Ty Diggins and two other burly men sat with Fisher, all looking at the nearing agents. Diggins shoved a chair out with one foot, a nod to Ezra, then Buck. His face went carefully blank when he saw Buck's patch. Guess no one's gonna make another mistake there, even if Gent hadn't cleaned the floor with Ivan.

Buck kept a hand on Ezra's shoulder as the southerner sat in the proffered chair, then pulled out the remaining empty chair and sat, dragging it close to Standish but leaning back and stretching out his long legs. Both men accepted the black steaming mugs of coffee that appeared in front of them in the wake of a passing waitress.

Gent pushed a sheaf of papers towards Standish. "Went over your work again last night. Still looks good. You ready for this?"

Ezra met the hard flat gray eyes and nodded, his own green ones muted and silent. He did not fidget or give any other tells. Instead, he projected a sense of tranquility that really wasn't too challenging with Buck at his side.

Fisher's eyes shifted to Wilmington. "Wilson? These are Coon," Gent nodded toward the red-faced, bearded man sitting squatly at his left, and then nodded toward a large bony man with an Iroquois brush haircut, the exposed scalp completely covered in intricate and colorful tattoos, "and this is Ragger." At the blank look, he added, "They drive the trikes for us. They'll have our samples in their trailers. Once we get to the meet, you let Ezra off, he'll go with me, then circle over to Coon and Ragger and help them put out the samples for show."

Gent's voice left no room for argument but Buck bristled nonetheless. "Don't think so, Gent." He tried to be polite but saw the pale face harden. "I don't leave Ezra."

Gent relaxed. He understood, especially after yesterday. But things were going to go the way he'd planned. He tapped his mug with one finger to the rim. "Buck, Ezra will be with me. I guarantee his safety. And, we won't be out of your sight. Ty will be with me too, and he knows to protect Ez here." With a nod to the smaller man, he sat back and waited.

Ezra didn't wait. He flashed Buck a look of stern discipline that said Buck was out of line. This was his case and he'd handle it his way. "Buck, I trust Gent. You can too. I'll be fine. You go with Coon and Ragger." Underlying the quietly spoken statements was the unmistakable sound, to Buck anyway, of a direct order by the senior agent in the field.

Buck crossed his arms on his chest and lowered his chin, angry but compliant for now. "Sure, Ez. Long as you feel that way." He made sure that it was because of what Ezra said that he was agreeing.

Standish tightened his lips but covered with his coffee cup, thinking with fond exasperation that a protective Wilmington was plenty hard enough to deal with under ordinary circumstances, but once the man decided he loved you, watch out. He drank some of the brew and suppressed the face that wanted to be made at the strong swill.

Ty studied Wilson. The man could be dangerous to them if Ezra got hurt. Wasn't likely to happen but they'd best keep that in mind.

Gent stood up and instantly the room became silent. As if every damn eye in the place had been on him all along, Buck thought resentfully. He was prepared to give his alpha male over to Larabee's and play beta but Fisher was another matter. Then there was Ez. He caught his breath and forced the vivid panic back down inside at the thought of separating from his partner, even if it was only a matter of a few meters.

Fisher didn't speak, just looked once around the large open room, taking in the heavy, potent force at his disposal, then pulled dark sunglasses from a pocket and put them on, his eyes hidden as he tapped Ragger on the shoulder and spoke in a conversational tone. "See you on the road." The others rose and the sound of multiple chairs scraping the old linoleum floor became loud as the rest of the men in the room followed suit.

Buck found himself acting as a shield for his partner as Ezra followed Ragger and Coon's wake toward the back of the room. Fighting the current, as the rest of the men flowed toward the front and the bikes parked outside. They finally got past the wave of men and out the back door into the relatively open and empty space of the rear parking lot.

Buck grabbed his black leather jacket from where he'd left it dangling on one handlebar of his bike. He'd told Ezra before they left that he wanted him to wear a jacket as well. The southerner had looked rebellious for a moment, then sighed and fished a jeans jacket out of his pack and left it, too draped on the bike as they had gone to see the gang in the roadhouse. Now both men shrugged into their jackets before Buck straddled the big machine and rocked it slightly, finding a balance.

Ezra waited until signaled, then nimbly stepped up the mounting peg and onto the king-queen seat behind Buck. He drew a pair of slim, single width sunglasses out of a pocket and on. Buck had already put on his old aviator sunshades and had the motor purring to life. With a smooth, gliding motion, they were off, the kickstand knocked back by Buck's booted foot as they went. He circled the bike and then stabilized it with his feet on the ground as he waited for the trikes to move.

They could hear the heavy roar of the many bikes out front coming to life, then the trikes started moving slowly, in a processional, around the side of the Hot Run and out on to the road, single file. In front of them, Buck could make out Fisher and Diggins on their bikes, riding side by side. He swung his big boy into line and found another biker, thought he recognized Parfey - one of the hackers that had watched Ezra in the office yesterday, moving up beside him. They nodded remotely and then concentrated on staying in position. Two abreast, except for the trike riders, the bikers rolled down the highway, a seemingly unending cavalcade of menace. Black leather, fringes flying, red bandanas and baseball caps, sunglasses and tall black boots, flashy women clinging to the backs of some of the bikes, most of the riders sitting low to the ground, arms and legs akimbo as they stretched comfortably forward to reach pedals and handlebars, the Hawks were on the roll.

The ride lasted nearly an hour, with several switchbacks and secondary roads. Their final approach to the old airfield had the entire gang sprawling out as they left the highway for the runways. Like enraged ants whose anthill had been kicked, they moved in seemingly unplanned chaos, but no collisions resulted and the main players ended up at the hanger as the rest of the gang formed a dark half circle behind them at a distance of nearly 50 meters. It was enough to make anyone nervous Buck thought as the men remained on their bikes, revving engines periodically so that the dark line sounded like a purring, growling, coughing panther coiled to strike. Not far from the truth he decided as he noticed chains, baseball bats, and long batons. No guns were in sight, but that didn't mean they weren't there.

He turned his attention to the waiting cars. Three long limousines, all with tinted windows, were parked in a line beside the open hanger doors. Several men in dark suits stood in the doorway, each had a hand inside his lapel. Armed and dangerous, Buck thought. A table had been set up in front of the hanger and two men sat in folding chairs at the table, comfortably sipping amber liquid from short cut glass tumblers. A stubby bottle of undeniable age sat on the table. There were several other chairs arranged by the table, unoccupied.

Gent dismounted and set his bike on its stand. He didn't remove his shades as he strolled toward the waiting men. Ty looked back and jerked his chin at Ezra. Standish, already off their bike, was standing next to Wilmington, thrumming with subdued excitement. This is what he lived for. He leaned against Buck for just a second before walking away, but never looked at him. Buck stared after Ezra, wishing he was going with him. He knew he couldn't delay his own move or he'd likely provoke something. With a firm grip on his temper and a deadly look around his eyes, he moved over to the trike riders and helped them open the trailer lids. Inside was an array of the weapons from the list he'd seen briefly the day before. He worked with the other two men to set up the display on top of the open trailers, arranging the weapons for viewing.

From a distance, he saw Ez and the others shake hands with the strangers, then sit. Ezra produced his papers and began to speak though Buck couldn't hear it from where he was. He knew, though, that the undercover agent was once more in his element, pushing the barriers as he took control of that meeting, his voice would be like honey, smooth and sweet, he'd be practically purring with those expensive words slipping in sometimes to impress or put down his opponents. He'd be dazzling them but doing it subtly so that he was convincing without being overriding. He'd sit back all humble-like and leave it to them to decide, which they would, exactly the way he'd manipulated them with his skillful conning words. Their little con man was the best in the business. Buck just wished he was closer, to keep the man safe, to cover his back.

The conversation at the isolated table grew intense and Gent leaned in to face off the man in charge on the other side at one point. He held out a hand imperiously and Ezra instantly filled it with a document. A few moments later, he did it again, obviously making his points because the others were sitting back now, shrugging and raising hands in polite signals of surrender. After a few more moments, they all rose and there was a shaking of hands, then they started to walk as a group toward where Buck waited with Coon and Ragger.

Ty and Ezra brought up the rear and stepped to the side, once the group reached the temporary 'gun show' display. The customers, seen up close, looked central European, one even looked like a mix of Asian and gypsy. Damn, they're Chechens, Buck thought unnerved despite himself as he recognized the generalized features and characteristics of that dangerous people. Renegades from the Russian oppression of their former Soviet state. He'd heard that they were as bad as the Sicilians, maybe worse because the Italians had some sense of grace and honor, these men bred from a race of savage, brutal tribes that used force for persuasion. Yet these men dressed well, were clean-shaven and reserved. But Buck eyed them cautiously. He could tell that Ezra was strung up tight, nearly walking on his toes, even if his face was perfectly blank and passive. Not good.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

"Alright, now, tell me, what was wrong today?" Buck sat on what had become their narrow bed, holding Ezra against his chest as the man sat between his legs, their legs stretched out in front of then down the length of the bed. Ezra had been very quiet since their return. It was time to get him to open up. They had the bust to face tomorrow and it wouldn't be a good idea to go in with one of the team worried. And, Buck seemed to be able to read Ezra now like never in the past, or maybe Ezra just wasn't hiding from him anymore, hard to tell. When the southerner shifted within his arms but didn't immediately answer, Buck kissed the soft, newly cleaned curly head and hugged. "Was a long day," he offered.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

They'd eaten in the Hot Run with the members of the gang that were staying. Many had gone on to a longer ride and a rally with several gangs in the next county. Gent and Ty were coming back to the Hot Run and Buck and Ezra stayed tight with them. There had been a short meeting at Fisher's table and then Ezra, accompanied by Buck, had gone to the little office cabin to work, Kelly the secretary already there. Between the two of them, they'd set up the transfer of weapons, made tentative assignments and organized the transport - two old diesel trucks with big flat beds and tarp covered box tops. The gang had used the trucks before, on loan from one of the members' families, a rundown shipping company.

Gent had been pleased with the negotiations, having the research that Ezra Schiller had done as his lever, he'd forced up the price on the sales. Buck Wilson, the ex-Seal had also impressed his buyers who were speaking chopped and sometimes garbled English, with what sounded like heavy Slavic accents. He didn't particularly care about the buyers, so long as the money came in. And it would be nearly double what they'd made on the last sale. Yeah, Schiller and Wilson were turning out to be well worth losing Ivan. And Ty was a good second.

Buck had stayed out of the way at the office, but taken charge when he and Ezra accompanied Ty to the old converted hanger out back. There, with Ezra's documents and bills of lading prepared, he'd organized the bikers that were doing the work and gotten the payloads onto the central floor for inspection and packing. With Ezra holding a clipboard, Ty and Buck had done a final inventory, calling out to Ezra who'd written down everything without comment. The packing took a little longer and then, they were free for the evening. The deal would go down the next day, noon, at the same old airstrip. This time they'd use the abandoned hanger there to do the trade. The buyers would have their own transport and once money changed hands, some of the Hawks bikers would assist off loading from their trucks and packing the buyers.'

Both men had felt the need to retreat and take a breather. They knew that Vin had probably been by that morning though they hadn't seen him. Wilmington worried as he watched Ezra diligently prepare the drop packet with the information about the deal going down the next day. The man was as complete as he could be, using onionskin paper and indelible ink, folding the entire message into a tiny compressed wad that was then wrapped in plastic and covered in duct tape. A bit of blue toothpick stuck out from under the tape. Something about his quiet intensity kept Buck alert, though Ezra had yet to say anything about his concerns. Buck, who'd been dutifully chewing a huge wad of gum, accepted the packet and left, while Ezra went into their bathroom for a much needed and desired shower.

Ezra waited until the bathroom door closed before finally letting himself give in to the shakes. The meet had gone well but he did not like the buyers. The men were evil, he'd felt it. That they couldn't be trusted was a given as far as he was concerned but Fisher and Diggins didn't seem to pick up the same vibes as Standish. Ezra stepped into the tub shower and scrubbed vigorously, getting out the dust and sweat of the day. Maybe he was just anxious to get the bust over with. He didn't think he could face too many more days among these savages. The one saving grace was Buck Wilmington's companionship. The man had showed a whole new side as the day had progressed yesterday. And he'd been there before, for Ezra when he'd had the break up with Tony Borgo of Team 4. Ezra had always been very careful not to look in his own backyard for an off-duty partner, and the seven were his backyard. So, even though he'd found several of his friends attractive, Buck among them, he'd not looked that way. Now, Buck had come to him. Ezra scrubbed at his face and then ducked under the showerhead to wash his hair. Buck had been supportive and protective. But, he'd crossed the line and apparently intended to stay on the other side now. He wants me. Ezra smiled. He loves me. Ezra shook his head, then dug his fingers into his scalp as he massaged it deeply. And, I love him. It was so easy, he's easy to love. Big, beautiful man, intelligent, courageous, talented, loyal, protective, and possessive (Ezra shivered delightedly at that thought), and he loves ME.

Wandering about near the mechanic's garage, Buck had struck up a conversation with Chuck who quickly began to like the lanky garrulous biker. They'd started talking Navy, since it turned out Chuck had served in the engine room of a destroyer, while Buck had been on some as a Seal. After a bit, Buck shifted uncomfortably and asked to use the restroom. Chuck tossed him the key on a long wooden stick and Buck left to make the drop. With the gum he'd been chewing, he made a sticky wad to clump with their package, and the whole thing stuck to the underside of the sink pipe, the bit of blue toothpick barely visible as it stuck out as a signal arm. Buck rearmed himself with another stick of gum, distastefully swallowing the sweet taste of the initial bites, and returned to his new chum, Chuck. They shot the breeze for another half-hour, Buck helping to change sparkplugs on an old Chevy pickup. Vin's jeep showed up as Buck was wiping his hands on one of Chuck's rags. No missing that stuttering chop of that muffler and then Vin's colorful curses. Chuck grinned at Wilmington and told him about the high country cowboy with the beat-up jeep. Together they strolled out to find Vin already had the hood up on the jeep and was pulling the oil dipstick out.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Buck increased the pressure lightly on the hug. "Vin will take back the message. He picked it up, he gave me the high sign. Chris will have everyone in position tomorrow. The bust will go down and we'll be outta here."

Ezra sighed. Buck felt it more than heard it. "Come on, Pard, tell me."

Ezra twisted around and lay on top of Buck's chest. Buck cooperatively slid down a bit on the pillows supporting him against the bed. Folding his hands under his chin on Buck's chest, Ezra peered into deep dark blue eyes. Even though they were both fully clothed, it felt so good to lie like this. So good. Buck's long arms were comfortably surrounding him and the warmth in those blue eyes was for him, but so was the concern. "Just a feeling." Ezra rubbed his pelvis against Buck's, feeling the answering heat and hardness. His lips quirked in a self-mocking smile, "Not that one, though that does feel good."

Buck remained quiet. Ez was finally talking to him. 'Bout time. He waited as Ezra's face smoothed out again and he relaxed completely on top of the bigger man, clearly trusting Buck to keep him from falling.

Lazy green eyes blinked slowly and then hardened. "I sensed evil, Buck. Those men, the Chechens. They went through the motions of bargaining. Seemed to convince Gent and Ty but I could feel it, the total lack of morals. More than any group we've ever taken down. Those men don't care about life. Tomorrow," he paused and rubbed his chin against the hard sternum of Buck's heavy chest, "Tomorrow won't go the way the Hawks are expecting. I just know it."

"Did you say anything in the message to Chris?" Buck spoke slowly now, taking his cue from Ezra and feeling a cold knot begin to form in his belly, dowsing the fire that had been building further south.

Ezra nodded, face still serious. "Yes. I told him that he better be ready for a firefight because I think that's what's going to happen."

Buck suddenly crushed Ezra against him. "You won't be wearing a vest."

"We won't." Ezra corrected him, green eyes glowing with a protectiveness all his own.

"So, we drop and roll when the shit hits. Get out of the way, fast. This time, Gent is not gonna get me to leave your side, that's final Ez." Buck knew he sounded grim, almost angry. Defiant.

"No, I don't want you far from me. We'll have to watch each other's back. Be ready."

With another change in expression, Ezra went from foreboding undercover agent to purposefully playful partner. A small smile bloomed and he hooked his hands over Buck's wide shoulders and pulled himself bodily up Buck's body until his face hovered over Wilmington's. "Hi."

Buck squirmed further down the mattress so that he lay flat, only his head still propped up slightly on the pillows. He recognized what Ezra was doing. They'd talked out their fears, made what plans they could. Now, like gladiators of old, they'd celebrate life tonight, for tomorrow they might die. He shuddered and clenched at the thought of Ezra bloody and lifeless at his feet on that dusty ground. No, not gonna think about it, Ezra's right. This is for now. For us. He smiled up into the green eyes that had started to revert to serious when Buck did not immediately respond. "Hi yourself."

Laughter warmed those green eyes and Buck's smile widened as the answering one grew broad enough to produce dimples and a good tooth. Damn, Ezra was down right adorable when he flashed that patented smile of his full wattage. Buck licked his lips.

Ezra just gripped those wonderful shoulders tighter and lowered his mouth to Buck's welcoming one. Lips met and power surged through them, incredible heat and passion. One of Buck's hands came swiftly up to capture the back of Ezra's head and hold him there in the mind-numbing kiss, while his other slid down to grasp one perfect ass cheek and massage it with deep pressure from long muscular fingers. Ezra moaned into the big man's mouth, his own hands now ruthlessly shoving slender fingers, claw like, through Buck's dark mass of shiny silk hair.

Buck grunted and began to rub his hard on against the nearest thigh, feeling Ezra do the same against his belly. Both men began to thrust, fast and hard, all the while chewing on each other's mouths, tongues battling for entrance, teeth clashing as lips were pushed back by the ferocity of their sudden heat. Facing death on the morrow, they clung to each other's lives with an intensity that numbed the mind and scraped raw the nerves. Crying out a keening sound, Ezra hunched up, his shaft pumping his thick cream into his shorts inside his jeans. Buck's answering roar as he pulsed mightily upward against that sweet pressure of thigh was nearly deafening. Each man's cry had been the other's name.

<><><><><><><><><><>

Ezra woke up still snuggled tightly in Buck's arms. He'd slipped off the bigger man and was lying close against him. He took a deep, peaceful breath and smiled into the other's face, blowing lightly across that mustache that Ezra was beginning to think of as HIS mustache. Private property. His smile broadened and he tucked his head in close to Buck's so he could lick and tickle his lover -- yes! lover! -- with his tongue. Heaven is here on earth, I just found it. The southerner blew again and licked at those generous lips that had been so consuming just a while ago. Well, actually, he wasn't sure how long ago. It was dark outside, he could tell even with the cabin windows' drapes drawn. He remembered coming explosively with Buck following right behind, then collapsing on Buck's chest and closing his eyes as those lovely long arms returned to wrap comfortingly around him. Buck's nose twitched and his mustached upper lip quirked.

Ezra settled back down to watch, like a predator waiting for his prey to leave the safety of a warren. Eyelids trembled. Ezra stared unblinkingly at those covers over his sweetheart's lovely blue eyes. Then, said lovely blue eyes opened and stared straight up at the ceiling. "Hot damn!" Buck's quiet words were clearly heartfelt. Then the midnight blues were slanting over to see Ezra lying beside him and those delicious arms were pulling tighter and hugging him nearly breathless. "Ezra, baby, I ain't ever come like that and I didn't even get my pants off!" Ezra smiled seductively and batted his eyes, knowing the greens were glowing with erotic pleasure at that moment. "SHIT!" Buck was up, kneeling on the bed, dragging Ezra beneath him in an instant. Then the big man dropped to all fours above the southerner and hung over him, face suspended mere inches from Ezra's. "You, Ezra P. Standish, are intoxicating. Addictive. Wicked, baby, pure-D wicked." Buck lowered his head and caught the smiling lips, kissing them thoroughly. He raised his head again and released Ezra's lips briefly. "God help me when I get you home."

Green eyes turned sultry, lids half-lowered so a dark fringe of lashes added lace to the effect. "Why wait?"

Buck sighed and stole another, gentler kiss, then toppled to the side and pulled Ezra close, never losing eye contact. "Ez, this is not the place where I want to make love to you for the first time."

"Too late."

"Ezra. We kinda exploded there, I'll give you that, but I mean the slow, sweet kind of loving that lasts for hours and will have you begging for more. That first time kind of loving."

Ezra melted inside. Dear, sweet, gentle, kind Buck. HIS Buck. Wanted to make love, not have sex. Oh, god, what happened that I got this gift? I've never been good enough to deserve someone like this. What's the catch? How do I keep him? Can I keep him?

Panic began to flare in the soft green eyes as Buck watched with affection. Oh, oh. Now what? He was beginning to get a feel for Ezra P. The man couldn't enjoy anything without looking for the trap, the price, the con. He's worried about us. "Ezra. This isn't going away. I'm not going away. I've never felt like this before, but I recognize the signs. This is the forever kind of love. You hear me? No questions, no worries. We face the world together and if it don't like it, it can take a damn hike."

The panic had seeped away, leaving amusement and love behind. "Buck, if the world takes 'a hike,' where will we be?"

"You, Erza P., will be right here, in my arms where you belong. From now on, consider that the ONLY place to be."

"Might get a bit awkward at times." Ezra brought up a hand to toy with the mustache hairs, his new fascination.

"Never you fear, we'll just make it look natural." Buck stuck out his tongue and licked the fingers playing with his lip hairs.

"I can just see us in your truck or my Jag, you in the seat, me in your lap, as we try to drive like a double scoop of ice cream in a single scoop cup."

"Add a little heat, baby, and the ice cream will melt into the new shape." Buck was playing and loving it. He loved that Ezra was so smart, that they could tease each other like this and not stumble. This is what I been missin' my whole life. This is what Chris has with Vin, had with Sarah. Oh, my god, this is -- is -- his mind blanked out, unable to think of anything good enough to compare the feeling to.

Ezra leaned in for another kiss and then murmured into Buck's opening mouth, "Buck? Please, let's make love tonight?"

Buck kissed the moving lips and then pushed up, holding Ezra as he tugged them up to a sitting position on the twin bed. "Ezra." He held the man close, tucking Ezra's head down against his chest so that Ezra would be able to hear his heart beating. "Bad things happened in this room." He felt the smaller man stiffen and begin to pull away. He held on tightly. "I love you too much to make this our special place. Tonight, I just want to hold you close, listen to the beating of your heart, know that you are alive and that I am in love with you and that you love me too." He felt the other relax again and loosened his hold.

Ezra looked up and sighed with resignation. "Okay. But, Buck, you have to understand, you've already erased all the bad memories and replaced them with our time together. That is what I will walk away remembering, Mr. Wilmington."

Buck grabbed Ezra's head and pulled it close to plant a kiss on top. "Damn, Ezra, you make me so happy. We are going to have a great life!"

Settling in for a cuddle, since that was all that Buck was going to allow tonight, Ezra smiled and replied. "A most excellent life."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Chris looked around the conference table grimly. "Doesn't sound good. Ezra has a feeling."

"A feeling?" JD looked surprised. "He told you that?"

"Yeah. He did. And, to answer your question before you ask it, he never has feelings, or if he does, he doesn't tell me about them."

"So, brothers, this is very serious."

"And they won't have vests on." Vin's cool voice was distant, worried.

Nathan sat forward. "What back up do we have?"

Chris nodded. "Team 6 and Team 4 will go in with us."

Jackson frowned. "Team 4?" He looked seriously at Larabee. "Chris, Borgo is still on that team."

Larabee sat back and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I know. I already had a word with Tom. We'll make sure they stay apart."

Everyone knew Tom Nelson, Team 4's team leader, but JD and Josiah were mystified by the exchange. "Is there something more we need to know, brother Chris?"

Frowning, Larabee shook his head slowly. "Ezra and Tony Borgo, the Team 4 sharpshooter have a history. Not a good one."

"We will see that they don't renew it then," Josiah concluded placidly, firmly.

Chris nodded. "Now, we have point on this. We'll be there early, 5 am tomorrow." He waited but there were no complaints. "Vin will be high, but I need you, Nate, and you, Josiah to be low and close. You are going to carry teflar dropcloths with you. I want those boys covered at the first sound of a gunshot." The men nodded, one of those heavy bulletproof 'dropcloths' would work even better than a vest since it effectively covered everything, not just a torso. Getting it over the endangered duo might not be easy though. They were probably going to be in the center of things. The two big agents looked at each other, silent promises of commitment were exchanged. They would protect their brothers.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

Borgo settled into his spot, up in the second tier of rafters, not high under the roof like 7's Tanner, but a good spot. He settled his scope and began making adjustments for where they'd all decided the main players would be setting up. At the moment, the huge empty hanger was just that, empty, except for ATF agents who were quickly becoming invisible. Borgo was good, probably one of the best sharpshooters in the ATF, not just the Denver office. Unfortunately for Tony Borgo, Vin Tanner was better. A lot better. Tanner always walked away from competitions in first place. Never even anyone close. Borgo usually snared second, or third in the nationals, but Tanner damn near walked on water.

Just Tony's luck that Tanner and he would work out of the same office and so Tony was always second banana. He fiddled with his extra ammo case and adjusted his nightscope and nightvision goggles. It was so dark in the old building that even though it would be brilliant daylight outside, to guarantee success, the distance shooters were using night equipment, it was standard operating procedure. He cricked his neck to look up. There was Tanner, backing into position on a crossbeam, his back must be scraping the damn roof. Any shots from up there were gonna be damn near impossible - for anyone else. Tanner would make them seem like a cake-walk.

Larabee made a final visual in the old hanger. He was hunkering down near a pile of immoveable old junk from long forgotten aircraft. Propellers, engine parts and complete wheels, with rotting rubber tires still in place. Yep, everyone was hidden. He knew that Josiah and Nathan were lying under their teflar blankets, which acted like camouflage on this grungy floor, as close to the center of the room as they could get and not get run over by one of the trucks they were expecting. Both men would switch to the trucks for better cover, once the vehicles were inside.

JD was tucked in a side corner beyond the huge hanging, doors that had long since rusted into a permanently slid open position. He had his scanning gear up and ready, had planted tiny cameras throughout to catch all the action and was barricaded behind some old sheet metal with Carter from Team 6. The two hackers would keep everything under surveillance and make sure all evidence was untampered for later hearings. Chris was itching to get this over. He just wanted his men back and this bust history.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The Chechens were already there, their truck, a huge semi, parked nose pointing outward, in the middle of the hanger. About ten men in dark clothing, all carrying weapons, stood around waiting when the bikers arrived with their two old transports. Ty was in one of the cabs with that truck's driver. Gent drove right in on his cycle, with Ezra and Buck beside him. Several others followed, all parking their bikes haphazardly in a half-circle facing the buyers. A table was again set up, a lone briefcase occupied the top. Outside, Buck spotted three closed, dark limousines parked. Each had a man, likely the driver, standing beside it, all wearing darkglasses and holding what looked like automatics. Though he couldn't see them, Buck knew that ATF agents, likely in desert camouflage, were dug in around the perimeter, ready to emerge like rabbits from their holes.

The big trucks' motors filled the empty building with echo and roar, making it hard to think, the bikes' rumbles adding to the cacophony. Then Gent stepped from his, turning off his engine. The other bikers followed suit. Guns blossomed in hands everywhere, but more for show than anything. They wouldn't look unarmed in the face of their buyers' weaponry. The fact that this was quickly looking to turn into a face-off made Ezra's sense of dread increase as he clung momentarily to the warm back of Buck Wilmington, then they too were dismounting. Ezra moved forward to stand by Gent, holding the bills of lading documents ready to offer him when the trade began. Buck had walked up close behind Ezra and stood there, not touching, just being a protective wall. He eyed the moving men in dark clothing and felt that cold knot in his stomach return.

The two men who had done the talking the day before now stood closer to the table, waiting. Gent turned and gave a sign to his drivers and both trucks fell silent. The lack of noise was suddenly deafening after the continuous roar of sound. The click of Fisher's steel-toed boots on the old cement floor was loud. The men facing him watched Fisher approach the table, Ezra at his elbow. Ezra could see that they were planning something, something not good. He could read their faces and body language though he doubted that Gent Fisher had caught on yet. Both men took deliberate steps back from the table and Ezra knew what was going to happen. "Gent!" His scream and leap were nearly buried in the sudden explosion of the briefcase. He'd already tackled the gang leader to the ground, though and the shrapnel whizzed overhead. "BUCK!" Oh, god, Buck! Ezra released the shocked man beneath him and careless of harm to himself, half-rose to turn and check on Wilmington. With the explosion, the rest of the Chechens had begun firing, mowing down most of the unprepared bikers. The truck drivers and Ty Diggins ducked and slid from their cabs, returning fire.

In nearly slow motion, Buck saw Ezra tense and then leap towards Fisher, screaming. He dropped straight down, not sure what was wrong but trusting Ezra. The explosion blasted over his head too, the epicenter only a meter over the closest men's heads as the case on the table disintegrated. He lifted his head as the rattle and bang and phutting of small arms fire began to fill the air. Staying low he turned in time to see Ezra raise up, calling his name and looking panicked. "Ezra, get down, damn it!" His yell went unheard as the ATF agents began to pour their own fire into the mix. And then Ezra jerked forward and fell beside Fisher. Buck, who'd been mere feet from his partner, tried to get to his feet, go to him. But as he pushed up, a stray bullet shoved him hard in the back and then two huge forms were atop him, smothering him in a heavy, cold blanket. "Ezra!" His cry of despair was muffled by the hand forcing his head down and under the blanket. The pain now radiating from his back keeping him still even though he fought with all his might to keep conscious, to try to move, to get to Ezra. Oh, baby, hold on. The team will get to you. Things went gray for Buck Wilmington.

Ezra stumbled back down as a bullet nicked his shoulder, throwing it out and leaving a crease filling with blood up high near the ball of the socket. Buck, where is Buck? He tried to twist around to see behind himself. Then Gent was beside him, grabbing him and yanking hard. "Stay down, Schiller! I've got you. Come on!" Fisher, kept an arm under Ezra's, unknowing that he was dragging at a dislocated shoulder, only seeing the blood. Gent knew they had to get out of here now or they never would. He could see Ty snaking over towards them, belly to the ground, his smooth black hair tied back and shining in the light of the gun explosions going on over their heads. Ty held an automatic in one fist, slightly raised off the ground. Fisher dragged Schiller with him, the man seemed to resist but Gent didn't have time for that, and despite everything, he'd given his word to Wilson, who was probably dead by now, that he'd protect Ezra. Fisher didn't give his word easily. "Stop fighting me, shit, Ezra, come on!" He viciously jerked at the arm beneath his hands and the struggling body went limp. He climbed up over it, checking for a pulse. Still alive. There's blood, but he's alive, so he's coming with us.

Ty had pushed other bodies aside and was leading the way out, under one of the trucks and through a hidey hole that they'd long ago discovered and kept secret. It was good to know other ways out of a place. The old roadster that was parked under a tarp, behind heaps of refuse, was untouched. Fisher tossed the limp form of Schiller in the narrow back seat and dropped in to the passenger seat as Ty slid up and into the driver's side. Gent dragged his hand under the dash and opened a hidden compartment, removing the key and tossing it to Diggins. With a roar, the fleet little speedster flared to life and took off, zero to eighty in less than a minute, leaving the disaster behind. A few bikers swung in behind, making an escort. Not as many as Fisher would have liked. Well, that went well, he thought angrily. Lost the goods. Lost the money, if there ever was any. Lost a lot of men. Lost bikes. Lost my bike. Damn, I liked that bike.

Ezra was shaken awake by the vibration of the vehicle he rode in as it passed over badly cracked and potholed secondary highway. The roar of bikes close by only added to his confusion. What had happened? He remembered the hanger, the Chechen, the exploding briefcase. He remembered touching Buck as he got off their bike, feeling him at his back as they walked toward the meet. He remembered the gunshots and the hit on his shoulder shoving it out of alignment. Fisher, dragging him away from Buck. Buck? Where was Buck? "Buck!" His hoarse cry was heard in the front seat and Ty and Gent exchanged glances before Gent turned and leaned over the seat to put a hand on Ezra who was coming around and looked pretty ragged. "Take it easy, Ezra. We got away. Going to go lay low for a bit. We got our own doc on call, we'll see you get fixed up. Just lay quiet."

But Ezra looked up, green eyes hollow and full of impending grief. "Buck? Where's Buck?"

Gent shook his head. "He didn't make it, sorry Ezra."

<><><><><><><><><><>

"Get me outta here!" Buck's muffled yell had Nathan and Josiah peeling back the teflar blanket from their charge. Wilmington emerged fighting mad, bleeding badly from his left shoulder blade area, eyes rolling wildly as he took in the area, looking for his partner. "Ezra!" He spun on his knees to confront Nathan Jackson. The EMT was just trying to get a closer look at Wilmington's wound and fell back on his rear at the sudden movements. "Where's Ezra?" Buck was trying and failing to climb to his feet, slipping in his own blood on the old cement. "NATHAN! Ezra was hit! WHERE THE HELL IS HE?" By now, Buck had surged across the short distance between them and had a two-fisted throttle grip on the EMT, shaking him just under the chin as he roared.

Heavy hands clamped down on Buck's arms from behind and dragged him away from Jackson. "Easy, Buck. We don't know where Ezra went. We're checking right now." Josiah's words didn't help.

Buck twisted his neck, trying to see 360 and his body jerkily responded, following his head around awkwardly as he cried out, "EZRA!!!!" The name sounded like a howl of pain from Wilmington, drawing out on the last vowel in hopeless fear.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Tony's hands were shaking. He hadn't meant to hit him. He'd been aiming at the gang leader who was coming off the floor after Ezra. Standish hadn't seen his danger, seemed to be searching for his partner, Wilmington. Tony was covering for him. That's all. Everything had been so quiet, then Ezra started acting crazy, leaping on the leader and shoving him on the ground. The explosion was almost an anticlimax to Borgo who'd been desperately trying to keep the bad guy in his sights. The flash, the other man rising, Ezra pushing free and twisting, Tony had fired, sure of his shot. And missed. Missed the gang leader and hit Ezra Standish. His recently discarded lover. Oh shit, no one would ever believe it was an accident.

He packed up as he prepared to descend from the rafters. His only chance was that Ezra had left with the bad guys. Two of the bikers, the leader and an Native American - looking man, had snatched up Standish and dragged him away through a narrow, nearly invisible opening in a side wall while the gun battle still raged. From his perch, he'd seen them do it. He doubted anyone else had. And, he wasn't gonna help them find Standish's body with his bullet in it. No way. Borgo sat back on the I-beam for a moment, thinking hard. In fact, if Standish was never found, or only found after the bullet was out and lost, then he'd never have to answer questions about the shot that failed. 'Cause some might think it hadn't, failed that is. Pressing his lips together firmly, his mind was already racing on how he could get clear and begin to search, on his own. No way to tell Jerry about this, he'd squeal.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Ezra collapsed back in the tiny rear seat and closed his eyes, his heart racing and his mind shutting down in sheer pain, an emotional storm such as he hadn't faced since early childhood, before he'd learned to deal with the life the fates had handed him. Buck was gone. His Buck was gone. They'd barely become an 'us' and now it was over and that dear, sweet man was gone. Dropping his head to his knees, ignoring the dislocated shoulder and blood still running freely down his arm, he began to cry quietly, his hands gripping his shins, fingers digging into his calves, bruising, drawing blood through the denim as he tried to contain himself. A hand came down on his head, a gentle, understanding one. Nothing was said, but Ezra drew strength from the touch. He couldn't stop the gnawing pain in his chest, gouging into his soul, eviscerating him. He fought for one breath, then another, sucking in air that was mostly water from his tears that streamed down his face now, faster than the blood down his arm. Unaware, he rubbed furiously at his face with a blood-drenched jacket sleeve, the scarlet smears left behind mixing with the salty tears. His teeth hurt from gritting them, from biting down on screams of denial that wanted to fight clear of this throat, a throat that felt scraped raw by the mere intention. Vaguely, he knew this was grief.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The area of the gun battle was slowly becoming organized, lit by the red and blue flashing lights of multiple ambulances and police cars, an ATF van and a variety of unmarked cars. The small explosion of the brief case had mowed a swath of men down among the bikers, now all being treated for shrapnel wounds, some for bullet wounds as well, and one for an unexplained knife wound. The Chechen were mostly dead, not giving in until downed for a final time. The sheer murderous intent of those foreign gangsters was giving Larabee goose bumps. He didn't want to think that he was having to deal with such moral turpitude. It was nearly beyond comprehension, like dealing with rabid dogs.

He caught a glimpse of Buck sitting on the floor of an open emergency vehicle, framed by the truck's open back doors, his feet flat on the ground as he balanced on the bumper and retracted ramp. He was shaking his head angrily, but letting two medics work on his shoulder. Chris had checked earlier. Buck had been lucky, the bullet went through with minimal bone damage, just a nicked shoulder blade and rib on the way out, missing, by miracle, any major internal damage. Nathan and Josiah had lost sight of Ezra as the gun battle pitched to higher intensity, just as they got to Wilmington and got him protected with one of the teflar dropcloths. He'd fought them distracting them enough that they now couldn't say what became of their undercover agent. Everyone agreed they'd seen him take a hit, even Buck who'd been closest.

Larabee took a careful look around. Teams 4 and 6 were doing mop up now, dragging the dead to one side, in the shade, until mortuary trucks could arrive. The living, prisoners and wounded, were being treated or shackled. Two county jail trucks pulled up as he completed his circle. It just didn't feel right. And, the deal had never gone down. Because the Chechen had done a pre-emptive strike, they could only pin the bikers with weapons possession, not sales. The paper work that Erza had mentioned in his message was no where to be found, nor was the gang leader, Gent Fisher. The Hawks were a closed mouthed unholy crew, refusing even to give their names, openly defiant, demanding lawyers. Chris wanted to punch a wall just now. Instead he lowered his head, bull-like and inhaled deeply, putting himself into control again. He had a missing man, wounded, and another wounded man who looked to be tipping over into psycho for some unknown reason. Nathan and Josiah would have to be reined in soon, they were prowling tigers, pouncing on bikers and rattling their brains, demanding information and then dropping them like empties and moving on. So far, as an interrogation technique it was not successful, but they probably felt real good. Someone needed to, so Chris decided to let them keep on going for now. At least until someone noticed and mentioned those hateful words, police brutality.

He knew JD was gathering back up his equipment and would be putting it in their own now delivered van, helped by Carter of Team 6. Once he was packed, he could start checking over the tapes, maybe give them something to go on, for Ezra.

Just as Larabee was about to join the other two team leaders and some police officials, Vin appeared quietly at his elbow. "Something not right, cowboy."

"Just one thing?" The bitterness in Chris' voice wasn't lost on Tanner.

"Tony Borgo's gone missing."

Chris looked up sharply into the knowing blue eyes of his lover. "SHIT. FUCK. DAMNATION!" Larabee ran a few steps and delivered a running drop kick to a Chechen corpse that had not yet been removed. The body rolled up slightly then sagged back down. Breathing out raggedly, his head back down between his shoulders, he thrust his hands like twin spades, into his back pockets. Turning back to look at Vin, he asked harshly, in a grating whisper, "You think --?"

"Don't know, Chris, only know, Tony is gone." Tanner looked on in sympathy, he'd learned from Larabee a bit about what Ezra had put up with while a companion to Borgo. The split was by far the best thing that could have happened to Ezra apparently, but Chris knew a lot he hadn't said. Vin hadn't pushed, figured it was Ezra's privacy at stake and he respected that, and Chris for protecting it. Now, though, something was wrong and Chris might know something that might help. Or, he might not. But he trusted Larabee to do the right thing. He always did. Once he got his temper under control.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Gent had kept his hand on Ezra's head the rest of the ride, providing awkward comfort to the smaller man. The short time he'd seen them together, it was clear that they were a real couple, not just fooling around, they were life partners. He might not swing that way, but he knew some who did and knew how rare that could be. This man was grieving just as a man who lost his wife might.

Ty sawed the wheel over as the roadster roared in through the open double doors of the old barn. The ramshackle horse farm was long since abandoned and when the Hawks found it on an excursion, they marked it as an emergency hide out. The bikers still with them, drove in as well, two running back to drag the doors shut. Then they all waited, listening. Police helicopters were common for bikers to deal with and these men knew that the sooner they were undercover the better their chances of remaining hidden.

Pulling his arm back around front, Gent stepped free of the cockpit of the roadster on the passenger side and looked over his men, the mantle of leadership falling back over his shoulders naturally. Before he broke away from the small vehicle, he met his second's eyes and conveyed an order silently, with a glance toward the back seat and the form huddled, shaking, there. Ty nodded somberly and climbed out, walking the few steps back to stand beside Schiller's seat. Gent turned away then, and moved to stand where his men could gather around.

Ty looked down at the shattered heap and felt a twinge of sympathy. He'd had a young wife once. The woman had been killed in a hit and run collision when they'd been out biking up north, before he'd left the Dakotas. Since she was tribal, the police had done little. Ty still carried his anger and grief deep inside. He leaned over and simply slid arms under the small man's legs and around his back and lifted, finding the sodden bundle lighter than he'd expected. Real little guy, he thought wondering why he'd never really thought that about Schiller, until now. Lifting higher, he got the man tipped back against his chest and made his way toward the stables in the back of the barn. Walking into a box stall, he lowered Schiller on to a pile of mildewing straw. Ezra instantly curled back up into a ball, face hidden, shaking with soundless, endless tears, uncaring of who witnessed them. Squatting next to the broken soul, Ty gripped the uninjured shoulder. "Ezra. You gotta stop. This ain't gonna bring him back. Nothing will. He'd want you to be strong for him, wouldn't he?" Somehow, the words came out easily, the same ones the medicine woman had said to him those years ago. The crying slowed and Ty stroked the arm. "I'm gonna leave you for a few minutes. I'll get you something for the blood, help you get cleaned up some. You just wait here."

Ezra sagged against the ground. He really didn't care. Not about anything. Or, he hadn't. Until Ty spoke. The wisdom of the sparse words flicked at his conscience. He couldn't give up, Buck would kick his ass. He still had a job to do. At least, he thought he did. Somehow, Gent and Ty had gotten away from that debacle, along with at least some of the bikers. Was it possible that they actually had gotten away scot-free? His flickering intelligence came flowing back, pointing out that he himself still held the incriminating papers that had never passed from Fisher to the Chechen. The deal had never been completed, hell the deal had never been inaugurated, because those crazy Russians had ambushed the sellers, the Hawks. Could even consider the Hawks victims, oh my god, this bust is really bust.

He hoped the rest of the team had come through safely. He'd not seen any of them, but then there'd been no time from when he'd spotted the trick briefcase and the buyers' real intentions and the explosion and his own injury, then Buck was hit and then things just went dark. He rubbed at his eyes with the heel and back of his right hand, unable to use his left just now, the shoulder separation preventing him from doing anything with that arm. He struggled to sit up and took in great, sucking breaths, sniffling up his still latent tears unshed. Right. He had a job to do. Then, when it was over, he would go away. That seemed to soothe him. He'd find Buck in the next world if not in this one. But, before he left, he'd do his job, because Buck would expect him to. Ezra leaned back against the uneven planking and ignored his reddened cheeks and eyes, running nose, and gory shoulder, and waited.

<><><><><><><><><><><>

The flickering computer screens that JD had hauled into the conference room were all running at once, each one showing a different view of the bust, from ATF arrival 'til the mop up operations were completed. The team members were taking turns watching the different screens with remote controls in hand, taking notes, looking for something, anything to tell them what had gone wrong, where Ezra was, and even, why Borgo had disappeared.

Buck had been dragged off to a hospital, cursing and protesting, with Nathan Jackson along to keep him from hurting one of the paramedics. Larabee's last words were, "Knock him out if you have to, that's an order, Nate."

The emergency room doctor had cleaned and dressed the wound entry and exit and put Buck on antibiotics and a few other assorted drugs to assist healing and fight pain, and assigned him a room. Buck had simply stared at the man, nodded slowly and stood. Granted he'd swayed a bit, but he'd grabbed hold of the gurney and held on. Jackson, who made the mistake of getting too close, became Buck's ticket out. He'd latched onto the EMT and hissed in his ear. Jackson had sighed and nodded and apologized to the doctor and nurses, then put an arm under Buck's shoulder and around his back and helped him walk out of the hospital. They'd taken a cab to the offices.

"What did he say to you?" Larabee wanted to know as he studied his pale friend across the conference table. Buck was staring with fixed attention at the screen JD had set up for him.

Jackson scrubbed a hand down his face and half-lowered his eyelids as he answered, humor in his voice. "Said he'd throw a hissy fit if I didn't help him get out right then. Said only thing that'd stop him would be a straight jacket and men in white suits, and if he saw any of those, he'd shoot first and ask questions later. Figured it was safer to just bring him back." Nathan shook his head as he too turned to study their friend and teammate. "Something going on there, Chris. Never remember seeing Buck this way before, not even that time that JD went missing for half a day."

Chris nodded. Buck was acting strange. He couldn't quite identify what it reminded him of but the desperation was coming off the man in waves, that and fear.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"This is Doc Mason, Ezra." Ty was squatting next to the injured man again in the back box stall. "He's ready to take a look at your arm."

"Shoulder." Ezra didn't have time for more words than it took to say a thing in plain short syllables. "Dislocated again. Happens. Bullet crease, too."

He'd stopped rocking at the entrance of the other men, but started up again now. Staring straight ahead, not making any further remarks. The medic looked over at Diggins with questions clear in his eyes, but Ty simply shrugged and moved over to give the doctor room to work.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Tony had hitched a ride with one of the ambulances, convincing the paramedics that the victims they were transporting had to be watched for violence. Since he still had his black ATF windbreaker on, they believed him. Once at the hospital, he simply faded away.

Tony had some private snitches from his days on the police force. He had never turned them or shared them. Mostly he didn't use them anymore but he still held some interesting items over their heads. He'd always believed blackmail worked better than bribes, cheaper too.

He hit paydirt on his third call. Skinny Roger knew the Hawks and could probably find out where they'd slunk off to, to hide out. He promised to call back and did, within the hour. Now Borgo, armed with an assault rife from the evidence lock up and his own rifle, plus several hand guns, was driving a bike he'd hotwired from in front of a Seven-Eleven. He really didn't care and he had on leather gloves and a full shield helmet. He was any-man. He was invisible. He followed the narrow bridle trail on his dirt bike, up through several scenic valleys as the trail circled back to arrive at the old ranch by a back door in the wilderness that bordered the property.

The place looked deserted, but at ground level, he could see that the soil was churned up with tire tracks, mostly single inline tracks. That meant bikes. Big bikes. The tracks ended abruptly at closed double doors. Borgo hid his bike at the edge of the property then found a good spot to set up surveillance and his shot. He really only needed one. Then, he'd 'lose' the evidence. And, goodbye Ezra.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Buck watched again as Ezra was hit and fell, saw himself pulled down by Sanchez and Jackson, who, struggling with him, didn't see as Fisher and Diggins grabbed Ezra's arms and hauled him bodily away. He switched to the third tape. There. He could see them slip through an overlooked exit, nothing more than some missing pieces of siding near the ground. He switched to the fifth tape and watched Tony Borgo slither to the ground and fast talk his way onto an ambulance. And apparently disappear. Tom Nelson, Team 4 leader was furious. Borgo hadn't said a thing, just vanished. Chris had had a few private words with Jerry Ortega, 4's profiler, and Ezra's replacement in Borgo's 'affections.' But Ortega was shocked and confused by his partner's behavior and could offer no explanation. Chris had believed him.

The screen went blank. End tape. Buck reached for the remote, but two firm hands came down on his shoulders and pulled him away, turning him in the swivel chair to face his oldest friend. "Buck. Talk to me." Larabee sat back on top of the conference table, and let his legs swing, trying to look non-threatening. He knew his old friend too well to try that route. Whatever was going on inside Wilmington, Buck would have to decide freely to tell him or it wouldn't get said.

Buck looked around the room. It was empty except for the two of them. He vaguely remembered the rest of the team finishing up and leaving, heading for their telephones or the streets, out to dig up where the remnants of the Hawks could be hiding. By now they all knew about Tony Borgo's relationship with Ezra and the fact that Borgo had slipped away from the scene of the bust, right after Ezra had been dragged out by the gang leaders.

He looked back up into neutral hazel eyes and wrung his hands as he slumped in his chair, hunched over like an old man. "Ezra and me, we came to an understanding."

One eyebrow went up. Curiosity entered the greeny-brown eyes of his friend who remained quiet, listening. Buck looked at the floor. "Know this is hard to believe, was hard for me too, but I fell. Like a ton of bricks."

The other eyebrow joined the first one. Enlightenment colored the eyes greener, making Buck, who'd looked up, even lonelier for a different set of soft, clear green eyes. "You and Ez?"

Buck nodded wordlessly. His butt slid forward as he let his long legs droop and his back hit the chair-back, eliciting a small grunt of pain for the offended shoulder. Now it was his turn to wait.

"Awful fast, wasn't it? Only been a few days since you even knew he was gay. And you've never --"

Buck held up one hand wearily. "Chris. This ain't like that. This isn't me, not Buck the romancer, this is ME, Buck. In love. And you know me. This is the first time for me."

Chris slid off the table and sank into the chair beside Buck, laying one hand on the nearest leg. "Love, huh?" Buck nodded. "Well," Chris said patting the leg beneath his hand, "That does change things a bit. Explains you going near crazy out there."

Buck tried to look up but suddenly his eyes were swimming in unshed tears. "Chris, I promised him I'd look out for him, stay close. You don't know all that happened. And, even with all of the shit, Ezra, he loves me back. It was fast, I know it. But always heard there could be that kind of love. You know, love at first sight?"

Chris wasn't sure that either of the men really knew themselves and each other well enough for what Buck was describing but right now was not the time to debate it. At least it explained Buck the Berserker. "So, you want to tell me all that happened that I don't know about?"

Buck bit his lip and chewed on it. "First day there. We separated. Seemed to have a lead on the case worth following. Everything seemed fine. One hour." Buck looked up at his oldest friend, tears now openly streaming down his face, ignored. "He was gang-banged."

"SHIT." Larabee shot to his feet. "And you're just now telling me this?"

Wilmington hung his head. "No way to tell you sooner. Ezra wrote the only message we got out, didn't want to put it on paper." He rubbed his kneecaps and shifted his chair slightly back, away from the now stalking Larabee.

"Was he hurt?"

"Not badly. No blood. Said he was used to rough handling, was okay." Buck sounded nervous. Had he really pushed Ezra, checked him enough. He'd become so enamored with the man that he lost track of what was important. Oh, no.

"Did you two --?"

"No." Buck sat up. "I told him no, not until we got home. Wanted him safe first, outta there, that place." The revulsion in his voice carried clearly.

"You know he's gonna need blood tests after that? A doctor needs to look at him, too. Dammit, Buck, you know our Ezra! He'd hide a missing leg, say he'd picked up a pebble in his shoe that made him limp."

Buck nodded slowly. "Yeah. Just everything happened so fast. Chris, we have to get him back. I need him. I don't think I can live if he --"

Chris looked sharply at his old friend. The sincerity and the despair in those words, in that tone, told him the man was dead serious. They'd lose two, not one, if they lost Ezra.

Both men looked up at a knock on the door. Vin stood in the frame, knuckles still poised above the doorjamb. "Think we found them."

<><><><><><><><><><><>

When Team Seven went into action, it was time to get out of their way. And when one of their own was missing and they were on a rescue mission, it was best to flee the area. JD was hauling his notebook PC and various bits of surveillance equipment into a pile on his desk as everyone buckled into their vests. Buck had swooped down on him, hastily making sure the nearly oblivious hacker was protected, strapping tight the Velcro fastenings. Seeing the amount of stuff JD was organizing, he silently took up several heavier things and headed out to the elevators. The rest caught up with him, just as the elevator arrived.

Josiah passed out miniature mikes and earpieces and Nathan began fitting them on Buck and JD who both had their arms full. Vin was shoving an extra automatic into his waistband at the back, his rifle and scope on his shoulder hanging by a chest strap. Chris was fidgeting with his keys and watching Buck, worried that the man might go off on them and get Standish hurt in the process. Wilmington's dark blue eyes met his with a crackle of tension and understanding. No, the deadly flat look of Buck's smoothed out face and the determination in his eyes would see him through. Buck at his worst - and best - was deadly. This case had awaked that Buck.

Chris had his Ram up and moving with Tanner and Jackson jammed in the cab within moments of hitting the garage. Josiah had grabbed the driver's seat of their surveillance van, leaving JD and Buck to sort through the equipment they'd brought in the back. The van dipped out onto the highway with a jounce, right behind the big black king-cab pickup.

Having already activated their communications equipment, the men didn't have to bother with their cell phones just now. Mostly it was silent, but everyone was listening as Vin explained what they'd found out. A gang as big as the Hawks simply couldn't keep secrets as well as they thought. The backcountry abandoned ranch was pinpointed and a terrain map was being spread on Tanner's knees and he and Jackson peered over the routes and discussed options. It would be nearly an hour before they were close enough to worry about approaches and a lot was to be said for getting the lay of the land before charging in. They'd just have to be as prepared as they could be, and then see what they found.

Larabee flipped shut his cell phone and glanced over at his passengers. They'd had to have heard every word, but no one was commenting, nor had he heard anything from the rest of the team in the van. He'd just finished talking with Nelson of Team 4 and McGuire of Team 6. They'd need back up and it made sense to use the same two teams. Both men had heard the urgency and would have their teams on the way in minutes, but they'd still be nearly 30 minutes behind Larabee's Team 7.

JD sighed and settled into one of the two captain's chairs in the back of the van, his array of equipment hooked into the existing modules permanently fixed in the vehicle. There was something he'd seen, in one of the tapes, it was bugging him and he was very much afraid of what he'd thought he was seeing. Blithely unaware of Buck's new alliance with Standish, he nudged his friend who was sitting in the other seat, brooding over his long barrel Magnum. "Buck, take a look at this tape, will ya."

Wilmington looked up and leaned forward. He'd been watching JD's tapes of the bust almost continuously for hours now, but he immediately recognized that he hadn't seen this particular one. "What angle is that anyway?"

"I put a couple up high, to get the angles of the sharpshooters, wanted to make sure we got everything." JD fussed with controls, bringing the resolution into sharper focus. They were looking over an ATF agent's shoulder, identified by the black windbreaker with bold yellow reflective letters. Below, on the ground at a middle distance, Buck could see himself, Ezra, and the gang leaders walking towards that damn briefcase on the folding table. He was looking right into Ezra's face. Gent was at his side, moving slightly ahead, reaching out.

Then Ezra clearly saw or heard something. Alarm painted his face and his mouth came open in a shout as he leapt forward to drop Fisher to the ground. Buck saw himself duplicate the action within a heartbeat. And a white flash filled the screen. It quickly cleared and the agent just below the camera was seen bringing his long gun up to his shoulder, a beefy, heavy shoulder, the dark hair a give away. "Borgo." Buck whispered as he felt as if he was peering down the scope with the man. There was a slight twitch in reaction in the shoulder as the shot was made and Ezra was jerking and falling to the ground. Gunfire was breaking out everywhere as evidenced by the flashes popping on screen and off, he saw himself take a hit, saw Josiah and Nate running forward, low and flinging him down, covering him with the tarp. Ignoring the struggle that he'd seen from so many angles already, his eyes remained glued on his partner who was trying to rise again. Gent was there and out of nowhere, Ty appeared, slithering along the ground. The two men took Ezra by the arms and dragged him toward the sidewall. From here, Buck could see them shake Standish and saw him collapse, unconscious. They hauled him through an opening in the wall and were gone. Just as Buck was about to tell JD to rewind, there was more action in the foreground as the sharpshooter turned into the camera, blocking the view to the ground. He evidently didn't see the camera. Tony's face was drained of color and his hands were trembling as he broke down his weapon, kept glancing over his shoulder, his face a picture of guilt. He knows what he did. Not sure he did it on purpose but he knows what he did. He shot Ezra. A new decision clearly reached, Borgo's face was revealing as he lumbered out of sight of the camera, ignoring the dying gun battle.

"There. Did I imagine that, or did --?" JD was too caught up in his discovery to realize just what he was doing to his friend.

"Tony shot him." Buck gripped his weapon and hate began to fill his very essence. A terrible, vengeful anger swelled and blacked out reason. The man was going to die. He'll never hurt my Ezra again. Then a shaft of pure terror cut through his dark ramblings. Oh, god, what if he's found them too? If we could, he could. He'll want to finish it now, figure a way to get rid of the incriminating bullets or he was a dead man. Oh, he WAS a dead man, just didn't know it yet. "CHRIS!"

Larabee flinched at the shout in his earphone. "Buck, calm down. What is it?"

"JD's last tape. We just watched it. Shows Tony Borgo shooting Ezra."

Larabee hissed in dismay. They didn't need this. They did NOT need this. "You sure."

JD's voice came over, before Buck could answer. "Yeah, it's real clear in the angle of this tape."

"Alright." Chris' mind was whirling. "That means he's likely to turn up at the ranch too. So, we watch our backs as well as our targets."

Vin looked up and met Larabee's eyes. They both remembered their earlier conversation. Tanner had said then that something was not right, just couldn't put a finger on it. Both nodded and returned to their tasks. Tanner would take care of Borgo. Unless Buck got to him first.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

The shoulder had been reduced and the shallow bullet path cleaned and patched, didn't even need stitches. Ezra was back in control at last. He hadn't been able to get past the thought of Buck's death, so now he simply put it aside and blindly ignored it. He would take it out and examine it later, after he helped get this mess straightened out. He wasn't quite sure why Gent and Ty were being so solicitous but he didn't fight them. He had to get out of here. Back to Team 7, report out, close the case. The shambles of a case. His fingers worried at the sheaf of wrinkled, blood and sweat soaked papers that had been shoved in his denim jacket during the chaos of the deal gone sour, even before the bust. He could almost hear the cries of "ATF!" in his memories. The team had been there. They would be taking care of Buck. He froze and shut that door again. Not now. NOT NOW. He hitched himself up to a standing position and found that while a bit wobbly, he could move.

Gent stared at the glowing Coleman lantern that lit the center of the barn, then looked around at the faces of his remaining men. Time to move on. He'd seen the feds crawling out of the woodworks at that catastrophe he'd thought was a deal in the making. Too many dead or caught for the Hawks to fly here anymore. Those with family ties would be left behind, the rest of them were for the road. Ty came to sit beside him. "South?"

Fisher nodded. "Arizona highways always sounded nice to me."

"Got cousins." Ty offered ambiguously.

"Set it up when we get there."

Ty looked back over his shoulder towards the back of the barn. Ezra Schiller was slowly walking up the narrow aisle between the stalls there. "What about Ezra?" Diggins scratched his chin. "Not sure he really belongs."

Gent shook his head slowly. "Made a promise to Wilson." He too turned to watch the smaller man approach.

Ezra carefully lowered himself down on to a convenient bale of straw near Fisher. "Gent." He cleared his throat and looked down at his free hand, the other bound to his chest to support his injured shoulder. "I guess I owe you some thanks for getting me out of there, getting me fixed up."

Swimming green eyes looked up, but within the emeralds emotion was dead. They were like twin ponds of opaqueness, telling nothing. He continued. "The deal was never made." He looked away and then back. "You didn't sell anything. Only get you on possession, and they'll have a hard time proving it." With steady hands, he withdrew the packet of papers, the bills of lading. "Destroy these. They are the only evidence of intent that could hurt you."

Fisher accepted the papers and handed them on to Ty with a nod. The Lakotan rose to his feet and headed for the front of the barn, where on bare concrete the bikers had a small campfire started, many huddled there for warmth in the dank interior of the empty shell of a building. Gent turned back to Ezra. "Thanks, Ezra. That's a help." He paused. "You want to come with us? We're gonna head south. No way we can stay here now."

Standish shook his head and did something he'd never before done in his life. He told the absolute truth and didn't care. "Gent, I'm not a biker. Never was. Buck and I, we were partners. Undercover."

Fisher stiffened. "Undercover?" he whispered in disbelief.

Standish, not even looking at the man he'd grown to respect, nodded. "ATF."

"Oh, Christ's blood!" Fisher sat back looking stunned. Then he took in the defeated look of the man in front of him, the utter despair and flat tone of voice, giving nothing away. "But, you're giving me stuff that could put us away for a long time."

"You tried to help us, you kept a promise." Ezra shrugged. "In this world, nothing else really matters, does it?" His eyes, still blank, rose to meet the flat gray ones of the gang leader.

"No, guess it doesn't." Gent answered in a whisper.

<><><><><><><><><><><><>

Ezra straightened on his bale of straw, and wheeled his focus to the front of the barn, then back to Fisher. "Gent, you, Ty, and the others, you need to get out now. If you know about this place, then it is known to others that you do. You have little time left, maybe none." Ezra ran a hand through his hair, shoving it back impatiently with his free hand. "Hell, it may already be too late." He tried to stand and swayed dangerously, then Fisher was up too and holding his arm in support. "Did you think to put out pickets?"

At the look of surprise and awareness in those gray eyes, Ezra shook his head. "I do my homework, Gent. I know you're former Green Beret. But lately, you haven't really been applying your skills too carefully." He sighed. "No pickets?"

Gent shook his head wordlessly. This man in front of him was a world of surprises just now and he was reeling still from the shock of having his gang infiltrated by the ATF, by two agents no less. He'd been so completely taken in that he still had trouble believing it. He looked sharply at Ezra, needing to know. "You and Buck?"

"Real."

"You would have busted me and the Hawks?"

"Yes."

"But not now?"

"Now I don't give a rat's ass for anything." Ezra lifted his head slightly. "You could start over. Take a different path."

Gent tilted his head to one side, studying the man in front of him. He paid a heavy price for being undercover, shit, he hadn't even said anything about what happened with Ivan. Like it didn't matter. Gent closed his eyes and stood silently for one beat, then two. He opened his eyes again and met Ezra's without speaking. Then he turned away and was walking fast and raising his voice to be heard without shouting.

"We mount up now. Rye, Poker, Solly, Scutz, Bixby. I want to know if anyone is waiting for us outside. Go out low and find them. Ty, make sure all the bikes are ready. I need one. Someone's gonna have to ride double or be willing to take the car. Same for Ty."

There was a shuffling among the remaining bikers and they worked out who would do what. The five that Fisher sent out were already gone, sliding out side and back doors and a broken window. Ty had finished burning the papers and was kicking over the fire, stomping on it, as the two bikes for the leaders were rolled forward.

Fisher was still giving orders. "Everyone is armed and ready. Don't fire unless you need to. Nothing crazy. We are going south. Getting out of this state now. What we don't have with us is gone. We'll figure out where we're going when we get there. As of now, the Hawks are no more." He stopped and swung in a circle, meeting each man's eyes. "We are the Cowboys from now on. Ain't fancy but will do."

Ty stood up from his task at the now smoldering fire. "Speak for yourself, 'cowboy,' ain't so sure I like that moniker." The Native American grinned, his blue-black eyes flashing with mocking humor.

"It'll get us outta this state. We can negotiate a new 'moniker' in the next one." Gent grinned back, suddenly feeling reckless and happy like he hadn't in years. They'd be on the road again, easy riders with no strings. A life he'd wanted when he first got out and started on a bike, and now, after years of being mired down in the sub-culture of the biker gangs, would try for again. "Let's get ready. We wait for the others to get back, Frank, Jipson, cover the doors."

Those two men sidled up to the big barn doors and peered out the wide cracks between the rough planks of the huge doors, looking alert.

Everything now in motion, Gent turned and walked back over to where Ezra still stood, silent and alone, his free hand hooked in an empty belt loop of his low-slung blue jeans. Damn, the man is sexy, Gent thought suddenly, wondering if Ezra might be interested in riding with him, a stray thought that startled him since he'd never been with a man in his life. Maybe, though, since Wilson was gone? "Ezra, we'll be going now, soon's we know we got a clear way out." Standish nodded remotely, not commenting. Gent got closer, into Ezra's personal space, but still not touching. "I know you miss Wilson, but he's gone." The look of utter devastation that instantly converted Ezra's face into a mask of tragedy was more revealing than anything he might have said. "Ezra, come with us." Gent saw the lack of reaction. "Come with me."

Green eyes blinked in open surprise and warmed, the sadness softened and Ezra looked at Gent consideringly. "Gent. That is quite an offer."

"Will you?"

"No. But, thank you." Ezra leaned into the tall, spare man and quietly kissed his cheek. "If I had it in me to be with someone else now, you would be a good choice. If I had it in me to love anyone after Buck, it might even be you. But, I don't have anything left, Gent. When you go, I'll return to my team for a little while."

There really was no time, but Gent swallowed and stepped still closer, carefully putting his arms around Ezra and pulling him into a loose hug. He bent his head and spoke against one ear. "If you're only going for a while, find us afterwards. We'll be going to Arizona. Ty has cousins he says. You could find us."

"No. No, I'm going to go find Buck."

Gent's eyes opened in confusion and then fear. "Ezra, Buck is dead."

"I know."

"Then?"

"You need to go." Ezra tried to pull away.

Gent was having none of it. "Ezra, what are you saying?" He dragged the man close and held on tightly, one hand forcing Schiller's head up to face his. "He's dead. The only way to find him is to --"

"Yes. Good bye Gent." Ezra kissed Fisher softly on the lips, a friendly, unprovocative sign of affection and enduring friendship. "Good bye. Now go."

<><><><><><><><><><><>

The man who'd been a gang leader for most of his life looked down on the petite figure still in his arms. "Ezra, your Buck wouldn't want you to take that way out." He spoke seriously. For some reason, this man mattered very much now. Maybe it was the trust. Maybe the vulnerability and hopelessness. Maybe it was the sweetness. Gent wanted to have a chance to find out and was finding it hard to believe that no such opportunity could ever exist. "Stay here. Wait. Let me get things rolling." He hazarded a kiss of promises, a bare touch of lips to lips with no pressure, just the subtle dry scratching of parchment skins coming together momentarily. "Don't go."

Spinning on his heel, Gent moved purposefully back towards the remainder of his men. He noticed they all seemed to find fascinating things to watch that didn't involve that part of the barn. He released a tiny smile, more a quirk of the lips with an upward tilt. He needed to keep their momentum going.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Tony Borgo was disintegrating. He clung to the thick bough of the fir tree he'd picked as a sniper post and felt himself vanishing, leaving only a fearful, confused animal behind. He recognized what was happening and was helpless to stop it, like a runaway train, his whole life led to this moment of self-realization and despair. He'd always been big for his age, easy to fall into the role of bully. Add to that the skills he'd picked up in the service, both armed and unarmed combat, and his natural abilities with a long gun, and he was a dangerous guy. The move into police work, the offer to move on to the ATF, had all been easy, each one feeding his increasing need for power and control, a transmutation of his young bully status.

Now, though, his world had been threatened by a clumsy mistake of his own doing, compounded by a panic-attack and incredibly stupid move to runaway, to try to fix it, cover it up, make his world whole again. Like Humpty-Dumpty, his world was forever broken. Hopeless and angry at himself, he turned the anger outward, unable to deal with self-abnegation, and focused it on Ezra Standish. The churlish sharpshooter could not cope with self-hate so it was so much easier to blame someone else. What had started out as the simplistic idea of recreating events by removing evidence, showing that it wasn't he who shot Standish, now became a vengeful act. Killing Standish would make things better. He no longer knew how, but he clung to that thought even as he clung to the large branch.

Below him and in front, to the side, he saw several men emerge secretively from the barn, using side exits. They seemed to be searching the area. They'd not find him, he was a professional, he'd left no tracks behind. He watched and waited, sooner or later, Standish would come out. Then he'd extract his revenge. He didn't even stop to think about what Ezra could have done that would require revenge. He was beyond that.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Solly and Bixby were the first two back, the other three right on their heels. "No one out there that we could find, but there's a dirt bike hidden in the woods not more than 200 meters from here." Solly looked at Bixby, then back at where Fisher and Diggins were conferring. "The motor was still warm."

"Just the one?"

The other men nodded.

Fisher couldn't afford to wait, Ezra was right about one thing, if they'd been found, they needed to get out now. Right now. They'd have to risk it. He faced his men, seeing Ezra standing at the back, then looked back at the group that still listened to his leadership. "We go out fast, and I mean full speed, the car breaks open the doors, and we're outta here. Everyone stays low on their bikes, make small targets. One man means one gun. Likely a sniper. Might get one or two of us, if he's lucky but we go out fast and low, he won't expect it. Should be out of range in a few seconds. Then, we get to the highway and split up. Meet in Flagstaff in five days. Good luck."

Everyone went to their bikes, the two men giving up their rides for the car climbed in and the driver got it going, revving the motor so that he could use the vehicle as a ram. The old barn doors were rickety at best, opened outward, and were unlocked, it wouldn't take much to shove them open and lead the way down the back road and on off the property. The rest of the gang were mounting their bikes, starting motors, twisting handles or pressing pedals as they revved up their engines too. Ty was on and ready, waiting for Gent. Fisher ignored his men and walked back over to Ezra. "Ezra, you ride with me."

The man shook his head. "We already talked about this."

Gent grabbed Schiller's good arm impatiently. "We can't leave you here. Too dangerous to us and to you. Once we're clear, on a main highway, we can drop you off at a service station or food joint," he paused and looked deeply into silent green eyes, "if that's what you want. But, we are NOT leaving you here."

Ezra nodded resignedly. He could see that Fisher was determined and it really didn't make that much difference to Ezra. Nothing did anymore. A kind of lassitude had invaded his system, leaving him relaxed, almost sleepy, rather vague. At least he wasn't feeling the pain anymore, the hurt of losing Buck. Oh, god, he shifted as a sharp pain returned, deep in his gut at that thought. Best not to think anymore. He began to walk beside the tall angular man in biker black.

"Someday," he murmured, "you really should meet Mr. Larabee, I do think you and he might be twins, parted at birth."

Gent chuckled. He had no idea who this Larabee might be, but the way Ezra spoke, he was probably someone else who told the man what to do. Getting on to his borrowed bike, he straightened the front wheel and turned on the ignition. As the motor roared with a muted sound, he held out an arm for Schiller, to help with the mount. The bike was not really customized for two riders, but it was a long, banana seat, so there was room for the two slender men. Ezra swung a leg over, gripping the offered arm with his free one. He slid down the swaybacked seat and up against Fisher's body. He wrapped his free arm around the bigger man and carefully leaned into his body, with his other arm trapped on his chest, up against Gent's back. "READY!" he called over Gent's shoulder.

Gent nodded that he'd heard. Swung his head to check that all his men were ready, gave a decisive wave to the men in the roadster. And then they were moving inside the barn, fast and picking up speed. The doors smashed open with a loud cracking sound as they bounced and broke against the sides of the barn. And brown earth and greenery flashed by.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Nathan spoke up as Chris turned the Ram onto a secondary road, Widow's Hill. "This is the last bit. Only about four miles now."

Chris grunted and hunched over the steering wheel, mind still racing on all the possible scenarios they might face in a matter of minutes. Vin sat forward suddenly and leaned over to grab Chris' nearest wrist. Tanner's body stretched over the big medic to reach Larabee. "Slow down!" Nate ducked back to let Vin get closer to Chris. "Listen!"

The men in the second vehicle heard Tanner's order and did the same. Now six men sat listening, truck and van barely ticking over, windows opened. There! Vin nodded sharply and cocked an eyebrow toward Chris who slowly nodded too. The sounds of a long gun cracking, once, twice. The stuttering sound of semi-automatic gunfire and the poom-poom of something big. And a low, droning noise that was growing steadily louder, like a swarm of angry bees arrowing towards them, the drone becoming a rumble, and a roar. "The bikers." It was Nathan who whispered the identification, then they all heard Buck's yell. "Goddammit, let me outta here NOW, Josiah!"

<><><><><><><><><><>

Bursting out of the barn at full speed, the sheer numbers and sound were overwhelming Tony's senses at first, but he quickly collected himself, already tracking the car, then turning his sights back to track the first bikes passing him as he looked. There he was! Standish! You're mine now. He fired.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Gent caught the reflective glint moving high in a tree ahead and to the left, just past the abandoned ranch house. In a moment of blinding clarity, a lot of things came together for him. Ezra, the ATF agent, shot at the scene of the bust. Not by them, by one of his own. Ezra's warning that they'd soon be found. The expected sniper. But not in wait for them, no, for Ezra! Hauling the bike into a sliding turn, Fisher had them skidding to the left, so that they faced the source of that glint of light, so that Ezra was hidden by his body. "Hold on, Ezra! Stay down!" His sharp orders left no room for argument.

Ty saw the unexpected move of his leader and friend and followed suit automatically, keeping watch on Gent's back and side. He could hear Fisher's bark to Ezra and looked up to see a dark shape looming in the lower branches of a huge old fir tree only meters away. He applied brakes and drew his weapon, already trying to take aim and also keep control of the wobbling street bike on the loose, sandy yard dirt. Fishtailing he loosed a shot.

The rifle fired from the hidden sniper post, once, twice, as Ty fired again. Other bikers took up the attack, one with a shotgun that boomed twice as well. The dark shape flowed back down out of the tree and vanished, with none of the bikers in any shape to follow in open, broken terrain. Theirs were street bikes, not trail bikes.

Ezra ducked his head down and pressed close to the broad shoulders in front of him at Fisher's shout. He had to cling with both thighs as well as his one free hand as the bike began to gyrate and shake, then slide to the side. Just as he was about to bail, he felt a heavy jerk within Gent's body and a slight sagging, before the man sat up again and started dragging both feet to help stabilize the slowing, sliding bike. "Gent! Gent, are you alright?" Ezra held on trying to add support now to the slumping form.

When he got no answer, but felt the tentativeness of the movements of the bigger man, he lifted his head enough to yell over to Ty on the escorting bike, "He's hit! Gent's hit!"

Coming to a racketing halt, both bikes threw up storms of loose sandy loam and dirt, leaving a cut up yard in their wakes. The rest of the bikers managed to stop further back, or on down the road a bit. Everyone was keeping motors going as they waited to hear the word. The sniper had left behind organized chaos.

Ty was off his bike, bracing it quickly and over to their sides. "Gent?" He looked back at Ezra when there was no immediate answer. "Ezra? Get off, let me see to him."

Standish slid off the back of the seat and stepped back out of the way, one hand going to his lips, shaking slightly. What had happened? Why had Gent changed directions? What did he know?

"Easy, Gent." Ty was pushing the man upright on his bike. "Hey? You hurt bad?"

Fisher seemed to shake himself and come back into the present. "I'm okay." He touched one arm, the outside of the bicep and Ezra and Ty could see the tear in the jacket, like a cut about an inch long. "Just grazed me. Shock more than anything." He lifted his hand clear of the arm, blood dripping from the tear, looking vivid and red against the skin as it fell from his fingers.

Diggins tore the bottom out of his tee shirt and quickly, efficiently created a tight pressure band around the arm, covering the wound. "Should hold you." He glanced around. "Sniper's gone, but likely more on the way."

Gent nodded. "We gotta go. Ezra, get back on." He sat up straighter, thanks in his eyes to his second as he restarted his bike. When Schiller remained standing, looking doubtfully at him, Fisher sighed with patience and spoke clearly. "Ezra, I'm fine. Now get on the bike. We gotta go." He'd tell him about what he figured was going on later, now they had to get going.

With another look of hesitation, Ezra touched Gent's arm carefully, and then put his weight on the shoulder and hauled himself back into place behind the gang leader. Ty dragged his bike around as his motor roared to life, and then they were off.

In a swirl of exhaust the entire entourage reconfigured, with Gent and Ty in the lead now, the others pairing off and the roadster bringing up the rear guard. They roared down the narrow road.

-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-/-

"We block the road!" Larabee's directive was quickly done, as he sawed the wheel on the pickup, slewing it across the highway. Josiah, evidently ignoring Buck's now nearly incoherent shouts, did the same with the van, placing it slightly back but covering the area left open by the truck. Everyone piled out, Buck striding away from his teammates, shrugging JD off almost violently as he ran up to where Chris stood with Vin, Nate already hunkered down behind the truck. Larabee could see Josiah haul JD behind the van, both were drawing weapons as they disappeared from view.

"Chris! Ezra might be with them! We can't just --"

"We'll wait. See. Now shut up, Buck and get under cover." Chris spoke sharply, cutting across the other man's frantic shouts. Even knowing what was going on now, Chris still couldn't afford to let Buck just go off like he evidently wanted to, that wouldn't help anyone and it could get someone killed.

The rumbling roar was getting louder, and suddenly, just as the six members of the team all got behind their vehicles, the sound changed from a hum to a loud, clear gout of noise. The bikers shot down the road, around a rising curve into sight.

Buck who was wedged between Chris and Vin, sprang free and leaped, feet first on a straight arm boost over the hood of the big truck, to land on his feet facing the fast approaching convoy. By now the bikers had seen the roadblock and weapons were appearing in hands. Buck remained standing, unarmed, arms akimbo, waiting, watching anxiously, straining with his whole being, on his toes as his body urged him forward, but his brain told him to stand his ground.

The rest of the team cautiously began to rise as the bikes slowed. Then, from behind the lead biker a passenger on his bike was standing, waving an arm and half-crawling up over the man, crying out, screaming, "BUUUUUUUUUCCCK!"

Ezra had tucked his head in behind Gent's shoulder blade, to protect himself from the wind of passage as the big bike ripped down the road, then it was slowing unexpectedly, all the motors around them shifting to lower gears. He peeked up and over Gent's shoulder. There, blocking the road ahead of them, were a black Ram pickup and an off-white unmarked van. Chris' truck, the team's van - the thoughts barely registered though, because, standing in front of them was a walking dead man. Buck Wilmington. There was no mistaking that tall, rangy form with the deceptively loose stance and bleak look. He's alive! Ezra's mind went absolutely blank, sound ceased to exist, movement stilled, he was floating somewhere high up and looking down on his lover. His living lover, not dead, he's not dead! "BUUUUCKKK!" He started screaming, uncaring of what the world thought, desperate to get to the living body, to feel warmth where he thought there was a cold corpse, to touch responsive flesh, to taste, to hear, to feel, to smell. "BUUCK!" He cried again, struggling over the obstacle in his path, pushing, shoving, unheeding of anything except his goal. He didn't even feel himself fall to the ground when Gent finally shrugged him off where he was attempting to climb bodily over the top of the man in front of him. Rolling once, ignoring the pain in his shoulder and arm as he did it, he was up on his knees, then scuffing to his feet and dashing ahead, ducking around men who were dismounting from big bikes all around him. One arm reached out for him but he ducked under it and took off at a dead run.

Chris stood up now and watched as Buck seemed to unfreeze and began to run. He lowered his weapon and stood, leaning against the hood of his truck, Vin companionably close. Nathan stood nervously shifting feet to their side, behind the cover of the cab. Josiah had stepped calmly into view beyond the van, his weapon in his hand but hanging down at his side. JD moved out behind him, attention shifting from man to man, but, like the rest, mainly unable to look anywhere except at the dramatic reunion taking place in front of them.

"EZRA!" Buck's life began again. He reached out with both arms and ran, long legs eating up the distance. Ezra was making a beeline for him, still screaming out his name. He'd never heard the almost shrill, soul searing cries come from the smaller man before. His heart healed still more at the truth in the cries, laid bare for all to see. This man loved him, body and soul. Oh, and he did love him too, oh, yes he did. "Oh,YES!" He cried with a grunt as the compact body drove in to his, winding him, and then Ezra was practically climbing into his arms, desperately trying to connect in a kiss, the one-armed clench remarkably effective as Standish clamped both legs around Wilmington's waist. The jump into his arms had Buck staggering back a few paces, but then he had him, was holding him tight. Oblivious to their audience, the two men snuffled hard against each other, snagging lips and pressing relentlessly, grinding themselves together as if by sheer force, they could create a new single composite body from the two. "oh, yes," Buck repeated, over, and over again, as he broke the kiss and began to plant smaller ones all over Ezra's face, while Ezra was still attempting to capture his mouth and suck the innards out of him. Their struggle was a fierce need to affirm their existences to each other.

Gradually, the bikers began to lower their weapons too as Gent and Ty both stuck their own guns back into boots or waistbands. One by one, the bikers turned off their engines, until the only sound was the soft sobbing from the small man held in the taller ATF agent's arms, in a kind of no man's land between the two forces. As if breaking free from a trance, Chris Larabee snapped out his cell phone. In the quiet, the team could hear every word Buck spoke, trying to calm his friend and clearly hysterical lover. Standish just kept repeating Buck's name, occasionally adding an irrational, "you're alive!" into the chant.

"Tom? False alarm. No. No one here. Thanks for the back up, we'll check the area but we don't need you coming out after all." Silence. "Yep. Right, and you'll let McGuire and team 6 know?" A pause. "Thanks. Yeah, if we learn anything, we'll keep you posted." Chris snapped shut the cell phone and raised his eyes up past his two clearly dysfunctional agents to the bikers who stood like statues just beyond.

With a small shrug, he walked away from his truck and team, circumvented the oblivious couple and faced the man who'd been riding the bike with Ezra. "You Fisher?"

"Yeah." Gray eyes evaluated and the color clarified. "You Larabee by any chance?"

"Yeah." Chris flipped open his wallet badge. "ATF."

"Ezra told me."

"He told you I was ATF?"

"Not exactly. Told me he was." Larabee's eyebrows rose in astonishment. "Said you were my twin."

Chris stuck his wallet back in his hip pocket and turned sideways to view the still clutching couple. "Well, this was a major screw up."

Gent stepped closer and put a hand on Larabee's shoulder, felt the small flinch, then the relaxing muscles. Trust. Gotta start somewhere. "We told Ezra that Buck was dead. Thought he was. Glad he's not." Any feelings he might have had for the little man were dissolving in the face of the intense flame of love that burned so brightly in front of them. "He wasn't doing too well after that. Don't blame him too much."

Chris sighed. This had to be a first. The bad guy was consoling him on the behavior of one of his agents. He turned back to face Fisher again. "We don't have much of a case against you or your men. The ones we took into custody are already out on bail. Seems to me," he looked back over at Ezra's small form, nearly enveloped in Buck's tight bear hug, "Seems to me we owe you a favor."

"Maybe two." Ty Diggins stepped forward now. "Gent just took a bullet we think was meant for your man."

Fisher nodded. "There was a sniper, back at the place we were using as a hideout. When we took off, he was waiting for us. For Ezra. He'd have had him too, if I hadn't figured it out."

"Figured what out?" Chris wasn't prepared to air dirty laundry in public, but something about what they were saying made him think it might already be public.

"Someone in your ATF has it in for Ezra." Gent looked over at the rest of the feds. Odd-looking bunch. "Not one of these, since the sniper is behind us somewheres, but none of us shot Ezra at the hangar, so it had to be one of you - who then came hunting him." Gent's gray eyes met Larabee's hard hazel ones. "You best be protecting him. The guy got away." Gent turned to look back at the wooded hills behind him. "He's still out there somewhere."

-/-/-/-/-/-/-

Buck just wanted to hold Ezra forever. But gradually the emotional storm began to ease and he felt the sturdy figure in his arms begin to fade, sag against him, the tears going from sobs to soft whimpers. The chant had become a whisper in his ear, as Ezra buried his head in the crook of Buck's neck. Buck eased back enough so that Ezra automatically lowered his legs back to the earth and stood, leaning against the taller man. At this point, Buck was finally thinking enough that he realized that Ezra's arm was bound to his chest. "Dislocated it again?" he touched it gently.

Ezra nodded against Buck's neck.

"We need a doctor to look at you, Ez."

"Did." The word was hard to understand, muffled by Buck's shoulder now.

"Well, we're gonna go see another one." He nearly wept with happiness at the familiar, indignant snort that provoked. "Oh, god, Ez, it's good to have you back. Don't ever want to go through that again."

"Agreed."

Buck smiled and pushed back the damp, teary face with a big hand, wiping the tears down and then brushing the clumps of hair away from the broad forehead. "Come on, Pard, let's go let Nate get a start on you, okay?"

But Ezra was pushing back against Buck's chest, then turning in the circle of his arms to face the other way, back toward the bikers. Buck raised his head and realized a lot had happened in the last few minutes. All the engines were silent. Everyone was standing, not one weapon in sight on either side. Chris was standing next to Gent Fisher, and both men were watching Buck and Ezra with a mix of amusement and compassion. Buck took a breath, ready to speak, but Ezra beat him to it.

"He's alive, Gent."

"Can see that Ezra."

"You going to be alright?"

"Think so, your Mr. Larabee here thinks we should just ride on out, like we planned. Leave the state."

Ezra leaned back comfortably against Buck feeling those long strong arms wrap more firmly around him. He reached out his free arm toward Gent. "Gent?"

After a moment, Fisher nodded quietly to Larabee and walked over to the reunited couple, finally reaching out to take Ezra's offered hand.

"Gent, we could never have made it, but I want to thank you."

Fisher crushed the hand in his for a second, then slowly released it, only to find it caught up again. Ezra looked sincerely into those cautious gray eyes, eyes of a hunter. "Gent, you don't have to look too far to find someone, just over your shoulder." The bright green eyes drifted over to where Ty stood leaning against his bike, casually alert, his coal black hair shining in the daylight, pulled back in a tight ponytail. Gray ones followed and widened thoughtfully, then returned to meet those now happy green ones.

An understanding passed unspoken between the two men, then Gent stepped closer still, and ignoring Buck, wrapped a large hand around Ezra's neck and pulled forward slightly, cupping Ezra's head in his hand. He tipped his own head and pressed a kiss to those oh, so soft lips that smiled under his. His own smiled back as he broke free again. "Good bye, Ezra."

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