Chris watched as his undercover man paced back and forth in the solitaire hospital room on the other side of the one way mirror.

Ezra Standish was limping, one arm wrapped around his cracked ribs. He was bruised and scraped, few minor cuts. Most notably though, mostly because it was why he was in solitaire, was the ugly bump and gash just above and back of his left eye.

"He's lucky to be alive." Nathen mumbled as he came to stand beside Chris. "When the ammo dump blew..." He shook his head, remembering the moment of fear when the world around their teammate had disintegrated, along with most of the bad guys he had been conning, in an earth shaking explosion. "He's lucky to be alive." the medic repeated.

"Lucky?" Chris huffed. "He doesn't remember anything."

"Not exactly true." Buck grumbled. "He remembers that he's one Jefferson Banters, middle man for gun makers and buyers... on the assassin level anyways."

"That isn't memory!" Chris snapped. "That's his undercover identity! That isn't Ez!"

"Don't tell me!" Buck snapped back. "I know who and what Ez is and isn't." He jabbed a finger at the one way mirror looking into Ezra's room. "Tell him!"

Chris stared at his friend. For a moment he considered pounding him into the floor. But, then he would have two agents out of the game.

"He's in a sort of amnesia shock. The facade which he wore when he took the blow that caused the amnesia was easiest for him to retrieve, because it was most recent" Nathen explained. "There's no easy way through this. He needs to come about on his own. You can't rush these things." He threw a glare at Buck, before turning back to Chris. "We need to take it easy. Expose him to who and what he is. Let him explore himself, reconnect."

"What if we just smacked him?" Buck asked, which earned him a glare from the both men this time.

"This isn't the loony toons, Buck!" Nathen complained. He turned so he could give the rascal of the team the full benefit of his glare. "It isn't like you can smack back into place what was smacked out of place! It isn't like it's a loose screw or something.... though, in your case, I'm just not sure! Are you truly insane? Or is this some elaborate ruse to make us all think you're stupider than you really..." He stopped when he heard the door latch behind him. Turning back as Buck stepped up beside him, he watched as Chris walked across the solitaire room to where Ezra stood, watching him wearily. "What is he doing?" Nathen wondered.

"Willie E. Coyote, meet anvil." Buck answered, instantly recognizing that do-or-die look his friend had carried into the room with him. "Prepare to be smacked back into place."

As the tall blond came closer, Jefferson Banters felt a pang in his chest that had absolutely nothing to do with his injuries. It was a most frightening feeling... but, comforting too... somehow.

The blond with his sharp blue eyes reached out toward him.

Banters twisted just enough that the outreached hand missed.

Frowning, the blond pulled back slightly.

There was this hurt look in his eyes that struck Banters deep. He instantly wanted to step forward, assure him somehow. But how? And why?

With a shake of his head, Banters retreated to the safety of his anger, trying to hide away from these confusing thoughts and feelings. "I am requesting an attorney." he growled.

"An attorney?" the blond repeated, still frowning.

"I am well aware of my rights. You can not speak to me without the presence of my attorney." he insisted.

The blond smiled slightly, seemingly understanding. "You're not under arrest, Ezra." he explained, his voice soft, gentle.

Banters frowned this time. "I am Jefferson Banters."

"You are Ezra P. Standish, ATF Special Agent, undercover man for Team seven. My team. You are my man." Almost excitedly, he took a sudden step forward until his body was nearly touching his. "And more." he added in a heated whisper.

"More?" Banters whispered back, staring up into those strong blue eyes. For a moment it was as if his breath had been stolen away. Replaced by a longing, a desire, a feeling...

The blond reached up and ran a finger along his jaw.

Banters jerked back, slamming into the wall. Instantly his ribs screamed in protest, sending wavy of nauseating pain through his torso. His eyes bleared with tears and his knees suddenly felt like butter.

The blond caught him on his way down. "Easy, Ez. It's okay. I got ya." he quickly assured, gently laying him back on the bed. Laying him out, the blond leaned over him, resting his forehead against his. "Easy. Slow, easy breaths." he instructed.

Banters tried to concentrate on slowing his breathing, stopping it, if possible. Anything to keep his ribs from moving!

But, damn it, that man... so close, touching him, sitting on the bed beside him...

"I'm... I'm Jefferson Banters." he gasped.

"No." The blond rubbed a gentle thumb under one eye, wiping away the tear that had escaped. "You are Ezra P. Standish. Jefferson Banters does not exist. You made him up so you could get close to the bad guys. Come on, Ez. You've gotta remember!"

Banters glared up at him. "Juts who the hell is Ezra P. Standish?" he growled, tired of this game. Damn it, he was hurting! He was in trouble! And this clown just wanted to drop this load of crap on him? And why the hell was he so damn close?!

The blond straightened up, but still leaned over him, a hand braced on either side of his shoulders. "Ezra P. Standish, son of Maude Standish. You worked for the FBI for a time. But had a fallin' out. DA Travis recruited you and put you on my team, ATF Team Seven out of Denver Colorado. Your friends are Nathen Jackson, team medic; Josiah Sanchez, profiler; J.D. Dunne, computer hack; Vin Tanner, sharpshooter; Buck Wilmington, wise ass."

"And myself and you?" Banters smirk. "Funny how your Team Seven just happens to have seven men, eh?" His emerald green eyes narrowed. "And who the hell are you supposed to be?"

There was that hurt look again.

Banters' smirk disappeared, replaced by a moment of concern.

"I am Chris Larabee." He leaned down again. "You and I... Damn, Ez, you've gotta remember! I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you. I want you back." He squeezed his own eyes closed. "Please... you've gotta... " His words stuck in his throat when he felt a soft touch, a small hand wrapping around his own.

Chris's eyes slowly opened and he gazed down at the man below him. for a moment, he thought he saw Ezra. But then those green eyes began to fog again.

Ezra was disappearing again, and Banters was returning.

Chris reacted in the only way his desperate mind could think of to capture and keep his Ezra. Dipping his head he kissed him, capturing Ezra's sweet lips with his won, begging his lover to come back to him.

Banters stiffened beneath him, his hands coming up to push at his shoulders, but he stopped short of actually pushing. He could feel himself slipping away, drowning in that kiss and all it brought with it. Panicked, his mind screamed at him to hang on, to fight back, to remember that he was Jefferson... Jefferson...

But, god, those lips, that kiss... security, warmth, caring, hunger, love.

"Chris." he sobbed, his fingers digging into the blonde's shoulders.

Chris pulled back just enough to see his lover's eyes. "Yea, Ez?" he whispered.

Ezra stared up at him with eyes big with fear and confusion. "I... I don't understand..." he whispered with a shaky voice.

Chris smiled. With a sigh heavy with relief, he leaned his forehead against Ezra's. "It's okay. I've got ya."

END