"...(There is a second kind).... those who will stand.... to the death if their loved ones are threatened. That is true courage..."

Ezra Standish stumbled as he stepped from the elevator. He caught himself and stopped, leaning heavily against the side railing. He'd felt miserable the last few days but simply figured he was coming down with the flu. Now he remembered why he never spent the winter in Denver, or any other northern city. The city had not yet had its first snowfall, but the radical temperature changes were playing hell with his southern internal thermometer.

'Big surprise,' he thought, thinking back on all the nights he had spent undercover inspecting arms shipments in cold drafty warehouses. He sneezed twice and continued on down the hallway.

The headquarters of Chris Larabee's elite team occupied the top floor of an old three-story building a few blocks from the Denver federal building. The second floor contained storage area for the first floor bar and a large apartment belonging to Inez who owned the building and ran the saloon.

Their top floor consisted of a large open area where each man had his desk, Larabee's small enclosed office was at the back. Other rooms on the floor were used for supplies and files as well as having a fully equipped clinic where Nathan could take care of the team's minor injuries. A spacious, spartan apartment filled out the floor, used by the men when needed.

Nathan, standing in the center of the main aisle was staring at him with worried eyes. "Ezra, you okay?" he questioned softly.

"Ah, yeah, I believe so," he muttered, sneezing again.

Nathan frowned. "Perhaps you should..." he started, then seeing the sharp look Ezra shot in his direction, he trailed off. Of the seven men comprising Larabee's team, Standish was the most obstinate when it came to admitting he was injured or ill. And although Nathan did not agree with the way the con man had previously made his living, and had never been one to keep his opinions to himself the physician had to admit the man's talents had been more than beneficial to the team. Still, despite working together these past months, his and Ezra's relationship was far from the best. "You look awful. Why don't you go on home, and get some rest?" he offered, seeing the dark circles under the younger man's eyes.

"What about the conference? I'm quite certain Mr. Larabee expects me to attend."

Nathan waved his hand in the air. "No problem. Go home. We'll cover for you. I'll explain to Chris and I'm sure if there's anything important, he can fill ya in tomorrow. Go on, git."

Ezra gave him a grateful glance as he stumbled for the door. He hadn't wanted to admit how tired he really was or how lousy he felt, especially to Nathan. He knew how the medical officer felt about him. Overly ethical at times, Nathan was polite and even friendly but Ezra was well aware of the fact Jackson considered him a man of low scruples who didn't belong with this team.

He half staggered down the aisle to the elevator, which seemed to take forever to arrive. Listing to one side against the solid wall of the cage, he closed his eyes and waited for the parking garage's ding. Lurching from the elevator, he momentarily wondered if he should be driving when he felt so badly, but he wanted nothing more than to collapse in his own bed. Besides, if Nathan thought it was unsafe for him to be driving, he would have insisted someone take the younger man home. Of course, the doctor didn't know exactly how rotten he felt either.

He sagged into his vehicle's seat and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel before turning the key. He really, really felt like shit. Every muscle in his body ached. Even his hair hurt. Straightening, he started the engine and headed home.

*******

Ezra slowly exited the elevator in his apartment building and moved for his penthouse, his thoughts on a hot shower and falling into his own bed. As he moved to unlock his door, he heard someone call his name.

"Mister Standish?"

He turned and saw his new neighbor approaching.

She hesitated and looked at him closely, her dark eyes unreadable. "Hi! I've missed seeing you around." she admitted, then bit her lip as if embarrassed. "Were you out of town?" she pried.

Ezra gave her a small weary smile, thinking he really just wanted to escape into his apartment. " My job involves a great deal of traveling." he admitted.

"I thought you were ignoring me," she teased. "Don't tell me my brownies were that bad."

"Oh, no! They were great!" He had helped her move into one of the empty apartments, one floor down, of the exclusive building, and she had repaid him by making him a batch of fudge brownies. "A true culinary delight."

"How did you know I was a chocoholic?" he questioned when she made no move to leave.

"I didn't, but I am and Granny always did say the way to a man's heart was through his stomach," she bantered, her dark eyes studying him intently.

Ezra, although never one uncomfortable around women, squirmed under her scrutiny and turned to finish unlocking his door. While Tally Zobela was a pretty woman and more than friendly, he was uneasy with her. There was something about her which had a hardness he could not quite identify. He prided himself on his ability to read people-it was what kept him alive and making a profit-but she was as good at masking herself as he was. His green eyes darkened slightly and with a soft "See ya later" he vanished into his apartment, leaving Tally to stare after him.

As the door closed behind the agent, a self-satisfied smile came to the woman's face. Things were progressing as she had planned and hoped. It would just be a matter of time now.

*******

Chris Larabee glared at Nathan. "You what?" he repeated.

"Ezra wasn't feeling very well, so I told him to go on home," the healer reiterated.

Larabee's face darkened. "I am aware you are our medical officer, Nathan, but I give the orders. You follow them. This team consists of seven members, which includes Standish. I will not consider this conference complete until everyone, and I mean everyone, is present. Is that understood, Nathan?"

The heavy emphasis was not lost on Jackson or the others. "Yes, sir."

Vin's glance traveled from Chris to Buck, aware that Larabee's oldest friend was as confused by their leader's attitude as he was. The last week or so, the blond man had been as grouchy as a hungry bear and Ezra, as always, seemed to be taking the brunt of his misdirected anger.

"Good. Then I suggest you get Ezra's ass back in here." The team leader stood to leave.

"Fine," Nathan muttered under his breath, "then he can expose us all to the damn flu."

"Chris?" JD spoke up, causing the older man to pause. "Ezra was really ill. Nathan was just trying to make it easier on him."

"If Ezra needs things easier, I suggest he find another line of work. He can always go back to conning innocent people outta their hard earned money!" Larabee stormed from the room, leaving stunned silence behind him.

The previous year, when Larabee had called them all together to inform them he was considering asking the gambler slash con man to join the team, he had made a point of explaining from the information he had gathered, the man chose only the greediest of society as his marks.

Standish seemed to swindle only those people who made their money off the misfortunes of others. As Ezra himself had made clear to Buck at their first meeting, he did not pick on little old ladies or people who could not stand to lose their life savings.

Buck blew out a long breath. "What's got his shorts in a bunch?"

Josiah shook his head. "I don't know but when I took that file over to the courthouse, I did overhear a couple of ATF agents in the hall talking about some senator prodding for information."

"Great! More nosy low lives!" Buck sighed. "I'm glad I don't have to answer to them."

"You could always put in fer Chris' job," Vin pointed out.

"Oh, thank you for that thought, Mary Sunshine," Buck snipped at him. His expression clearly told Vin they needed to corner Chris and find out what was going on. Between the two of them, they might be able to handle the inevitable explosion when Larabee finally released the anger he was bottling up inside.

*******

Vin hurriedly crossed the large outer foyer to Ezra's apartment. He hesitated, then rapped loudly on the panel before ringing the bell. If Ezra was asleep, surely one of the noises would awaken him. Tanner had seen the man's familiar classic Camero in its normal parking space and Harry, the doorman, had informed him Mister Standish had not left by the front entrance.

Vin knocked loudly, his finger keeping constant pressure on the doorbell. Chewing his lower lip, Tanner pressed his ear to the wooden panel. There were no sounds from within, no indication Ezra was coming to open the door. Debating a moment, still chewing on his lower lip, he eyed the key ring in his hand. Quickly locating the spare key Standish had given him for emergencies, he unlocked the door and stepped into the marbled foyer.

With a small smile the sharpshooter remembered the day Ezra had offered him the key, reciting a list of very logical reasons for the ex-bounty hunter to have access to the gambler's penthouse and explaining how to get around the extra security precautions he normally took. Vin had been more than flattered by the con man's action, for it was the first, but hopefully not the last, sign Ezra was trusting someone other than himself.

He let his eyes adjust to the dimness. "Ezra?" His voice echoed hollowly in the room. "Hey, Ez, you here?" There was no answer, and his frown deepened another couple of notches. Closing the door and pocketing the keys, he stepped through the foyer into the apartment.

"Aw, hell Ez," he whispered softly at the sight which greeted him as he entered the living room.

Ezra was sprawled on his leather couch, still dressed in his suit. Several stacks of files had been shoved aside and lay in a scattered mess across the floor. As he looked closer, Vin saw the agent had removed his tie and his guns lay on the nearby end table.

He sighed softly. Nathan had been right. Ezra had appeared tired and distracted the past week or so. Use to the southerner's moods when he was preparing to go undercover, the other members of the team overlooked any other reason, but Vin knew the last few missions had taken a lot out of the con man. With the team complete, it seemed as if they had been working consistently for most of the past year.

When they were not working on assignments, they were doing prep work for the next case, coping with the mounds of paperwork their job entailed, or Chris was sending them off for further training. While the men grumbled and bitched the entire time, none of them would have wanted it any other way.

He sighed again. Not only did Ez have the chore of going undercover, but whenever the assignment was completed, he had tons of paperwork to tend to as well. Except for Larabee, the man who had agreed to be their undercover agent had the most paperwork, if not filling it out, then studying the people he would be interacting with for Standish believed in being prepared.

With a sad shake of his head, Vin moved closer and bent to remove Ezra's expensive Italian leather loafers, dropping them to the thickly carpeted floor. Searching the linen closet, he found a blanket and moved to tuck it around the sleeping man. His hand accidentally brushed against Ezra's arm, and he straightened worry flashing in his blue eyes. Carefully, not wanting to disturb Ezra unnecessarily, he reached out and laid the back of his hand against the southerner's forehead.

Ezra was burning up with fever, the unnatural heat radiating from his body.

Vin hesitated, then lightly shook his shoulder. "Ez? Hey, Ezra. Wake up."

Standish mumbled something and slowly turned over, his eyes barely slitting open. "W-What?" he stared owlishly at Tanner, struggling to focus his eyes.

"Ya okay?" Concern was evident in the sharpshooter's voice.

Ezra struggled to keep his eyes open. "I don't know..." he slurred. "Feel...sick..."

"Yer burning up." Vin pointed out.

"Tired....." He licked dry lips. "Flu....."

Vin moved to the kitchen and pulling a glass from the cabinet, he filled it with cold water from the jug in the fridge. Seeing the Tylenol bottle on the sink, he scooped it up. Sinking down on his heels next to the man, he offered the glass and shook several tablets from the bottle. "Take these."

Ezra nodded like a small child and proceeded to down the pills, finishing off the tall glass of water. That in itself worried Vin for like the bounty hunter, the gambler usually balked at taking medicine of any kind. It seemed to revive him, and he eyed Vin. "What...what are you doing here? "

Vin knew it was not the time to tell him Chris wanted him back at the office. "Came by ta check on ya. Nate said ya weren't feelin' well."

"It's just the flu," Ezra persisted. "That drafty warehouse last week....."

"Ya sure? Ya need me ta call Nathan fer ya?"

The con man shook his head. "No, I just need to get some rest, drink plenty of fluids, and take Tylenol." The standard treatment for the flu.

"Ya been pushin' yerself too hard," Vin admonished him softly, concern in his soft drawl. "Ya gotta slow down."

Ezra shook his head. "Nothing gets finished that way."

"Well, maybe it wouldn't hurt ta ask Chris for some down time. Ya been goin' at it pretty steady these past couple months. It wouldn't hurt ta have a little time ta relax and unwind."

"Don't ask him because of me," Ezra's voice held a soft tone of pleading. He knew some of the others looked down on him as it was.

Vin shook his head in disgust. Why did this man think he had to do more than the others? He needed to know he didn't have to push himself to the brink of exhaustion or make himself ill. He was a member of the team and the others would gladly give him any assistance he needed. Why didn't the man understand he had nothing to prove any more?

Yet, Vin knew why.

Because the others, especially Chris and Nathan, had never made the man feel as if he were as good as the rest, as worthy as the other six of respect. The tracker did not think it was intentional on the two men's parts, but he had noticed Ezra was more uncomfortable around those two and maybe only he saw how much harder Ezra worked at pleasing Chris. Harder even than JD. Of course, he had to admit though, Ezra gave their leader more hassles and guff than any of the others even dared think of.

"It's for all of us, Ez. Why don't cha get some rest, and I'll run out and get ya some more pills. Ya only got a couple left."

Ezra nodded and settled back down on the couch.

Vin hesitated, then tucked the blanket over his shoulder.

"Thanks," Ezra muttered softly.

"Yer welcome. I'll be back in a bit. Need anything else?"

A muffled 'no' sounded. Returning to the kitchen, Vin replaced the glass on the sink. Retrieving another one from the cupboard, he splashed some water into it before returning the jug to the refrigerator. The cold liquid soothed his dry mouth. Leaving his glass beside Ezra's, Vin moved for the front door. Turning before he left, he saw his friend was already asleep. There was nothing worse than being sick and alone. Well, he'd be back shortly and he'd stay for a little while and maybe Josiah and Nate would come by. Not that Ez needed or would even welcome the company, but sometimes it was just a comfort to know someone cared. He locked the door behind him.

*******

Ezra awoke and rolled over, stifling the soft moan of pain which sounded in his throat. He had hoped to feel better after sleeping, but if anything he actually felt worse. He vaguely remembered talking to someone...Vin? Had the sharpshooter really been there or had he just been dreaming? It seemed he had a lot of dreams lately, more like nightmares which interrupted his slumber and left him shattered and unable to sleep afterwards.

Dreams of his undercover actions gone wrong, of seeing his teammates shot and killed as he watched unable to move or even scream out a warning. Every night it was the same… his companions, his friends gunned down and lying in their own blood....Chris, Buck, Vin, JD, Nate, Josiah… A hail of gunfire and screams, and blood....their blood on his expensive suit and imported shoes.… and nothing he could do to stop it.

He swallowed hard and pushed aside the blanket, unsteadily gaining his feet. Holding on to the furniture and walls, he slowly made his way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, he pulled out the jug of cold water and took a long swallow. The cold liquid slid down his parched throat. Replacing it, he started back to the couch.

He didn't quite make it. His legs gave out, and his head swimming, he collapsed to the floor.

*******

Juggling the bags, Vin unlocked the door and entered the apartment. He had gone to several stores trying to find the right pills. The cashier had informed him it seemed everyone was ill with the flu, coming down with the flu or just recovering from the flu. Thinking about Ezra's fairly empty pantry, he'd stopped to get several cans of chicken noodle soup, some crackers, and teabags: Vin Tanner's sure fire remedy for the flu. The tracker knew they were the perfect deterrents since he, himself, spent a great deal of time out in the elements and rarely became ill.

The grocery sacks hit the carpet when he saw Ezra stretched out on the floor. He quickly crossed the distance and knelt beside him.

"Ez?" He lightly shook the southerner's shoulder. "Ezra?" There was no response. He sat back on his heels and debated reaching for the phone and calling Nathan but hesitated. Ezra had insisted it was only a flu bug and exhaustion, and he hated to bother Nate if that was the case. He knew how the healer looked down on the southerner, always griping about him. This would just add fuel to the fire and Ezra didn't need that on top of being ill.

Then again, Nathan might get pissed at the gambler, but when it came to one of his teammates being ill or injured, all animosity was forgotten. Jackson became an over protective mother hen and Vin would probably get his ass chewed out for not calling him immediately, but with the healer and Josiah leaving shortly to finish up the final details on their last case, Chris would probably blame Ezra if their departure was delayed when Nathan would insist on checking the con man's condition for himself. Moving back, he gathered the slim body in his arms and carried Ezra to the couch. Settling him against the pillows and covering him with the blanket, Vin sat down on the edge of the coffee table to watch the man.

Ezra's face was flushed, his sweat soaked hair clung to his forehead and heat radiated from him at Tanner's touch. There was a laxness about him that triggered a distant alarm in Vin's head, but he pushed it aside. "Just exhausted," he reasoned. Couple days of rest and ol' Ez would be as good as new.

He hoped.

He shifted to stand, intending to put the groceries away when his hand brushed against something on the coffee table. He brought his gaze down and idly picked up the item sitting there. He turned it over in his hands and stared at it. It was a cheap plastic chess piece. A pawn if he remembered correctly. Vin had watched the couple of times Ezra and Josiah had played chess to pass time on a stake out. At his interest, Ezra had offered to teach him the game but they never seemed to have found the time. Tanner frowned. It looked out of place here. He couldn't recall seeing it earlier. Looking around, he saw no chess set. He absently rubbed his thumb against the cheap plastic piece.…No way this was Ezra's.

Tanner turned, his gaze sweeping over the room as a chill coursed through him. It felt as though someone had just walked on his grave. Sudden alertness, honed by years of bounty hunting and law enforcement, surged through him, and he moved to check out the other rooms.

Everything was as it should have been in the immaculate apartment. Nothing was missing as far as he could tell, and there were no signs of forced entry. It wasn't until he entered the master bathroom attached to Ezra's bedroom that he realized how wrong he had been. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as he read the scrawled words on the mirror: 'Revenge is sweet!'

"What the hell?" he muttered, stepping forward to brush his fingers over the waxy black letters.

Vin's eyes widened as the words sank in. Pulling the SIG from its holster he spun around, his blue eyes searching every crack and corner of the high priced apartment. How could someone have gotten into such a secure building? Hell, unless Harry was on duty, he had to flash his ID every time he came to visit Ez. How could someone have gotten in to scribble such a message? Surely it was not Standish's writing.

Hesitating, he dug his cell phone from his pocket and punched the speed dial. When Larabee's voice filtered to him, he brusquely told him he was needed at Ezra's and without explaining, clicked off the phone.

His frown deepened and his own image with its bitter smile looked back at him from the mirror. A soft sound from the living room made him stare again at the black words on the mirrored glass.

Vin shook his head. Maybe too many years in questionable activities had made him paranoid. Who would want to hurt Ezra? In the months since Larabee had formed his elite team, they had taken down a few big time dealers and helped bust a lot of scum the other agencies couldn't touch, mainly due to Ezra's talent for concocting seemingly impossible schemes. Would any of those low lives have put a contract on Standish? It didn't seem possible for Ezra never used his real name and since their team was still basically unknown, it would be nearly impossible to track down the gambler.

The man had busted a few big time dealers and taken down a lot of scum but a contract on him? Someone wanting revenge on the man would not be so blatant. They would just track him down and off him in some alley. Besides, one of their CIs would have informed them if they had heard of something like that going down on the streets. No, this was something more.

An anguished cry made the line between his eyebrows intensify as he hurried into the living room. Ezra was thrashing about in his sleep, and Vin knelt beside the sofa, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his friend's shoulder.

"Shhh, Ez....Everything's alright." At the soft words, the southerner calmed and Vin sat back on his heels.

He was still sitting there, frowning when a knock sounded at the door. Ezra had remained quiet, other than an occasional dream filled mumble which faded at Vin's gentle touch. He gained his feet and with one hand on his gun hurried to open the door before the noise disturbed Standish.

Larabee stood in the entrance a look of impatience on his face. "What the hell is goin' on, Vin?" he demanded, brushing by the Texan and on into the room. His hasty steps slowed at the sight of the undercover agent on the couch. "What's with Ezra? He hurt? What did he do this time?"

Vin closed the door, his expression and voice hardening at Chris' apparent callousness toward the undercover agent. It was as if he had completely wiped from his mind Nathan telling him Ezra was ill.

"Somethin's goin' on, Chris. Don't know what, but somethin' ain't right." He motioned the team leader to the bathroom and showed him the scribbled message.

Chris' face hardened. If someone was after a member of his team there would be hell to pay. He chewed his lip and looked at Tanner. "Ya got any ideas 'bout this?"

The Texan shook his head. "Nope. Could be someone we took down."

"Or it could be someone from his past," Larabee grumbled, jerking his chin toward the other room. "Someone who didn't take kindly to being conned outta their hard earned savings."

Vin ignored the snide remark. "What bothers me is how they found him and how they got into the building. Ya gotta have the receptionist call for permission before they let ya past the lobby. And this floor, if ya don't got a key for the elevator the doorman has to use his after he gets proper clearance."

Chris' gaze narrowed on the man on the sofa. "Don't suppose Ezra done it himself?" he suggested.

Tanner's blue eyes widened in surprise and a look of disgust at the very thought came to his tanned face. "No." He knew Chris didn't know Ezra well, but he was stunned the leader would even think such a thought let alone give it voice. It suddenly angered him too knowing Larabee would not have even considered such a thing if it had been one of the other team members. "Look, Chris, you've had a burr under yer saddle where Ezra's concerned for a while now. I don't know why, but I do know he don't deserve to be treated like he has been and ya know as well as I do, he ain't got no reason to pull some stunt like this."

"Any suggestions?" Chris asked, as he moved into the kitchen and poured himself a glass of cold water from the fridge. Downing it, he slouched against the counter waiting for Tanner's response.

"Might move him to the safe house, get him outta here for a few days, let us look into it, see if we can find out anything on the street."

Larabee chewed his lip again. "Ya got that court appearance tomorrow, don't ya?" Vin nodded. "And Josiah and Nate have to be out of town. Buck and JD are looking into that case for the judge. Damn." That left only him to 'baby-sit' the con man.

"Look, Chris, Ezra's..."

Larabee cut him off with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, I know. I guess I can stand it for a couple of days and when you're done with court you can take over. That satisfy you?"

Vin nodded as he moved about, gathering up a few things and tossing them into a duffel he had pulled from Ezra's bedroom closet. Knowing the safe house hadn't been used since being set up, he pulled the jugs of water from the fridge as well as several packets of Ezra's coffee and a few other things Ezra would think essential. Bundling everything together he hurried the stuff down to Chris' truck then returned to help the older man with the con man.

*******

The lights of town fell away behind them as Chris made the somewhat familiar drive toward the safe house. He had traveled this section of road quite a few times when Vin was setting up the place. After the team selection had been completed, Chris and Judge Travis had sat down and had gone over every aspect of what was needed to make the project work.

The men, in their first signs of true togetherness, had split up, Buck and JD working on setting up the office and Josiah and Nathan had worked on equipping a small clinic in the building. Vin, ever resourceful, had found, repaired and established a safe house, its location off the beaten track. It was for the team's use only and the judge, with Ezra's input, had bought the property using the name of a distant relative who was in a nursing home. Still, on this dark night with just his high beams and an occasional vehicle passing in the opposite direction, it seemed singular and foreboding.

He glanced over, looking at his companion in the green glow of the dash lights. The southerner appeared to be asleep, huddled down in the blankets like a small child. An overpowering paternal protectiveness surfaced in the older man. Chris had never known anyone like this man before in his life.

The cocky southerner irked him immensely and just seemed to enjoy rubbing him the wrong way. Yet Ezra was the most independent, self-assured man he had ever known but at times, albeit a very few times, he came across as so innocent and childlike, it scared him. It suddenly registered on him, the southerner had Adam's eyes. That same depth of green, guarded until he knew what was going on, then they would dance with excitement. Damnit! Was he seeing his son grown when he looked at this man?

Unbidden, the memory of the con man's first meeting with him surfaced. He had been unsure of Vin's recommendation. Not really certain if he wanted someone so shady on his team. At times, he wasn't sure exactly where the con man stood and Ezra didn't help matters. He seemed to exude the impression he was shifty and untrustworthy. He stayed on the outer fringe, not a part of the group until they needed his talents. It was like he was an afterthought, which Chris had to admit, he really was.

Chris knew the other men would accept Standish in a heartbeat, had accepted him as an essential member of the team and had made efforts towards bringing the southerner into the closeness they all shared, but they were unsure how to approach him and how to take his standoffishness. The con man was always friendly, polite and charming, joking with the others, pitching in and offering help and advice when needed, but still he managed to keep them all at arm's length. Only Vin had gotten close to the man, dragging him to their weekly gatherings, taking him to lunch, trying to soften his introduction into the group.

Larabee had thought they were well on the road to pulling him completely into the family when they'd persuaded the elusive con man into celebrating the previous Christmas with them rather than hiding out at one of the gambling resorts.

"So what do you think about this, Ezra?" he murmured softly, not wanting to disturb the man while he slept. He turned his gaze back to the road. Guilt had been gnawing at him, and seeing the younger man's pale face it had just taken another huge bite. He recalled how he had pushed and prodded Ezra during the last assignment, ragging his ass and yelling at him for seeming to take too long to get results. Vin, Nate and the others had seen the southerner was ill. Why hadn't he?

Chris knew the answer to that question although he was reluctant to admit it, even to himself. The blond team leader knew the men were all wondering why he, as Vin had put it, 'had a burr under his saddle' and he tried to convince himself he hadn't said anything, not wanting to worry the team. The rumors of a senator poking around had been true. What none of them were aware of was the senator was poking specifically into the formation and the need for Judge Travis' elite team.

The man did not like the idea of the U.S. government funding a secret team at all. Larabee and Travis had spent days going over every aspect of the difficult cases the team had solved and still the senator was not pleased. And for that, Chris blamed Ezra. 

The senator, exerting his rank and privilege had demanded to look at the files on each man on Larabee's team and he had stated loudly his numerous objections concerning the con man. His objections and doubts were the same ones which Chris himself had secretly harbored since taking on the man. Doubts he had never really voiced to anyone. His team had changed the lives of each of its members, none moreso than Standish, and yet it was now endangered by the man's very presence and his shady background.

Larabee knew he should have let the men know what was happening. He should have let them help him deal with the situation, but he was afraid of what the dissension might do to the team. Chris mentally kicked himself, knowing the men would have rallied around him and perhaps, more importantly, would have rallied around the southerner backing him. Belatedly, Chris realized it might have been exactly what was needed to pull the stubborn jackass into the fold.

A sudden gut-twisting pain stabbed through his middle, nearly causing him to lose control of the truck. He gripped the steering wheel tightly until the spasm passed then panting slightly he swallowed hard as nausea boiled up in his throat. He pushed it aside, focusing his full attention on the road. He had to get them to the safe house while he was still able.

Even concentrating, he drove past the cut off and had to drive a mile or so beyond before he could find a place to turn around. It wasn't really a road more an overgrown track off to one side. Very few people traveled this far out and even fewer knew where the trace led.

The deep ruts in the track jarred the semiconscious southerner, and he roused, attempting to straighten in the seat as he weakly struggled to push the blankets aside. "M-Mister Larabee, w-what are you doing?" His voice was a hoarse whisper.

Larabee briefly pulled his gaze from the dim track as he slowed the pickup. "Takin' the scenic route," he quipped and was rewarded with a minuscule ghost of a smile.

"N-Next time, please do it in daylight," the man whispered, bringing a smile to Chris' face. Man always had a smart ass answer for everything. "Makes it much easier to view the charming scenery."

As his gaze lingered on the pale face beside him, Chris suddenly realized the cardsharp had not even questioned where they were going. Thinking about it, Larabee realized it had been that way from the very beginning. Ezra would make comments, suggestions, or ask appropriate questions, but always conceded to Chris' request then often doing it his own way and standing silently with a smug smile on his face while Larabee read him the riot act afterwards.

Chris had never considered it was the con man's way of showing his faith in the man he had pledged his allegiance to. It shook Larabee to his very core the amount of trust this young man seemed to place in him, that he was willing to follow so blindly, asking no questions as Chris and Vin decided his future. Only one other person had trusted Chris so totally, so completely. That accepting soul had been his son, Adam

"And look where it got him," the bitter voice of recrimination echoed in his mind.

His grip tightened on the steering wheel, not from any stomach spasm but, from a sudden wave of guilt. His anguished gaze settled on Ezra's wan face, and he prayed the young man's unswerving trust in him would not lead to his demise as well.

The truck's headlights finally illuminated the old two-story safe house and Chris sighed with relief. Fishing around under the back seat he located a flashlight and flicked it on, checking the batteries. It gave off a strong reassuring glow. Reaching over, he flipped the heat up on high and touched Standish's shoulder. "Ezra? Ez..."

"W-what?" He struggled to open his eyes. "M-Mister Larabee?" he whispered weakly, as he attempted to focus on the other man's face.

"Yeah, it's me. We're here. I'm gonna run in and start a fire, get it all warm and cozy. I'm gonna leave you out here until it is. 'Kay? I just wanted you to know I'm gonna be close by if ya need me."

Ezra nodded once and let his eyelids close again.

Chris hesitated, then tucked the blankets more closely about the slim form before opening the door and letting in a cold gust of wind.

Quickly exiting the vehicle, he made his way by the headlights' glow up the three steps to the porch. Dead leaves crunched under his boots. Using the flashlight, he finally located the door key. Fumbling, trying to steady the light, he got the door unlocked and stepped inside.

No one had been to the safe house since it had first been set up. Time and dust coated everything from long disuse. Cobwebs hung from the ceiling beams and the furniture. The sound of tiny foot patters filled the room as some disturbed creature scurried from his presence.

Chris' heart fell. He really did not have the luxury of giving it a thorough cleaning, not with Ezra waiting in the truck. Cursing himself for not even thinking of the cabin's abandoned condition, he moved to the fireplace and kneeling began kindling a fire using the wood which filled the wood box. He knew he could not make the drive back to Ezra's apartment, and he could not take him back to town to be a possible target. Vin's mountain cabin was the closest location he knew of, but there was always the possibility whoever was after Ezra knew the other team members as well and would check their homes searching for the missing man. He was just going to have to make due here at least for the night.

A short time later, the fire was crackling merrily, spreading its golden warmth through the room. Chris had found the electrical box and thrown the main switch so at least they had electricity. He knew there was a back up generator somewhere but he had not thought to bring fuel for it.

In the meantime, he had found a Hoover in one closet and had hastily knocked down the spiders' webs and suctioned up a bit of the dust. He took pains to run the vacuum over the sofa. While there were bedrooms in the second floor loft he knew there was no way Ezra was up to navigating the flight of stairs. Besides, it would be warmer on the sofa by the fire.

He took a few minutes to wipe the dust from the kitchen counter and plug in the fridge and microwave. Turning tiredly to survey his quick clean up job, he half smiled. Where was Alice when you needed her? Tossing the dusty rags aside, he moved for the door intending to bring Ezra in and get him settled by the warm fire.

The front door blew open letting in a chilly gust of wind which caused the flames in the fireplace to jump and sputter. Chris frowned as he moved to close it, but motion in the doorway caught his eye.

"What the hell...? Ezra!"

The younger man stood swaying in the door, the blankets clutched weakly to his chest. Their loose ends were snapping in the cold breeze nearly whipping them out of his tentative grasp. He was panting heavily, and his breath plumed fog-like about his pale face. He shuffled half a step and brought pain-glazed eyes up to meet Chris'.

"I-I-I....th-thought...y-you.....f-forgot....." The sentence was cut short as Chris jumped across the distance to catch him before he hit the floor.

Larabee sagged to the floor himself, cradling the smaller man in his arms. "Damnit, Standish… I was comin' to get ya," he softly scolded the unconscious man. He looked beyond the still form and saw the shadowy porch and beyond noting the truck had been shut off, the headlights out. How long had it taken the stubborn con man to make his way across the dark yard and climb those three steps?

"Damnit!" he swore again, mad at himself for not keeping tabs on the man. He should have thought to go outside and let Ezra know what he was doing. "Damnit, Ezra, do ya really believe I'd forget ya? You, my fine southern gentleman are one unforgettable character."

He carefully maneuvered around and closed the door against the chill, then managed to move the southerner to the sofa, where he settled the younger man on the softness of the cushions and covered him with several blankets he had found in a supply closet upstairs. He lightly brushed the back of his hand against Ezra's forehead and frowned deeply. A fierce fever still raged in the undercover agent's body. He was going to have to find the med-kit and check Ezra when he woke up again.

He pushed away from the sofa to stand and grabbed the nearby chair for support when his head began to swim and his vision blurred. His stomach flipped and he fought the urge to vomit. It took several long moments for the feeling to pass and he finally stood, drained long after it had passed. His gaze drifted back to Ezra. If he felt this bad and was only in the beginning throes of this flu, or whatever it was, how must Ezra be feeling with a full-blown case? Blinking sudden wetness from his eyes as he remembered the pale-faced agent trying to do his job, knowing now how he must have felt, Chris swore he would make it up to him, somehow. He'd make up for everything.

But for now, he dropped back into the chair beside the sofa. He'd rest a few minutes then bring in the supplies from the pickup.

*******

"C-C-Chris?"

The one word pulled Larabee from the stupor he had not been aware of falling into. He forced open eyes that seemed too heavy and focused on his companion.

Ezra had worked into a semi-sitting position and was leaning over the edge of the sofa. His face was far too pale, and his voice was a mere whisper, "I-I-I'm g-gonnn..." The rest of his words were cut off by sudden dry heaves which convulsed his slim body.

Chris scrambled up and grabbed his shoulders, supporting the smaller man feeling his body shuddering as the wracking convulsions shook him. "Oh, shit..."

He released his grip as Ezra finally collapsed back against the pillows, his face pale and wasted, his eyes half-lidded against the light.

"Hold on, I'll get ya some water." Chris moved for the kitchen area then remembered the rest of their stuff was still out in the truck. Grabbing the flashlight, he hurried outside to retrieve the supplies.

He returned shortly with a box of foodstuff and the jugs of water. Larabee dumped everything on the counter. Digging a glass from one of the cabinets, he washed and rinsed it before filling it with drinking water from the opened jug he'd brought from Ezra's. He noted it was icy cold from being outside. Snagging several paper towels from the roll in the box, he moved back to the sofa. "Here."

Ezra shook his head. "N-noo...don't want it."

"C'mon, Ezra, ya gotta drink or you're gonna get dehydrated." He held the glass to the man's lips but Ezra weakly pushed it aside.

"J-Just toss it back up," the con man pointed out matter of factly, panting slightly with the effort the words had cost him.

"Ya gotta drink something. I'll make you some weak tea. Nathan swears it's the best thing for the flu."

Ezra cracked his eyes to stare at him disgustedly. "T-tea?"

Chris nodded. "Tea, with a little of your brandy added in."

"Don't want it," Ezra insisted single-mindedly with childlike tenacity.

"I'm gonna fix it anyway," Chris pointed out, moving to the kitchen where he quickly heated water and brewed tea using the time in between to store the supplies. Letting it cool slightly, he finally gathered the mug and moved back to kneel by the sofa. "Here ya go," he offered, too cheerfully.

Ezra cracked red-rimmed, swollen eyes to focus on him. "Wha.… I-I don't want it."

Chris' lips thinned slightly at the man's stubbornness. "Whatever, but ya gotta drink something. If not, you're gonna end up on an IV and I sure don't know anything about those." He lowered the drink to the coffeetable and shoved it to the center. "Better drink it now, before it gets cold," he pointed out. Then, more forcefully, "C'mon, Ezra, ya gotta get some liquids in ya, and we ain't got nothin' but this or water. C'mon, one swallow and I'll fix coffee," he cajoled. "Just one swallow and if it stays down, I'll brew you a pot of that foreign coffee you like."

Ezra closed his eyes and let out a long slow sigh. He was too sick to argue and all he wanted was for Larabee to leave him alone and let him sleep. Evidently, there was only one way that was going to happen. He finally nodded, once. "One swallow..." he reiterated.

Chris hid his small victory smile and retrieved the cup, holding it up to Ezra's lips. The agent took one small swallow and looked up with fever glazed eyes as the man continued to hold the cup in place. "You said one swallow."

"Thought my mastery in tea making was so great you'd try a little more," he egged.

Ezra closed his eyes and took another short sip. Swallowing hard, he pushed the cup and Chris' hand away. "No...more..." he insisted, his voice too weak to carry much weight.

"'Kay, for now." Chris placed the cup aside and stood. Keeping a watchful eye on his companion he moved about the confines of the cabin, stowing the things he had brought with them. He threw another log on the fire and looked across the room at the southerner.

Ezra was curled down in the blankets asleep. His face was fever flushed and Chris berated himself for not checking his temperature while he was awake. As it was, he did not want to awaken him again for it seemed sleep was the best thing for him.

Grabbing the flashlight from the counter, Chris made his way to the basement steps. He remembered the judge commenting on the good job Tanner had done repairing and stocking the little house with everything they might need. Vin had even gathered changes of clothes for each team member to be left at the house in the event they needed to retreat there without notice. The Judge had told him there was a metal food locker in the cellar stocked with MRE's and other nonperishable foodstuff. While Ezra slept, Chris intended to check it out.

He made his way down the narrow steps and by the glow of the flashlight found the wall switch and clicked it on. Light flooded the small room revealing a large metal food locker, an emergency generator and several other items still in boxes.

Working the hasp which was stiff from disuse, Chris opened the locker and whistled aloud. Cases of MRE's of every variety filled the enclosed space. At least when Ezra was able to keep it down, they would have plenty to eat.

'If he's able to eat,' his inner voice taunted.

Opening a case, he withdrew two packs which he knew contained packets of chicken noodle soup and tucked them under his arm. Looking closer, he saw a large white first aid kit, supplied by Nathan, stowed to one side and one handedly wrestled it out. Obviously, it had been stored in the locker to protect it from rodents. Closing the locker, he gathered his finds and trudged back up the steps.

Ezra still slept, and leaving the items on the counter, Chris moved to replace the blankets the younger man had kicked off onto the floor. Ezra muttered something.

Chris hesitated. The only words he could make out were 'don't leave me.' A sad smile flickered over the older agent's face as he realized even in his dreams Ezra found neither peace nor acceptance.

"No!"

The sharp denial jarred Chris from his introspection, and he looked down.

Ezra was struggling, fighting the blankets, an angry frown on his pale face "No!" he repeated. "Don't leave me alone! Please....!"

Larabee grabbed his shoulders, afraid the younger man was going to writhe off the couch, but Ezra twisted from his grip. "Don't go! Don't go!" His words were a heart-wrenching plea which tore at Chris' heart as his choked voice broke down into a mere whisper begging, "Please don't go!".

He grasped the younger man's shoulders and shook him. "Ezra!" He shook him harder. "Ezra, wake up!"

The southerner fought with him, flaying at Chris with wild blows which he easily evaded. "You lied! You said you'd stay! You don't want me either!" He was screaming and tears were flowing from his eyes. "Please don't go!"

Chris shook him again, harder still, but there was no effect as Ezra continued to sob and plead. Finally, seeing no other recourse Larabee softly muttered, "Sorry," and open handedly slapped Ezra's face.

The green eyes suddenly focused seeing Chris' concerned face. "W-What...? Mister Larabee...? " He weakly rubbed his stinging cheek, his disconcertion apparent.

"You were having a nightmare," The older man tried to explain.

"O-oh..."Ezra trailed off, then, "about what?"

Larabee hesitated. " Someone leaving."

Any color remaining in Ezra's face leeched away and Chris, not wanting to embarrass him, found himself retreating to the kitchen to avoid watching the emotions which played over the younger man's features. Ezra kept his feelings well hidden behind the walls he had built around himself, letting them see only what he wanted, a talent which came in very handy when dealing with the seedier elements of society but was extremely frustrating to his team mates.

Needing something to do, Chris quietly brewed another cup of tea and brought it back into the room. He offered it to Ezra, who took it absently. Larabee hesitated, then sank down in the chair next to the sofa. "Are you all right?" he questioned softly.

The gambler slowly nodded. "I-I feel a little better. I believe the sleep helped," he admitted, although his haggard visage belied his words.

Larabee looked down at his hands. "You know, Ezra, there's a lot of things we didn't talk about when I hired you on."

Ezra stared into his tea. "No, Mister Larabee," he responded, "we didn't.'

Chris cleared his throat. "I know your mother shuffled you around a lot.." It was more of an assumption than anything else. He had met Ezra's mother, read the computer printouts and Jamie's notes on Standish and his mother, but there were things which were still unclear, most prevalent why a mother would pawn her only child off on every acquaintance she knew, rather than raise him herself.

Standish's head jerked up, pain flashing through his emerald eyes at the sudden movement. "And just how would you know that, Mister Larabee?"

"You don't think I offered you this job without finding out everything I could about you, do you?" Noticing the stiffness of the con man's body language, Chris realized how the man might take such an admission. "I checked you out, just like I did each of the other men. Just like I'm sure you checked me out before accepting my offer."

It was a guess, but Larabee had seen the extensive research Standish put into his undercover work. The man left nothing to chance. He simply wasn't the type to jump into a deal without learning everything he could about the people involved.

Ezra slowly traced the rim of the mug with his index finger, not looking up and not speaking. He was not about to admit to anything.

"Look, Ezra, I know there's things I don't need to know, and that's fine, but if there is anything in your background which is going to interfere with your ability to work with this team or..." he trailed off as Ezra brought his face up.

The look in his green eyes tore at Chris. He had never seen such hurt and sadness as was reflected to him from those emerald depths. "Mister Larabee, are you saying you no longer wish me on this team?" Ezra asked, his voice no more than a soft whisper his accent thick with emotion.

"What? Hell, no, Ezra, what gave you that idea?" Larabee asked incredulously.

Ezra frowned. "If you are not pleased with the job I do, I am well aware of the fact I can and will be replaced...."

"I don't believe you, Ezra!" Chris shook his head in disbelief. "What gave you the idea I wasn't happy with your work?" he demanded. Damn, would he ever understand how this man's mind worked?!

"You don't ever..." Ezra attempted to explain again. He stopped himself, unwilling to expose himself to the hurt and humiliation of hearing this man confirm his deepest fears. Ezra couldn't remember ever respecting anyone as much as he did Chris Larabee and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he had come to care for each of the other six men to a degree he would never have believed possible. The thought of no longer being a part of their unorthodox family, even if it was as the unwelcome distant relative-hell, he had dealt with that all his life-was just too painful for him to even conceive.

Realization dawned. Chris was always patting the other men's backs, remarking on their good work but with Ezra's standoffishness, he had never been that familiar with him. He would give him a nod and figured the man knew. But he really hadn't voiced it aloud to the southerner. "Damn, Ezra, you do the hardest part of the job. You make it look easy and I just never ...." He broke off. "I'm sorry. I should have told you I was more than pleased with your work."

Ezra nodded without speaking.

"The reason I brought it up is someone left a message for ya on your bathroom mirror. Looks like someone wants revenge. We're figuring it's most likely someone we've come up against but we gotta ask if it could be someone from your past."

"You mean someone I might have swindled." The gambler sighed. "While it's possible I find it highly unlikely. A victim of my cons would most likely have sought retribution long before now."

Chris continued to stare at him. There was just something about the southerner which wore on him. It wasn't something he could put his finger on, more a feeling, a sensation the man was toying with him at times trying to tic him off on purpose. He had watched and Ezra reacted differently with each of the men on the team, like he played to what they thought he should be and put up that false front for them to see. It was very disconcerting, but he didn't know how to broach the subject or if he even should. After all, he had hired Standish because he was a con man and as Vin had pointed out would be exceptional at undercover work, blending in and becoming one of the bad guys. How could he condemn the man for doing what kept him alive? It was just that sometimes, he wished the agent would relax enough to let them see his real face...not the endless array of guises he constantly wore. A niggling thought tickled the back of his mind and he wondered if anyone had ever seen the real Ezra Standish at all. Something told Chris that Vin Tanner had.

For some reason the words came out of their own volition. "Ya don't have to play hide and seek with us, Ezra," he pointed out softly.

The green eyes flew open and Chris actually heard the younger man gasp out loud. "E-excuse m-me?" Standish actually stuttered.

"Isn't that what you're doing? Hiding from the rest of the team? Only letting them see what you want or what they expect. Believe it or not, you don't have to do that with these men. Don't you know they'd be your friends at the drop of a hat?...Hell, they are your friends!"

Green eyes narrowed. "A friend is just someone who uses you until someone better suited comes along," he whispered hoarsely.

Chris' eyebrow arched sharply. Was it possible anyone could truly be that cynical? "Is that what you believe, Ezra? Vin and Buck, JD, Josiah, and Nathan would just use you?"

The emerald eyes drilled into him. "Isn't that exactly what you are doing, Mister Larabee? You asked me to join your band of merry men for one reason only...Because you had use of my talents."

The whispered words and the blatant truth in them, shocked the team leader and without thinking, he blurted, "You sonuvabitch!" He saw hurt, then anger flash in the younger man's pain glazed eyes.

"Truth hurts doesn't it, Mister Larabee?" In a rare release of emotion, Ezra angrily threw the teacup at him. "You bastard!"

Stunned, Chris ducked but the hot liquid splashed over him. Fortunately the tea had cooled enough to keep from burning him. The cup crashed to the floor as he jumped to his feet, swearing, "Damnit, Ezra!"

Still swearing he jerked his gun from its holster, not seeing the wide eyed look of alarm on Ezra's face as for a fleeting moment he thought the angry man was going to shoot him. Slamming the gun and his cell phone down on the mantle Larabee stomped from the room to change his soaked shirt.

Ezra sagged back, emotionally spent. He respected Chris Larabee more than anyone he had ever known, but old habits died hard. All his life he had conned people, built up a false sense of trust in them. He was well-versed in mock concern and had never let anyone get close enough to hurt him, or show real concern over him. Truth be told, he probably wouldn't recognize someone else's genuine concern for him if it walked up and punched him in the face.

Until now.… Against his own better judgment, he had slowly allowed his masks to slip down and had enjoyed feeling a kinship with Tanner. There was something about the quiet man which spoke to him. Tanner didn't pry or condemn him, but accepted him as he was. Few people had done that in his life. But the others… he still felt like he was on shaky ground with them, like they expected him to mess up royally and leave them high and dry.

Granted, he had a strong sense of self-preservation but he would never abandon the six men who put such trust in him. They may not like him or his lifestyle, but he knew they had, albeit begrudgingly at first, placed their trust in him, without his having to con them into it. They had given the trust willing, under no guise of gaining something back from him. It was something he treasured and was not willing to destroy. Even a sleazy con man like himself wouldn't sink that low.

What Chris had said had hit a bit too close for comfort. He had not thought of it as hide and seek, simply as dealing with each person in the only way he knew how by giving them exactly what they expected. Well, he reasoned, if Larabee was going to fire him, at least now he had a legitimate reason for doing so.

Sudden nausea boiled up in his throat and he swallowed hard as he felt his stomach roil. Maybe he should not have drunk any of the tea after all. Glancing about frantically, realizing he did not know where the bathroom was he tried to fight the feeling, tangled in the blankets he struggled to rise but finally, gagging, he bent over the side of the sofa and emptied his stomach.

Chris stepped into the room, buttoning the front of his dry shirt. Maybe he had been too hard on the con man. After all, he really did not know Standish, other than what he had read and the things he had seen. Plainly the man had never been a team player, but as he studied on it, neither was Vin. And he surely did not begrudge him. Of course, to both his and Tanner's surprise, Vin had quickly come to rely on the others, knowing they would be there to watch his back, although like Standish there were still times Vin did things his own way.

Why was he so quick to accept Tanner's idiosyncrasies and condemned Ezra for his? Maybe, he reasoned, it was because he didn't feel like he had to work at being friends with Vin, or any of the others for that matter. He felt as if the con man had somehow placed him above most people and he wanted to live up to the confidence the suspicious man had in him, but he was truly puzzled as to how to live up to the gambler's expectations when he didn't even know what they were.

His hazel-eyed gaze moved to the sofa and his breath caught at the sight of Ezra in the throes of throwing up again.

"Shit!" He grabbed the paper towels and scrambled across the room.

Ezra weakly looked up at him, his swollen eyes tear-filled. "'Sorry...." he choked out.

Chris patted his shoulder as he bent to clean up the mess. "I shouldn't have upset you." He saw a small spark of unspoken gratitude in the green eyes as Ezra leaned back.

He closed his eyes. "Mister Larabee?" His voice was low.

Larabee straightened. "Yeah?"

Ezra didn't open his eyes. "Your tea sucks."

A small smile twitched the corner of Chris lips. "So my tea sucks, huh? Wait until you taste my coffee." It wasn't much, but it was a tiny start.

Ezra nodded without opening his eyes. "I think, Mister Larabee, I shall refrain from that pleasure at the moment." Exhausted, he curled down in the blankets.

Chris looked down at him. The man was going to have to keep something down or he was going to dehydrate. There had to be something he could do, something he had overlooked. He moved to the kitchen and eyed the supplies on the counter. Maybe …

The ringing of the landline phone caused him to jump. It rang three more times before he slowly reached for it. "Yeah?"

"Chris?"

Chris involuntarily straightened at the sound of Tanner's voice. "Ya find anything?" He glanced at his watch. It was 0500, The sharpshooter must have been up all night.

"How's Ezra?" There was honest concern in the Texan's softly uttered words.

. "Ain't doing so good."

"And you?"

"I think I got a touch of it but it comes and goes. Nothing to the degree of what Ezra's suffering."

"Stomach pains? Dizziness and nausea?"

"Yep."

"Me, too, but it seems to have passed."

"Have you found anything at his place or on the street?" He knew it was futile. Vin would have told him straight off if they'd found something.

"Sorry, Chris. Nothing." Vin had gotten hold of Judge Travis and requested he send a fingerprint team to Ezra's apartment, explaining what had happened. The print team had gone over every inch of the place, giving it top priority, but had come up empty. Tanner had wrapped up things at the apartment and then had hit the streets, talking to several of his contacts as well as seeking out the informants Ezra sometimes used. At least the ones Tanner knew about. Like everything else in his life, Ezra had been extremely closed mouthed concerning his contacts.

"Keep searching and keep me posted."

"You okay with Ezra?" Vin questioned softly, knowing how the two men went together like gasoline and fire.

Chris let out a soft chuckle. "I gotta learn to duck when he throws things." As Vin started to question him, he cut him off, "We're fine, Vin. You'd best try and get some sleep. Can't have ya dozin' off in court when the prosecutor is questionin' ya." He clicked off the phone and stared at it for a long moment.

*******

Darkness was closing in on the cabin as Chris paced the living room, his gaze locked on the semiconscious man on the couch. Ezra was getting no better. If anything, he was rapidly going down hill, and it seemed to be a slide Chris could not halt. Rinsing out the cloth in the bowl of cold water on the table, Larabee wiped the sweat from Ezra's face before refolding the rag and laying it across the con man's forehead once again.

He had spent most of the day keeping vigil over the younger man who seemed to be sinking deeper and deeper into the strange illness which had invaded his body, draining his strength and will. The blond man had had plenty of time to think since the few times Ezra had woken had hardly been time for Chris to get a few sips of water down his throat.

Even Chris knew this wasn't a flu bug. He had spoken with Nathan on the phone and wanted to take Ezra to the hospital but as the healer pointed out, with his normal practicality, that while a hospital sounded like the best place for the ill man, that may not be the wisest thing to do with a possible contract on the con man's head. There were just too many people coming and going for Larabee to be able to protect the undercover agent by himself.

He suggested waiting until morning and if Ezra wasn't better, they would send a medivac and fly him to the hospital under the team's watchful eye as he and Josiah would be back and Vin would be free of court duty. Surely the four of them could protect the southerner from any attempts on his life. Nathan had also pointed out that unfortunately he wasn't there and had to rely on Larabee's description of Ezra's system. When it came right down to it, Chris would have to use his best justice and follow his instincts.

Larabee brought his attention back to the room. He wasn't so sure now Standish even had twelve hours left in him. He had been doing so well that morning, his fever slightly lower and able to keep down a cup of tea and small square of toast before he had fallen into a deep restless sleep. He had hoped Standish might remain lucid enough to be able to give them some assistance, at least be able to tell them who would have access to his apartment. The usually overly curious con man had not even roused long enough to question where they were or why. Now, with nightfall upon them, Chris knew he had to do something.

He had carefully written down and memorized the instructions as Nathan had explained to him how to hook up an IV and he had the items he needed, salvaged from the well-stocked medical kit. Chris had put it off all evening, but he knew he could postpone it no longer. Ezra's fever had gotten worse and with night coming on, it would not be getting lower.

He moved over to the sofa and sank down on the edge of the wooden coffeetable. Ezra's face was a deathly sick pallor in the flickering light of the fireplace. As Chris stared at him, he realized he seemed to be watching the younger man dying before his very eyes.

Larabee chewed his lip, and swiped at his eyes. It wasn't suppose to happen like this. Ezra was suppose to find love and live happily ever after. All of the Seven should. "It's not right!" Chris muttered lowly, his voice choked as he directed his words ceiling ward and beyond. "What has he done? Hasn't he suffered enough in his life?"

Shaking his head at the injustice, he gathered the medical supplies closer and reaching out, he tugged Ezra's limp hand from beneath the blankets. It was cold, clammy, and there was no resistance, no reaction. Chris' breath caught. Had he waited too long? 

To hell with it! He would start the IV and then he was taking Standish to a hospital

Reaching out a shaky hand, he gently shook the slender shoulder. "Ezra? Ez?" A note of desperation crept into his voice, and he waited fearfully for a reaction.

It seemed to take a lifetime. The long lashes finally flickered, but Ezra's eyes did not open.

Worry, coupled with haste, caused Chris to fumble as he struggled to open the sterile packages. Although he did know basic first aid, he wasn't the medical expert but he didn't have time to wait for someone who was. He gently swabbed Ezra's hand then swore softly as he searched for a vein. "Shit, Ez, this is gonna hurt, but Nate said if I..." he trailed off as he jabbed the needle point into the vein.

Ezra whimpered softly in his throat and struggled weakly to pull away.

"C'mon, Ez, hold still so I can get this in," Chris pleaded softly as he tried to calm the man. He had his hands full trying to keep the needle in place so he could tape it down and get the drip started.

A sudden gust of wind slammed the door back against the wall, and he half turned, thinking he had not properly latched it.

Instead, his dark eyes widened at the sight of a figure standing in the open doorway, a black cloak billowing about it in the gusty wind, the hood hiding the person's face. For half a heartbeat Chris thought 'the Grim Reaper' had come for Ezra who was weakly struggling on the sofa.

Larabee quickly hung the IV on the makeshift pole he had rigged beside the couch and stood, his eyes on the person and the two shadowy forms still on the porch behind it. "What do you want?" he demanded.

Sudden laughter spilled from the person. "Do you honestly think you can save him? You fool!"

Chris started. It was a woman's voice. He took several steps away from Ezra, his eyes locked on her. "Who are you?"

A gun appeared in her hand, aimed, not at him, but at the helpless man on the sofa.

"What do you want?" he growled again, growing angrier by the second, moving to block her view of Standish. His eyes turning green with anger, jumped to his gun and cell phone, lying on the mantle across the room. He hadn't bothered to retrieve them when he had returned to the room, foolishly believing they were safe here. How fuckin' stupid, he berated himself as he focused fully on the woman again.

"His," she motioned toward the undercover agent, "life."

Shock shot through Chris. "Why?" he whispered, edging closer to her.

"Revenge."

The one word stopped Chris in his tracks. Revenge? "For what? What did Ezra do to you?"

She sneered. "He did nothing." She stared at him. "You, on the other hand...." She pushed the hood back and stared him in the face, her black eyes glowing with hatred. "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Should I?" Chris countered with stubborn bravado.

"You will.…," she promised coldly. "You will."

"Why should I?" he demanded. "Who are you?" he repeated.

"I'm his worst nightmare," she nodded toward Ezra. "And yours."

"Leave Ezra outta this," Chris demanded as his mind raced, trying to find a solution. He needed to know more. This person had the upper hand at the moment, and try as he might, he could not recognize her face. Damn! They had based their search on the wrong assumption that whoever was after Ezra was someone the gambler knew. The sudden knowledge Ezra was a target because of someone from his past, hit Larabee like a fist to the abdomen.

"C-Chris?" The tentatively spoken question came from the sofa as Ezra struggled to sit up, his pain glazed eyes on the dark haired woman.

She laughed as she came further into the room, her two large male friends following like ominous shadows. The woman paused by the couch, looking down at the ill man and laughing. "You honestly think this bastard's gonna help ya?!" she jeered.

"What are you doing here?" Larabee demanded. A better question, unvoiced, might have been how she had found this place. Chris' frown deepened as he looked from Ezra's broken expression to the woman. Did the con man recognize her?

"Here?" she mocked, "in this supposedly secure safe house? Ah, if there is a will there is a way, and I have a very strong will." She eyed him up and down with disdain. "And you weren't the only one trained in black ops."

Chris lips thinned in anger. "I repeat. What are you doing here?"

She moved around the room, keeping the pistol trained on him, the two men standing within reach of Larabee. A self-satisfied smile settled on her features as she reached out to lightly brush a strand of long hair back from Standish's forehead. She brought her eyes up to meet Chris' puzzled angry ones. "I've come to offer you a choice, Larabee. One you never made me."

"And what might that choice be?" Chris sneered, searching his memory for any hint as to who this woman might be.

Her smile grew at his attempt of bravado. "His," she nodded toward Ezra, "his life, for yours."

Chris' sharp gasp was audible. "W-what?"" He choked. Without warning, he launched himself across the short distance separating them, backing her against the wall as they grappled for the gun. He sensed movement behind him before something heavy clubbed him across his shoulders.

"C-C-Chris...d-d-don't!" Ezra called out weakly as he struggled to his feet, wavering as he attempted to move toward them.

Larabee turned at his name, trying to shake off the pain and encroaching blackness and watched in horror as Ezra collapsed to the floor. The IV ripped from his hand and blood and saline gushed from the torn skin. Forgetting the woman and her two goons Chris scrambled to his friend, dropping to his knees to cradle the man's head in his arms. "Ezra?" He held his breath as he searched for and finally felt a weak unsteady pulse.

The woman began to laugh. "Aren't you pathetic! He's going to die anyway!"

Chris turned, his face a mask of rage. "No, he's not!" he screamed.

She nodded coldly. "Yes, he is. And you're going to let him."

Chris' expression fell, all color ebbing from his face. "No!" He looked at the gun she held, once again pointed at his friend and swallowed the anger which threatened to overwhelm him, blocking out all reason and sanity. "Why...why are you so intent on seeing Ezra die if it's me you're pissed at?"

She ignored the question and snorted at him in disgust. "Not only will you let him, it will be by your hand."

"Not in your lifetime," Chris declared vehemently. But suddenly, he realized what she had said. His face paled even more. "You...."

She quickly motioned to the two men who grabbed Chris' arms and dragged him to his feet away from his vulnerable friend. "Bind him and throw him in the basement." she ordered.

The men complied, quickly tying Chris' hands behind his back. They forcibly shoved him across the room to the basement door. Struggling with the enormous men, he tried to turn to the woman, but they opened the door and shoved him down the narrow steps.

Chris stumbled hard, cracking his head against the stone wall, nearly blacking out. He felt blood running down his forehead where it had been gashed open. One of the men pushed him again, and he fell the last half dozen steps, landing heavily on the hard floor, the breath knocked out of him.

The light was turned on and he was dragged across the floor and slammed against the center upright where the two men secured him. The bindings were so tight, they cut off circulation. Disoriented, Chris continued to struggle trying to think of something to shout at them but for once, he was wordless, only able to think of Ezra unconscious, sick, and unable to defend himself against these maniacs. Turning out the light, the men returned up the steps leaving him in total darkness.

Larabee struggled against the restraints holding him but there was no give. Twisting and turning, he forcibly tried to loosen the bindings, but the goons had known what they were doing, and there was only the barest amount of slack. He struggled then stopped when he realized it was futile. He was doing nothing but wearing himself down by fighting the ropes binding him so taking a deep breath, he began working on the ones entrapping his wrists. He could do nothing unless his hands were free. He had to stay strong and keep his wits about him. He had to figure out a way to get free and get Ezra to safety.

"Ezra" The one word broke from his lips. What was that bitch doing to his teammate?

*******

A strange expression washed over her face, part gloating and part sadness, as she stared at the unconscious man on the floor at her feet. Thanks to the leak at the Federal Building and high placed connections she now knew more about this man than he probably knew himself.

It had all started as a means to strike back at Chris Larabee for what he had done to her family. Her entire life had been built around her need for revenge. Not a day had passed since she had watched her sister die that she hadn't devised a variety of ways to extract vengeance on the man responsible. She had patiently waited, biding her time and searching for that one special opportunity which she knew would become available to her.

Her years in foreign covert operations had put her in contact with many people, people who had influence and still had access to privileged information. She had spent months, going over the information, drawing a minute amount of satisfaction in reading of his family's deaths and knowing he had suffered. She thanked her Gods the man had sought relief from his pain in alcohol, rather than a bullet, thereby depriving her of the pleasure of being the instrument of his final destruction. And in following up on Larabee, learning all she could about him she had stumbled across the men who made up his elite team.

His military and psychological reports, as well as the loyalty he instilled in those under his command was ample proof Chris Larabee was one of those rare men who cared more deeply for those he led than he did about himself and she knew this new team he had formed would be no exception. If anything, she realized, these six men had come to be a replacement for the family Larabee had lost. They were the key to his ultimate destruction.

She was any expert at her job, remaining in the shadows, watching and learning, studying and planning. Each day she was adding more to the files she had compiled on each of the team members, trying to decide which one of the six would be the perfect target:

Vinton Tanner? The ex-bounty hunter, ex-police officer. Even a blind man could see the longhaired quiet tracker was Larabee's best friend.

Buck Wilmington? Larabee's oldest friend. The ex-Navy pilot had walked through the fires of hell at Chris' side.

John Daniel Dunne? The kid. The young computer expert who saw Larabee as a hero instead of the murdering bastard he really was.

Nathan Jackson? The physician who had given up a promising medical practice to join Larabee.

Josiah Sanchez? The ex-FBI agent willing to return to the life he had left behind to work with Larabee.

Ezra Standish? The con man and gambler who had decided to walk the straight and narrow path Larabee forged.

Each of the men held a special place in Larabee's heart. Knowing the man as she did, she had no doubt whatsoever he would not hesitate to sacrifice his life for any of them, and she knew each of them in turn, would do the same. The only question was whose death would destroy Larabee?

With careful consideration, she knew the answer was simple. Ezra Standish.

The southern con man had been the last to join Larabee's team. A criminal himself, Standish had become a better undercover agent than any professionally trained law enforcement officer. He had a natural talent and for reasons she could not fathom, most people seemed to instinctively trust the man, a rare thing in the modern distrustful world. Yet, while Standish appeared confident and self-assured, she had discovered it was nothing more than a facade hiding the many insecurities which had plagued the man his entire life. Insecurities that made him more vulnerable to her plans than any of the others.

Standish was the outsider. Standing slightly apart from the others.

The more she learned, the more she realized there was a rift between the young southerner and the team leader. A rift that could be played to her advantage. Larabee would blame himself for the man's death. Would feel the guilt of not protecting him. Would suffer the anguish of knowing Standish had died because of him. Larabee would never forget the betrayal he'd see in those green eyes. Now, after months of planning, it was all coming to fruition. Here, and now, she would wreck havoc on Larabee, making him pay for the pain and hell he had put her through.

She focused on the pale face of the unconscious man at her feet. "Such a pity," she thought, "this one has to pay for that sorry bastard's crimes." But another face flashed into her mind and her expression hardened. That person also had been an innocent.

Her two companions reentered the room and she motioned to the southerner. "Put him on the sofa."

They bent and gathered his slight form, intending to just heave him onto the couch, but she stopped them with a motion of her hand. "Ah, ah...gently."

Exchanging looks, they carefully lowered the man to the cushions and stepped back as she moved closer, a hypo containing the stimulant in her hand. She injected its contents into Ezra's arm then stepped back to wait.

It took effect and after several minutes Ezra roused. Blinking his eyes, he looked around, his vision blurry from fever. "M-Mister L-Larabee?" he questioned softly, his voice quavering. Time for her to use those insecurities and to destroy the trust the man had in Larabee. Ezra's eyes filled and spilled over, the hot tears running down his pale face at the woman's next words.

"He has abandoned you. You're expendable so he cut and run."

Ezra shook his head. "Mister Larabee wouldn't do that." But the words quavered as if he didn't quite believe them himself.

"Look around, you fool! Do you see him? He knew you were a liability and he cast you aside, abandoned you to save himself."

Ezra's breath caught as his blurry vision searched the room. "No, no..." he whispered. He had heard her tell Larabee of the choice he had to make and had tried to stop him. Ezra would not let the honorable man who had come to mean so much to him throw his life away simply to save his worthless gambling ass.

"Chris?" he called again, refusing to believe the dark eyed woman wanting to believe he meant more to the team leader than some disposable cast away.

She laughed. "That smart mouthed bastard left you alone, just like everyone else in your life. Your mother, your colleagues, your so called teammates. He thought I might go after one of the others and since they mean so much more to him than some common lowlife criminal, he chose to protect them instead of you. You are nothing but a stupid worthless pawn, to be used and thrown away like so much trash."

Standish seemed to collapse in on himself as her words hit a hidden core of truth buried deep within him. "No, " he choked out, trying to deny what he himself so firmly believed.

"They have all left you," she repeated, sadistically enjoying the torment she saw on the expressive face. She might have felt a minute sense of sorrow knowing he would pay for Larabee's sins but the handsome young man laying on the couch so weak and helpless had commited a sin of his own. She'd found herself attracted to the gambler and he'd spurned her advances. "Chris has left you. You are alone."

"NO!" His anguished denial keened to the rafters.

*******

Larabee froze in the darkness as Standish's screamed denial filtered down through the floor.

"Damnit!" he swore angrily as he renewed his struggle with his bindings. "Ezra!" he screamed out his teammate's name wanting the man to know he wasn't alone, but it only echoed back to him from the cold stone walls.

He felt warm stickiness flowing from his wrists, down over his hands, as the ropes tore at his flesh and splinters from the rough wooden beam embedded themselves in his skin, but he ignored the pain using the blood as a lubricant as he savagely attempted to work his hands free.

Chewing his lower lip, he mentally began assessing their situation and as it fully registered, he realized things did not look all that hopeful. His only hope lay in the slight possibility Vin or one of the others would give in to their worry for Ezra and drive out to check on them, but he had told them to wait until morning..… which was still hours away.

*******

Working at the ropes, unmindful of the pain and the warmth of the blood running down his hands, Chris finally maneuvered his hands free. Carefully, slowly, he freed himself, thankful the oversized idiots had tied the knots in front, then worked his way to the steps. A dim faint glow leaking out from under the door highlighted the steps and quietly, pausing with each step, he climbed the stairs to the door and listening for a moment, hearing no sound on the other side pushed it open. The hall was empty and he made his way through the dimly lit room. Voices sounded from the upper level and holding his breath, he entered the living room where he had last seen Ezra.

The southerner was still on the couch, his eyes closed, his pain pinched features standing out clearly in the red glow of the fireplace's flames. Quietly, Chris crossed the short distance and placing his hand over the younger man's mouth, he gently shook his shoulder.

"Ezra?" he hissed the man's name receiving no response. He shook him harder and finally the green eyes slit wide enough to be considered open.

"C-C-Ch-Chris?" the word was hoarsely rasped out and Chris nodded patting the other man's shoulder, hoping to offer comfort and reassurance.

"C'mon, we gotta get out of here. I don't know what they're doin', but I don't wanna be here when they get done."" Wrapping the blankets firmly about the slender man, he helped him to his feet where Ezra swayed, fighting a losing battle against weak muscles which refused to hold his weight. With a sharp hiss, Larabee gathered him in a fireman's carry and crossed the floor to the front door.

Carefully, he quietly opened it a crack, taking a moment to listen for any sound which didn't belong in the mountain night before he stepped outside, and hurried across the porch, down the steps and toward his vehicle, only to pull up short when he saw the slashed tires. He swore and looking over his shoulder at the cabin, Larabee hurried toward the dark line of trees in the distance. It was their only chance.

Although Ezra appeared slight, like Vin, he was solid muscle, not a lightweight by any means. Once in the trees, Chris moved several hundred yards deeper into the darkness, then stopped, panting as he lowered the other man to the ground. Leaning against a nearby tree, he blew out a breath, then slid down beside Standish.

Ezra lay slumped against him, too sick to do more than slip into a numbing doze. His legs cramping, Chris maneuvered himself next to the smaller man in the shelter of the tree. A ragged sigh escaped the con man's lips as Chris carefully eased him away from the hard wood of the tree and lay the gambler against him, pillowing Ezra's head on the fleshy part of his leg. He'd rest for just a few minutes while he decided the best plan of action. Unconsciously, Chris' fingers began a gentle petting of the man's soft hair just as he use to do his son's when Adam was ill or frightened. .

"I'm sorry, Ez," Chris whispered, despite the lump in his throat, "If I had paid more attention to ya, you'd be safely home instead of freezing in this shitty drizzle. At least you'd probably be healthy enough to defend yourself against this sick minded bitch!"

Ezra didn't answer, nor did Larabee expect him to as the older man closed his eyes, his senses attuned to his surroundings. The sharp snap of a breaking branch jerked his green eyes open wide, cursing himself for leaving the weapon laying on the mantle so intent was he on removing Standish from the woman's clutches. He held his breath, hoping Ezra would remain quiet. Then he saw the deer moving past and he let out a shuddering sigh of relief. He moved slightly trying to reposition himself away from a piece of bark which was painfully gouging into his back.

'Ch-Chris?"

His movement disturbed Ezra and Chris reached out to lay a gentle hand on the southerner's shivering shoulder. "It's okay, Ezra, go back to sleep," he urged.

"Go 'way, Chris." The words were slurred and Larabee wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"What?" he questioned softly, leaning closer to the southerner.

"G'way.… ."

Chris' face paled, shocked by the simple word. "Why would I do that, Ezra?" he questioned quizzically.

"Don't trust me...might as well be dead...Gonna 'bandon me like everyone else has so just leave me now..." Ezra's soft voice was pleading. "Just let me die here."

'Is he in that much pain?' Chris wondered as he gripped the thin shoulder more tightly giving it a small shake. "I'm not leaving you, and you aren't gonna die. Damnit, I won't let you. You hear me?"

The only response was a soft sob of denial from the younger man. Chris loosened his grip and pat Ezra's shoulder trying to offer comfort. He sighed, his breath short with anger. He would more than kill that bitch for what she had done to the southerner. And for what? If she wanted revenge for something Chris had done, why not just go after him? Why drag the vulnerable southerner into it?

Ezra never knowingly or deliberately hurt anyone just for the sake of causing pain. Oh sure, he would easily take their money with undisguised glee but he always left them with more than enough to survive. Even when Chris or one of the other team members angrily or stupidly said something intended to hurt the con man's feelings, he ignored the jibe answering with a volley of his own, but never anything personally hurtful. It was senseless and brutal for him to pay for something Chris had done. Something he couldn't even remember doing.

'Let me die....' The words danced at the edge of his mind, and a fleeting glimpse of deja vu washed over him. Someone else, long years ago had said those very words to him. Chris closed his eyes, trying to conjure up the teasing memory but it stayed just beyond his grasp. He shook his head in disgust. 'Forget the past, Chris, you gotta get outta this mess and save Ezra.' He knew his little voice of reason was correct and he had to do it quickly.

The sky, as if reading his thoughts, opened up, the drizzle becoming more intense. He felt the sting of sleet mixing in with the wetness. He bent to pull the blanket more snugly about Ezra's still shivering body, trying to protect him as best he could from the harsh elements. "Damn!" he swore loudly. Ezra didn't need to get soaked after all he had already been through.

Larabee's dark gaze searched the black night. Vin's cabin was approximately ten miles further up the mountain, an easy enough hike under normal conditions. He knew he was in no condition to carry the southerner all the way to the main road. His cell phone, even if he had it, was in a 'out of service area' and useless out here. He thought momentarily of leaving the agent and going on foot, but realized that would be stupid. There was every possibility the bitch would find him before Chris returned and it was hard to tell what she would do to him this time. "Damn!" he swore again, more vehemently.

Ezra stirred restlessly next to him. "No!" He struggled weakly with the blanket, fighting it. "No, Chris....don't......… please......no....don't let them die..please...I didn't abandon you, I didn't! Believe me, Chris.… Vin....." he pleaded, caught in the throes of god only knew what kind of delirium-filled nightmare.

Chris shook him gently. "Ezra?" but the young man only struggled harder, not awakening.

"You trusted me!" Ezra's words tore from an anguish deep in his soul. "You trusted me and I couldn't save you..." he cried.

The team leader rocked back, his hands dropping from the kid's shoulder. His stunned expression paled as the words sank into his mind. "Oh, no, please," he prayed But even as he prayed for denial he knew he was right.

Somehow Ezra's thoughts had twisted..… No wonder he wanted to die… Not only did he believe Chris had abandoned him, he also had come to the conclusion he, himself, had abandoned the others, leaving them to die after they had trusted him. In his delirium, his entire world was crashing down on top of him.

"Awww, Ezra," he whispered, hoping to somehow reach past the pain, "ya gotta know..." he broke off. For a fleeting moment he resented Ezra....resented him for not talking to them, for not letting them know what he was feeling so they could help. But then a flood of guilt washed over him. He hadn't exactly given the southerner the impression he was willing to listen. Once he was outta here, he would talk to Nate who, along with himself was the worst offender at giving the gambler a hard time, and the others would help him put things back into perspective. 'If you get back,' his annoying inner voice taunted.

"C'mon, Chris...think." He muttered aloud. He really didn't know much about this area, and he had only traversed it in daylight. Things changed with the night and the rain… He shuddered at the thought of having to stay in such close proximity to the cabin until daybreak. His worried gaze drifted to the younger man beside him. He could survive a night out in the elements, but could Ezra?

Suddenly, it was all deemed irrelevant as a voice cut through the night stillness.

"Larabee?"

Chris froze, praying Ezra would remain silent. Maybe she would give up, or walk past them, or … 'Or what?' his inner voice persisted, 'drop dead?'

"Larabee, I know you're out there and I know you can hear me. I suggest you listen up and listen good." Her cold voice took on a seriousness which Chris could not ignore. "Ezra Standish is dying, Larabee." She paused for a moment, then added, "I know this because I poisoned him."

Chris' breath caught, and his eyed widened in disbelief.

"You don't believe me?" She seemed to read his mind. "Check the back of his neck, near the hairline. You'll feel where I injected the poison."

Almost unconsciously, Chris reached out trembling fingers and ruffled back the silky chestnut hair, and there in the softness, he felt the welt. His heart stopped.

Her voice went on relentlessly, cutting through the fear which painfully gripped his heart. "He's poisoned Larabee and dying. You can't help him and you can't stop it, but I can...I have the only antidote. If you want him to live, you will both come back to the cabin. If not, your....Ezra.… will die a very agonizing death. Not that I care one way or another but I'm going to make it easy for you. You have fifteen minutes to make up your mind if he lives, or dies. One second longer and I'll destroy the only thing that will save his him."

There was nothing, but dark silence after her ultimatum and Chris sat in the drizzling cold rain, numb in body and mind. He knew it was no hoax… this bitch meant business and if it killed Ezra, she could care less. However she had pushed the decision off on him, giving him the choice.

He reached out and lightly brushed Ezra's hair off his fevered forehead and the younger man flinched under his touch. Even as his mind was telling him a good covert operative cut his losses and ran, staying alive to return to complete his mission and effect a rescue, but sacrificing his partner, if necessary, another small corner was saying it was the one thing he could not do. He realized, several years earlier, he would have already hauled ass, not really caring about anyone as inconsequential as a shifty con man, but now… He would not, could not abandon this man.

It had nothing to do with his years and training with the Navy SEALs nor the promise he had made to himself never to leave anyone behind, but it had everything to do with this man who lay helpless in his arms, fighting to stay alive even while he had asked Chris to let him die. Ezra Standish was more than just his teammate, he was his friend. Chris' eyes widened with the realization Ezra was his friend, just as good a friend as Vin or Buck or one of the others and just as important. And friends did not abandon friends, for any reason.

Perhaps, he thought logically, trying to override the emotions roller-coastering through him, if he gave in to her, and surrendered, Ezra would get the antidote and then they could both get out and away. It was the only viable solution to an otherwise bleak situation. Still, a part of him balked. Could he subject Ezra to more of that witch's hatred? If she had poisoned him, what else might she do? He tried to shake that thought aside as he made up his mind. Standing in the rain, he bent and carefully lifted Ezra. With slow uncertain steps he retraced his way back to the cabin, praying a way out of this mess came to mind before it was too late for the kindhearted con man.

*******

Tally's smile turned to one of pure gloating glee when she saw Larabee standing in the doorway, Ezra cradled in his arms. She motioned him inside and stepped aside as he moved into the cabin and gently placed Ezra on the sofa.

Stripping the wet blanket off the shivering body, Chris turned to her, his eyes glowing with hate. "Give it to him....now." he ordered, glaring at her.

Her smile widened. "My dear, Mister Larabee, must you always be the one giving the orders?" She moved lazily across the room gathering up a dry blanket and draping it over the shivering southerner. "In my own good time."

"I came back, that's what you wanted, now, give Ezra the antidote." He spoke between clenched teeth.

"You thought that was what I wanted?" She laughed, an oddly out of place sound in the dreary cabin. "You have no idea what I want," she spat at him, her eyes black glittering with insanity.

"You want revenge. Well, you've had your little fun and games, but now it's time to pack up your toys and take your little friends and go home," he jeered back at her.

She stepped closer slapping him hard across the face.

Chris fell back a step at the stinging blow but his expression did not change as he struggled to fight the fear that once again threatened to overwhelm him. He knew there was no way to battle against a person who was over the edge, and this woman was totally unbalanced by her all consuming need for vengeance against him.

She moved past him, then turned her expression thoughtful. "By the way, Christopher," she smiled at the familiar use of his name, "I may call you Christopher, I hope. Did you happen to drink any of the water at Ezra's apartment?"

Surprised by the sudden shift, he frowned, realizing he had nodded, answering her question without thinking.

She smiled again, as she paced across the room and turned to face him. "You drank the water too," she purred happily, hoping he would vocally confirm what she had suspected.

"So?" Taking a page from Ezra's book, Chris bluffed.

"That's good. The water contained poison. Clear, tasteless, ordorless and when mixed with water it causes its victims a long, slow and extremely painful death." At his disbelieving look, she nodded. "You've been out of touch with the business too long, Christopher. You have no concept of what is out there and how easy it is to obtain. You've become stale and predictable." A smile came to her face. "Let me tell you what happened. You went to his apartment because he was ill, saw the threat on the mirror and thinking there might be a contract on his life, you brought him where you thought he would be safe while the other members of your precious team started digging to see what they could find. Isn't that right?"

Chris didn't say a word, but his expression spoke volumes.

"He never had the flu, Christopher. He's ill because I poisoned him. You see, it started with the brownies… I'm sure he told you about the beautiful new neighbor who baked them for him as a gesture of appreciation for his help. Then again, maybe he didn't. It isn't exactly as if you made it easy for him to talk to you about anything other than work, is it? After the brownies, it was the water. It was so easy to access his apartment." She smiled, seeing how her words were affecting the man she hated. "I suppose I have you and the other five to thank for that. By trusting you, he let his guard down and began ignoring his normal precautions."

Her next words drove the knife of despair deeper into Chris' heart. "I bet, thinking he had the flu, you make him drink plenty of fluids, didn't you? That nice cold water sitting in his refrigerator would soothe his dry throat and keep him from becoming dehydrated. And with every cup, every glass....every drop you forced him to drink, you were killing him..."

With an angry denial, Chris lunged across the distance at her, but was brought up short when her two goons grabbed his arms, holding him back. "You see, it doesn't take that much for it to work. A larger dose kills in a shorter time, but a dose no matter the amount is lethal." She moved around him, reaching out a hand to chuck him under the chin. "You're as dead as he is."

"Go to hell," Chris spat at her.

"Oh, I will, but you'll be there before me. And so will your Mister Standish. " She turned her dark eyes to the man on the sofa. "Tell me, Christopher, can you imagine a fate worse than death?"

"Standin' here talkin' to you comes damn close," Chris jeered.

"Ah, the mighty team leader can take anythin', but the good southerner.… Now there's a different story. I wonder...." she trailed off.

"Just give him the antidote! Do what you're gonna do to me and get this over with. I'm tired of this shitting around," Larabee blurted out bluntly.

"Well, there's a problem, Christopher dearest," she purred. "There's only one dose of the antidote. I really didn't anticipate you being stupid enough to partake of it as well." She stopped in front of him and studied him with a speculative gaze. "So you see, it's not just a choice of whether Ezra lives or dies now. It's a choice of whether he lives.… or you live." She motioned to the two men. "Bind his hands and tie him to the loft support."

The men complied and Chris was quickly lashed to the center support beam, unable to move. He struggled futilely with the bonds and turned to glare at the woman.

She had moved over to sit on the floor by the sofa where Ezra lay, curled in a fetal position as he had been since their return to the cabin. He had retreated to some secret corner of his mind where he could no longer feel pain of any kind. She stroked his long hair, murmuring softly as she studied Chris out of the corner of her eye.

Larabee closed his eyes, not wanting to watch her. He had to think. Only one dose...him or Ezra. He wanted Ezra to live, but if the younger man survived, he would have to face these three alone and Chris did not think after all he had been through, he would be able to defend himself. On the other hand, if he took the dose he could find a way out, get Ezra to the hospital and find an antidote for him… 'If there was enough time' his little voice of reason pointed out. And what else would Ezra have to suffer before it was finally found? Hadn't he suffered enough as it was?

A angle he hadn't thought of suddenly burned into his mind. What if Ezra didn't have time to wait for them to find an antidote? Chris tried to rationalize. By taking the dose for himself, he might be condemning the young man to certain death. After all, he had been given several doses over a longer period of time than Larabee. As weak and depleted as Ezra was, Chris did not think he would have much time left without the antidote. But then again, the woman was obviously insane. Could Chris even trust her to actually save the con man's life?

"Interesting dilemma, Christopher?" she questioned, her attention still on the young southerner. She glanced at her watch. "Time's running out, Mister Larabee...." She turned to look at him. "What will it be?"

Chris straightened. "Ezra...but I give it to him. I don't trust you."

She laughed. "You amaze me. Why would you give up your life to save his? He's a pathetic loser. This world would be better off without him. Don't you agree? Cast off the weaker links and let the strong survive?"

Chris laughed. "You got it all wrong, bitch. If you knew anything about Ezra at all, you'd know just how wrong you really are."

She actually frowned in puzzlement. "Why would you say that?"

He laughed again. "Look at us.… the trained operatives, the mighty of this world. All we know is killing." He snorted, "Hell, I bet ol' Ez there even brought something good out in you if you'd admit it." Larabee smiled at her look of attempted denial.

She gathered her composure and shook her head. "You are a fool, Larabee." She stood and moved to the table where she withdrew a small silver vial from her bag. She bounced it from one hand to the other then, nodding to the two men, she motioned toward Chris. "Free him. Let him move over by his friend." She motioned to the guns the men held. "At his slightest indication, shoot him."

The bonds were cut free and Chris rubbed his raw wrists before moving over to the couch. He dropped down on his knees beside it and lightly shook Ezra's shoulder.

"Ezra?" There was no response. "Ezra!" He spoke more sharply and the long eyelashes fluttered but the green eyes did not open. "Ezra, listen to me. I'm gonna give ya something that will make you feel better. You gotta swallow it, 'kay?" There was no reaction and he turned back.

She was smiling smugly as she carelessly pitched him the vial. He caught it and turned back to the southerner as he loosened the cap. He eyed the dark liquid within and lifted Ezra's head. His inner alarms went off as she moved closer, a self-satisfied smile on her lips, watching his every action. Was this actually the antidote or another dose of the deadly poison?

With a quick twist of his wrist, Chris raised the vial to his own lips and swallowed the bitter liquid. He turned to look at her, a triumphant expression on his face as he slowly lowered Ezra's head back to the pillows.

Her expression fell, rage filling her eyes. "You idiot!" She screamed, motioning for her men who grabbed his arms, pinning him.

"I'm not about to die and let him stay in your hands, you bitch!" Chris screamed at her, struggling with the men.

"You fool!" She ranted and raved as she stormed about the cabin, finally pausing in front of him. "You idiot!" She struck him hard across the face with her fist, bringing blood to the corner of his mouth. "That was the poison!" She stomped her feet. "No, no, no! It wasn't suppose to kill you, only him! How could you!"

Realization dawned on Chris. He had been right. She had intended for him to give the 'antidote' to Ezra, only to find it was the real poison and he would have killed his friend. Instead.… A small feral smile settled on his face. "You lose, bitch."

She spun around to glare at him. "No, YOU lose, sweet cheeks. You'll be dead in two hours, and I'll still have Ezra… " She gloated. "Or rather, I'll have Ezra to do with as I please." Her eyes glittered brightly. "Tell me, Christopher, are you aware of the black market slave trade? " She waved a hand in the air. "But of course you are. You've been there, haven't you? You know what happens..." She smiled evilly.

Chris' face paled as her words sank in. "No.." he whispered. "NO!" He tried to lunge at her, but the men held him tight, and he ended up futilely struggling as he shook his head vehemently. "Noooo..." he repeated.

She watched him, and laughed at his rage. "You have no say. You'll be dead in just a few hours, and Ezra, well, Ezra will wish he was...." She motioned to her minions again. "Bind him to the support again. Tightly. There will be no escape this time." As the men complied, she moved closer to Chris. "Surely you know I let you escape earlier… "

"Lyin' bitch!" Chris spat the words at her.

"Did you honestly think after all the time and trouble I invested in planning my revenge, and setting this up, that I was just going to let you waltz out the door?" She shook her head. "You've been around him," she jerked a thumb toward the southerner, " too long." A smile lit her face once more. "But no longer. He'll be half way around the world...and you'll be......dead."

"That's what...." Suddenly, the words seem to stick in his throat and his vision began to blur. He swallowed hard, "...what.....y-you....."

"Ah, it's taking effect, isn't it?" She moved up to his face and roughly twisted his chin, bringing his eyes up to meet hers. "Good riddance. My sister can rest in peace now, you bastard."

"S-sist...." The words died in his throat as he fell into the swirling blackness which rose up to meet him. As he fell, he heard the bitch's happy laughter falling in behind him and he knew, he had failed Ezra. There was nothing more he could do. The agent was alone.

*******

Chris groaned deep in his throat as he struggled to open his eyes. They felt like a ton of lead and it seemed to take forever. Finally, his lids opened and blurry eyed, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He licked dry lips and swallowed hard, trying to rid himself of the awful metallic taste in his mouth. Slowly, carefully, he rolled over on his side, aware then he was lying on a cold wooden floor. Hadn't he been...? As his vision slowly cleared, he recognized the familiar cabin.

He groaned again and tried to sit up. Every muscle ached and his head felt like he had been on a month long bender, his memory as fuzzy as his vision. His senses swam and he fought the urge to throw up. Finally, after what seemed like a prolonged lifetime, he was sitting upright. He looked around. The cabin was quiet...empty.

Larabee hesitated, trying to remember where he was and why, then called out, "Hey, anybody here?" His voice echoed slightly in the stillness, bouncing back from the stone fireplace. He looked closer. There was no fire, not even embers glowing. 'How long have I been out?' he puzzled

"Ezra?"

There was a note of desperation in the one word and as it spilled from his lips, memory began returning in bits and pieces. His face paled. Looking around, he saw his useless 'out of service area' cell phone crushed into a hundred pieces as if someone had ground it under their heel. Unsteadily, he pushed to his feet and stumbled to the landline phone. It was dead and he threw the receiver across the room, grimacing as it loudly clattered to the floor in several pieces. He spun to look around the cabin. Except for the damaged phones, there was no sign anyone had been there. Anyone glancing around would never suspect two men had spent a horrific night of terror in this room. His holstered weapon still lay on the mantle where he had placed it after Ezra had doused him with tea. There was no rope, no bloodstains, and no indication of a struggle. No sign of the southerner, the bitch or her goons. For a fleeting moment he hoped it had all been a vivid nightmare, some twisted dream brought out of his dark subconscious.

Then, his gaze fell on the nearby table and he knew, with a shuddering pain through his heart, it was all too real.… The note was written in a delicate feminine handwriting, belying the hard woman who had written it. Chris focused to read:

'Christopher- I took the suggestion you offered earlier. I packed up my new toy, took my friends, and I'm going home. I'm sure Mister Standish will love his new life… He will quickly learn what it takes to survive in the new world I have planned for him. Being fairly intelligent, he will soon discover obedience means life… As for the poison… You are really gullible.… You'll survive with no ill effects because sometimes, to live not knowing, is the worst fate of all. Take it from someone who knows....'

There was no signature.

Chris reread the words and his lips thinned into a grim line. She was gone, but where? And she had Ezra, taking him to face God only knew what. Would she follow up on the vile threats she had made concerning the southerner? There was no doubt in Larabee's mind she would do exactly as she had threatened, if not worse. The woman was clearly insane and now her sick attention was focused solely on Ezra.

He stared at the wadded ball of paper in his hand, realizing he had crumbled it in his anger. He should have sent it to the lab, but he knew it probably didn't matter. She would not have left any prints.

He turned, surveying the room once again. There was nothing, no indication, no signs, to even give a hint of their destination. "This is ridiculous," he muttered to himself clipping his gun holster into place. "You should be able to find them." But his inner voice added, "She was right. you've been out of Black Ops too long. You only succeed against the bad guys now coz Ezra and the other five help you...… "

Angrily, he turned and kicked the cabinet behind him, then slammed his fist into the hard wood for good measure. It hurt like hell, but for a moment, he could believe it was the bitch's face. "Think, Chris," he muttered aloud again, moving to the door.

His truck was sitting outside, like it was waiting for him and the southerner to return from a quick errand inside. Chris knew, without looking, it would still be undrivable. There was no way in hell they had changed his tires before they left and he wouldn't be surprised if they hadn't disabled the engine for good measure.

Chris glanced at his watch. If he took out walking now, he would just about make it to the main road before dark. It was highly unlikely he would find help on the little used road, but it didn't matter. He was going to get Ezra out of that bitch's clutches if he had to walk, then crawl clear across the country. Turning back, he scanned the cabin one more time. Spotting a heavy jacket and flannel shirt tossed over the back of the chair, he moved to pull them on. With the sun going down, it would be a cold walk.

He was buttoning up the flannel when he heard sound outside. He frowned. It sounded like tires on gravel. Gun in hand, Larabee cautiously moved to the closest window and peeked outside. A hissing sigh of relief escaped his lips as he hurriedly moved to open the door.

"Buck! Am I glad to see you!" he admitted as Wilmington stepped up on the porch, then "Why am I seeing you? What are you doing here?"

Wilmington smiled. He and JD had found the connection the Judge had been looking for on one of his backlogged cases and had turned the information over. The ATF guys could handle the case from there. "The guys got worried about Ezra and we drew straws to see who would come check on you two. " He smiled widely. "I lost." He looked about. They all knew what a rotten patient Ezra was. "How's Ez doing? Nate sent some stuff for him. Plane should be landing anytime and he plans on comin' straight from the airport."

"I need to borrow your truck! And your cell phone!" Chris snatched the dangling keys from Buck's grasp, holding out his hand for the other requested object.

Buck frowned, handing over the small black flip phone and watched as the man he had known most of his life dashed to the red vehicle. "What's wrong with yours?"

"A little steering problem. Being as mechanically inclined as you are, I'm sure you can fix it." Larabee called over his shoulder as he scrambled into the driver's seat. "I'll have JD drive out just in case. Oh, one more thing, get a fingerprint team out here and have someone analyze the water in those jugs on the counter. Don't let anyone drink from them! I'll be in touch. If Vin drank any water at Ezra's place, have Nate check him out!"

"Hell, what's going on, Chris? Where's Ez?" Buck called after him.

"I wish I knew," Chris yelled back as he gunned the truck, spewing dirt and rocks as he raced for the main road.

As he drove, his thoughts cleared and he headed toward the airport. He knew he had to remain clear headed and work fast if he was going to succeed against the sadistic maniac who had taken his agent. If the bitch was to be believed, she was leaving the country and to do that, she would have to fly. If she had Ezra with her, she would not risk a bus or train. She would somehow get the southerner aboard a flight with her and… He stopped his train of thought there. He would take it one step at a time.

Another fleeting thought surfaced, one berating him for not informing the Judge and the others of what had happened. They would kill him later when they found out. 'If I don't kill myself first for not finding the southerner,' he mentally amended. He really wasn't sure why he hadn't called in the rest of his team. Surely with their assistance he would have better luck in searching, but deep down inside him, he knew this was something he had to do. He had to prove to Ezra he cared as much for him as the rest of the men. Somewhere along the way this had become a debt of honor...one only he could fulfill for the southerner. Besides, it was his fault this was all happening to the younger man. It was only right he be the one to correct it.

Somewhere as he struggled to push aside the jumbled muddle of emotions washing over him, putting his chaotic thoughts into a semblance of order, was the thought he was working against the clock and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he needed at least one person's help.

Flipping open the phone, he dialed the Judge's private number, immediately launching into a short version of the events as soon as the man answered. No, sir, he hadn't notified local authorities. There had been no time and she would surely kill the con man if they attempted to stop her. No sir, he didn't know her name or remember anything about her. Yes sir, he would appreciate any help the judge could give him. Listening, he nodded before flipping the phone shut a minute spark of relief rolling over him.

Chris pushed down harder on the gas pedal. He didn't have time to waste and it was only a short time later when he spun into the airport and leaving the truck in the no parking zone in front, he raced inside to the nearest counter. He worried the clerk with his barrage of questions, but she finally directed him to another counter and he repeated his questions, growing more frustrated with each passing moment.

Finally, a helpful clerk remembered a dark haired woman requesting special help for a sick family member. Yes, they had made accommodations for the ill person. Yes, they had seen him. A chestnut haired man who seemed comatose. They had asked if she required a doctor in flight, but she had refused. Yes, they had a record of the flight, but no, they were not permitted to say .…

Larabee slammed his badge down on the counter. "Look, this is a matter of life and death. I'm a special agent for the government in pursuit of an escaping felon. I don't give a damn about your rules and regulations! I want that information and I want it now, otherwise I'm gonna see your ass in jail for obstructing justice!" He ignored the looks his raised voice was drawing, tossing a card with the judge's number on it at the befuddled clerk. "That's the number for Judge Orrin Travis of the federal court. He'll vouch for me and give you any legal clearance you need to keep the airlines out of hot water. Now get me that information! And then book me on the next available flight and I don't care with which airline!"

The young man nodded and Chris stood waiting as the clerk's fingers worked the keyboard, knowing every minute that passed, Ezra was getting further and further away. Ripping the paper from the printer, the clerk circled a name on the passenger list manifest and handed it to the older man.

Within the hour Chris was aboard a flight, headed for Seattle. He wasn't sure what he would do once he landed but there had to be a way. He would make one if he had to. At least now he had a name and destination. A name which did nothing to jog his memory. He had called the office, leaving instructions for JD to check all international flight reservations, but knowing it probably wasn't her real name, told him to check for anyone who had recently booked a flight and requested medical assistance on board. He expected the information to be waiting at the airline desk when he landed in Seattle.

The words of the note flashed through his mind. The bitch was right about one thing. He had, in his Black ops career, seen the foreign black market slave trade, up close, too close. He knew most victims did not survive more than a few months, some not even that long, choosing instead to end their own lives rather than suffer the degradation. Obedience. God help him, Ezra didn't know the meaning of the word. The southerner had a stubborn streak as wide as the Grand Canyon and an aversion to orders to match. 

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes, planning on grabbing a few winks, but instead all he saw was his undercover agent's pale face and tear filled green eyes. The southerner's soft voice haunted his memory, begging him first not to leave him, and then to just let him die. It was a long, guilt-filled flight, for he knew if Ezra had not been on his team, he would not be in this situation. And it struck him. It just didn't pay to be connected to Chris Larabee.… It served to remind him why he had not been friends with anyone for a long time. He was better off without friends. Safer for them and easier on him. He couldn't bear another loss.

*******

Tally looked up questioningly as the flight steward approached. The attendant hesitated. "Is there anything else you might need, miss?" she asked as she handed the dark haired woman the extra blanket.

Tally accepted it with a false smile. "No, thank you, that will be all," she dismissed the young woman rather curtly.

The attendant lingered a moment, her dark eyes on the young man lying on the medical stretcher, an IV slung on a rack above him. His eyes were closed and there was a soft vulnerability, an underlying gentleness in his handsome facial features which held her gaze. She momentarily wondered what color his eyes would be if he opened them. The woman beside him cleared her throat and the attendant blushed with embarrassment at the sound. She motioned toward the stretcher. "Is he okay?"

"As well as can be expected," Tally responded evasively.

"May I inquire what's wrong with him?" the attendant questioned softly as she studied the other woman's face. She had said on boarding the young man was her brother, but there was no family resemblance whatsoever. In fact, there was a vast difference in the woman's hard visage and the man's gentleness. 'Adopted maybe,' she thought.

"I do not think it is any concern of yours, miss," Tally pointed out bluntly, not wanting the woman's extra attention which seemed directed at Ezra. "Don't you have other passengers to attend?"

"Yes, I do," The attendant slowly moved away, her eyes still lingering on the unmoving young man. "My name is Danielle Blaine. If you need anything, just ask." She frowned as she finally turned away. Dani considered herself a fairly good judge of people, it came in handy when dealing with hundreds of people a day and something about the dark haired hard-eyed woman set bells ringing in a suspicious corner of her mind. Another passenger flagged her and her thoughts were soon occupied with other problems and concern over the young man in the back of the plane was shoved aside as more pressing matters arose.

*******

A private ambulance was waiting at the gate and Tally had two airport employees wheel Ezra across the runway to the waiting vehicle. The two med-techs took over and she thanked the employees and dismissed them before turning to watch her two hired men settle Ezra inside the vehicle. As she climbed in beside his stretcher, she did not see the young flight attendant pausing on the ramp way to watch, a puzzled expression on her face.

Tally settled on the jump seat as one of her men slid behind the wheel and the other climbed into the passenger seat. She loosened her collar and dropped her carryall to the floor. "Let's go," she ordered impatiently all pretense of civility vanishing. "Is everything ready here?"

"Passage is arranged for the two of you," the driver nodded, adding, "but the ship does not depart until midnight."

"Midnight?" An angry tone came to her voice. "Midnight? That's hours! What do I do with him for all that time?"

"He is still sedated. Surely a few more hours will not hurt him."

She leaned back, studying the agent's face. "I suppose not." She had been planning on a long relaxing bath on a boat headed home, but it would have to wait. Although, the thought crossed her mind, she could obtain a hotel room and sleep well, leaving these men to watch Ezra. As long as the drug still flowed through his veins, they would have no problems. That thought appealed to her and with a harsh, "Let's get the hell outta here," she sat back on the seat, a contented smile coming to her lips. Her plan was working.

Without lights or siren, the ambulance moved off the runway and headed for the main exit. No one saw the young flight attendant still watching from the ramp.

*******

Ezra stirred restlessly and struggled in his drug induced sleep, making his way slowly toward consciousness as Tally reached out a hand and lightly brushed her fingers against his pale cheek. "Come, my pet, it's time to wake up and face the world."

The long eyelashes fluttered against his pale skin and slowly, his eyes opened. The normally bright green eyes were dull and red rimmed. He swallowed several times and licked at dry lips before finally choking out one word: " C-Chris?"

Tally smiled. It still continued to amaze her he persisted in calling out for Larabee, but this time, there would be no Chris to answer him. She leaned closer, where he could focus on her face. "He abandoned you. Don't you remember?" she purred.

"N-Nooo...." he denied her words.

"Yes. You were both poisoned and he took the only antidote and left you to die."

"Nooo.... he wouldn't......" He thrashed his head back and forth in denial.

"What makes you so sure? Chris never wanted you on his team to begin with. He was just waiting for the chance to be rid of you. They don't need you anymore...."

"No...." the one word was a weak whimper.

"Why do you think he left you behind? He was trying to get rid of you, throw you away like so much unwanted garbage."

"No.." there was less conviction in the word as his drug fogged mind conjured up all the times in his life he had been left behind. He could remember joking about how he hated when that happened… but now, what if it was intentional? "No..." he fought the thought.

"Then you tell me, where's your almighty Chris Larabee now?" She waited, smiling as he searched his befuddled mind for the answer to her question. "He left you. He could care less about what happens to you....."

Ezra squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the painful memories of all the times he had been left behind by his mother, his former associates.…

"It'll do no good, my pet. You might as well accept it. They've all abandoned you. No one cares about your worthless ass anymore. You could die right now and no one would mourn you. They might even dance on your grave."

He weakly shook his head. "No..."

"Yes, pet. Accept it. You are all alone. All alone."

*******

Chris waited, impatiently drumming his fingers on the counter top. 'Couldn't these people hurry it up?' he wondered. 'Didn't they understand a man's life was at stake?'

"I'm sorry, sir," the clerk gave him an apologetically smile. "The computer linkup is down. We're doing everything we can, but..." she trailed off at his disgusted look.

His lips thinned into a grim line as he smacked his hand down hard on the counter. "Is there anyone I can talk to? Someone who was on the 9:15 flight from Four Corners?" he asked hopefully. He needed to know if Tally had booked another flight from the airport.

She regretfully shook her head. "I'm afraid that would not be possible, sir. " She waved a hand in the air. "I'd really like to help you, but without the computer I don't know who worked that particular flight and since I'm the only personnel here at the moment, I'm afraid I cannot leave the counter to go searching for someone who might be able to answer your questions."

"Tell me where they could be, and I'll look myself," Chris' tone was more than slightly demanding. "Or how 'bout pickin' up that mic there and announcin' for anyone who worked that flight to come here?"

"I cannot..."

"Excuse me?"

Chris turned impatiently to the young woman who had moved up next to him. "If you don't mind, I'm talking with this clerk. Wait your damn turn." He dismissed her, turning back to the woman behind the counter. "Look, I'm gonna try and explain this one more time so you'll understand-"

"You said something about the 9:15 from Four Corners?" The woman behind him interrupted again.

Chris nodded absently, his eyes on the clerk who was fussing with the computer keyboard.

"Sir, I was on that flight."

He turned, his full attention focusing on the woman beside him, noting she wore a flight attendant's uniform. "Excuse me?" he questioned, not sure he had heard her correctly.

"I worked that flight from Four Corners," she repeated softly.

Scrubbing his hand through his short hair, he took her by the arm and flashing his ID, steered her to two nearby empty chairs. He motioned her into one and settled on the edge of the other himself.

"What would you like to know?" she questioned, her gray eyes staring at him intently.

"A friend, a teammate was on that flight. Young, light hair, green eyes," he hesitated, "and talks with a southerner accent, very polite and gentlemanly." Taking a deep breath, knowing this young lady might be able to aid in his search, he forced himself to remain calm.

She hid a small smile at his description, but shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't recall anyone like that."

Disappointment clouded his eyes before he realized he had described an Ezra who was healthy and willingly taking the flight. "I'm sorry, he would have been ill, needing medical accommodations, accompanied by a woman, dark hair and eyes, Mid-eastern looking."

She nodded cautiously. "They were on the flight. Her I couldn't forget even if your friend hadn't been with her."

"Did you get a chance to talk to him? Was he-?" His voice trailed off as she shook her head.

"He was unconscious the entire flight." She stared at Chris a moment, seeing the worry and fear in his hazel eyes. "I must say, your friend, even in that condition had a... a lost look about him."

Chris frowned, but nodded. "Yeah, I guess you could say that about Ezra. He's innocuous looking. Yeah, you could definitely say that."

"The woman said he was her brother and he was being transported to a hospital here in Seattle. He did have IV hookups but..." She trailed off.

"But what?" Chris pressed.

"I had my doubts. He was comatose, but I can't explain it. She...." She shook her head. "Call it a woman's intuition. She just didn't ring true. They didn't seem.....right together. There was a hard quality about her and such a… a gentleness about him. It just seemed wrong." At Chris' confused frown, she tried to explain. "She was curt, rude really and too evasive when I asked about him. Most family members welcome the chance to talk, it's a form of stress release but she didn't."

Chris nodded. "You said there was an IV hookup? Anything else?"

"No, just the drip. It looked like standard saline, but I'm no doctor. Did you say his name is Ezra? Like in the Bible?"

Chris nodded before hesitantly questioning, "Did...did he look all right?"

She frowned. "I don't understand."

"Were there any marks, or bruises, anything like that?"

"No, but the blankets were tucked up over him. All I saw was his face really." She gave him a sad smile. "A...sweet, vulnerable face," she admitted then flushed with embarrassment. "Don't get me wrong, sir, but there was just something about him...." She shrugged.

Chris nodded. There was something about Ezra. Some intangible, indescribable aura he seemed to give off which drew animals and children to him. It seemed it also attracted flight attendants as well.

"May I ask what is this all about, Mister....?"

"Larabee, Chris Larabee. I'm a special agent for the government and Ezra is a member of my team, as well as a good friend. The woman is a terrorist and long story short, she kidnapped Ezra."

She shook her head in disbelief. "Sounds like the plot in a Tom Clancy novel."

Chris gave her a quick grin. "I guess maybe it does, Miss...?"

"Dani Blaine." She held out her hand. "It's nice to meet you. I just wish I could help you out more than I have."

"Well, at least I know they were on the flight and Ezra is still alive." He stood to leave. "Did she happen to mention anything, anything at all which would indicate her plans once the plane landed? I mean did she seem anxious it had arrived on time, or ask about other outgoing flights...?"

"I'm sorry, but she really didn't say much of anything at all." Dani apologized. "Oh, there is one more thing, Mister Larabee. I really don't know if it will help or not."

He slowly sat back down beside her.

"I...I..." she hesitated. "I was concerned for the young man. I watched them disembark and I saw them stretcher him to an ambulance waiting on the runway." She ducked her head. "I...I needed to know..." She shook her head and brought her eyes up to meet his dark ones. "It was Westerly Ambulance Service. I saw the name on the side." She ducked her head again and her voice was low. "And it was unit number 1432." Dani brought her eyes back up and smiled slightly at his puzzled expression. "I remember because it's the last four digits of my parent's phone number."

Chris leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and stood. "Thank you!"

She blushed with embarrassment. "Do you think that will help your friend?" she asked hopefully.

"That's more than I knew before and I'm sure I can track down the vehicle."

"They would have records wouldn't they? Destinations, like they do when they dispatch a taxi?"

"I'm sure of it. Look, Miss Blaine, you've been more than helpful and I do hate to seem rude, but..."

She stood and motioned down the hall. "Go find your friend."

He thanked her again and turned to hurry away.

"Mister Larabee?"

He turned back, puzzled.

"What color did you say his eyes were?"

He paused, a puzzled expression on his face. "Green. Why?"

"No reason. Just curiosity on my part. I hope you find him and he is okay."

"Me, too." Chris nodded and hurried down the corridor. At least now he had a place to begin digging.

Dani watched him stride away and a sad smile flashed across her face as she fervently prayed he would find the young man. Ezra. She realized she had not bothered to even ask his last name. With a deep sigh, she turned and walked the opposite direction from the one Larabee had taken. And it struck her, of the many people she had encountered in all the years she had flown, this Ezra was the one who had lingered in her mind. She sighed again. Fate was such a strange thing.

*******

Tally's goons had transported Ezra from the airport to the waterfront and even now, had settled him in her friend's abandoned warehouse. It was usually used to store his illegal contraband, and a smile touched her lips when she realized that was exactly what the southerner was. She had wanted to fly home, but with no ID and no passport, she could not travel with Ezra and even with her contacts, it would take far too long for the appropriate documents to be obtained..

A few phone calls to old friends had located one who still owned a large steamer ship, and was willing to take her and her 'contraband' with no questions asked. It would take a week or longer to make the trip, but she would put the time to good use.

Now, she stepped up to the stretcher and looked down on the young man lying on it. She had discontinued the drug for a few hours, wanting him to be lucid. She needed him awake and fairly alert if she was going to enjoy herself at all.

Ezra stirred and fought the drug, finally opening his eyes. "No.… C-C-Chris?"

She bent closer her words a silken whisper. "Chris left you. You're worthless to him. He's abandoned you."

Ezra shook his head as he struggled weakly to sit up. "No, he wouldn't..."

Tally was amazed at his continued belief in the man. She would have thought by now he would be agreeing to everything she said. She impatiently tapped her booted foot on the floor. "He said you were untrustworthy and would always be worthless."

Hot tears of denial formed in his red rimmed eyes as he bowed his head and then, finally, slowly nodded.

Her smile of triumph was wide. "Yes, my pet, you were worthless, but that is all about to change," she purred, reaching out and grasping his chin, pulling his face up until his drug glazed eyes met hers. "You're more than valuable to me."

He tried to pull away from her sharp fingernails, but her grasp tightened. "Once you learn your place, the price will go even higher."

Puzzlement flickered in the green eyes as the words slowly filtered through the drug haze. "Don't understand..." he murmured.

"Oh, my little pretty one, there are places in my world you have never even dreamed of, where someone such as you commands a high price." She released his chin and gently stroked his pale cheek. "I know many who would pay any price for one such as you."

Realization of what she said overwhelmed the effects of the drugs as his green eyes widened in alarm. "N-N-Noooooo...."

"Ah, yes, pet." She lashed out, slapping him open handedly across the face. "That is lesson number one. You never say no."

He blinked the tears of pain away as the red mark of her hand stained his pale cheek.

"You will simply vanish into that world, never to be seen or heard of again. If you learn quickly, you may survive.…or not." She reached out, grasping his chin again. He flinched as she twisted his cheek to the light. "Ah, no bruise. That is good. We wouldn't not want to mar that pretty face. No one will pay top dollar for damaged goods. Afterwards..." she shrugged.

Ezra's mind was slowly clearing of the drug and reality was coming into focus, but he was still having problems detailing what was real. He swallowed hard in an attempt to keep from vomiting. This could not be happening. It had to be some nightmare he was about to awaken from. 'Please,' he prayed, 'let me wake up now.'

But there was no reprieve as the woman moved closer, knowing he was still too weak to fight her and reaching out, she jerked him from the stretcher and onto his feet. He swayed drunkenly as legs not used in several days didn't want to support his weight. He caught his balance and locking his knees, he stood.

She moved around him, studying him with a critical eye. "We must get you better clothes than these," she murmured plucking at the wrinkled pants and the long tailed white shirt he wore. "Something to show off the fine lines..." She reached out to rip the shirt open, the buttons popping off in every direction. She ran a lingering hand over his smooth muscled chest and nodded in approval. "Bare chested, I like that," she whispered moving closer to him. "If you please me, I might be persuaded to keep you for myself..." she whispered huskily, running her hands over his bare skin, her jet black eyes full of lust and something he could not identify. Something which sent a shiver of terror racing down his spine. .

Ezra, trembling, stepped back, only to be brought up short by the stretcher at his back.

She moved closer, pressing up against him. His entire body stiffened with displeasure and he attempted to move away, but she reached out, twining her fingers in his hair, forcing him to stand where he was. Then with deliberate action, she pulled his head down lower, forcing him to drop to his knees before his neck broke." Ah, yes," she purred silkily. "That will do nicely." She ran her hand free hand along his shoulders, his neck, his cheek and with strong fingers, she forced him to look up at her "Kiss me." She ordered, enjoying the look of wounded vulnerability in the emerald eyes.

Ezra licked his dry lips and swallowed hard, but made no other move.

She tightened the grip in his hair. "Do it," she ordered, her voice suddenly harsh as she recognized a sudden flicker of defiance flaring in the emerald orbs.

Without the influence of the drug pumping through his system, bits and pieces of the events in the cabin wavered in Ezra's memory. She was lying! He had asked Chris to leave, to let him die, but the man had refused. He knew Larabee. They may not always see eye to eye, but Ezra was a member of his team and Chris would do everything in his power to protect each member of his team. His honor would allow no less. If he was not here, it could only mean ..… Ezra felt his heart stop. One thing he was certain, only death would stop Larabee. Had she killed Chris?

He bit his lower lip, but still made no move, infuriating her with his stubbornness. Wrapping her fingers tighter in his hair, she forced his face up and bent to press her mouth over his. It was a brutal, cold, controlling kiss, with no lover's warmth and when he did not respond, she viciously bit his lip, then pulled back to watch the blood well from the wound. With a self-satisfied triumphant look, she shoved him away.

"You fool! What have you proven?" She glared at him, huddled on the floor. "Nothing, but you're too stubborn to be worth anything!" She had not wanted to mar the merchandise, but how dare he deny her! "I will take the greatest pleasure in teaching you the proper behavior for the new life you are about to undertake."

Ezra shivered as he saw her reaching for a thick leather strap lying nearby. It reminded him of an old razor strap one of his relatives had used for punishment. As she turned to face him, raising it high over her head, he closed his eyes.

She brought it down with damaging forcefulness and a smile came to her face as it made a wondrously appeasing sound when it cracked across his shoulders. She heard the sharp intake of his breath and the strangled painful sob which welled from his throat. She leaned over, jerking his face up. There were tears shimmering in the greenness which only made her smile widen.

"Does it hurt, my pet? Do you want me to stop?" There was no sound from him, but she saw something - relief maybe - flicker in the green depths. With a disgusted laugh, she hissed, "You will learn....." as she brought the leather swinging down again, and again, and again..… With each stroke she described in graphic detail just what his new life would entail and what would be expected of him.

And Ezra knew he was beyond hope. There was no one out there to help him. That fact of utter helplessness, at the mercy of this sadistic person destroyed him. Larabee and the others had abandoned him whether intentionally or because of their own deaths. He was lost and alone with no escape, short of death. He could not...would not go through what she had planned for him. In an attempt to block the pain which coursed through his body, he retreated to that corner of his mind where nothing could reach him or hurt him anymore.

*******

Some time later, Tally stepped from the room, her face flushed and her hair sweat soaked. She frowned at the two goons loitering by the door. "Watch him well, or it will be your asses," she warned harshly. "Make sure he does not try and harm himself."

She moved toward her car, a heady rush filling her senses. This one, whom she had thought meek and mild had a streak of stubborn steel in him which surprised her. But no never mind she would have plenty of time on the trip home to beat that out of him. It would help pass the time and it would give her a source of amusement to break his spirit. And break it she would! Tally hummed a tune under her breath as she started the vehicle. "Ah, Larabee, the innocent is paying for your crime."

She could not help but smile as she pictured Larabee searching in vain for his missing comrade. She could just imagine the images running through his mind as his imagination ran wild with thoughts of what might be happening to Ezra. Images her words had planted. He would never know for sure and that would be the worst part. That would be what finally drove the man over the edge.

She burst out laughing. Larabee would never ever know his friend's fate, but she would and each time she thought of Standish, she would see Larabee's pain of not knowing. Yes, who ever had said it was so right. Revenge was so very, very sweet.

*******

Chris parked the rental car and looked across the way at the ambulance parked next to an abandoned warehouse. He rubbed at his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Only three ambulances had been dispatched to the airport that day. One was for a heart attack, one for an injured maintenance worker and the third to pick up a child arriving for an operation. The company did, however, have an ambulance missing. It had been sent on a run to the warehouse district near the docks and the dispatcher had been unable to contact the attendants.

Larabee had been driving up and down the streets and alleys in a grid search pattern for almost two hours when he finally spotted the missing transport. Parking his rental in an alley which gave him a clear view of the warehouse, he shut off the engine. His dark gaze swept the surroundings. The area was black as pitch. Except for the occupied warehouse, the only illumination came from the dim streetlights.

He saw movement around the vehicle as a man climbed out and moved to the door of the warehouse. Chris watched as he knocked and as the light from the opened door spilled across his face, even at a distance Chris recognized him as one of the goons from the cabin. Maybe his luck was about to change.

Chris pulled Buck's cell phone from his pocket. He knew the judge had called the local authorities concerning Ezra and the dispatcher had reported the missing ambulance so he shouldn't have trouble getting back up. Seeing the man enter the warehouse, he tossed the phone aside, slipped out of the car and quietly, stealthily made his way to the side of the ambulance.

A quick glance showed an empty interior and his frown deepened. He scanned it again and saw nothing which would be of assistance to him. Leaning against the side of it, he blew out a deep breath. Odds were if Ezra was around, he was in the warehouse. He was debating which avenue of approach to take when a car came slowly down the road. He ducked into the shadows and watched as the driver parked and climbed from the vehicle, recognizing all too well the dark eyed bitch who had taken his friend.

Rage built in him, tinting the edges of his vision with red. He looked away, realizing he had to get his emotions under control. Attacking in a rage was a sure-fire way to die and then what good would he be to Ezra. He turned back and watched as she entered the building, closing the door behind her. Chewing his lip, he scanned the area again and realized there was two courses of action. If they had Ezra here, they could bring him out and depart in the ambulance or the car. That was assuming Ezra was there … He snorted.

Light spilled onto the street as the door reopened and four people exited the building. Chris' breath caught in his throat as he recognized the all too familiar slender form of the stumbling person hustled between the two goons. He moved closer trying to form a plan of action. The woman waved them toward a launch tied at the wharf and as they moved toward it, Chris was able to make out the enormous dark bulk of a ship sitting in the bay. They intended to take Ezra out of the country by steamer. Once they were in international waters.…

Chris proceeded toward the dock and as he did, he advanced out of the shadows and into the glow of a streetlight. The witch saw him and yelled at one of her men, who shifted Ezra off onto the other, and turned back to confront the team leader. Larabee's lips set in a grim line. This was not the time or the place for a confrontation, but it looked like one was being forced on him. He stepped out, wishing he had his team to back him up. As the man drew nearer, Chris could see Ezra being hustled into the launch and then his full attention turned to the approaching man, who had withdrawn a pistol from his jacket.

It was over in short minutes and the goon lay unconscious on the street. Chris added the man's pistol to his firepower. When he looked up, the launch was cutting across the harbor toward the steamer. He could make out the long hair of the woman at the back near the tiller, and Ezra's slumped form near the front. Debating a moment, knowing if they made it to the steamer, there was every chance Ezra would be lost forever. Wishing Vin was there or that he at least had the man's ability with a gun, he raised the pistol and sighting on the woman at the rear of the boat, pulled the trigger.

The flash and the blast of the explosion slammed him back on the ground where he lay for what seemed like eternity, stunned. He half scrambled, half stumbled to his feet to see nothing of the launch, except the fiery remains burning on the water.

"Ezra!" Chris dove off the wharf and with quick strokes swam towards the burning wreckage. With a quick gulp of air, he went under the fire and made out the dark shape of a body. He grabbed onto it, dragging the dead weight to the surface. Struggling, he shoved it up on the dock and only then did he realize it was not Ezra, but the witch's goon. He scrubbed the wetness from his eyes and spun, calling out in a frantic voice, "Ezra!"

Larabee dove repeatedly, searching until it felt his lungs would burst, then surfacing only long enough to gulp air and dive again. And again...and again.… In between dives he vaguely saw the bitch drag herself out of the water and collapse on the nearby wharf.

Muscles quivering with exhaustion, the sounds of sirens filling the air as a rescue boat cut across the water. Chris pulled himself up on the dock and stumbled the dozen or so yards to where she lay. Dropping down on his knees beside her, he reached out and grabbed her shirtfront, jerking her head and shoulders up from the wooden planks.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "Where the hell is Ezra?"

Dazed, she stared up at him, not answering.

"Where is he?" He demanded harshly, shaking her like a rag doll in his fury.

"Dead." A laugh bubbled out of her. "He's dead. You killed him."

Chris' face paled. "No!"

"You blew him up!" Her laughter became almost maniacal. "I told you he'd die by your hand!"

"I'll kill you, you bitch!" He slammed her down against the hard wood of the dock.

Sirens wailed in the distance, coming closer, strobing red and blue lights reflecting off the surrounding buildings as police and ambulances pulled onto the dock. "I'm gonna see to it they lock your ass away for a long long time," Larabee hissed.

She shook her head, a smile coming over her features. "You've got nothing on me, Larabee. It's your word against mine. You've got no body, no proof." She laughed again. "Even if they arrest me, I'll be out within the hour. You lose, Christopher."

Chris choked on acidic bile as he realized she was right. There was no proof of any kind. Without Ezra or his body, he had nothing against her. With a bitter cry, he turned away from her, shoving aside the paramedics rushing to their aid and watched as the red lights of the harbor patrol flickered across the now still water.

*******

Chris leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes as the plane took off. The coast guard captain's words still echoed in his ears. They had searched to no avail and now he was returning to Four Corners alone. Funny, but he had always thought Ezra would out live him, but that bitch had made that impossible.

He had stood on the dock for hours as rescue teams searched the waters. His eyes on the water, silently praying. He wasn't even aware when someone placed a dry blanket about his wet shoulders.

Chris had listened in disgust, a burning fury building in him as Tally, false tears of grief flowing down her cheeks, described to the police how she and Ezra had been engaged. Yes, it was true, she had said, he had been extremely ill lately. That was why they had planned to be wed by the ship's captain and spend their honeymoon on the ship, traveling back to her home. The sun and sea, she had explained tearfully, would have gone a long way towards helping her sickly sweetheart recuperate. No, she didn't have any idea what had caused the explosion. She had glanced at Larabee while the officer wrote and he was certain he had seen a twinkle and wink of her shimmering dark eyes.

Give the fuckin' lyin' bitch an Oscar, he had thought. She was one helluva actress.

Her cold bitter face surfaced in his mind and as he saw her dark eyes glaring at him, he suddenly remembered.

Years before, one of his very first missions when he was still a green kid, he had been in charge of a commando team sent to extract a political prisoner being held in a mid-eastern country. It had been his first Black Ops command and he was nervous as hell. To top it off, he hadn't even had his best friend to fall back on for Buck had still been attending flight school. They had reached their contact, only to find the man had been kidnapped by a splinter faction. It was known the malcontents were in the area and Chris, in command of men no older than himself, had sent them to search the local village. They had returned empty-handed, followed by a jeering shouting crowd of villagers laughing at them. Frustrated past the breaking point, the men, in retaliation, attacked destroying their homes and crops.

Chris, young and inexperienced at command, had tried to stop them but they had rampaged and when he finally found them, they were raping a local girl who barely looked to be in her teens, forcing her sister to watch. Larabee had dragged his men off at gunpoint, sick at heart over their actions. Screaming at them to just let her die, the young victim had grabbed one of the soldiers gun putting a bullet in her own brain before anyone could react. Sobbing, rocking the bloody body in her arms the sister had locked hate filled eyes on his face and spat a promise of revenge. The offenders had been punished when Chris reported the incident to his superiors, taking responsibility as team commander, but Larabee himself was found innocent of wrong doing. Time had passed and she had aged, but he realized, it was those same hate filled eyes.

A shudder ran through him. Had she told Ezra what he had done? Had she explained to him her sick reasons for revenge? Had the southerner died, disillusioned not only by Chris' failure to help him, but by the fact his leader had been part of such a sickening event?

"You've got no body, no proof." He heard her words again and realized bitterly she was right. Chris had no evidence which would hold up in a court of law. His word against hers.…A feral smile slowly settled on his face. He still had friends in black ops, people who still owed him a favor or two or three. They would do as he asked, with no questions.

He would take care of the things to be done at Four Corners, then he would request time off. Travis would grant it without question and that time would be well spent. When his friends located the bitch he would see to it she paid. She would atone for Ezra's death… slowly and painfully.

*******

Chris entered the conference room, his face an emotionless mask. He had called the judge, letting him know when he was arriving and asking the older man to have his remaining team members assembled at the office. Although he had informed Travis of Standish's death, he had not wanted to tell his team over the phone. He needed to deliver that news in person. Still, the fact he had returned without Ezra spoke volumes.

The rest of his men were already gathered around the table. They each assessed the man in their own way and read the truth in his haggard face.

Larabee slowly collapsed into his usual seat, trying to ignore the place where the southerner normally sat, yet finding his gaze constantly drawn to the empty chair.

"Chris?" Tanner's voice was gently questioning.

"Ah..." Chris struggled to find the words. How did he tell them? How did he tell these special men he had killed one of their own because, whether anyone blamed him or not, that was exactly what he had done? He would always blame himself.

"Where's Ezra?" JD looked past Chris, his dark eyes hopefully searching the outer office. "Chris?"

"Ezra's..… Ezra's not with me. I...I....." he closed his eyes and swallowed hard and with a deep shuddering sigh, he whispered, "I...he's dead."

Even though they had expected it, the actual words were a shock. Vin gave a soft cry of denial, as did JD. Nathan looked down, his dark face sorrowful.

Buck studied his hands for a long moment, then clearing his throat, he softly questioned, "How?" That one word was almost more than he could manage.

The calm tone in his old friend's voice seemed to steady Chris. In a subdued voice, he quietly detailed the events at the cabin and his subsequent search for the kidnapped southerner. His voice broke with emotion, and he sniffed as he concluded, ".… and the coast guard searched the area with dive teams and," his expression twisted in pain, "they dragged for his body, but the tide was going out and the current was....." He opened his mouth to speak and closed it with a half sob, rubbing his hand over his face. "They...they said.… his body'll probably never be… found..." He shuddered at the memory of standing on the wharf watching and waiting.…

Vin reached out to lay a gentle comforting hand on his arm. "You're sure he's dead?" he questioned, still not wanting to believe his new friend and colleague was really gone.

Chris half nodded. "The investigators said..said there was no...." He stopped, caught himself and went on, "no chance he could have survived in his condition." With pain mirroring in his eyes, he looked at the younger man. "He's really gone this time." His anguished expression was almost too much for Tanner to bear.

Vin choked, his blue eyes shimmering brightly with tears. "I..I....." He gathered himself. "We thought that before...look how he came back from death's door before...." he pointed out hopefully. It didn't feel right. Vin was sure he would know if Ezra, if any of them were dead. He would feel it, somewhere deep in his core being, he would sense a void. His instincts would confirm his broken heart and his instincts were screaming they were wrong. Ezra wasn't dead. He could still sense Ezra's spirit, his being deep in him. "I won't believe it 'till I see his body."

Chris momentarily flashed backed to the memory of that false loss. The undercover agent had been missing for days and they had all believed him to be lost, only to have him surface as an injured John Doe, battered and bruised, but alive. He shook his head. "I'm sorry, Vin. Not this time. I was there..." He shook his head and dropped his gaze.

Tanner shook his head, still denying what Chris was telling them. "No, I won't believe...not 'till I see his body!" He repeated vehemently. Standing, his chair slammed back against the wall as he crossed to the window, turning his back on them to stare down at the street. "He's not dead," he whispered stubbornly.

The team leader's face was somber as he looked at his people. They had all faced death of one kind or another, and except for JD their careers had trained them to accept death, but even an old war-horse like himself was feeling the deep wounds the southerner's loss was causing. Ezra had been the last to join the team, and it had been harder on him as the others had already formed their bonds of friendship. He was the odd man out, always on the fringes, watching the others and their closeness but had not pushed to be a part of the group. He had seemed content in a way, just being there when they needed him, not asking for anything, not easily accepting their friendships when offered to him. And foolishly they had all believed that was what he really wanted.… to be left alone. Now, Chris knew the truth and it was too late.…

The sound of a sob trying so desperately to be suppressed drew Vin's attention. Chris had tried to come to grips with the loss in his own way, but now, with JD's soft cries of grief echoing in his ears, Larabee was overwhelmed. The tears he had tried so hard to deny welled and spilled from his eyes down his pale face.

Tanner looked away, giving the man some privacy. Deep in his heart, though, he acknowledged how painful it was to see Chris' mask of stone shatter to reveal the vulnerable lost soul underneath. If Ezra had only known.

*******

Those gathered for the memorial service felt an overwhelming sense of loss. Unable to locate Maude, they had agreed on a simple ceremony at Chris' ranch. High in a mountain meadow, they each said their good-byes to the southerner. Only Vin remained silent, holding firmly to his belief Ezra would return to them. The others knew when that hope faded, the sharpshooter would return to say good-bye in private. With tear bright eyes, Chris spoke in a halting choked voice about the young man who had had been a part of their lives for such a short time, but whose absence would be missed greatly.

Chris' eyes burned as he looked at the remainder of his team. It was their first loss as a team and he knew they were all devastated. Who would have dreamed the southerner who risked his life walking the thin line between the shady world of the criminals and the bright side of the law would die so stupidly. Death in the line of duty would have been easier to accept, even a car accident, but not this stupid waste. Not as the victim of a horrible act of vengeance against Chris. Not this senseless waste…

Beside him, Vin's blue eyes were red-rimmed and shimmering. The Texan thought he had cried so many tears in the last two days he had none left, but he had been wrong, as the moisture gathered and spilled from his eyes and down his cheeks. Of the seven, he had been the closest to Standish. Perhaps it was their common roots or maybe it was just they had both lived alone and independent before accepting their places in this unorthodox group which had become their only family. He clutched tenaciously to the belief Ezra was alive somewhere and would return, closely to his heart, but seeing the pain the others were suffering tore at his resolve.

Chris stared dry eyed at his incomplete team and felt the loss like a hammering physical blow. The mouthy southerner should have been there, between Vin and Buck his green eyes wide, his mouth open in one of his endless discourses on whatever they had encountered. And Chris, pissed as usual, would cut his words short, evoking a hurt look on the younger man's expressive face. It seemed as if Ezra had so wanted to share his knowledge with them, not to annoy them, but as if to somehow redeem himself for being with them, to prove to them he was worth having along, even if he was a sneaky con man. Tears slowly rolled down the leader's haggard face and Vin with a sad smile, gathered him into a tearful embrace helping his best friend mourn this loss of another.

*******

"He's dead."

"No, he's not, he's breathing," another voice interjected, the soft words filtering through layers of thick fog as a gentle hand felt for life.

"He's probably drunk." the first stated disgustedly.

"He's not drunk, he's hurt."

"Look at him. He's all messed up." There were sharp exclamations of shock.

"Geesch! It's like someone flayed him."

"What's that mean? I don't know them fancy words," the one voice griped bitterly.

"It means he's been beat up, really bad," the other clarified.

"We'd best leave him be. We don't need no trouble."

"Yeah, but..." the soft voice hesitated, "he'll die out here."

"Looks like he's gonna die anyway. Let's go...I'm scared."

The sound of footsteps moved away. Fog dissolved into blackness.

Scurrying.… like little creatures', feet sounded near as the fog lifted slightly again. Slowly, oh so slowly, his eyes cracked open, seeing nothing but blurry darkness. A dry constricted throat refused to form words yet a soft moan of pain forced itself to his lips when he tried to move. Agony… consuming pain flooded his body and too weak to fight it, he drifted back into the numbing darkness again.

Movement, hurtful movement. Soft voices mixed with his rasped moans of suffering. He was vaguely aware of beings around him, lifting him, moving him he knew not where, but he was too sick and too pain ravaged to care. Maybe he was dead and it was angels finally rescuing him from hell…

*******

"It's bad, real bad. See." A vaguely familiar voice stressed, sounding through the thick fog of his mind.

"We should've left him. Don't know why we went back," the other sharper voice carped. Strange the voice had a childlike quality which did not fit into this dark pain filled world.

"He needs help. A hospital."

"Well, we take him, we get blamed. Just like Jonny B did when he helped that guy that got mugged. 'Sides, he ain't got no ID or nothing on him. They'll call the law and we don't need that kinda trouble," the harsh voice pointed out.

"We gotta do something," the other persisted.

"What?"

"Maybe we can clean up his back with something antibacterial. Like a nurse would do."

"We ain't nurses," the voice griped. "Sides what'll we use? Ain't got none of that anti-back stuff."

"Alcohol."

"What? You don't need to be drinking now."

"No, whiskey kills germs. I remember reading that somewhere."

"We ain't got none, so it don't matter." The child like voice whined. "C'mon, ya got him here, now let's go. We can find somewheres else to stay."

"Milton does. He's always got some in that brown paper bag he packs around. Go ask him for some," the voice pleaded softly.

"Why me?" the voice groused bitterly.

"'Cause Milt likes you better than he does me. I'll stay here and see if I can't get some of that fabric outta them cuts. Go on now....Git!"

There was grumbling, then retreating footsteps.

Gentle fingers probed the mangled back, eliciting painful cries from the injured man. A voice spoke softly, "I'm sorry....but it's gotta be done. I'll be careful," it promised.

The agonized whimpers continued and tears weeped from under closed lids as tender hands worked on his back, then paused to softly stroke his hair with silent apology.

Footfalls, and a "Here it is. He only gave me a little bit." A soft snicker. "He thought I was gonna drink it."

The voice, soft and gentle bent closer. "I'm so sorry. This is gonna really hurt, but it's all we got...."

Pain, like liquid fire consumed his back, forcing an anguished scream from the depths of his soul as his back arched and the words gushed from him,

"Please....nooooo.......PLEASE...no ...more....." and then merciful blackness pulled him down into its embrace.

The soft voice leaned closer, tears of empathy in soft eyes. "Ohhhhh..." it breathed with painful guilt at causing more misery. "Ohhhh......." Then, with a businesslike tone to the other, "We need something clean to cover him."

"Well, I ain't done the laundry this month," the other voice bitched, angry at the attention being given to this stranger. Strangers meant trouble and trouble was something they definitely did not need.

"This will have to do." A soft covering was gently tucked over pain shuddering shoulders and a tender hand lightly pushed back sweat soaked hair from a clammy forehead. "You'll be okay." The tenderhearted voice whispered. "I'll make sure you're okay," it repeated, offering hope and promise.

*******

Vin wandered through the luxurious apartment, thinking again how it did not seem to fit the gambler. The furnishings were comfortable, tasteful and immaculate, but there was nothing there to show the warmth and fun loving side of his friend. That side he had seen when Ezra was helping him plan a practical joke, teasing with JD, or wisecracking about Buck's animal magnetism. It was as if this was merely an expensive place for Ezra to store his clothes and sleep.

His long fingers trailed over the checkered inlaid top of the marble chess table. "As soon as ya get back, Ez, I want my first chess lesson," he whispered.

Out of respect for Vin's feelings or maybe out of fear for their own lives after he had nearly decked Nathan when the medic had begun the unwelcome task of clearing out Ezra's desk, the others had agreed to let Vin decide what to do with the gambler's belongings. Stubbornly, the Texan had realized he was not going to do a damn thing with them. The apartment lease was paid up for the next nine months and if Chris did decide to hire a replacement, which seemed unlikely since the man hadn't been back to the office since the day he had returned from Seattle, then they could find the new person another desk. Ezra would find his things just as he had left them, at the office and here in this apartment.

Tanner sank down on the soft leather sofa, his gaze landing on Ezra's little derringer. The small gun lay on the table next to the con man's other weapons, just as he'd left them. Vin was well aware of the fact the other members of the team thought he was simply in denial with his refusal to accept Ezra's death. Maybe he was, but every fiber of his being screamed Ezra P. Standish was alive and Vin had learned long ago not to ignore his feelings.

It hadn't surprised the Texan to discover Josiah, Nathan and JD waiting at the terminal when he had arrived at the airport after the memorial service, intending to accompany him to Seattle, leaving Buck to watch over Larabee. Something inside him screamed he had to go to the scene, to see for himself, to search.… The four of them had spent two weeks, going over police and Coast Guard reports, talking to dock workers, seeking out and questioning anyone who might have been in that area that fateful night. They left no stone unturned as they searched for even the slightest indication Ezra had survived. They had finally, empty handed and discouraged returned to Four Corners, but in his heart, Vin knew he was right. Ezra had survived. Somehow, somewhere out there, the southerner was alive and alone.

"Damnit, Ezra! Where are you?"

********

Long lashes fluttered, then slowly lifted, revealing swollen green eyes. They blearily focused and saw nothing but shifting grayness. He was aware of lying on his side, on the cold ground, and he could hear rumbling and the sounds of vehicles moving overhead. He tried to shift and cried out in agony as his back erupted with torment. He closed his eyes and swallowed the bitter metallic taste in his mouth. It felt like his insides were on fire as well as his back, and his entire body was trembling.

'Gonna die,' flickered in his mind. 'No, can't...' something stressed somewhere in his pain fogged mind. He knew there was something he should remember, but it hurt too much to think and move and he just wanted to curl up and leave this world and go .… 'Go where?' a vague voice whispered in his mind and a tiny flickering ember whispered 'Home' as he closed his eyes and drifted away again.

********

"Everybody needs a name," the voice insisted.

"He's not some lost little puppy you've rescued," the other voice argued.

"Well, you said you wanted a puppy," the first voice teased.

"Yeah, and ya said I couldn't keep that stray I found cos we couldn't feed another mouth." There was a definite pout to the voice. "'Sides, he's gotta name."

"But he hasn't told us." Except for the sounds of pain which welled from him, and his desperate pleadings in his dreams, the badly wounded man they had found on the docks had not said anything. He was getting better, but was still weak. His two rescuers sat on the ground near him, arguing with each other.

"I say we call him Sneezy. Or Dopey is more like it," the one laughed.

"Or Doc?"

The man stirred, opening his eyes. "Dock?"

The two, a teen-aged boy and a little girl, turned to stare at him, open-mouthed. "What?"

He found the words and rasped out, "Dock exploded."

"Look, Ji...his eyes are green just like mine!" The girl moved closer. "You saw that? Was you there?"

His nod was barely perceptible as bits and pieces surfaced in his mind: a boat, an explosion, being thrown through the cold air, his mouth filling with water, choking off his scream of agony as the salt water covered his back. Painfully crawling behind the wharf pilings, hiding from.… what? Had he heard Chris?...Chris calling his name? No, Chris had left him. Abandoned him. Hadn't he? She said he had… She? Ezra remembered stumbling, falling, knowing only that he had to escape, had to get away....from what? From who? He wasn't sure. Everything before the explosion was smothered in a blanket of gray, mind-numbing fog.

"Cool. Maybe we'll call you Doc, since we can't call you a doctor." The boy laughed at his play on words.

"You don't like that?" they pressed at his expression of disgust.

He shook his head, shuddering. Bits and pieces, substance and shadow danced in his mind. A paradox of warmth and understanding, pain and denial; of green forested hills and mountain meadows, of skyscrapers and corrals; blue eyes and hazel. It was all a mystery to him, He was too hurt and too tired to figure out what it all meant. He struggled to focus on his rescuers as a gentle hand was laid on his shoulder.

"What can we call you?"

He slowly shook his head, unsure. Why wasn't this small child tucked safely in a nice warm bed?

"Okay, you'll remember later," said the girl with a bright smile, trying to ignore the frightened look which flooded over the man's pale face. "Will you eat something for me?"

His stomach rebelling at the thought, he slowly shook his head.

"Please?" she pleaded, tenderly squeezing his right arm. "We been caring for you for a couple of days. You ain't ate nothin'."

Ezra stared at her, trying to comprehend. The headache in his skull flared sharper, bringing a grimace to his weary face. He licked dry lips. "Who?" he began.

They glanced at each other. Suspicion hardened their features. The two had quickly learned the rules of surviving on the streets. You minded your own business, stuck with those you knew and you never gave your real name to strangers. Even after more than a year, they still didn't know the names of the street people they trusted. Only the name the person chose to be called.

Blinking with confusion, Ezra looked from one to the other. Why were they afraid to tell him? Maybe if he told them his first? 'What's my name?' said the frightened voice in his head. Eyes widening with panic, he realized he couldn't remember.

"Easy," soothed the girl, mesmerized by his big emerald eyes. She seemed to instinctively know what had caused the fear. "It's not important. You need to rest. We'll just call ya Doc, 'till ya 'member."

Her words failed to comfort him. Ezra tried to sit up. His wounded back exploded in pain. An inarticulate cry escaping him, he fell back, shivering with distress. 'Who am I? Who am I? Who am I?' played like a broken litany in his thoughts. Cold air wrapped around him as the foggy dampness permeated the tattered blanket which covered him.

"Shit." The boy stood, moving away from him. "He's all fucked up. You was right. We should just get the hell away from him."

"Shhhh." Petting Ezra, the girl glanced sideways at her sibling, confused by how their roles had been reversed. He'd been the one caring for the stranger until now. Looking down at the pain-ravaged paleness of the man's face, she wondered how a pair of green eyes could have breached her defenses so quickly. "My name's Maggie," she disclosed quietly.

"Maggie!" her brother hissed, rounding on them, "I warned you never to--"

"And he's Jim," Maggie continued. She kept her eyes averted from her brother's angry gaze.

Somehow, the information managed to tranquilize the injured stranger. "T-thank y-you." His gratitude was breathed on a weary sigh seconds before he slipped away into unconsciousness.

"Why the hell did you tell him our names?" Jim snapped. Gripping her shoulders tightly, he shook the small girl. "Never-never do that again!"

Maggie pulled away from him, moving closer to the unconscious man. "He's not going to hurt us. I know it."

Jim snorted as he started to storm away. "You don't know shit!"

Looking down at the vulnerable face, Maggie shrugged. Somehow, she knew this one would never betray or hurt her even if he didn't belong to the streets. She didn't know how she knew, but she did. Despite the painfully thin body, he had the look of someone who until recently had a place to belong. Maybe it was the remains of the careful trim of his longish hair, or the uncalloused hands. It certainly wasn't to be found in his handsome face. Staring at the vulnerable features which were pinched with pain even in unconsciousness, Maggie wondered how this man had acquired his orphan look.

"Maybe you'll tell me," she said quietly, smoothing the soft hair away from his forehead.

Jim heard her and spun to call out, "And maybe we bought ourselves trouble."

"You were the one who wanted to help him!" She shot back at him.

"Well, maybe I changed my mind!"

Maggie shook her head. "He's got no one 'cept us now," she decided, "so we gotta help him."

"Why?" Confused by the sudden anger he felt at their unconscious burden, Jim spread his hands in bewilderment.

Looking at the man's bruised eyelids, Maggie whispered, "'Cause he'd do the same for us."

Jim was about to deny it, but glancing at Ezra's unguarded features, he slowly shook his head and turned away, knowing she was probably right. Jim looked at his sister regretfully, knowing if not for him, she would probably be living in a nice house with a yard, other children to play with and plenty to eat, instead of learning how to panhandle, scavenge for a living and hide her identity.

When their parents had been killed in a car accident a few months before his seventeenth birthday, he and Maggie had been left alone in the world with nothing but each other. He had begged the people from Children Services to let him take care of Maggie. He could be her guardian, desperately wanting them to understand they needed each other but the uncaring social workers just shook their heads, turning a deaf ear as they insisted he wasn't old enough. To them he could not properly care for a small girl on a part time job. They voiced a hundred different reasons, but none of them mattered and none of them dried Maggie's tears of fear at being separated from the last of her family. And so, while the social workers made their arrangements with foster parents for the little girl, Jim had taken his sister and run.

The teenager's dreams of someday becoming a doctor quickly vanished with the everyday needs of surviving on the streets and keeping his sibling safe. She had learned quickly and never complained, but Jim could not help but feel he was robbing her of her childhood and of the better life she deserved.

The boy glanced at Ezra again. Maggie was right. She had always been bright, with an exceptional insight into judging people. Maybe this stranger she instinctively trusted would be the answer to his prayers for his sister.

Safe for the moment with the two children, the southerner lay cocooned in a haven of insensibility

*******

Chris considered the duffel on the bed for a moment before removing one of the black sweatshirts. Black...he thought he had given up that color when he'd started this team. Tired of the grief and sorrow the color conjured up... and now here he was mourning another loss, another death, this one by his own hand. He shook the thought aside. He had to travel light. He was zippering the bag when he heard a strong knock on his door. He chose to ignore it.

The knock became more forceful, threatening to batter the door from its hinges. With a look of disgust, he stalked down the hall and flung it open.

As he suspected, the five men of his team stood in a united front at his door and without a word, Buck barged in, followed by the others.

He didn't wait for them to speak. "You ain't going."

Buck exchanged looks with Vin. "Ain't going where, Chris?" he asked softly. He didn't expect Larabee to give him a straight answer, but he really didn't need one. He had known the man most of his life and could predict his actions with amazing accuracy.

Wilmington knew all too well of the old friends and contacts from his Black Ops' days which Chris never mentioned and he knew Larabee would be calling in long held markers. Both Buck and Vin were certain their friend would do whatever was necessary to seek retribution for Ezra, no matter the consequences to himself. But they also knew no matter what he did, it would never ease the pain or misplaced guilt Chris felt toward the southerner's death.

"Wherever it is you think I'm going."

"And where's that, Brother Larabee?" Josiah's deep voice rumbled.

The blond man paused to look at the older man and a feral grin came to his face. "Well, I don't know about you, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to hell." There was no humor in his words.

Buck grabbed at his arm. "Look, Ezra was our friend too, and we--"

Chris jerked from his grasp. "You don't get it, do you? Ezra died because of me... that bitch wanted revenge on me and she took it out on Ezra. Hell," he waved a hand, "it could have been any of you she picked, but it was Ezra. You know why? Because I chose him to be a part of my team... " He snorted, his voice cold. "He was part of my team and I ignored him most of the time. Hell, you all did. Until we needed his slimy, underhanded services and there he was, just waiting to be asked. Didn't want anything in return and so we didn't give him anything...."

He trailed off at their looks of disbelief. "Other than Vin, and that poker game before Christmas last year, which of you have ever been to his place? I never was. Ever ask him to go bar hopping or drinking or to a party with you? When ya asked and he said no, did ya try real hard to talk him into it? Didn't think so. Good ol' Ezra, good for the questionable side when we needed him, but not good enough to really be a part of us. And now it's too fuckin' late!" He turned away and slammed his fist into the wall. "Too fuckin' late...."

He didn't need to see the faces of the other men to know his words had hit the truth.

Vin was the first to break the silence. He could see the regret in Larabee's face at the wounds his words had inflicted. They had all come to consider the con man a friend and in their own way each of the men had tried to draw the gambler into their circle of misfits, but none of them truly understood why Standish had insisted on keeping them all at arm's length. Although he had not let on to Ezra, Vin suspected it was the con man's own fears and insecurities which kept him standing slightly apart from their makeshift family. His deep-seeded feelings of not being worthy and of disappointing them. And his own dread of their rejection.

"Ya ain't thinkin' straight, pard. Yer lettin' yer anger get control and ya know as well as we do if we let ya go on with what yer plannin', yer jist gonna get yerself killed." He frowned as Chris turned his back to him, crossed to the liquor cabinet and broke the seal on a bottle of whiskey. He didn't bother with a glass as he took a long swig.

Clutching the bottle, Chris dropped into a chair and took another long drink. "You're damn straight I'm angry! And I hate to tell ya this, pard, but ya --none of ya!--got nothin' to say 'bout what I do!"

"Damnit, Larabee, ya think this is what Ezra would want?" Vin hissed.

The blonde's hazel eyes turned a deep shade of green, flashing with anger as Buck jerked the bottle from his hand and threw it across the room.

"What Ezra would want is to be alive...." His whispered words broke on a sob.

*******

It was nearly two weeks before Ezra was up and moving about with Maggie's help. Feverish, he had thrashed about in delirium for days, scaring the young girl into believing he was going to die. Jim had gone to the public library and looked up any information he could find which might help them put the man on the road to recovery, but most medical volumes spoke of medicines they could not acquire without endangering themselves.

The boy had found an old bucket behind a restaurant and filling it with water from the closest gas station, he and Maggie had taken turns sleeping, one always sitting with 'Doc,' bathing his face with the cold water trying to keep his fever from climbing. Jim did his best to keep the man's back clean knowing the risk of a deadly infection in the man's weakened condition. Finally, the fever broke and a day later he had awoken, weak, but lucid. Slowly, his battered body had began to mend, but his mind was still fogged.

Maggie stayed with him, guarding him while he slept, feeding him, slowly helping him back onto his feet while Jim took care of everyday business. As Maggie explained to Ezra, her brother searched for work everyday, often doing odd jobs for some of the local businesses. The man who owned the small grocery down the street from the mission where they got their free hot meals, gave the boy a bag of groceries once a week in exchange for the boy sweeping out the store at the close of each day. It wasn't much, but sometimes he was paid for helping stock and doing other odd jobs.

This day, the two of them were slowly shuffling toward the mission just up the block from where they stayed under the overpass. As Maggie had pointed it, it wasn't a real home, but she and Jim were together and it kept the rain off. The cold was another matter.

When he had been able, Maggie had proudly showed him around their makeshift home as if giving him the grand tour of the White House. They had a small Styrofoam cooler which held the food Jim brought home. That and the bucket he had found made up their kitchen. A cushion from a discarded chaise lounge was Maggie's bed. An old wooden crate, on its side, was used for a table and stored the poor excuse for blankets as well as their other belongings: a few articles of clothing which had seen better days, a hair brush, a broken piece of mirror, a few pieces of mismatched silverware, a cooking pot, an old iron skillet and two chipped plates.

Ezra had been surprised at the sight of several children's books as well as a tablet of paper and several stubby pencils. The girl had explained her brother used those to teach her how to read and write.

The boy had dragged several small slabs of concrete from a nearby construction site and built a small pit which allowed them to safely build a small fire for cooking and a minimal amount of heat.

The evening before Jimmy had brought home a package of disposable razors, and heating a small amount of water, had helped the weak southerner rid his handsome face of the scraggly beard which had covered his cheeks.

Ezra slowly moved beside the child, her arm wrapped tightly about his waist, his hand on her thin shoulder to steady him. To any passersby who might have taken notice of them, they would have mistaken them for a father and daughter, or sister and brother. Her chestnut hair and green eyes appeared to be a dead give away to family ties.

She carefully helped him maneuver through the mission doors and frowned when he stopped in his tracks.

"I can't," he whispered, seeing the other people gathered about the small room.

She did a quick count, "C'mon, there's only seven people here. There'll be more later and we won't be able to get in," she pleaded.

"Seven?" Something flickered in his green eyes. Seven.... there was a strange familiarity about the number. Part of an address or phone number perhaps. Seven something....had meaning for him.

With a slow nod, he sank down in the nearest chair and waited as she ran to get two bowls of soup. Seven....

"So, you're Midget's father?"

He looked up focusing his eyes on the smiling lady who had helped the child with the soup and coffee. His gaze jumped to Maggie who was nodding vigorously. Swallowing, he nodded. "Yes."

"She's a good kid. You really should try and get her off the streets before something bad happens," the woman offered helpfully as she turned to leave them.

"Yes, ma'am, I'll give it my utmost consideration," he muttered, turning at Maggie's wide-eyed look.

"You talk funny!" she teased as she dug into the hot food.

Funny, someone else had told him that as well. Someone with blue eyes and long hair...he shook the disturbing thought aside and sipped at the coffee, grimacing at its bitter taste.

"Midget?"

"That's what they call me cos I'm small for eleven."

"Eleven?" At the quirk of his eyebrow she lowered his gaze to the soup.

"Seven," she admitted softly. "But I'll be eight soon. Either way my name ain't no business of some nosy ol' bitch."

"A proper young lady refrains from using profanity." Seeing her confused expression, he amended, "Watch your mouth." He swirled the spoon through the soup, then, "Would you care to enlighten me as to why I suddenly acquired a daughter?" he questioned softly, adding, "A very pretty daughter, I might add."

"That's Mrs. Henley. She runs this place. First time me and Jimmy came here she wanted to know where our parents were, so's we told her our Dad was sick and couldn't work, but as soon as he was able, we were gonna go back to Tennessee."

"Your accent does not indicate southern origins." He pointed out.

She frowned. "Huh?"

Ezra smiled. "You don't sound like you're from the south."

"We ain't, but they don't need to know that." Maggie shook her head as if he was totally obtuse. Lowering her voice, she leaned closer to Ezra. "If they find out we ain't got no parents, they'll try and take me away from Jimmy." She hesitated before meeting his steady gaze again. "Do ya really think I'm pretty?"

"You, my child, are a rare combination of beauty and brains." He smiled. "One of these days, you are going to have gentlemen lined up at your doorstep, requesting the honor of your company. Now, finish your soup."

Maggie wasn't sure exactly what he meant, but she knew it was a compliment and happily turned her attention to eating the rest of her meal.

Mrs. Henley glanced at the man and the little girl, talking and smiling as they ate. When the little girl had first told her of a sick father, she had thought it was a child's way of describing her father's drinking problem, but it was more than obvious this man had indeed been ill, apparently for quite some time. Filling two more bowls and adding an extra slice of bread, she carried them over to the table where the two sat. The faster the man regained his strength, the better the chance of the family getting off the streets.

*******

For several weeks, they were frequent visitors to the mission, accepting a free hot meal when it was available with kindly Mrs. Henley always seeing they received a little extra, going elsewhere when it was not. Jim had vanished for several days, but Maggie seemed unconcerned informing Ezra that Jimmy knew he would take care of her and besides, she was well able to fend for herself. She spent her time with Ezra, telling him about their life on the street and how someday, when Jim found a real job instead of working the streets, they would have a real home with hot water, and lights and real soft beds.

And Ezra half listened as he struggled with the demons in his head, trying to make sense of the strange images which ghosted through his mind of unknown men, of a sense of being on the outside looking in, of gun deals and killings, bloodshed and death. Of a mountain house with inviting windows and a lonely sterile apartment, of a happy office and a stark desk, it's only adornment a small stuffed yellow bear.

*******

Jim was back, returning with a bag of groceries, including a jug of orange juice for Ezra and another book for Maggie. Ezra had shown him a version of the shell game to play on the street for money. Even Jim was taken back by the man's quick hands. The teenager's face darkened. There was more to this man than he ever suspected. Whether he remembered or not, the man had obviously spent time on the streets, but he had not brought the trouble they feared and Jimmy liked the thought of Maggie having someone with her when he could not be. He had been surprised and more than pleased to discover Doc had been helping Maggie with her reading.

They were walking by the mission, when a loud explosion rent the air, almost knocking them to the ground. Spinning, they saw flames leaping from the upper floors of the old building. With a hard shove toward the pay phone a short ways up the street, Ezra yelled at Maggie to call 911 and grabbing Jim's arm, using the younger man for support, they sprinted towards the building.

Smoke was billowing from the windows and people were staggering outside, yelling and screaming in fear. One old man grabbed Ezra's arm. "My wife...she's still in there!" he cried, sinking to his knees.

"Help him!" Ezra ordered Jim, then throwing his arm up to protect his face, he raced into the burning structure.

The smoke was overwhelming and he drew his shirt up over his face to be able to breath. He dashed at the tears welling from his eyes, trying to see through the thick smoke. Staying low Ezra moved to what he thought was movement and found a woman lying on the floor, trying to inch toward the door. Bending, with a painful cry as his still healing back protested the movement, he grabbed her and jerked her to her feet. Dragging her behind him, he hurried for where he thought the door was. He froze, disoriented as the fire's cracking and popping sounded and the overhead beams dropped about him. Then, through all that, he heard Maggie screaming for him and he moved in that direction, struggling through the strong water spray the firemen aimed at him, pulling the woman with him to collapse outside on the street, sucking in cool clear air.

Someone took the woman from him and he felt a pair of small thin arms grab him about the neck. Maggie nearly strangled him as her sobs of relief sounded in his ear.

"You okay, mister?"

He blinked up at the fireman and coughing, nodded as the man helped him sit down on the curb across the street from the burning mission, tucking a dry blanket about his wet shoulders. A mask was placed over his face and sweet oxygen filled his lungs. Someone bent his head back and flushed his eyes with water. He saw the blurry image of Jim standing not far away, offering reassurance to the man whose wife had been trapped, relived to see the young man safe. Removing the oxygen mask from his face Ezra finally focused on the little girl beside him. Reaching out a trembling hand, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, then ruffled her hair bringing a smile which brightened her face. With the child leaning against his knee, they watched the fire crews battle the blaze, neither one of them noticing the reporter who was on the sidelines, snapping photos.

*******

Mary frowned as she pulled the stack of papers to her. She really hadn't wanted to work Thanksgiving Eve but four of the women were down with the flu and someone had to finish the next issues layout to be sent to the printer. Still, she wanted to be home, working on the turkey she would take over to Orrin's for Thanksgiving dinner. She had already sent Billy there to spend time with his grandparents and to give her time to cook.

Her frown deepened. She would have given anything if the men of what they'd all come to think of as E-7 had accepted the Judge's invitation to dine with them, but as one they had refused, each giving some petty excuse or begging off, stating other plans. She, like the Judge, knew the group was just hanging on. .

The gambler's death had affected everyone, including herself. Although the man had often appeared self-absorbed and aloof, he had always been polite and charming, offering her his assistance in any way possible. Watching his interactions with the other members of Chris' team, she had often wondered why the man who seemed to want so desperately to belong to that unconventional family of men he admired continued to stand back, resisting all their attempts to pull him into the group.

With the loss of Ezra, Chris had become consumed by guilt and had taken to drowning his sorrow, searching for elusive relief in the bottom of a bottle. Like his team, Mary had been stunned the last time she had seen the handsome leader. A loss of weight and dark circles under his eyes was proof he was neither eating nor sleeping. He wanted no one around, shutting himself away at the old farmhouse and the others were at a loss what to do although Buck, of all people, tried to hold them together.

Mary wasn't sure how much longer the pilot was going to be able to hold anything together, including himself. It almost seemed as if history was repeating itself as he once again set aside his own grief and sense of loss in an effort to stop the useless self destruction of his oldest friend who was oblivious to his, or anyone else's actions.

Vin's belief that Ezra was alive and would return to them when he was able never wavered. Instead, the longhaired tracker was grieving the loss of the man he had come to think of as his brother. Unable to find the words with which to ease Larabee's pain, he, too, failed in his attempts to help Chris deal with his loss. Like Buck, the Texan could only sit by and watch the man they both valued waste away from his grief and guilt.

While doing their best to offer aid and comfort, the other three team members seemed to have sensed they were all fighting a losing battle and only a miracle could save their makeshift family.

Glancing at the AP line, she skimmed the story printing out. A mission fire in Seattle. A real joyful story for the Thanksgiving season, she thought bitterly. Several photos printed out and she started to nudge them aside, when her gaze fell on one image and locked.

Her blue eyes grew larger as she snatched up the photo, moving to an empty desk and switching on the lamp. It was a little girl and a man watching the mission burn the simple caption reading 'Homeless Hero.

"Oh, my God!" There were still such things as miracles!

She grabbed a magnifier and bent closer her hands trembling with hope, fear and anticipation. Thinner, paler, there was no denying the long untrimmed chestnut hair, green eyes, and familiar features. She scrambled to pull the article from the printer rack quickly skimming it, the words slowly registering:

"Mission on Wharf Street went up in flames, cause unknown.... homeless man rescued woman from certain death while his daughter had called 911...." Her gaze jumped back to the photo. It had to be the homeless man, but daughter? She looked closer. Maybe she was mistaken and it wasn't Ezra. But the likeness was too haunting.

She chewed her lip and grabbing the phone, punched the speed dial.

*******

Mary had impatiently paced the office for almost an hour before hearing her name called out and sprinted to the elevator to greet her expected guest.

"Nettie!" she exclaimed as the older gray haired woman pulled off her coat and gave her a bemused look.

"Okay, Mary, what is so all fired important I had to abandon my turkey and pies to see?"

"You're never gonna believe this! I don't believe it myself! I might be going crazy, I don't know, but at least I'll have confirmation one way or the other." The words spewed from her running into one long sentence. Dragging the older woman into the office, she thrust the photo in the other woman's hands and waited silently not wanting to influence Nettie's opinion, as the woman bent to look at the image, holding the picture under the light.

"My stars and garters!" She turned incredulous eyes to the blond woman. "Is this who I think it is?"

"You tell me." The blond reporter could not stop the smile which graced her lips.

"I've heard tell the dead would walk on All Saints' Eve, but never on Thanksgiving Eve. It is Standish, isn't it?"

Mary half shrugged, pleased she wasn't going off the deep end and seeing things herself. "I don't know. There's no names, just says a homeless man and his daughter..."

Nettie's piercing eyes narrowed. "Always did think that Reb was hiding something," she teased. "He never spoke of a child, did he?"

"Well, no, but he never was one to volunteer information about himself. Besides, it could be a little white lie, like when Vin tells the emergency room staff Chris is his half brother so he can get in to see him. Or maybe the reporter just assumed the child was his since they have the same coloring. We both know Ezra would never allow a daughter of his to live on the streets under any circumstances." She nervously paced the small area next to the desk. "It is Ezra, isn't it?" Her question was full of hope and joy.

Nettie studied the photo, then reached out to pick up the magnifying glass again. A wide smile broke over her face. "Well, they say everyone has a twin in this world, and I won't deny that, but if this is his twin, he stole Ezra's ring." She shoved the photo and the glass across the desktop to Mary who bent to look where she pointed.

There, on the hand wrapped about the child's thin shoulders winked the blood red ruby of Ezra's ring.

Mary looked up, tears welling in her eyes. "We've got to tell Chris and the others, Orrin..."

"Whoa down there now," Nettie cautioned. "I'm all for spreading good news myself, but don't you think we should have more proof than this? You just said that reporter in Seattle didn't get any names and may have assumed the girl was his daughter. Going off half-cocked will do more damage than good. I mean surely, if this is Ezra he would have contacted someone. He would have let us know he's alive?"

Mary frowned. "I hadn't thought of that. Do you think he doesn't want to be found?"

"Could be." Nettie sank down in the chair, her eyes still on the picture. "Could be any number of reasons why he hasn't made contact. From what Vin told me, there was one hell of an explosion. Coulda scrambled that poor boy's brains like this morning's omelet."

"But, Chris..." The younger woman blinked back tears. "You've seen him, Nettie. You know what he's going through. They're all suffering. We have to--"

"Yes, Chris needs to know," Nettie interrupted with the voice of reason. "They all do. Hell's bells, I got eyes! I see what's happenin' to 'em, but Mary, you're a reporter. Start thinkin' like one. You know you need to have all the facts before you run a story. Maybe you need to investigate this a little further before you go getting everyone's hopes up." Nettie Wells loved Vin Tanner like the son she had never had and seeing the pain he was going through, desperately holding onto the hope of one friend's life while watching another lose his was tearing her apart. She knew if the person in the picture wasn't the man Tanner was so sure still lived it would likely extinguish any flame of hope and crush him.

Mary sank down in the nearest chair. Nettie was making sense. She should have known as much herself. To get the other men' hopes up and dash them when it turned out not to be Standish... She knew Chris couldn't take another loss like that.... or Vin either.

Folding the photo and the article, she glanced at the clock. "I'm outta here." To hell with the magazine! Let the subscribers wait a few days.

"Where are you going?" Nettie questioned as she pulled on her coat.

"To investigate the facts!"

"You can't run off to Seattle by yourself!" the older woman protested, realizing what Mary had in mind.. "Let me call Casey, have her tend my meal and I'll go along."

Mary grabbed her in a quick embrace. "Call her while I see if I can get us a flight out.'

*******

It had taken a lot of wrangling due to the holiday, but several hours later, Mary and Nettie were in Seattle, their little rental car slipping and sliding through the recent snow fall which coated the city in a blanket of white.

A few calls and using her press credentials had gotten Mary the name and number of the reporter who had authored the story and taken the photos. Disgruntled at being disturbed on Thanksgiving, the man had curtly given Mary the address of the mission and promptly hung up before she could question him further.

Now, a street map laid out between them, the two women navigated the somewhat empty streets, moving deeper and deeper into the poorer side of town.

"There!" Mary pointed and slammed on the brakes, the little rented vehicle sliding on the snowy one way street.

The hulking remains of the burnt out mission stood like some smoked prehistoric skeleton. On this side of the tracks, buildings were left to fall on their own, as no one cared or had the money to worry about such things as public eye sores. More than likely, the burnt remains would permanently house homeless street people, just as it had offered them temporary shelter before the fire.

"Well, we found that. Now.... " Nettie's piercing eyes studied the snowy street, "to find Mister Fancy."

Mary eased the vehicle ahead, slowly creeping down the street, both women keeping their eyes open. The snow had driven everyone off the streets, trying to find warm dry accommodations of any kind.

"Maybe that young man can help us." Nettie pointed to a youth slowly making his way along the slippery sidewalk, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his thin jacket, his shoulders hunched his head bent against the wind.

The teenager slowed as their car pulled to a stop beside him. He eyed them suspiciously as Nettie rolled down her window, letting in a cold gust of wind. "Excuse me, could you help us?"

"If you're lost, I ain't Rand McNally," he muttered, shuffling his feet in the snow.

"Well, we're not. Really." Nettie unfolded the photo and held it out the window. "We're looking for this gentleman and have reason to believe he may be in this area somewhere. Have you seen him?"

Jim's eyes flared as he took in the two women. They were too well dressed to be down in this district and a fear shot through him, thinking they were children's services, had seen the story and would take Maggie away from him. "No, ain't seen him." He turned to walk away, then turned back. "What do you want him for?" He quizzed.

Mary leaned over Nettie to look up into his face. "He's a friend of ours. He's been missing for a long time and we want to find him."

"You cops?" They shook their heads. "Social services?" Again they shook their heads.

"We saw this picture in the paper and want to make sure it's him." With a gut feeling the boy knew more than he was saying, Nettie pushed on. "His family is really having a hard time right now cause they think he's dead."

Jim debated with himself, then stepped closer to the car, reaching out a hand to still the picture as the cold wind fluttered it in Nettie's grasp. A quick glance confirmed it was his sister and Doc. "Maybe I've seen him."

Nettie dug in her wallet and drew out a hundred dollar bill. "Do you remember where?"

A hundred dollars! Damn! What he could do with a hundred dollars! Warm clothes for Maggie, food, maybe a hotel room for a night....Jim's fingers itched to snatch the money from the old woman's hand, but somehow he knew it wasn't right to accept payment for helping Doc find his way back to his family. He curled up his lip at the money. "Don't want that!"

"Take it, please." Mary urged. Both women could see the boy's desire and knew what the currency could mean to him.

"Somebody'll just mug me for it," he pointed out. "You wanna see him, you'll have to leave the car."

The two women exchanged looks. Maybe this was a plot to get them out and rob them or worse. Mary could just see the headlines now, and grimaced. If Larabee ever crawled out of the bottle, he would never let her hear the end of it if she got herself killed. But if they didn't go, and the kid knew something....Killing the engine and pocketing the keys as well as her wallet, she buttoned up her coat as she climbed from the car.

"Nettie, why don't you stay here and wait for me?" she urged.

"Hell, no!" The older woman was already out of the vehicle, locking the doors behind her. "I wanna know if it's Mister Fancy myself."

With a backward glance to see if they followed, the teenager led them down several side streets and up alleys until they he finally stopped. If they were with Children's Services, he was going to damn well make sure they would never find their way back.

The two women could see they were under a concrete overpass, the rumbling of the vehicles overhead shaking the ground around them. A small fire burned, emitting a tiny amount of light and even less warmth. Movement above them drew their attention to the space closest to the concrete and steel beams, as someone climbed down towards them.

Mary exchanged looks with Nettie, as they both recognized the little girl from the photo.

She eyed them suspiciously and turned to the boy. "Who are they?" she whispered loudly. "What do they want?"

"Him." The boy nodded up the incline and the two women could see the vague form of someone lying on the ground, covered by an old tattered blanket.

Giving the girl a reassuring smile, Mary quickly climbed up to the person and hesitantly, she reached out to pull the dirty threadbare blanket away from the face. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the scruffy flushed familiar visage of Ezra Standish.

"Nettie!"

The older woman scrambled up beside her and slowly sank down on the cold ground to look at the man's face. Nettie was stunned to find herself momentarily staring into a pair of fever bright emerald eyes before the eyelids slid closed again. She looked at Mary and nodded as the younger woman sank back on her heels. It was indeed Ezra.

"Oh, my stars and garters, Vin was right!" Nettie whispered, sending up a quick prayer of thanks.

But their relief at finding the agent was short-lived as a wracking cough shook the man's body. The little girl had scrambled up beside them and moved to settle the man's head in her lap, stroking his hair and murmuring softly to calm him.

"What's wrong with him?" Mary asked the girl, who gave her brother a fearful look.

"He's sick." Maggie pointed out the obvious. Didn't rich ladies know anything?

"How long has he been like this?" Nettie questioned, moving to lay her hand on Ezra's forehead and frowning at the heat she felt.

"Since the fire. He got wet when the fireman hosed the building." Maggie stroked the southerner's hair as another wracking cough shook his slender body.

"Sounds like pneumonia," Nettie muttered. "We need to get him outta here."

The little girl's eyes flared wide. "NO...you can't take him! Jim! Don't let them take him!"

Mary tried to calm her, reaching out a hand to pat her arm. "We just want to get him medical attention and take him home."

"No....you can't!" Tears welled in the child's eyes and tracked down her grubby cheeks. "This is his home...with me and Jim!" She wrapped her arms about Ezra's shoulders, clinging to him desperately.

Mary's voice was soft as she tried to make the child understand. "He has a home, with us and his friends. He's been lost for a long time and we've tried to find him. We want to take him back where he belongs. Where people care about him."

"We care about him! We love him!" The little girl sobbed. "You can't take him away!"

Mary looked at Nettie. Neither of them had planned on anything like this. The older woman's spoke softly. "You care about Ezra, don't you?" she asked, and the girl nodded. "Then you have to know he needs medical attention or he's going to die out here in this cold and wet. You don't want that to happen, do you?"

Maggie sniffed and scrubbed at her eyes. "No."

"Then let us take care of him. I promise we won't let anything happen to him." She looked at the boy. "Why don't you come with us? Help us tend him? I know Ezra would be really worried if he woke up and you weren't there. Please?"

The children exchanged looks, and Maggie pulled Ezra closer. "When he's able, can he decide if he wants to go with you or stay with us?" She questioned.

Mary nodded. "Yes, he can. But for now, let's get him someplace warm and dry." She gained her feet. "Nettie, you stay here and Jim was it? Will you show me how to get back to my car? I'll drive it up as close as I can and we'll see about taking him to the hospital."

Maggie's face paled. "No...don't take him to the hospital! He didn't want to go and wouldn't let us take him. 'Sides, they won't let me in to see him if you do. They'll say I'm too little, like they did with mommy and daddy! Please..." The pleading in her young voice broke Mary's heart.

"I have a friend lives here who's a doctor," Nettie suggested. "We'll take Ezra to the hotel and call Wendall. Let him decide what needs to be done. Okay?"

Maggie nodded and Mary hurried after the young boy.

Nettie removed her long coat and draped it over the shivering semiconscious form. Her blue eyed gaze softened as she took in the con man's ragged appearance. She could never recall the southerner when he wasn't impeccably dressed and groomed and couldn't help but think he would have a fit if he knew how he looked now.

Maggie watched her every move and then softly questioned, "Is his name really Ezra?"

Nettie nodded. "Ezra Standish."

Maggie looked down at the man's pale face. "And you're really his friend?"

Nettie smiled, "Well, yes, child, I am. Me and Mister Fancy here have a friendly war going on with each other. Hasn't he mentioned any of us?"

Maggie shook her head. "He had really bad dreams, and called for someone named Chris, but that's all. He hasn't mentioned anyone else, but Jim says he thinks he lost his memory. Probably when the dock exploded."

"Dock exploded?" Nettie's ears perked up.

"Uh-huh. He said he was there when it happened. That was the first thing he told us. Didn't 'member anythin' 'sides that.""

"When was that, child?" Nettie probed.

"Don't know....couple of months ago I guess." Maggie shook her head, a sarcasm in her young voice which would have rivaled Ezra's, "Don't 'xactly have no calendars."

The old woman nodded, hiding her smile. That would just about be the right time frame for when Chris returned alone. She snugged the coat tighter about the man and looked about anxiously for Mary and the car.

*******

Within the hour, the women had settled the semiconscious man in a soft warm bed in the closest hotel they could find. Mary checked into a suite with a connecting bedroom for the children, ignoring the expression of disgust from the hotel personnel as Jim and Nettie helped Ezra through the lobby.

The women had made a few purchases from a store located in the hotel lobby and, with Jim's help had stripped the filthy clothes from the agent. Both women's eyes had welled with tears at the horrible barely healed scars which crisscrossed the man's back and shoulders. Gently, carefully, fearful of causing him any more pain, they cleaned him as best they could, dressed him in clean dry pajamas and settled him in the huge bed.

Mary had frowned as the dirty child had crawled up next to the sick man, but Nettie shushed her with a sharp look, then turned to grab the phone. The boy slouched on the sofa, watching them with suspicious eyes, his dark expression clearly saying they had damn well better not hurt the man he knew as Doc. Dialing, she began speaking in a low voice and when she hung up, was smiling.

"Wendall will be here as soon as possible." She informed them. "He's one of the lost breed who still believes in making house calls when it's necessary. Even though it's the holiday he agreed to come by and check out Ezra."

"Can we trust him?" Maggie questioned.

"With my life," Nettie assured her with a quick smile. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I'm hungry. How about room service?"

That caught Maggie's attention and she scurried from the bed to clutch the older woman's hand. "Can we? Really?" Both women smiled at the wonderment in the child's voice. "Can I have a sandwich, on a real plate and a milkshake and French fries...?"

"Maggie!" her brother called out sharply and the little girl hung her head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, staring at the floor.

"Why, child, you can have anything you'd like. You, too, son. Here..." she offered the folder. "Here's the menu." She left them to study it and moved to Mary's side as the younger woman stood beside the bed looking down on Ezra's pale face. "Wendall'll be here shortly and he'll help Ezra."

"Should we call Chris and the others? They should know." She wanted so desperately to deliver the six men from the hell which had engulfed them these past months.

Nettie sighed softly. "Let's see what the doctor says." She laid a hand on the blonde's arm. "I hate to be a pessimist, but Ezra doesn't look good and I can't stand the thought of bringing Chris and the others running out here just to watch him...." She couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence and Mary nodded in understanding. With a sad smile, she changed the subject, " Would you like something to eat?"

The magazine owner shook her head. "No, but coffee would be nice."

Nettie moved to the children. "It'll take a little while for them to bring the food. You can shower and clean up if you want to." She offered, checking the items they had circled on the menu, smiling at the double order of milkshakes, fries, and ham sandwiches.

"Can I?" Maggie quizzed.

"Of course, child. There's shampoo and soap and towels...." She steered the youngster toward the bathroom and watched her wide-eyed look of wonder as she turned on the hot water and it sprayed out.

"Oh, Jim..look!" Maggie stuck her head out the door. "It's hot water!" She giggled with glee before stripping off her dirty clothes and climbing into the warm flow. The women smiled, hearing her happy giggles and a short time later, a towel catching the water from her hair, Maggie returned to the room, a hotel robe wrapped about her and trailing behind her, almost tripping on the oversized garment, her small hands hidden somewhere in the way too long sleeves. "Is this okay?" she asked tentatively.

"You bet!" Mary assured her and watched as the child settled down again beside Ezra. Wrapping her thin arms about the southerner's shoulders, stroking his hair and humming softly. To Mary's surprise, she was humming "I'll Be Home For Christmas."

Nettie's doctor friend arrived moments before room service and after a quick hug to the older woman and introductions, he hurried to the bedside. While Mary settled the children in their room to eat their meal, he began checking the unconscious man. The two women watched as he ran his hands over Ezra's skull, pushing aside the shaggy hair for a closer look at whatever he had felt. Jim stepped into the room, giving short answers to the doctor's questions, unwilling to volunteer information to someone he did not know. The doctor's expression deepened into a frown as he listened to Ezra's chest and with a shake of his head, straightened to face the women.

"Your friend has had a head trauma. A blow or a bump of some kind. It appears to be an older injury but I would suggest a x-ray and CAT scan, just for good measure. I'd keep a close eye on him for dizziness, nausea, and disorientation. The chances of concussion now are slight but there are other possibilities with head injuries. He also has a very severe case of bronchial pneumonia. I would recommend immediate hospitalization, but with what you told me..." He withdrew a vial and syringe from his bag and drew a dosage into the needle. "I'm going to give him several injections. Antibiotics, vitamins, something to help stabilize his condition. You mentioned flying to Colorado." He frowned.

"As soon as possible," Mary stated firmly.

"I really wouldn't advise it but wait at least 24 hours for his system to begin to stabilize and to let these injections start their job." He quickly injected the shots and motioned Nettie closer. "I'm going to leave these antibiotics here. Give him a shot every three hours, 2 cc's. If he isn't better in the morning, or if his condition worsens, call me, okay?" He gave them an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to be so hasty, but my wife is giving a party and I ran out on the pretense of forgetting the wine. You will forgive me, Nettie."

"You honestly think Sally believes you took that black bag to carry home the wine?" Nettie teased, giving him a quick hug. "Thank you so much, Wendall and give Sally my love."

"Well, I guess all we can do is wait then," Mary offered.

*******

The children had eaten and were dozing on the sofa, Maggie sleeping with her head in her brother's lap, neither of them wanting to leave Ezra. Mary and Nettie quietly paced the room.

Ezra suddenly stirred his movements restless. The women hurried to the side of the bed and Nettie nearly jumped out of her skin when the southerner set up in the bed and suddenly screamed, "C-C-Chrriissssssss!"

Startled, the women could only stare at him and it was Maggie who, awakened by the scream, scrambled up on the bed and began to soothe the man, talking quietly and stroking his hair.

His green eyes were wide and they watched in amazement as with the child's murmurs the wild look faded and he seemed to relax. He blinked several times, his eyes darting about the room in confusion before focusing on Nettie. A frown furrowed his pale face as he struggled to remember. "I-I-I know you..." he whispered softly.

Nettie nodded. "I'd dare say you do."

"Y-y-you ....engage in .....menial labor..." His words were slow and his voice raspy.

Nettie leaned closer, offering him a cold drink of water which soothed his dry throat. "That I do, young man, that I do."

"Casey... there's someone named Casey....?" he frowned, trying to remember. "Your niece?"

Nettie nodded. "Give that man a hundred dollars," she half teased.

"No, but I once gave you funds.... under duress from ..." his eyes clouded and he struggled... "Mister Tanner?" He asked hopefully.

The woman nodded again. "I'd say you're on the road back, son."

Displaying a tiny smile of accomplishment, he looked around the room again, his gaze landing on Mary. "Missus Travis, isn't it?" She nodded. "I remember you and Ch..." As the name started from his lips, a sudden mask seemed to drop into place and he suddenly fell silent, a haunted look flickering over his face. Sinking back on the pillows, he closed his eyes.

"Ezra? You okay?" Nettie questioned softly, exchanging looks with Mary who shook her head in bewilderment.

Standish did not answer or open his eyes as he turned into the pillows and shut them all out.

*******

They somehow managed to get a few hours sleep and the following morning, Ezra, although unnaturally quiet, seemed a little better. His coughing had decreased and it appeared his fever had dropped to nearly normal, although his face remained flushed and he was still warm to the touch.

Nettie hovered over him when he stubbornly insisted on walking to the bathroom and Mary motioned Jim close if he was needed. The southerner made it there and back, but refused to acknowledge how much it took out of him. With Nettie and Maggie both coaxing, they managed to get some broth and juice in him. Nettie worried as he did not put up a vocal battle, which, she knew, the old Ezra would have done.

Seeing the stubborn determined set to the injured man's jaw, his expression softening only when Maggie proudly displayed the new clothes she and Jim wore, Mary knew he was going to get better and with a quick smile to Nettie, she motioned toward the phone. Nettie pressed her lips together and started to shake her head, but Mary had already dialed and stepped into the other room.

*******

Larabee looked up in disgust as Buck touched his shoulder. He had repeatedly told the men he did not want them around, but like lost little ducks, they stayed with him. It seemed like an annoying insect buzzing around his ear. Someone was always at his side, which only served to further infuriate him. Didn't they know being around him could cost them their lives, just as it had Ezra's? Now, with a glare, he cracked open his eyes to stare at his oldest friend about to tell the ex-Navy pilot for the hundredth time he wasn't hungry so get the hell outta his face..

Buck was holding out the phone. "It's Mary."

Chris swore under his breath. He really had no plans of going to the Judge's for turkey dinner or anything else. Fuck Thanksgiving! He had nothing to be thankful for. He shook his head and waved Buck away, but the man forced the phone in his hand.

"Talk to her!"

Clenching his jaw in anger, Chris pressed the phone to his ear. "What?" There was no hint of civility in the word.

"Chris! I want you to listen to me very carefully, I have wonderful news!" She was almost breathless with excitement. "Chris, you aren't going to believe it! Nettie and I ... we found Ezra!"

"Yeah, right!" Chris nearly threw the phone across the room. 'Well, at least we can give him a proper burial,' was his immediate thought. His voice was bitterly cold. "This isn't funny, Mary."

"Chris, didn't you hear me? Ezra's alive! We found him! He's alive Chris, alive! Here, talk to Nettie."

"Larabee? Mary's right. We found your lost agent, here in Seattle. He's pretty battered but he's alive. We're going to try and catch a flight out as soon as possible and--."

He cut her off, clicking off the phone and throwing it at Buck as he moved toward the liquar cabinet. He had stopped listening before she had handed the receiver to Nettie, the small spark of hope which had leapt into his heart was immediately squelched by the vivid image of the explosion and the words of the Coast Guard Captain still ringing in his ears. "Stupid women!"

Buck heard. "What?" He had seen the instant of yearning flash in his friend's hazel eyes, then watched it disappear just as quickly. "What did she want?"

Larabee shook his head. "Must have been in the eggnog. Some stupid nonsense about finding Ezra alive..." He trailed off at the looks of shock on the other men's faces.

At that moment, Vin and Buck's cell phones began to ring. The others watched anxiously as both men grabbed the devices, their eyes widening at what they were being told. Vin's eyes were bright with unshed tears an 'I-told-ya-so' smile lighting his handsome features as he nodded to the person on the other end of the line unable to speak.

Josiah took the small phone as Buck paled and began to shake, tears flowing unchecked down his cheeks. It was Josiah who spoke first. "This is Mary, Chris. It appears they really have found Ezra!"

Vin nodded finally finding his voice, "I don't think Miss Nettie would lie about somethin' like this." He turned away, nodded and listening, placing a hand over his ear as shouts of elation filled the room and Chris sank down in the nearest chair.

Was it possible? Had Ezra survived? How had he survived? Suddenly none of that mattered. His seventh man was alive! He motioned for Josiah, telling him to get directions and times.

"Buck, charter a plane! We're leaving NOW! I ain't waitin' on some damn commercial flight full of screamin' kids and holiday travelers." For the first time since this had all started, Larabee felt alive and in control. The others smiled, slapping each other on the back, thrilled to have Chris back amongst them again. "JD, help Nathan get together whatever supplies he thinks he'll need. Don't know what kinda condition Ezra's in." Yet his inner voice happily added, 'An alive condition!'

"Bring back whatever we need to protect him." Vin added, closing his flip phone. "Mary says they saw his picture in the paper. Something about saving some woman from a fire. It went out over the wires. If that bitch is still in the country, it's possible she saw it, too."

Chris nodded in agreement. As everyone rushed to gather their gear, Larabee grabbed a quick shower and began throwing things in his duffel, checking the cartridges in his weapon and tossing in an extra box of ammo. A genuine smile touched his lips as he realized it was just like Standish. They were all back here grieving over him and he was out playing hero. But, damn, he was alive! Hell, they'd give him a hero's escort home and then they'd give him hell for scaring them to death.

*******

There was a strong knock at the hotel room door and knowing the women were expecting Ezra's friends, Jim climbed to his feet to answer. As he opened the door, it was slammed back against him, knocking him to the floor, his head smacking the wall. Maggie let out a scream, bringing the two women from the other room to see what was the matter. Both Nettie and Mary froze at the sight of a dark haired woman, the Glock pistol held firmly and comfortably in her hand.

Nudging the teenager to join them with a none too gentle kick of her booted foot, she motioned them all into the room the women had just left. With the gun trained on them she moved to the bed to look down on Ezra. A cold smile came to her face.

"So, my little friend, you aren't dead after all," she purred, reaching out to stroke the chestnut hair from his forehead. Tally had never dreamed a simple bug on Larabee's line would garner her the best news she had had all year. A few questions here and there and the call was traced to this hotel. A few meaningless dollars and a room number was given and.. well, here she was, big as life and twice as mean.

At the touch, Ezra's green eyes jerked open and he focused on the woman's face. Sudden fear flared in the emerald depths and he began to shake uncontrollably.

"It's good to see you've not forgotten me, my sweet pet," she teased, chucking him roughly under the chin. "Come now, get up. You're leaving with me. We have buyers waiting."

Mary stepped forward. "No, he's isn't! He's ill and --"

The woman aimed the gun at her, effectively silencing her outburst. "He comes with me, or the little girl does." She sat down on the edge of the bed, the gun still aimed in their direction, one finger playing with the lanky curls of hair which hung in Ezra's eyes. "She's a pretty little thing. I'll give you a choice, my pet. You can come along with me quietly, or she can."

What little color he had left drained from Ezra's stricken face. Looking at the little girl who stared at him with such fear in her tear bright eyes as she clung to her older brother's leg, the southerner somehow gathered his strength, slowly slipping to his feet to stand shakily beside the woman.

"That's a good boy, my pet. I see you haven't forgotten our lessons in obedience." She threw the change of clothes Mary had bought for him in his direction. "Get dressed." Motioning with the gun, she forced the others into the bathroom and placed a chair under the lock to prevent their escape. When she moved back, Ezra was dressed and staring at her with a vacant expression. Grabbing his arm, and receiving no resistance, she dragged him from the room.

*******

The six men bound up the hotel steps, not bothering with the elevator. Buck pointed out the room number on the end door and they hurried to it, banging on the wooden panel, their hearts pounding with happy anticipation at seeing their missing friend.

Six pairs of eyes widened in shock as a uniformed policeman opened the door. Beyond they could see Mary, Nettie, a little girl and teenaged boy.

Flashing ID Chris barged past the officer, almost knocking the man over in his haste, a current of dread unexpectedly surging through him. "Mary? Nettie?" He looked around. "What's going on here? Where's Ezra?" The other five gathered around him, awaiting the women's response.

It was the boy who spoke. "She took him."

Chris frowned, his heart leaping into his throat, as he choked out, "She? Who?" He turned to Nettie, hoping to get a straight answer from the no nonsense woman and praying it was not the answer he expected.

"Some woman came in, threatened us and kidnapped him at gun point."

"You okay?" Vin asked the older woman as he stepped closer, laying a gentle hand on her arm.

She took a deep breath. "Yeah, son, just scared, and more than a little pissed."

"A proper lady refrains from using profanity." All eyes jumped to the little girl in surprise at hearing Ezra's words coming from her mouth.

"Well, Larabee, you gonna go after them?" Nettie demanded, as Josiah and Nathan spoke to the officers, gleaning any information which may be of help.

Chris chewed on his lip. "And where am I suppose to go after them to?" he retorted sharply.

"Hell, Chris, you're the experts," she pointed out bluntly.

"Chris?" the little girl's voice wavered as she sniffed and approached the tall blond man. "Are you Doc's Chris?"

He glanced at the others with a slight shrug, confused by the question. Why were these kids here and just who the hell was Doc?

"That's what they called Ezra," Mary explained. "Long story. I'll explain later."

Pushing aside his brusqueness, Larabee knelt down in front of the child and gave her a small smile. "Yeah, I'm Chris. What's your name?"

"I'm Maggie. Me and Jimmy found Doc...I mean Ezra." She studied the agent, her green eyes appraising him with a look far too old for her young years. "You're the one he kept screaming for," she admitted softly.

Chris looked up at Mary and Nettie who shook their heads. "Screaming? Ezra?"

"When he was hurt and sick, he kept calling your name. He thought you were hurt and was trying to help you." Tears trickled down her cheeks. "It made him really sad." She stared into his eyes, "Are you his friend?"

Flustered, Chris found it hard to meet the child's unwavering stare. Then, with a nod, he softly admitted, "Yes, I'm Ezra's friend." He looked up at the men with him. "We all are. And don't you worry, honey, this time we're gonna find him and bring him home." He pushed to his feet.

*******

The men had scattered through out the hotel, searching for information. It was Buck who found a doorman who remembered the dark haired woman arriving alone and leaving with a pale gentleman who appeared barely able to stand up on his own. A few dollars and he recalled the type of car and several of the plate numbers. As he pointed out, it had been a slow day and a man had to occupy his thoughts somehow.

They had taken all night and the better part of the day tracking down false leads, checking cars that could possibly fit the description given by the doorman before a agent at a rental company recognized the description of the woman Chris sought. The name and address were false but the employee who cleaned the cars upon return was sick so they were welcome to examine it if they wanted. A book of matches lodged down in the seat revealed the name of a restaurant and bar frequented by the wealthy.

The manager had stated that one of the men fit the description of a bartender who had quit almost a year earlier stating he was offered a job as a bodyguard by one of the customers...A beautiful woman who often visited their establishment when she was in the country. The manager seemed to remember his ex-employee once saying the woman had mentioned owning a home somewhere in the hills.

A few quick calls to contacts and they had an address. Leaving Josiah with the women and children, and JD and Buck to run interference from the local police department, Chris had headed out with Vin and Nathan, knowing in his heart they would need the medic but praying they wouldn't.

*******

Using the trees for cover, Larabee quickly ran observant eyes over the enormous house, coming to rest on a window, a pane open a quarter of an inch, his thoughts racing as another limosine pulled to a stop in front of the house. She was here and had Ezra with her. He could feel it! It would end here and now.

Hearing the type of woman Chris was searching for, their contacts had provided the address, informing Larabee the house had been mentioned in other cases as some sort of private sex club. Nothing had ever been proven, mainly because most law enforcement bureaus didn't bother to investigate with the assumption the members were all consenting adults.

Not willing to take a chance on Nathan being injured and unable to help Ezra, Chris had ordered the doctor to remain with the car while he and Vin scaled the wall and cautiously made their way toward the mansion sitting back off from the road, hidden from view by trees and hedges.

He hoped no roaming patrol car ventured on Nathan for he had stolen the car from an apartment parking lot, wanting no link to any of them. He knew what he had to do here and what the final result of his actions would be. He also knew the people who had provided the address would deny any knowledge of Larabee or the house.

Tanner had worked his way to the back of the house, making sure to cut off any escape route the woman might take in that direction. Each of the three men had silently vowed they would die before they would allow her to leave with Ezra.

As the last of the expensive cars pulled up to the door, Larabee crawled to the side of the house, squatting silently beneath the open window. Muffled voices drifted in the stillness, thanking guests, dismissing help, issuing orders. One comment registered clearly with Chris and he swallow hard, a chill of fear racing down his spine as a harsh voice spoke anxiously of spending time alone with a new toy. His face twisting in disgust, Chris whispered, "Not if I have anything to say about it!"

With a last glance around to make sure he was unobserved, Larabee quickly attached the silencer to the weapon in his hand and entered the open window, his eyes scanning the room before moving to the hall door, the thick carpet silencing his footsteps. The man in black slipped down the hall with the grace of a panther, quickly checking each room as he passed. He shuddered at the decadence he saw in the graphic pictures lining the walls.

He stepped into the last room before the corridor turned sharply to the left, his face paled, his stomach churning at the instruments of torture which filled the room. He had seen many of these devices before, in the slave.... The vivid threats she had made in the cabin rang in his ears and his knees threatened to buckle. Larabee braced an arm against the wall to stay upright. Not Ezra... not this... 'Please God, not this! he prayed, vowing he would see them all in hell if Ezra had been subjected to any form of this sadistic brutality.

Chris shook the thoughts away. He needed a clear, cool head, not one clouded by emotion. An enemy had the battle won if emotions distracted, and he vowed she would never win this war. He steeled himself, knowing he would have to coldly face whatever was in this horrible place. Ezra needed him now and would need his help later to deal with the emotional after effects of the past months.

With a deep breath, he gathered himself and moved into the first room in the next hallway. It too was empty. He frowned. Had they left? 'No...' Nathan was covering the front and Vin the back. They were still here and he had to find them. It had to end here. It had to end now, for Ezra's sake.

Larabee silently approached another door and as he did a huge man moved from a shadowed hidden doorway, a gun raised, a leering, half crazed look on his dark Arabic face. Without a second's remorse, Chris swung and fired, the silenced hollow point bullet taking the man down in a bloody mess.

"Bastard!" Chris snarled as he stepped over the body and through the hidden doorway.

A soft sound drew him silently down a short hallway to another door which was ajar. He could see flickering shadows against the wall and heard a woman's voice, sharp and cruel. He pressed against the wall, gun raised, trying to see, then nudged it open with his booted foot - just in time to perceive two shadowy figures moving through yet another door. With a mumbled oath, he crossed the room, trying to ignore the wallpaper's lurid scenes which the flickering fire in a brazier highlighted seeming to give life to the figures depicted.

He heard the soft sound again, a whimper of pain he realized, and his heart dropped. With a rush, he kicked open the door and burst out into another hallway.

The bitch was running, dragging a stumbling, barefooted and shirtless figure with her like a dog on a chain leash. Chris froze and bellowed out, "Tally!"

She spun her eyes frantic. With a frenzied grab, she dragged the unresisting man in front of her as a shield.

Chris' heart stopped, then raced. "Ezra....!" With difficulty, he dragged his eyes from his undercover agent and focused on the woman. She came first. He'd take care of her, then see to Ezra.

She glowered at him defiantly from behind the southerner's back. "Asad will kill you!" she hissed.

"That perverted son of a bitch is in hell, and you're about to join him," he promised, his eyes flashing green fire.

Something akin to panic flickered in her dark eyes as she realized this man - this man she had spent her life planning revenge on - had become a very real threat to her. Tally had been informed of his presence during the auction, his entrance onto the grounds detected by the surveillance cameras. She had expected Asad to protect her, but now... Suddenly desperate, seeking a way to goad the man into making a mistake, she reached out and hauled Ezra closer. He gave no resistance and with a look of pure hatred, she suggestively rubbed up against the young man, her eyes on Larabee's face, as she taunted, "It's a shame you're not into threesomes, sweet cheeks..... His new owner is looking forward to sampling his merchandise. I'm sure he wouldn't mind sharing."

Chris' look of revulsion twisted his visage, but he did not take his eyes from her face. A quick glance at the blank expression on Era's pale face sent his hopes plummeting to the floor. The gambler seemed oblivious to what was happening around him.

With a sharp bitter laugh, Tally flipped the bright links of the chain over the southerner's head, looping them about his neck, and pulling them tight. "Fight me, and I will kill him where he stands!" The words spoken in the southerner's ear clearly reached Larabee and it was his turn to pale as the hands which had been reaching for the chain fell back to Era's sides.

"Don't listen to her, Ezra!" Chris screamed, watching in horror as the links cut into Ezra's pale skin, welling blood as she twisted tighter and tighter. Ezra focused on Larabee for one second and again, frantically, his hands reached up for the choking object keeping oxygen from his lungs.

Chris couldn't hear the next words Tally whispered to his friend, but his own heart nearly stopped as again, Ezra lowered his hands. The southerner stood motionless, not even trying to defend himself as his face turned several shades of red, then paled before his eyes rolled back into his head and his body began to slump.

Tally laughed softly as she spat at Chris, "There, Larabee, he's all yours! You've got him back, just like I got my sister....dead!" There was a ring of victory in her voice.

Chris raised his gun, but knew he could not shoot at her for fear of hitting Ezra. A million thoughts raced through his head, and then, inadvertently, Ezra did help. As he collapsed, his dead weight dragged against the woman, pulling her off balance.

With a scream of rage, Larabee threw himself at her, hurling over the undercover agent's body, to slam into the woman with the full weight of his body. He drove her back against the wall where her head hit with a dull thud, momentarily stunning her. Grabbing her, Chris slammed her body against the wall again, and again, then with an enraged scream, he threw her down the hall where she landed in a heap on the floor.

Chris turned back to Ezra and his heart stopped at the sight of the young man crumpled so deadly pale on the floor. He dropped to his knees beside him. Gently he loosened the chain about the man's neck and tossed it violently away, as he felt frantically for a pulse. "Ezra...?" Had he found him, only to be too late? There was no response and he touched the battered bare shoulder gently. "Ezra...."

A wild scream of rage drew his attention and looking up he saw Tally hurling herself at him, a long bladed knife in her hand, pulled from a rack on the wall. The razor sharp blade grazed his arm as it sliced through his shirt. Chris realized he was not her intended victim, but rather the helpless man on the floor.

He caught her with a hard backhand, the force of it flinging her across the hall. Gaining his feet, he followed as she climbed to her feet and with her back to the wall, began to inch down the hallway away from his wrath. Blood ran from her mouth and her dark eyes shone with a fearful glint. Still she raised her chin and sneered at him. "You bastard!"

Chris backhanded her again, his hazel eyes bitter cold and turning a deep blue with rage as he grabbed her by the hair and demanded harshly, "Why Ezra? Why hurt him because of me?"

She jerked her head from his grasp, leaving strands of her hair in his fingers as she laughed in his face. "Because he meant something to you! He didn't think so but he does." She pulled her lips into a travesty of a smile. "Because you stupid bastard, he believed in you! Even after everything he was told, he continued to believe in you!"

Chris' eyes widened. "What does that mean?" he demanded, shaking her violently, her head rocking with the force of his actions.

She sneered. "My sister believed in me and thought I would save her, too. You had to suffer like I did when I couldn't help her!! I would have killed them all to destroy you!" she hissed.

Chris' face paled and she lunged at him, attempting to catch him off balance, but he was expecting it and caught her shoulders, spinning her around, and locking his forearm about her throat. "I should kill you, bitch," he whispered in her ear as she struggled against him. His hold tightened, choking her as she had choked Ezra earlier. "But the law frowns on killing," he whispered. "Maybe I'll just send you away until you're so old they have to wheel ya outta prison."

Sneering, she ground out, "Yeah, you got his body this time." And she managed to choke out a taunting laugh.

He released his arm, and slammed her forward into the wall, then jerked her back by her hair. "You're gonna regret the day you ever fucked with Chris Larabee," he snarled harshly as he began choking her again. "Your biggest mistake was using Ezra. You shoulda come after me!" he hissed, infuriated.

She struggled, trying to gouge his eyes and Chris swore as he tightened his hold on her. "I've done some damn disgusting things for my government," he hissed in her ear, "and I sure as hell wouldn't hesitate to do them for my friends." With a twist and a jerk, he heard her neck snap. He released his hold, letting her body drop to the floor. A cold smile thinned his lips. "Now that, bitch, is revenge."

He turned and an expression of horror crossed his face.

Ezra had regained consciousness and managed to drag himself across the floor to where he had braced himself against the far wall. He held the dropped knife pressed to his wrist, blood beginning to drip onto the thick carpet as the razor honed blade sliced into his flesh.

"NO!" Chris screamed as he lunged and batted the blade away. It flew from Ezra's hand and skittered across the carpet.

A whimper of anguish escaped the southerner's lips as Chris knelt beside him. "Ezra..." He gently reached out to turn his friend's face to the light. Ezra cringed at the touch, but there was no other response as the pale face went blank, devoid of any emotion and the red rimmed eyes went flat.

Chris' heart dropped. "What did she do to you, Ezra?" He could see the old half healed scars of physical abuse, but what else?

Looking around, hesitating, not wanting to leave the younger man alone for a moment, he nonetheless moved hurriedly into the nearby room and stripped the silk sheet from the bed. Slinging it over his shoulder, trying not to see the disgusting items lining the walls, he moved to the brazier and with a thinned lipped look of satisfaction, he tipped it over, making sure the flames began licking at the heavy damask drapes.

Back out in the hallway, he wrapped the unresponsive southerner in the silken folds of the sheet. Gathering Ezra in his arms, and noting abstractly, the southerner had always been thin, but he felt insubstantial now, he hurried to the far door as flames rapidly traveled up the ornate walls behind them.

Outside, in the warm night air, he lowered Ezra to the soft grass. The young man was shivering, from fear, shock or fever he wasn't sure. Digging in a pocket, Chris withdrew the small cell phone and punched speed dial. When Nathan answered, he cut him short. "I need help."

"Where are you? Where's Ezra? Why..."

"I've got Ezra. I just need a ride. Now!"

The urgency in his voice struck Nate. "Where are you?"

"Call Vin and meet me in the side drive. Ya gotta hurry," He glanced back as screams of panic filled the air and several people rushed from the house.

"We're on our way. How do we know which side?"

"You can't miss it. It's the one on fire." He cut the connection and spared a glance as the flames quickly began to engulf the huge house. "Burn in hell, sweet cheeks," he muttered as he gathered Ezra in his arms and started walking down the long drive.

Nathan slowed the car, his expression stunned at the sight highlighted in the high beams. Larabee stood in the middle of the road, cradling an unconscious Ezra in his arms as cars streamed past, fleeing the scene before police, rescue workers or reporters could arrive and ask embarrassing questions. The mansion burned behind them, and sirens wailed on the night breeze.

Scrambling from the car, with Vin on his heels, Nate ran to his friend. "Chris, what happened?"

Larabee ignored the question. "We gotta get outta here, now." Moving quickly, he settled Ezra in the back seat and climbed in beside him, gently easing the dark head to pillow against his shoulder. "C'mon, Vin, move it!"

Nate bent over the seat to check out the unconscious man and Vin scrambled behind the wheel. Revving the engine, the Texan slammed it into reverse, and sent the vehicle hurling down the winding road.

"Shit!" He swore softly as the car fishtailed on the road, nearly causing him to lose control. "Sorry," he muttered as a police vehicle flashed its lights for them to stop.

"Don't stop!" Chris growled.

"Gotta." Vin eased up, rolling down the window as a policeman approached. Flashing his badge, careful to keep the name on his ID covered, he blurted out in a frantic rush, "Our friend was hurt in the fire helping some of the victims get out! We hafta get him to a hospital!"

"There's an EMS on the way..." the officer began.

"No time, officer!"

With a frown, he looked in, seeing Ezra in the back seat and with a wave of his hand, motioned them on. Vin hit the gas before he could change his mind speeding down the hill.

"Good job," Chris offered as he turned his attention back to Ezra.

"How is he?" Vin questioned, keeping one eye on them in the rear view mirror.

"I wish I knew," Chris admitted as he brushed the long tangled hair from Ezra's pale face.

"The closest hospital is..." Nathan began.

"No!"

"Chris? You just said he needs help...and you're right. The sooner--" The healer pointed out.

"No hospitals. Get a hold of the others and have them meet us at the airfield. Tell Buck to have the plane ready to go. Ask Nettie if her doctor friend will fly back with us to help you out."

"But, the hospital..."

"Look, Nathan, we don't need to be draggin' in some local quack. There's no way to explain this," he pointed out bluntly, then added. "Trust me, Ezra don't need the stress and embarrassment of strangers right now."

Jackson's expression softened. "Right. The air field."

Chris shifted, and spoke, "Vin, could you lend me your shirt?"

The longhaired man arched his eyebrows at the request but steering one handedly, with Nathan's help, he quickly stripped out of the long tailed flannel shirt covering his black turtleneck, and handed it to Larabee.

Tucking it around the southerner, Chris wadded the silk sheet and threw it out the window. As he snugged the too large shirt more closely about the younger man's bare shoulders, there was no response, no reaction whatsoever.

*******

Hours later, back in Four Corners, Chris felt little relief even knowing Ezra was safely in Wendall and Nathan's hands and settled in the infirmary. He paced by the doors, waiting, until they finished checking out the younger man. The rest of the team was quietly huddled nearby, not even Vin dared approach Chris when he was in this mood. As Nate wearily pushed open the door, he spun to face him, his expression anxious as the other four men gathered around.

"I agree with Wendall's assessment on the plane. While Ezra shows signs of physical abuse and has the scars to prove it, except for the pneumonia, I see nothing physically wrong with him."

Chris' lips thinned and he clenched his fist in the air. "That.." he motioned beyond the door, "That is not Ezra..."

"Chris..." Buck began, but Larabee glared him into silence.

"What's wrong with him?" he demanded. Ezra had not made a sound since being taken from the house of horrors, remaining motionless on the plane unless they moved him.

The team's doctor sighed in the face of his boss' indignation, "He's lost weight he could ill afford to lose. I'm guessing from when he was living on the streets. Like I said he has scars...someone battered him beyond belief."

"Battered? " Chris' blue green eyes sparkled brightly with anger. "That the politically correct term? Damn it to hell, Nathan, he was beaten!"

Jackson ignored his sarcasm. "As I was saying, he's going to need plastic surgery for the scars, and he's dehydrated. I took a blood sample. I imagine he's drugged too."

Chris grabbed at that. "Could drugs be why he's like this?"

Jackson shook his head. "I won't know until I run all the tests. But it could be....mental."

"What the hell does that mean?" Larabee's eyes flared at the word. "Mental?"

"When faced with a situation too intense to cope with, sometimes a person's mind just ...shuts down, and they withdraw into themselves so deeply...." He trailed off.

"What?" JD asked naively.

"So deeply they never come out."

Chris' face paled and he seemed unaware his shocked expression was mirrored by those of his team.

"Ezra ...wouldn't...." He whispered. "He's a fighter...he wouldn't..... "

"Brother Chris, we have no idea what that young man has faced in the last months. We may never know.... This may be the only way he can handle it." Josiah pointed out quietly.

Chris licked at his dry lips. "Did you check him for abuse?" He questioned softly.

Jackson frowned. "Of course he's been abused. You only have to look at his back...I didn't need to check..."

Larabee shook his head, remembering Tally's threats toward the southerner and the atrocities he had seen in that house. "You need to check him for....abuse...." He looked at him intently, trying to ignore the sharp gasp which came from the men around him. It wasn't something Ezra would want anyone to know, but they were his friends and if something had happened, the southerner would need all of their support. At least Chris hoped he would.

Jackson's eyes widened and his mouth opened. "Chris, are you saying...?"

"I'm not sayin' anything." He shook his head. "Just check, okay?" he whispered.

*******

A short time later, Larabee gave a sigh of relief at Jackson's negative report. "...but," Nathan added, "something probably just as vile has traumatized him."

"And you think he's just shut down...as a self protection?" Buck prodded.

"Self-preservation, I think, yes."

"Did he say anything?" Chris questioned hopefully. "Anything at all?"

Nathan shook his head. "No, he just stares with those unblinking green eyes. It's like there's no body home."

Pain flickered in Chris' dark eyes as he pushed to his feet. "I'm not letting that bitch win!" With an angry oath, he moved to the room where they had settled Ezra.

A light blanket outlined the slender form of the young man in the bed, highlighting him as the light from the corridor spilled into the dimly lit room. Chris let the door close slowly as he moved into the room, but as Nate had said, it was Ezra, but it wasn't. There was no expression on the pale face, just an utterly heartbreaking blankness. The green eyes which had always danced with life and exuberance were flat and dead.

An IV drip fed much needed medicine and fluids into his body, but neither doctor had felt the need to hook up the other machines which would monitor his vital signs.

Chris bit his lip as he moved closer. "Awww, Ezra..." he whispered, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on the thin shoulder. The southerner flinched at his touch, but his expression remained unchanged and he gave no indication of seeing or hearing the older man.

Larabee's eyes welled. "What did she do to you, Ezra?" He whispered as his hand dropped.

With a sudden chilling thought, he realized to his horror, the bitch was dead but in her own way she had won. They had lost Ezra, maybe for good this time.

*******

Chris spun around to face the doctor, ignoring the other men in the room. "No!"

"Chris, listen to me!" Wendall began, attempting to reason with the younger man.

"Damnit! No!" he repeated, shaking his head vehemently. "Just get that idea outta yer head cause it ain't gonna happen!"

"He needs help. Professional help. People who are trained to deal with this type of circumstance. Nathan and I don't have the ability and I know you don't," he pointed out bluntly.

Larabee spun to the large man standing by the door. "Josiah! You were a psychologist! You can help him!" The desperation in Chris' voice matched the fear in his eyes. "You can help Ezra! I know you can!"

"I've tried," the former preacher admitted sadly. "He won't talk to me. If he won't speak to me, there's nothing I can do." The big man didn't try to hide his disappointment in himself at his failure to help the gambler.

Chris' face hardened. "We're not gonna abandon him to strangers! I won't do that! God knows he's had enough of that in his life," he remarked bitterly.

The others exchanged looks of puzzlement at the latter statement, but pushed it aside as they searched for a way to help the southerner. Vin stood slouched against the wall, staring out the window, his arms wrapped around himself as if trying to hold himself together. He knew if they lost the gambler this time, they would also lose Larabee--for good.

"Listen to me. Ezra needs more than what you or I or anyone here can give him! Do you intend to just let him lay in there, visit him in your spare time? Or take him home and spend weekends with him? Damnit, Larabee! Use the sense God gave you! He needs to be where he'll be looked after and maybe even helped." Nettie's friend had stayed to assist Nathan but now, seeing no recourse, he had stated the facts as he saw them. "With trained, professional help, he may one day be able to deal with whatever it was that caused this."

Chris stubbornly shook his head. They had not gone through hell only to lose Ezra again and Ezra hadn't gone through hell at that bitch's hands only to end up spending the rest of his days in a mental ward.

Nate chewed his lip and then spoke. "You're not going to want to hear this," he hesitated, "but if we haven't been able to reach him, then, " his voice lowered, "I don't think anyone can."

The blond's head came up, a look of horror on his face. "What..what are you saying?" he whispered.

"I'm saying maybe it's time you faced facts." Buck and Josiah stepped up silently behind the healer, intently watching their boss afraid he might physically attack the doctor. "We're the closest thing to family Ezra has, except for Maude, and she don't matter. If he's withdrawn from us...."

"No!" Chris shouted, not wanting to listen.

"It's been over a week. There's no change. I've done everything I know to do. I've exhausted my bag of tricks." Wendall's voice choked with the admission, "I can't help him."

Chris' face was anguished. "Please, just a couple more days Please? Try...try....something..anything...." he pleaded.

Vin, silently sank down on the window sill, looking out at the city skyline, shaking his head in frustration, hating to hear a strong man like Larabee beg. Hating even more to think about Ezra being institutionalized, cared for by strangers.

Nate swallowed hard. He had known this would be the man's reaction to their suggestion, but he had to be blunt. "Three days. That's all I can give you...." He ducked his head. "I've already asked the judge to start the paperwork."

Larabee gave him a horrified look and spun, leaving them standing staring after him as he stormed down the corridor, trying to come to grips with the inevitable.

*******

Vin stared at the still face as he pulled the chair closer to the bed and wearily sank into it. Moisture welled in his eyes, not from his own weakness, but from the realization there was no change. The con man's green eyes stared at nothing and there was no expression on his blank face.

Swallowing the thick lump in his throat, Vin spoke softly. "How ya doin', Ez? Mind if I sit and visit for a while? Figured maybe ya might like some company. Gotta admit, I sure missed ya. Ya'd loved that last assignment the Judge sent us on."

Hoping a distraction would help the team deal with the loss of Standish, before Thanksgiving, Travis had sent them on a fugitive retrieval. "It was right in the middle of casino country. That guy just loved to play craps." A quaver shook his voice and he cleared his throat. "Chris won a little at blackjack. The manager threw him out after he accused the dealers of bein' lousy cheats. I guess maybe you managed to teach him a thing or two about dealin' from the bottom of the deck after all."

He reached out a trembling hand and smoothed the blanket covering the young man. "C'mon, Ez," a pleading tone crept into his voice, "you can't do this. You just can't....can't leave us like this." A sound suspiciously like a sob cracked his voice. "Everybody here missed ya near as much as me when ya's off sightseein' in Seattle. Thought Chris was gonna go plain right outta his head. Don't ya know we need you......your talent, your soul... your smile...." He trailed off trying to regain his composure. "Who am I gonna get to help play al those practical jokes on Buck? Without ya helpin' me write all them damn reports to the Judge, I'm screwed and ya know ya promised to teach me chess...Who else is gonna con the bad guys and go undercover? Can you see Chris tryin'? Givin' that don't fuck with me glare of his......Hell, he'd never put down his gun long enough for anyone to trust him and I probably wouldn't either. We don't have that gift you have.... you know where with just a few words you got them eatin' outta your hand and believin' every line ya say. You gotta come back to us, Ezra. Don't leave us stranded, not like this. You can't leave....I didn't get to say goodbye..... Come back... Chris was right, Ez, yer a fighter. Hell, you'll argue 'bout anythin'.... so fight this! Fight yer way back! Don't do to this to me! I can't lose the both of you....I jist can't!" he sobbed softly as he realized there was no reaction whatsoever.

Lowering his forehead, he leaned against the bed beside Ezra, gripping the gambler's limp hand in his, knowing he would be instantly aware if Ezra moved or spoke, the weary sharpshooter gave in to his body's need for sleep.

Hours later, however, it was a Josiah's touch on his shoulder which awoke him and as he focused his eyes, he realized there was still no change in the southerner. His eyes widened and filled with tears as the realization struck him that there might never be a change.

*******

'Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!'

*******

The somber faced healer stood rigidly at the foot of the hospital bed. He really wasn't sure what had drawn him here, but here he was. He hesitated, then slowly moved to stare down at the expressionless face of the southerner.

"You gotta fight this, Ezra," he uttered softly. "You have a warrior's heart. I have seen you fight for others. Surely you can fight for yourself. Now's the time. you can't go like this...." He nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Surely you must know what this is doing to Vin, and Chris, and the other folk who care for you, including me. Know I ain't acted like it, but I do care about ya, Ezra, more than even I want to admit, you obstinate southern jackass."

He would have given anything to hear that soft southern drawl, but there was no reaction to his soft words and his frown deepened, lining his forehead. He licked nervously at his dry lips then went on, his voice low. "I have few friends and I never thought I would attach that term to someone like you, but you have become a friend. And surely you know I have no wish to lose you," he admitted softly. "You've managed to piss me off more times than I care to admit with your cocky don't give a shit attitude, but there's good in you, Ezra Standish."

Nathan stared intently at the young man's face. "You begrudgingly accepted me as a member of this team, fought with me and beside me. Ya defended me even when I couldn't stand to be around you." His voice lowered even more. "I don't know what to do to help you now. If I could, I would fight this battle for you. I..."

He broke off as the door opened and Buck looked in. The pilot gave Nate a nervous smile and with a last regretful look at Ezra the medic moved from the room.

*******

They sought out his hiding place...He couldn't understand the words but the voices sounded vaguely familiar. It wasn't real. None of them were real. It was all a trick, a hoax. She was just waiting for him to make some small sound, or move.....just waiting. He couldn't risk it.....not for Nathan, not for Chris...not even for Vin.

What was real? What was the truth? Had he really been rescued or was it just a hopeful dream in the midst of this endless hideous nightmare? What was real? He couldn't remember. Everything was overshadowed by the cold leering face of that woman.

What was real? PTF...this place? Chris.... he had to be real. Larabee was the reason he was here. It was his fault.... No.... not his friend's fault. Friend....Chris was his friend....A friend who had abandoned him....

'No!' She had lied! Hadn't she? She was using him. Or was she? All he knew was if he spoke to any of them, she would be there, laughing at the ruse she had put over on him again. He couldn't risk it. He couldn't face any more of the hell she had created of his life. As long as she couldn't find him, she couldn't hurt him. And if she couldn't hurt him, she couldn't hurt any of them. It would do them no good. He couldn't trust any of them, couldn't discern the truth from her reality. For now, he was safe here. He'd make no sound, no movement.... and he would be safe......

*******

Chris leaned forward on the hard chair, bracing his elbows on his knees, and stared at Ezra's face, willing him to show some sign of emotion, some reaction to his surroundings, or Chris' presence in the room. The green eyes were wide open but dead to the world, staring at nothing. His usually expressive face was pale and emotionless, his expression unchanged since his rescue and their return to Four Corners.

Larabee's deep sigh echoed hollowly in the otherwise quiet room. Afraid Ezra's physical condition was beginning to deteriorate, Nathan had attached the machines which now beeped, blipped and hissed continuously checking the patient's heartbeat and blood pressure. He glanced at the monitors, checking all the readings he knew now by heart. Everything was normal, except....

He raked his fingers through his short hair. "Ezra..." he began, then clearing his throat he began again. "Ezra, I need to talk to ya and ya need to listen! Ya gotta do something. Anything! Just give us a sign yer in there and are gonna come back to us, cause I know ya are, you stubborn sonuvabitch! Can't ya understand? They're gonna send you away from here, but I.. we don't...." He broke off, shaking his head.

"Ezra, what can I do?" he whispered hoarsely. "What can I do to make this right? To make you okay again? You shouldn't be laying there....it should be me. I'm the one she wanted. You should never have been involved and you wouldn't have been if I hadn't picked you for this team." Guilt flooded his choked words. "I never thought,...I never dreamed something like this would happen..." He lowered his head, burying his face in his hands. His words were muffled. "Awww, Ez, you can't let her win. Not like this!" 

He raised his head, the low lighting reflecting brightly on the tear tracks down his face as he gently stroked the languid hand. "You gotta fight this, Ez! You gotta find your way back to us. You got to! If I could, I'd come after you, but this...this is something you gotta do yourself. I don't know how to find you! We'll be here waitin'. Nate, Josiah, Buck, JD, Nettie, Mary, the Judge, Vin....me.....We're all here, Ezra. We'll give ya all the help ya need. We'll be yer strength, yer lifeline! We're all right here....You just gotta find that long road back to us...You gotta," he pleaded, swiping at his tears with the back of his hand.

Reaching out, he brushed the long hair back from Ezra's forehead. "Ya need a haircut, yer startin' to look like Vin. Ya know, he never once gave up on ya, Ezra. When the rest of us were buryin' ya, he kept sayin' ya wasn't dead. Somehow he knew.... He always believed ya were alive out there and comin' back to us. Don't make a liar outta him, Ezra! Please don't break his heart...!"

Larabee knew it was just a matter of a day or two before the southerner would be sent to a medical facility. Having finally received the news of her son's accident, Maude had called frequently regarding his condition, but hadn't yet deemed it necessary to visit. Having been informed of Nathan's medical opinion concerning Ezra's need for professional help, she had broached the subject of a place she knew run by some friends of hers where Ezra would be, as she put it, looked after. It was close to her home so she would be able to visit often.

Chris had balked at the very thought. The woman hadn't had time for her son before. Why would she suddenly become the doting caring mother? Yet even now he had come to realize there was little he or anyone at Four Corners could do. Ezra needed more than any of them could offer and it was not fair to the southerner. Perhaps at a place like that they could help him, bring him back....That was Chris' hope anyway.

He sat quietly beside the younger man, just wanting to be with him, to somehow let him know he wasn't alone and wasn't abandoned. Guilt twisted him as a small inner voice sniped that was exactly what he was doing though...abandoning the man to strangers perhaps for the rest of his life. And it was all his fault.....

*******

'Chris?' He could hear his boss' voice. 'No! No!' he refused to listen. Chris had abandoned him. It was just one of her tricks, and she was using Larabee to try and get to him now. If he crept from this safe haven he'd found, she would only attack him again and he couldn't risk that. He was too weak, mentally and physically to defend against her. And he knew he would not have any of the team's strength to rely on. He would have to face her alone....totally alone. He hadn't the strength of will to even want to. Here, where he was safe, nothing could hurt him ever again. 'No, Chris....you aren't here. You were never here. I don't believe you. I won't listen to you. If I listen, if I believe, she'll find me. It's all a trap. Just go away....no, no, no, no....it's all lies.......

*******

Judge Travis hesitated by the door then slowly entered the dimly lit room. God, how he hated rooms like this! To see this young healthy man lying so deathly still, being destroyed not by some deadly disease, but by his own mind, was almost more than he could bear.

He slowly moved to stand by the bed.

"How ya doin' today, son?" He questioned softly, not expecting or receiving a response. A strange sad expression flickered over his weary face as he realized Ezra was younger than his own children.

Children.... He had branded the brash con man an unprincipled, maverick wild card before he had even met him. He had based his assumption on the man's livelihood, firmly believing anyone who gambled and conned his way through life couldn't be moral or decent. Granted on their initial meeting he had been rude to the young man, but he had been disgusted Larabee had chosen such a shady character as a member of his team

Over time, the southerner had surprised him and at his age, that wasn't an easy thing to do. He had been willing to work with the other men, doing what he could to bring down the criminal element. Granted he was aloof and stubborn, cocky and arrogant. If only that stubbornness would help him now.

"I brought ya a telegram." The judge smiled, pulling the paper from his pocket. "The president send his best wishes. Says to tell ya to get well soon." The men had met the leader of the most powerful country in the world shortly after being sworn in as members of his special task force. "You have to fight this son," he admonished gently. "I know sometimes you feel like you're alone in this world, but you're a part of this team, this...family. Hell, son, you make this work. You just can't leave...there's a slew of criminals out there just waiting to be sweet talked by you." He hesitated. "I don't think you realize how vital you are. This place, these people ..You're just as important, just as....loved and respected as any man on this team...Larabee, Tanner, Wilmington, young Mister Dunne.....They're lost without you. And I guess to be honest, so am I son. It's downright boring around here without the fireworks that mouth of yours is always setting off."

A fatherly tone crept unbidden into his voice, "C'mon, son.... You're a fighter. I do believe you would argue religion with the good Lord himself, and give him a good run for his money. Fight this. Don't let it take you. You're too young, too needed to be lost....I don't think any of them could take your loss, son....Not again." He trailed off, staring sad eyed at the young man who gave no indication of hearing.

Reaching out, he patted the thin shoulder. "Just know we're all here, son and rooting for you." With a last look, he slowly left the room.

*******

'No, no, no, no, no, no..... go away! All of you, just go away! If you don't, she'll find me. If I answer you, she'll know.... and I can't take anymore. Just go.....leave me.....No, Chris, don't...I'm scared. I'm so afraid.... go away....Vin, I'm sorry, but it's all a trick, you're not really here. She's just playing with my mind, trying to get to me. She would do anything to find me...go away! All of you.....God, I don't wanna hurt any of you, but please just go away and leave me alone! You'll bring her here. She'll find me. Don't you understand? If I don't move, if I don't say anything, she can't find me here. Please God don't let her find me again! If she finds me, she'll hurt you. I can't, I won't bring that down on you. I couldn't face that....Just go away and let me hide here in the dark. Please....please! I'm so sorry.....I can't risk it, Chris, not even for you....I'm so sorry.....'

*******

Chris angrily sloshed the last of his lukewarm coffee into the sink and tossed the mug in after it. He grimaced as it shattered into several jagged pieces. "Damnit!" he swore aloud as he reached to gather them and toss them in the trash.

He hadn't wanted this day to come, had hoped by staying at Ezra's side, he could avoid this, but here it was staring him full in the face. The day before had been bad enough, cleaning out Ezra's apartment and putting all his things in storage. Buck had suggested they just sell the stuff, and he had turned on his oldest friend, screaming Ezra would be needing it before Vin could voice the same thing. But deep in his heart, unlike Tanner, Larabee was swamped by doubt.

Now, today, this afternoon, they would be sending the young man away from Four Corners, to a home 'asylum' Chris' mind snickered. Both Nathan and Wendall had insisted it was someplace where the young man could be helped, but to Chris it was just a lot of meaningless words. They were abandoning the man, tossing him aside now that he was no longer of use to them.

"Damnit!" he swore again as he smacked his palm down on the countertop. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair. His mind whispered life was never fair and no one ever said it would be. His mood blackened another notch. There had to be something he could do. Something besides regularly visiting his friend. Or sitting at his bedside and praying for a response from the man who had withdrawn into a place in his head where none of them could reach him. This was all his fault. If Ezra...

Larabee and the others had spent every minute possible with Ezra, leaving only when Nathan forced them out under threat of not letting them return until they had eaten something and gotten some sleep. Chris had talked himself hoarse about anything and everything, had ranted, raved, threatened and cajoled, but nothing he did had brought about any reaction from the man in the bed.

The pulsing of the phone jarred him from his guilt and he jerked it from its countertop cradle. "Yeah?" he half snarled, then caught himself.

"Chris?"

He frowned at the voice. Why was she calling him?

"It's Maude," the woman clarified needlessly.

"Yeah."

"Am I disturbing you?" She questioned softly. Since when had she ever cared about disturbing anyone?

"I was just headed out the door." He really did not want to talk to her.

"I won't take much of your time, but I wanted you to know, I've done a lot of thinking, a lot," she stressed, "and I want Ezra here."

He sighed heavily. "Maude, we all want Ezra here, but the doctor says..." She cut in on his words. "No, Chris, here," she stressed heavily, "here with me." She plunged in before he could speak. "I've got this big ol' house my fourth husband, or was it my fifth? Never mind that. This big ol' empty house and I know the manager of a nursing service and well, I think it would do my dear boy good to be back home in the south...."

Larabee closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Damn, he didn't need this! He did not want to deal with this woman now! Chris was certain in her own way Maude did indeed love her son although she had a warped way of expressing that love. Again, he wondered why she had suddenly become the doting mother and how long it would take her to tire of the new role. Her next words answered that question.

"... Of course, I'll still be traveling a lot and will have to entrust his care to my friend's highly qualified staff, but surely you have to agree it would be so much better than putting him in some ...asylum."

The way Chris saw it, there wouldn't be much difference at all. "Do you know what you're in for? He...he... might never..." he refused to voice the fear.

"I know that, Chris. I've talked with Nathan and that other physician you brought in. It doesn't matter. My darlin' boy deserves better than being shuffled off to some institute."

"Maude," he needed to talk sense into her. Abstractly, he wondered how often would they be able to see him if she took Ezra so far from home. And how would they be able to help him if he was across the country? This wasn't some temporary thing... "Are you sure you're up to this?" he needled.

"Look, Mister Larabee," her tone went up a notch as she tried to curb her anger. "I know it's not gonna be easy, but I've got help and medical staff and God help me, I just can't bear to think of my son all alone in some...some...asylum...." Her voice broke and he could hear her sniffling on the other end of the line. He winced as he wondered if they were real tears of concern, or just a part of Maude's great act "I've already talked with the doctors down here about his condition and they really do thinks it'll be best for Ezra. I'd like to think I have your blessing on this, Chris, but no matter what, I am doing this."

He stared silently at the phone. The team leader had resigned himself--well, not really, but he would--to the fact Ezra was going away and he could visit him when his guilt got to be too much to bear, but now, if he was going to Maude's...He forced the words, "I think you're making a mistake."

"Damnit, Chris! I thought you'd be happy about this, knowing Ezra wasn't going to be shuffled off in some distant place with total strangers.....Or is that it?" She trailed off then, as if she could read his mind, she added, "That's it, isn't it? You thought you'd be able to visit a few times and then slowly stop. He'd be out of sight and out of mind and you wouldn't have to face yourself. Well, don't worry, I won't keep track of the times you don't visit. After all, poor Ezra will never know anyway. You might as well accept it, Chris, he's coming here to stay with me whether you like it or not."

Her bitter tone rocked him. Was that it? Was he worried she would know if he didn't visit the man? Maybe she was right...outta sight, outta mind. No! The southerner may not be underfoot, arguing and running his mouth constantly, but Ezra would never be out of his mind or his heart.

"Scheme," he muttered aloud, frowning. Maude was always scheming and he couldn't help but wonder what was in this for her. He found it hard to believe she could just be worried and concerned about her own son. Realization hit. Maude was concerned and was doing something about it. Perhaps, deep down he was pissed at her because she was doing what he knew in his heart, he should be doing. He hadn't the guts, but she did and that angered him. Perhaps she did care enough about her son that she was willing to change her own lifestyle even if it was only in a small way. He realized he should be grateful to her. With her money, Ezra would have the best of care and wasn't that what all of them wanted? With her, he wouldn't be surrounded by strangers but would be well looked after. But how long would it be before she tired of her new role. How long before she couldn't face having a mentally deficient son and no longer returned from her travels?

Money.

"Maude..." He decided to try a different tactic. One he knew would hit her closer to home. "Maude, do you realize how expensive around the clock home care will be?"

"Of course I do! I have money, Mister Larabee and I'm sure you are aware of the money my dear boy has accrued from his many sound investments. I assure you, money shall not be a problem. I'm flying in this afternoon. Judge Travis has said the papers will be ready for my signature and..."

He felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. "Papers?

"Of course. Giving me Power of Attorney and guardianship of my dear boy until he is hopefully once again able to care for himself. I will see you this afternoon. Good-bye, Christopher." The solid click of the broken connection lay heavy in the stillness.

Chris stared at the phone. This afternoon.... Obviously Nathan and Wendall already knew and had agreed to this scheme of hers. He had thought they would be moving Ezra to the hospital in the morning. Had thought he would have one more day with the gambler.

He stared down at his hands. He had always prided himself on being able to fix anything, but the bitter truth had sunken in. The one thing he so desperately needed to mend could not be fixed by these hands of his.

Power of Attorney! Son of a bitch! That was it! With Ezra's Power of Attorney she would have access to his money to do with as she pleased.

With a heavy heart, Chris gathered his keys and locking the door behind him climbed in his truck and headed for town to spend the last few hours with Ezra before they took him away. First and foremost he had to talk to the judge! She might be her son's guardian, but Chris would be damned if she would be able to squander Ezra's money on her own frivolous desires.

*******

Josiah entered the quiet dimly lit room and as the door closed behind him, he leaned back against it, closing his eyes. He didn't need to go further into the room to see there had no change in Ezra's condition. Everyone had been ordered home the previous evening, leaving Nathan to watch over the southerner. Unable to sleep Josiah had risen earlier and returned, needing to spend this one last time with his friend. The preacher knew he would have to be strong certain Chris and Vin, as well as that of the others, would require his support when they discovered this would be the last morning Ezra would be within reach without having to sign a visitor's book and wait for special hours.

Josiah had quickly come to care for each of the men of Larabee's special team, but somehow, Ezra had taken a piece of his heart and made it his own. He had watched over the young con man, who was always willing to help, even if it meant getting his hands dirty, all the while, Josiah recalled with a small grin, informing them for the hundredth time that 'a gentleman does not debase himself by engaging in menial labor.' The ex-profiler had seen the way the southerner stood back from them, as if he wasn't worthy of trust, almost as if he wasn't worthy of redemption, yet wanting so desperately to be a part of this special family, allowing his fear to keep him from stepping fully into the circle of their friendship.

Why hadn't he told Ezra just how special he had become, not only to him, but to the others? Why hadn't he told him he would have been so very proud to have a son like him? Because he had been afraid those words would cause the young gambler to step even further back from the circle. He regretted now not saying it because that was the piece of his heart Ezra had taken.

He turned his face upward, not opening his eyes. His deep voice was low, the words spilling out from his heart, "Lord, I don't pretend to know Your ways, and I'm sure You have a reason for all this, but let me say, this ain't right and You know it. Ezra's a good man, and he's needed here. You've seen the good he's done. Just think what he could do."

"If we lose him, this family is lost. And yes, Lord, this is a family. The only true family some of us have ever known. You'll destroy all of us. Chris...he's finally found someone and something to care about since his family's deaths. He's looking for a future, and had left the bottle behind. Vin....all that fine boy has needed is a place where he could belong and feel secure with friends and family. He's found that here. He's found that in this man laying here and was helping Ezra to find it too. Buck.... why he's in seventh heaven--no pun intended, Lord--having Larabee back in his life and young JD to look after like he was a little brother. And JD...he's found men he can look up to and respect who respect him back. Boy wasn't here, he'd more than likely be a criminal and you know it. Nate...well, he's found respect and a place for himself, too. They all have, and You'll destroy all that by letting the evil ways of that devil's servant take this gentle man from us."

"And Lord, I was starting to find my faith in mankind again, but if Ezra goes, there's just no justice.... No, that ain't no threat and it ain't no promise. It's just one lost soul, praying for another. If You could find Your way clear and maybe help Ezra..... "

He sighed and opened his eyes. "God help ya, son," he whispered, "God help us all," he added softly and slipped out of the room.

*******

Buck frowned at the people coming down the corridor. He knew there was no reason for them to be there. Nathan had informed the team Ezra would be leaving today and each of the men wanted to say their good-byes in private. But then, Mary and Miss Nettie were in their own ways a part of the family too.

He shook his finger in mock anger. "Chris is gonna light a fire under your ass."

Actually he thought in the agent's present frame of mind, Larabee would probably shoot them and him too.

"I hope not!" Nettie laughed as she embraced the somber agent wondering if she would ever again see joy and laughter in the brown eyes of the fun-loving man.. "How are you doing?"

He shrugged, not answering, but she could see the haunted pain in his dark eyes and the guilt riding his shoulders. The same pain and guilt she had seen in all the team. She forced a smile, "Maggie insisted I bring her to see Ezra before he leaves."

Buck smiled politely at the small girl and turned his attention back to Nettie "You know Chris is gonna raise hell you bringing a kid here."

The woman's voice took on a stubbornness. "She's with me, and I see no harm in it. She's not some little terrorist out to be stealing national secrets. Besides, she's Ezra's friend too."

At the touch of a gentle hand on his shoulder, he turned to find Vin had come up to join them. They both knew the little girl and her brother had saved Ezra's life and taken care of him until they could bring him home, but Buck wasn't sure letting the child see Ezra in his present condition was such a good idea.

"Explain all that to Chris. He..." He looked around. "Where did she go?"

Seeing the door ajar, they stopped in the entrance of the clinic, remaining silent at the sight of the child who had settled herself on the bed beside Ezra, babbling away as she stroked his chestnut hair.

"Me and Jimmy are staying with Nettie for a little while till we get us a place of our own. Jimmy wanted to come, but he's got a job now so he said to tell ya hi and thank you for everything. I ain't sure what for but he said you'd understand someday. That judge friend of yours says me and Jimmy get to stay together, says it's the approp-appro--right thing and you'd want it that way." She was happily rambling on as she pet his long hair. "Did you know Nettie has a cat with babies? She said I could have one...."

The small group standing in the doorway glanced up, each giving Chris a small disheartened smile as he joined them. Taking his hand, Nettie gave it a small comforting squeeze, holding on, hoping to help the man through this ordeal in some tiny way.

"I done picked out one," the child continued, oblivious to her audience. "He's all different colors and he's got green eyes. I'm gonna call him Doc, after you. That way when you come to visit you'll know who I'm talking to. Oh, yeah, Jimmy said to be sure and thank you for goin' with that mean woman. I heard him tell Josiah she would have killed us dead for sure if you hadn't."

Larabee's breath caught in his throat, his heart breaking into another shattered piece. He had heard them say Ezra had left with Tally not saying a word or putting up any type of struggle, but he had not asked why the man who seemed to derive pleasure from a good fight had gone so passively with the woman seeking revenge on Larabee. A shiver of disgust shook him for not realizing sooner it had been to save the others.

"....and Nettie says you know all kinds of magic. And that you work with Mister Chris and Mister Vin and those nice men.." she trailed off, bending over him. "You look awful, but you smell so good.... " With childlike enthusiasm, she wrapped her thin arms about him and hugged him. With a wide smile she cooed, "I love you, Ezra...."

Chris turned to leave, unable to watch the innocent scene being played out before him, but Nettie's hand tightened around his and Vin suddenly had a death grip on his shoulder.

"Look.!! Larabee, look!"

He was aware of JD and Nate coming down the hall, but something in Nettie's tone pulled his gaze back to the two people on the bed.

"Larabee...look..." Nettie insisted.

His heart began pounding out of control and he was finding it hard to breath. Ezra's hand, which had been lying limp and unmoving on top of the blanket, was slowly clenching and unclenching.

Nettie's grasp tightened on Chris' hand and he could feel Vin's long fingers digging into his skin as a low keening sounded from the southerner. He began thrashing his head from side to side as his lips moved in a soundless denial. Tears gathered in his eyes and slowly rolled down the sides of his face and with an anguished inarticulate cry, he blinked. The wetness of his tears clung to his lashes as he gulped in a deep shuddering sigh. Then, slowly, he turned his head and looked up into the child's face.

Shuddering, he calmed, and murmured one word, then closed his eyes as she continued to babble on, her gentle fingers still petting his long hair.

Nate hurried to the bedside and looked down, his voice and expression incredulous.

"He's asleep," he whispered in disbelief, staring at the little girl with a look of wonder. He looked at the others who had hurriedly stepped closer, each holding their breath in fear and expectation, but a wide smile lit his dark face as tears unabashedly rolled down his cheeks. "He's asleep!"

Chris moved up closer, looking down at the sleeping man and the little girl.

"What...what did he say?"

Maggie looked up, "What he always said when he woke up. Home."

*******

Ezra slept the sleep of the exhausted for forty-eight hours straight. His teammates took turns keeping vigil beside him. Although the gambler knew he was safe, he suffered nightmares, whimpering and crying out, lost in horrors they could only begin to piece together.

During that time, Vin was the only one absent, and with a little gentle prodding, Larabee discovered the Texan had used the time to quickly and precisely restore Ezra's apartment to its original condition, wanting it to be ready when the southerner was finally able to go home.

Little by little, upon awakening, Ezra was more responsive, but pain shadowed his green eyes and he remained uncharacteristically quiet with none of his usual verbage. And he made no moves toward tactile contact, but instead, flinched and cringed whenever anyone came too close to him.

A week passed. A long harrowing week. As planned, Ezra's mother had arrived to take him back with her, stunned to find that medical opinions on his condition had changed, yet Maude had continued to stay close and created an uproar when they flat out refused to let the man leave. She had threatened them all with civil action until Ezra had quietly spoken, ending it all with, "Leave, Mother. I do not wish to go."

In a huff and flurry of false tears, the woman had departed and they had all breathed a little easier.

Chris Larabee made his way to the infirmary. The meeting with the Judge had gone well and with Nathan still occupying the office apartment, the others had taken to returning to their separate homes at night, trying to catch up on much needed sleep, but each insisted on staying with the southerner during the day, hoping in some small way to aid in his recovery. Ezra's room was dark and he glanced around. "Ezra?" The infirmary was empty and frowning, he moved out into the hallway.

There, shuffling a bit unsteadily, one hand braced against the wall, a cup of coffee in the other, was Ezra.

"Hey!" Chris called out softly, then, "Does Nathan know you're out and about?" he half-teased as he moved closer to the southerner, wanting to offer a hand, but refraining.

"Needed coffee," Ezra murmured, not meeting his eyes as he moved into the room and settled on the bed with a heavy sigh. Although he was embarrassed to admit it the short walk had taken a lot out of him. He hadn't realized how depleted he really was.

Chris stood, hands braced on the back of the bedside chair, staring down at the southerner. There was a distance between them, and he frowned. After his wife and son's deaths, Larabee had firmly built a wall around himself to keep people away, but the quiet southerner could give lessons to a bricklayer.

Settling on the side of the bed, Ezra stared into the coffee cup as if it held the secrets of the universe, uncomfortable with his boss' silence.

Chris finally spoke. "Caffeine withdrawal that bad you couldn't wait for Nathan or someone to get it for you?"

"I'm not that helpless, Mister Larabee." He bit his lower lip, then softly admitted, "I don't want to be a burden."

Larabee's eyes flashed. So they were back to Mister Larabee again. "You're not. You've never been a burden, Ezra and never could be."

Ezra's eyes dropped to the floor, as he ducked his head, hiding his face. "I feel like I am," he whispered. Then, a little louder he added, "I wanna go home."

Chris' breath caught. "I thought you were home, Ezra." The long as yet untrimmed hair shifted as Ezra shook his head, and then Larabee realized what he was asking. "I'll talk to Nathan," he offered but he knew the medic still did not think the southerner was up to being alone in his apartment. Chris was certain if Ezra did leave this building alone, they would lose him forever.

Several long minutes of awkward silence ticked by. Ezra stared in his coffee, and Chris was giving serious thought to leaving when Ezra spoke softly without raising his head. "Is....is she dead?" His voice trembled.

Larabee didn't have to ask who, as he quietly responded, "Yes." One simple word to assure Ezra he was safe. She would never be able to hurt him again.

The con man finally dragged his haunted eyes up to look at Chris' face. "Did you kill her?" he whispered.

There was no reason to lie. "Yes, Ezra, I did." 'And I'd do it again to protect you,' he added silently.

"Like you killed her sister?"

Chris' breath hitched. So the bitch had told him. Unsure of her version, certain she had made him out to be the unfeeling bastard Tally had always thought him to be but wanting Ezra to know his side, to hopefully help him understand how it really happened, Larabee slowly paced the room and quietly told the southerner the events of that day. "....and I couldn't control my men, so I guess it was my fault," he admitted.

Ezra slowly shook his head, hearing the guilt which still echoed in Chris' voice over the teenager's death. "No, it wasn't. No more then I'm responsible for.... Tally's..." He shuddered as he spoke her name and closed his eyes, then with a quavering tone creeping in his voice he softly questioned, "That...p-place....where you found me...."

"It's gone, Ezra. Forget it." He slowly reached out and gently removed the coffee cup from Ezra's trembling hands, placing it on the bedside table.

The green eyes shimmered with moisture and his voice was pleading, "How? Tell me how!"

Chris wondered what he was asking. How was he supposed to forget or how was it gone. "I burnt the fuckin' place to the ground right after I found you." His low voice betrayed the anger he still felt at the memory of the degradation which had taken place in what might have one time been a loving home.

Swallowing hard and biting his lip to regain his composure, the gambler softly questioned, "Why me?" He looked at the older man with such a haunting look of confusion. "Why me?" he repeated softly.

Chris' heart fell at the look. "She knew hurting one of my team would hurt me."

"Chris?" The quavering one word filled the silence between them, then "I'm sorry." Guilt swamped Ezra's low voice.

The older man stared at him. "What for?"

What the hell could this man possibly have to apologize for? He had been the victim, the pawn in a cruel, senseless vicious game of revenge.

Ezra's lower lip quivered slightly as he mumbled, "That I'm a liability to you."

Chris shook his head, "You're not, Ezra. I'm sorry if she, or if I ever made you feel that way."

The green eyes locked on the folded hands in his lap and Chris knew he was still so brittle and fragile one wrong word would send him back to that place only he knew. He clenched his hands in frustration, not knowing what to say to the southerner.

"I-I know," Ezra began slowly, "you get angry at me and I'm not good working with the others--."

The blond frowned. "What the hell?" He demanded as the conversation took a sharp turn he hadn't expected.

Ezra slowly went on. "Maybe you should have left me behind. Maybe you should've left me for dead..."

This time Chris' expression revealed the shock he felt at the southerner's statement. "Why...why would you say that?" He whispered hoarsely.

"You don't need me," he whispered. "No one needs me..."

Larabee pointed his finger at the younger man, just as he had at Adam when he had lectured his little son. "That's enough, Ezra."

Standish shook his head. "I shouldn't be here. I don't deserve..."

"Ezra, enough!" He raised his voice as he crossed the distance separating them. "I'm not listening to this fuckin' shit! I know you've had a helluva hard time and it's all my fault. I can't even conceive of what that bitch did to you, but you gotta know you're a part of this place, these people, this family."

Swallowing hard Chris admitted, "I said it before and I'll say it as many times as I have to...We didn't go through hell finding you, just to lose you again." He reached out as if to shake some sense into the younger man, but his hands stopped inches short when Ezra cringed away from his upraised hand.

With a shudder, the southerner closed his eyes and tensed, waiting.....for God only knew what.

Tears welled in Chris' hazel eyes. "Oh, shit!"

Knowing it would either make or break their friendship, he reached out and lightly grasped the too thin shoulders. Ezra flinched, but didn't open his eyes and Chris pulled him into a gentle embrace, lightly encircling his shoulders in a hug. In a choked voice he whispered, "Ya gotta know you're a part of this family...my family."

Ezra seemed to tense even more at the touch, but as the whispered words registered, a soft sob escaped his quivering lips. Then with a shudder, he leaned his head against Chris' shoulder and the sobs welled from him, washing over both of them.

Chris tightened his arms about the younger man, and simply held him as his own tears slipped down his cheeks.

The sobs finally subsided into little hiccuping breaths and head down, embarrassed, Ezra pushed away with a low "'m sorry."

Larabee shook his head. "Never be that, Ezra. You have nothing to be sorry for."