And your mind spins round
As the chips go down
And you can't put
Your feet on the ground

Luck is a stranger
With teeth as sharp as a knife
Green light means danger
Red light means
You'd better run for your life

Alan Parson's Project

The bar had seen better days, but that didn�t bother the patrons. Thick smoke hung in the air, forming funnels and swirls where the stiff calmness was broken by movement. Through the speakers, music blurred, mixing with the chattering filling the room.

[scene of Travis/Skinner meeting]

�Orrin.�

�It�s been a while, Walther.�

�Unfortunately.�

�You said it was urgent?� Travis didn�t loose time with sentimentalism.

�Yes,� Skinner seemed somewhat embarrassed. �I need a favor.�

�Well... I can�t promise anything,� Travis cautioned. �What do you need?�

[Skinner explains what he needs. In the end Travis smiles.]

�Only temporary, you say?�

The FBI agent nodded briefly.

�In that case... I think I have the perfect job for Agent Doggett.�

�Selfish fool.�

Ezra Standish wasn�t a happy critter. Matter of fact, he was somewhere between desperation and complete and utter despair. He downed the whiskey and shuddered when the sharp stinging alcohol ran down his throat and set his stomach on fire.

�Pain in the ass.�

What the hell had he been thinking? He refilled the shot glass and stared at the framed picture that showed him and his team mates. Seven men, one destiny. But the team was destroyed now, destroyed thanks to his very own actions. �The problem with you is that you just didn�t think at all, Standish�, he scolded himself. �All you did was being a nuisance, a problem... Being a damned pain in the ass for the only person who gave you a second chance when no one else believed in you.�

Chris had left the team. Well, he hadn�t officially resigned, but in the aftermath of an unfortunate game of power play between him and Ezra, Larabee had put in for a transfer to desk duty. Neither Buck, nor Vin or Judge Travis had been able to talk the stubborn team leader out of his decision. With self-loathing, Ezra banged his head on the low couch table in front of him.

�Stupid idiot.�

I�m responsible for all of you, Larabee had said. And then he had nonchalantly turned down Ezra�s offer to leave the team instead. �Damn you, Chris Larabee! Damn you for making me want to stay!� The shot glass hit the wall, shattering in a thousand fragments. �Damn you for leaving us just like that!�

Oh, it had all started harmless. It had been Larabee�s strength, the way he always seemed to be in control of the situation that had tempted the undercover agent in the first place. In a way, Chris had been the type of person Ezra had always resented. Authority. He had challenged Chris�s authority, tested the man�s limits. Carefully at first, knowing that a single mistake would mean the end of his career. But with every successful bust, with every day that he had grown used to the tight knit group, Ezra had become more daring, testing his limits with their team leader. And Larabee had surprised him again. �And what did I do? I pushed those newfound buttons of what I thought was nothing but weakness...�

That Chris had given him space to breathe and just how much Ezra respected the older man Standish hadn�t realized until it was too late. And now, Ezra was living in a self-made hell. All of his attempts to talk Chris into returning, rethinking his decision had failed miserably. Like earlier today, when Larabee had basically kicked him out of the Ranch after the worst argument they had ever went through. �And you call yourself master of manipulation... You�re nothing but a troublemaker. A sore loser who takes down everyone with him.�

Ezra sighed deeply, wondering once again how he�d break the news about his failure to his colleagues the next morning. �Sorry, but Mr. Larabee decided not to pay attention to me. Why should he? I�m a self-centered, stupid bastard and I�m not worthy to be part of this team.� He laughed humorless, speculating if it would please the others if he shipped himself back to Atlanta in friendly, quiet pieces. At least it would stop the nagging and bickering that he had to endure from his cohorts. Not that he didn�t deserve their verbal jabs, he even agreed with most of what they were saying. Ah hell, his own conscience had happily joined in with them, and different from the guys, his conscience hadn�t try to sooth the uproar of his feeling. They had chewed him out good, yes. Josiah even had jokingly suggested that they could tan his behind for punishment. For a brief moment, the Southerner had seriously thought that they would go through with it as Sanchez and Wilmington cornered him. He had felt like an idiot for acting like a scared rabbit when Buck had apologized after they had seen the panic in his face.

�This has been coming up a long time already, Ezra. Your confrontation with him was only the last straw,� Buck had said, smiling sadly. ��sides, we are as much to blame as you, being undisciplined and all.�

Maybe this was what puzzled Ezra the most, confused him beyond reason. This team of brainiacs wanted him in spite of everything that happened. Ezra had botched up badly twice, and they still gave him a place to belong. Larabee even went as far as rather leaving than kicking Standish out of the group. �Where�s the angle in their actions? What do they gain by keeping me? Mother, with all your teaching on how to survive in this world full of wolves, you never prepared me for something like this.�

And what now? For the first time in a long while, he was unsure of what to do. Looking back, Ezra clearly saw the events unfold up to the point when his tongue had been faster than his brain and Larabee�s retail for the constant bickering, low blows and insubordination had homed in. The undercover agent could recall Chris�s expression precisely � from the brief flicker of hurt over the remark to full fledged anger when Ezra had grinned cockily, to a mixture of shame and utter surprise after the violent retaliation. With a shudder, Ezra pondered how long he himself would have swallowed the insults if roles had been reversed. �Heck, I would have fired myself by now,� he mused. �That, or shot myself in cold blank rage.�

He remembered the endless spiral of pranks and counter-pranks, the growing lack of discipline that had gotten hold of the team when they were not on a case... no, even when they were on a case. It had been a miracle that they all had found back to their professionalism in time for the busts. Maybe that was why Chris had let things slip, not seeing the dangers that the constant undermining of his authority caused.

�There are regulations for a reason,� he quietly repeated Larabee�s words from the day the shit hit the fan. Realization sunk in slowly, painful and grating his already frailed self-confidence.

All his life, Ezra had fought regulations, weaseled his way out of a harness of rules that kept him down and strangled his urge for freedom that had grown ever since he had escaped the claws of Mother. Yes, he was his own master, and proud of it. Of course, he never had broken the regulations that the FBI or the ATF had enforced on him. Bent them, sneaked around them, evaded them, failed to acknowledge them, but never broke them. Well, at least not the really important ones. Standish sighed. He had always used the regulations to serve his very own purposes. Always going for number one, protecting his very own interests, because no one else had mattered in the long run. Until he got stuck with Team Seven.

And now.... he was living with the consequences of his own actions, forced to accept truths that he had ignored until this moment. Ignorance was a bliss sometimes, but he had ignored the obvious for too long. Larabee was right, regulations were there for a reason. Up to a few days ago, he had seen in them nothing but an obstacle, and yet now he found that they also were meant to protect. Protect from harm, protect from arbitrary and sometimes protect from one's own foolish actions. Unfortunately, men didn't function by the rules they gave themselves. That was another painful lesson that homed in. "There are regulations for a reason, oh yes, Mr. Larabee."

And with a determined, grim smile, he reached for the bottle, taking one last swig before screwing it shut and placing it back in the bar. From now on, he'd be playing by their fearless leader's rules, and he'd be damned if he couldn't bring the foolish man back on track.

"You want me to go where?" The steel blue eyes in the man's hard face were ablaze with unhidden anger as he stared at AD Skinner. "You can't be serious!"

"This is just until Agent Larabee has returned to his team," Skinner wasn't intimidated, knowing that the younger agent would sooner or later cave in to reason. "Besides, it's better if you keep a low profile for a while, Agent Doggett."

John Doggett smirked, running a hand through his short, dark hair. He knew when he had lost. Besides, Skinner was right, he had to stay out of the spotlight after the catastrophe in Quicksand Bottoms. "But ATF Denver's Team Seven?"

"They are the best ATF Response Team in the Midwest," the Assistant Director replied slyly.

"I know. I read the record," Doggett growled. "And Agent Standish has a reputation of his own."

"Since when has someone's reputation ever stopped you?" Skinner queried with raised eyebrows.

Special Agent John Doggett only smirked, then sighed in resignation. "When do I leave?"

Vin Tanner stared at the pile of files that he had carried over from Larabee's office with a blank expression. This was the second week of Chris's little 'vacation', and the knowledge that their fearless leader might not return kept tugging at the sniper's brave forefront. Maybe they had pushed Larabee too far this time.

The knowledge made him sad. Chris had never seemed to be the quitter type. On the contrary, up to now, Larabee had mastered everything that was dished at him and Vin admired his friend for this.

But Tanner also was aware of the darkness looming inside the blond team leader. The ugly beast that so often was soul-eating, destroying the very being of a good man had shown its sharp-toothed, horrible visage again and Larabee had promptly reacted, afraid to lose control once more.

Rustling of paper on the desk opposite of his caught Vin's attention and tore him out of his thoughts. Ezra shuffled through the manila folders without much enthusiasm, clearly unable to focus on the paper work. Tanner felt sympathy for the distraught Southerner, seeing as how much Ezra was taking the entire incident to heart. Vin, like the other members of the tight-knit group, had witnessed the changes in the man over the few months that he had been with them. Standish had modified his attitude towards his colleagues from distant and non-caring to tentatively protective. He was no longer a stranger but always had kept the men at arms length, staying a mystery. Only that now the mystery was unraveling, truths shining through that Ezra was no longer able to hide. When had the stubborn, normally so self-assured and arrogant appearing undercover agent begun to understand that he belonged to this team? When had he begun to care? Tension was written clearly on the handsome face, the obvious strain on the Southerner's nerve costume began to show. And Standish wasn't the only one who slowly unraveled, one by one they paid the toll.

The ringing of the phone sliced through the silent bustling of the office, startling Vin from his thoughts. "Tanner... Yes... Yes... But... Just give him a bit longer, you know how Chris is..."

Team Seven's temporary team leader tried to ignore his five colleagues, who gathered around him. Vin's face clouded as he continued to listen to the person on the other end. "Yes, I understand... Yes... Tomorrow already? Yes, Sir."

With a serious expression, he hung up the receiver, needing a few moments to build up the courage needed to relate what he had just learned.

�Well?� It was Josiah who finally broke the spell. �What did the Judge say, Brother Vin?�

The sharpshooter hesitated briefly, then sighed and gave in to the inevitable. �He said Chris�s replacement will arrive tomorrow.�

Realization sank in slowly as the men digested the information.

�Shit,� Buck finally hissed. �Never thought the stubborn mule would go through with it.�

�Who has the misfortune to stand in for our illustrious Mr. Larabee?� Ezra queried, trying in vain to silence the constantly nagging voice in his head that accused �You did this, you did this!�

�Some Special Agent John Doggett, on loan from the FBI.� On Standish�s groan, Vin added: �You know him?�

"Yes." On his team mates' puzzled looks, he continued quietly. "Agent Doggett will certainly exceed your expectations, gentlemen. For all I've heard, he's an excellent member of law enforcement..."

His slight hesitation didn't go unnoticed. Impatiently, Wilmington continued to prod for what Standish kept hiding. "But? C'mon Ez, spill the beans, what's wrong with the man? He stepped on some toes, or what?"

"He's in charge of the X-Files."

"X-Files?" Nathan wanted to know.

"Alien abductions, ghosts, monsters... Weird cases." Ezra whispered, like the existence that department was a shame in itself. "No one sane in their mind wants to get stuck in there."

The other four exchanged doubtful glances. How much worse could this get?

The merciless blearing of his travel alarm clock catapulted John Doggett out of his dreams with shocking brutality. Slightly disorientated, he sat up in his bed, studying the strange room for a fraction, his gaze lingering on a teddy bear dressed up as a cowboy briefly before memory supplied the facts of his location. Doggett had checked in at the Holiday Inn Downtown late in the evening after sharing a bumpy red-eye flight with a group of around forty females of various ages. The ladies obviously belonged to some western show fan club, since they kept on babbling constantly about their favorite characters, stories and other things that he only understood partially. By the time the plane touched down in Denver, the FBI agent knew more about dark clad gunslingers, lean trackers and gamblers than he wished, his head was throbbing badly with a nasty headache and he seriously pondered shooting the girls. Or at least scare them into silence. Instead, he had smiled at them politely and had received the small bear as a farewell present and good luck charm.

John sighed and heaved his aching body out of the unfamiliar hotel bed, hoping that a hot shower would wake his spirits and wits to face the worst team west of Washington D.C.. Luck. Yes, he would need a lot of luck.

To be continued...