‘Impossible’ means Not yet Done

 

“For, ‘unheard of’ means only it’s undreamt of yet, ‘impossible’ means not yet done.”

Julia Ecklar, “Ladyhawk”

 

 

Subject failed.

Ezra Standish stared at his reflection in the mirror, not feeling the cold of the parquet floor under his bare feet. His image showed a lean, well built man, chestnut hair damp from the shower. Stray rays of early winter sunset altered his silhouette from soft contures to a delicate system of hills and valleys. His toned muscles indicated the regular workouts he was doing. He was in great shape. And still he had failed.

One of the many scars that covered his body, the one that adorned his left knee, caught his attention. Still throbbing and swollen from the overuse during the evaluation a couple of hours ago, Ezra could barely put weight on the joint. The single slug hit he had received during the bust three months ago had torn not only his knee apart but was also was  responsible for the end of his field career. A set of discarded ice packs lay in the middle of the immaculately made bed, next to a fresh set of clothes - well-worn  jeans and a plain shirt, not the expensive suits he usually wore. With a sigh, he got dressed, fidgeting with his stiff left leg. He was immobilized. Ezra could still walk with a limp and flex the joint to a certain degree. Reconstructive surgery had worked a small miracle, but it wasn’t enough.

Subject failed.

He had tried everything, even begging and blackmailing to get this third chance. Everyone had told him that it would be a waste of time, that the injury he’d suffered wouldn’t get any better. Ezra had ignored them.  He had gambled everything on a single high card, and lost dearly.

Subject failed.

Two words in his evaluation report. Ezra had fought for his very dear life on that obstacle course this afternoon and… failed. He had mastered the shooting range just fine, but when he was forced to run and climb, it was more than he could handle. In the end, his uncooperative leg had caused him to get ‘shot’ more times than he could count.He just wasn’t flexible or fast enough any more.

But what was worse was that Ezra had deliberately failed himself. At one point, struggling with a particularly mean obstacle,  realizing that no cheating in the world would help him now, he had suddenly and forcefully comprehended that he was no longer an asset but a burden for his team. It was that very moment that the stubborn fight had left him, extinguished by the simple facts of a reality he couldn’t change, no matter how hard he tried. Ezra gave up; never finished the test, but the failure burned inside him, ate through his very being and homed in on his deepest fears.

Subject failed.

End of line.

He had invited his friends to the Saloon for a little celebration this morning, so sure that he’d pass the evaluation. Now, Ezra had to admit defeat and all he could do was to drown his sorrows in the circle of his co-workers. Turn the page and start a new chapter. He winced, wondering for a moment if it wasn’t just easier to give up altogether. Quit the ATF, catch up with his mother to use his god-given talents and lick his wounds. Taking a headlong dive into self pity didn’t sound like too bad an idea at the time. Wallow in the deep dark pools of morose thoughts and yearn for a purpose.

Subject failed.

Unfit for the job.

 He was useless for Team Seven, useless for any fieldwork. Ezra stifled a laugh and heavily sat down on the rim of his bed. He knew the procedure. He would be transferred into another department and finish his working life behind a desk. The dreadful thoughts that he had tried to wrestle down ever since the fateful bust now broke through the barriers with which he had protected his conscious mind. His entire body tensed with the suddenly unleashed emotions, his stomach churned and his guts appeared to knot into a tight ball. Ezra’s throat tightened, he gasped as breathing seemed to become impossible, almost choking on unshed tears of frustration and desperation. With a lifetime of merciless drill kicking in, Ezra subdued the sob that was threatening to run through his body, painfully aware of his reflection in the mirror. His image stared back at him, looking outright miserable. It jolted the gambler back to reality.

“Ah, hell.” Standish took a few deep breaths to get himself under control. Appearances are everything, he reminded himself, carefully replacing the taunted expression with his best smiling poker face. He felt instantly better. Running away from his problems wouldn’t solve anything; this was a lecture his chosen family had established with vehemence. Ezra had faced worse odds than this and come out in one piece.

Subject failed.

Like hell!

No, he couldn’t possibly just give up. Hell, Chris didn’t give up when they nailed him to the desk a few months ago. Vin didn’t give up when his eyes became so bad that he no longer met the requirements for the post of a sharpshooter. So what right did he, Ezra Standish, ex-undercover agent, have to give up? Just because he felt sorry for himself? No chance in hell. He straightened, got up and made himself presentable for the evening.  He had an appearance to keep up.

 

Chris Larabee sat at the traditional Team Seven table in the Saloon and stared at the half-empty beer mug in front of him. He knew he was early for their little gathering, but then he knew that today wouldn’t be a day for celebrations.

Chris had received the advanced report from Ezra’s evaluation in the afternoon, as expected, Standish was out of field duty. It was sad, but the Southerner would cope with the facts of life.

What bothered Chris more was the conversation he’d had with Josiah. The profiler had been experiencing troubles with his health for some time. Even though he’d tried to keep himself in ship-shape condition, age demanded its toll. The ATF doctors required that he went into early retirement, Sanchez had explained, the risk of staying on the job with his current line of work was too big. They hadn’t even suggested a desk job.

A frown creased the moody team leader’s face as he took a deep swallow from his beer. The big whopper, however, had followed on toe. Personnel wanted to disband Team Seven. The rumors, the dark shadow that hovered over them ever since Larabee had been shot a few months before, ever since Vin had lost his sharpshooter status now manifested into a solid threat. 

And if there was one thing that Chris Larabee hated, it was someone posing a threat to him or the ones he cared about.

How the brass had learned about the news so fast, he wasn’t sure. But they had set the stone in motion and the charismatic team leader knew only too well that the odds were heavily against the survival of Team Seven as a group. Would they continue to be the tight knit family they had become? Larabee smiled. This was something he had little doubt about. For almost ten years they had been fighting crime as one unit. Longer than most other teams he knew. Definitely longer than any of the ATF teams here in Denver.

Chris sighed and studied the wooden structure of the well-worn table, lost in memories and thoughts.

“Mr. Larabee?” Ezra’s voice penetrated the noise of the bar, and Chris turned his attention to his colleague.      

 “Ezra,” Chris tried a smile, but failed miserably. “Take a seat. The others should be here soon.”

“I assume that you already received information about the outcome of my evaluation?” Standish studied his team leader’s expression closely.

Larabee nodded slowly. “Sorry, Ez. I had hoped to spare you this, but…”

“It wasn’t you who failed at obsticle 17,” Ezra grimaced. “I am off the team?”

Again, Chris sighed heavily and ran a hand through his hair. “No, at least not as long as we are still one.”

Ezra’s eyes narrowed. “They want to disband us?! Not because I failed! They can’t do that!”

“They can’t do what?” Buck wanted to know and dragged the soon-to-be father JD behind him.

“Disband the team,” Larabee announced gravely and the smile on Willmington’s face fell.

“Oh,” was all the womaizer managed as he slumbed down on the seat next to his two friends.

“Disband us?” JD frowned. “Ez failed his evaluation again?”

“Yes, he did,” Standish growled, angry at the train of thought the youngest member of the group was following. Not enough that he blamed himself for failing, now the weight of being  responsibility for disbanding the team was put on his shoulders, too. Ezra wasn’t willing to accept that. “You can’t possibly hold me responsible for any decisions the brass makes?”

“No, no, Ez,” JD raised his hands defensively. “It’s just… quite a surprise. I sure thought you’d make it through the tests this time.”

Ezra looked at the younger man and the puppy-eye expression on JD’s face disfused his anger imideately. Damn the kid, but Dunn always managed to turn everything said around and make it sound like a compliment. Standish wondered for a moment where JD had picked up that skill until it dawned to him that his colleague had had his innocence and the world’s best undercover agent as a trainer. It made him smile with a certain pride. This kid - no, this man, he corrected himself, would survive. “No sweat. I’m just a bit touchy right now.”

“Ezra admitting that he’s touchy? What did I miss?” Nathan jovially asked as he and Josiah took seat.

“We are going to be disbanded and Ez failed his evaluation again,” Vin stated gloomingly and completed the round.

Tanner still felt somewhat responsible for Ezra's injury - after all, it had been the new sniper who had accidently shot the Southerner instead of the perp standing next to him. Vin had looked so sheepishly and guilty when the paramedics had gurneyed Ezra away as if it was his own fault that he could no longer fill in the position of a sharpshooter. Tanner's shortsightedness had gradually increased over the years, unnoticed at first since his eyes were unusually good and his brain compensated for the loss of sight. But finally he couldn't deny it any longer, squinting his eyes when he tried to read and showing all the other usual signs. Standish still hadn't fully come to terms with seeing the Texaner with 'nose-cycles', as JD nicknamed the rimless glasses, and even less had Vin getting used to wear them.

Everyone stared at the table for an instant, caught in dull thoughts, until Chris snapped: "It's not written in stone yet. After all, they are thinking about disbanding us since the day we were formed."

"Right," Buck smiled his most winning smile, knowing very well that this time the brass had a realistic chance to split them up. It was only thanks to the Judge's influence that Larabee had been allowed to stay in charge of his team after being limited to his office. And now this... to make things worse, Josiah wasn't up to 100% lately and Wilmington feared that it was more than just the aftereffects of the flu Sanchez had suffered through earlier in the year. "Dunno about you guys, but the brass can kiss my velvet ass."

Standish raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want the lips of Mr. Hanning from personell establish an intimate contact with your derrier, Mr. Wilmington?"

The image broke the tension, laughter erupted from the men.

"Why, Ez, we can't be too choosey nowadays... besides, if I have to endure Mr. Hanning to get to his lovely secretary, I'll gladly bring that sacrifice."

The undercover agent shook his head in mock dispair at his friend's dreamy expression and the rest of the team burst into another fit of laughter. For a moment, Buck wondered if it was laughter born out of sheer desperation. But then, as long as it helped to stop the downward sloop, he'd gladly accept to be the butt of another joke.

Larabee signaled Inez to bring them a new round of beer and the owner of the Saloon arrived with the liquids at their table a few minutes later.

"Brothers," Josiah's bariton raised their attention. "I know that this isn't the best of moments to share more bummer news, but the docs say that I have to go into early retirement soon if I want to see the end of the year alive."

He paused for a second, looking into the shocked faces of Vin, Buck and JD, while Chris and Nathan just nodded sadly in confirmation. Ezra had searched refugee behind his poker face, but Sanchez knew the man well enough to know what was going on behind the mask. "I told them I'd think about it."

"Did you ask if there was anything else you could do for the ATF, something a little less stressy?" Nathan wanted to know, breaking the uneasy silence.

"Well, I could transfer to one of the FBI training facilities and give classes there, or join the research library team." Josiah chuckled. "Now, I'd like the challange of teaching, but that would mean moving away from Denver."

"And the library?" JD asked innocently.

"I'd rather not comment on that option, son," Sanchez grinned and raised his glass. Dunne smiled back, knowing that the profiler would prefer to go down fighting over hiding in the cellars of ATF Denver for the rest of hid work life.

"So you'll leave the team?" Ezra's voice didn't betray what he felt. But these men, his chosen family, they knew him too well not to see what morose thoughts were stuck in the Southerner's brain. Standish might be quick in reacting to any obsticles that life threw into his path and he sure as hell was too stubborn to give up, wielding a sharp tongue and heavy sarcasm to keep everyone at bay. But below all the fighting of a mature man was the soul of a frightened, little boy who had been cheated on happiness, belonging and love once too often. Ezra saw the team slowly breaking apart and with it the fears of losing his family resurfaced.

For Standish, the horror had started the day when Larabee had caught a bullet that had almost cost him his life. Ezra never learned what really happened that day, being knocked out cold by the tear gas the FBI had had the graciousness to use. All he remembered was that one moment he and Chris were posing as arm dealers, the next moment the FBI burst into the scene and all hell broke lose. Rumour had it that the bullet that had hit Chris was courtesy of the FBI, but there was no evidence. Officially, one of the perps had fired the shot and misinformation and lack of communication between the organizations pinned down as origin of the disaster.

But Standish had his own thoughts of who was behind this; unfortunately he couldn't prove anything. Even less any accusations he could have brought up would have helped Larabee in his fight for survival. Ezra recalled the days they had spent in the hospital, the cold hand of fear grasping each team member when the doctors had informed them about their leader's condition. That the current wound in itself wasn't lethal, but together with already existing, healed injuries from previous occasions Chris had been shot, caused problems. He had been on the doorstep of death for almost a week and it was a miracle that he had woken up at all. Standish admired Mary Travis' courage; she had spent most of the time with the team waiting for Larabee to come out of his coma, and after Chris had come around, the two had been inseperable. Not long after he was released from the hospital, they had announced their engagement.

However, Larabee's field career was over, he was limited to coordinate the team from the office and had to stay in the surveilance van during busts, leaving the action and command to Vin or Buck, even Ezra on occasion - just whoever he saw capable of doing the job best. But now? Life wasn't fair and Ezra had thought he knew how to cheat it. Unfortunately, every time he thought he had things under control, it took a turn for the worse and he received another kick in the groin.

"No, I won't leave the team, not as far as I can see it," Josiah smiled, knowing the fears that coursed through the Southerner. "They'll have to carry me out of the office feet first before they get me to resign."

"You sure have a great way with options," Vin hadn't failed to notice the change of expression that flickered over Ezra's face at the profiler's words and he fully understood their undercover agent's feelings. Faced with the option of Sanchez retiring or dying on the job... Tanner groaned inwardly, hoping that Ezra wouldn't retreat like at the beginning of Team Seven's history. But then, this Ezra Standish had learned to trust his friends, hadn't he?

"I won't let them take this team apart." Chris suddenly slammed his fist on the table, turning some heads from the people around and making the rest of his team shriek over the unexpected outburst.

Buck raised his eyebrows. "Whoa there, pard. We're not getting any younger, you know. Maybe it's time to leave the field to fresh agents and look for greener grounds?"

"It can't just end like this!" JD threw up his arms in frustration. "Isn't there anything we can do?"

"I don't think so, Mr. Dunne,” Ezra’s tone almost betrayed how deep he had fallen into the pit of depression at this very moment. “Unfortunately, none of us has the power to turn back time or make things undone.”

“And you just give up? The ‘Magnificent Seven’ just sit here and wallow in self pitty?”

Buck’s face lit up all of a sudden. “The kid is right. We have to do something.”

“Buck, don’t…” Chris cautioned. The magnitude of the changes that were ahead of them was just too great, and fighting against their fate would be as impossible as ordering the ocean to part.

“We are all qualified agents with a considerable field experience, Chris,” Wilmington began, as a plan started to form in his mind. “Heck, we have done more successful busts than half the other teams put together.”

“And that helps us how, Bucklin?” Vin sneered.

“We could pass our experience,” Buck continued, now having the attention of all of his team mates.

“I don’t see your point, Mr. Wilmington,” Ezra rubbed his left knee. The stranous obstical course had cost him more strength than he liked to admit, and despite the ice bags and the painkiller he had used earlier, the knee was aching badly.

Larabee was about to agree with his undercover agent, when he realized that his old friend might have the solutions to their problems. “What do you have in mind, Buck?”

“Well…” the womanizer ran a hand through his thinning, dark hair. “It’s actually something that Josiah said that made me think.”

“Heaven finally listened to my prayers,” Sanchez chuckled and received a dirty look. “So, what rocked your feeble mind so thouroughly away from the topic of females that you start to think?”

“Teaching, Josiah,” Wilmington ignored the barb and beamed with pride. “Think about it: we have more field experience than any other team I know and our success rate is out of the ordinary. That has to be worth something.”

“It ain’t even worth a bonus on our pay cheques,” Nathan grumbled, but he had to admit that there was something to the idea of teaching that he liked. “Even if we could give classes, that would mean we have to transfer to another town.”

“Yeah, and we just bought the house!” JD noded. “Besides, they would still rip the team apart. Next training facility is Omaha, and I don’t think that they could use all seven of us.”

“We could start our own place here in Denver,” Wilmington suggested, knowing very well that this was just a wild goose chase. There was no chance in hell the ATF would finance something like a training camp in Colorado.

 “ATF Training Facility Denver,” Ezra’s southern accent embraced the words as he toyed with the idea. “We could gather the most promising agents from all the agencies, use our very own style training tactics on them to form teams… and sell them to whoever pays best.”

“Aw Ez!” JD threw some peanuts at Standish, who easily ducked away from the attack.

“We could make a fortune!” The undercover agent protested, but his eyes were sparkling with amusement.

“Ez has a point there, you know,” Chris waved Inez to bring them another round. “Money is the key word. And you know that it’s impossible to get any money for new projects nowadays.”

“Then we have to persuade them,” Buck insisted. “If we all bring in our talents… like, JD, you could give our students the fine shine on computer based surveilance. Nate could polish up their first aid knowledge under combat conditions, and I could fill them in on the fine art of establishing contact with the mob.”

He smiled broadly, shooting a sideglance to Standish who almost choked on his beer.

“Now, that I’d like to see,” the undercover agent muttered. “You are aware, of course, that this would be my field of expertise?”

“We could combine our talents,” Buck’s grin reached his ears and Ezra gave him a thoughtful look.

“You know, that might actually work.”

“Really?”

Everyone stared at the Southerner in surprise.

“But of course. First you show them how you would do it,” Standish explaind in a most serious tone. “Then I show them how it’s supposed to be done!”

The group roared with laughter as the sly agent scored against his friend.

“One can always serve as a bad example, eh?” Buck chuckled. He enjoyed trading barbs with Ezra.

“What would you do, Vin?” Dunne wanted to know. “Give them them tips on the best sniping positions?”

“Well,” Tanner shifted uneasily on his chair. “That… and I could teach them how to track.”

“You can track?” Nathan wondered.

“Yes. Learned it as a child, never really stopped practicing. Reckoned I could use it to polish up my record when I lost my qualification as a sharpshooter.” Vin looked at his friends with a mixture of pride and embarressment.

“Tracking it is, then,” Josiah boomed. “I’ll as in my profiler experience and Chris could pass the hints and ideas on how to run a team like this and survive…”

“You mean, how to avoid a nervous breakdown before lunch?” Larabee grimaced. As much as he loved the bunch, they sometimes were a pain in the butt. Especially when they were drunk, or bored. Team Seven was infamous for their pranks.

“Mr. Larabee, I resent that,” Ezra tried to defend their honor.

“Right, make that coffee break. You are slipping lately,” Chris smiled and received an indignified glance from the suave Southerner.

“Just wait till Monday, Chris,” JD muttered, but fortunately for him the team leader either didn’t hear him or pretended to have overheard the remark.

“ATF Training Facility Denver… I really like the sound of it,” Buck probed. “You think we could get it through? That we could milk the money out of the brass?”

A mutual sigh came from his friends. Money, as Chris had pointed out earlier, was the crucial factor and getting it from the ATF administration would be more than just a hard piece of work.

“We have to present it the right way,” Larabee was more enthusiastic than Buck had thought possible. He had swallowed bait, hook and sinker of the hair-brained idea. “If we work this out into a presentable, working concept and get the Judge’s attention…”

“I have pens and paper in my car,” Josiah got up. When he returned a few minutes later and handed out the material,  the rest of the team was already in a hot discussion about the ifs and buts of the TFD, as they had nicknamed their pet project.

Three hours later the idea had taken shape and Chris gathered the sheets of paper. He and Ezra had worked out a detailed layout for a financial solid funding and profit making scheme along with the estimated costs of the project. Josiah and Nathan had laboured over possible subjects, class strengths and philosophies (which in turn had produced defty arguments amongst the team members) while Vin, Buck and JD had thought up a layout plan for the premise with all the buildings and facilities they would need.

Vin had suggested a large outside areal, if possible, and the men had agreed on it; lesser curious watchers and a better training ground to keep the trainees in shape.  JD and Buck had insisted on an indoor swimming pool, an idea which Nathan and Ezra defended wholeheartedly against Chris and Josiah, who thought a pool would blow any budget.  Besides, Chris pointed out, when had they ever needed to swim during a bust?

The argument fell flat when the others reminded him of the case they had solved in Florida, and anyway, swimming was good for stamina.

Of course, Larabee had given his two cents whenever he felt it was needed, cooled down tempers and cut down too high flying plans. But most of the time he had enjoyed just watching his team - his family - work together and come up with something that might change their lives and give them a future. Impossible, maybe. But it could be done. And Moses had parted the Red Sea, hadn’t he?

 “Dunno about you, brothers, but I think we have a solid plan here,” Josiah smiled and there was a glint of hope in his eyes that hadn’t been there at the beginning of the evening. It was reflected in the eyes of the others and that made Chris feel proud. This team would not be disbanded, they would stay together, one way or the other. He silently thanked Buck for being the source of new energy when all seemed to be lost.

“Gentlemen,” Ezra announced importantly. “I present to you the Training Facility Denver.”

Team Seven cheered, raised their glasses and drank on this, even if all that they celebrated was a pile of paper and a crazy thought in their heads.

Standish continued: “This great achievement, like all agency facilities, will need a motto which will represent the spirit of the endeavour for all the world to see.”

“Mmmm…” Chris thought loud. “It should describe what makes Team Seven so special. What we live by. Like, trust, for example.”

“Loyality,” JD and Buck spoke in unison.

“Truth,” Vin suggested in a tone that seemed to come from the bottom of his heart.

“Justice,” Nathan smiled and Josiah nodded in agreement.

“Facta, non verba,” Ezra finished in a most serious voice and on the confused looks of the majority of the men at the table, Josiah translated.

“Deeds, not words.”

“Trust. Loyality. Truth. Justice. - Facta, non verba,” Chris repeated solemnly, like treasuring the moment and making it sacred. From the expressions on his friends’ faces he could tell that they felt the same. This was special for all of them. The bond that had been established so many years ago was boiled down to its essence,  wrapped into words, visible for everyone, for all time.

“I think it is a great motto,” JD announced into the silence at the table and cheerfully raised his glass again. “To the TFD. May it find attention with the right people and live long and prosper.”

“Amen to that, brother Dunne,” Josiah sighed and prayed for a miracle.

 

Ezra Standish was bored out of his mind. He had been deskbound for the past three months, not counting the time before he was officially declard unfit for field duty, and it was driving him nuts. Not that he minded research work per se - he still maintained his many contacts to his informants - but it now were Buck and Vin who carried the load of undercover work, risking their necks every day. And Ezra could do nothing. Not only was he no longer allowed to go in, but his limp had also given him a trademark of sorts and increased the risk of recognition.

At the same time, Larabee was looking for a qualified undercover agent to fill in for Standish. Ezra hoped dearly that it wouldn’t end in another fiasco like with the sharpshooter. The pain he felt in his knee every time he climbed a flight of stairs or went on his walking rounds - he had to give up on the jogging - was a rude reminder of the man’s poor aim. Standish could have sworn that the sniper had hit him on purpose, but why? There was no reason he could see. Maybe it was just his paranoia going rampant… The sharpshooter’s report stated that he had aimed for the perp who had been standing in front of the undercover agent just instants before the shot fell. Internal Investigations had declared it an accident, but Chris still had seen to it that the sniper had been transferred away from the team.

Why Larrabee hadn’t given the man a second chance, Ezra had no clue. Maybe their fearless leader knew something about the sharpshooter that he wanted to keep from the team, or maybe all had changed the moment when Team Seven had begun to mean family to Chris. With a shudder, Ezra wondered if he would have received the benefit of a second chance if the other men had been so close to Larabee like they were now.

No, Standish hoped, there must be more to Chris’ decision than overprotectiveness. He made a mental note to find out what his boss was keeping from them as soon as this case was over. Right now, Buck’s and Vin’s life depended on the accuracy of the information Ezra was providing them with. There was no room for mistakes.

While he flipped through some more old files, making connections about the gunsmuggler’s backgrounds, his thoughts drifted off to the TFD. Sure, it was just a dream, Ezra knew that there was no real chance to get the money out of the brass to kick the project off the ground, but still… It had kept the team exited for a few weeks until routine and the old or newborn fears over the pending disbanding of the team had settled in again. The former undercover agent sighed and absentmindedly rubbed his left knee, wondering if there wasn’t a way to finance an organization like TFD on a private base. A sort of advanced bodyguard training, so to speak. He knew a few people who would be willing to pay for such a service, and the government might have an interest to hire them as teachers, too. It wouldn’t be for the first time, he knew. His own undercover trainer in Quantico had been a retired agent who had started his own little company with a few fellow retired colleagues. Standish decided that he would talk to Chris and the others about it as soon as he had checked out possible investors for the project. That was, of course, after they had finished this godforsaken case and grounded the gunsmugglers for good.

 

Two hours later, Ezra sat together with Chris in the surveilance van. An unexpected turn of events had forced the team into action, and the bust was going downhill. They had to watch helplessly as Buck and Vin tried to arrest the smugglers and got caught in crossfire.

“Where you think you’re going?” Larabee forcefully held back Standish, who had grabbed his kevelar vest and was about to follow the other four of the team and their backup into warehouse. Ezra groaned in dissapointment and muttered curses under his breath but he knew that Chris was right.

“We aren’t even supposed to be here,” Chris said with a voice that was devoid of all feelings and made Standish freeze inside. “We are a liability. Unfit for the field.”

Ezra gave him an angry stare, fighting against instincts that were ingrained. “You expect me to sit here and do nothing while our friends get shot at?”

“We are a liability,” Chris repeated like a mantra, as if he had to persuade himself of this over and over again. “Have you ever thought about what would happen if one of the team gets injured because they have to protect you and me? We are easy targets now, for crying out loud!”

The ex-undercover agent slumped on the seat in the van, swearing his fate in every language he knew and wondering how Larabee had been able to stand through this hell all those months.

Chris rested his hand on Standish’s shoulder. “You did your best in preparing this case. Let the others do their jobs now.”

The others did, but Vin had received a graze from a bullet on his right arm and Nathan sprained his ankle when he dashed for the rescue of his friend, while Josiah had provided them with cover fire. Nothing serious, they would be treated and released, but it had sent a shock through the team. Before, whenever one of them was injured in the line of duty it was considered a work risk, something that could happen to you when you spent your time in the flying bullet zone.

But now, while they waited for the ambulance and watched the backup clear up the mess, nagging insecurity spread in the small group. Was the brass right? Had all the accidents and injuries that had happened to Team Seven lately been a warning that they should leave the battlefield while they were still in one piece?

Ezra looked from one to the other, and what he saw worried him. Despite the successful bust, his friends looked exhausted and defeated, their eyes dull. The sparkle was gone.

“I’m getting too old for this,” Josiah muttered, as if he had heard Standish’s thoughts.
”You know that I almost got a heart attack out there when they shot Vin?”

The ringing of Ezra’s cell phone relieved the others from a reply.

“Standish… I understand, Sir… Yes, Sir.” The ex-undercover agent returned the phone to his pocket.

Chris shot him a query look, something wasn’t right. Ezra was wearing his best poker face and had definitely turned a shade paler. “What’s wrong?”

“Judge Travis requested my appearance in his office at once,” Standish tried to make his voice sound cheerful, but he could feel the cold hand of fear reaching for him. “I’ll join you in the office.”

With that, he turned on his heels and left without another word, leaving behind six puzzled men.

"What was that about?" Buck wondered and looked at Chris, but the dark clad leader just shrugged before he made room for the paramedics.

"Reckon' we find out later."

 

"I want you in Atlanta tonight, Agent Standish," Special Agent Brewer handed him the plane ticket and the transfer papers. "Agent Saunders here will accompany you to your appartment and help you with your luggage. The plane leaves at 18:00 hours and you will be in there. That's an order."

"Yes, Sir." Ezra's mind raced. Recalled to the FBI. What he had feared for ever since he had lost his field qualification had finally happened. Team Seven would be offered the TFD and Ezra was off the team, effective immeadeately. Ezra bit back the urge to laugh at the irony of it all, knowing that there was nothing much that the ATF could do when the FBI wanted him back. Not that there was a chance that anyone would stand up and try to keep a useless agent, not even the Judge could justify this before the brass. He felt Brewer's look penetrating through his protective layers and wished he could just run away from it all. The walls seemed to be closing in, reality lost shape as his mind decided that now would be a good time to kiss good bye to sanity. Back to the FBI... that was as good as a death warrant. He would lose his family again, the only true family he had ever had, his chosen brothers... all lost now. No longer part of the team... recalled... Curse his fate and that damned useless knee of his. He heard the FBI agent telling him good bye, but he didn't really care much for what the man had to say. Face set in stone, feeling numb inside, Ezra Standish wordlessly followed Saunders out of the room and away from Team Seven.

 

Chris Larabee checked the time again and watched Buck and JD arguing over the plans for the next weekend. Next to the two sat Josiah and read one of the many magazines in the waiting room. It had been two hours since they had dropped off Vin and Nathan at the entrance of ER, and still no word from them. Not that the blonde team leader was worried, experience told him that the injuries the two had suffered during the bust weren't serious. But he wanted to get back to the office and find out what was wrong with Ezra. He was startled out of his thoughts when his cell phone rang.

"Larabee... Hi Judge.... No, got them and their supplies. I'd say it was a full success... " He frowned. "Can you give us two hours, Sir?.... No, we're at the hospital... Tanner and Jackson... No, Sir, nothing serious... Yes, Sir, we'll be there... Good bye, Sir."

With a sigh, Larabee stored the phone in his jacket, ignoring the curious glances of the others. This would have to wait until Vin and Nathan returned - then they all would learn that the Judge had called in a meeting to announce the fate of Team Seven. Chris just hoped that the disbanding and the upcoming transfers he knew would happen wouldn't harm their little family too much. They were good men and had gone through too much to deserve being screwed over by the brass.

At least Buck, Vin and JD had a chance to stay together, maybe built the backbone of a new task fore team like Team Seven had been. Larabee knew that the Judge had offered Willmington his own team, but Buck had always declined. Josiah had finally come to terms with going into early retirement, or so Chris hoped. Nathan and himself would probably end up doing a desk job in one of the departments; Jackson had already implied that he might use the time to get his master degree in medicine. As far as Chris himself was concerned, he knew that he wouldn't be able to stand any further busts without being able to throw himself into the action. And Ezra... The undercover agent worried Larabee. He, as well as Ezra, was aware that the only reason that Standish wasn't back at the FBI already was his assignment to Team Seven. Chris had seen the Southerner fighting and ignoring his fears and the unevitable, as if he could prevent things from happening by the sheer power of his will. But with the upcoming end of the team, there was no reason why the ATF should keep an agent without field qualification. Chris had almost gotten a fit when Travis had told him, especiall since the Judge knew what had really happened during those two busts and that the FBI was more involved in both incidents than Standish, or anyone else of his team, would hopefully ever learn. Larabee had come to the decision that their chances for survival would be bigger if the man who was behind the scheme believed that his actions would go unnoticed. But he had informed the Judge about his suspicions, and that he couldn't prove anything so far. And now the brass would allow the FBI to take Standish away from the safety of his family. Who would watch Ezra's back in Atlanta?

 

Flight 756 to Atlanta slowly rolled towards the runway. A few minutes later, the plane took off and headed south. Ezra Standish stared out of the window and watched Denver getting smaller as they gained height. He identified the ATF building and the part of town where he and his friends lived. His heart grew heavy at the thought that this might be the last time that he saw his home, but he knew he had no choice.

After Ezra had overcome the initial shock, Standish had rattled through his options. He knew that he didn't want to return to the FBI, where his reputation would be destroyed by too many old enemies. While he had quickly packed his suitcase under the keen eyes of Agent Saunders, Ezra had formed a plan. He had to contact Chris Larabee. They would find a way to keep him with the TFD in Denver, even if it was as a civil instructor. But then, this might be the perfect opportunity to find out if there was anything to the rumours about the involvement of FBI, and Standish knew that he had to find out who had tried to destroy his family and protect them from any further harm. No matter the costs.

 

Two hours later, a subdued Team Seven - minus Ezra - shuffled into Judge Travis' office, prepared for the worst when they saw several high ranking ATF officials and an FBI representive leave the room. The six men exchanged uneasy glances.

ATF Director Andersson's presence added to the confusion. What was going on? Why had the director made the effort to come here if all that would happen was the disbanding of the team and a couple of transfers? And where was Standish? He hadn't been in their office, and their hope that he was waiting for them here was disappointed.

Larabee shot the Judge a query look and Travis nodded, his face serious. Chris took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Why hadn't the Judge given him a fair warning?

"Gentlemen," Orrin Travis greeted the ATF task force team. He saw the well hidden signs of fear and tension in the men, and a part of him told him that this would be a worthy payback for all the pranks that the men had played on him. "Take a seat, please..."

"You all know Director Anderson?" He continued after the men hadsettled down.

"Sir," Larabee and his team nodded their greetings to the director, and the Judge hoped that this would go smoothly when he saw the expression on Chris' face - the blond team leader was slowly simmering.

"Mr. Larabee, gentlemen," Anderson addressed the men. "I've heard a lot good things about you and your work in the past."

"Thank you, Sir," Chris tried to smile, but his tension was growing with each passing minute.

"Unfortunately, I've also heard some... let's say... unorthodox things about you."

JD thought that the official knew the poker face game at least as good as Ezra. Dunne hat meanwhile come to the conclusion that they either were court martialed and hung by their balls or receive a medal before they would be told that theteam was officially disbanded.

"Sir, unorthodox situations require unorthodoc measures," Larabee stated, unimpressed.

"Well, Agent Larabee, unfortunately for you and your men, Team Seven's fubctional status no longer fits the requirements that the ATF has for a task force team." Anderson watched the tension in the faces of the agents grow, knew that they were expecting the worst. Payback's a bitch, he thought with a smile. This would make up for all the hours he had spent to explain and justify Denver Team Seven's escapades to politicians, inquiry boards, upset citizens and other involved parties. "I'm left with no other choice but to disband this team and assign you to a different department. All of you, apart from Agent Standish, will report in with the ATF Training Facility Denver effectively tomorrow. Agent Larabee, you'll be fully responsible to set up the facility."

"T...training Facility Denver!?" Chris was taken by surprise. Then the full impact of what Anderson had said reached his consciousness. "What about Agent Standish?"

"The FBI recalled him," Travis informed him. "He's already on his way to Atlanta."

The rest of Team Seven was in various states of disbelieve and joy, until they realized what had happened.

"With all due respect, Sir... but I can't accept this. Team Seven includes Agent Standish, and this team will not be functional without him. I won't be available to set up the TFD for you."

"Non of us will, Sir," JD added determinately, and the others nodded. As much as they had dreamed of this, without Ezra, it was an empty victory. "We all know that this is a mighty generous offer, but it won't work. It's all of us, or none."

Anderson's face hardened. The team's motto, deeds not words, was true to the bone. They were standing up for each other, no matter what, and he admired their attitude. These men were the best choice for TFD, but he couldn't allow that they would blackmail him. "Well, Agent Dunne... I would have preferred you and your team mates for the TFD, but you are not the only people who can do the job."

"We will go all, or none of us," Larabee backed up his younger colleague. "And all includes Agent Standish."

Anderson’s eyes narrowed. “You know very well that the agencies can pull back an agent from a task force team like yours at any time, and there is nothing the ATF can do about it. You’ve heard my offer. You and your men either leave it or take it, Agent Larabee.”

Chris shot the director one of his infamous glares, but the man wasn’t impressed at all. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still. Then Chris broke the spell, his voice emotionless.

“If this is the way that you treat a man who has risked his neck for your success statistics, then I don’t want to be part of this.” He reached for his badge and gun, handed them to Anderson and left the office. One by one, the others followed his example.

“What the…” Anderson looked from the assembly of guns and badges in his hands to Travis, who couldn’t supress a smug grin.

“I warned you that this would happen, Frank.”

“Orrin, shut up,” Anderson growled, then sighed. “Plan B?”

“Plan B,” the Judge confirmed and reached for the phone.

 

It was close to midnight when Ezra finally arrived in the hotel the FBI had booked for him. He felt worn out after nearly 5 hours of flight and the events of the day and wanted nothing more but sleep. But sleep was nowhere in reach. Agent Saunders had provided him with a handful of files that concerned the cases Ezra was supposed to work on starting by tomorrow and also informed him about the meeting that would take place at 9am. Ezra sighed, carelessly tossed his shoes off and undressed to take a shower. He enjoyed the feeling of warm water running in little streams over his body and began to relax, closing his eyes. The peace lasted for a few minutes, then a thought let him scramble to attention.

“Damnation!”  Standish groaned. His cell phone. He had switched it off before he entered the plane and forgot to switch in on again after they had reached their destination. Ezra quickly finished his shower, dried himself and wrapped a towel around  his waist.

“Shit,” he muttered. Two messages. Both from Larabee. He listened to the recordings and swore some more. What the hell were those fools doing?

 

At the same time, the remaining members of Team Seven sat in Chris Larabee’s livingroom and contemplated their future.

“I still can’t believe I just quit. Casey will skin me alive when I tell her,” JD sighed.

“Na, she’ll be glad that she doesn’t have to worry about you every time you go on a bust,” Nathan tried to calm his younger friend. “I know that Rain won’t complain.”

“Well, you’re right, especially with the baby coming soon…” Dunne rubbed the back of his head. “But what are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know,” the EMT smirked. “I was so angry over what they did to Ezra that I didn’t think much about that he could quit the FBI at any time and join in with the TFD…”

“Yeah, that was a rush move,” Wilmington reached out for another beer. “But we can’t just crawl back to Director Anderson now. And I bet that Ez won’t be happy to hear that we slammed his escape door shut.”

“Talking about, have you heard anything from our wayward brother?” Josiah asked.

 Chris shook his head. “No, but I left a message on his cell phone. If the flight arrived on schedule, he should be in his hotel by now. I expect his call any minute.”

As if on cue, the phone started ringing, which drew a chuckle from the men.

“Good ol’ Ez… His timing is impeccable,” Vin grinned.

“Yes? Hi Ezra. We were just talking about you. Had a good flight?” Larabee switched the call to speakers.

“The flight was uneventful, Mr. Larabee… “ the tiredness that had creeped into the southern drawl was undeniable.

“Good… you got my message?”

“You all quit?” Ezra queried, as if the message on the voice mail had been a bad joke.

“Chris told Director Anderson it’s all of us or none of us…” JD exclaimed from the background.

“I see,” Standish sighed heavily. So much for his plans. “I assume that everyone’s there?”

“Yes,” Chris confirmed. “We are trying to figure out what to do now.”

“Can’t leave you gentlemen without supervision for a minute, can I?” The Southerner smiled. “I take it that Director Anderson offered you to establish the TFD?”

“He did. How do yo know?” Vin wondered.

“Mrs. Vansen was so kind to inform me about it before Agent Brewer hijacked me,” Ezra explained. Mrs. Vansen was the Judge’s personal secretary and had a soft spot for Team Seven. “Did the director or the judge offer any alternatives?”

“Well, we didn’t really talk about alternatives,” Chris admitted. “He pissed us off and we said no. That’s about it.”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Standish pursed his lips and paced in the hotel room, thinking about possible solutions for the dilemma. It all came back to one thing. “What would you think if we start the TFD on our own?”

“We and what money?” Buck commented wrily, and Ezra had to grin. Wilmington sometimes lacked imagination, something that the Southerner had in abundance.

“Well, we can work freelance for the ATF and the other agencies and give classes. It pays considerably better than if we’d stay with the ATF… and once we have accumulated enough finances, we can buy some acres of land and start building the facility.”

It was silent for a moment on the Denver-side of the line, then the six man started to talk at once. It took Chris a moment to calm down the tempers. “Sounds like a plan to me, Ez.”

“Excellent. I suggest that you try to cut a deal with the Judge, Mr. Larabee… and try to be polite,” Standish heard a groan and laughter and supressed a smile.

“Hey, it’s Chris you are talking about,” Vin’s voice could be heard, followed by a sharp “Shut up, Tanner!”

Ezra’s smile broadened. He missed the team already. But he had to find out who was after him and his friends before he could return to Denver.

 

“Chris,” Judge Travis greeted the blond haired man with a smile and offered him a seat. “Changed your mind about Director Anderson’s offer?”

“Well…” Larabee stretched his long legs and tried to appear as cool as possible. “Yes and no.”

Travis raised his eyebrows. “Can you be a bit more specific?”

“We…uhm… I… erm… Ezra… the guys… Aw, hell!” Chris stumbled over his own tongue when the little speech he had prepared with his friends earlier in the day went downhill like an avalanche. So much for being refined, he thought, took a deep breath and started again. “Judge, the guys and I still want to do TFD, but you know that we can’t just come back and act like if nothing happened.”

Much better. Plain and simple. Larabee watched Travis’ expression carefully, but the look that he received told him clearly that he’d have to do better than this to peacify Director Anderson.

“What you expect me to do? Anderson was quite upset yesterday.” His face was set in stone, years of expirience helped Travis to keep the upper hand in this gamble.

“We reckoned if the ATF sponsors us for a few years, both sides would benefit…” Chris tried to be polite, as Ezra had required, but he hated to beg like this. And the Judge was enjoying this way too much, he could see it in his eyes. “TFD would become an independent training facility, you would still get us to teach, and Director Anderson would have us out of his hair.”

Orrin couldn’t suppress a satisfied smile. “That sounds like a fair deal to me. I have to talk to the director about this, of course. I’ll let you know as soon as I’ve spoken with him.”

“Thanks, Judge…“ Chris was about to get up from the chair when Travis held him back.

“Wait… One more thing… If Agent Standish finds out anything about Morris, keep me updated.”

“Sure. You think he’ll have more success than we had?” Larabee frowned. “Forget what I said, it’s Ezra we are talking about. He’ll find evidence.”

“Yes, but he’s risking his life with digging in the dirt,” the older man sighed. “I think that Morris is covering for someone else.”

“But every information we have points to him,” Team Seven’s leader disagreed.

“Right, but someone’s protecting him. Someone from the top,” Travis was deadly serious. “Just tell him to be careful, Chris.”

“Sure, Orrin,” Larabee smiled. “We’ll keep an eye on him. We’re still a team, you know.”

 

At 10.42 am, one hour fourty-two minutes into the new assignment, Ezra Standish was already bored out of his mind. He had suffered through the meeting, shook hands with his new colleagues and moved into his new office. The room was located in the cellar of the building, a tiny office crammed with all kind of material which made it look more like a storage room than an area where an agent was supposed to work. The biting stench of yellowing paper hung in the air while one of the red-marked pipes gluckered and blubbered rentlessly. Not to mention that the neon light stung in his eyes and gave him a headache.

The other thing that stung and contributed to his headache was the fact that Ezra  now belonged officially to the Department of Miscellaneous Affairs, which told him pretty much about what kind of jobs he was ough to do. His superior was a Special Agent T. S. Adderly, who seemed to have seen better days in the agency, too.

The files Agent Saunders had left for him to study turned out to be trivial cases, which wouldn’t keep Ezra occupied more than a day or two. He sighed. All that was missing now was that the weirdo from the X-Files showed up. Standish grimaced. His team mates would roll on the floor with laughter if they ever found out where he ended up. It was only a small consolation that this would only be temporary. The indignation of being shoved to a cellar office and being limited to twiddling his thumbs! Well, for the sake of his friends and to safe his own precious behind, Ezra decided to endure this sharade. He was an undercover agent, after all. With a grin that let his dimples appear, Standish turned his attention to find the man who shot Chris Larabee.

 

Special Agent Gus Morris hung up the receiver and  smiled. Things had gone quite smoothly, Standish hadn’t even resisted when Morris had forced his return to the FBI or objected about his transfer to one of the cellar departments. The man was broken, his fight had left him, destroyed just like Gus had hoped. And he had made sure that the reputation the suave ex-undercover agent had gained with his many busts was slowly but surely deteriorated by bringing up old and new rumours. No one would back up Ezra Standish, Morris would make sure of that.

However, the even more exiting news was that the rest of Team Seven had quit the ATF.  Rumour had it that Larabee hadn’t been too pleased about what had happened to Standish, and the other men had followed their leader blindly. Gus wasn’t really surprised about this, he was aware that the team always had been more important for that small group than anything the agencies could bait them with. Still, they had made the wrong choices, and they were paying for it dearly now. The Senior Agent smiled satisfied and returned his attention to his computer.

 

Leaning back in his comfortable leather chair, Orrin Travis tried to relax. Plan B had worked out nicely; he knew he could count on Larabee coming to his senses and doing the right thing. Anderson had also been pleased, even though he wasn’t too pleased about the attitude Team Seven had shown him. Those guys had no respect for superiors, he had complained, and Travis had wholeheartedly agreed. Team Seven’s respect had to be earned, it wasn’t just spread like butter on a toast.

The Judge hoped that Agent Standish wouldn’t fare too bad in Atlanta. From what Larabee had told, the sly Southerner was stuck in the Department of Miscellaneous Affairs, and Travis knew the man well enough to know that it must’ve been quite a punch into the stomach. Miscellaneous Affairs handled the cases that no other department felt responsible for, the peanuts, so to speak. But it would give Standish a chance to dig from the inside, giving him access to all systems he needed. And even if the suave agent hadn’t the necessary clearance level to gain all the information that he wanted, he would find a way to finangle it.

 

Three weeks later, six of the seven members of the former Team Seven had gathered at Chris Larabee’s Ranch to hold a meeting. They had agreed on still working with the ATF to spin off their last cases and then take over classes for the local agents until Ezra would return to them. Everyone was okay with this, it helped the men to sharpen their plan of an own venture to perfection. They had focused on certain topics and had managed some progress, but it was a painstaikingly slow process. It was late in the evening, and they had already spent hours in a hot discussion over their further actions. Even Ezra had taken part in it, put on the phone’s speaker and adding his two cents to the plans.

Everyone had noticed how tired the Southerner sounded, but none of the men knew how much their friends was really suffering away from the team. And even if they had asked, Ezra wouldn’t have admitted that the constant arguments over his assignments and the open distrust with which his new colleagues met him were nagging on him. Not to mention that he had run into more than one dead end concerning the reasons for Chris’ injury. It was like facing a brick wall and nothing he tried managed to giv him an opening. It was frustrating.

“I’ll e-mail you the list of places we have looked into so far to set up our temporary office,” Chris explained. “There are two buildings that look promising, but I’d like your okay on it, too. You think that you can make it over here for a weekend?”

In his cellar office, Ezra pulled a face. Sure, Chris, I’d just love to hop on the next plane and be out of here…  “I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Mr. Larabee. I’m quite caught up in following a lead to an urgent case.”

“What urgent cases can you have in Miscellaneous Affairs, Ez?” Wilmington couldn’t stop himself.

“You’d be surprised, Bucklin,” Standish just said, then changed the topic from his work to the TFD. “Have you contacted the estate agent I suggested to look into a suitable property?”

“I called him yesterday,” Nathan answered. “He said he might have something for us, but we have to drop by to set down the details…”

“I saw that really nice place up in the mountains. Some acres, an entire valley,” Vin smiled. “Reckon’ it would be ideal. No one ‘round in miles, just an hours drive away from here, little under two hours from the city…”

“Is it available?” Ezra wanted to know. He trusted Tanner’s instincts when it came to land purchase, the man just seemed to be in tune with the countryside.

“Dunno,” the Texaner admitted. “Wanted to wait for you guys to see it first.”

“We’ll look into it this weekend, Ez,” Chris informed his abscond team member. “What about the financing?”

“I haven’t had a chance to indulge myself into the financial aspects so far…” Standish regrettet. It bothered him that he hadn’t been able to contribute much to the future he and his friends were planning. Instead he was all consumed in what might be nothing but a wild goose chase.

“Take your time, it’s not running away,” Larabee had noticed the trace of dismay in the Southerner’s voice. “We are going with the original plan, so it should stay in the limits you and I calculated.”

“A three store building for classrooms, offices, cafeteria and administration, a building for the gymn with a firing range and an indoor pool under it, another building with a lab and a clinic,” Ezra began to sum up the layout they had agreed upon. “A three store dorm for the students, a tire house and not to forget Hogan’s Alley… Did I forget something?”

“A kindergarten,” JD snatched a bag of chips from Wilmington.

“The wilderness survival track,” Vin grinned.

“A meditation area,” Josiah chuckled.

“A helicopter landing place,” Nathan smiled.

“A padded cell for these nuts here,” Chris suggested, and Ezra could hear the screams of protest. 

“Padded cell it is… I’ll see what I can accomplish. And now, I’m afraid I have to return to my duties, gentlemen,” he laughed, but sobered pretty fast when he heard Larabee’s reply.

“Watch your back, Ezra. Don’t try any stunts there, okay? It’s not worth it.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about, Chris. But I’ll keep an eye open at all times,” was the solemn answer. “Good night, my friends.”

“Good night, Ez!” the men returned, then all they heard was the click of the phone being hung up and the nerve wrecking beep-beep-beep sound of a disconnected call.

 

In Atlanta, Ezra leaned back in his office chair dead tired and wished he was in the bed of the furnished room he had rented for the time of his stay. The huge room in the victorian style villa had reminded him of his home in Denver and he had rented it at once when it became clear that he’d be stuck in the south for more than a few days. Ezra missed Denver dearly, even though he appreciated the warmer climate of Atlanta. He wondered if he should just take the weekend off and fly back home, but the knowledge that he hadn’t found a single piece of evidence made him resist the urge.

Ezra never thought he'd hate Atlanta. Well, actually it wasn't the town he hated, it were his co-workers at the FBI. No matter what he tried, whatever tactic he used, he ran into brick walls and gor rebuffs that smarted. The ex-underccover agent almost began to doubt on his skills and even worse on his instincts. Nothing had shown up that gave even the slightest hint for any FBI conspiracies in Chris' case, but his rentless, carefully formulated  questions in the direction had caused suspicion. Adderly, his superior and a constain pain in his system, had told Ezra in not too uncertain terms of what he thought of this type of behaviour and had relayed the rebuke he had received on the hapless Southerner. Standish had lost even the last bit of respect he had had for the man that moment, wishing once more that he could be with Team Seven. The few weeks he had spent with his old and new employer showed Standish only to vividly what he had left behind in Denver, and the only thing that kept him going was the knowledge that his friends were offering a safe haven he could return to any time he wanted.

Nevertheless, Ezra had no intention to give in so easily. He still had a few aces up his sleeve. At least he hoped that the information he had pried out of Chris Larabee about the reasons why the FBI had intrvened in the bust two years ago would give him the lever to rock the walls that had kept him away from the truth.

 

Nathan Jackson snuggled to his fiance and enjoyed the peaceful moments they spent together. Soon, the peace and quiet would be replaced by a hectic day full of work and most likely full of conflicts as well. While the pieces of the puzzle named TFD were slowly fitting together, the upcoming wedding with Rain was a major challange. Even though the actual wedding date was away several months, she was driving him nuts with the preperations. He sometimes wished he had never agreed on Mary and Rain's idea to make it a double wedding. Have all our friends together, they had said. It's in the spirit of the team, they had insisted. It would save a lot of money, they had claimed. And who saved his poor nerves? Not to mention, that Chris ran around with a mood and an expression like if he was suffering from a serious tooth ache ever since the two women had teamed up. The knowledge that after the wedding things would return to normal didn't do much to comfort Nathan's desperate thoughts.

 

To Be Continued