
them.  He cast a longing glance towards the pale form of his best friend,
who still lay unconscious, and then at the rest of his team, as if he were
torn as to what to do.  "Buck, you and JD go with Ezra.  I don't want him
out of your sight until we know the status on the rest of Black Monday."

Wilmington nodded and cupped a hand on the back of his roommate's neck to
get him moving.  "Gotcha', pard.  We'll pull rank if we have to."

"Josiah, see if you can find out what luck Team Three had with nabbing
Martin.  I want him found, no matter what reserves it takes."

Sanchez didn't wait for further instructions before turning and following
after Buck and the kid.  None of them would be able to rest until the man
who had caused their partners' ordeal was caught, and heaven help him when
that happened.

"What do you want me to do, Chris?"  Nathan's soft voice sounded ominous in
the now quiet room.

Larabee met the ex-medic's gaze before reaching down and picking up a chart
from the end of Tanner's bed.  "Read this and tell me what Vin's condition
is.  I want to know everything that happened to him."

Jackson swallowed back the lump that had sprung to his throat at the sight
of Larabee's impenetrable mask crumbling before him.  Their leader had
blamed himself from the very instant they had lost track of Ezra and Vin.
Nathan knew without a doubt that each injury, each agony the southerner and
the sharpshooter had endured, would be scorched in Chris Larabee's memory
forever.  Long after physical traumas had healed, they would serve as
painful reminders of an imagined failure that only Chris could see.

He waited until Larabee had taken up residence beside Vin before he began
to read.  It only took him a few heart-breaking moments to describe the
surgery Vin had underwent to repair massive internal bleeding and to list
the numerous other injuries in medical jargon.  Broken ribs, fractured
wrist, contusions, and cuts -- the list went on and on.  "It looks like
he's going to make a full recovery, though."  Nathan ended his report on a
hopeful note before closing the chart and replacing it in its spot.

"Was that all caused by the wreck they were in?"  Chris's voice was low and
menacing.  "I mean, did you get a look at Ezra?  He looked like he'd been
hit by a semi."  Jackson's positive closing remark had done nothing to
gloss over the gut-wrenching facts.

Unfortunately, Nathan knew all too well what their leader was asking him,
what he was thinking.  He wanted to know if his fears, if all their fears,
had been justified.

As soon as they had found out that their partners had been discovered, it
was easy to read the thoughts that were flashing in each of their minds.
All had heard horror stories about men made for cops while dealing with
intricate gangs like Black Monday and had even seen evidence of such
atrocities for themselves.

Jackson wanted more than anything to tell Chris that their partners had
been lucky, that their injuries had come swiftly from the impact of the
collision, but unfortunately, the truth was written in black and white and
as plain to read as the matching bruises on Vin and Ezra's faces.

"Vin was worked over pretty good, Chris.  Ezra too, probably.  I'd say that
the men who had them are the cause of most of this, not the accident."
Nathan paused and ran a hand over his weary eyes.  "I'm sorry."

"Don't be, Nate," Chris said quietly, picking up Vin's hand and holding it
between both of his.  "Martin's the one who's going to be sorry.  Him and
anyone ever associated with Black Monday.  I'll see to that."

* * *
Midnight in a hospital.  Quiet, but not deserted ... people dressed in
white still padded by the open door, and from the direction of the nurses'
station Buck could hear the clinking of metal on metal, the whir of a
computer printer, and the distant beeping of a telephone.

The world kept turning.  For other people.

His world, and the world of his friends, was frozen in time.  It would not
move again until two pairs of eyes opened, and two men wakened from their
unnatural rest.

JD stirred, then settled again.  The young man sat on the floor at Buck's
feet, his body propped against the front of the chair, his head pillowed on
Buck's thigh.  Wilmington dropped his callused hand to the back of the
boy's neck and let it rest there, feeling the pulse just below his ear,
listening to the soft snoring.

It comforted him.  The kid had fretted and paced and driven his partner
crazy with his restless parading back and forth between this room and the
one in which Chris Larabee kept vigil over Vin Tanner.  After several hours
and pleas from his partner, JD had eventually settled down, worn out from
the late hour and the worry.  Finally he'd nodded off, leaving Buck alone
to watch the monitors that told him Ezra Standish was still alive.

In the silence of midnight Buck Wilmington watched and waited for the world
to start turning again.

* * *
"Buck?"

A big hand, deceptively gentle, shook a broad shoulder.

"Buck?"

"Wha ...?"

"Wake up, Buck."

Blue eyes blinked, and Buck Wilmington knuckled the crusty sleep from their
corners, careful not to disturb the young man who still slept at his knee.
"Chris?"

His friend was smiling.  "Vin's awake.  He's hurtin' ... but he's breathin'
on his own.  Even bitched about when he could go home.  He's gonna be OK."

The world lurched a little under Buck's feet.  "That's great, Chris," he
murmured, even as his eyes strayed past Larabee's shoulder to the hospital
bed.  Chris followed the gaze.  "No change?"

"Not yet."

"Vin asked for him."

Buck sighed, and decided to change the subject.  "Any word from Team Three?"

"Yeah."  Chris leaned against the wall, looking down at JD, and a small
smile teased the corner of his mouth.  "They got the bad guys ... Coronado,
and Martin too.  The kid was right ... that number you found was a tie-down
space rented to Martin.  The plane was taxiing when Moore and his team got
there.  They were able to stop the take-off, and the stuff they found on
the plane ... cash, ledger books, a laptop ... has all the info they need
to lock those bastards away.  You and the boy did good, Buck.  And so did
Vin and Ezra.  Wasn't for nothing."

"Don't mean much when he's lyin' there like that, Chris."  Buck's voice was
heavy with weariness and worry.

"I know."

"I'd give a hell of a lot right about now just to hear one smartass remark
from that son of a bitch," said Buck sadly.

"Make it ... worth ... my while?"

The world began turning again.

* * *
In the end, it proved quite easy to persuade the floor manager to put them
together in the same room.  As she admitted ruefully, "It'll save two other
people."  It certainly made the staff rotation easier, as the nurses who
knew the Seven and how to deal with them could have their shifts scheduled
more efficiently.

And, when it was time for them both to go home, those dedicated nurses
would wave goodbye, grateful that these men whom they had come to know so
well were recovered and returning to their jobs and homes.

And getting the hell out of the nursing staff's hair.

"I can walk!" insisted Vin.

"So can I," affirmed Ezra.

"Shut up," said Mrs. Martinne.  "You're under my jurisdiction until you
climb out of those wheelchairs and into whatever outlandish vehicles your
friends have chosen to cart you home in.  Once we're at the curb, I'll tip
you out into the street myself ... but until then, Mr. Tanner and Mr.
Standish, *I* am in control."

Josiah and Nathan laughed out loud, and Chris couldn't help but chuckle.
The little parade rolled down the corridor and past the nurses' station,
where the departees were greeted with smiles, sniffles, and relieved looks,
and on to the elevator.

Once out the front doors, they were met by Josiah's Suburban with JD at the
wheel, followed by Chris' pickup, which Buck nosed up behind the bigger
vehicle.  With a bit of juggling, the patients were loaded into the Chevy.
The overflow piled into Chris' truck for the trip to Buck and JD's
apartment, where it had been decided that the invalids would recuperate.

"The building has an elevator, and JD's room is big enough for both of
you," Chris had said in a tone that decreed "end of story."

"Share a room with *him*?!" the invalids had protested in unison, but their
objections had been quickly overruled.

Now both were sprawled on the couch in front of a coffee table arrayed with
food and drink that would have made their doctors blanch, glaring at each
other and their friends over carefully guarded fans of playing cards.
After a moment, Vin threw his hand down in disgust.

"Fold.  Dammit."

Buck sighed and did the same.  "That's gratitude for ya.  Ez, don't I get a
better deal for havin' sat vigil over your wounded butt?"

"What makes you think I have control over the contents of your hand, Mr.
Wilmington?" said Ezra innocently.

"Same thing that makes *me* think you do," scowled Nathan as his cards
joined the others on the table.

"I'm certain that you are enjoying an advantage, as my wits are surely
addled by those painkillers," defended the dealer.  He eyed the remaining
players.  "Mr. Larabee?  Mr. Dunne?  Mr. Sanchez?"

"I'm out," sighed JD.  "I gotta hang on to *some* money for the weekend.
Casey's tired of pickin' up the check."

"I'm sure you make it worth her while," smiled Ezra.

"I'm out too," said Josiah.  "Bad karma.  I guess I shouldn't have
'accidentally' kicked Harry Tulle in the butt when I helped him into that
interrogation room downtown."

Chris Larabee chuckled.  "I think you should *win* a hand for *that,*" he
said.  "Worked for me."  He lay down a royal flush.

Ezra paled ... a feat, considering he was still quite pallid from his
ordeal.  He folded his cards unseen and dropped them on the table.

"If that is the case, then I suppose I should be grateful to lose this hand
to you, Mr. Larabee," he said.

"It's the painkillers, Ez," said Vin, chuckling.

"Pass him some more before he deals again," said Buck.

"Nope.  No more dealin'," said Nathan.  "These two are headin' for bed."

Protests were quickly overridden.  Nathan took this fact as proof that his
judgement was correct.  The others helped Vin and Ezra to JD's room, which
had been excavated for their stay, and both were soon dosed and settled,
Vin in JD's bed and Ezra in a rollaway that had been rented for the duration.

Vin went somewhat willingly, but Ezra managed one last sleepy complaint.

"You're only doin' this because you lost," he mumbled to Nathan.

"Right.  You lost, too."  Jackson smiled.  "But you'll live to fold another
day."

"Indeed."  Ezra nodded off.

Five men stood in the shadows, looking down at the two who had been
restored to them.

Seven made one.  One more time.

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

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